Midnight Fanfic sesh

The private Korean dinner in Vegas was buried deep in the back of an unmarked restaurant, the kind of place that required NDAs and two separate entrances. The boys were loud and loose after the show, soju bottles sweating on the table while staff tried (and failed) to keep things civilized. You’d slipped in halfway through the meal, fresh off your flight, hair still smelling like airplane air and the desert wind. The second Taehyung spotted you across the room his whole face lit up like a kid on Christmas—boxy grin, eyes disappearing, immediately abandoning his seat to pull you into a back hug that lasted way too long.

Now the two of you were crammed into the single-stall bathroom at the end of the hallway, door locked, the low hum of laughter and clinking glasses muffled through the wall. One dim warm light glowed above the mirror. Taehyung had you pressed against the sink, tipsy and happy and entirely too pleased with himself.

“You really flew all the way here just to surprise me?” he murmured against your lips, voice low, the faint scent of soju and galbi on his breath. His newly trimmed beard brushed your skin as he kissed you again, slower this time.

You laughed softly into it, fingers in his hair. “Don’t get cocky. I had a gap in my schedule.”

“Still counts.” He smiled against your mouth, hands resting at your waist, thumbs slipping just under the hem of your top. The kiss deepened naturally, warm and familiar after weeks apart—his tongue brushing yours, unhurried but hungry. He tasted like dinner and the soju he’d been drinking, a little messy when he tilted his head.

You pulled back a fraction, breathing against his cheek. “We’re gonna get caught if you keep grinning like that every time you kiss me.”

He let out a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a second. “Can’t help it. You show up looking like that and I’m supposed to act normal?” His hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then he leaned in again, catching your bottom lip gently between his.

It stayed playful at first—little giggles breaking through when your noses bumped or his beard tickled your chin. But the longer it went, the more it heated up. He pressed closer, one thigh sliding between yours as he kissed you deeper, slower, the kind of kiss that made the tiny bathroom feel even smaller. The mirror fogged slightly behind your back. Outside, someone yelled something about another round of drinks, and you both froze for half a second before cracking up again.

“You’re such an idiot when you’re tipsy,” you whispered, rolling your eyes as he nipped at your jaw.

“An idiot who missed you,” he shot back, cocky but soft, voice rough around the edges. He kissed the spot right under your ear, then lower, careful not to leave marks. His hands stayed mostly respectful, one cupping the back of your neck, the other at your hip, but the way he held you felt greedy anyway.

You tugged his hair lightly to bring his mouth back to yours. The muffled noise from the dinner, the warm yellow light, the stolen minutes—it all made everything feel more intense. Just two people who barely got time like this, sneaking a moment in a Vegas bathroom because tomorrow was finally an off day.

Taehyung pulled away just enough to look at you, eyes a little glassy from the soju, that lazy smile still in place. “We should probably go back before they send a search party.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, but neither of you moved right away. He stole one more kiss, shorter this time, then rested his forehead on yours again with a content sigh.

Your fingers moved on their own, tracing lightly along his jaw where you’d helped trim his beard two weeks ago. The skin was still smooth there. “How are you feeling, really?” you asked quietly, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “All the shows, the travel… you sleeping enough? Eating properly?”

He let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, but it came out melted and relaxed under your touch. His eyes closed for a second as he leaned into your hand like a cat. “You always ask that first.”

“Because you never tell me unless I do.” You kept your voice low, one hand sliding to the back of his neck, massaging gently. The muffled laughter from the dining room felt far away now.

Taehyung hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest. He looked younger like this — tipsy, unguarded, shoulders dropping as the constant performer energy finally slipped off. “I’m okay. Tired, but good tired. The Vegas shows were insane… the crowd was loud. My throat’s a little scratchy from all the singing, but nothing serious.” He paused, then admitted with a small shrug, “Missed you more than I thought I would this leg.”

You nodded, continuing the slow caress along his neck and into his hair. “Good. I worried about the time difference and your schedule. You looked a bit pale in the last live.”

He smiled, small and genuine, eyes opening again to meet yours. “You watch those?”

“Every one I can.” Your fingers kept moving, soothing, grounding. “Don’t push too hard tomorrow on the off day, okay? We can just stay in. Order room service, watch something stupid.”

Taehyung melted even more, arms wrapping loosely around your waist as he pulled you closer, not in a heated way — just wanting to feel you there. “That sounds perfect,” he murmured against your temple. “No plans. Just us. I’ll even let you pick the movie without complaining.”

You chuckled softly. “Liar. You always complain.”

“Only because your taste is questionable,” he teased, but there was no bite to it. He nuzzled into your neck for a moment, breathing you in. The warm bathroom light made everything feel intimate and small, like the chaos of tour and Vegas outside didn’t exist for these few minutes.

You stayed like that, hands gently stroking his back, his hair, just existing together in the quiet. No rush to leave, even though you both knew you should. It was rare — this kind of easy, earned closeness in the middle of his crazy life.

“Love you,” he said simply, almost under his breath, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Love you too, idiot.”

He laughed quietly, the sound warm against your skin, and neither of you made a move to unlock the door just yet.

author's note — nothing really developed as usual, but i looooove writing est. relationship!bangtan bc i believe these men deserves the best so i write them the best (not always abhahahaha). NEways, thank you for reading!

He's got to focus, his chest panting - heaving - in puffs, feeling how deliciously you squeeze around his cock. You feel like heaven and sin, gushing a new wave of arousal down his cock, walls fluttering filthily, trying to suck him in deeper.

"Jung-ngh! Hah-" your eyes roll to the back of your head, chest arching up towards Jungkook as you squirm underneath him. "S'big, oh! Too big," your mouth is parched, tummy sucking in as Jungkook feeds you more of his cock.

His hands slide up your plush thighs, hooking them over his arms, spreading them wider so he could sink in deeper. Your pussy weeps, crying out wetly, as he pushes your legs up higher.

Are those Harry Potter socks you were wearing?

Jungkook watches your thighs shake, feet pointing up as he forces you to stay still, to feel every inch bully its way in, slowly. "Fuck," Jungkook curses. His eyes zero in on where you're connected, his tongue rolling over his lips, wetting them. "You're taking me so well, baby." Your gummy walls clench, and Jungkook hisses, dropping one leg to move his hands between your bodies.

"No, it's too much, I- I can't, I can't-" You shake your head, breathless, nails clawing into the bedsheets beneath you.

Jungkook's fingers find your sensitive clit. His tongue clicking against his teeth in warning, the hand on the back of your knee stretches it back even more as his body leans over you. The weight of him pressing against you, keeping you from running away from him.

"Where are you thinking you're going, pretty?" He watches in satisfaction as your body twitches, your pretty mouth dropping as he taps small hearts on your glittering clit. "You can hah- take it," Jungkook grunts, eyes almost rolling from how much deeper he sinks into you. "Can't you, fuck- can't you hear how you're sucking me in?" He pants.

And your cunt drools. Stretching exquisitely around his girthy shaft. You whine from the back of your throat as he keeps thumbing your clit, making you swallow more and more of his cock until your eyes cross.

You can hear your pussy, squelching from the stretch, your sweet juices dripping down your ass and pooling onto the bedsheets below. Fuck, you can feel him in your throat.

"In your throat, heh?" Your eyes widen, you didn't realize you had said it out loud. Jungkook has the audacity to chuckle above you, turning his head to plant a quick kiss on the inner part of your ankle that he has dangling on his shoulder. "Nah, mamas- not your throat." His hand leaves your puffy clit to press down on your stomach, making you keen loudly. "Right here, m'right here."

And then he bottomed out. His thighs pressing into your ass as he holds your ankle in a death grip. He could honestly cum right now from how your pussy sucks him in a vice grip. You feel so unfairly good around him, he can't help but grind his hips closer. The tip of his cock dig against your gummy walls so wickedly, you're mewling for more.

"Please, oh! Please, please," Your brain is fried, lips babbling, drool trickling down your jaw, it honestly makes Jungkook coo. His lips curving into a knowing grin as you hiccup between whines.

"Huh? Already drunk on my cock?" He shouldn't be teasing by the way his jaw ticks, his cock twitching to cum right now. He's no better than you, drunk off the feeling of your sweet pussy. He's got to concentrate not to bust a nut right now. His eyes are half-lidded as his hand holds your hip still. He angles his hips back, "we're just getting started, Pretty." And then he's smacking forward and pushing a loud gasp from you.

"Jung- Jungkoo-" You're babbling stupidly as he tilts his hips, thrusting harder and deeper with each stroke. He watches your tongue loll, the previous image of the shy girl he met weeks ago gone, replaced by the lewd look of your teary eyes and jaw hanging open in pleasure.

"Look at that," Jungkook teases, your walls clamping around him when the tip of his cock smacks right into the soft spot that makes you whine obscenely. "Tha's it, that makes you feel good, huh?"

The headboard taps the wall with each of his thrusts. The bed creaks and mixes in between your pretty cries. And your head nods, tongue feeling too heavy to speak properly, "yes ah- oh fuck, yes!" Your words slur, and your pussy gurgles another wave of arousal, soaking Jungkook's pelvis and balls as he picks up speed.

"Fuck, you're so loud you're making a mess," Jungkook felt feverish, eyes dazed and beginning to become unfocused. He felt dumb on your pretty pussy, head falling back as he made you meet each one of his thrusts. "Heh- fuck baby, don't know who's louder," His cockhead kissing your cervix with each roll of his hips. "You or your pussy."

His words send a shiver up your spine, your cheeks flushing as the squelches of your pussy get even louder, answering for him. The noises reverberate and increase in pace as the knot in your stomach tightens. It's too much.

"Too much?" Jungkook is practically heart-eyed, shaking his head at you. "Wha-what did I tell you?" He curses when you squeeze tighter, your thighs shaking as he keeps you trapped between the bed and him. "What did I tell you?"

"Oh!" Your toes curl, head thrown back as he brings his hand back to your glistening clit. He rubs fast circles into the sensitive nub, matching it to his strokes and making you squeal, "y-you said I c-can take it!"

You sounded so ruined, stuttering over your words as his hips snapped filthy thrusts even faster. "Mmph- tha's my girl," Jungkook praises, feeling your pussy flutter at his compliment and bringing you closer to the edge.

And Jungkook isn't far behind you. His thrusts are growing sloppy as he hits your g-spot with each stroke. It builds the knot in your stomach, making it twist and twist and therefore milking Jungkook with your pussy tighter and tighter.

"Jungkoo- Jung- I- ah!" Your eyes watered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you babbled dumbly. "M'gonna cum, oh, oh, I'm cum-cumming!" A hot, white pleasure flashes through you. Your ears were roaring with your racing heart as you fell apart with a scream.

Your body shudders underneath him, your pussy gushing messily and pulling him over the edge with you. "O-oh fuck!" And then his hands grab your hips, jostling your body, up, down, up, down. Moving you like his own personal toy as his cock twitches, splurting stream after stream of his cum while helping you ride out your own orgasm.

By the time you're fluttering your eyes open, Jungkook is shivering above you. His hips mindlessly rut into you even after his cock stops twitching, the aftershocks overstimulating you both.

When he finally pulls out, you can feel your cum drip after him. Your thighs are still shaking as he rolls the condom down his length and throws it in the trash next to his bed.

You're trying to figure out what should happen next when Jungkook grabs your attention again. His body crawls back up to you on the bed, his eyes meeting yours. "I need you to know this isn't going to be a one-time thing., It can't be."

Yoongi is buried deep inside you, hips rolling in that slow, deliberate rhythm he always uses when he wants to take his time. Every thrust is precise, angled just right to brush against that spot that usually makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to ground you, but never enough to bruise. He knows your body so well— better than anyone ever has.

It feels good. Of course it feels good. It always does with him.

His cock stretches you perfectly, sliding in and out with a wet, obscene sound that fills the quiet bedroom. Each time he pushes forward, the head drags along your walls, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You can feel the slight tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours, the way his abs tighten against your stomach with every controlled roll of his hips. He’s sweating lightly, a faint sheen glistening on his collarbones and the sharp line of his jaw, but his face… his face stays almost serene.

That’s the part that’s been haunting you lately.

Yoongi is quiet.

Painfully, unnervingly quiet.

While you’re trying to lose yourself in the feeling of him— his thickness, the way he fills you so completely, the heat of his body pressed to yours, you keep getting pulled out of it by the silence. There are no desperate moans spilling from his lips, no broken curses, no rough growls of your name. Just the occasional low grunt when he sinks in particularly deep, or a barely-there groan that vibrates through his chest when his pace picks up for a few strokes. Even his breathing stays measured, controlled, like he’s meditating instead of fucking you senseless.

You bite your lip as another slow thrust drags a real spark of pleasure from you. For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut and try to focus only on the sensation: the drag, the fullness, the way his pubic bone grinds lightly against your clit with every forward motion. It’s good. So good. Your walls flutter around him involuntarily, and you feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder between your bodies.

But then your mind drifts again.

Why doesn’t he make noise? Does it not feel as intense for him as it does for you? Is he holding back because he’s not actually enjoying it that much? Or worse… is he bored?

The thoughts creep in like smoke, curling around the edges of your pleasure and slowly choking it out. Your orgasm, which had been steadily building, starts to slip away. The heat in your belly dulls, turning from a roaring fire into something distant and lukewarm. You clench around him on purpose, trying to chase the feeling back, but it’s already fading.

Yoongi doesn’t falter. His rhythm stays steady, deep, unhurried strokes that should be driving you crazy. One of his hands slides up your side, palm rough and warm as it cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow circles. It sends a shiver through you, but it’s not enough to pull you fully back into your body. Your mind is louder than the pleasure now.

You don’t want him to know.

You don’t want him to stop or pull away or ask what’s wrong. So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You start faking it.

A soft, breathy moan slips past your lips— higher and more theatrical than the ones that usually come naturally. You tilt your head back into the pillow, letting your mouth fall open as you force another moan out, longer this time, letting it tremble at the end like you’re right on the edge. Your hands slide up his back, nails digging in just a little harder than before, and you rock your hips up to meet his thrusts with more exaggerated movements, making sure your body moves like you’re lost in it.

“Oh… fuck, Yoongi,” you whimper, voice pitched just a touch too sweet, too performative. You clench around him again, purposefully this time, and add a little gasp at the end for good measure. “Feels so good…”

Your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now. The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you keep going, layering on more moans and whines, letting your breathing come faster and more ragged than it actually is. You arch your back dramatically, pushing your chest up toward him, and let your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re overwhelmed with pleasure.

Inside, the real pleasure has almost completely slipped away, replaced by a tight knot of anxiety in your stomach. But you keep the act going, hips rolling, moans spilling out one after another, all while Yoongi continues to fuck you in that same devastatingly silent, controlled way.

His skin is hot against yours. His cock still feels perfect inside you. But your mind won’t shut up, and now your body is performing instead of feeling.

You just hope he doesn’t notice. You keep the act going, layering moan after moan as Yoongi’s pace stays steady and deep. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears— too breathy, too eager, too loud in the quiet room. You tighten around him deliberately with every thrust, rolling your hips up to meet him with exaggerated movements, letting your nails rake down his back a little harder than usual.

“Yoongi… oh god, right there,” you gasp, forcing the words out like they’re being torn from you. Your back arches off the bed in a dramatic curve, breasts pressing against his chest as you whimper and whine, building the performance higher and higher. The real pleasure has long since faded into the background, drowned out by the loud buzzing of insecurity in your head, but you push through, faking the climb with everything you have.

Inside, your stomach twists. You hate this. You hate lying to him like this, but the fear of him realizing how disconnected you feel is worse.

You feel his rhythm falter just slightly— only for a fraction of a second, before he drives in deeper, hips snapping forward one last time. A low, guttural grunt escapes his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as he buries himself to the hilt. His cock pulses inside you, hot and thick, spilling deep as he cums with that single, restrained sound. His body tenses above you, muscles locking up, fingers digging harder into your hips for a moment before he slowly relaxes.

You fake your own release right after him, letting out a long, trembling moan that peaks sharply and then dissolves into shaky little whimpers. Your walls clench around him rhythmically, body shuddering beneath him as if you’re riding out wave after wave. You even let your thighs tremble and your breath hitch dramatically, clutching at his shoulders like you can’t handle how good it feels.

When it’s over, Yoongi stays buried inside you for a few long seconds, breathing steady against your skin. Then he slowly pulls out, the wet slide of his cock leaving you feeling empty and strangely hollow. He presses a soft, almost absent kiss to your collarbone before rolling off you and sitting up on the edge of the bed.

The room feels colder without his weight pressing you down. You stay exactly where you are, flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan above spins lazily, casting faint shifting shadows across the white paint. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are still too fast, but not from pleasure anymore. Cum slowly leaks out of you, warm and sticky against your inner thighs, a reminder of what just happened. Your body feels used in the best physical way and yet emotionally distant, like you watched the whole thing from somewhere outside yourself.

Yoongi stands, the mattress dipping and then rising as his weight leaves. You hear the rustle of fabric as he picks up his discarded boxers and sweatpants from the floor, the soft sound of him stepping into them. He doesn’t say anything. He never really does after sex. The silence that felt intimate before now feels like a weight pressing on your chest.

He pads out of the bedroom barefoot, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor, heading toward the kitchen. You remain motionless, eyes fixed on that spinning fan, the aftershocks of your faked orgasm leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The sheets beneath you are damp with sweat and slick, clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart is still racing, but it’s anxiety now, not desire.

A few minutes later, you hear the faint clink of a glass and the sound of the faucet running. Yoongi returns, the soft glow from the hallway light outlining his silhouette as he steps back into the room. He’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips, black hair slightly messy from your fingers earlier. In his hand is a glass of water, condensation already beading on the outside.

He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The glass is cool as he gently presses it into your hand. “Here,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough from disuse. His dark eyes search your face in the dim light. “Drink.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, taking the glass with fingers that feel slightly shaky. The water is cold and refreshing as it slides down your throat, but it does nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. Yoongi watches you quietly, one hand resting on your bare thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin.

When you lower the glass, he asks, voice tentative and softer than usual, “You okay?”

You force a small smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah… of course. It felt really good. You always fuck me so good, Yoongi.”

The lie slips out easily enough, but your voice sounds a little too bright, a little too rehearsed. For a split second, you swear something flickers across his face— those sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, lips parting like he might say more. Your heart stutters. He knows. He has to know.

But he doesn’t push.

Instead, Yoongi lets out a slow, quiet sigh, running his fingers through his damp black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The motion makes the muscles in his arm flex subtly in the low light. He nods once, almost to himself, then swings his legs onto the bed and lies down beside you.

“Come here,” he says gently, reaching for you. You let him pull you against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, one of his arms wrapping securely around your waist. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady and slow beneath your cheek. He smells like sex and sweat and that familiar cologne, and for a moment the closeness makes the ache in your chest ease just a little.

“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness, lips brushing the top of your head.

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

He reaches over with his free hand and clicks off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into complete darkness, broken only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Yoongi’s breathing gradually slows, becoming deep and even as sleep claims him. His body relaxes completely against yours, arm heavy and comforting around you.

But sleep doesn’t come for you.

You lie there wide awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breaths. The fan continues its lazy spin overhead. Every time you close your eyes, you replay the scene: your fake moans, the way you performed for him, the single low grunt he gave when he came. The insecurity gnaws at you, sharper now in the silence. You feel raw and exposed, even though he’s holding you so tenderly.

Hours seem to pass. The glass of water sits forgotten on the nightstand, condensation pooling beneath it. Your mind races in circles— wondering if he really bought the lie, if he’s truly satisfied, if something is wrong with the way you make him feel. Yoongi sleeps soundly beside you, completely unaware, while you stare at the ceiling again, the weight of your doubts pressing heavier with every passing minute.

The next afternoon, sunlight filters through the large café windows, casting warm golden patches across the wooden table. The scent of fresh coffee and sweet pastries hangs in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. You’re seated across from Wonyoung in a cozy corner booth, both of you cradling warm lattes in your hands. She looks effortlessly pretty as always, long hair cascading over one shoulder, a soft pink sweater making her glow in the natural light.

You’ve been stirring your drink absentmindedly for the past ten minutes, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug. The conversation started light, but you finally let it spill, the thing that’s been weighing on your chest since last night.

“So… things with Yoongi have been good, really good,” you say, voice quieter than usual. “But… during sex… he’s just so quiet. Like, almost completely silent. I mean, he’ll give a little grunt here and there, or this low groan when he pushes in deeper, and that’s basically it. Even when he cums, it’s just one low sound. Nothing more.”

You take a small sip of your latte, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. “It feels amazing physically, he always makes sure I cum, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But I keep getting stuck in my head about it. Last night… I actually started faking it. The moans, the way I moved, everything. I felt so stupid afterward, lying there while he held me and told me he loved me. I couldn’t even sleep.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widen slightly, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in concern. She sets her mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “Oh, honey… that sounds really tough. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You shake your head quickly, fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “No… I’m scared. What if I don’t like his answer? What if he tells me he doesn’t find me sexy anymore, or that the spark is gone for him? What if he’s just going through the motions because he feels obligated? I don’t think I could handle hearing that.”

Your voice cracks a little on the last part, and you look down at the foam art slowly dissolving in your coffee. The café suddenly feels too bright, too exposed. You can still feel the ghost of Yoongi’s quiet body against yours from last night, the way he fell asleep so easily while you stared at the ceiling for hours.

Wonyoung reaches across the table and gently squeezes your hand. “I get it. That fear is valid. But bottling it up is only going to make it worse. You two are so good together, communication is important, especially about something this intimate. Maybe there’s a reason he’s quiet. Or maybe he doesn’t even realize how much it’s affecting you.”

You nod slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah… maybe. It’s just… Yoongi always been this quiet, from the very beginning. I didn’t really think much of it at first because everything else felt so intense. But then you told me about you and your boyfriend, how vocal he gets, the way he moans your name, how he tells you how good you feel… I don’t know, it made me realize how different it is with Yoongi. I started craving that too. I want to hear him. I want to know I’m making him feel as crazy as he makes me feel.”

Wonyoung gives you a soft, understanding smile, tilting her head slightly. “I remember telling you those stories. And yeah, my boyfriend is loud in bed— it’s hot, it makes me feel desired. But Yoongi… he’s always been a quiet guy overall, right? In everyday life too. He speaks when he has something important to say, but he’s not the type to fill the silence just to fill it. Maybe during sex he’s the same, maybe he just processes pleasure differently. Still… you should talk to him. Even if it’s scary. Tell him how it makes you feel without accusing him. Something like, ‘I love being with you, but I’ve been feeling a little insecure because you’re so quiet, and I want to know if you’re enjoying it as much as I am.’”

You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping as you trace the rim of your mug with your fingertip. “You’re right… I know you’re right. It’s just terrifying. What if talking about it makes things awkward? Or worse, what if he confirms my fears?”

She squeezes your hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “And what if he doesn’t? What if he opens up and you both end up even closer because of it? You won’t know until you try. You deserve to feel confident and wanted in every way.”

You manage a small, grateful smile, even though your chest still feels tight with uncertainty. “Thank you for listening. I really needed this.”

The two of you finish your coffees slowly, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— work, a new drama you both started watching, Wonyoung’s latest shopping haul. But your mind keeps circling back to Yoongi, to the quiet of last night, to the conversation you know you probably need to have.

When it’s time to leave, you both stand and gather your things. Outside the café, the spring air is mild and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. You pull Wonyoung into a tight hug, breathing in her familiar perfume.

“Thank you again,” you murmur against her shoulder. “For the advice… and for not making me feel crazy.”

She hugs you back just as tightly, rubbing your back gently. “Anytime. Text me later if you need more pep talks, okay? You’ve got this. Just be honest with him.”

You nod as you pull away, offering her one last smile before turning to head home. The walk back feels longer than usual, your steps slow on the sidewalk as the weight of her words settles over you. The sun is warm on your skin, but inside you’re still torn— part of you wanting to listen to her encouragement, the other part terrified of what Yoongi’s answer might be. By the time you reach your apartment door, your heart is already beating a little faster at the thought of seeing him again tonight.

-

That evening, you chicken out completely.

The conversation with Wonyoung plays on repeat in your head the whole walk home, but the moment you step through the apartment door and see Yoongi already there— barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something that smells like garlic and soy sauce, the words die in your throat. He glances up at you with that soft, small smile he reserves mostly for you, black hair falling slightly into his eyes, and your resolve crumbles. Not tonight. You’ll talk to him tomorrow. Or the day after. Just… not right now.

Instead, you both settle into a quiet movie night.

The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen and a single lamp in the corner. The couch is piled with soft blankets and pillows, the faint scent of buttered popcorn still lingering in the air from the bowl now sitting empty on the coffee table. Yoongi sits in his usual spot, legs stretched out, one arm draped casually around your shoulders as you curl into his side. Your head rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his body warm and solid through the thin black t-shirt he’s wearing.

For a few blissful hours, the sex issue fades into the background.

You laugh together at the ridiculous comedy on screen, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest whenever something genuinely funny happens. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, occasionally brushing through your hair in that absentminded way that always makes you feel safe. You steal glances at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinks, the subtle curve of his lips when he smirks at a joke. For once, your mind is quiet. No overthinking. No insecurity. Just the simple comfort of being wrapped up in your boyfriend, the two of you tangled together like you belong there.

As the movie credits start to roll and the second film begins autoplaying, the comfortable haze starts to shift. The room feels cozier now, warmer. The blanket draped over both of you traps heat between your bodies. You become hyper-aware of how close you are, his thigh pressed against yours, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fabric softener on his shirt. Looking up at his face in the flickering light of the TV, something stirs in your chest. His expression is relaxed, peaceful, those dark eyes reflecting the screen. A sudden, sharp wave of want washes over you. You want him. Not just the quiet, controlled version from last night, but something more. You want to climb into his lap, feel his hands on you, lose yourself in him again— but this time without the doubts.

Maybe you were just being paranoid, you tell yourself. Maybe Wonyoung was right and he’s simply a quiet person in every aspect of life. Maybe last night was a fluke, and if you initiate tonight, it’ll be different. Better. You could make him feel good enough that he finally lets go.

The decision settles in your mind, warm and impulsive.

You shift slightly, turning your body toward him. Your lips find the side of his neck first— soft, slow kisses pressed just below his ear, where you know he’s sensitive. His skin is warm, slightly salty from the long day, and you breathe him in as you trail kisses down the column of his throat. One hand slides up under his shirt, palm gliding over the smooth planes of his chest, feeling the faint ridges of muscle and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Yoongi’s breath catches for just a second. He turns his head toward you, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something off about it, too tight at the corners, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it smooths out. It’s odd, a tiny detail that nags at the back of your mind, but you push it aside. You’re already too far gone in the moment, desire overriding caution.

Encouraged, you let your hand drift lower, sliding down his stomach until your palm presses over the front of his sweatpants. He’s half-hard already, and you rub him slowly through the fabric, feeling him twitch and thicken under your touch. A few firm strokes, your fingers tracing the outline of him as you continue kissing and gently sucking at his neck, leaving faint marks that will probably fade by morning.

For a moment, it feels promising. His body responds, hips shifting ever so slightly under your hand.

Then he moves.

Yoongi lets out a quiet sigh, long and heavy, the kind that carries weight. He sits up straighter, gently but firmly catching your wrist to stop your movements. His other hand runs through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead, then drags down over his face, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose like he’s suddenly exhausted or stressed. The TV light flickers across his features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

You pull back, staring up at him in confusion, your hand still hovering where he stopped it. The warmth that had been building in your belly cools rapidly. “Yoongi…?” Your voice comes out softer than you intended, laced with uncertainty.

He doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze is fixed somewhere toward the TV, shoulders slightly slumped. The comfortable cocoon of the movie night suddenly feels fragile, like it could crack at any second. The blanket slips down to your laps as the distance between you grows, even though you’re still sitting right next to each other. Your heart starts to pick up speed, that familiar knot of insecurity creeping back in, stronger than before.

The room is quiet except for the low dialogue still playing from the movie, but the easy laughter from earlier is long gone. The silence stretches between you like a taut string, ready to snap.

Yoongi sits there on the couch, still slightly leaned forward, one hand lingering over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away whatever thought just crossed his mind. The TV continues playing in the background, the low murmur of dialogue and soft soundtrack now feeling intrusive instead of comforting. The air in the living room suddenly feels cooler, heavier. Your heart hammers in your chest, the earlier warmth of desire replaced by a sharp, anxious flutter.

You can’t take the quiet anymore. “Do you… not think I’m sexy?” The question slips out in the middle of the silence, small and fragile, barely louder than a whisper. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds.

Yoongi’s head snaps toward you instantly. His dark eyes widen, the relaxed expression from the movie night completely gone. For a second he just stares at you, like the words don’t compute. “What the hell?” he says, voice low but sharp with disbelief. “Why would you even think that?”

The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. The confession starts pouring out, slow and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the insecurities you’ve been carrying finally break free.

“Because you’re so quiet during sex, Yoongi,” you say, voice trembling slightly. “You barely make any sounds at all. Just… a grunt sometimes, or that one low groan when you cum. That’s it. Nothing else. We never really switch positions much either, you stay on top, controlled, like you’re holding back the whole time. It always feels good physically. Really good. You know exactly what to do and I cum almost every time… but lately I keep getting stuck in my head. I start wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If I’m not doing enough, or if I don’t turn you on the way I used to. If maybe you’re just… going through the motions.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, swallowing hard. The words hang in the air, raw and exposed. You feel stripped bare, sitting there in the dim glow of the TV, the cozy movie night now feeling miles away.

Yoongi lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath, the curse quiet but laced with frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up further, then drops them to his lap. For a moment he just sits there, shoulders tense. Then he shifts closer and sits fully beside you again, the couch dipping under his weight. His thigh presses against yours, warm and solid, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. He’s silent for another long second, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, jaw tight. The pause feels endless, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Then he speaks, voice low and careful. “Was that why you faked it last night?”

Your breath catches. You turn to look at him, eyes wide with shock. “You… you knew?”

Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a heaviness in it now. “Yeah. I could tell.” He pauses, swallowing. “I know your body. I know the way you sound when it’s real, the little hitch in your breath, the way your thighs shake, how your voice gets all breathy and broken. That wasn’t it. Not even close.”

He finally turns his head to face you fully, those sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “Why did you do it?”

The question is gentle, but it still lands like a weight. You feel heat rush to your face, a mix of embarrassment and relief that he noticed, that he cared enough to pay attention. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket as you answer, voice barely above a whisper at first.

“Because I go into my head about it… about how silent you are when you’re fucking me. It makes me think I’m not affecting you the way you affect me. That maybe it doesn’t feel as good for you, or that you’re not really lost in it. So last night I just… performed. I faked the moans and the movements because I didn’t want you to know I was doubting. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

The confession leaves you feeling drained, exposed. The room is quieter now, the movie long forgotten in the background. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yoongi’s presence beside you is steady, but the air between you crackles with everything unsaid.

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, eyes never leaving your face, that deep sigh from earlier still lingering in the way his shoulders remain slightly hunched. Your heart is still racing, cheeks warm with the vulnerability of having finally said it all out loud. You feel raw, like you’ve peeled back a layer of yourself and handed it to him.

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away.

Instead, he leans in slowly, one hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes tenderly over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Then his lips meet yours in a slow, gentle kiss. It’s soft at first— barely more than a press of warmth, then deepens just enough to feel reassuring. His mouth moves against yours with quiet care, tasting faintly of the popcorn from earlier and the familiar comfort of him. There’s no rush, no demand, just the steady reassurance of his lips and the way his fingers thread lightly into your hair.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling warmly between you. His eyes are closed for a moment, silver lashes brushing his cheeks, before they open again, dark and earnest. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, voice low and rough with emotion. The apology settles over you like a warm blanket, sincere and heavy.

He stays close, forehead still pressed to yours, sharing the same air. “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues, the words coming out quieter than usual, but no less intense. “I’ve never once not been satisfied with you. Not even close. Every single time… you drive me crazy.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. A faint blush creeps across his pale cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears pink. He glances away for a second, toward the darkened TV screen, as if the admission costs him something. His fingers twitch where they rest on your thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to hide.

“I’ve been holding myself back,” he admits, voice dropping even lower, almost shy. “Because… I get embarrassed. I don’t know why exactly, but if I fully let go… if I let myself indulge in you the way I want to… I was scared you wouldn’t like it. That you’d think it was too much. Too loud. Too intense. That it would change how you see me.”

The confession hangs between you, surprising in its honesty. Yoongi, usually so composed, so in control, looks almost vulnerable sitting there with that soft blush and averted gaze. It makes your chest tighten with affection and a rush of heat at the same time. You let out a low, soft laugh, the sound gentle and warm in the quiet room. It’s not mocking; it’s full of fondness and relief. You reach up, gently turning his face back toward you with your fingertips on his jaw.

“Yoongi…” you murmur, smiling softly as you look into his eyes. “You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever been with. Seriously. Nothing about you letting go could ever be ‘too much’ for me. I want it. I want to hear you. I want to feel how much I affect you. All of it.”

You take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining slowly. His palm is warm, slightly calloused from years of playing instruments and producing late into the night. You give it a gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Do you want to try?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper, but full of quiet hope. “Right now?”

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours. The blush on his cheeks deepens just a fraction, but then he nods— slow, deliberate, decisive. “Yeah,” he breathes. His voice has shifted, gaining a new edge of determination beneath the softness. “I’m going to show you just how much you affect me.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. There’s a promise in them, dark and heated, wrapped in that familiar low tone of his. The air between you thickens instantly, the earlier tension transforming into something electric and anticipatory. Yoongi’s hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking once over your skin before he leans in again, closer this time, lips hovering just inches from yours.

The living room feels smaller, warmer, the forgotten movie long irrelevant. All that matters now is the way he’s looking at you— like he’s finally allowing himself to unravel, just for you. He leans in and captures your lips again, but this kiss is different from the gentle one moments ago. It starts slow, almost reverent, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate care. Then it deepens. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts his head and kisses you harder, tongue brushing against the seam of your lips, asking for entry.

You open for him instantly.

The kiss turns heavy, hungry. His tongue slides against yours, slow and thorough, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize every inch. A low, barely audible hum vibrates from his chest into your mouth— the first real sound he’s let slip tonight that isn’t guarded. His lips are soft but insistent, sucking gently on your lower lip before diving back in, the wet slide of tongue and shared breath making your head spin.

Your hands come up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt as you kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in. The earlier insecurity melts away under the heat of his mouth, replaced by a growing ache low in your belly. He kisses like he’s pouring years of restraint into this one moment— deep, consuming, and just a little desperate. Without breaking the kiss, Yoongi leans back against the couch cushions, pulling you with him. You follow eagerly, shifting until you’re sliding into his lap, knees settling on either side of his thighs. The position brings your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, the heat of him radiating through his thin shirt. His hands settle on your hips, gripping firmly as he tugs you closer, encouraging you to settle your weight fully on him.

You can already feel him hardening beneath you, the thick length of his cock pressing up against your core through the layers of fabric. It sends a spark of arousal through you, sharp and insistent.

Your fingers slide up into his black hair, threading through the soft strands. At first you just hold on, but as the kiss grows more heated— tongues tangling, breaths coming faster— you tighten your grip and pull. A low, broken groan escapes Yoongi’s throat. The sound is deep and raspy, vibrating against your lips. It’s not the restrained grunt you’re used to, it’s raw, involuntary, and it shoots straight to your core. You tug again, a little harder this time, nails lightly scraping his scalp, and another groan follows, louder this time, his hips twitching up into you instinctively.

“Fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, the curse muffled but unmistakable. His voice is already rougher, lower, the composure cracking. He kisses you even more desperately now, one hand sliding up your back under your shirt, palm hot against your bare skin, while the other stays anchored on your hip, guiding you to rock slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. The friction is delicious, sending little waves of pleasure through you with every grind.

Yoongi’s breathing has grown heavier, no longer perfectly controlled. Each exhale comes with a quiet, shaky sound, half groan, half sigh as you continue to pull at his hair and roll your hips. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, sucking and biting softly, leaving faint marks that make you shiver.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his thighs are tight beneath you, the subtle tremor in his hands as he touches you. He’s letting go, piece by piece, and the sounds he’s starting to make— those low, gravelly groans that rumble from deep in his chest are everything you’ve been craving.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hair is already messy from your fingers, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look devastatingly attractive. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, voice husky and strained. Another soft groan slips out when you roll your hips again. “This is just the start, baby.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging your core along the thick ridge of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction is perfect— hot, teasing, not enough and yet almost too much. A shaky breath leaves Yoongi’s lips, and this time it’s accompanied by a low, rumbling groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours. “Shit…” he mutters against your neck, the word barely formed but heavy with need. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in as he guides you into another slow grind. "Feels good."

The praise hits you like a spark. You’ve never heard him talk like this during sex— never heard him say much of anything and it makes heat flood between your legs. You pull harder on his hair, tugging his head back slightly so you can look at his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dark and glossy, lips parted as another quiet groan slips out when you circle your hips just right.

You love it. You love every single sound he’s letting escape. Encouraged, you start moving with more purpose, rolling your hips in deep, deliberate waves, pressing down harder so the seam of your pants rubs right against his length. Each grind makes his cock twitch beneath you, growing fuller and harder until he’s rock-solid and straining against the fabric. The heat of him radiates through the layers, and you can feel yourself getting wetter, slickness starting to soak through your own panties.

Yoongi’s head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long line of his throat. Another groan tears from him— deeper, rougher, this time when you drag your clit along his cock again. “Fuck, baby… keep doing that,” he breathes, voice husky and strained. His usual composure is cracking wider with every roll of your hips. “You’re gonna make me lose it right here.”

You whimper at his words, the sound genuine and needy, and grind down harder, chasing the building pressure. Your hands stay buried in his hair, pulling and tugging in time with your movements, and every little yank draws another sound from him— a low curse, a broken groan, a shaky exhale that sounds almost like a whine. He’s talking more now, the words spilling out between heavy breaths as his restraint unravels.

“You have no idea… how much I want you,” he rasps, hips bucking up to meet your grind. “Every time I’m inside you I have to hold back so I don’t sound like a fucking mess…you feel too good.”

His hands slide up under your shirt, palms hot and greedy as they roam over your bare back, then down to squeeze your ass, pulling you even tighter against him. The new angle makes his clothed cock press right against your clit with every roll, sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan softly, real and unrestrained, and Yoongi responds with a deep, guttural sound that makes your walls clench around nothing.

“Yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “Let me hear you too, baby. Don’t hold back for me.” You grind faster, more desperately, the couch creaking softly beneath you both. The fabric between you is starting to feel like too much, too many layers keeping you from what you really want. Sweat is already beading along Yoongi’s hairline, his hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. His chest rises and falls quicker now, breaths coming in short, ragged pants punctuated by those beautiful, broken groans every time you drag your hips over him just right.

You lean down and kiss him again, messy, open-mouthed, tongues sliding hotly together. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hips jerk up involuntarily, chasing more friction. One of his hands leaves your ass to slide between your bodies, pressing firmly over your core through your pants, rubbing in tight circles that match your grinding rhythm. “God, you’re so wet already,” he mutters against your mouth, voice thick with awe and lust. “All this just from grinding on me? Fuck… I did this to you?”

You nod frantically, pulling his hair again as another needy sound escapes him. You’re loving every second of it, the way his voice is getting raspier, the way he’s starting to talk dirty in that low, gravelly tone, the way his usual quiet control is shattering because of you. “Yoongi…” you whine, grinding down hard, “I love hearing you like this. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a groan when you tug his hair particularly hard. His hips buck up sharply, pressing his cock right against your clit. The grinding has turned desperate, both of you breathing hard and chasing friction like you can’t get close enough. Yoongi’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding every roll of your body against his, his cock rock-hard and throbbing beneath you

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and glassy with lust. His voice comes out rough, almost pleading. “Ride me,” he says, the words thick and heavy. “Please, baby… I need you to ride me.”

Your heart stutters. You’ve never ridden him before. Almost every time you’ve had sex it’s been missionary— him on top, controlled and steady, quiet and composed. The idea of being on top, of taking him like this, makes nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach. But the way he’s looking at you, the raw need in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly on your hips… you can’t say no. You nod, voice barely a whisper. “Okay… yeah.”

Relief and hunger flash across his face. Yoongi moves quickly but carefully, helping you peel off your shirt and bra, his hands warm and eager as they slide over your skin. He tugs your pants and panties down your legs, lifting you slightly so he can yank them off completely. You do the same for him, pulling his t-shirt over his head, exposing the lean, toned lines of his chest and stomach, then helping him shove his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip, hard and curving slightly upward.

You’re both completely bare now, skin hot and flushed in the dim light of the living room. Yoongi leans back against the couch again, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, holding it steady for you. His other hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles. You swing one leg over his lap fully, straddling him. Your hands find the back of the couch on either side of his head, gripping the cushions for balance. Slowly, you lower yourself, the head of his cock brushing against your slick folds. You’re so wet from all the grinding that it glides easily at first, but as you start to sink down, the stretch hits you.

Yoongi is big— thicker and longer than you sometimes remember in the heat of the moment. You pause halfway, breathing shakily as you adjust to his size, walls fluttering around him. The fullness is intense, almost overwhelming in this new position. A broken, needy sound escapes Yoongi the moment you start sliding down. “Fuck… oh my god,” he groans, low and guttural, head tipping back against the couch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, lips parting as another deep moan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so tight… so fucking wet around me.”

He sounds completely gone already— pussy whipped in the best way. The usually quiet, controlled Yoongi is unraveling right beneath you, and you haven’t even taken all of him yet. You sink lower, taking another inch, and his hips twitch up instinctively. “Shit— baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained and hoarse. His hands fly to your waist, not pushing, just holding on like he needs the anchor. “So good… taking me so well. Look at you…”

Another long, shaky groan leaves him when you finally bottom out, your ass flush against his thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling rapidly. You can feel him throbbing deep inside, hot and heavy, stretching you perfectly. “Fuck… I’ve wanted this,” he confesses, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths. “Wanted to see you on top of me like this… wanted to feel you ride me. You’re so sexy, baby. So fucking sexy.”

You stay still for a moment, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly, adjusting to the new angle and the overwhelming fullness. Every little shift of your hips makes him groan again, loud, unrestrained sounds that go straight to your core. Yoongi looks utterly wrecked already: eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, mouth open as more soft, desperate noises fall from his lips.

He’s never been this vocal, never this lost in it, and the sight of him like this— because of you—makes heat coil tight in your belly. You love it. You love how he can’t hold back the sounds anymore, how every tiny movement from you pulls another moan or curse from him. Yoongi’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he looks up at you with pure reverence.

“Whenever you’re ready… babe,” he murmurs, voice husky and pleading again. “Please. I need to feel you move.”

You take a shaky breath, hands gripping the back of the couch tighter as you adjust to the deep, full stretch of him inside you. Yoongi’s cock feels even bigger in this position— thick and hot, pressing against every sensitive spot with no escape. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through your core with every tiny shift of your hips. Slowly, you begin to move.

You rise up carefully, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls as you lift until only the head remains inside you. The stretch when you sink back down is incredible, slow, deliberate, and devastating. You let yourself fall fully onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth drop. A soft, breathy moan escapes your own lips at the sensation, but it’s nothing compared to the sound that rips from Yoongi. “Fuuuck…” he groans, long and deep, the word breaking at the end. His head falls back against the couch again, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dig into your waist. “Baby… just like that. God, you feel so good sliding down on me.”

The praise makes your stomach flutter. You repeat the motion— rising slowly, savoring the drag, then letting gravity pull you back down, impaling yourself on his thick length. Each time you bottom out, his cock nudges deep inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet living room, mixing with the growing chorus of his sounds.

Yoongi’s hands slide from your waist down to find yours. He laces your fingers together, gripping both of your hands firmly in his. His palms are warm and slightly sweaty, thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands in a grounding rhythm even as his breathing grows more ragged.

You hold onto him like that, hands clasped tightly as you start to find a steady pace. Up and down, rolling your hips in a smooth, sensual rhythm that has pleasure building low in your belly. Every rise lets you feel the thick drag of him leaving you, every fall lets you feel the delicious stretch as he fills you completely again. The angle is perfect; his cock rubs against your front wall with every movement, and when you grind down at the bottom of each stroke, your clit presses against his pubic bone, sending sharp bursts of ecstasy through you. Yoongi’s groans grow louder, less controlled. “Shit… yes,” he rasps, squeezing your hands harder. “Ride me just like that. You’re taking me so deep… fuck, I can feel every inch of you.”

His hips start to buck up gently to meet your downward strokes, not taking over but adding to the rhythm, driving him even deeper. The new pressure makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You both moan together, your sounds mixing with his deeper, rougher ones. He’s completely lost in it now, no longer holding anything back. “Look at you…” he breathes, voice husky and reverent. His eyes are open again, locked on where your bodies connect, watching his cock disappear inside you with every fall.

You squeeze his hands tighter, using the leverage to bounce a little harder, finding a pace that has you both seeing stars. The couch creaks softly beneath you with every movement. Sweat beads on Yoongi’s chest, making his skin glisten in the low light, he looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. Every time you sink down, he lets out a broken groan or a whispered curse. “Right there— fuck, baby, right there…” When you rise up slowly, dragging along his length, he whines softly, the sound so needy it makes your walls clench around him. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

You’re both panting now, the pace steady but building— rising and falling, grinding at the bottom of each stroke, hands clasped tightly together like an anchor. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the stretch and fullness combined with the new freedom of being on top making everything feel more intense. Yoongi’s sounds keep feeding your own arousal, each groan and rasp pushing you closer to the edge. He squeezes your hands again, thumbs stroking desperately over your skin. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep going like this,” he admits, voice strained and raw. “But don’t you dare slow down… I want to feel you fall apart on me first.”

You lean down slightly, lips brushing near his ear as you breathe out, voice soft but teasing, “Just like that, baby?” The words have an immediate effect. Yoongi’s eyes snap open wider, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in his chest. The sound is primal, nothing like the quiet grunts you’re used to. His fingers tighten around yours for a second before he suddenly releases your hands. Instead, his palms slide down to grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh with clear intent.

“Fuck yes… just like that,” he growls, voice rough and strained.

Before you can react, he plants his feet on the floor and starts thrusting up into you from below. The change is sudden and powerful— his hips snapping upward hard, driving his cock deep inside you with each powerful stroke. The new pace makes you bounce on his lap, breasts jiggling with every impact. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, echoing in the living room as he pounds into you relentlessly. You gasp sharply, hands flying to the back of the couch again for balance as he fucks you from below. Each thrust is deep and precise, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over. The stretch feels even more intense now, your walls clenching around him with every forceful plunge.

Emboldened by his reaction, you keep talking, voice breaking with every hard thrust. “How does my pussy feel?” you ask breathlessly, the dirty words spilling out before you can overthink them. “Tell me, Yoongi… does it feel good?”

Another deep, animalistic growl tears from his throat. His grip on your hips tightens almost bruisingly as he pulls you down to meet his upward thrusts, impaling you harder on his cock. The pace turns punishing— fast, deep, desperate. The couch creaks loudly beneath you both from the force of his movements. “So fucking good,” he snarls, voice low and gravelly, eyes locked on yours with raw hunger. “Your pussy is so tight… so wet… sucking me in like it was made for me. Fuck— I’ve never felt anything this good.”

He punctuates his words with sharper thrusts, hips snapping up brutally. Each powerful stroke makes your head spin, pleasure crashing through you in waves. You can feel how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you, the slick sounds growing wetter and messier as you drip around his cock.

Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, mixed with constant growls and broken moans. “Keep talking to me, baby,” he demands, voice hoarse. “Tell me more… I want to hear you.”

You moan loudly, the sound genuine and unrestrained as he continues pounding into you from below. His hands guide your hips to meet his thrusts, the rhythm relentless. Sweat slicks both of your skins, making your bodies slide together hotly. His hair is completely damp now, sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with exertion and lust. You ride the wave of his thrusts, letting him take control from below while you still set the angle. “You’re so deep like this,” you gasp, voice trembling. “I can feel you everywhere… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep fucking me like this.”

Yoongi lets out another feral growl, hips stuttering for a moment before he doubles down, thrusting even harder. One of his hands slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down onto his cock with every upward snap.

“Yeah? You like when I pound into you like this?” he rasps, eyes dark and wild. “My baby talking dirty now… fuck, it’s driving me insane.” The new dynamic has you both spiraling, your words pulling more sounds and filthy confessions from him, his powerful thrusts from below making stars explode behind your eyes. The pleasure is building fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length with every brutal stroke. Yoongi looks completely lost in you, growling and groaning with every thrust, no longer holding back even a single sound.

Yoongi’s grip on your ass is bruising as he uses it for leverage, pulling you down onto his cock with every powerful upward thrust. He’s pounding into you from below with relentless force now, hips snapping up hard and fast, driving his thick length deep inside you over and over. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fills the living room, mixing with his low, animalistic growls and your broken moans.

One of his hands stays firmly on your ass, squeezing and spreading you as he fucks up into you, while the other slides up your back, fingers digging into your skin. Every brutal stroke hits that perfect spot inside you, the angle making his cock rub against your front wall relentlessly. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring ready to snap. “Yoongi—fuck, I’m—” Your voice breaks as the orgasm crashes over you without warning.

Your entire body jolts violently on top of him. Your walls clamp down hard around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as waves of intense pleasure rip through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, toes curling, back arching sharply as you cry out. Bright sparks explode behind your eyelids. You grind down desperately against him, riding out every pulse, your slickness gushing around his length as you cum hard on his cock.

Yoongi groans loudly at the feeling, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself follow you over the edge. His thrusts slow just enough to help you ride it out, but his cock stays rock-hard and throbbing inside you, denying his own release.

The moment your shaking starts to ease, he moves.

In one swift, fluid motion, Yoongi pulls out of you, leaving you feeling devastatingly empty. You barely have time to whimper at the loss before he’s manhandling you with surprising strength. He flips you over the arm of the couch, bending you forward so your chest and stomach press against the soft cushions while your ass is raised high for him. Your knees sink into the seat, legs spread wide.

You gasp sharply as he grabs both of your arms, pulling them behind your back and pinning them there with one strong hand. The position leaves you completely exposed and at his mercy, breasts squished against the couch, cheek resting on the cushion.

Yoongi doesn’t give you a second to adjust.

He slams back into you in one hard, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in your still-spasming pussy. The new angle is even deeper, stretching you wide and making your eyes roll back. A loud, broken moan tears from your throat at the sudden fullness. Then he starts fucking you hard and fast. His hips snap forward with brutal precision, pounding into you from behind like he’s lost all control. The sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass is loud and obscene, echoing through the room. Each powerful thrust rocks your entire body forward, the arm of the couch digging into your stomach as he rails you relentlessly.

“Fuck— yes,” he growls, voice rough and feral. His free hand grips your hip tightly, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every stroke. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me losing control… fucking you like this.”

You love it. You love every second of it.

The way he has your arms pinned behind your back makes you feel deliciously helpless, completely owned by him. Every hard thrust sends fresh sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your sensitive walls still fluttering from your orgasm. The new position hits even deeper, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You’re moaning loudly, unrestrained, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts as much as you can in this trapped position.

Yoongi’s sounds are constant now— deep, guttural growls, broken groans, and filthy words spilling from his lips with every slam of his hips. “God, your pussy is gripping me so tight,” he rasps, pounding harder. “So fucking wet… you came so hard on me and you’re still this greedy for more?”

He leans over you, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear as he fucks you even faster, building another orgasm dangerously quickly. You’re trembling, moaning into the cushion, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being taken so roughly, so desperately by him. Yoongi’s pace never falters— hard, fast, deep, his hand keeping your arms securely pinned while he claims you completely.

Yoongi is fucking you so hard that the entire couch shifts beneath you with every brutal thrust.

Your arms are still pinned behind your back by his strong grip, your body bent helplessly over the arm of the couch as he rails into you from behind. Each powerful snap of his hips drives his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin echoing loudly in the room. Your pussy is soaked, fluttering and clenching around him with every stroke, still sensitive from your first orgasm. The overwhelming pleasure has tipped over into something almost too intense — your moans have turned into broken sobs, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jolts forward with every thrust.

“Fuck… you’re taking me so well,” Yoongi growls, voice rough and strained, but he doesn’t slow down. His hips piston into you relentlessly, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. “Look at you… sobbing on my cock. So fucking pretty.”

He leans closer, chest pressed hot against your back, lips brushing your ear as he keeps pounding into you. “Tell me, baby… whose pussy is this?”

You can barely form words through the sobs and moans tearing from your throat. Every hard thrust knocks the breath out of you, making your voice come out shaky and wrecked. “It’s yours,” you sob, the words breaking apart. “It’s yours… only yours, Yoongi— ahh!”

The moment the confession leaves your lips, his free hand comes down hard on your ass in a sharp smack. The sting blooms hot across your skin, making you cry out louder. He doesn’t stop there, smack after smack lands on your ass, alternating cheeks, each one timed perfectly with a deep thrust. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure, sending sparks shooting straight to your core.

Your ass burns under his palm, but you push back against him desperately, craving more. You’re losing yourself completely— mind hazy, body trembling, tears streaming down your face as he claims you so thoroughly. Yoongi growls in approval, landing one particularly hard smack that makes your whole body jolt. “That’s right. This pussy is mine. Only mine. No one else gets to feel how tight and wet you get.”

Then he releases your arms only to slide his hand up and fist tightly into your hair. He yanks your head back firmly, arching your back deeper as he slams into you over and over and over. The angle is devastating — his cock drives even deeper, pounding that sensitive spot with brutal precision. The pull on your scalp sends fresh waves of pleasure-pain through you, making your sobs turn into high, broken whimpers.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he snarls, hips snapping relentlessly. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

You’re completely lost now, body shaking violently as another orgasm builds fast and unstoppable. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock, clenching down hard as the pleasure crests.

“I’m— I’m cumming— Yoongi!” you sob loudly, the words dissolving into a broken cry.

Your second orgasm hits you even harder than the first. Your entire body convulses, pussy spasming and gushing around his thick length as waves of intense ecstasy crash through you. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, vision blurring with tears, sobs tearing from your throat as you cum hard on his cock, soaking him and the couch beneath you.

Yoongi follows right behind you.

A deep, trembling groan rips from his chest as his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you. His whole body trembles against your back, muscles locking up as he pulses and fills you completely. Low, broken sounds keep falling from his lips— raw, unrestrained groans and shaky curses as he rides out his orgasm, hips grinding shallowly against your ass to push every last drop into you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your combined heavy breathing and soft, lingering whimpers. Yoongi’s grip on your hair loosens gently, his hand sliding down to stroke your back soothingly even as his cock continues to twitch inside you. His body is still trembling slightly against yours, sweat-slicked chest pressed to your back, heart hammering wildly.

He stays buried deep, both of you panting and shaking in the aftermath, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy and electric in the air. His chest is still pressed to your back, heart pounding wildly against your skin. Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out of you with a wet, slick sound. A soft whimper escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness and the gush of his cum that immediately starts leaking down your thighs.

Your body gives out completely.

You slump forward against the arm of the couch, completely spent, limbs heavy and boneless. Your cheek presses into the soft cushion, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Every muscle feels deliciously used— your thighs still quivering, your ass warm and stinging from his smacks, your pussy pulsing with the aftershocks of two intense orgasms. Tears of overwhelming pleasure still cling to your lashes, and your breathing comes in shaky, ragged gasps.

You hear Yoongi move behind you, his footsteps soft on the floor. He disappears for a moment, then returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, almost reverently, he cleans you up — wiping away the mess of your combined releases from between your thighs, along your folds, and down your legs with careful strokes. His touch is soothing now, completely different from the rough way he’d handled you just minutes ago. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your overheated skin.

When he’s done, he helps you shift off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions properly. You curl onto your side, still breathing hard, body limp and glowing. Yoongi grabs the glass of water from earlier (the one that had been forgotten on the coffee table) and refills it in the kitchen before coming back. He sits on the edge of the couch and carefully helps you sit up just enough to take a few slow sips. The cool water slides down your throat, soothing and refreshing.

You look up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he sets the glass aside. Yoongi’s hair is a complete mess, damp strands sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression has softened completely— those sharp eyes now warm and full of affection as he looks at you. “That was…” you start, voice hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning and sobbing. You swallow, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

Yoongi lets out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound low and warm. He leans down and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lips— slow, gentle, and full of love. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “Yeah,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice still a little raspy. “Me too, baby. Best I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time but still so tender, lips moving softly against yours like he’s pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment as he savors the closeness.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words quiet but heavy with meaning. “So much. And I’m sorry I held back for so long. I never want you to doubt how crazy you make me… how much you affect me.”

You smile tiredly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his messy hair. “I love you too. And I’m glad you finally let go. It was… everything.” Yoongi hums softly in agreement, shifting so he can lie down on the couch and pull you into his arms. He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while his other hand strokes slow, soothing patterns up and down your back. His skin is still warm, heart beating steady beneath your ear now that the intensity has faded.

The living room is quiet again, the TV long forgotten, only the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint hum of the apartment filling the space. You feel safe, cherished, and thoroughly satisfied— the earlier insecurities completely washed away by the way he just proved exactly how much you mean to him. Yoongi presses another soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you close as you both come down together, bodies tangled and hearts even closer.

The clock on your desk blinks 9:47 PM, but your body swears it’s way past midnight. Your eyes burn, your neck feels stiff like it’s been glued in place, and your shoulders are so tight they practically touch your ears.

You stare at the laptop for a second longer than necessary, then finally shut it with a soft thud.

“Done,” you mutter to yourself. “I’m officially done.”

“I’m not opening another spreadsheet till Monday,” you mutter to no one. You stand, stretching your arms over your head with a quiet groan.

Everything aches.

Your blouse is creased from hours of sitting, your eyeliner has smudged into soft shadows under your eyes, and when you tug out the clip holding your hair up, it spills down your back in a messy wave.

You look tired... really tired, but it’s the kind of tired that comes from trying your best.

The study door creaks as you open it.

The living room feels like a different world. Warm, dim, calm. A floor lamp glows softly in the corner, and faint music hums from a phone on the coffee table.

And then there’s Jimin, your husband.

He’s stretched out on the couch, relaxed in black sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, one leg thrown lazily over the armrest. He looks comfortable, safe—like home. He’s scrolling on his phone, brows slightly furrowed, until he hears you.

The moment he looks up, everything about him changes.

His face softens instantly, concern replacing whatever he was focused on. He sits up a little, phone forgotten, eyes moving over you slowly—taking in the slump of your shoulders, the tired way you’re standing, the exhaustion written all over your face.

“Oh,” he says gently, sitting up properly. “There you are.”

You try to smile, but it comes out crooked.

“Hi,” you mumble, already shuffling toward him.

He frowns a little, not in anger... just concern. “Baby… you look exhausted.”

“That obvious?” you sigh.

He opens his arms without another word, patting his lap. “Come here. Now.”

You don’t argue. You barely even think.

You crawl into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, and the moment his arms close around you, something inside you just… gives up.

You melt into him with a shaky breath. “Oh my god,” you whisper. “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “I’ve got you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. His chest is warm, solid. Safe. You feel his chin rest on top of your head.

“Today was awful,” you say quietly. “Even after returning home from office, calls kept going over time, my manager wanted changes last minute, and I couldn’t even think straight by the end.”

Jimin hums softly. “Mm. That sounds brutal.”

“I wanted to cry at least three times,” you admit.

His arms tighten around you just a little. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve yelled at the universe for you.”

That makes you laugh—small, tired, but real. “You’re sweet.”

“No,” he says firmly. “You’re strong. And you’re allowed to be tired.”

He shifts so you’re more comfortable, guiding your legs to wrap fully around his waist. One hand slides up to your shoulder, gently kneading the tight muscle there.

You groan. “How are you doing that?”

“Magic in my hands,” he says lightly. “Also, I watched you carry this whole week on your back. Let me help now.”

You nuzzle closer, your nose brushing his neck. “I feel gross. My makeup’s ruined. My shirt’s all wrinkled.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and serious. “Hey.”

He cups your face. “You’re beautiful. Especially like this.”

You swallow. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I want to,” he replies. “You show up. You try so hard. That’s beautiful to me.”

Your throat tightens, and you hide your face against him again. “You always know what to say.”

“I just tell the truth,” he whispers, kissing your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth—slow, unhurried, comforting.

You sigh, your body finally starting to relax.

The room feels quieter somehow. Warmer.

You curl your fingers into his shirt, and he notices immediately. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your waist, grounding, steady.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it all drop. You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You hum softly, eyes closed, your cheek resting over his heart. You can feel it beating—calm, steady—like it’s anchoring you.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” you admit quietly.

He kisses the top of your head.

You tilt your face up without really thinking about it, your noses brushing. He pauses, searching your eyes, giving you space to pull back—but you don’t.

So he kisses you.

It’s slow. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

Just a soft press of lips that lingers, like he’s pouring comfort into the kiss instead of hunger. You sigh into it, your shoulders finally dropping as the last of the tension melts away.

His hand slides to the small of your back, holding you there, thumb brushing absentminded patterns through the fabric of your blouse. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“There you are,” he whispers. “I missed you today.”

“I was right here,” you murmur, smiling faintly.

“Physically,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “But now you’re really here.”

You laugh softly, then hide your face against his neck again. He chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against you, and hugs you tighter.

He rocks you gently, back and forth, like he’s trying to soothe every ache out of you. One hand rubs your back, the other plays with your hair, carefully undoing the pins.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You nod against his chest, fingers clutching his shirt. “Can we just… stay like this for a while?” you ask.

He smiles, pressing his forehead to yours. “As long as you want.”

And for the first time all week, you don’t feel like you’re holding everything together alone. You’re wrapped up, warm, and cared for—exactly where you need to be.

After a few minutes of quiet cuddling, Jimin’s hands slow on your back. You feel him kiss your hair, then pull back just enough to look at you.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Come on.”

You make a small sound of protest, clinging more tightly to him. “Five more minutes.”

He smiles, brushing his thumb under your eye. “If I let you stay here, you’ll fall asleep sitting up. Let me take you somewhere more comfortable.”

You sigh dramatically, but when he stands and pulls you with him. His fingers slip between yours, warm and steady.

“You think you’re very convincing?” you mumble teasingly.

“I don't think... I know,” he replies, squeezing your hand. “Come onnn... Up. Or I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“You will not.”

“Try me.”

You lift your head just enough to give him your best unimpressed glare. It probably looks more like a pout.

He grins wider, utterly unbothered. “That face is illegal. C’mere.”

Before you can protest again he’s already sliding one arm under your thighs, the other around your back, and scooping you up bridal-style like you weigh nothing.

“Jimin—!”

“Shhh... Sweetheart...” He presses a quick, loud kiss to your forehead while he walks. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

You hide your burning face against his shoulder even as a helpless little laugh escapes you. “You’re so annoying when you’re being sweet.”

“And you love it,” he sing-songs, kicking the bedroom door open gently with his foot.

The room is already dim, curtains drawn since earlier, only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Jimin sets you carefully on your feet beside the bed, then immediately turns to the dresser.

You watch, swaying slightly from exhaustion, as he picks up the long lighter and flicks it once, twice... then the lavender candle catches the fire.

Warm golden light blooms, dancing across the walls. The scent unfurls slowly, sweet and calming, wrapping around you like a blanket.

He glances over his shoulder, catching you staring.

“What?” he asks, voice suddenly softer.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Just… you look really pretty in candlelight.”

His ears go pink almost instantly.

He clears his throat, trying to play it cool but failing. “Flattery won't get you anywhere, wifey.”

You smirk, too tired to be embarrassed. “Is it? Because I plan to use it and I think it will get me everywhere I want to be.”

He laughs again, shaking his head, then points at the bed with mock sternness.

“Lie down,” he says, nodding toward the bed. “I’m giving you a massage. No arguments.”

You raise an eyebrow, a playful spark flickering despite your exhaustion. “Bossy tonight, huh?”

He grins, his eyes crinkling. “Only when my wife’s about to collapse. Now strip. before I do it for you.”

Your cheeks flush at the command, but there’s nothing demanding in his tone... just love, pure and simple.

You start with the blouse, buttons slipping free one by one under his patient gaze. When the fabric finally slides off your shoulders and pools at your elbows, he lets out the softest exhale, like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“God…” he breathes. “How are you real? Sometimes I forget how lucky I am.”

“Stop... I look a mess,” you mutter, suddenly self-conscious despite the hundreds of times he’s seen you naked.

“Never.” He steps right into your space, fingers skimming the straps of your bra. “May I?”

You nod.

He unhooks it with practiced ease, lets it fall. Then he crouches a little, just enough to press the lightest, lingering kiss to the swell of each breast.

“Beautiful,” he whispers against your skin. “Every inch of you is perfect.”

Your eyes sting for a ridiculous second. You blink it away.

He straightens, helps you shimmy out of the skirt, then hooks two fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly slides them down your legs, kissing the inside of one knee as he goes.

When you’re finally bare, he takes one step back and just… looks.

Not hungry.

Just… reverent.

“Let me see all of you,” he says again, quieter this time. “I want to you to feel calm and relax. Not just your body—your heart too.”

Your throat clicks when you swallow.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He guides you onto the bed with gentle hands, helps you settle face-down, cheek sinking into the cool pillow. You hear the nightstand drawer open, the soft clink of the glass bottle.

Then he is back... kneeling beside you.

You feel him rub his palms together, warming the jasmine oil. The scent blooms, richer and headier than the lavender, and your whole body instinctively relaxes at the familiar smell.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice barely above a murmur as his hands hover just above your shoulders.

You hum, already melting. “More than okay. Please.”

He leans down first—presses the softest, slowest kiss to the nape of your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he promises against your skin. “Just breathe for me.”

His hands finally land—warm, slick, perfect pressure.

You groan immediately, low and involuntary, as his thumbs dig into the worst knot under your shoulder blade. “Fuck... yes... right there...”

He chuckles, soft and fond. “Language, baby. But yes… right there?”

“Mhm…”

He works in slow, patient circles, gradually increasing pressure, then easing off again. Every few passes he leans down to kiss the skin he’s just touched—little wet presses of lips along your spine, between your shoulder blades, the sensitive dip at the small of your back.

“You’re so tense, love,” he murmurs between kisses. “But you’re doing so good.”

Your heart squeezes.

“Keep talking,” you mumble into the pillow. “Your voice is helping more than the massage.”

He laughs quietly. “Oh? Should I narrate my whole plan then?”

“Mhmm... go ahead.”

He shifts then... swings one leg over so he’s straddling the backs of your thighs, not putting full weight down, just enough to anchor you.

You feel the warmth of him immediately, the faint brush of his sweatpants against your bare skin.

“First,” he says, voice dropping into that low, intimate register again as more warm oil drips in a slow line down your spine, “I’m going to melt every knot in this pretty back.”

His hands follow the oil—long, luxurious glides from your neck all the way to the dimples above your ass.

“Then…” Another slow pass, thumbs dragging deliciously along your sides. “…I’m going to kiss every place that makes you sigh like that.”

You do sigh—long and shaky.

“After that,” he continues, leaning down until his bare chest brushes your back, lips grazing the shell of your ear, “if you’re still awake… we will see... maybe I can show my wife how much I love her.”

You turn your head just enough to peek at him with one eye.

“Promise?”

He grins—boyish, devastating, completely in love.

“Promise.”

Then he kisses the back of your neck again, slow and open-mouthed this time, and everything after that is just warm hands, jasmine, candlelight, and the two of you tangled together in the quietest, sweetest kind of moment.

Jimin’s hands, which had been so careful and therapeutic only moments ago, begin to change rhythm.

The strokes grow longer. Lazier. More possessive.

His palms glide down the sides of your waist, thumbs dragging along the sensitive skin just above your hips before he lets his fingers fan out over the soft curve of your ass. The touch is featherlight at first—barely there—and yet it pulls a full-body shiver from you, toes curling against the sheets.

He notices.

Of course he does.

He leans forward, and that’s when you feel it—warm, firm, bare chest pressing along the length of your back.

Your breath catches.

He’s taken off his t-shirt.

You hadn’t even heard the rustle of fabric, hadn’t registered the moment he peeled it away. But now his bare chest is flush against your spine, the heat of him seeping into every aching muscle, his heartbeat thudding steadily against your shoulder blades.

The sudden intimacy of skin-on-skin after all the oil-slick layers makes your head spin.

“Jimin… your T-shirt...” you breathe, voice already thinner than you’d like.

“Hmm?” he hums against the nape of your neck, lips brushing as he speaks. “You just realized?”

“You—when did you…?”

“Few minutes ago,” he murmurs, smiling into your skin. “You were too busy melting under my hands to notice.” He rocks forward just enough that you feel the hard length of him, still trapped in his sweatpants—pressing against the cleft of your ass. “Thought I’d make it easier to feel me when the time comes.”

A helpless little sound escapes your throat.

He chuckles... low, dark, pleased, and then his mouth is moving again. Open-mouthed kisses trail down your spine, slow and wet.

When he reaches the small of your back he pauses, tongue flicking out to trace the delicate dimples there, tasting the faint sheen of oil and sweat.

“You deserve more than just peace, baby,” he whispers, breath scorching. “You deserve to be worshipped. Every tired, beautiful inch of you.”

His hands slide lower.

He massages the backs of your thighs now—firm, kneading strokes that make your legs fall open almost without permission. His thumbs sweep higher with every pass, closer and closer to where you’re already aching, pulsing, embarrassingly wet.

You shift. You can’t help it.

He stills immediately.

“Uh-uh,” he scolds softly, lips curving against your skin. “Stay still, love. Let me play.”

“Jimin, please…”

“Please what?” His voice is velvet danger. One thumb finally brushes the very outer edge of your folds. Not inside. Not even close. Just enough to make you clench around nothing. “Use your words, pretty girl.”

You bury your face deeper into the pillow, cheeks burning. “Touch me…” You beg shameless.

“I am touching you.” He drags that same thumb in a slow, maddening circle, never quite giving you what you need. “Right here, see?”

A whimper slips out—high and needy.

“Not—not like that…”

“Then tell me exactly.” He leans down until his lips are at your ear, chest still pressed to your back, voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Tell your husband where his wife needs him most.”

You’re shaking now.

“Between my legs,” you manage, voice cracking. “Please, Jimin… I need your fingers… your mouth… anything… I can’t—”

He groans quietly—the sound vibrating through both of you. “Fuck, you sound so sweet when you beg.”

He kisses the shell of your ear, then the curve of your jaw.

“Okay, baby. Turn over for me.”

You don’t even think—you just obey.

He helps you roll, gentle hands guiding your hips until you’re on your back, legs parted, chest rising and falling fast under the flickering candlelight.

Jimin kneels between your thighs, looking down at you like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

His eyes rake over your body—slow, deliberate, hungry.

Then his hands are on you again.

This time he starts higher.

Both palms cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples in lazy, slick spirals thanks to the leftover oil. He watches, mesmerized, as they pebble under his touch.

“So sensitive tonight,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

He pinches lightly... just enough sting to make you arch, and then soothes the peaks with soft, wet kisses. “These pretty tits… been dying to taste them properly.”

He takes one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling slow and filthy while his hand continues to knead the other. You moan—loud, shameless—and your fingers fly to his hair, tugging.

“Jimin... please... lower—”

He releases your nipple with a soft pop, grinning against your skin.

“Impatient?”

“Yes,” you whine. “You’ve been teasing me for ages…”

“Poor baby.” He kisses a slow path down the center of your sternum, then lower, tongue dipping into your navel.

His hands slide to your inner thighs now—wide palms pushing your legs further apart. “Let me take care of this pretty pussy now, hm?”

His thumbs stroke the tender skin right at the crease of your thighs—dangerously close, still not touching where you ache most.

You’re trembling. Hips twitching. Breath hitching every time he gets near.

“Jimin… please… I’m begging you…”

“I know, sweetheart.” He looks up at you through dark lashes, eyes blown black with want. “Look at you—so wet you’re glistening in the candlelight. All this just from my hands and my mouth?”

You nod frantically, tears of frustration prickling the corners of your eyes.

“Say it again,” he coaxes, voice rough. “Beg me one more time. Let me hear how bad you need your husband.”

You break.

“Please, Jimin... please touch me... please put your fingers inside me... please lick me... I need you so bad... can’t think—can’t breathe—just need you... please—”

He lets out a guttural sound—half growl, half moan, and finally, finally, gives in.

Two fingers slide through your folds, collecting your slick, then push inside in one smooth, slow glide.

Your back bows off the bed.

“Fuck... yes... ”

“That’s it,” he breathes, curling them just right, thumb finally finding your clit in tight, steady circles. “Let it out, baby. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re a mess already—whimpering, hips rocking, begging between gasps. “More... Jimin... more—don’t stop... please don’t stop—”

“Never,” he promises, leaning down to kiss you deep and filthy while his fingers work you open, slow and devastating. “Not until you come all over my hand… and then again on my tongue… and then again when I’m finally inside you.”

He pulls back just enough to watch your face—eyes locked on yours, voice low and reverent.

“You’re mine, you know that?”

You nod, tears slipping down your temples now—not from sadness, but from how overwhelmingly good it feels to be wanted like this.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you choke out. “Only yours.”

His smile is feral and tender all at once.

“Good girl.”

Jimin doesn’t rush.

He never does when he wants to ruin you slowly.

He settles between your spread thighs like he’s taking his rightful place, shoulders pushing your knees even wider until the muscles in your inner thighs tremble from the stretch.

The candlelight catches the sheen of oil still clinging to his forearms, the faint glisten of your arousal already smeared across his fingers from earlier.

He looks up at you... eyes black, pupils blown, lips parted and already wet from kissing your skin all night.

“Fuck, baby…” he breathes, voice wrecked just from looking. “You’re dripping. Look at this pretty cunt — so swollen, so ready for me.”

You whimper at the words alone, hips twitching upward instinctively.

He presses one palm flat against your lower belly, pinning you gently to the mattress.

“Stay there,” he murmurs.

His free hand slides up the inside of your thigh — slow, deliberate — until two fingers part your folds, spreading you open for him. Cool air hits your clit and you gasp, loud and sharp.

“Jimin...!”

“Shhh...” he soothes, but there’s a wicked edge to it. “I haven’t even started yet.”

Then he leans in.

The first touch is barely there, just the soft, warm flat of his tongue dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one excruciatingly slow lick.

Your whole body jerks.

“Oh... God—!”

He groans against you — deep, vibrating — like the taste of you is his favorite thing in the world.

“Fuck… you taste even better when you’re this worked up,” he rasps, lips brushing your clit as he speaks. “Sweet. Wet. All mine.”

He does it again... another long, filthy stripe, collecting every drop on his tongue before sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking gently.

The sound you make is broken, high and needy and completely shameless.

“Jimin... fuck... yes... right there... don’t stop—”

He hums in approval, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

One hand stays splayed on your stomach, keeping you from bucking too hard. The other slips under your ass, lifting you just enough so he can angle his mouth better.

Then he gets serious.

His tongue circles your clit, tight little spirals... before flicking the tip of it fast and mean, just the way that makes your thighs shake.

You cry out, fingers flying to his hair, gripping hard.

“Too... too much... Jimin—!”

He pulls off with a wet pop, chin already shiny with you, lips swollen and red. “Too much?” he teases, voice hoarse. “Or not enough?”

He drags his tongue flat over your clit again, slow this time... watching your face the whole time.

You’re panting, chest heaving, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels.

“Not enough,” you choke out. “Please... more... need more... need you to—fuck... eat me out properly—”

His eyes flash.

“That’s my good girl,” he growls softly. “Asking so pretty.”

And then he dives back in like a man starved.

No more teasing licks.

He buries his face between your thighs — nose pressed to your bottom, tongue plunging inside you first, fucking in and out in filthy, wet thrusts before dragging back up to suck hard on your clit.

The sounds are obscene... wet, sloppy, desperate.

You can hear yourself, the slick glide of his tongue, the way he moans every time you clench around nothing, the broken little sobs spilling from your lips.

“Jimin... oh god—your mouth... fuck... feels so good—”

He pulls back just enough to speak, lips brushing your clit with every word. “You like that, baby? Like when your husband tongue-fucks this needy little pussy?”

“Yes... yes... fuck yes—”

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands, voice rough. “Tell me or I’ll stop.”

You’re shaking, words tumbling out in a frantic rush.

“So good... so hot... your tongue’s so deep—sucking my clit so hard—can’t think... gonna come... please don’t stop... please make me come on your face—please...”

He groans — loud and guttural, and redoubles his efforts.

Two fingers slide inside you without warning — thick, curling perfectly against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.

He pumps them slow and deep while his tongue lashes your clit in fast, relentless flicks.

Your hips buck hard, he lets you this time, lets you grind against his face, smear yourself all over his lips and chin.

“Jimin... gonna—gonna come... fuck—!”

“Come,” he growls against you. “Come all over my tongue, baby. Drench me. Let me taste how much you missed this.”

You shatter.

The orgasm rips through you... violent, blinding, endless.

You scream his name... raw and wrecked... thighs clamping around his head as you pulse and flutter around his fingers, gushing against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop.

He works you through it... slower now, lapping gently, drinking every drop like he’s dying of thirst.

Soft little kitten licks over your oversensitive clit until you’re whimpering, twitching, weakly tugging at his hair.

“Jimin... too much—sensitive... please—”

He finally pulls away, lips glistening, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with lust and adoration. He crawls up your body, caging you under him, and kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You moan into his mouth, boneless and trembling.

He breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, voice thick with want. “Still with me, love?”

You nod weakly, eyes half-lidded.

“More?” he asks, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “Or do you need a minute?”

You swallow hard, voice hoarse.

“More,” you whisper. “Want you inside me… want to feel all of you…”

His smile is slow, feral and tender at once.

“Then spread those pretty legs wider, wifey,” he rasps. “Your husband’s not done taking care of you yet.”

Jimin doesn’t waste time.

The second his sweatpants and boxers hit the floor he’s back on you... gloriously, shamelessly naked. Candlelight licks over every carved line of him, the sharp cut of his collarbones, the lean flex of his abdomen, the faint sheen of sweat already gathering along his sternum.

His cock stands heavy and flushed between his thighs, tip glistening, and the sight alone makes your mouth water and your core clench.

He crawls over you like he owns every inch of this bed, this moment, you.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and velvet at the same time. Settling between your spread thighs, he grips your hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh there. “Wanna watch your face while I slide in.”

You’re already trembling—legs shaky, breath hitching—when he notches himself at your entrance. The blunt head parts your folds, slick and hot, and he pauses there, just pressing, not pushing yet.

“Feel that?” he whispers, rocking the tiniest bit forward so you feel every thick inch teasing your opening. “That’s all for you. Been hard since the second you sat on my lap.”

“Jimin… please…” Your voice cracks, hips lifting instinctively.

He chuckles—low, dark, fond. “Already begging again? Thought my good girl had better patience than that.”

You whine, nails scraping lightly down his biceps. “You thought correct… but you’re being mean now…”

“Mean?” He leans down, lips brushing yours in the barest ghost of a kiss. “Baby, mean would be making you come on my fingers again and stopping here.”

Another tiny roll of his hips—enough to sink just the head inside. Your walls flutter desperately around him. “This… this is me being nice.”

You moan... long, broken, needy, and he finally gives in.

One long, slow glide and he’s buried to the hilt. The stretch is exquisite, perfect, overwhelming. Your head tips back on a gasp... he groans deep in his chest, forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck—still so tight,” he breathes against your mouth. “Even after I fingered you open… greedy little pussy just sucking me in perfectly.”

Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper.

He hisses through his teeth.

“Yeah… that’s it. Lock me in, baby. Don’t let me go.”

He starts moving—slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that drag every ridge along your sensitive walls. Each thrust pulls a wet, filthy sound from where you’re joined.

You can’t stop the moans spilling out—high, helpless, obscene.

“Jimin... oh god.... deeper—”

“Like this?” He hooks his hands under your ass, lifts your hips, changes the angle so the head of his cock kisses that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.

You cry out... sharp, loud. “Yes—fuck... right there—don’t stop...”

“Never,” he growls, pace picking up just enough to make the headboard tap the wall in a slow, obscene rhythm. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep until you forget what day it is. Until all you know is my name and how full you feel.”

Your nails rake down his back, hard enough to leave faint red lines. He shudders, hips stuttering for a second.

“Mark me up, baby,” he pants against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse. “So that everyone know who I belongs to.”

You clench hard around him at the words; he moans—raw, wrecked.

“Shit... do that again—”

You do. Willingly... Shamelessly...

He rewards you by shifting again—pushing your knees up toward your chest, folding you nearly in half. Your legs end up draped over his shoulders... the new angle lets him sink impossibly deeper.

Your eyes roll back.

“Jimin... too much... too deep—”

“Too deep?” He slows—almost stops—grinning down at you with that devastating, teasing smile. “You sure? ’Cause your pussy’s crying for more. Look at her...” He pulls out halfway, lets you feel the drag, then sinks back in with a filthy wet sound. “Swallowing every inch like she’s starving.”

You’re babbling now—half pleas, half moans.

“Please... faster—need it... need you—”

“Need me?” He leans down until your noses brush, eyes locked, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Say it properly, wifey.”

“I need you,” you gasp, tears of pleasure slipping down your temples. “Need my husband... need you to fuck me until I can’t think—until I’m yours... completely—”

His control snaps—just a little.

He drives into you harder, faster, but still controlled, still tender in the way his hands cradle the backs of your thighs, the way his lips keep finding yours between thrusts.

“Look at me,” he orders, voice gravel. “Look at your husband while you come. Wanna see it—wanna watch my pretty girl fall apart because of me.”

You force your eyes open. His gaze is molten—love and lust and possession all tangled together. It tips you over.

The orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave—white-hot, blinding. Your walls clamp down, fluttering, milking him as you scream his name, back arching so hard your shoulders lift off the mattress.

“Fuck... yes... give it to me—” He keeps thrusting through it, slower now, drawing it out until you’re shaking, whimpering, oversensitive and still clenching around him. “So fucking beautiful… coming so hard for me… my good girl… my wife…”

He’s close.

You can feel it in the way his rhythm falters, the way his breaths turn ragged, the way his fingers dig into your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“Gonna come inside you,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours again. “Gonna fill you up... mark you from the inside—”

“Yes... please... fill me... Jimin—”

One more deep thrust... then another, and he breaks.

His whole body locks up... a guttural moan tears from his throat as he spills hot and thick inside you, hips jerking with each pulse. He keeps moving shallow, grinding rolls, milking every last drop while he kisses you messy and desperate, swallowing your whimpers.

When the aftershocks finally settles down, he doesn’t pull out right away.

He stays buried deep, softening slowly inside you, arms caging you in as he peppers slow, lazy kisses across your cheeks, your nose, your closed eyelids.

“Still with me, baby?” he whispers, voice hoarse and wrecked and so fucking fond.

You manage a tiny, blissed-out nod, fingers threading weakly through his damp hair.

“Mmhm… floating…”

He chuckles... soft, breathless, nuzzling into your neck.

“Good. That’s where I want you.” Another kiss, this one lingering on your pulse. “My perfect girl… took everything I gave you.”

You hum, sleepy and sated, legs still loosely draped around him.

“Love you,” you mumble against his shoulder.

He exhales shakily, like the words physically hit him.

“Love you more,” he whispers back, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “Always more.”

And then he just holds you... sweaty, tangled, full of him... while the candle flickers and the world outside fades to nothing.

The morning comes soon than expected and the soft grey pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains when you finally stirred.

You wake slowly... body deliciously heavy, limbs loose, a pleasant ache between your thighs that makes you smile into the pillow before you even open your eyes.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, one of Jimin’s arms slung possessively across your waist, his bare chest pressed to your back like he never once let go, even in sleep.

You feel him breathe against your neck—slow, deep, still mostly asleep, and the steady thump of his heart against your spine lulls you for another lazy minute.

Then he shifts.

A sleepy hum vibrates through his chest.

“Mmm… you awake?” His voice is gravelly with sleep, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks.

“Barely,” you murmur, stretching just enough that your ass presses back against him. He’s already half-hard again, nestled warm against you.

You both make a tiny, involuntary sound at the contact.

Jimin chuckles... low, raspy, fond, and tightens his arm around you, palm flattening over your lower belly.

“Morning, wife,” he whispers, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the nape of your neck. “You feel okay? Not too sore?”

You hum, turning your head just enough to catch the corner of his sleepy smile.

“Feels like you ruined me in the best way,” you tease softly. “Worth every second.”

“Good.” He nuzzles closer, nose tracing the line of your shoulder. “Because I’m not even a little bit sorry.”

You laugh under your breath, reaching back to thread your fingers through his messy morning hair.

“Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, kissing the spot behind your ear that always makes you shiver. “Big difference.”

Silence settles again—comfortable, warm, golden. The kind of quiet that only exists right after you’ve been this close to someone, when words aren’t really necessary but you still want to say everything anyway.

His hand stays on your stomach, thumb drawing slow, absent circles over the soft skin just below your navel.

After a long moment he speaks again, voice quieter now. Almost shy.

“…You think we made one this time?”

Your heart stutters—then blooms.

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, noses almost touching, legs tangled under the sheets. His eyes are still heavy-lidded with sleep, hair flopping over his forehead, but the look in them is so soft, so hopeful, it makes your chest ache.

You reach up, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

“Baby…” you whisper, smiling small and tender. “You really want that... Right?”

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“More than anything.” His hand slides lower, covering yours where it rests on the mattress between you. “I keep imagining it—little tiny heartbeat. Tiny feet kicking inside you. You getting all round and grumpy and beautiful carrying our baby.”

He laughs softly, almost embarrassed. “I know it’s soon. I know we said we’d wait a little longer after the wedding but… last night felt different. Felt like… I don’t know. Like the timing was right.”

You feel your eyes prickle. “Jimin…”

He searches your face, suddenly a little nervous. “Too much? Did I scare you?”

You shake your head quickly, cupping his face with both hands.

“No. Not scared.” You lean in, pressing your forehead to his. “I’ve been thinking about it too. More than I’ve admitted.”

His breath catches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile against his lips. “Every time you put your hand on my stomach like that… every time you say ‘my wife’ like it’s still brand new… I think about it. About us growing our little family. About you being the softest, goofiest, most loving dad.”

He makes a quiet, wrecked sound in the back of his throat and pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck.

“God, I love you,” he mumbles against your skin. “So fucking much.”

You caress your fingers through his hair, holding him there. “Love you more.”

He pulls back just enough to kiss you—slow, deep, morning-breath and all. When he finally breaks away his eyes are glassy, smile wobbly and huge.

“So… we keep trying?” he asks, voice hopeful and boyish. “No more careful pulling out. Just… us. Whenever. However many times it takes.”

You laugh softly, heart so full it hurts.

“Yeah, baby.” You trace the curve of his bottom lip with your thumb. “We keep trying. No holding back.”

His whole face lights up—bright, blinding, the same smile he gave you the day he proposed.

He rolls you both until you’re underneath him, caged gently between his arms, his body warm and solid above you.

“Then maybe…” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss along your collarbone, “…we should practice again. Right now. Just to be sure.”

You giggle, already arching up into him as his lips trail lower.

“Jimin... it’s barely morning...”

“Exactly.” He nips softly at the swell of your breast, eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and playful. “Best time to make a baby. Everyone knows that.”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. “Hmm… scientifically proven?”

“100%.” He grins against your skin, already nudging your thighs apart with his knee. “Doctor Park’s research.”

You dissolve into laughter, pulling him down for another kiss.

“Fine... Doctor Park, you are ridiculous...” you whisper against his mouth. “... but show me your research.”

He groans happily, sinking into you with all the lazy, syrupy tenderness of early morning.

And as the first real rays of sunlight finally slip past the curtains, painting your tangled bodies gold... you both move slow and sweet and unhurried, whispering promises into each other’s skin about the future you’re already trying to create together.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Your arms wrap tighter around yourself as another heavy gust of wind breezes by. Effortlessly, it sweeps a discarded plastic fast food wrapper further down the street, away from where you’re standing. Your fingers brush against the numberless goosebumps blossoming on your bare arms. The ends of your hair tickle your skin as it moves with the invisible force, grazing your shoulders and back. 

  Your chin trembles. Though not as vigorously as before, as now it’s only because of the chilled air and not anymore from your tears. Tears that dried with the wind on your cheeks, leaving behind messy streaks of mixed makeup that you spent over an hour perfecting. You can’t wait to wash your face clean.

Numerous cars speed past, music blaring through the open windows, their horns beeping. Across the street, a group of intoxicated girls around your age surrounds a stray cat, cooing and giggling as they snap countless photos, stumbling over themselves but never falling. Nearby on a short brick wall, a couple sits cuddled together, enjoying each other’s company over a shared ice cream cone. The street is littered with people all around, yet you don’t hear anything, just static filling your ears 

The restless thoughts crowding your mind drown out the sounds of the bustling street around you. 

How could such a perfect night have gone so terribly wrong?

How could he do this to you? 

How dare he do this to you, again?

Before your mind could spiral any further into a pit of distress, your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an approaching car. The hum of the tires sounded so close you couldn't ignore it. When you lift your head to see, the relief of familiarity washes over you. 

An all-black BMW, your best friend’s car, luxurious and sleek, parks in front of you, the passenger-side door only an arm's length away. You sniffle as you release yourself to readjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder. The moment the car is in park, Jimin jumps out, leaving the door open behind him and you exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. 

You don’t know what you were so worried about, maybe because it was well into the late hours of the night and so abrupt. But Jimin always came when you called. He was always there when you needed him, no matter what.

Jimin’s eyebrows were pinched in concern, a frown present on his puffy lips. His strides were swift as he paced over to you, dense blonde hair bouncing in the wind.

 You hated seeing him so upset. More than that, you hated being the cause, which you seemed to have been a lot lately. He didn’t say anything as he approached. Instead, he grabbed the black leather jacket draped over his arm to wrap around your bare shoulders. His scent engulfed you, warm vanilla with a hint of bourbon; it settled your restless nerves. You welcomed the warmth, clutching the shoulders to secure its place over you.

With a gentle guiding hand on your lower back, he leads you over to his car, opening the passenger door for you. Still with no words exchanged between you two, you slide onto the plush, leather seat. The swift movement makes your dress ride up, and you miss the way Jimin’s eyes lock in on the exposed skin of your thighs. As quickly as it comes, he erases the thoughts with a slight shake of his head. 

 As he reaches over you to fasten your seatbelt, you toe off your high heels, strappy black stilettos, pushing them aside to make space on the floor for your aching feet. When the seatbelt clicks, signaling that you’re safely secured, you thank him barely above a whisper, him giving you a closed-lip smile in return. Once Jimin was settled in the driver’s seat, seatbelt buckled, and hands positioned at nine and three o’clock, he turns to you. 

“My place?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. You nod your agreement. 

Typically on nights like these, your best friend coming to your rescue; the car ride to his house was anything but serene. There was so much to say—too much to say. Jimin wanted to know everything, firing off questions so quick your mind could hardly formulate proper answers. And you were just as eager to spill, sparing him no specifics as you filled him in on all the infidelity details your sorry boyfriend never failed to supply. 

Not this time, though. 

The silence in the car was deafening, thick and heavy. Jimin apparently has nothing to say, and well after the night you just had, neither did you. The only noise in the car was the quiet hum of the vents, steadily blowing warm air. Shortly into the drive, you took the liberty to turn the heat on. 

 None of that bothers you, though. What bothers you is that your best friend seems…mildly irritated. He didn’t even need to say anything for you to figure it out; it was practically oozing from him.

His eyes are narrowed, zeroed in on the road, not in a focused way, more like in an "I can’t even look at you right now” way. His posture is stiff, too perfect, as his back presses firmly against his seat. His lips are pressed into a firm line, neither a frown nor a smile.

You can’t understand it. What’s there for him to be irritated about? You were the one who just caught your boyfriend cheating again. Was he upset that you called him to come pick you up? If that’s the case, he should’ve left you right there. You are more than capable of getting yourself a ride. You’re well versed in getting Ubers, and you’ve ridden the bus from time to time. Enough to know how to get home.

Fed up with the seeming silent treatment, you finally speak. “You’re not going to ask me what happened?” 

Did you mean for it to come out as bitter as it did? Maybe, maybe not. But you’re already on edge, and his lack of interest was getting on your last nerve.

There was a pregnant pause as Jimin came to a stoplight, fist tightening on the steering wheel. With a clenched jaw, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. A telltale sign that something was bothering him. You’re almost unsure if it’s the traffic light that tints his face red or his sheer frustration.

“Do I really need to?” The bite in his words matches yours. He turns to face you full on, the most attention he’s given you the entire ride. With his tone firm and low, he snaps, “How is this time any different from the last? Or even the one before that?”

 Rather than giving him an answer, you swallow the lump in your throat, turning your body away from him to gaze out of the window. The last thing you need is to be reprimanded by your best friend. Especially considering it’s nothing you have not heard before. He should be comforting you, threatening to drive over to Theo’s right now and kick his sorry ass. Of course you would never allow that to happen. You would never want anything bad to happen to your best friend or your shitty boyfriend, but still the sentiment was nice.

You hear Jimin sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else, instead continuing the drive when the light turns green. 

Before long, you make it to Jimin’s neighborhood. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar streets. Right at the first turn at the stop sign and continuing straight until he reaches the second-to-last house on the left.

Jimin pulls into his driveway, putting his car in park before shutting it off. For a moment neither of you says anything. Jimin exhales and lets his head fall onto the headrest. You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don’t dare to give him the eye contact he’s seeking. Your petty mind determines that he needs to feel how upset you are with him. 

When he calls your name, you roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings earl—"

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” you lie right through your teeth, barely able to keep the tears collecting on your waterline at bay. Internally you thank the heavens above your voice didn’t tremble, a dead giveaway to your emotional despair.

For a moment your best friend does nothing. Then with not a word more to say, he pulls the key from the ignition and opens his car door. 

Shielded away from his eyes, you quickly wipe away the tears sliding down the corners of yours. Feeling pulled together enough, you take a moment to gather your purse and heels from the floor. Though, you don't bother to put your shoes back on. The distance from Jimin’s driveway to his front door is short anyway. 

Naturally, Jimin comes to open the car door for you. You shiver, greeted again by the cold air. As you exit the vehicle, you make no effort to thank him, swinging the strap of your purse back over your shoulder. From behind, you hear a sassy grumble of "You're welcome," that you choose to ignore. 

The walk from Jimin’s car to his front door feels like an eternity. From the wind blowing your hair into a tangled mess, the pebbles and rough gravel digging into the soles of your feet to the suffocating tension between you and your best friend, which you still couldn’t really understand. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower and turn your brain off for the rest of the night under a massive pile of blankets.

Jimin pulls out his key to unlock the door, and now it’s your turn to ignore the way his sharp jaw ticks. When the front door opens, the heat from inside surrounds you,  comforting you like a warm hug. You learned early on that your best friend loved to be just as toasty as you, always keeping a spare jacket or blanket around if or whenever it got too chilly. Another reason you’ve been friends for so long. You make a mental note to thank him later for turning the heat on when you're not as irritated with him. 

Your heels drop to the hardwood with a dull smack, joining a few pairs of Jimin’s piled on the floor. Your purse follows behind, on the ottoman next to the door, covered with other jackets, scarves, and things alike. Your best friend comes up beside you, discarding his own jacket and shoes.

You take notice of the comfy scene in front of you. On the couch, Jimin’s favorite blanket lies in a messy heap, like someone tossed it away in a hurry. Before the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sits in the middle of the glass coffee table, an opened can of soda beside it. In the background, the murmured chaos of an abandoned action movie, gunshots, explosions, some screaming, and then more gunshots emits from the television speakers.

The guilt that washes over you overtakes any of the irritation you felt earlier with Jimin. Once again, your tumultuous relationship has not only caused problems for you but also for the people around you.

 Of course he was upset. He had a right to be. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably be a little upset too. Lord knows how much you valued your couch potato time.

“I’m going to go wash up,” you mutter, your tone not nearly as snappy as it was before, and you don’t wait for his response as you make your way down the hall towards his bedroom. 

You close the door behind you with a heavy sigh, twisting the lever on the knob into its locked position. Guarded away from the outside, you take a moment to finally breath. Since all this shit’s transpired, you feel like you’ve been fighting for breath.

You squeeze your eyes shut and lean back. Your head thuds when it makes contact with the door behind you. In through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the mantra in your brain over and over. When you feel like you’ve finally caught your breath, your brain switches to autopilot. You’ve performed this exact routine far too many times. 

You reach behind yourself to tug down the zipper of your attire, a black mini dress you bought at a cute little boutique for this very date night. The piece drops, pooling at your feet. Usually you’d ask Jimin to help with the zipper, but you’re not quite ready to face him yet, and you’re sure he does not want to talk to you. Next to go are your bra and panties. The matching lace set joins your dress in the laundry hamper, which Jimin will wash for you after you’ve fallen asleep for the night like he always does.

Inside the closet in his bathroom, you grab a spare towel and washcloth stacked neatly on a shelf. You set it aside on the sink to turn on the shower, twisting the temperature dial to the hottest setting. You love showering at Jimin's; the water at home was never scalding enough for you, and the water pressure was never enough to soothe your aching muscles. Plus, his bathroom was stacked to the brim with the best of the best skincare products. You wouldn’t dare catch sight of the cheap drugstore stuff you tend to reach for in here.

As the water warms up, the bathroom fills with misty steam. From the cabinet drawer, you grab a packet of nearly empty makeup remover wipes. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that you look a mess. Although you couldn’t even if you wanted to, the glass is all fogged up. 

Gently, you drag the wipe all over your face, making sure to reach every nook and cranny until your skin feels, for the most part, clean. You toss the wipe, soiled with pinks, brown, black, and a bit of shimmer, into the wastebin underneath the sink.

Now you’re ready to shower.

You eagerly welcome the hot water as it cascades over you, soaking every inch of your tired body. You take a moment to enjoy the feel of the water droplets raining over your skin. However, before long the steam from the shower begins to feel suffocating, and before you know it, your eyes are brimming with tears. 

With every water droplet that pelts your skin, the weight of tonight feels heavier and heavier until—

It finally breaks you.

You curl into yourself as your body is wracked by uncontrollable sobs. Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face, slapping over your mouth, even though you’re alone in the bathroom. It feels like you’re choking on your own breath. Throat and chest burning with how hard you try to keep your sobs in.

 You need to get out of this bathroom quick.

Vision blurred from tears, you reach for your washcloth and then Jimin's body wash. You then drench the square cloth with a generous amount of soap, the scent of lavender filling the small space. You’re practically panting now. Every gasping breath triggers a new wave of tears. You press your lips together firmly until it hurts. You're known to be a loud crier, and you don’t want to alarm Jimin. 

Through it all, you scrub yourself clean, rinse, and do it again. But the icky feeling never goes away. In fact, it settles deep in the pit of your stomach and makes its home there. Weightless, you drop to the tile floor below, one hand clutching your stomach and the other over your chest right where your heart is, and you let yourself cry.

You cry until your throat is sore and until your eyes are bloodshot red. Until your wails have subsided into pathetic shuddering breaths that make your chest jerk. You cry until you can’t physically cry anymore. Until all that’s left is a soggy, heartbroken human on the wet shower floor.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

Like a zombie, you emerge from Jimin’s bedroom slowly and in desperate need of some fuel. The living room is quiet and dark when you step in. Your best friend sits with his back pressed against the couch’s arm, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Awaiting on the television screen is the play menu for Shark Tale, your comfort movie. Two mugs of warm tea replace the popcorn and soda on the coffee table. Instantly you recognize the one on the right as yours. Jimin found it at a thrift shop years ago early into your friendship. He bought it because he said the bunny on the front reminded him of you. Eyes twinkling and cheeks round, as it sat in a patch of unruly wildflowers. You rolled your eyes playfully when he showed it to you, insisting that he keep it at his house, since you were there more than you were home anyway. 

The dragging of your footsteps alerts your best friend. He looks up from his phone, gaze sleepy as his eyes settle on you. You did your best to hide the evidence of your breakdown with what limited supplies you had. Though there was nothing you could do for your bloodshot eyes and splotchy skin. If Jimin notices your disheveled appearance, he doesn’t say anything.

Jimin sets his phone on the coffee table, patting the open spot on the couch next to him with a small smile. You join him without a second thought.

The sofa moans with your movement as you settle onto the plush cushion, grabbing the throw blanket to cover your chilly legs. Jimin’s basketball shorts didn’t offer you much coverage. You would think that after spending so many nights here, there would be something of yours to sleep in. 

Nonetheless, all you were privy to were a pair of too-short gym shorts and a shabby university t-shirt. You did find, however, in Jimin’s underwear drawer, a pair of your panties neatly folded and tucked in a corner. You were thankful for that. 

When you seem comfortable enough, Jimin uses the remote to press play. The small living room area was then filled with the sound of Shark Tale’s opening scene.

The two of you watch the movie as it plays, sipping your respective mugs of tea. It’s not nearly as tense as it was earlier, but it was still a little awkward. 

The warm beverage alleviates some of the soreness in your throat. When you're sated and cozy enough, you set the cup back in its previous place. Beside you, Jimin clears his throat. From the corner of your eye, you can see him glance at you, the TV screen, and then back at you again. You pretend to not notice him, trying your hardest to focus on the scene of Oscar being manhandled by the twin jellyfish brothers, Ernie and Bernie. 

 Another minute passes before Jimin finally decides to break the silence. His voice is steady and cautious when he turns to you and asks, “So… what did happen tonight? With Theo?”

Eyes still trained on the screen, you fiddle with the seam of the t-shirt you’re wearing, Jimin’s t-shirt. You pinch the thin fabric, flicking it back and forth between your fingers. Soon Jimin is going to have to throw this old thing out. Not only was it sporting several sizable holes, but there were loose threads everywhere.

You shrug when you say, “I thought you didn’t want to know.” 

Jimin’s exhale is loud, but his tone is still calm. “That’s not what I said, and you know it. I asked what made this time different. I feel like that’s a fair question.” You’ll give it to him; your best friend is and always has been blunt. 

With no rebuttal, you grab your mug from the table, yet you don’t take another sip from it. Instead, you rotate the ceramic in your hands, watching the liquid slosh all around. 

“He cheated on me again.” The way you say it so plainly is almost startling. 

Sadly, Jimin’s demeanor doesn’t change. That part he’s used to. He leans forward, as if to ask for further details without actually uttering a single word.

“He didn't confess it to me this time; I found out.” 

Theo was nothing if not an excellent victim player. Since the beginning of your relationship, he could never keep any of his rendezvous to himself. Before you could even begin to suspect anything, he’d be spilling his guts to you, sparing the explicit details. He’d cry like a baby, falling to his knees begging for your forgiveness, and by the end of it all, somehow you were the one with the heavy heart, apologizing for your shortcomings. 

Eyes downcast, you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. If you weren’t so focused on the dark-colored liquid in your mug, you would see the way Jimin freezes, his face morphing into pure disgust. 

“Well,” you correct yourself, your voice going a little shaky, “I snatched his phone before he could delete anything. But yeah, I found the messages. All of them.” 

Against you will, your mind travels back to earlier in the night. 

Your boyfriend had invited you out to dinner, a way to make it up to you for standing you up a few nights ago. There was this new restaurant in town that you’d been begging him to go to. But each time you’d ask, he would always decline, claiming that it was too expensive even though you were usually the one who paid for your meals. That’s why when he told you your dinner would be at this restaurant, you were overjoyed. 

In the beginning, the dinner went wonderfully. The ambiance was romantic, live music playing in the background and a lit candle separating you two on the table. You hadn’t argued at all leading up to the dinner. Not when you took a little longer to get ready, not when you put the restaurant’s address into the GPS wrong (507, not 501), and not even when you couldn’t decide what you wanted to eat. 

Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t. 

You see, your boyfriend was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Like an idiot, he left his phone faced down on the table, and throughout the night it rang and rang with incoming calls, messages, and you’re pretty sure emails. This wasn’t uncommon. Your boyfriend works a taxing job. His phone was always going off as he needed to be available whenever. In fact, you wouldn’t have suspected a thing if it weren’t for the guilty looks he’d send your way every time the device sounded with a new message. 

You grew fed up with his suspicious actions and snatched the phone from the table. He tries to reach for it but backs off when he gathers the attention of a couple of onlookers. 

The contact name on the phone screen is visible, Jerry’s Pizza, but the message was hidden behind a passcode. 

You tongue the inside of your bottom lip, fury clouding your mind. “Why the fuck is Jerry’s Pizza texting you at,” you look towards the clock at the top of the screen. “Nine p.m.?”

He huffs like he has the nerve to be upset. “It's probably just some promo stuff.” 

This man must think you’re stupid. “What’s the passcode, Theo?”

Your boyfriend drops his fork, and the metal utensil clashes onto the porcelain. He leans back in his chair with a smug look on his face. “Are we seriously doing this right?” 

You swallow, teeth clenched when you hiss, “Unlock it.”

“God _____, seriously. We’re having a good night; don’t let your insecurities ruin it.”

“Unlock the fucking phone now, or we’re done!”

When he finally does give you the passcode, you’re disappointed but not surprised. You scuff and shake your head as you read the many messages from one of the many girls he’s been hooking up with. "Unfuckingbelievable."

Fresh tears sting your eyes. “God, Jimin. They were so fucking filthy. I…I didn’t even know," you stop yourself, shaking your head. “I’ve never heard him say things like that before.”

The look on Jimin’s face portrays exactly what he feels for you. He scoots closer to grab the mug from your shaky hands, setting it on the coffee table. Hands now free, he interlocks his fingers with yours as you continue.

That familiar wave of emotion bubbles up inside, just as furious as before. You can barely speak now, choking on your own words when you say, “Th-they were t-talking about me in them—" you end in a hitched breath. 

Jimin pulls you into him as you succumb again to your tears. He engulfs you with his embrace, shushing your cries and petting your hair. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anymore.” Your best friend rocks you both back and forth, calming you with words of comfort.

He holds you as you cry, soaking the front of his shirt with your pain. He doesn’t say anything, letting you release it all. You calm down after a while and separate from him. 

Jimin leans towards you and cups your cheeks in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. In turn, you grab his wrists, seeking his comfort and closeness. “God _____," he shakes his head, face full of nothing but sorrow. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” 

It’s your turn to shake your head now. “Not, not your fault,” you hiccup as you try to catch your breath. 

Jimin calls your name once, and then again. When you finally open your eyes, his are pleading with yours. Briefly, your heart stutters. 

His palms cup your cheeks. “Listen to me. Theo is a fucking idiot. He does not deserve you. He never did.” When new tears fall, he wipes those away too. 

Jimin releases a devastating sigh, shaking his head. “I hate that this happened to you.” He swallows thick, and there’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “I’m just relieved you’re finally leaving him.”

His words knock you back into reality. You blink, eyes flickering away from his to stare down at the couch instead. Instinctively, your bottom lip makes its home between your teeth. 

Jimin frowns, immediately taking note of the hesitation swimming in your features.

 “_____?” he calls, in the exact tone your mother uses when she suspects you’re hiding something from her (she’s usually right). He leans forward, attempting to regain your eye contact, and you dodge his brown orbs. “You are leaving him after this, right?” 

You don't say anything. You don’t have the courage to lie right to his face, or even tell him the truth, for that matter. 

Jimin’s exhale is long and tired. He then closes his eyes and slowly nods twice. Bitter understanding. 

The light-haired man leans away from you, removing his hands from your face. Instinctively, you reach out for him, hands hovering in midair, but he makes no effort to appease you.

Jimin drags a hand down his face, and it makes his eyebrow hairs go askew. “Please tell me that this is some sick joke, that you’re not actually thinking about taking him back after this.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. The agitation inside of you is and has been steadily building. It bubbles up and overflows when you say, “Everybody fucks up, Jimin. Some people are just better at hiding it.” 

Jimin scuffs as he shakes his head, standing up from the sofa. Running both hands through his hair, he chuckles in disbelief. The hollow, humorless rumble sends a shiver down your spine.

 "Unfuckingbelievable,” he unknowingly echoes the same word you said earlier in the night. “I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him. Still!” 

You shoot up too, quick and agitated, planting your hands on your hips. “All relationships have their problems, Jimin! That’s just the way it is. When I go home, we’ll talk, and I’ll fi—we'll fix it. We always do.” There’s uncertainty in the way you say it. Like you’re trying to convince yourself as well as him.

The sour look he’s giving you right now makes you want to flick his forehead, dead right in the center where that stupid vein is protruding. 

“God, I didn’t come here for a damn lecture. I would’ve gone to my parents’ for all that.” Jimin shrugs at you like he doesn’t care, and you know he doesn’t. It pisses you off even more.

Anyone who knows Jimin knows that your best friend is a caring man. A kind, gentle soul, as your mother liked to call him. He wouldn’t hesitate to give the shirt off his back to his greatest enemy (which he does not have) if they were in need. That’s just the type of person your best friend was. The love that Jimin had for you was undeniable. You know he’d do anything for you because he’s proven it to you time and time again. But you learned quickly in your friendship that Jimin tolerates bullshit from no one. He has had no problem with putting anyone in their place, including you. Particularly when it came to your unstable relationship. 

 Your glare is harsh, words provoking when you spit, "Especially not one coming from you.” 

Jimin’s eyebrows shoot so far up, they're nearly hidden by his grown-out bangs. He smirks like he’s ready for a challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time, you shrug. “You’re in no position to be passing judgments on my relationship, considering your track record.” The words tasted just as bitter leaving your mouth as they did hearing them said aloud. 

Jimin’s expression turns stone cold, but his smirk doesn’t waver. “My track record.”

You don’t spare him an opportunity to clapback. If you were judging correctly, you had the upper hand in this argument, and you needed to keep your momentum. 

“Don’t even pretend to be shocked, Mr. ‘I can’t keep a girl longer than a week before I’m bored and ready to hop on the next available piece of ass.

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you can see his Adam's apple bobble when he swallows. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that. You’re no better than he is."

You should’ve known you were in trouble when his smirk grew wider. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong, _____,” he taunts, wagging his pointer finger at you. It triggers your eye twitch. 

“I've treated every single booty call better than that man has ever treated you since you started dating.” He points an accusatory finger at you. “Unlike your shitty boyfriend, I know how to properly conduct myself.” 

Your jaw is clenched tight, and your eyes are narrowed into furious slits. “Bullshit.” He takes a step closer to you, and your stance is unwavering. “Yeah?”

"Yeah, Jimin, that’s bullshit, and you know it. I’ve seen how you treat those girls. Love them one day, fuck them the next, and then you're done, ready for a new one. It takes a dog to know one, Jimin,” you retort, arms folded over your chest with an eyebrow arched. 

“Don’t even pull that shit with me, _____. I make sure whoever I’m dealing with knows exactly what they’re getting into. They knew that being in a relationship was not my end goal. I just wanted to fuck around, and they were fine with that.” 

You scuff. “And they were fine with you just dropping them for the next, like it’s nothing!?”

Jimin laughs high and loud, though there’s no humor behind the sound. His eyes are blown wide, both hands in his hair. He looks exactly how you feel, crazy.

“God _____! What don’t you understand? I’m fucking single; I can do that! Your boyfriend is not! But for some reason he acts like he is!” Jimin’s words are booming, bouncing off the living room walls between you. Pretty soon you think the neighbors will come knocking with the police, and you hope that doesn’t happen because the elderly couple next door is very sweet.

The shock on your face had to be laughable. Throughout your entire friendship, Jimin has never raised his voice at you, not once. 

How dare he yell at you like that? You aren’t a child!

 Your mouth flies open, ready to shoot back with something, anything just from the sheer volume of his voice. But just as quickly as your lips fall open, they shut. Jimin’s words settle over you like ice, cooling down your temperament as your brain processes what he’s saying.  

There’s practically smoke coming from Jimin’s ears as he continues. “I’ve never kept anyone on edge all day waiting for a simple text to let them know I’m okay. Nor have I played on their insecurities to better justify my own. I’ve never fucked someone else while I was dealing with another woman, even if we weren't in a committed relationship because I’m a decent human being.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you shift your gaze away from his to your sock-clad feet. A silent admittal of defeat, but Jimin doesn’t stop.

“I don’t make them feel worthless, like they aren’t my equal, like I’m more deserving of respect." He comes in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your face with every word. “How dare you even have the audacity to compare me to him? You couldn’t count on him to attend his own funeral. But who’s always there when you need them?” 

You don’t dare answer. 

“Me! I’m there! Every late-night call, every text message, every single time you need me, I’m always there. Always! Picking up the broken pieces that he leaves behind without a single fuck given.” 

With an icy glare, he leans in until the tips of your noses are nearly touching. “I’m not anything like him. I’ll never be.” 

You exhale the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding as Jimin brushes past you, just barely missing your shoulder. He’d never hurt you deliberately, no matter how upset with you he is. Though you kind of wish he did. After the unjustified nasty attitude you’ve had with him tonight, you kind of wish he would just curse you out a little, throw you a few extra insults, and send you home to your cheating boyfriend. Then perhaps his compassion wouldn’t make you feel so sick to your stomach. 

Maybe that’s the exact thinking that’s gotten you into this mess in the first place. 

What are you supposed to do now? 

“Fuck,” you exhale with your head tossed back.

 At this angle, you’re face to face with the popcorn ceiling. God, you hate popcorn ceilings; they remind you of long, humid summer nights at your grandma’s unair-conditioned house in the country. Feeding feisty chickens and milking cows for two and a half months straight.

It makes your neck ache, but in this position on the edge of the couch, you ponder. Not just about your argument with Jimin, but everything you’ve been through. The disaster of tonight, your entire relationship with Theo, and all the lying, cheating, and sneaking. The heartbreaks he puts you through time and time again. Then finally your friendship with Jimin. Seemingly the only piece of stability in your life for God knows how long. 

You think about it all until the credits of your abandoned comfort movie start rolling. Begrudgingly, you reach over to grab the t.v. remote, shutting off the device with a simple click of a button. Instantly, darkness engulfs the living room. Briefly, you ponder sleeping right there on the couch, but you know your back would hate you for it, and more importantly, you need to fix this mess with Jimin. You don’t want to, but you make the short trek back toward the room at the end of the hall. 

You stop just before the doorway, peering into the bedroom. The courage you built up suddenly depleted. 

Moonlight streams in through the cracked blinds, the only source of light, neatly illuminating the room in linear streaks. Jimin sits on the edge of the bed with his head hanging low, drained, between his shoulders, elbows planted firmly on his knees. The long sleeves of his shirt are rolled up now, exposing the veins in his forearms that jump with every clench of his fingers. You’re not sure how long he’s been sitting like that, but it looks like he hasn’t moved in a while.

Through his long bangs, you can see the worn expression on his face—eyes squeezed shut, nibbling at both lips. Your heart shatters at the sight. For a moment, it feels like he’s the one that’s just been cheated on, not you. 

You take in a deep breath as you step into the dark bedroom. The floorboards creak beneath you, alerting Jimin of your presence. His keen sense of hearing. Like a hawk stalking its prey, Jimin’s gaze never falters as he watches, silently calculating your every move. Are you coming as a friend or a foe ready for more? 

Though uninvited, you settle onto the made bed next to him. You inhale deep through your nose. The faint scent of the lavender shower gel you used earlier still lingers in the air. 

“I’m sorry,” you start. You wait for a moment, giving Jimin the opportunity to say anything, but he lets you continue. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting towards you.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Jimin. You didn’t deserve any of it. I—" You pause, rapidly blinking away unshed tears. Dammit, you’ve already cried so much tonight; you don’t feel like another headache.

Jimin grabs your open palm lying between you and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. It gives you the strength to finish. “I shouldn't have been so snappy with you tonight, especially since you were just trying to help me.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “And I’m genuinely sorry for always dumping my bullshit relationship problems onto you. It’s not fair. I—I don’t know.”

 You shake your head, squeezing Jimin’s hand in return. “I just want you to know that I really, really do appreciate everything that you do for me. I know that I don’t show it enough, and I apologize for that.” A lone tear tickles your cheek as it trails down your face, soaking a tiny spot on your t-shirt. You wipe away the wetness with your free hand. “From the bottom of my heart, I love you, Jimin, so so much.” 

You don’t possess a way with words like Jimin does. That silent charm that wraps people in comfort, alleviating any and all of their worries. Your only hope is that Jimin can at least feel what you’re trying to convey.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice watery and thick. You don’t doubt a single word. “But that’s not why I’m upset.” Your brows knit together in confusion. 

Jimin looks off to the side, like he’s carefully contemplating what he’s trying to express. “I’m not upset with you for needing me, _____. I’d never be upset because of that. We lean on each other; we support each other. That's what makes us a team. There have been plenty of times when you’ve been there for me too. It’s what we do.” 

You shake your head. “I don’t...”

Jimin sighs, clenching his pants at the knee. What he wants to say sits at the tip of his tongue. His tone is firm when he declares, “Theo does not deserve you.”

You close your eyes as you nod your agreement. “I know that, Jimin.”

“But do you though? Seriously, _____. I don’t think you do.” 

"I do, Jimin. I know, I really do. I'm—"

 “Can’t you see that my heart is broken for you?" 

Any excuse you had ready for him dies right there in your throat. You blink your eyes open, and when you look at him, really look at him, it’s all you can see.

 It’s written in the way his shoulders slump with defeat. The way he fiddles with his fingers clasping and unclasping his hands. It’s in the way his chocolatey brown eyes, usually warm and inviting, are downcast and wet with unshed tears. In fact, you can barely keep his gaze because the emotion there is so intense. 

 “Throughout your entire relationship, I’ve watched you be there for him, constantly giving him your all until there is nothing left. And at the end of the day, what does he leave you with?”  

Your best friend doesn’t wait for you to answer.

Jimin scuffs, dark espresso eyes shiny with tears. “Agony. Insecurities that eat at you every day _____.” He clutches his shirt, right where his heart is. “It devastates me.”

Fuck, how could you have been so blind? So wrapped up in your own problems that you failed to notice how it was affecting Jimin. He has always felt so deeply. Of course, when you’re hurt, he hurts too. 

“Why do you love him?” 

Like a fish out of water, your mouth opens and shuts, only able to produce  stuttering breaths. 

The next question that comes from him is barely above a whisper. “Why can’t you leave him?”

"Because—" The word rushes out of you quicker than your mind could process it. Your eyes bulge as you slap your hands over your mouth.

“Because what?” He rushes, successfully tugging your hands away from your face. 

You pinch the frayed hem of your t-shirt. “Forget it, Jimin. It’s nothing.”

Your best friend shakes his head, his thick hair moving with him. “Don’t do that. Tell me. Please, _____.” 

  You try to fight it, you really do, because once you say it, there’s no going back. It’ll become real, and it won’t just belong to you anymore. It sits on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the perfect moment to break free. 

When Jimin calls your name, you look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are pleading with yours, filled with misery as they silently beg for an answer. “Please.”

Fuck it. If there’s anyone in this world you could spill your deepest secret to, it would without a doubt be Jimin. One of the few people on this world who you trust wholly.

“Because Jimin, if I leave him, then who’s going to love me?” 

It grows silent, as if your words shatter the tension in the air surrounding you.

To finally say it aloud feels like a major relief. A thousand-pound weight being lifted off of your shoulders. Consequently, at the same time, there’s a dreadful sinking feeling deep within you. A sick feeling that you've been trying to fight for too long. The admission was devastating but desperately needed. Maybe now, the journey to solving the root of this vulnerability can finally begin.

Jimin’s lips pull into a deep frown before he whispers your name. “Is that…really what you think? That you’re unloveable?”

If there was one thing Theo knew how to do well, it was keeping you humble. It started off subtle. A joke or two here and there, always defining him as the central point of your life. You’d laugh it off every time, never quite able to detect the subliminal honesty. For a while, it continued on like that, until it built into something blatant. 

It didn’t take long for you to actually start believing that. No other man in their right mind would want a woman so damaged by their own insecurities. You thought that he truly was the sole person that you could rely on. Thankfully, Jimin was always there to prove him wrong at least a little. But, as far as romance went, forget it. There was no one better for you than him. 

You chuckle solemnly. “No one is going to put up with me, Jimin." 

Your best friend sighs. He lets go of your hand, standing from the bed. For a moment, you think he’s ready for another fight. But you don’t have it in you to argue again. Much to your surprise, he gets down on one knee and then both, kneeling down in front of you. 

 A startled gasp sneaks through your lips. “Uh, Mini?” you whisper, slightly panicked.

Jimin grasps both of your hands in his. He licks his bottom lip, and your eyes follow the pink of his tongue. “Let me,” he whispers, a determined look in his eyes. 

You blink dazedly at him. “What?”

“Let me love you." He confirms exactly what you thought he said. “Just for tonight.” 

You sputter, pulling back slightly, though you don’t let go of his hands. “Jimin, that’s not—" You shake your head. “Do you know what you’re asking? Where’s this even coming from?”

Jimin chortles, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. "It's always been there. From the moment we met, I knew I wanted you. But at that time, I was in no place to be in a relationship.” 

You arch a brow. “And now you are?”

“Shut up." Jimin nudges your knee as you bite down on your bottom lip, suppressing your grin.

“I’m not asking for a relationship.” He then wiggles his eyebrows at you when he says, “At least not right now anyway.” 

Jimin squeaks when you dig your socked toe into the meat of his thigh. He grips your foot in his hand, restricting you from delivering anymore nudges. 

“Be serious,” you chide, even though the smile on your lips has spread wider. “Are you… really into me?”

Jimin grins, his pretty teeth on full display. “In more ways than one. All I need is one night. One night to give you what you truly deserve. Let me love you how you should’ve been a long time ago.”

The thrill that bubbles up inside you is dangerous. It’s a foreign feeling, one that you don't recall ever experiencing before. But, oh, it is so welcomed. Then, a sudden wave of realization halts your excitement. A major bump in the road. 

Your boyfriend.

You almost don’t want to say it, afraid that it might ruin the exhilaration in the air. The question comes out strained with a touch of hesitancy. “What about Theo?” 

But Jimin shrugs like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. “What about him? He’s had his fun.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands, and you frown at the loss of contact. It’s short-lived, however, when his firm grip takes hold of the backs of your legs, making you gasp. 

His breath hitches at the sound of your satisfaction when he caresses you there, thumbs working overtime to unknot your tense muscles. You sigh, relaxing under his touch. Slowly, as if time isn’t of the essence, he runs his hands all the way down your legs until his fingertips reach the heels of your feet. At the same leisurely pace, he drags his digits up until they brush over your inner things, bunching up the thin material of your basketball shorts. 

 “Isn’t it time you have a little of your own?”

You have to consider Jimin’s words carefully. There’s so much at stake if you agree. For one, your friendship with Jimin will never be the same. Though you suppose, he kind of set that in motion already with his little impromptu love confession. 

The greatest damage done will be to your relationship. No matter how you try to spin it, sleeping with Jimin tonight will make you a cheater, betraying your boyfriend in the same way that has left you with a sizable hole in your heart. 

Won’t that just make you a hypocrite in the end? Did you even have that kind of promiscuity in you?

Apparently it lied dormant inside you, because as quickly as the doubt comes, it dissipates. Just like that, your mind rationalizes the decision. 

What’s the harm in indulging for just one night? After all, it’ll be with your best friend, someone you’ve known for years and trust with your life. Not with some random man you met at some sketchy club or bar.

 If Theo can do it, why can’t you?

Instead of using words to respond, you let your body do the talking. With ease, you wrap your legs around his middle, pulling your best friend forward. Jimin lets out a surprised huff as he collides with your front, his face mere centimeters from your braless breasts. The surprise on his face is quickly replaced with enthusiasm as he admires the pillowy mounds displayed casually in front of him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, and with as much courage as you could muster, you simply request, “Show me.” 

The grin that breaks out on Jimin’s face is infectious. A manifestation of pure joy. Thinking back as hard as you can, you can’t remember a recent time when you’ve seen him look so happy. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, hooded gaze flickering from your eyes then to your mouth and back to your eyes again. His thumb sits there for a moment, caressing your skin as his eyes scan across your face in a way that you could only describe as admiring. When he seems fulfilled enough, Jimin tilts your face down, guiding you towards him, and you let your eyes flutter shut. As the anticipation builds, your heart hammers beneath your ribcage. You can practically hear the thumping in your ears. 

But then there’s a pause so pregnant that it has you blinking your eyes open in confusion. If you weren’t nervous before, you certainly were now. Did you do something wrong?

You pull back slightly, just enough so that you can see Jimin’s face. Your best friend looks slightly hesitant. A gleam of uncertainty shines in his brown orbs, like he can’t believe you actually said yes. 

“Jimin,” you urge, the tenderness in your voice easing his nerves, and you try your hardest to ignore yours. “Kiss me, please.” 

The blonde man doesn’t need any further encouragement. Jimin closes the small gap between you, slotting his mouth together with yours. 

This is not the first time you and Jimin have kissed. That was years ago, back in your freshman year of college in your tiny dorm room after too many shots of illegally purchased Fireball. Surprisingly, even with your heavily intoxicated mind, you remember that day like it happened yesterday. The way you could barely keep yourselves upright, your bodies feeling too heavy and sluggish. Or how you both giggled and bantered throughout the entire ordeal, the alcohol refusing to let you take it seriously. 

You just don’t remember it feeling so damn good.

Jimin’s lips are soft when they press to yours, coated in a thin layer of chapstick. He takes his time when he kisses you like he’s always wanted to. Every peck, brush, and pressure was deliberate. Slow and searing. He needed to savor the moment, afraid of what he might miss if he went too fast. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been kissed like this before. 

With an unprecedented eagerness, you welcome the taste of him, a faint raspberry with a hint of mint. His favorite herbal tea. The same kind he always made for you after a taxing night. The plush feel of his lips has you humming in satisfaction, legs squeezing tighter around his middle. Jimin grunts, fingertips gripping the soft flesh of your thighs. 

Together, your lips work in near-perfect harmony, trading almost silent gasps and breathless sighs between each other. Noting what you liked, what you loved, and what you could probably do without. 

Jimin presses into you firmer, the hand holding your chin coming up to cradle the back of your neck. He licks at your bottom lip, begging for entry that you so graciously grant, letting your mouth fall open wider. The wet muscle of his tongue glides expertly over yours, and your nipples perk beneath your t-shirt. With every breath you take, the sensitive buds press harder into your best friend’s chest. 

Jimin's free hand grips your hip to pull you impossibly closer. A shudder wracks your body when your covered center unexpectedly meets the solid muscle hidden under his shirt. The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smirk, clearly enjoying the evident effect he has on you.

"Damn." Jimin pulls back with a wet smack, gasping for breath. Brain foggy from the kiss, you chase his mouth with yours, craving the feel of him back on you. Jimin waits until you’re close, and then he pulls back. The groan you emit signifies your displeasure, letting your mouth fall into a frown.

He giggles at your enthusiasm, and he shakes his head naughtily at you. You lick your lips as you watch him with what you’re sure are hungry eyes. 

Jimin reaches a hand behind him, gripping the collar of his shirt. With a quick tug, he pulls the garment over and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor behind him. 

You lean back on your hands, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. The mattress sinks under your palms with the weight. Unabashedly, you take in the sight of your best friend, scanning over the muscled, toned lines that define his body. An appreciative hum tumbles past your lips, and you nod your approval. 

Has your best friend always been so ripped? 

Jimin chuckles at your reaction. A quick brush of his fingers pushes his thick bangs off of his forehead, leaving his blemish-free skin on full display.

“Like what you see?” He asks breathily, even though he already knows the answer. Under the basketball shorts, his fingers trail up and down the sides of your bare thighs. The ticklish sensation makes you tremble just slightly. 

“Mm, not too bad." You feign nonchalance and shrug, eyeballing the necklace adorning his thick neck. You can’t wait to have the shiny silver dangling over your face when he fuc—

“Ow!” You yelp when Jimin pinches the skin there, not enough to leave a mark but just enough for you to feel it. 

He pulls you in close again, your foreheads nearly touching. “Watch yourself,” he warns in a firm whisper, thumb caressing the tender spot. His warm breath hits your chin with every word. “Or you won’t get to have any fun later.” 

His words, the tone he used with you, almost sounded…mean? But for some strange reason it doesn’t alarm you. In fact, it might’ve even turned you on a little if the wet patch forming in your panties was anything to go by. 

Jimin captures you in another passionate kiss, this one more dynamic than the first. He wastes no time slipping his tongue back in, licking and sucking his presence in your mouth. A gentle hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you in close and keeping you there. You keep up as best as you can, mirroring his actions with your own. You may not be as experienced as Jimin, but the way he was gripping every part of you—your shirt, the back of your neck, and your hands—desperate to keep you close reassures you that you were doing just fine. 

Every brush of his lips, flick of his tongue, and airy whine from his mouth smothered by yours makes you dizzier by the second. 

When you both pull back, lungs burning from your lack of oxygen, breathy pants fill the warm, quiet air. You were virtually frozen earlier, but the bedroom has grown far too hot now. 

“Fuck,” Jimin groans. He smiles unbelievably to himself, shaking his head. “There’s so much I want to do with you tonight.” Like a bobble head, you nod in certain agreement. He then captures your eyes in a heated gaze, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. He licks at his kiss-swollen lips, and your eyes follow every movement. 

“Can I take care of you? Will you let me, baby?”

“Yes, yes, please.” 

Jimin’s chuckle sends a delighted shiver down your spine. Taking the hem, he frees you from the confines of your t-shirt, pulling the fabric off of you with ease. When he tosses it, it lands somewhere on the bed behind you. 

Your nipples stand firm and proud, already pebbled from your heated kiss with Jimin. He practically salivates at the sight of them, running the wet muscle of his mouth back and forth over his plump bottom lip. You know that he’s always been a boobs man, but the fact that your boobs were the cause of his content had a bit of pride swelling in your chest. It feels incredible to be wanted so unabashedly.

Jimin reaches up, his hand hovering over your left breast. “May I?” He asks, eyes flickering up to gauge your reaction. 

You swallow down your anticipation. “If you don’t, I feel like I might explode.”

Jimin hums, and his smile is sincere. “We can’t have that now, can we?"

You sigh, breath stuttering when he strokes his thumb over your erect nipple. With his other hand, he cups your right breast. Heavy and squishy, it fills his left palm, your stiff bud grazing his skin. When he squeezes your boob, gentle and cautious, your thighs squeeze together in response, the dull ache between your legs becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. 

“Beautiful,” Jimin whispers, pinching the hardened peak with his thumb and pointer finger. You don’t say anything; you can’t say anything with how hard you’re biting down on your bottom lip. Your best friend leans down to pepper a trail of kisses across the plane of your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He then flattens his tongue, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, and blows on the wet skin. You cradle the back of his head, tangling your fingers in the blonde locks. 

“Oh!” you gasp when he engulfs your nipple with the wet warmth of his mouth, reflexively tugging at his hair. Jimin groans from the action, the vibrations from his delight traveling from your nipple straight down to your cunt. His tongue flicks in rapid successions over your nipple before circling your areola. In his other hand, he rolls and tugs your right nipple, still pinched between his fingers. 

The simultaneous assaults on your sensitive buds have your head reeling. The discomfort between your thighs was no longer dull but immense. Your pussy flutters around nothing, steadily soaking your panties with arousal.

“Jimin,” you mewl, eyes slamming shut when his teeth graze just barely over your stiff peak. When he sucks, the pressure creates stars beneath your eyelids. Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp, eyebrows pinching together. It makes your spine arch, further thrusting your chest into his mouth.

Your breast bounces back into place when he releases your nipple from his mouth. Every quick breath from his mouth cast over your stiff peak, chilling the wet, heated skin. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, but as soon as you inhale, the air is knocked from your lungs again when he sucks the skin of your left breast into his eager mouth. Pleasure explodes over your breast as Jimin marks you with his love bite. Satisfied with his work, he kisses the prominent bruise before he sucks your left nipple into his mouth, giving it the same attention as he did the first. 

Squirming under his keen affection, your hips jut forward to collide with his abs. It offers a brief smidge of relief, but not nearly enough. The ache emitting from your center was absolutely unbearable. Trapped behind too many layers of clothing, your clit was begging to be rubbed. 

You loosen your grip on the comforter, snaking your hand between your bodies down toward your wetness. Just as your fingers breach the waistband of your shorts, Jimin captures your wrist in his hand before interlocking his fingers with yours. You cry out in frustration, and you feel Jimin smirk around a mouthful of your tit. When he releases your nipple with a wet pop, a thin string of his saliva connects you.

It continues on like that for what feels to you like forever. Jimin ravages your breasts, alternating between your nipples, licking, sucking, and nibbling to his heart’s content. Hickeys now litter your chest, a bold yet beautiful display of his insatiable desire. You won’t dare to wear any low-cut top or dress for at least a week. By the end, your cunt is still untouched and practically weeping, confined by your soaked panties and basketball shorts.

When Jimin is finally satisfied, he releases your tit, and your chest is wracked with heaving breaths. He leans forward to peck you once on the lips and then once more. “Lie back,” he whispers against your lips, a hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat on his bed. You follow his command, maneuvering so that you’re in a comfortable position on his bed. You’re not quite sure what to do with your hands, letting them rest on your stomach. 

Jimin hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them past the thickness of your thighs then down the rest of your legs. On the floor, they drop in a heap in front of him. 

A sharp intake of breath comes from Jimin, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your best friend, still on his knees before you, is face to face with your panty-clad pussy. That sinful tongue of his makes another appearance, and you make a mental note to buy him a new chapstick later. 

When he whistles appreciatively, your body flushes. “Damn,” he mutters, a finger tracing down your slit. The wet fabric sticks uncomfortably to your skin, molding itself to the shape of your slick folds.

 “You’re soaked, baby.” Jimin leans down to plant a firm kiss on your lips, and when he realigns himself, there's a slight sheen coating his mouth. 

“Jimin,” you whine, coated with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. He’s got you leaking like a fucking waterfall, and all he’s done was play with your tits. 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin chuckles, finally removing your panties from your hips. The dampened fabric joins your bottoms on the floor. You shudder, wet skin greeted by the warm bedroom air. 

 “Hush your whining.” 

Without warning, he licks a slow, broad stripe up your slit, stopping just below your needy clit. Along the way, he collects your juices on his tongue, savoring the heady taste. A strangled moan escapes you as your head falls back between your shoulders. 

Jimin groans from the sheer taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut. His tastebuds are trembling with delight. You’re more delectable than he could have ever imagined. He’s positive he can never eat another pussy ever again; he doesn’t want to eat another pussy ever again. Your juices have saturated his tongue, forever claiming his mouth as yours. 

Jimin grips the meat of your thighs, pushing them up to your chest to allow himself a clear shot at your pussy. You hook your hands underneath your knees, keeping the position he put you in. It gives you the perfect view to watch Jimin feast on your weeping sex.

His smirk is dangerous when he purrs, “Hold on tight, pretty.” 

He wastes no time burying himself between your thighs, moaning when your essence graces his tongue again. You cry out, toes curling when the thick muscle flicks over your winking entrance. 

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Your eyes flutter shut, rolling behind your closed eyelids. 

His mouth works diligently against you, his wet tongue heavy as it drags over and then through your folds, further soaking your wetness with his saliva. The sound of it is vulgar, reminiscent of someone mixing a larger bowl of mac and cheese. It makes you gasp, body heated in a blush. 

"Yes, Jimin," you shiver, elbows going shaky beneath you. Your fingers grip where you hold your shaky legs up for him, crescent moon shapes indenting your skin. Jimin hums, sucking your labia into his heated mouth. Your hips buck once, twice, and he releases them with a wet pop. 

You fall back against the plush bed, arms weakened by the immense pleasure. Your hips have a mind of their own, canting forward chasing the euphoric feeling of his mouth, and he so graciously gives it to you. Your breathing is shattered. Shaky moans and excitable squeals tumble past your parted lips, echoing off the walls of his once quiet bedroom. 

Jimin flattens his tongue, shaking his head from side to side. His mop of fair hair, gone messy from your tugging, tickles your inner thighs with the movement. He eats your pussy like a man starved. Like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have on this Earth. Even when his face is stuffed in your heat, his senses completely overtaken by the smell, feel, and taste of you, he can’t fucking get enough. He doesn’t think he ever will.

Every flutter of your empty walls sends another syrupy gush of your arousal, soaking his face and the bedsheets beneath you. You can hardly breathe as Jimin drinks you up, taking everything you give him, his lips greedy when it slurps at your leaky opening. 

It's so messy and so fucking wet.

When Jimin pulls away, his mouth and chin are shiny with his efforts. He sighs  contentedly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting like he’s the one getting the best head of his life instead of you. He breathes, “You’re so juicy, baby.” 

Hypnotized by you, he delves back in, effortlessly parting your folds with his soaked tongue, licking up and down, up and around, but never where you need him the most. Where your ache is the most ferocious.

“Jimin,” you practically sob, heart hammering in your chest. Unshed tears have begun to collect at your waterline. God, it was good, so fucking good, but you might die if he doesn’t get his mouth on your clit soon. 

“Please, I-I need,” but you break off into a choked whine when his nose bumps your clit, the only bit of stimulation it’s gotten all night. 

Jimin detaches from your pussy with a wet pop. Hooded eyes glance up to meet yours. There's a hint of a smirk on his lips. The corners of his mouth lifted just barely. He was clearly enjoying the torture he was putting you through. 

“What was that, baby?” 

"My," you plead, voice watery and thick. “I need, my-you..." You hesitate, cheeks burning with what you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to do it. 

Jimin steals the words right from your throat. “You need me to suck that pretty, little clit?” 

You swallow thickly, nodding before you can respond. “I need it.” You watch as Jimin’s jaw ticks and the grip he has on your hips goes tighter.

 “Say it." There's a tilt in his voice that’s unfamiliar to you. You can’t quite put your finger on it. 

Your eyes bulge. It's humorous how quickly the fog clears from your brain. “What?”

“I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you need.” 

“Jimin,” you whine, kicking your leg in frustration. Your body heats as it floods with embarrassment. “Are you serious?” 

Jimin smiles wickedly, pearly whites on full display. “Say it, _____. Or we stop right here.” 

“I uh, I need you to..."

There’s an amused glint in his eyes when he lifts his eyebrows, watching for you to continue. He plans a kiss at your inner thigh in encouragement. 

Your inhale is deep, pride tossed out of the window when you plead, “I need you to suck my clit, Jimin."

When he sees the desperation in your eyes, deep espresso connecting with yours over the plane of your quivering stomach, he loses it. You sob when his mouth engulfs your needy bud wholly. Your fingers scramble, letting go of our legs to tangle in his blonde strands, pulling tight. Jimin groans, and the vibrations shoot straight through your clit to the very tips of your toes. He holds you down himself, pinning your thighs to your chest, rendering you helpless to his merciless suction. 

The tip of his tongue circles your clit, quick and firm. “God yes!” You moan when his lips wrap tight around your swollen bud to suck incessantly. Back arching from the bed, toes curling in the open air, tears finally leak from the corners of your eyes, trailing down your temples. 

When he slips his finger in and then another, knuckle-deep, your slick walls grip him up instantly. They pulse around the slim digits, drawing him in deeper. He didn’t even need to move; the pressure alone sent you over the edge, crashing headfirst into euphoria. 

When you cum, it’s not shrill and elegant like those well-produced pornos you’ve watched before. It’s deep and guttural as it blossoms from the pit of your stomach until it rattles through you, seizing your body. Your muscles tighten, thighs quivering around his head as he delivers wave after pleasurable wave with his soaked tongue and fingers. 

And Jimin loves every second of it.

He doesn’t let up, even after you’ve cum. It’s not until you’re whining, pushing weakly at his head, that he takes mercy on you, pulling away after one final kiss to your spent pussy. 

Vision still teary, you blink up at the ceiling, lying there in disbelief and panting as you try to catch your breath. Reaching a hand up, you wipe away the tiny beads of sweat that have collected at your hairline. 

Below you hear Jimin finally rise from the floor, but you make no attempt to get up, still spent from your amazing orgasm. There’s some rummaging, the sound of clothes hitting the ground, and then the bed dips with Jimin’s weight. He clambers over to you, covering your body with his. You welcome his added heat, arms weakly coming up to wrap themselves around his neck.

He smiles down at you, eyes flickering all across your face, soaking in your post-orgasm haze. His touch is gentle when he brushes stray hair away from your sweaty forehead. 

“Hey you,” he greets, leaning down to give you an Eskimo kiss. 

You trace a finger down the slope of his jaw down to his chin before you cradle his cheek in your palm. “Hey yourself." You smile back, voice slightly hoarse. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You swallow, licking at the dryness on your lips. Your grin is sincere when you say, “I feel amazing. You’re really good at that, you know.” 

Jimin giggles, interlocking his fingers with yours to kiss the back of your hand. With his thumb he strokes the skin. 

“Thank you, Jimin.” 

Your best friend leans down to capture you in a gentle kiss. Your tongue darts out to swipe across his lip, dipping inside to taste yourself on his tongue. You pull away, satisfied and a little breathless.

 “Of course. It’s what you deserve.”

You hum, tracing a finger from his sternum down to the ridges that make up his abs. He shivers under your feather-light touch. “Do I maybe deserve a little something else?” You tilt your head to meet his gaze. 

Jimin raises his eyebrows at you. A playful gleam in his eyes. “A little something like?” He trails off.

You hold his eye contact, and with your free hand, you reach down between his legs to take hold of his stiffened member. Jimin gasps, shutting his eyes tight. He’s heavy in your palm, his skin smooth and warm to the touch. He must’ve been hard for quite some time

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, breath knocked from his lungs when you squeeze the base of his cock. “I think that can be arranged.”

You hum, working your hand over his stiff rod. He grunts when your strokes come faster, his freehand fisting the sheets beside him. “Just like that, pretty,” he encourages, and you do exactly as you’re told. 

You soak in how beautiful he looks in ecstasy. The way his thick brows pinch with every stroke. How his plush lips fall open, unleashing sounds just as pretty as he is. Delicate yet husky. Your favorite part is the way his stomach muscles quake with the effort of holding himself up. 

“Fuck, baby,” Jimin moans as your wrist flicks upwards, from base to head. 

When you glide your fingers across his reddened tip, your digits slicking with his precum, a hand claps over your wrist, restricting your movements. 

His eyes bore into yours, his voice strained when he breathes, “If you don’t stop, I’ll come, and I don’t want to yet. Not until I’m inside you.”

You shiver, exhilaration rattling your bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?” 

You allow Jimin to position your body until you’re lying on your side. When he assures you that you're comfortable, he comes up behind you, slotting his chest to your back. You lean into him, comforted by the feel of his own heart thrumming in his chest. Nerves and excitement are coursing through his veins as well, anticipating what is to come. Your senses heighten at the feel of his hard cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

He leans in to kiss the plump of your cheek before reaching behind himself to retrieve a condom from inside his nightstand. 

You stop him, a quick, gentle hand on his thigh. “Can you… I want you to fuck me raw.” 

A muttered curse from behind makes you grin. “_____, are you sure?” 

You nod, thighs rubbing together, the heat between your legs intensifying at the mere thought. “I want to feel all of you. Is that okay?” 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s okay." Jimin doesn’t need much convincing to agree. He just needs to get inside you quick. His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, cupping underneath your knee to prop your leg up and open enough.

 “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, cockhead sliding through your slippery folds to nudge at your needy clit.

You gasp, reaching a hand up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head. “I’m fine, Mini." You roll your hips back, seeking more of that delicious pressure on your pearl. Your teeth clench in a hiss when he bumps it again. “Just please fuck me.”

You watch, eyes eager as Jimin slides in without much resistance, filling you up to the brim. It knocks the air from your lungs. He’s so incredibly thick, thicker than any other dick you’ve taken before. It feels like he’s splitting you open in the best way possible. 

Jimin groans, engulfed by your soaked warmth. His body flushes, one hand fisting the bedsheets, the other with a vice grip on your hip. Quick short pants slip past his mouth to coat the shell of your ear.

You spread your legs wider, the propped one coming to hook behind his thigh. Somehow, it slips him deeper into your flooded canal, leaving you both crying out. 

“Holy shit, Jimin,” you breathe, as your walls pulse around him, adjusting to his sheer girth.

Jimin’s chuckle is breathy, full of disbelief. He pecks your shoulder before resting his forehead there. He’s thinking exactly what you are.

Why does it feel so fucking good?

 “I know, baby.” He gives an experimental thrust of his hips that has your eyes rolling, his hips pressed flush against your ass. “So fucking good,” he murmurs in your ear, and a delighted shiver journeys down your curved spine. 

The pace he sets is maddeningly slow, nothing like what you’re used to. Languid rolls of his hips that stuff you full before leaving you just about empty, only to fill you right back up again. You can hardly breathe through the feel of him, gasping for air every time he presses back in. Jimin moves from your shoulder, attaching his lips to the juncture in your neck, licking and sucking. It leaves you with marks so fierce you have no idea how you’ll cover them later.

“Jimin,” you whine when the pace gets to you. A pressure that builds and builds but never fully erupts. 

Looking back, you capture him in a lust-filled gaze. "Fuck me faster, baby, please.” 

Jimin grunts, his brows furrowing when he picks up his pace, his hips meeting your ass cheeks with resounding smacks. They’re enough to fill the bedroom and bring a warm hue to your cheeks. 

The noises spilling from your cunt are just as lewd. Roaring slickening when he glides in and out. Messy when it soaks his cock in your transparent juices, dripping down your thighs onto the bedsheets below. 

Jimin tweaks your stiff nipples with his thumb before pinching them between his fingers, rolling and tugging. The pain, sharp and temporary, makes you jerk, toes curling tight. 

“Shit!” you wail, fist pounding the bed. “Just like that baby.”

"S'good, pretty?” he whispers, choked up with his own pleasure. 

You don’t respond; you can’t respond with the way the pounds into your dripping heat. He wraps you in his firm hold, his arm coming to sling across your chest. The extra leverage he needed to pull you back, forcing you to meet his deliciously deep thrusts. 

The force of his fucking rocks the bed beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall. You’ve definitely got to write Mr. and Mrs. Welles an apology letter tomorrow. 

There is nothing you can do except take it, helpless to his powerful pumps. Like a ragdoll, you lie limp, taking everything he gives you. The heat in your lower tummy swells, your pussy squeezing around his heavy cock. “Close,” you choke, your mind fuzzy and delirious. 

Jimin gasps as he thrusts upwards one last time, filling you to the hilt before he pulls out completely with a wet pop. He leaves you empty, clenching around nothing, the heat in your belly subsiding. 

Your eyes fly open, complaints ready to fly past your lips, but Jimin stops you. 

“Hands and knees,” he pants as he palms your ass cheek. "Want to fuck you from behind.”

Any rebuttals you had ready die right there on your tongue. You prop yourself up on all fours, limbs slightly wobbly, and arch your spine in a way you know will make the light-haired man crazy. 

You feel Jimin position himself behind you. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you wiggle your ass, swaying from side to side to tease him a little. 

Your yelp is shrill when his palm collides with your right cheek, flinching at the feeling.

Jimin hums, marveling at the ripples it creates. “Behave,” he tsks as he palms the sore area and you lick your abused lips. 

He groans as he feeds his cock to your pussy. Your walls greedily accept him with a filthy-sounding squelch. When he’s all the way in, he steadies himself, with both hands on your hips. His huff grazes the skin of your back. “How are you still so fucking tight?” 

You sigh, dropping your head forward between your shoulders. He holds you in his palms, caressing your fleshy hips.  

He wastes no time in setting a brutal pace, fucking you faster and harder than before. You scramble, hands finding purchase on the bedsheets, but each roll of his hips sends your body forward and back, tugging the sheets loose from the mattress corners. 

"God, yes,” you groan, body trembling with delight. He pounds into you, the flesh of your ass smacking his thighs and lower stomach with every thrust. Its roaring and filthy.

Jimin is just as, if not more vocal than you, whining, groaning, and gasping every time he stuffs you full. It sets your body alight to know he’s just as affected as you are. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and your spine bows deeper than before. "Oh, fu—," you try, but you can’t even get the words out as he plunges into you. Rhythmic and precise.

It doesn’t take much until you’re drawing near again and you know you’re close when the fluttery warmth in the pit of your stomach returns, your pussy squeezing Jimin tight. 

He cries out, falling over to cover your sweaty back with his front. “M’ not gonna last,” he whimpers, rocking forward, body trembling with the efforts of his pumping.

He fucks you like that. His body is glued to your back, constant rolls of his hips that slide him deeper and deeper. His tip nudges incessantly at your front wall, gliding repeatedly over that spongy spot. The spot that has you seeing stars.

When Jimin feels you tighten up around him, he snakes his hand under your body to circle your swollen bundle of nerves. Like magic, the added pressure is just what you need to reach your peak. 

The coil, pulled taut in your tummy, snaps, and euphoria pulses through your veins, hot and rapid. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut as you gush around his cock. A strangled wail that you’re not even sure came from you resounds in the room, but you can barely hear it past the blood rushing in your ears. Falling face-first into the mattress, your muscles seize as your body is overtaken by the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Through it all, Jimin's hips never let up, and you flutter around him, creaming his thick cock. The ferocity of your orgasm triggers his own. Jimim ruts once, twice, and then he comes with a breathy sigh that sounds something like your name, painting your quivering walls with his hot seed.

────˚‧୨ᰔ୧‧˚────

It’s early when Jimin comes to the next morning. He can tell by the lack of sunlight beaming through his cracked window blinds, covering his bedroom in a barely there glow. 

He smacks his lips tiredly, muscles achy with exertion making their presence known, and in an instant, memories of last night come flooding back to him.

 Picking you up outside of that restaurant. The sight of you ripped his heart to pieces. Standing there alone in the cold, looking so vulnerable, clinging on to what little sanity you had left. You looked so heartbroken but yet so beautiful. Always so beautiful. 

Or later on, when he confessed his love for you. An undying ache that’s been tugging at his heart after all these years of being your friend, your best friend. A title he doesn’t take lightly. Not because he was in love with you, but because he loved you. Every part of you, your mind, your heart, and soul.

 How you didn’t turn him away, accepting his affection and embracing it wholly. There was so much love he had to give, so much time he needed to make up for after all these years lost. 

Jimin turns his head, and there you lie, a beautiful smile on your face directed at him. His heart stutters in his chest. 

“Good morning,” you greet, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips. 

Jimin rolls over on his side, readjusting on his pillow. “Morning,” he grins, all teeth. “How’d you sleep?”

You inhale deep, your smile never leaving your pretty lips. Your gaze is still slightly hazy with sleep when you look at him. There’s a gentle glow surrounding you, radiating utter bliss. Happy and carefree. It’s been so long since he’s seen you like this, too long.

“Mmm, I slept amazing, thanks to you.” You reach out to poke the solid planes of his stomach, hidden by the comforter. You yawn, hands coming up to rest under your head. “Though, I should rough you up for letting me fall asleep without my bonnet on. I just got my hair done.” 

Jimin snickers, scooting closer to you. He grabs hold of your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “I did try to wake you up, but considering it's been so long since you’ve been fucked to sleep, I figured you needed it." 

Your eyes widen, mouth curving up in disbelief. “Fuck you!”

Jimin shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Been there, done that.” 

You gasp, reaching over to smack his arms as you’re taken over by giggles. “Shut up, Jimin!” 

He laughs, dodging your harmless blows, and you don’t oppose when Jimin sits up, scooping you in his arms. Effortlessly, he plops you down over his lower stomach. When your giggles subside, you trace a finger over his chest, covering his skin with invisible doodles that only you can see.

“I uh..." you clear your throat. “I talked to Theo earlier." 

Jimin does his best to mask his apprehension. “Yeah?” He fingers the hem of his t-shirt you’re wearing, which basically belongs to you.

You nod. “He wanted to know where I went.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“I did.” Jimin arches his brow when you smirk. You lean over to grab your phone from under the pillow. You tap the screen, turning the device on, and there’s a bright glow cast over your face. Swift fingers tap a few more times before you turn the screen to him. “I sent him this.”

Jimin squints at the brightly lit screen, but when his vision clears and he recognizes what you’re showing him, he gasps incredulously. 

On the screen is a picture of him and you, tangled together in his bed and obviously naked under the sheets. In the picture, Jimin is still fast asleep, eyes closed and his mouth slightly ajar. But you, on the other hand, are wide awake. In fact, you’re posing for the camera, two fingers up in a peace sign next to your face and your mouth pouted in “duck lips." On your skin, his love bites from last night are proudly displayed.

Below the picture, there’s a message from Theo that you have no plans to respond to. It included every curse word in the book, words that Jimin didn’t even know existed. 

You shrug, locking the phone, and tossing it aside. “I think it’s safe to say we’re done.” 

Jimin tosses his head back in a laugh. He shakes his head as he says your name. “You’re unbelievable!” 

“Noo, what’s unbelievable is that I stayed with him for so long," you counter, rolling your eyes. You grab both of his hands in yours. 

“Thank you,” you nod. “For staying by my side through all of this. And dealing with my stubbornness. I truly don’t know what I would do without you. I love you, Jimin.” 

Jimin’s grip is gentle when he grabs the back of your neck to pull you into his kiss. You gladly accept, cradling his face in your hands. 

When you pull away, you’re breathless. “I love you,” Jimin whispers on your lips. “So much.” 

You beam, sitting back on his muscley thighs. Your head tilts, however, when your clothed center comes in contact with something firm.

 “Are you…hard?” Your question is laced with amazement. 

Jimin groans, cheeks reddening in embarrassment when you laugh aloud. “I can’t help it; everything you do turns me on. You could literally breath and I’d be hard as a rock.” The heat between your legs makes a fierce return.

 “Hm, is that so?”

You hook your thumb in the waistband of your panties, ready to slide them down your legs. Jimin licks his lips as hunger clouds his pretty brown eyes. “You were so generous to me last night. Why don’t you sit back and let me take care of it, baby?"

the camera points to the suchwita set, visually the same save for the higher budget for props. the table is empty, its own host nowhere to be seen. through the screen, the audience is confused.

until they hear him.

"ah, suchwita," yoongi steps into frame with his tablet of information and sits on his designated chair. the crew from behind the cameras applaud loudly, causing the host to widen his eyes before hiding his face behind the tablet.

"yah, hajima, hajima!" yoongi swats at the camera and the crew erupts in laughter. his accent coming out roughly as he waves off the crew. his professional expression returns to finally start off his show again.

"it's been so long, did you miss me?" yoongi smiles towards his specific camera, "because I know i've missed being here. by the time this comes out, bts' new album 'arirang' will be released, so please give it a lot of love, because we all worked very hard on it." he unfolds the tablet to hold itself up on the table.

"now, before we introduce our first guest after bts' comeback, i'd like to say how this person has helped to shape bts to what it is now, and has been a constant ever since our debut."

"yah, just introduce me already!" a blurry shot of your figure can be seen covering your face in embarrassment at the amount of praise you're getting. yoongi laughs, hand on his stomach before turning back to his tablet.

"okay, okay," he scrolls up to glance at your information, "today's guest," yoongi smiles as he reads your name, his eyes flicking up to meet yours momentarily before focusing back on the tablet.

“a well-known global choreographer who has been one of the main choreographers for bts ever since their debut." yoongi gasps dramatically as if he were reading this information for the first time.

flashes of your practice videos show up on the screen; one of you teaching bts the choreography for the chorus of mic drop, then one of you guiding an american singer, then a picture of you together with bts during their final practice before their military service, suspiciously close to yoongi.

yoongi's eyes glance over your small note and he chuckles before even properly reading it.

“i've been wanting to be on suchwita ever since yoongi wanted to do it, but he said that me booking a table before the rest of his members would seem like favouritism.” he laughs again before standing up and inviting you to enter the frame.

smoothing out your outfit with your hand and holding your bag full of drinks with the other, you entered with an amused smile, walking over to your seat that's across from yoongi. you set your bag down, but you and yoongi stay standing.

without a second thought, you walk over to hug yoongi, which he happily reciprocates. yoongi momentarily stops himself a little before smiling at you as the two of you pull away.

videos of the boy group learning choreography from you pop up again, this time its a video of you laughing at the maknae line's antics as they crowd around the hyung line and spin around them as the hyungs take five.

the two of you pull apart and take your respective seats, “yoongi-ah, it's about time you have me on this show.”

yoongi smiles, “noona,” he tests the word. you chuckle slightly, a little caught off guard, “your appearance on suchwita has been held off for quite a while.”

“gee, I wonder why,” you rolled your eyes playfully, earning that gummy smile from yoongi again that you adore.

“you've been quite busy since our military service, isn't that right?” he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. you nod with a smile, “yeah, i've gained a name internationally and during your guys’ temporary absence, i've had the pleasure of choreographing for other famous names in the industry,” you cross your legs as you explained with a proud smile, nervously adjusting your hair as you did so.

as you speak, the screen displays names of the artists that you've worked with, both in korea and overseas as well. the list of names is quite long, despite you only being away from bts for only a few years.

“ah, so you forgot about us? you have a different favourite group now?” yoongi leans his head on his hand, a smug smile on his face as you scoff, almost offended.

"please, you know no one could ever replace you guys for me. you're just too unforgettable." you chuckle softly, causing yoongi to cough, awkwardly looking away at your comment.

"right, so—" yoongi clears his throat to prepare for his next few sentences, "i'd just like to thank you for everything you've done for bts. people don't know this but you've been with us for very long and were always there every step of the way, even coming to our shows and polishing our choreographies for stage rehearsals."

"people also don't know that you've also helped with some of our solo career choreographies," he continued, which causes you to smile.

"um— just yours, actually."

yoongi freezes a little before smiling, looking at the floor for a little before looking back at you, "right, just mine."

pictures of you and yoongi pop up on the screen as he says this; one of you on stage telling him where to stand, one of the two of you in the studio, and another studio picture but it's one of you, watching as yoongi rehearsed the choreography in front of you.

"what im trying to say is, we all looked up to you because you're very hardworking. even for our new songs coming out, you've been working very hard on those too."

your ears turn a slight shade of red, and you notice yoongi's do too. "aish, min yoongi!" you stand up abruptly, turning to the crew, "yah, the show hasn't even started and already he's flustering me! and i haven't even had anything to drink yet!"

"hey! noona, sit down!" yoongi laughs, covering his face with his hands. you cross your arms and begrudgingly sit back down, "...can i introduce my drink now?"

yoongi turns to the camera, "yes, you can. we brought back my favourite part of suchwita, where guests bring their own drinks, usually alcohol. per noona's demand, we have some korean fried chicken to eat with your drink choice," yoongi says as the camera cuts to the table full of food from your favourite korean fried chicken place.

with help from yoongi, you both made quick work to unpack the two bottles of soju, a bottle of beer, a whole eight pack of yakult and two chilsung ciders.

"so, i brought all the things to make a yogurt soju," you smiled at the ingredients, cracking open the cold chilsung ciders as yoongi unwrapped the packs of yakult.

"yogurt soju is actually the first drink i shared with yoongi. I made it for him, that and somaek (soju+beer), which is why I also brought some beer just in case you wanted somaek instead." you smiled sheepishly as you unscrewed the soju bottles.

"why did you bring so much? you know that you're a lightweight, noona," yoongi practically complains, sighing frustratedly. you shrugged with a dorky smile, "oh, c'mon, i only brought enough for me to get tipsy at most."

yoongi rolls his eyes with a smile, remembering when you two shared a yogurt soju.

—

at first, you were super shy, not even really bothering to speak to them unless you were spoken to and to just teach them the dance and move on with your day. you had just started working with them, so you couldn't expect much.

until one day, hobi came up to you to compliment your dance and teaching style, saying your instructions were straightforward and simple enough for everyone to get it.

jungkook was quick to agree, and suddenly all of them were crowded around you, calling you 'noona' without hesitation.

slowly and surely, you began getting comfortable with everyone. gathering input from jimin and hobi, sometimes driving jungkook to school together with the hyungs and during promotions, you'd stick around to chat with the boys that hadn't taken pictures yet.

"yoongi-ah!" the 23 year old you called out to the freshly 21 year old yoongi. you had only been with the boys for about a year at this point, still trying to see if you could land a permanent job as their choreographer.

it was the weekend, and you had invited the hyung line over for drinks. during a conversation with yoongi, you had come to realise that the two of you hadn't drank together before, which was weird since the two of you had begun to get close.

"yes?" yoongi practically ran over as soon as you called his name, and you passed him the yogurt soju, "you up for a drink?"

"oh— um..." he shyly scratches the back of his neck and you clocked his sentence immediately. although yoongi was 21 in korean age, he still didn't have that much time to drink since he had to balance his idol life too, which made his tolerance pretty low, "ah, right! don't worry, there's like barely any soju in here. but you don't have to drink it if you don't want to, no pressure." you smiled softly, and yoongi's heart skips a beat.

he glances at namjoon, who seems to be just taking shots of soju with jin, while hobi simply nurses a beer. you, on the other hand, have another yogurt soju on the table for yourself.

with a little hesitation, he takes the drink from your hands and takes a sip, and you're right, it just tastes like yakult and chilsung. and it's pretty good.

throughout the rest of the night, yoongi tries to add a little more alcohol each time, trying not to overdo it. he even tried soju and beer together, since that was what you had moved onto drinking.

and ever since then, he never turned down any of your invitations to drink together.

—

"here, noona, let me help you make yours," yoongi stands up to help you, and you shake your head, "ah, no. it's okay, you don't have to—" your attempts to reach over to stop yoongi end when he gently grips your wrist, "yah, just let me do it."

you sigh, knowing that there's no changing his mind. you roll your eyes with a smile, "how's it like coming back to suchwita? must be surreal right?"

"that and bts as a whole, actually," yoongi fills both of your cups with ice. you smile as he makes your drinks for you. he makes quick work to pour the soju about halfway into the cups, then some yakult, and then finally the chilsung to top it off.

"the promotions have been pretty hectic. actually, everything has been pretty hectic; if i were to be honest," he sighs in frustration, and you smile sadly.

"I don't know how you manage to keep up with such cramped schedules," you tilted your head towards him as yoongi hands you your drink.

"yeah, well," yoongi glances up from his drink to make eye contact with you, "I have people that help me get through it," he smiles, before looking away. and suddenly to him the fried chicken on the table looks very interesting.

"ah, really? these people sound special." you tease as you hold up your cup, waiting for yoongi to cheers you. he shyly meets your eyes, "sure are."

clink!

—

"so," yoongi starts off as he places a few pieces of chicken onto your own plate as you help to take off the top of the chicken radish container, "when you started working with us, you weren't really a talkative person, right?"

"yeah, that's right," you chuckled a little, crossing your legs as you adjusted your sitting position, "it was a little after your debut when i was hired, and i didn't know anyone."

"i really hated meeting new people. i still do, but that's not the point," you shrugged with a smile. yoongi laughs, as if a memory suddenly popped up in his head. you tilted your head with a grin, "why?"

"i remember that everyone was insanely intimidated by you; even jin hyung, and he's only a year younger than you," yoongi says before taking a bite of the chicken that you helped to put on his plate. you gasped, "no they weren't!"

"seriously! everyone," yoongi deadpanned to the camera, "during the first few weeks of our debut, noona would come into the big hit studio with a black cap and sweat suits every single practice. it was terrifying. it was our first time seeing such a professional."

"it wasn't that bad," you thought over it again while chewing on a piece of chicken, "...okay well, when you combine that and the 'only-giving-you-guys-instructions-and-not-talking', I can maybe see what you guys mean."

"like i said," yoongi smiled smugly, "terrifying."

you rolled your eyes playfully, "yeah, yeah."

—

clink!

and there goes two shots of straight soju. you hold the bottle up to read the flavour that you honestly didn't care to look at when you bought it, "oh, this flavour is pretty good, no?"

"can we continue with the interview questions now? or are you planning to inhale that whole bottle?" yoongi winces with his head tilted, causing you to chuckle, "right, sorry. continue."

"anyways," yoongi passes a piece of chicken towards you since he had noticed that your plate was empty, "i've always wanted to ask this question, actually."

"oh, really?" you tilted your head with a smile, "and what question is that?"

"do you ever get tired of seeing the same seven people?" yoongi crosses his arms, almost proud of the question that he had thought of. you laughed loudly, covering your mouth as you did so.

"wow, you really—do you want me to answer this honestly?" you raised an eyebrow as you took a bite of your chicken.

"of course, that's what this show is for!" yoongi looks around at the crew with his arms open. you smile at his actions, before humming in thought as you chose your next words.

"promise you won't be offended?" you held up your pinky towards him, wiggling your finger with a teasing grin. yoongi raises an eyebrow in speculation, glancing at the cameras as if to ask the audience 'you seeing this?'.

hesitantly, yoongi inches closer to the table and interlocks his pinky with yours, "yeah, yeah. promise."

you chuckle, "alright, to be completely honest," you look around at the crew, who seemed just as interested in your answer as yoongi is, "...after a few years into my job, sometimes—yeah, i was a little tired of your guy's bickering. you guys were all stubborn in your own ways."

"yah..." yoongi smirks at the camera, a little shocked that you actually provided an honest answer.

"but," you continued, catching the attention of everyone in the room, "it wasn't tiring because it was the same seven people."

"then?" yoongi asks with a slight confused frown. you smile a little, knowing what words you wanted to say next.

"it was because it was you seven," you chuckled, "anyone who deals with you guys knows how tiring it gets when all of you are in the same room."

the crew members laugh, some of them nodding intensely while the rest state that they agree with you. yoongi pouts a little at the sudden noise, facing the staff that all seemed to take your side.

"so you do get tired, is what you're saying?" yoongi asks as you refill his drink with a smile on your face.

"i didn't say that." yoongi tilts his head in confusion.

"you said sometimes."

"well, yeah. i get tired of the bickering," you reached for your yogurt soju, "not the people." you took a sip from your glass with a satisfied smile.

the staff members chuckle, some of them giving small wow's at your answer.

yoongi stays silent, a little shocked at your words. then, when he realises the cameras are still rolling, he clears his throat.

"that's...a good answer. everyone, we have a dangerous guest here." yoongi grins as he gains a couple of laughs from the crew behind the cameras. you smile a little, "thank you, yoon."

"oh," yoongi is a little flustered at the nickname you had so easily called him in front of the cameras. this is how yoongi could tell you were starting to get a little tipsy. the crew gives a couple of aww's, flustering yoongi even more.

"right let's um—let's continue with the questions."

—

"noona?" yoongi calls out. no answer. he tilts his head in confusion. he sighs.

yoongi then calls out your name softly, raising his hand in front of you, and that seems to do the trick.

"hm?" you blink rapidly out of your trance and realise that yoongi is waving his hand in front of you. shit, did you just zone out on camera? god, you didn't remember your tolerance being this low.

you smile sheepishly, "sorry, what did you say?" you scratched your neck, feeling a little awkward. yoongi just smiles and waves it off, "yah, don't be sorry. I was just asking you a question and i lost you a little there," he chuckled slightly.

"ah really? what was the question?" in your peripheral vision, you noticed some of the crew members moving around a lot, most likely trying to get comfortable.

"well, the question was—and this is a brutal one, but which bts member is the best dancer? and a bonus one, who do you love hanging out with the most?"

you practically went silent. your eyes widened as you looked to the cameras in disbelief, "what?" you laughed a little at the question.

"hey," yoongi raised his hands in mock surrender, "these questions were the only ones provided by the staff. just saying," he smiles, still interested in your answer.

you shook your head with a smile, "these questions are mean, yoon." yoongi laughs while taking a sip from his drink, "don't hate the player, hate the game."

at his comment, you groaned before trying to think of an answer. your mind went through all seven members before one of the staff members temporarily pauses the shoot.

"ah, sorry," one of the managers raises their hand behind the camera, which catches the attention of both you and yoongi, "but can we fix your guys' mics? it's cutting off a little bit."

you and yoongi share a glance of confusion before you nodded, "oh, yeah. of course, no worries." you stood up, lifting your top ever so slightly so that the staff could adjust your mic pack. yoongi did the same, both of you awkwardly facing your backs to the camera.

while looking around to admire the new set, yoongi aims an 'off-camera' question to you.

"do you wanna come with me to the music video shoot tomorrow?" he tilts his head towards you, but doesn't fully turn to you. you open your mouth to answer before you looked at him, amused.

"yoon, im your choreographer. i'll be there anyways." you smiled after watching yoongi process what you had just said and scratched his neck awkwardly, "oh...right."

"we can go together, though. i mean—i have to be there way earlier than you, but—"

"i don't mind. let's go together," yoongi smiles at you and you return it, before you switch to a small frown, "um, does fixing the mic pack usually take this long?"

you turn around and practically yelped, because the staff member that was fixing your mic pack had suddenly been replaced with jungkook, who had just let go of your microphone's wire with a laugh.

"noona!" jungkook exclaimed, opening his arms to engulf you in a hug. you pat his back a couple of times, still a little confused.

your eyes drift over to yoongi, who is currently trying to escape the grasp of taehyung and jimin while namjoon, jin and hobi are waving at you with big smiles.

"yah, hajima!" you heard yoongi shout out as he continued to fend off the two maknaes. you laugh a little before letting go of jungkook, "guys, that's enough."

jimin and taehyung pause before coming over to your side of the table to greet you. yoongi looks at everyone in confusion, "what are you guys doing here?"

"we're here to hang out with you guys!" jungkook smiles widely as namjoon comes over to give you a hug as well. yoongi simply frowns, "andwae."

"c'mon hyung," namjoon defends as he stands next to you, "it's your first suchwita shoot since the military! and noona is the special guest, we should all eat and drink together!"

yoongi glances at the staff, "is this why you guys ordered so much chicken?" a couple of cheeky nods from behind the camera caused him to sigh.

the staff members came out from behind the cameras to pass more bottles of alcohol to jin and hobi, who place the bottles on the table.

you smile at yoongi, "sounds fun, right?"

yoongi sighs defeatedly, "...fine, you guys can stay." the members cheered, each of them taking chairs to sit around the table.

—

on your side of the table was the maknae line, while namjoon, hobi and jin sat by yoongi.

"uwah, you guys even have your makeup done," you examined jimin, noticing the slightest bit of foundation.

"of course we have to look good for your suchwita debut, noona." jin teases with a grin, causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

"oh, what question were the two of you on?" hobi asks as he adjusts himself in his seat. the maknae line that are on your side of the table make quick work to give food and make drinks for the other six members.

"ah, right. the question full of evil intentions," you chuckled a little as you met yoongi's eyes after your comment. his eyes instantly crinkle, displaying his own defensive expression while smiling.

"aigo, it wasn't evil!" yoongi breaks the eye contact to face the camera so that they could see his frown. he sighs, "it was a question about who's the best dancer out of the seven of us."

once yoongi explained what the question was, all eyes were on you and all the boys (except for yoongi) exclaimed their own renditions of 'huh?!'.

"geurae? noona, it's me right?" jimin points to himself, leaning towards you with what can only be described as sparkles in his eyes. you open your mouth to answer but taehyung shoves jimin a little in offense, "aniya, it's me. she loves teaching me the most."

jungkook shakes his head furiously, "hah, as if!" the three continue to bicker and your eyes meet yoongi's mischievous ones, and you mouth 'see? evil.'

you stop the boys from going for each other's throats, chuckling a little, "i think all of you guys are great dancers," you paused a little.

"however...i think we all know that hobi is basically your guys' choreographer at this point, so that answers yoongi's question." you shrugged while the maknae line groaned. the hyung line simply chuckled and hobi shyly thanked you, not expecting such a straightforward answer.

"and what about the bonus question?" yoongi grinned, tilting his head as you glared playfully at him. the other members seemed to perk up again.

"bonus question?" namjoon asked, looking in between the both of you to try and get an answer. you sighed, "who i love hanging out with the most."

"yah, that's such an easy one!" hobi laughed as you said the question out loud. jin and jungkook shared a teasing glance.

"we all know the answer is suga-hyung!" jungkook chuckled, nudging you in the shoulder. you laughed nervously, covering your face with your hands as the rest of the boys agreed loudly.

yoongi winced at the camera before crossing his arms and chuckling to himself. his eyes rested on you, who is still embarrassed by the teasing from the other members.

slowly, you lifted your head up to face the staff, "we're cutting this part out, right?" a couple of unsure shrugs from behind the camera causes you to sigh before locking eyes with yoongi.

"i mean—" yoongi grins.

"no." you glared. "they're not wrong," yoongi finished, which had all of the members laughing, some of them clapping when yoongi admitted it. you sighed, shaking your head with a smile.

"okay, let's make it fair and rephrase the question," taehyung announced to the whole group, gaining a couple of confused looks, "noona, who do you love hanging out with the most besides suga-hyung?"

"ah, daebak." namjoon gives taehyung a thumbs up while the rest await your answer. you think about it for a moment before smiling a little.

"i'm actually close to all of you, so it's hard to pick just one member. but recently, i've been hanging out with jin more often." you glanced at jin who smiled softly, "ah, that's true."

the other members nodded, some of them going 'ahh' after hearing your answer.

"oh, noona. you're really good at this interview thing," jimin's eyes widened a little before he started snacking on the food on his plate. you smiled, "ah, it's nothing. i had a lot of experience from working overseas."

"yeah. noona's english is better than namjoon's at this point." hobi teased. you held your hands up defensively, "oh—i don't know about that."

"it's actually true. i've had a few conversations with her in english and she's way more fluent than i am." namjoon explained to the rest of the group, shocked at your fluency.

"ah, thank you, joonie. that means a lot," you nodded shyly. yoongi smiled softly at your response to namjoon's compliment.

"okay, before we wrap things up," yoongi straightened his back, turning on his host voice, "noona, would you like to say anything to the viewers watching?"

"oh! um..." you fidgeted with your fingers a little before looking directly into your camera, "give these boys a lot of support for their new album! they've been working very hard and they deserve it. stream 'arirang' on any music platform." you give your camera two thumbs up and a small smile.

yoongi chuckles a little at how adorable you look, before being nudged by namjoon, "let's toast one last drink together before we wrap up!"

everyone held up their glasses in the middle. "okay! uri maknae, give us something to toast to!" namjoon exclaimed, causing everyone to laugh.

"here's to the first comeback episode of suchwita, and to noona for making sure that all of us do our best for our tour!" jungkook practically yelled out his cheers, laughing while doing so.

"geonbae!" all of you clinked your glasses together and enjoyed the last on-camera drink of the shoot.

the director says 'cut!' and yoongi gets up from his seat to start thanking everyone for their hard work. you follow suit, thanking everyone for having you on set.

you and yoongi are the first to get your mics off, making small talk while doing so, before you walk up to the rest of the members, "hey, guys. me and yoon are gonna go home first. we'll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?"

"ah, noona! can i hangout at your place?" jungkook perks up and raises his hand, which you find endearing.

"what? why?" yoongi walks up next to you, leaning towards you slightly. jungkook shrugs with a slight pout, "just 'cause?"

"me too! i wanna hang out!" jimin hops next to jungkook with his hand up, imitating what jungkook was doing a couple moments ago. "i wanna hang out too!" taehyung appears on the other side of jungkook, his hand also raised.

jin, hobi and namjoon laugh, waving you and yoongi off as they all headed home and left the two of you to deal with the three younger members.

"you three wanna come over?" yoongi raises an eyebrow and the three of them nod in sync. you chuckle slightly before resting a hand on yoongi's shoulder, "guys, you have an early schedule tomorrow. you need rest."

"noona, hyung, jebal," jungkook pleads slightly while the other two put on their best puppy-eyed expressions. you and yoongi share a glance of hesitation before yoongi cracks first.

"fine," he sighs, "we'll make some dinner for you." you smiled amusingly at how quickly yoongi folded for the maknaes. the three celebrated and followed the two of you as you headed out to the car assigned for the both of you.

"i didn't expect you to give in that quickly." you mused, nudging yoongi's shoulder. he rolled his eyes playfully, "you would've said no. i'm not as strict as you are." yoongi wraps an arm around your shoulders as you reach the parking lot.

you gasp, hitting yoongi's chest, "i'm not strict!"

"sure you aren't."

—

a couple months later...

—

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[슈취타] EP.28 SUGA with _____

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user23: bye is this a soft launch because what did i just watch

heartsforjin: SHE CALLED HIM YOON?? HELLO??? ELEPHANT IN ROOM???

armyest2015: omg my heart... they love their noona so much

btsfan01: him forgetting they work together when he asked her to come with him... respectfully is this casual bc i dont think so...

borahae134340: the small acts of service in this video is so cute oh my god even if they aren't together they seem like such good friends they're so adorable

yoongisgirl: yoongi marry me T^T

namjoonieee: why does it feel like im watching a kdrama and why do i want 20 more episodes

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#SUCHWITA_EP.28

SUGA IS DATING??

#슈취타

#SuchwitaIsBack

—

the suchwita episode airs while yoongi is making the two of you dinner and you're in the living room, scrolling on your phone. one of the things that you had noticed is that your instagram had been blowing up, with armies tagging you in multiple reels of you and yoongi 'flirting' and more followers than you could keep up with.

how did the boys ever get used to this much attention? you thought as you chuckled a little, looking through the comments of the youtube video.

"what're you laughing at?" yoongi calls from the kitchen. his voice is a little drowned out since the two of you had been watching a series on the tv before he started cooking.

"the fans think you have a girlfriend again," you smiled smugly, looking through twitter for a little and laughing some more. yoongi walks out of the kitchen with a clay pot of kimchi stew and utensils for both of you.

"yeah? who is it this time?" he rolled his eyes playfully as he sets the pot and utensils on the living room table, where the two of you opted to eat dinner at. you paused the show on the tv before facing yoongi.

"me. the suchwita episode aired today," you showed yoongi your phone that displayed the youtube comments full of speculations of your relationship, "i think this one might stick a little longer, yoonie."

"oh, i forgot it was airing today," yoongi's eyes glance over a couple of the comments before he breaks out into a grin, "well, they wouldn't be wrong this time. now, would they?"

"hm. i guess not," you shrugged. out of the corner of your eye, you noticed tang had come over to see what was going on, before jumping onto your lap. you cooed at the black cat, "tangieee!" the cat trills in response, slowly closing his eyes as you pat his head.

yoongi's gaze softens before he heads back into the kitchen to get the two of you some bowls of rice, "can you read some of those comments?"

"yeah, sure," you directed your attention to your phone screen while continuing to give tang soft pets, "suga can't handle allat (he probably could...)" you laugh, the vibrations from your laughter prompting tang to start purring.

yoongi chuckles as he emerges from the kitchen again, "are all the comments about the armies thirsting over you?" he sets the bowls of rice on the table before sitting next to you, peering at the comments over your shoulder.

you scrolled down a little, glazing over some of the top comments, "some of them are pretty similar, i think i saw one that said 'he can't take all of us', or something like that," you turned your head towards yoongi who seemed offended.

"what? i totally could." he pouts a little, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while his other hand pets tang, who is half-asleep on your lap.

"mhm, sure you could," you pressed a kiss to yoongi's cheek, and yoongi is taken aback for a moment before he smiles softly, kissing your cheek in return.

you continued to scroll through the comments before you paused for a moment, "yoon?"

"mm?"

"were we a little too obvious? what if us revealing our connection starts bringing you guys hate again?" you leaned your head on your boyfriend's shoulder with a small frown. yoongi looked at you and reached over to turn off your phone.

"who cares what they think? we never explicitly stated we were together in the video. we were just teasing, it's up to the audience to interpret what they think and that's out of our control."

"and also," yoongi continued, "im positive armies wouldn't care that we were dating. if anything, they'd be supportive."

"really?" you got up to face yoongi, tang getting up to rest on the other side of you. yoongi raised an eyebrow, "of course. why not?"

you rolled your eyes playfully before returning to your place next to yoongi, "thanks yoon." yoongi hums in acknowledgement as you turn your phone back on to read youtube comments.

you chuckle, "yoongi marry me," you read out the comment.

"course i will."

"what?" you got back up to face yoongi, who looked just as confused as you were, "huh? what?"

you showed him the comment that you were reading out loud and yoongi simply laughed, "oops."

you looked at yoongi in disbelief before laughing yourself, "oops?" yoongi shrugs in response, sitting up after you before he softly holds your jaw to guide you towards him, slowly closing the distance with a kiss.

you return the kiss with a small smile before pulling away with an amused expression. yoongi grins, "just something for you to think about. if you're ready."

"you wanna marry me?" you tilted your head with a big grin while it was yoongi's turn to look at you in disbelief, as if it wasn't obvious from the start.

"jagiya, i've been chasing after you ever since i was mature enough to make my own decisions." yoongi's hand rests on your jaw, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

you chuckled, "wow, jagiya? wait till dispatch hears about this," you joked, still not being used to yoongi calling you that even if its the only thing he calls you when the two of you are alone.

yoongi sighs, "let's eat before the food gets cold." yoongi tries to deflect, but you notice the blush rushing to his ears as he starts to fluff up the rice in his bowl. you can't help but laugh again.

"i can't believe i'm the one that gets min yoongi to say yes to the infamous 'yoongi marry me'. you must be so smitten, aren't you— mmp!" your tease was cut short after yoongi shoved a spoon of rice and stew into your mouth with an amused grin.

you glared at yoongi, who chuckled a little before giving you a peck on the cheek, "you're lucky i love you."

your glare softened at his confession.

"i wulv wou foo, ftupid."

"chew your food, you're gonna choke."

"ofay."

©️ 4reumskingdom

taglist: @magnoliainnmay @spideybv28 @namgimini @forever-atiny @ohnaurshayla

The half-preserved clock with hands, which stood out on a small part of the wall, marked the end of the afternoon; completing, by your calculations, two and a half hours in the studio. — It was surprising, time had passed so quickly, you hadn't noticed.

Consequently, you knew the exact number of hours you had been present in the room; for a very good, and sublime, reason.

Perhaps it was your boyfriend's fault; after all, watching him, in other words, admiring him playing the drums, detached you from reality. — It removed you from the conscious world, distancing you from any human connection, from everything; you wished you were exaggerating, but you couldn't. — A simple action left you vulnerable.

Surely, Jungkook was to blame. — He was to blame for looking so good holding and hitting those drumsticks with such robustness and vitality, biting his lips and making his piercing disappear; not to mention his half-closed eyes, so focused at the same time.

His flexible biceps, part of which was completely tattooed, were shamelessly displayed, begging for attention; just like him. — The drummer hummed, accompanied by the rhythm of the beats, a limited and short arrangement of the composition he had helped write; which he was eager to show you.

Jungkook asked — begged — you to come rehearse the small instrumental part of the new composition; this time, it was complete and would definitely be included. — Of course, it wasn't the first time you'd seen him play, but there was something different about this rehearsal; something very meaningful to your boyfriend.

You wouldn't dare refuse that request with his big, bright eyes, which always adored you, waiting for your answer; otherwise, you might declare yourself the worst person and girlfriend in the world and isolate yourself from it all. — Jungkook, without a doubt, wouldn't let you think about those things; that man loved you.

After all, he had dedicated himself to producing a complex instrumental piece, diving headfirst; willingly risking his creativity.

But did Jungkook have to seem so irresistible, more than he could possibly be, while playing? — You could feel indignant at yourself, it's absurd!

"Yoongi took care of the guitar track, it's not long but it goes along with the drums." — He mentioned, almost like a small, informative and very well-remembered grumble; Jungkook lightly tapped the cymbals as if it were a non-intrusive thought and smiled when his gaze met. — "Tell me what you thought, Jagiya?"

Obscene. — Completely out of the ordinary; it should be a crime, absurd.

"I'll send the recording to Namjoon today, i think…"

"Maybe, i can put it on the list of one of the best things i've ever heard." — You rested your index finger on your cheek, pretending to think of a sophisticated comment, somewhat worthy of a critical opinion; Jungkook couldn't resist your charm. — "I'm still not sure."

"Maybe?" — He questioned, raising an eyebrow, surprised by the first word of your comment; his laughter, which had been muffled, filled part of the room. — "I can't believe my girlfriend used a 'maybe'…" — The eldest bit his lip, making the piercing barely visible between his teeth, and held the drumsticks, enjoying the little drama.

Those drumsticks had your initials carved into the smooth, pure wood. — The man had a tattoo dedicated to you.

"It was incredible, Koo." — Your voice was capable of bringing comfort to Jungkook's chest, knowing how to embrace him with any word that came from your beautiful mouth. So, getting up from the worn but comfortable sofa and walking towards the drummer. — "I'm so proud of your work, i know how much you dedicated yourself." — It was true; he had been focused on building the instrumental for weeks, representing one of the key figures in the process. — "I can't wait to hear it in its entirety."

You were there every time Jungkook picked up any object and banged it against a surface, imitating drums and drumsticks; even your thighs were victims. — Taking advantage of your legs being supported by him, Jungkook would lightly tap your skin and hum; always.

"Did you really like it?" — His eyes continued to shine for you, and you hugged him from behind, leaning your face against his neck, unable to avoid the growing longing and comfort; nodding your head in response. — "Gomawoyo, Ma-eum." — Putting down the drumsticks, Jungkook ran his hands down your arms, forming a hug.

The coldness of the rings on his fingers created a mediocre and exposed shiver on your skin, capturing Jungkook's attention, who laughed at the situation; as if he weren't used to it, of course. — The opulent and irresistible fragrance of the older invaded your nostrils, and you loved when that scent lingered on you, on your body; you felt dizzy, so vulnerable, it was ridiculous.

Your lips traced Jungkook's neck with small kisses, he felt your smile against his skin and your body pressing harder and harder against his back; were she rubbing you thighs? — That man knew the woman he loved like the back of his hand.

"I see someone really enjoyed the presentation, didn't they?" — His tone was slightly hoarse, swallowing hard and maintaining the malice in his words, Jungkook held your hands to move them away from his chest; managing to turn towards you, standing face to face. — "Aegiya."

"I like watching my boyfriend play for me," — You replied, positioning herself between his legs and admiring his large thighs, accentuated by his black jeans; Jungkook placed his hands on your waist, running his fingers along the fabric of your dress. — "It's not my fault, is it?" — The way your eyebrows furrowed to maintain a sweet, sensitive expression while questioning him would have made Jungkook's balls ache, throbbing with need.

"Never, my dear." — He felt a throbbing in his dick; one of his hands slid from your waist to your legs, the engagement ring glistening against your skin.

Jungkook tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer, his plea for more contact barely concealing his embrace; keeping your arms around his strong shoulders, you leaned down to meet the drummer's face. — Your noses touched, strands of your hair brushing against Jungkook's face, prompting him to urge you to kiss your lips.

The icy touch of his piercing, gradually warming during the kiss, felt like a sin to you; like an addiction, a dependency, transforming the kiss into something obscene, depraved. — Jungkook couldn't hide his short, lewd laughs or smiles as he devoured your lips.

That man was evil; he was the worst on earth.

Your manicured nails, praised by the drummer, scratched the nape of his neck, and in a mediocre response, Jungkook's fingers dug into your thigh; the kiss was getting worse — better — with each passing second. Tongues clashing, saliva dripping from the corners of yours mouths, wet smacking sounds, it was a mess.

Surprisingly, or perhaps simply due to his lack of attention and awareness, Jungkook stood up from the swivel stool but without breaking the kiss; which, at first, didn't work, but didn't stop him from kissing you again. — You groaned as you felt his teeth bite your lower lip; he couldn't resist.

"Come here." — He murmured hoarsely between kisses, pulling away from your mouth for exactly eight seconds before returning to lick you; Jungkook indicated he was going to carry you, typical of someone receiving you in his arms. — Reinforcing your support around Jungkook's shoulders, he grabbed your thighs and pushed you to carry him.

The path to the sofa was a mess, almost chaos; Jungkook bumped into the drums and nearly knocked over the bass stand, which he played in rare moments; he couldn't deny the shared pleasure between his lips against his boyfriend's.

"Desperate, huh?" — You teased him, feeling the softness of the sofa against your back, running your nails across his covered chest; who could you fool? It was self-criticism. — Jungkook, on top of you, pressed his body weight against you, almost fusing it against yours; he wanted to suffocate you.

"Of course, of course." — He laughed maliciously, ironically, lifting your dress even higher, keeping it at your waist; Jungkook's hand covered part of your buttocks. — "I was just touching, but who had other plans…" — He paused to bite the nipple of your boobs covered by the fabric; a thin, audacious cry escaped his mouth. — "…it was you."

"Ssibal." — Learning some swear words in your boyfriend's language wasn't a good thing; on the other hand, it made him hard.

"This one was wanting my attention, love." — As a form of redemption, Jungkook showered your chest with wet kisses and a few licks; he pulled down the neckline, exposing your boobs. — "Look at this." — He devoured it hungrily, sucking on your nipple with an unnecessarily urgent pace. — "Jagi…"

Jungkook openly admitted, with an inexplicable and somewhat bizarre pride, his obsession with your breasts; he simply wouldn't refuse those blessings — his words — for anything in his life. — If he dared to utter a "no" or choose not to sleep between them, you could be sure it wasn't Jeon Jungkook in that body.

In other cases, he lived for your boobs.

Your fingers traced, tugging at strands of the drummer's hair; once or twice pulling very hard, eliciting groans from Jungkook. — He was using his teeth while sucking, he deserved more than a hair pull.

"Ggukie, please…" — You tried to plead, unable to suppress the desire and lust burning in your body, intensifying with each passing second; you felt his erection suffocating against the inside of your left thigh. — "Please." — The way you were rubbing, or trying to rub, against Jungkook was despicable and necessary.

You were so absorbed in satisfying the slight discomfort, the lust between your legs, increasingly seeking contact against Jungkook's erection, that you didn't notice him unbuttoning and removing his belt with only one hand; it was a quick step, the desperation and desire to release the tension trapped in your body were vigorous, overwhelming.

The wet, hard sensation of Jungkook's cock pressing against the inside of your thigh made you moan softly, coyly; you couldn't hide your impatience, and Jungkook didn't want to displease his girlfriend.

"Gongjunim…" — His words drifted along like the small kisses and bites he left along the way to your neck, noticing that his cologne was clinging to your skin. — With the same hand that unbuckled his belt, Jungkook didn't plan to waste his time on something frivolous; he quickly moved your panties aside and penetrated you slowly.

He didn't want to torture you with slowness, never, and even though it seemed, exaggeratedly, that your boyfriend enjoyed admiring the eagerness controlling your body; Jungkook found adorable the way you eyebrows furrowed, unable to bear the indolence of his movements. — But, on the other hand, he loved feeling you every second, your inner walls warming his cock and squeezing it, throbbing; Desperate because of the sensation of being so deep inside you.

Jungkook wasn't very religious — he didn't like talking about those things, always keeping his distance; his mother raised him very well — but he could compare you to true paradise.

"Kook!" — The grunt, a whimpering moan choked by the small amount of saliva that had accumulated, escaped your mouth as you accommodated Jungkook's long, thick cock into your pussy; you could never quite get used to it.

Not that it was a complaint, far from it;

Jungkook positioned your thigh against the side of your hip, seeking comfort for both of you and adjusting himself to penetrate you deeper; his thumb traced quick, short circles on your skin. — He felt the tips of your nails on the nape of your neck, an immediate shiver that encouraged him to move inside you.

"Hum." — His voice, intoxicated with excitement, exclaimed in your ears, along with the low moans and growls escaping your boyfriend's mouth; he tried to utter curse words but they were incomprehensible, or perhaps you couldn't understand because you were too busy being filled. — "Open up a little, pretty…?" — Jungkook settled even more between your thighs; as if that were possible. — "Please.."

His hips moved back and forth in a delightful rhythm, beginning to accelerate slightly; you felt his swollen glans touch that most delicate and pleasurable spot. — And his heavy, slightly wet balls, lubricated, slapping against your skin.

"Jung, my god,…" — He really wanted to bury himself in you; Jungkook had no limits. As he spread your thighs wider, preventing you from closing them, he increased the rhythm of the thrusts. — "Holy shit, holy shit." — You were drooling, a small thread of saliva escaping your mouth; the drummer licked it, dragging his tongue along it.

"My girl can do it, i know." — He swallowed hard, biting his lips and savoring the metallic taste of the piercing; then, he ran his tongue over your mouth, planning a completely sticky and carefree kiss.

The smell of sex was beginning to dominate the room, and he knew the sofa would become a big, sticky mess, but neither of them cared; just like those disgusting, exciting, and wet noises you two were making. — If Jungkook weren't aware, he could record those noises and somehow put them into a song.

Was it kind of gross, disgusting? The drummer might question that with you later.

"See?" — He whispered against your mouth, completely wet with your saliva. — "You can do it, you always can."

Jungkook's cock penetrated you forcefully and, incredibly, at the same time gently; the rhythm of "back and forth" was so pleasurable, and it was so good to hear the wet little noises accompanied by moans, pleas, and sighs. — Surprisingly, the older's hips thrust forward, touching your sensitive spot once more; he was so deep.

You didn't care about the tears of pure excitement that streamed from your eyes, or how red your lips were from biting them to stifle loud screams or moans — Jungkook hated when you did that — you only cared about feeling him inside you, consuming you entirely; as he always does.

The thrusts were becoming more forceful, quicker, to the point where it felt like the sofa was shifting, and Jungkook's fingers gripped your thigh tightly, his short nails risking a scratch; if it hurt, he could spend the day kissing your skin as an apology.

A familiar, and accustomed, burning sensation prevailed in your stomach along with some tremors throughout your body, and your incoherent pleas, begging for more, were choked back against your neck, replaced by whimpers; you was about to climax, of course. — You was starting to become more affectionate than before, if that was possible, and played with Jungkook's tongue; without adding a kiss, only dragging your tongue against his.

"Come on, Jagi." — He murmured softly, busy touching your tongue. — "Come on my dick, you were waiting for this." — Again, Jungkook was the worst man on this earth.

He knew you like the back of his hand; there was nowhere or how to escape. — Your inner walls tightened around him, and your legs began to tremble and weaken, and in a matter of seconds, you came on Jungkook's dick; the feeling of relief didn't come immediately, you felt the pressure and tension coursing through your body.

Your chest was racing, rising and falling; you tried to regain at least a little consciousness or awareness, and you knew it would be difficult, you took the risk, but continuing to feel so fulfilled was unique. — Jungkook moved slowly back to the previous rhythm, but with a little affection, tenderness.

"Hm, Koo," — These were the only words, things that came out of your mouth without any obstacle or difficulty. Jungkook smiled smugly and passionately, touching their noses in a gesture of pure affection and uttering some affectionate words in Korean.

Your nails caressed the nape of your boyfriend's neck, it was a somewhat clumsy but acceptable touch; he liked it when you did that, regardless of the moment or situation. — The thrusts continued at a desperate pace, and you noticed Jungkook's breathing becoming more labored and less restrained, feeling more pressed against his body; he was close.

"Aegi, aegi…" — Jungkook mumbled. — "Damn." — He penetrated you intensely, causing a shock and a crackling sound throughout the room; he came inside you. His cock continued to throb as he filled your pussy with his sperm.

His hips continued their slow movement, and the little sound of lubrication, of coming, persisted, so as not to leak a single drop inside you; that damned, and blessed, man had that habit.

Jungkook didn't miss the chance to lie between your boobs, but this time he only wanted to catch his breath and regain his energy; and there was no better place for that, you couldn't be more used to it. — With a miserable amount of strength, your fingers ran through the strands of his hair and pleased you with caresses, small gentle strokes; a smile curved on your lips as you felt his purr, it was adorable.

While trying to control your breathing, which was barely recovered, and continuing to appreciate Jungkook's low grunts, he rested his chin on the space between your breasts; there was a mischievous, slow smile on his lips, not to mention the small, sleepy glint in those big eyes. — By the way, you missed your eyebrow piercing a little, pausing to analyze.

"Could all my rehearsals end…" — His gestured with eyes, widening his smile and showing his teeth. — "like this?"

By the gods, you loved that drummer.

*Gomawoyo, Ma-eum = Thank you, my heart.

*Jagiya/Jagi = Dear.

*Ssibal = Fuck

*Gongjunim = Princess.