#changeswithluv

Beyond the holy village of Barthes, within a meadow of sun dropped marigolds, you lounge topless underneath an orange tree. Cool winds cut the late summer heat. The breeze hardens your nipples and prickles your exposed skin with goosebumps. Hair tousled, you bite into another orange slice. He did not care for citrus, until he tasted your lips. Then, he planted you an orange tree. He promised you good fortune and a long life. 

“You will want for nothing,” he told you. “Just, behave.”

Behave. A word he’d used often with you. Jaw tense, he’d hiss the warning while fondling your breasts or cupping your sex. When he is furious, he is boundless. He fucks like a titan, remnants of a gracious god completely withering away. Tight grips, rough pounds, and seething threats that promise such painful pleasure, Kim Namjoon is a red hot planet of sexual destruction. So angry, so lustful, he serves you a cockful of discipline and then some. You are helpless. To his wrath, you are subjected. But, you don’t mind. The truth of the matter is, your body is always alive when buried under his. 

“You’re a minx,” a deep voice states behind you. 

You sit up, fruit juice trailing down your arm. Lips in a pout, you gaze up at the tall man behind you. Blonde hair, symmetrical face, sharp collarbone, broad chest and - he smirks - and, oh so sinister. How could a delicate smile be so devilishly sincere? And he brands you a minx… what does this handsome man know of you? How long has he been watching? Swallowing your bite thickly, you try and fail to fathom his beauty.

He pushes himself off the tree trunk and circles around you. His eyes dance around the thin, red blanket, the array of fruits, and braided loaves by the wicker basket before trailing up your exposed legs. A shiver snakes around your curves. The way his eyes devour you makes you think he did not stumble upon this hideaway accidentally. Namjoon took extensive measures to ensure no one would. No, this man knows. He must. Why else would he not question your presence alone under the only tree? He accepts it, expects it. 

Pushing your sticky arms around your breast, you attempt to somewhat conceal yourself and ask, “Are you a traveller?” 

He shakes his head. The wind plays with his hair the moment the sun emerges behind heavy clouds. Its natural glow lights up his figure, in all its holy glory. Well-toned, pierceless, inkless, chiseled features are all too accurate to be human. He is pure. There is very little scarring on his skin as well. He looks down right angelic, prophetic, utterly godly. 

Has Namjoon really entertained your fantasies? You first made the suggestion off hand, completely innocent in your phrasing, until his face fell. Stone fierce gaze slicing through your soul, you couldn’t help but describe an ocean’s worth of desires involving more than one man by your side. You were fucked to tears against the tree until it’s branches were bare and the ground was covered in ripe fruit and loose leaves. You thought that would be the end of it. But now, as you carefully stare at the god while he shamelessly sips on your near nakedness, you wonder just how wrong you might have been. 

“Have you come to watch?”  

“To worship.”

Your arousal slicks your thighs. Pressing your legs together, you suppress the giddy shivers that caress your spine. Though excited, you really can’t believe Namjoon did it. It was a joke but, scanning the sun god’s frame once more, you’re glad he didn’t take it that way. Face flushed, you lie back in your previous position. On your side, breasts on full display, you toss your hair aside. As your lips part to question the details of his intentions, you catch a familiar silhouette by the sea, in the distance. Flickering your gaze between the two men, you wonder if this new god was sent to test your loyalty or limits? The figure nods. You smile.

Attention returning to the golden god, you ask, “Apollo, is it?”

“Taehyung,” he corrects.

“Is that the name you prefer I scream?”

He pauses. Those mismatched eyes widen at your intrepidity. Dazed in confusion, he scans your frame once again, as if reprocessing your presence. He’s underestimated your wits, you realize, but the newfound understanding in his eyes reassures you that it won’t happen again. Good. He’s a quick learner. 

Quirking a brow at the blanket beneath you, he asks, “May I?”

You nod once. He licks his lips twice, bites on the bottom one, then seats himself beside you. On his side, bare chest on display, he takes in the scenery from this new angle. Flowers bloom under a peachy dawn, and the vast fields of greenery wither to sandy shores where the sea waves as a way of greeting. His cocky stare lingers on your boyfriend before settling back to your little shrine underneath the orange tree. It’s a parthenon all on its own, with you as the center of its divinity. This detail seems to intrigue him more than it should, but you assume it might also have something to do with being watched. 

Taking his hand in yours, you feel the dimming warmth of the setting sun. Who’s manning the chariot, you wonder, and would he be willing to let you ride it? Your bones tremble beneath your flesh at the impression of a distant growl. Oh, right. You almost forgot Ares can read your mind. Being something of a soulmate, he’s connected to you in ways other gods are not. Another growl slices through your thoughts. Jealousy sounds so good on him. Hearing his frustrations, knowing he’s enjoying the way you indulge, flusters the anxious bundle of nerves at your core. 

Taehyung chuckles. Inches away now, his hot breath fans over your cheek. Fingers trailing up from your hand, along your arm then to your neck, he wraps his hand around your throat. He presses his thumb in the divet just under your chin, teasing a choke but never actually going through with it. You wonder what Namjoon must be hissing by the sea. What kind of curses is he throwing? Just picturing his furious eyes and cliffed jaw tickles the pit of your stomach. 

“You’re precious,” Taehyung whispers, lips pressed against your chin. “I understand why he hides you from us.”

Us? Olympus knows of your blasphemous citrus temple? Usually, this kind of revelation would grant you a lightning bolt to the heart and an eternity in Tartarus. Only this wakes something different in Taehyung. His breath shallows, erection pokes at your thigh. He’s aroused by the idea of worshipping someone as powerless as a mortal. Or perhaps, you wonder as Taehyung nibbles on your skin, he simply adores displaying his power. Either or, you decide to make the most of what your Ares has granted you. Gaze finding his broad frame again, you let out an exaggerated gasp. 

Namjoon flinches. However, it isn’t until you press your body against Taehyung’s that he cringes. He shifts his weight, fist clenched by his sides and you swear you can see steam hovering over his head. Namjoon is livid. But, Taehyung is oblivious. Too consumed by your pleasure, he tightens his grip on your throat and trails his open-mouthed kisses down to your breasts. Nipple between his teeth, Taehyung groans in hunger. Tongue teasing, he licks to play, not to soothe any of the stings. Your toes and legs hook around his waist. Hips rolling, you tease a preview of what you have in mind.

Taehyung shifts half an inch away though. You know it’s not because he didn’t enjoy the gesture, the throb against your hip reassuring you just how much he would really enjoy it. It still hurts your pride, however. Twinges of humiliation taint your soft features. He offers half a smirk as a means of comfort. 

“He told me you’ve got quite a mouth.”

Is that an excuse or explanation? In both cases, it’s weak. He traces your face, fingertips so soft you almost forget the indirect rejection. Charming, his tiger starved gaze reflects hints of amusement. You’re easy prey, a fact that crumbles your courage. He is not here to coddle your pride, to serve the goddess of this naturous parthenon, but rather to obliviate it. A pitiful pile of pleasure is all he wishes to make of you. Though, now you wonder, is he doing this because he wants to, or because he’s ordered to? 

Eyes darting between Apollo and Ares, you swallow thickly. The wondrous glow in Taehyung’s gaze makes you pause. Perhaps you’ve been too hasty. Perhaps they were both counting on that. The humiliation returns ten fold and prickles your skin upon realizing how careless you have been. Too quick to show your keen interest in devouring a different dose of daylight, you did not make Taehyung work as hard as he should’ve. And knowing that must have been what Namjoon was expecting only festers your heart with anger. This isn’t an opportunity to indulge, you conclude, but to reprimand. The both of them want to sip on your submission. The role of a meek mortal amuses them more than it should. It turns you on more than it should. So, you pull away more than you should. 

Laying back on your elbows, you redirect your gaze to the sky. You can feel both pairs of eyes studying you. Taehyung props himself up on his forearm and looks over at your suddenly calmed features. It’s almost as if you’ve never exchanged a word at all. 

“Funny,” you restart, all cards hidden this time. “He never mentioned you.” 

Angry, confused, perhaps both, Taehyung stares. He blink, blink, blinks before he fully registers what’s been said. You can feel Namjoon’s delight though. The pride he has in the way you sassed a rival resonates deep in your core.

As you shimmy out of your dress, Taehyung finally scoffs a chuckle. You attempt to ignore the way it lights your soul with desire and focus on Namjoon’s silhouette. He looks closer, lurking by the tall grass, though still near the sand. Fully naked, you try to school your features and pretend you don’t notice the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches while Taehyung’s falls slack. Your hands rests on Taehyung’s bare thigh long enough to make him shudder and your boyfriend growl. It’s almost all too easy to push Namjoon’s buttons. He hates it when you do something simply because you can. 

“You abuse your power,” he always tells you. 

And, with a smile, you always reply, “I don’t abuse anything, Joonie. You just can’t refuse it.” 

Taehyung seems to prove this statement now, falling prey to the way you toy with him. Half focused, you’re paying enough attention to him to feel his frustration. Displeased with the way you have your eyes glued on the god of war, Taehyung huffs and inches closer. 

“Do I need to plant you an orange tree?” he teases. Well, he attempts to anyways. The resentment in his tone seeps through instead. 

You bite back a smirk. “You can try.”

His eyes flash with annoyance. Chewing on the insides of his cheeks, Taehyung raises a brow. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you can safely assume he’s highly debating it. His eyes shift around the tree the two of you currently lounge under. Sparing you a glance, he scoffs. Perhaps he doesn’t think it’s worth it, you wonder. It’s no matter to you. All it really means is more time spent frustrating him, teasing him beyond- 

The ground crackles, splitting open with the presence of new roots. Bare branches rise and twist around the orange tree trunk. The deep green leaves sprout. Then, ripe figs bloom. They dangle closer to you than the oranges do. You don’t have much time to really admire them, however, as a loud rumble rattles your bones. The sound is enough to snap your fearful eyes to the seashore. Namjoon is gone. 

Shit. Have you taken this too far? Namjoon did plant this tree for you. He had never so much so as looked at another mortal. His allegiance, devotion, and adoration has been declared to you on more than one occasion. You are all he ever sees, thinks, breathes. Swallowing thickly, you mentally call him back. It’s all in good fun, you try to convince him. A quiet hum from the other side of the line is enough to soothe your anxiety. You lean back into the other god.

Taehyung couldn’t be less concerned. Instead of searching for Namjoon, as you seem to be interested in doing, he latches his lips onto your shoulder, a single hand cupping your breast. You gasp. Taking this as an encouragement to continue, Taehyung trails a wet arrangement of open mouthed kisses along your neck. Lips pressed to the shell of your ear, he hisses, “Quite a fucking mouth, indeed.” He digs his fingertips into the flesh of your breast and continues, “Might need some good dick to keep it in check.”

The thought is appealing. So much so, that you cannot help the way your eyes widen and glisten with interest. Having his cock shoved down your throat while he growls at the sheer sight of it alone has compelled your undivided attention. But, Namjoon’s rage still scratches at your bones, warning you against playing too much. 

You scoff. “Who says I don’t already have that?”

Taehyung does not reply. Not a smirk graces his lips nor breath escapes him. He simply leans in for a kiss. You find yourself giving in all too quickly. He slides his hand down to cup the space between your thighs and you cannot find it within you to push it away. In fact, you spread your legs further apart and tell yourself it’s reactive. The jolt of your hips up into his hand though… that might’ve been calculative. 

But the simple gesture of rolling your hips into his palm has shown all your cards once more. He reclaims the power, pulling away from the kiss and your sex. He clutches onto your hair, a deadpan expression the only means of emotion now. In huffing silence, he yanks on your hair, guiding your head down to his crotch. You hiss, the gesture proving more pleasurable than painful as you feel a fresh rush of your wetness further stain your legs. 

His silk skirt, pinned up and hanging from his hip by an arrowed, gold pin, lies in a disarried pile beside him. His huge cock is all that stands before you. He’s thicker than Namjoon, but, even with its impressive length, it does not compare to your boyfriend’s size. Taehyung is massive, but Namjoon is monstrous. 

Your mouth still salivates all the same. Tip oozing precum, Taehyung shoves your face against his balls. His thick scent rolls your tongue out. Heavy in lust, he mostly smells of lemons and cream. You’ve always adored citrus… Namjoon knows this well. And though you expected to feel your boyfriend’s anger at this revelation, all you feel on the other side is emptiness. You wonder where he’s gone. 

Or, at least you attempt to wonder. The moment you feel the impression of Taehyung’s weighty balls against your lips, all your thoughts dissipate. You swirl your tongue around each one before dropping them in your mouth. Suckling, drool dripping, your enthusiasm cannot be hidden any longer. Moaning maniactically, your eyes roll back.

Taehyung gasps and hisses. The peak of his groans, however, surfaces when you wrap a hand around his thick cock. You were ready to start pumping until you realized a single hand barely even covers half of him. Both hands wrapped around his length now, you twist and drag them up and down. Every so often, you tighten your grip a bit and let out a throaty moan. He shudders each time, legs trembling from your attention. 

On your knees, with your ass up high for any onlookers to easily see, the wind lashes at your heat. You squeal, then pull his balls out of your mouth to spit on his cock. The thick wad makes it easier to pump him. Brows furrowed, he runs a hand through his golden hair and shakily sighs… then his sight sets on something behind you. He smirks, white canines a dangerous nod to his power. 

A familiar hand rests on the small of your back, the other landing a harsh smack on your ass. You scream and fall forward onto Taehyung, face fully buried in his cock now. He laughs heartily, running a hand through your hair as a weak excuse for comfort. 

The hand behind you does not stop after one smack. It goes in for second, then third, and before you know it, your ass is burning with stings and pussy wetter than the ocean behind you. The pain ignites something viciously erotic, cradling your heart enough to make you whimper. It’s the idea of being used, you assume, and it only makes you perk your ass up higher. 

His raspy scoff makes you shiver, spine tingling with excitement. He gropes onto your ass and grunts, “Don’t try to be a good girl now.” 

Tangling his fingers in your hair, Namjoon uses this harsh grip to shove your face further against Taehyung’s crotch. He pulls back and tries again, making sure your mouth engulfs his friend’s cock this time. 

“You want to suck his cock, huh? Then fucking suck, you little slut,” he growls.

Your face flames with embarrassment. You can’t even bring yourself to meet Taehyung’s gaze. He merely laughs through a moan, leaning back on his hands as he watches you choke on his cock. You really can’t take him all in one go; you haven’t even found a way to take Namjoon in a single motion. But, your boyfriend couldn’t care less. He pushes your head down and keeps it there. Your jaw aches, throat burns, contracting around Taehyung’s thickness enough to make him throw his head back. Tears spill and spill and you foolishly think this will be the height of his punishment. 

Then, in he goes. 

“Such a wet little bitch,” Namjoon hisses as he pushes his cock into your pussy. 

You let out a strangled whine against Taehyung, much to his pleasure, and attempt to spread your legs, but Namjoon keeps them in place. They’re barely a hip’s length apart. The pain prickles against your pussy’s wall, making you gag a sob around Taehyung’s cock. The pressure of Namjoon’s huge dick behind you and the weight of Taehyung’s in your mouth trembles your posture. You shake under the intimidation and it doesn’t help at all that Taehyung’s dick is suffocating you. 

Namjoon pulls your head up the moment he fully enters. Gasping, you try to catch your breath. You inhale deeply each time, worried Namjoon will shove you back down on Taehyung’s cock without warning. Instead, he gives you a quick moment to breathe, ramming in and out of you like he’s riding a stallion. 

Taehyung, eyes half-lidded, admires the way you drool and babble all over yourself. You heave, holding his gaze long enough to realize he’s mocking you, tongue out and breathes exasperated. Then he laughs and Namjoon laughs, and your pride shrivels up. Dignity on the brink of shattering, you try to avoid his gaze, biting your lip to swallow your moans as Namjoon works his way in and out of you. 

But Taehyung will not have any of that. He nudges your wet chin back to him and teasingly pouts. “Is baby embarrassed?” he asks, tone more menacing than that taunting gaze of his. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Cupping your chin, Taehyung squeezes your cheeks to pucker your lips. “Answer me,” he seethes. 

Parting your lips, you’re about to confirm his statement when Namjoon grunts behind you. He  thrusts his hips particularly harder this time and your balance crumbles. You fall over Taehyung. He catches you with his lips, his hand trailing from your face to your neck and gripping onto it like he owns it. 

Namjoon is displeased. With a growl, he snaps his hips up, balls shoving their way in you too. Your teeth knock with Taehyung, causing him to grunt and glare at the god behind you. You watch him stare your boyfriend down while tightening his grip on your neck. He goes to say something, a curse judging by the placement of his lips in his teeth, but Namjoon pulls you out of his grasp before Taehyung can even get a syllable out. 

Replacing Taehyung’s hand with his own on your neck, Namjoon pulls you back up against his chest. His other hand wraps around your waist. Lips to the shell of your ear, he hammers into you and whispers, “Don’t go forgetting who you belong to.”

You hold Taehyung’s hard stare. His face reddens, cheeks drawn into his mouth as he glares. You whimper, pouting and nodding to Namjoon, but neither one of them seems convinced. Taehyung’s brows raise as if you’ve given him some sort of sign, and Namjoon’s hissing warnings against getting carried away. 

“Better not say his name.”

Out of sheer spite, you part your lips to utter the other’s name. However, the word is consequently pounded right out of your mind the moment it emerges. Neither god gives you another moment to develop a reply at all as they battle for your attention. A part of you wishes that each of them simply takes turns, but you already know how useless that would be. Neither one of them will be willing to wait and watch. Namjoon already slipped himself in, the act of watching being too distant for him. 

And it seems to be the same for Taehyung as well. He can’t sit still, can’t just watch you get ravished by someone else. You catch the annoyed twinkle in his eye darkening every time Namjoon makes you scream. Swallowing thickly, Taehyung shifts so that he’s lying by your knees and pulls the plump, upper flesh of your pussy apart. Then, smirking, he dips his head in and enthusiastically sucks on your clit. Teeth grazing, he bites and nibbles, drawing the most high-pitched squeals out of you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pushing his face further against your pussy. 

Namjoon huffs a groan against your cheek. Pounding in full force, he loosens his grip on you a bit. Your hips jolt forward, Taehyung’s teeth clamping down on your clit. You cry out, both hands back over Namjoon’s arm. The god by your knees did not escape unscathed either, his lips slightly bruised from the hit. He drags his gaze up to you, glare deadly. 

Guts twisting in ecstasy and guilt, you whimper and shake your head. “Sorr-” 

Your apology clinches in your throat as Namjoon tightens his grip on it. “Shut the fuck up, you filthy whore,” he grunts into your hair. 

Taehyung catches onto Namjoon’s sly gesture quickly, hungry eyes aflame for vengeance. “Keep her still, or I’ll fuck her into the ground.” His deep voice tickles the swirling pit of your stomach. So rich and raspy, his dulcet voice guides you closer to your orgasm than you’d be brave enough to admit. 

Subsequently, Taehyung relatches his lips to your clit. Namjoon swallows enough of his pride not to shake him off again. And you shudder as high doses of ecstasy creep over your nerves. It pumps your veins with excitement, anticipation and sheer joy. Even when they’ve mocked you and used you as a pocket pussy- a set of holes, you cannot deny how horny it makes you for them. 

Namjoon huffs your name in your ear, whispering about your tightness, about how he knows how fucking close you are. “Baby is gonna cream,” he mockingly coos. “Do you want him to taste you? Are you that much of a slut, you want another man to taste you? He’ll get addicted.” Namjoon grunts thrice before continuing, “But you already know that, right? You want him addicted. You want him to worship that little cunt of yours, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck yes!” you screech. Whether it is in reply to his questions or simply a reaction to the dual assault of your pussy, you’re not quite certain. But, Namjoon is. And he’s irate. Shaking with anger, his pounds reach a pace unknown to gods, even Taehyung raises an impressed brow. 

Your next intake of air cinches somewhere in your throat. You try to scream, to cry, to make some sort of sound as your cum rushes out of you. Gushing, slouching, your pussy makes enough noise that your mouth doesn’t need to. Both men fall victim to it - to you - anyway. Squirming in Namjoon’s hold, there’s very little you can do. Your mind is foggy, vision blurry, but it doesn’t stop either of them. A distant clash of throaty moans fill the fields, though you can’t register much of that either. Your ears are ringing too much to hear more than your own heartbeat struggling to keep up. 

Taehyung growls, his hands constantly knocking against Namjoon’s. Your dazed gaze falls to meet his. Eyes blazed with sexual frustration, he claws at your hips and pulls you forward against him. Namjoon, however, keeps a strong hold on your waist. Your torso’s his for the taking. He grabs hold of your chin and whips your head back to him. 

“You look at me when you cum,” he seethes. “Or you won’t cum at all next time.” 

Half a breath escapes you in response, but it seems to be half a breath too late. Namjoon emits a raspy groan so sinister it would be a crime to simply call it a growl. He roars. You feel the vibrations of the sound in your spine, another dose of your cum rushing through you. Then, all too quickly, he lets go of you. It takes his hands off your chest for you to realize your legs gave out long ago. You instantly fall to your knees. Taehyung is quick to catch you in his arms. Lips inches apart, Taehyung looks ready to share some of his oxygen with you when Namjoon orders, “Turn her around.”

Taehyung glares over your head. Gulping, his lips twitch in a fake smile as he lifts you. You, however, cannot let him give in that easily. Besides, nothing is better than angering the god of war. His stubborn, victory-bound heart will not rest until you submit to him over Taehyung. And, throwing you into the enemy’s arms does not seem like he’s trying hard enough to win, to discipline you. So, after Taehyung turns you around in his lap, you press a passionate kiss upon his lips, slipping your tongue in for good measure. Taehyung snakes his hand between your legs too, fingers playing all too much for you to stay silent. Between kisses, you sneak a glance at Namjoon, finding Taehyung already doing the same thing.  

Towering over you, skin inked, nipples pierced, muscles flexed and slick with sweat, Namjoon huffs. His jaw is locked, a gesture you’ve learned isn’t at all meant to be comforting. With his cheeks sucked in and a brow quirked, Namjoon jerks himself off to the sight of you so openly defiant.

“Open your dirty mouth,” Namjoon orders through gritted teeth. “I need to clean it out.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, his fingers ceasing their movements as he cups your sex instead. “So dramatic,” he teases, earning a cold stare from Namjoon. 

You resist the urge to giggle, having to choose your battles carefully. Taehyung has already gotten too much attention anyways, you decide. Pushing his hand away from your pussy, you ignore the wet kisses Taehyung peppers upon the nape of your neck and gaze up at Namjoon with your mouth open. 

He bites his lip to keep from smirking. And, with a loud, chest drawn groan, he releases his load all over your chin and breasts. The warmth of his cum sets your skin ablaze. It feels just as thick as it tastes. Licking around your face, you try to swallow whatever you can get. A little smile breaks out on Namjoon’s face, swelling your heart with pride. 

However, Taehyung isn’t as moved by the gesture as you are. He tangles a hand in your hair and pulls your head back against his shoulder. “That’s enough of that,” he breathes over your face. Then he wipes the rest of Namjoon’s cum off with the pad of his thumb and pecks your lips. He rubs the cum into your nipples, teasing them between his thumb and forefinger. 

You almost forget Namjoon's presence. That is, until he grabs hold of your ankles and yanks you right out of Taehyung’s hold. With a loud gasp, you’re on your back, legs spread and Namjoon at the center. He gazes lazily down at you, like handling your body is a casual passtime. There is something glittering within that suspicious ease, however. Something cocky, angry, and terrifying. Hand around your neck, Namjoon jerks you off the floor and shoves you back into Taehyung’s arms. 

The golden god catches you with a grunt. He draws his brows together in confusion, silently questioning Namjoon. He parts his lips, but your boyfriend huffs, cutting him off. Namjoon grabs you by your bicep and turns you around to face Taehyung. 

After making sure your legs are spread and straddling the other god’s waist, Namjoon seethes, “The simplest instructions.” His warm tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear. Between nibbles he continues, “You can’t even follow the simplest instructions. That can’t be easily forgiven anymore, baby.”

You’re not quite sure what he means, considering he’s never punished you in this position before. Usually, being on top is a reward. He grants you a sliver of control, consequence free, when you’ve been well-behaved. This level of generosity is a rarity. However, as Namjoon pushes you further into Taehyung, with you wrapped around his torso, you begin to wonder what kind of punishment you’re in for, and which one of them is administering it. 

Of course, these thoughts are fleeting as Taehyung’s fat cock prods around your pulsing hole. Sparks of bliss set to flames the nerves bunching around your clit. You shudder each time he brushes his tip against it. Petting your hair back just to grab it, Taehyung breathes a chuckle into the crook of your neck. He licks and sucks on your delicate skin like you belong to him. And for a split second, you almost think you do. The sweet, wet kisses and the way he eases into you only just has you forgetting that Namjoon is standing over you, watching as another god worships.

With a smack, your memories jolt back. The sting of both cheeks makes you all too aware of his presence now. You cry out, falling over Taehyung clumsily. The spank hit so hard, so fast that it even has Namjoon hissing from the impact. Even still, he smacks you again and again and again. “You still have no idea what you’ve asked for, do you?” he questions. 

You thought you did. You hoped you did. But, as Namjoon spanks you with added force, you realize just how right he is. You whimper into Taehyung’s shoulder. He’s kept his cock warm in your tight, clenching hole when Namjoon begins to get vicious with his spanks. Chuckling and mocking you in whispers, Taehyung finds your suddenly all too obedient state entertaining. It flames your face with shame, your entire body caught between wanting another serving of cock or slaps. He imitates your whimpers, coaxing more tears out of you before hissing, “If you had any real shame, you’d get off my cock and go suck your boyfriend’s.”

“She’s a fucking slut,” Namjoon answers, landing another slap to your tenders cheeks. “Why’d you stop fucking her?”

Some humanity flashes in Taehyung’s eyes as you nuzzle your face against his. He mutters something incoherent, along the lines of, “She can’t handle it.” 

“She can!” Namjoon grunts as he finally rubs your pain buzzed ass. A shaky whine escapes you and tickles Taehyung’s ear. “You can take it, right, baby?” he asks, digging his nails into your flesh. 

You whine in agreement. It’s not enough. He needs to hear you say- scream it. Grabbing a handful of your hair, he peels you off Taehyung enough for him to get a good look at your face. He folds his hands under his head, smirking at the sight of you so shattered by pleasure of being in pain. Face flushed, wet, cum stained and eyes innocent, your features fold in raptured anguish. 

Namjoon roughly kneads your right cheek while pressing the length of his cock against it. “Can you take the fucking like a good girl?” He mockingly coos. It juts a chorus of shivers down your spine. 

You squeeze tight around Taehyung at the thought. He rasps your name. Namjoon growls lowly, rubbing himself against you as he warns, “You’re not gonna make me ask you a third time, are you?” 

Taehyung shifts his hips, cinching your breath at your throat from the stroke of friction. Why did he have to be so big, so pretty and hot staring at you like that? Why’d you have to go tempting gods you know you can’t keep up with? You regret angering Namjoon, realizing that jealousy is the worst power trip you can feed a god. They both want to watch you fall apart, crumble into a pile of bones. Tears spill at the thought, pussy aching around a cock too big to adjust to. Every nerve feels so sensitive, so overused, yet you need to cum again. 

No. You can’t take it. But, you’ll be damned if you tell either of them that. And as Namjoon lays another sharp smack on your cheeks, tingling with pain, you circle your hips around Taehyung’s and cry out a broken, breathy and utterly desperate, “Y-es!”

Taehyung grips onto your hips, pulling you half out. You expect to be plunged onto his cock with a new degree of force, but find another one attempting to squeeze in as well. Namjoon’s monster cock pushing into your pussy alongside Taehyung’s. Your jaw drops, eyes roll back as that viciously delicious stretch strangles your soul with bliss. He enters you slow, but sharp, knowing full well that the both of them cannot fit. 

Neither cares. Both gods create a quickly speeding rhythm of thrusts into you. Body jolting forwards, breasts shaking over Taehyung’s face and ass bouncing against Namjoon’s hips. He hunches over you to groan your name in your ear, voice husky with lust and dominance. He repeats the word like a prayer. Every syllable drips slow out of his lips like thick molasses when his voice reaches such depth. 

You try to lean back into him, but Taehyung keeps you in place with the tight grip on your hips. “Stay still,” he grunts against your nipple. Then, he sucks on it, teasing the little nub between his teeth. 

You moan a little too loud at Taehyung’s ministrations for Namjoon’s liking. Both hands locked on your ass, Namjoon pushing your cheek up and against Taehyung. You lose whatever balance you had weighted on your arms, falling flat against the sun god with a squeal. His cock fully plugs into you and when he tries to thrust up against you once more, Namjoon growls, “Both of you stay still.”

A shiver tickles your spine with the wind. As Taehyung kisses your neck, you attempt to sneak a peek at your boyfriend over your shoulder and push your ass back into him. He’s sweaty and huffing. The peachy sunset behind him halos around his muscular frame. He’s so pretty when he’s mad, all those veins lacing his inked skin like little spider webs. His gaze finds yours, that annoyed look intensifying in his eyes when you wink at him.

And though it was completely innocent, it still switches something off in Namjoon. He shifts his tight grip on your ass to the small of your back then, all at once, presses down onto it with the entirety of his strength. A series of loud cracks elicit from your spine like the fire of a gun at the start of a race. And away go his hips as he rams in and out of your too full pussy. 

Screams and sudden sobs pour out of you and onto Taehyung as the both of you get shaken by Namjoon’s force. You know your back isn’t broken, blown out maybe, but definitely not broken. You just didn’t think this would be the result of his jealousy and anger. Did he think you were mocking him with that wink, with Taehyung? Perhaps some mocking did occur with Taehyung around, but he’s always liked your snarkier side. He tells you to behave because he knows you won’t and adores it when you don’t. But, maybe you did take it too far, and give into Taehyung too much. You really wish you can say, with all this overstimulating and teasing and taunting, that you regret it all. 

Only, you don’t. 

Clutching tighter onto Taehyung’s shoulders, your tears fall as freely as your broken moans. Namjoon smacks his hips over your ass, pounding your pussy like it’s just you two here. It’s not as though Taehyung is lying under you, obsessing over how tight you are and just how amazing you smell. 

“You know why he’s so mad right,” he questions quietly, voice strained. When you shake your head, he chuckles and whispers, “Because he knows how much better I make you feel.”

The whimper that leaves you was by no means a response to whatever Taehyung was going on about. Though he gives it to you great, he doesn’t compare to your boyfriend. You suppose Namjoon knows this too, somewhere within that deep connection you two share. Still, he holds you further down against Taehyung, practically melding your body into his, and thrusts at an ungodly speed just as he did when he caught you sucking Taehyung’s cock. 

You’re not sure either of them understand the load of pleasure they are washing over you. Taehyung has his giant cock stationed in your pussy with his tip pressing continuously against your g-spot as Namjoon’s monstrous cock jabs at it again and again. 

Body trembling, voice broken, you squeal, “I’m- ahhgh I’m gon-na cuu-uum.”

“Me too,” Taehyung husks in your ear. It has you clenching tighter. 

Namjoon scoffs through a moan. “No, you’re fucking not.” 

“But, Joon-”

A harsh smack against your ass silences your protests. “You know what to do when you’re close,” he grunts.

Yes, you do. But there isn’t much time to beg. You have two huge cocks in you and if he thinks he can coax some sort of plea- 

“Fuck,” you cry as he spanks you again. 

“ASK!” he roars, hands on your back just to make it crack all over again.

Drooling, whimpering, eyes rolling, you somehow find it in you to hold back your orgasm long enough to beg, “Please, fuck, just let me cum! Please, please, Namjoon!” 

“Just fucking let her cum,” Taehyung grunts. 

Namjoon snakes one of his hands up your spine, hips still ramming into you all the same, and latching onto your hair. Slowly, he peels you off of Taehyung and holds you against his chest. You screw your eyes shut in an attempt not to cream both their cocks. 

With his lips at your ear, he whispers, “Look down at him.” After forcing your eyes open and down at Taehyung, who looks all too pleased with your ruined state, Namjoon orders, “Thank him for a good time.”

Panting, lips a spitty mess, you whimper, “Thank you for a good time.” 

Taehyung rubs your thighs. “She’s just as fun when she’s a good girl,” he hisses to himself. 

Namjoon chuckles, wrapping his free hand around your throat. “You’re my best girl either way,” he whispers to you. The praise makes you shiver, your orgasm almost slipping right out of your control. 

“Please let me cum now,” you cry. “Please, I need it.” 

Taking a deep breath of your scent, Namjoon peppers little kisses along your jawline. “Shall we all cum together?” he asks before nodding to Taehyung. The sun god’s hips jolt back to act and soon each one is back to taking turns to smash your already too sensitive spot. 

You nod energetically. Truthfully, you don’t care if either one of them cums, just as long as they let you do it now. 

Taehyung shifts one of his hands further up your hips, his thumb working fast and small circles over your clit. You’re quaking, head thrown back against Namjoon’s shoulders, eyes rolling and screwed shut when Namjoon orders you to look at him. You force them open enough to watch a wicked swirl of power and lust gleam in his eyes. With a single breath, lips hovering over yours, he whispers, “Cum.”

Your vision spots black before failing all together as an extreme dose of ecstasy floods your senses. Their growls collide with your breathless screams in a cacophony of pleasure with each shot of cum they fill you with. And you return the favour, coating each cock with more cum than you think you’ve ever offered. In and out, they still go, desperate to leave you dripping with the impression of both of them for days. 

Namjoon spits in your mouth a bit and chuckles quietly when you still find it in you to swallow it. “You just had to be a fucking brat, hmm?” he groans as both his and Taehyung’s thrusts slow down. “Are you satisfied now?”

You hear his words and think that maybe you are processing them, but you really can’t find enough of your voice or energy to respond. Heaving, you know your body gave out well before he even got you in this position and blew your back out. You don’t even realize that you’re slobbering all over yourself until Namjoon licks it all away. Only little whimpers and whines manage to reply to him. It only strengthens that power blown look in his eyes. 

Taehyung suddenly pulls himself out of you. Or rather, Namjoon pulls you up and off his cock. Then, he stands up on his knees and presses a soft kiss to your mouth, despite Namjoon’s annoyed groan. “And thank you for such a great evening, my-”

“She’s not yours!”

You watch through somewhat blurry vision as the two gods glare at each other. Taehyung then glances over at the fig vines laced around the orange tree. With a smirk, he nods. His hands fondle your breast one more time before he grabs what little clothes he came with. Then, with the sun, he’s gone. 

Basking in the glow of the moon, Namjoon slowly pulls out of you. His touches are now all too gentle to even register, or maybe your skin is simply still on fire from such a rough fucking. Either way, he’s careful in how he handles you now. Cradling you to his chest, he helps you lay down. He kisses your forehead and mutters, “Take a deep breath.” 

You do so. Again and again. When you’re breathing somewhat regulates, your mind finally catches up with where you are now. Resting in Namjoon’s arms, his silk skirt draped over your body like a blanket, you gaze up at the stars. 

“He planted figs,” Namjoon mutters.

You shift against his chest before shrugging. “He did.” You’re not sure why that simple detail seems to tick him off so much. They’re just figs. 

“Do you still like oranges though?”

It suddenly clicks in your head. His anger translating into worry. Does he really think that you’d give him up for Taehyung? He should know you well enough to know he’s your world. And if you weren’t so sore or weak, you would have gotten up and picked the ripest orange and shared it with him. Instead, you turn in his lap, suppressing the urge to hiss at the sparks of pain running up and down your back, and press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I love oranges.” 

He fights off a smile, but relief reflects in his gaze. “I’m sure they love you too,” he mutters like he hasn’t told you so before. 

It all doesn’t matter too much anyways. He’s yours and you’re his. No other god, no matter how many times they stop by, will change that. This is, after all, your orange tree. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

The Black Swan is open long after the other nearby bars and restaurants have locked up for the night. After the tables have been cleared and the tips have been counted, it’s where just about everyone who works in the service industry in this part of town ends up for a post-shift nightcap. They’re drawn by the late hours and the strong drinks and, well --

Jeon Jungkook.

On any given night, his bar is packed with flirts -- men and women alike -- all hoping for just a taste of his attention.  You can’t blame them, really.  It’s far too easy to get lost in Jungkook’s massive, dark eyes, or that slow, confident smile.  And it’s far too hard to look away when he tucks an errant strand of inky hair behind his ear or when he rolls his sleeves up to reveal those toned forearms covered with tattoos.

Jungkook works his bar with the confidence of a man who understands his magnetism, a man who understands why people get sucked into his orbit and never want to leave. 

Suckers just like you.

*************************

Jägermeister is totally fucking disgusting and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

You’ve just bellied up to the bar to grab a drink when Jeon Jungkook drops a shot of the foul shit right in front of you.  The look you give him is equal parts confused and revolted.

“What’s this?” 

“Oh, come on,” he teases with a smile, “You work at a bar.  Don’t tell me you don’t recognize a shot of Jäger.”

“Oh, I recognize it,” you tease back. “I just refuse to acknowledge it.  Who sent this to me?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes playfully, pulls another shot glass from under the bar and pours himself a shot of the dark, thick liqueur.

He holds it up in the air and waits for you to do the same.

“I did.”

Your eyebrows shoot sky-high in surprise.  Jeon Jungkook buying you a shot? 

You’re probably just in the right place at the right time, you reason. The lucky recipient of a free drink because he’s in the mood to get one, too.  

Or unlucky, you correct yourself -- looking down at the glass.  But one more look at Jungkook and you know there’s no way you’re going to refuse the offering.  

You’re picky, but you’re damned sure not stupid.

You raise your shot glass in the air and Jungkook looks pleased.

“Bottoms up,” he says, eyes twinkling.

***********************

Something strange happens a few nights later.  

You’re seated at a high-top near the bar with your girlfriends when you hear Jungkook call something out across the room.  Your friends freeze, wide eyes and shocked stares focused on you for one awkward moment.

He says it again, this time louder -- and there’s no mistaking it.

It’s your name.

You ignore the frantic whispering of your girlfriends and stand up from your seat at the high-top to approach Jungkook’s bar.  He’s leaned over it, hands bracing the dark wood -- pen tucked neatly behind his ear.  His long dark hair is pulled back into a glossy knot, but one lock has fallen into his eyes.  

He looks insanely good -- but honestly, what’s new?

You clear your throat before you approach so you don’t croak your way through whatever comes next.  Spine straight, you get close, slide into a barstool and do your best to appear casual.

“What’s up?” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna threaten you with any more shots of Jäger,” he laughs, flashing his million-watt smile.  You smile back, hoping he can’t hear the holy shits and what the fucks flying at the table behind you.  “I’ve got something else for you tonight.”

“Okay,” you breathe, dazzled by the personal attention he’s bestowing on you.  “What’s on the menu?”

Jungkook reaches for two fresh shot glasses and pulls a heavy amber bottle from the well behind his bar.

“Grand Marnier,” you answer for him, watching as he pours you both a shot.  “An upgrade from Jäger, that’s for sure,” you tease.

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most goddamned adorable way possible.  “I figured this might be more your speed.”

Figured how? As far as you know, he doesn’t know a thing about you -- apart from the fact that you usually drink a vodka tonic.

And your name, apparently.  How does he know your name, anyway?

“Cheers,” he says in that low, sexy voice, and you shiver.

“Cheers,” you agree, tongue swiping at the taste of the sweet liqueur on your lips.  

Jungkook’s eyes darken for a split-second and heat creeps up your neck.

“So, um -- how do you know my name?”

You can thank the alcohol for giving you the courage to ask.  Sober you wouldn’t be nearly so forward.

Jungkook shrugs.  “I’ve seen it on your credit card.”

“Ah,” you smile.  “Well, thanks, again.  Next time, I’ll be the one buying, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he grins.

But as you’re walking back to your table something dawns on you.  

You turn and head back to the bar.

“Hold on a second,” you say, eyes narrowed at Jungkook.  “I’ve never paid with a credit card here.  I always pay my tab in cash.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs -- and fuck if the slow smile that spreads across his features doesn’t make your panties wet right then and there.  

“Is that right?”

**************************

“Jeon Jungkook wants to fuck you.”

“For the love of God, Tifa,” you hiss, ducking your head.  “Keep your voice down.  Jungkook and every last one of his ancestors can hear you when you’re talking that loud.”

Tifa shrugs, unbothered.

“I said what I said,” she sniffs, checking for non-existent dirt under her nails.  “You see any of us getting free shots from The Golden One? Or any of the other women in here, for that matter?”

Well, she’s kind of got a point there, doesn’t she?

You have no idea why you seem to have captured Jeon Jungkook’s attention, but you’re not going to question it, that’s for sure. You’re going to enjoy your good fortune while it lasts.

“He’s being nice,” you argue, and even you aren’t buying it the second the lame deflection comes out of your mouth.  Tifa rolls her eyes.

“You know what else would be nice? Getting dicked down by the hottest man in town.  Wouldn’t that be nice?”

You sigh.  

It would be, actually.  The part of your brain that entertains such outlandish fantasies has been working overtime these days, imagining exactly what that would be like.  Imagining the body that lies underneath that sinfully fitted shirt and the almost-too-tight-but-not-quite jeans.  

Jungkook certainly walks and talks and moves like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing in bed.  You’d love nothing more than to know if there’s any truth to that theory.

You chance a glance over your shoulder, back to the bar -- and Jungkook is deep in conversation with a patron.  She’s leaning over the bar, practically throwing herself at the man, but he looks away from her to catch sight of you.  His picture-perfect face breaks into a wide smile and you break into a sweat.

“See what I mean?” Tifa asks, brow raised when you turn back to face her.  “The man is trying to fuck you.  I’ll be right here after he does, waiting to say I told you so.”

You sputter a laugh into the rim of your glass.

“We’ll see about that, T.”

*************************

Nothing ruins the end of a night of drinking quite like last call.

All the fun screeches to a halt when the house lights come on.  No one looks good under the harsh fluorescents that hum to life as tabs are being paid and drinks are being slammed and tables are being wiped -- no one.

Well, no one except for Jeon Jungkook, of course.

He’s in the weeds tonight -- trying to settle tabs for at least twenty people all trying to cash out at the same time.  He nods in your direction to confirm he’s seen you, that he’ll get to you -- that eventually you’ll get your chance to pay.

So you wait.  And wait.

The crowd starts to thin as Jungkook closes tabs at top speed -- tip jar flush with obscene amounts of cash.  No one tips better than people who make a living on them -- and tonight is no exception.  From what you can tell it’s been a good night for Jungkook.  

Hell, every night is probably a good night when you’re Jeon Jungkook.

You sip what’s left of your vodka tonic and scroll through your phone while you patiently wait for your turn -- then promptly lose track of time.

How long have you been sitting here? 

It’s only when your ears pick up on the echo in this place that you look up from the screen.  Jungkook is cashing some guy out -- and as you take a look around you realize this guy must be the last person in this place. 

Correction -- you are the last person in this place, or at least you will be in about thirty seconds. 

Your pulse picks up as Jungkook wraps the transaction and sends the guy out the door with a friendly wave.  You’re definitely the only two people left in The Black Swan now, no doubt.

“So uh -- ” you drag the sound out on a nervous breath, “ -- I still need to pay my tab.”

Jungkook flips the house lights back off before sauntering to your end of the bar, wearing his most dangerous smile. He dries his hands with the towel at his waist then sets it aside.

“Your tab was paid hours ago.”

Oh.

“Because you paid it,” you say slowly, forcing yourself to drag your eyes from the man’s muscled thighs and trim waist to his flawless face.  Your heart stops a bit at the smirk you find when you finally get there.

“Yup.”

You grab for what’s left of your vodka tonic and slug it down.  

Jungkook laughs.

“You want me,” he says, fingers working the top buttons of his fitted shirt open.  You watch with wide eyes, so distracted by the action that you barely process what he’s said.

“Wait, what?” you ask in a daze.

“You want me,” he repeats casually, like it’s no big deal.  His fingers stop only a few buttons down, the tease -- but he chooses that same moment to pull his hair out of the loose knot he’s been wearing all night.  The dark strands fall into his face and you stare like a moron.

“What makes you say that?” you ask, weakly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jungkook teases.  “My vision is 20/20.  My hearing is pretty good, too -- though it would be pretty hard not to overhear the things you and your friends say about me.”

Dammit, Tifa, I told you to keep your voice down.

“Yikes,” you murmur on a shaky laugh.  “That’s embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he says with no hesitation.  “‘Cause I want you, too.”

You pull back from the bar so far, your stool nearly tips over. Jungkook waits for you to right yourself in amused silence.  Then he waits for you to speak.

“I’m, I  -- “ you sputter, searching for things like words and thoughts.  Jungkook’s brows lift as he awaits whatever is on the other end of that sentence.  “ -- I think I need another drink.”

Jungkook winks before reaching down to pull glasses from under the bar.  He sets a brown bottle with a familiar orange label down beside them.  You hold your breath when you see him walk out from behind the bar to slide into the stool next to yours.

“Fireball,” you say thickly, watching him pour the cinnamon liqueur into the shot glasses.  He nods, handing you your glass.

“Think this will help?” he asks, smiling wickedly.  

“No way to know but to do it,” you smile back.

You clink the glasses together before draining them.

You can almost feel the alcohol working its way through your veins.  The warm burn of it starts in your throat, slides low into your belly and spreads out through your arms and legs.  

“Think that did the trick?” he asks in a low voice, dark eyes fixed on your every move.  He leans closer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. He’s close enough now you can smell the warm cinnamon on his breath.  Between the booze and the hormones, you’re starting to feel a little reckless.  “That depends.  Are you trying to fuck me in this bar?”

“Absolutely,” Jungkook deadpans.  You suck in a breath.

“Then I think we’ll probably need one more.”

Jungkook chuckles as he refills your glasses.  His eyes glint with unconcealed mischief when you knock the second round back.  This time, the warmth that spreads down your throat seems to pool between your thighs.

You dip the pad of one finger into the remnants left in the shotglass, emboldened by the buzz you can feel coming on.  Jungkook watches rapt as you slip it between your lips.  You are weightless and shameless by now, more than prepared for the moment he slips two fingers under your jaw to tip your mouth up towards his.  

He tastes like the pleasant spice in the alcohol and he smells like sweat and bodywash and your senses are overwhelmed.  Your fingers dive right into his hair, desperate to feel the silky strands between your fingertips.

“Fireball was a good idea,” Jungkook groans between kisses, hands going to your back to pull you close.  You stand out of your barstool to position yourself between his thighs.  “I like the way you think.”

He pulls away to tug at the hem of your shirt. 

“Take this off,” he orders with a quiet authority that makes you desperate to comply. His eyes are heavy-lidded; glued to the nipples pebbling underneath the thin cotton.  You cross your arms across your body and lift the shirt over your head.

Jungkook doesn’t bother to take your bra off.  You jolt with surprise when he surges forward, mouth seeking the skin peeking out of the soft cups.  He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses across the heated flesh before leaning low to graze the outline of one nipple.  You jerk at the sensation -- at the way his lips and tongue and teeth make the fabric rub against the straining buds.

“Oh, God,” you hiss, “That feels good.”

Jungkook pushes the straps of your bra off your shoulders, eyes dark and focused when your breasts spill out of the cups and your nipples are exposed to the cool air in the bar.  You shudder.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, touching his tongue to your nipples now without a barrier.  You allow yourself to run your fingers through his hair again, anchoring yourself to him to keep steady in the onslaught.

It’s bad manners that you haven’t pulled yourself together enough to thank him for the compliment, but how can you be expected to think straight when his teeth are scraping against your nipples? 

Jungkook pauses to look up at you -- eyes smoldering, lips swollen with use -- and you squirm in his hold.  “You should take these jeans off,” he whispers, fingers slipping into the belt loops. He tugs at them gently. “I wouldn’t want them to get wet.”

Oh honey -- that ship has sailed.

You nod slowly and Jungkook leans back in his stool, eyes hooded as you unbutton the denim, slide it down your legs and step out of it.  

“You gonna take any clothes off, or am I the only one stripping tonight?” you tease, shivering at the loss of his body heat. 

A slow smile spreads over his face. “We’re getting to that, I promise.”

He reaches across the bar for the bottle of Fireball and your mouth falls open in surprise.

“Wait, are you gonna -- “

“Yeah,” he cuts in, dripping the cool liquid onto your breast.  His lips swipe at the liqueur that spills over your nipple and you groan out loud.  “I own this bar,” he teases, his warm tongue a stark contrast to the cold alcohol.  “I can do whatever I want in here.”

You certainly can.

He drips more of the liquid onto a nipple and watches with satisfaction as it slides down your skin.  He laps at the cinnamon taste as his hands roam the sensitive skin of your stomach and down to the band of your panties.  Your breath hitches in your chest.

“I can do whatever I want on here, too,” he smirks, nodding at the bar.  You laugh.

“You’re the boss, right?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook winks, before his hands drop to your waist. His grip is firm as he helps lift you on to the bartop. 

You brace your hands against the wood and watch as he slips his fingers under the satin seam of your panties.  In this position, you have a front-row seat to what is sure to be the hottest sexual experience of your life.  Jungkook’s brows knit in concentration and his tongue swipes across his lips as he pulls your soaking panties away from your legs.  The sight of him preparing to debauch you on top of his bar alone could make you come.

He steadies you with firm hands to either side of your hips before dipping his head down to test your taste with a light flick of his tongue.  You buck in his grasp and he muffles his laughter against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.  “You’re not allowed to fall off of my bar,” he teases.  “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you laugh, fingertips gripping the bartop for dear life.  

Jungkook pulls his mouth away from your aching center and you damned near whine at the loss of his warmth.  But in a split-second he’s back, and so is the Fireball.  

“Just a little,” he rasps, tipping the bottle to the side.  You hiss as the frigid liquid seeps down into the crux of your thighs.  Jungkook purses his lips and blows a puff of air against you, sparking an intense tingling sensation and earning a loud whimper.  He’s satisfied with your response, if the look on his face is any indication  --  but his wicked smile disappears from view when he lowers his mouth to your center again.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head dropping back between your shoulders. “God, that feels good.”

“Tell me what it feels like,” he whispers, slipping one long, calloused finger into your channel.  The added sensation makes you whine when he swipes his tongue against your clit.  

“Like --,” you gasp and try again to formulate a thought. “Like fire and ice.”

He hums his approval of that assessment right into your cunt and you nearly break your promise not to fall off his bar.  Your arms are shaking with the same tension that is building between your legs. Jungkook pulls back to drip more of the Fireball onto your sensitive center and you shudder.

The alcohol burns a bit, a pleasant pain that is somehow heightened by Jungkook’s warm, wet mouth.  He doesn’t rush, seemingly content to take his time as you slowly come undone. 

“I’m so close,” you whimper, elbows threatening to buckle underneath you.  Jungkook finally picks up the pace, tonguing you deep as your thighs tighten in anticipation.

“I can feel how bad you want to come, sweetheart,” he goads, finger crooking inside of you, stimulating that spot that makes you feel like you can’t see straight.  “Do it.”

The moans Jungkook pulls from you in those final seconds are made all the more obscene by the echoing inside this empty bar.  Every muscle in your body tightens and then melts as your orgasm hits with the intensity of a freight train.  Jungkook seals his mouth over your cunt to capture the wetness he’s earned, prolonging the sensations, prolonging your moans. 

It takes a moment for the roar in your ears to subside, for your ability to focus to return.  When you can hear and see and think again, you look back down to the space between your thighs and find Jungkook wearing a look of utter satisfaction.

“Believe it or not, that’s the first time I’ve eaten pussy on top of my bar,” he teases, dimples emerging as his lips quirk into a smile.  “How has your service been tonight?”

“Pretty good,” you taunt, a lot ballsier with a few shots and an orgasm under your belt.  “Would be a hell of a lot better if my bartender would take his clothes off.”

Jungkook feigns a wounded look as his fingers work the rest of the buttons on his shirt open to reveal a tight white tank underneath.  He pulls that overhead and reveals the body you’ve been fantasizing about for so long.  Whatever you’d imagined was lying underneath those clothes pales in comparison to the real thing.  His body looks cut from stone, his smooth skin the perfect canvas for the tattoos that run across his arms and onto his chest.

“Better now?” he chuckles.

“Not yet,” you say, savoring the power of your position on the bar.  You watch his one-woman striptease with the hint of a smile on your lips.  “The jeans have to go.”

“Bossy,” he mocks, fingers unbuttoning the dark denim.  Your jaw drops about the same time the jeans do.

“Well,” you laugh, slipping down off of the bar to stand in front of him.  “Your review has just improved.”

He smiles into the kiss you plant on him as your fingers snake between you to wrap around his cock.  He thrusts firmly into the tight grasp of your fingers as his tongue delves deep into your mouth.  He sucks in a breath when your thumb teases as the moisture gathered at the tip of his cock.

“My cock is gonna explode if I don’t bury it between those thighs,” Jungkook groans and you shudder from head to toe.  “Turn around for me.”

You do as you're told, turning away from him to brace your weight against the bartop.  You can see Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror that lines the back wall of the bar.  You watch as he grabs a condom from the back pocket of his jeans and makes quick work of rolling it down his thick length.

He presses the length of his warm body against yours, and you tense when the blunt head of his cock teases your entrance.  One hand lines up his cock and the other grips the soft skin of your hip.  He looks at you in the reflection of the mirror and your knees almost give out when he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

You arch back just as he sinks inside -- going to the hilt in one firm stroke.  

“Shit,” he groans between gritted teeth. “Fuck, that’s a tight fit.”

“Oh, God --” you gasp as he begins to rock against you.  After a few languid strokes he sets a steady rhythm, hips smacking against your ass with the force of his thrusts.

He leans over you, bracketing you in with one arm braced on the bar while the other helps guide your hip.  Your eyes fall closed and your head drops forward as you push back against him, rendered boneless by the thick slide of his cock.  The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoes loud in the empty bar.

Jungkook leans down to take your earlobe between his teeth and you whimper.

“Look at me,” he orders in a whisper.  “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes snap open to find Jungkook’s reflection and the sight nearly makes you come undone for a second time.  His damp hair is falling into his face, body covered in a sheen of sweat and his mouth is curled into a dangerous smile.

“That’s it,” he murmurs when your eyes meet in the mirror.  “I want you to see how good you’re getting fucked.”

Your rhythm falters at his provocation but Jungkook refuses to let either of you get off track.  He drops both hands to your hips and begins pounding into you with relentless strokes, huffing a laugh when you squeak in response.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he groans, thrusts going frantic.  “Can you come for me again?”

You nod -- completely out of words -- reaching one hand down to the aching button between your thighs.  Jungkook pulls your body back against his, angling deeper into your aching cunt at the same time your shaking fingers manage to apply a light pressure to your clit.  

That’s all it takes.

You come apart a second later and Jungkook pulls your hair back to expose the column of your throat as he rides you through it.  His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin of your neck as his own orgasm starts to ignite.

His fingers grip your hips so hard you’re certain there will be bruises in the morning.  But it’s worth it -- so damned worth it when you get to watch Jeon Jungkook come undone for you.  You’ve never seen anything sexier than Jungkook with brows knit in utter concentration, mouth slack with pleasure and coming for you.  Inside of you.

 You lean against the bar, legs like noodles as he comes down from his high and seconds later, he’s slumped over you, body lax against yours.

“Hey,” he says after a moment of silence, as you’re catching your breath.  He leans his chin against your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you manage, craning your head to face him.

“Come back tomorrow and we can break open my bottle of Goldschläger.”

*********************

You wake with an ache between your temples and an ache between your legs. 

The pounding in your head is your punishment for drinking way more than you should have last night.  

The pleasant soreness lingering between your thighs is an entirely different story.  That’s the only souvenir you get to keep to commemorate the best sex of your life.  And it’s not going to stick around.

You roll over in bed and reach for your phone.

Tifa picks up on the first ring.

“I’m not even going to play the game with you, girl,” she says, in lieu of a proper greeting. “I just wanna know how it was.”

A/N: This story was commissioned by @jamaisjoons​ through @ficswithluv‘s Changes With Luv project. Thank you so much for your donation. I had so much fun writing this Jin and exploring these characters so—I hope you enjoy it! A million thousand hundred THANK YOUS to @unlikelylittlemiss​ and @ot7always​ for beta’ing this! 

After many hours of technical difficulties, I’ve formatted what I hope will be the final version of this story. So far I think it’s the favorite one that I’ve written, so if you like this piece, please let me know! It means the world to me when I hear from you all. 

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

Seokjin traces the rim of the crystal glass, absentmindedly watching the crowd around him swell and sway like a tide. His eyes sweep over the sea of faces, but he doesn't find what he's looking for.

He swirls the golden liquid around the glass and takes a slow sip, wetting his lips with his tongue as he relishes in the comfortable burn of peaty scotch sliding down his throat.

Finally, his gaze captures what he's been searching for.

You. Dressed in a slim asymmetrical white number, sheer fabric draping delicately over one arm. You're unmistakable.

Above you, thousands of shards of crystal hang as if suspended in midair, the art piece paling in comparison to the presence you command. The venue is dimly lit, but the blend of candlelight and starshine is enough to illuminate your face and paint your features in a dance of shimmering light.

He watches the million-dollar sculpture light your slight smile and curious eyes with a silver radiance. The pinkish light of a neon sign had bounced off of your features in an almost identical fashion the night you met.

ONE YEAR AGO

It was chance. Two strangers, anonymous in your settings, both searching for an escape. After finishing your first ever commission, you were desperate to get out of your cramped, barely-affordable studio, while Jin wanted to slip away from the pressures and strict culture of his high-end gallery. Neither knew who the other was, but you gravitated to each other nonetheless.

He sees you first as you shoulder through the front door of the dive bar, your rain-drenched jacket slung over your back, your eyes bright and intelligent. But you were the one to approach the tall, broad shouldered man first, riding off the high of a completed project. You buy him a drink—and then a second. You don’t talk about work tonight. Don’t talk about your lives. You’re both so absorbed in the other that you’re oblivious to the scent of tobacco smoke drifting over you, or the sounds of a rowdy pool game behind you. After four hours cozied up at that bar as the rain pours down outside, you invite him back to your tiny, paint and plant addled apartment.

Once you arrive back home, your roommate nowhere to be seen, you quickly offer him a drink. You  hurried to the kitchen to dig through the fridge to find something— really, anything—to serve the handsome man standing in your living room and curse yourself for not getting groceries this week.

“Who is this?” Jin asks.

“Huh?”

“The painting. Who is it?”

You turn to find him staring starry-eyed at your most recent project, hanging above your couch.  

“Oh, that. Moi.”

“Who?”

“Me, dummy.”

“You? You paint?” He’s looking at you, eyes wide and curious.

“Yeah, if you can call it that.”

“You can definitely call it that,” he says sternly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He reaches out as if to touch it, but freezes, fingers held an inch away from the canvas.

“You can touch it, if you want,” you offer.

He shoots you a flabbergasted look, as if to say really?, and you nod at him as you pull out plastic cups from your sparse cupboard. You pour two glasses of wine and hold one out to him as he comes back to you.

“I was always told not to touch the works of art,” he says, taking the glasses out of your hand and setting them down on the counter. “But this just makes the experience all the more memorable.”

You hiccup at his attempt at dirty talk, not used to men who know what they want, who are willing to spread their desire so plainly before you.

He kicks apart your legs, pressing a thigh against your heated core. He lowers his lips just enough that they almost brush up against yours.

“May I?” he breathes against you. You nod and suddenly he’s captured you in a kiss, the plush of his lips moving heatedly against you. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs at your touch. When you break apart, his eyes dark with lust and your breath quickening in your chest, you don’t hesitate to take his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

Before you can step inside, he swings you around and picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist and you can feel his length pressed hard against you. He backs you against the doorframe, your spine hitting the wood—but you don’t even notice it. All you can feel is the way his cock is jutting against your clit.

“Look at you, grinding yourself against me.”

You groan as he thrusts his clothed cock against you.

“Bed. Now,” you demand.

He walks towards the bed, still holding you, still kissing you, until his knees hit the mattress. And then his grip is loosening and you’re thrown onto the soft surface of the bed, a gasp rushing through your lungs. You watch as he pulls his shirt off, revealing a toned chest. You didn’t think the man in front of you could get any hotter, but as he crawls up the bed to hover over you, you’re proven wrong.

“Please, god, fuck me,” you groan as he kisses you.

It’s all he needs to hear.

The next morning you wake to an unfamiliar arm wrapped around your waist and morning breath tickling your ear. You smile as the details of last night come flooding back.

“Morning,” you grumble, feeling the man shift behind you.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he replies, a heavenly rasp edging his voice.

His hand comes to trace your waist and you let out a quiet moan, your senses softened by sleep. A smile flickers across your lips as his hand dips lower, casting warmth over your hips, your pelvic bone, and finally, your lower lips as his hands explore your body.

“You’re so wet I could just slip right into you, no problem,” he says as he runs his finger along your slick folds. You twist yourself around so you’re on your back now with Jin pressed against your side. Without breaking eye contact, you reach down with one hand to wrap around his length. With your other hand, you grab his hips, pulling him towards you—he takes the cue and straddles you, his hands coming down on either side of your head. You pull him closer so that the head of his cock is pressed against your entrance. “Now?” he asks.

“Now,” you reply.

Despite your wetness and the stretch from last night, he’s still a tight fit as he slides into you. A delightful ache threads through your belly and you arch your back to better accommodate him.

“God, how are you this perfect?” he groans once he’s buried entirely within your walls. He settles his weight against you, giving you a moment to adjust to his girth. “What would it take to get you like this again?”

“Get me into the Whitney,” you joke.

“Done.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “You’re hysterical.”

“I’m not joking.”

You search his expression for any sign of a joke, but you find none. “Wh-what?” you fumble.

“I’m serious.”

His gaze is calm and collected as if he had just agreed to buy you breakfast—not kickstart your art career.

“Do you not know who I am?”

“Why the fuck would I know who you are?”

His eyes widen for a moment before he breaks out in laughter.

“Oh, well then, don’t worry about it.”

As his chest shakes as he chuckles against you, you’re reminded of your current position. You look down to where your bodies are joined, his cock hard and not even fully sheathed within you.

“You’re not, like, some kind of serial killer right?”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, well then I literally couldn’t care less who you are.” He smirks at you and you pout. “Can you please just fuck me now?”

He chuckles. “It seems you have to keep asking me for that.” He thrusts into you with enough force that your body slides several inches up the mattress and the two of you groan as you adjust to his girth. He relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt.  and he relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt.

He fucks you slow and hard, each thrust slamming into your body, making your toes curl and your back arch. You both come quickly, relishing in the feeling of one another and the pleasure rippling across each other’s face.

“I’ll be honest,” you say, as you pull your shirt over your head. “I kinda liked it when you pushed me around last night. We should do that again.”

“After breakfast though?”

“After breakfast.”

A month later, you had been scrolling through your email when you saw a message from an unknown sender.

Subject : Acceptance to Whitney Museum of American Art.

————————————————————-

Thank you so much for your submission to our open call for pieces exploring “identity and landscape.” We are thrilled to inform you that your art has been accepted by our committee and will be displayed in our upcoming exhibit. Your piece explores these themes in a manner that took the committee’s breath away…

Your phone slips out of your grasp and drops to the floor, cracking the screen in the process.

You’d been submitting your art to them for years, and yet why was it that only after that strange comment Jin had made that you got in? Could it be more than just a coincidence?

The rest of the day is filled with half blossoming excitement and half mortification. Had Jin done this for you? You had been frequenting the museum since before you could hold a paintbrush, and trying to get into their gallery since you began painting professionally—but then all of a sudden as soon as you meet this mysterious stranger, your dream was placed right into your hands.

Three days later, you’re standing in front of the biggest art event you’ve ever been invited to, staring at a very large, very expensive banner that features none other than Jin.

CURATOR OF THE YEAR, the text reads.

Oh. Oh.

It all makes sense. Do you not know who I am? he had asked. You should have known. His name was plastered on every major art exhibit in this city. You had heard about him a thousand times before, but never even thought to connect the dots between the Kim Seokjin who visited your apartment several times a week and reorganized your fridge and the Kim Seokjin. He was a curator, but more than that he was a mentor of sorts. His approach to work was one of a kind: he led the artists he took under his wing with a gentle, guiding touch. Instead of shackling them into contracts or monetary and social debt like others in his position did, he gave them the tools they needed and allowed them the space and support they required to flourish on their own. This kind of business structure not only led to artists all over the world adoring him, but came back to repay him a thousand times over.

You never got into the Whitney on your own merit, you think. It was all Jin’s doing.

After you collect your jaw off the floor and enter the building, you almost immediately spot Jin.

Taking a deep breath to calm the swirling emotions in your belly and mustering all the courage you had, you tuck your painting underneath your arm and stomped up to him.

He’s standing, admiring a large mural. His face is painted in contemplation. For whatever reason, it reminds you of the feeling of standing in a spring clearing, in the middle of nowhere, letting a gentle breeze wash over you. You shove that feeling away as you stride up to him, stopping a foot or two behind him.

“Jin?”

“Hm—?” Jin spins on his heel. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes light up. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, I was worried something was wrong.”

“I got into the Whitney.”

“Wait, what? That’s amazing!”

“And I figured out who you are.”

His eyes widen.

“Before anything else, I wanted to thank you for your help. I…” You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around what’s just happened. “I’m not really sure how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

“I’ve been submitting to the Whitney for years and I’ve never even gotten a rejection email from them. And then I met you, and—and then it’s done. I’m in.” You look to him for an explanation.

“Okay, I admit,” Jin says, running a hand through his hair. “I put in a good word for you. But I did nothing more than mention to the board that I had seen your art and that I was very impressed by it.”

“That’s too much,” you frown.

“It’s not. It literally took thirty seconds of my time. And I did it because I genuinely believe in the vision of your projects.”

“If they believed in the vision of my projects, they would have accepted them without your name attached to it,” you snap.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, looking down. “I didn’t realize it would upset you. I thought it would make you happy.”

You sigh, putting your hand on his arm. You only speak when he looks at you. “I’m upset, but I’m also really excited. I just—I want to do this on my own. I don’t want it to because of someone’s name. I want it to be because of my work. And I know that’s romantic and maybe not super realistic, but I need you to understand that that’s what I want.” You take a deep breath before continuing and he slips his hand into yours. “And more than that, I want to make it clear that I’m not just seeing you because of your status.”

“I understand,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “So you’re seeing me now?”

You flush at your slip of tongue.

“I-I mean—”

“I’d like to see you,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”

Seokjin quickly became a constant fixture in your life. While he stopped involving himself in your work (and immediately after your conversation in the gallery, had quickly excused himself to make several calls to call off different projects and potential buyers) he did insist on buying your art supplies, moving you into a larger studio, and helping you work through the complicated process of finding grants to apply for. And of course, Jin was always ready to take care of your other, ahem, needs as well.

Your relationship quickly developed. You talked about the ins and outs of sex and your roles in the bedroom, but somehow never seemed to move the conversation about what you were to each other outside of your sheets—or the closet in the gallery, or the bathroom of your now-favorite bar.

PRESENT DAY

Jin sets his half-full glass down to make his way over to you. As he stands from the bar, an arm slides into his elbow, forcing him to turn away from you.

Your heart thrums in your chest as you stood at the top of the marble stairs, looking down into the outdoor amphitheater where tonight’s gala was being hosted.

You had arrived solo on your own instances. Even after a year together, you were still hesitant to show up as Seokjin’s date, knowing you were more likely to garner the title “girlfriend” than “artist.” Still, the thought of seeing Seokjin sent goosebumps chasing down your skin and you smiled softly to yourself as you searched the crowd for the tall man. You had come straight from your studio and there was still paint and paper mache stuck beneath your fingernails, a fact that didn’t quite fit into the posh environment you were in, but one that made you feel grounded nonetheless.

"Hello, darling," a deep voice sings into your ear. "You're looking particularly ravishing tonight."

You turn, expecting to see Seokjin. Instead, a strapping young man, unfamiliar but recognizable to you, stands in his place.

"Jeon Jungkook," you address the famous photographer as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to it. You suppress the urge to grimace as his lips meet your skin. The young man is undoubtedly handsome—there's no denying it—and you shyly look down as his eyes rove over you like you are a piece of art to be appraised.

"I've seen you at these events for quite a while now."

"Have you now?"

"Always on Mr. Kim's arm, too. Don't you think he's a little... maturefor you?"

It’s not like we’re together, you want to respond, but you hold your tongue. There was only a seven year age gap between you and Soekjin. And yet, because he carried himself with such discipline and stature, this was a constant question you had to navigate whether it came up in terms of your relationship with, working or otherwise.

“Speaking of Mr. Kim, have you seen him anywhere?” you ask, smiling tightly.

Jungkook takes your arm and turns you, pointing through the crowd.

There he is. Jin is dressed impeccably in a light-colored suit, the cut accenting his tall frame, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. You smile upon seeing him and wave, but he doesn’t see you.

There’s a flash of blonde hair and suddenly you realize what’s occupying Jin’s attentions.

You frown as you watch the woman's arm snake around Jin's. Tonight was supposed to have been a chance for the two of you to spend some quality time together, surrounded by beautiful art and artists, to see each other without interruption — but then again maybe a gala wasn't the best choice for quality time.

"There's something about you," Jungkook muses, oblivious to your distraction. "A light in your eye. Passion. You know, I would love to photograph you some time."

You glance over Jungkook's shoulder to see the woman with her hand gripping Jin's bicep, obviously trying to capture and hold his attention. And yet Jin's gaze is fixed on you. You meet his eyes, only to let a ghost of a smirk dash across your lips, before returning your focus to Jungkook. Even though you know Jin’s attention is only focused on you, you figure you might have some fun with the current situation.

"Oh really?" you say, blinking up at him flirtatiously. "And how would you have me?"

Jeon Jungkook was known for his abstract and mythological concepts. His photos were stunning, portraying story and eroticism at their most intellectual and beautiful.

"Aphrodite. No doubt."

Original, you think, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Hm," you hum, as if mulling it over. "Tell me more." Your switch from professional to outrightly coquettish startles him and he stumbles over his words for a moment before regaining his composure and leaning in.

"Pink lighting. Texture? Hm, dove wings. I've been playing with fabric lately—" Jungkook falls into the description of his concept, flowing so quickly through the smallest of details, almost as if he's thought this through before, specifically for you. Instead of listening, you watch Jin out of your peripheral vision. "I can almost imagine the magazine spread now."

Your attention snaps back to the young man in front of you and as an idea flashes across your mind, you do your best not to giggle and to remain serious. "You know, I would love to be spread out for you." You smile innocently and Jungkook gulps.

"I, ah—” Jungkook is stopped mid sentence as a hand is clapped on his shoulder.

"Jeon," Seokjin nods at the younger man, a stiff smile painting his face. "I see you've met my—" Your eyebrows shoot up at the slip, but Jin quickly catches himself. "YN. One of the best painters I know."

Jungkook scoffs. “Uh, yeah, obviously.” When he looks up to find you and Jin staring confusedly at him, he clears his throat. “I mean—what I meant to say is her talent is underrated. Which you probably already know.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Alright, then,” Jin says.

“Aw, thanks, Jungkookie,” you say, swatting his shoulder and you watch as the young man flushes while Jin’s brow raises in question at the use of the pet name.

“Drinks?” Jin says, breaking the quickly rising tension between the three of you. Taking your elbow he leads you towards the bar and Jungkook quickly trots behind. He orders another scotch and you shake your head, “Nothing for me.” As Jungkook leans over the bar, Jin steps behind you, his hand coming to rest gently on your waist.

“Behave,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you hum innocently, brushing your hair over your shoulders.

“At this rate, you’re asking to be punished,” Jin growls.

You smile sweetly up at him, pinching his cheek playfully before realizing where you are and who might see. You quickly snatch your hand back, hoping no one saw.

Jungkook turns back with a martini in hand. Interesting choice, you think.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Jungkook asks you.

“She already said she didn’t want anything.” Jin answers for you.

“I can speak for myself, thank you very much,” you cut in, crossing your arms. “But no, maybe later.”

A long moment of silence hangs between the three of you.

“Well, don’t mind me then. I have a couple of people I need to speak with.” Jin nods at the two of you and turns on his heel. You watch his tall frame, tracking where he’s going. The game is on.

It seems as the night drags on, Jin is purposefully ignoring you, knowing it’ll rile you up just enough. He continues to engage with artists and experts from all over the globe and Jungkook hangs at your side. Beyond the awkward flirtation he keeps throwing your way—which you don’t blame him for, considering you keep egging him on—he’s quite an intelligent young man with a vision.

After half an hour of Jin’s lack of presence, you’re bored and tired. The two of you wander around the gala, looking at the art pieces. When you see Jin hovering near one in the corner, you gently guide Jungkook over. As you approach, you realize why Jin has been spending so much time over here.

The eight by ten piece that you had sold to an anonymous buyer last week is hanging on the wall. The bright oranges and deep blues seem to shimmer and swim within the space compared to the crystal, silver, and gold pieces that pepper the event tonight.

“This is yours, right?” Jungkook asks. “I’d recognize the style anywhere.”

“Uh, yeah, I just didn’t expect it to be here. I sold it to an anonymous buyer last week. I have no idea how it got here.”

Jungkook looks confusedly at you. “Hm. Weird.”

You stare blankly at your own art for a while, puzzling over how it could have gotten to this level of a gala. The buyer from last week had said nothing about the gala. But here it is in front of you, big and commanding—and marked with a $500,000 price tag? The proceeds of tonight’s event were going directly to charity and still your mouth hangs open as you ogle the string of zeros in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Jungkook asks, breaking through your reverie. “I don’t mind getting it for you.”

“That’s so kind of you,” you smile, knowing that tonight’s event hosts an open bar. At that moment you notice Jin’s gaze finally, finallyresting on you. “Actually, your drink is looking pretty good to me right now.” You take a step closer to Jungkook, meeting his gaze and resting one of your hands gently on his elbow. He shudders under your touch.  As much as he puts on a confident front, you know your forwardness unravels him just enough. Without breaking eye contact, you reach into his martini glass and pull out a green olive. Opening your mouth slowly, you purse your lips around the round fruit before sucking it into your mouth. You open your mouth just enough for Jungkook to see how it rests on your tongue.

Jungkook’s jaw is hanging open.

“Oh my god.”

Suddenly, a hand is clasped onto Jungkook’s shoulder. He spins around to see a towering Jin. Jin’s features are relaxed and calm, but you catch the hard edge in his tone, even as it slips past Jungkook’s awareness.

“Jeon, I was just talking to an up-and-coming dancer earlier tonight. He’s looking to partner with a photographer for a project. I mentioned your work to him and he would love to talk to you.” Jin turns Jungkook to point to a handsome man standing across the room, a sun-filled smile dancing across his lips.

“Wait—really?” Jungkook looks flabbergasted.

“Of course, I admire your work,” Jin says.

“Wow, thank you. I really appreciate it.” He reaches out to shake Jin’s hand. “Thank you so much, sir.” A smirk threatens to break Jin’s calm demeanor.

“Anytime.”

Jungkook turns to walk towards the dancer but spins back towards you. “Don’t, uh, don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Once Jungkook is out of range of hearing, Jin steps closer to you. "Upstairs. Now."

Because tonight's gala was in part hosted by Seokjin and his company, it took place in the courtyard of one of Seokjin's highrises.

With the ghost of a smirk playing on your features, you turn on your heel, head held high, and make your way to the elevators.

It’s just like him to make you wait.

Twenty minutes after you arrived in the penthouse apartment, Jin was nowhere to be seen. So you kick your heels off and make your way to the fridge, finding an open bottle of your favorite wine that he kept in stock just for you. You pour yourself a glass and make your way to the gigantic kitchen island, leaning over it and scrolling through your phone. You know Jin would expect you to be waiting ready and in position for him, but tonight you feel like pushing the limits.

A gentle ding echoes through the living room. You click your phone off and look up just in time to see the silver door of the elevator slide shut behind him.

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair, loosening the strands from his perfect slicked-back look. You nearly salivate at the sight of him unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, even as your heart beats like it is ready to jump straight out of your chest.

You gulp as his eyes land on you. Finally.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you say.

“Have I?”

“Are you punishing me?”

“You won’t need to ask me if I’m punishing you when I’m punishing you. You’ll know.” Despite the coldness of his words, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. You know his anger is for show and not genuine. The direction you're headed is a space the two of you have carefully mapped out, experimented with, and discussed over the course of your relationship. When he slips into this role, it's for both of your pleasure, and never as an outlet for his anger. "So no, I'm not. At least, not yet."

"Jin—" you say.

"Sir," Jin corrects.

"—Sir," you repeat, standing up from the island and walking slowly towards him. You bat your eyes and saunter over to him, pressing yourself against his chest as you take one of his hands and guide it under your dress. His eyes widen when he realizes you're not wearing any underwear.

"God, you're wet."

"I wanna cum," you state matter of factly. You thought your directness might startle him, but instead, his composure remains unaffected.

"You misbehaved all night long," Jin murmurs in your ear. "But maybe if you're a good girl for me and take your punishment, we can talk about you cumming."

And just like that, his hand is gone.

"Are you gonna be good?"

You don’t respond. Instead, you smile sweetly at him. You meet his gaze but don’t move. He cocks an eyebrow and pulls you tight against him with one hand as he pinches your chin with the other.

"You thought you could use this pretty little costume of innocence,” he says as he plays with the sleeve of your dress, a sneer painting his face. “Dressed all in white, and so elegant too. You thought you could hide the whore you are beneath a dress like this?"

His grip on your hips tightens as he pushes you forward, turning you forcibly. It shocks the breath out of your lungs. He pulls you back, your ass flush against his hard but clothed cock. His hands grab your shoulders, steadying you.

"I'd like to fuck you in one of these cute little outfits sometime. But not tonight. Tonight I want you entirely bare." The next thing you know, the sound of ripping fabric fills the space and your dress falls down in shreds at your feet.

"My-my dress," you gasp.

"A shame.” He feigns a pout. “You looked so good in it. But you look even better like this."

It briefly flashes through your mind that you're not sure how you're going to be able to leave, as you hadn't brought a change of clothes—and then that concern is quickly replaced by the confusion as he bends down to examine you.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?" Jin asks as he runs a finger over your slit. You shudder at the sensation.

"You were the last one to touch me."

“So you’re telling me you’re ready to flirt with any man who approaches you, make him think you’re gonna let him fuck you, but then it’s all for show?” He slips a single finger into your cunt. “What a tease.”

“For you,” you gasp as he hooks his finger and hits a particularly sensitive spot. “I would never.”

“Never what?”

“Never fuck another man.”

“Your actions tonight tell me something else.”

Your brow furrows as Jin adds a second finger.

“I-I just wanted you to pay attention.”

"That’s all you wanted, hm, little one? My attention?"

"Yes, sir," you mumble back.

"Good. You have it." He pulls his fingers from your dripping entrance and stands.

Your brows furrowed in frustration. "I want more," you say.

"And I want you to behave yourself when we're out in public together. It seems like neither of us is getting what we want, hm?" When you pout, he chuckles. "But I bet you can make it up to me. Take your punishment like a good girl. And we'll see if we can't both have what we want." You nod, eagerly. "Go bend over the couch and wait for me."

You quickly lay yourself over the arm of the black leather couch that stretches across the sprawling living room. Jin disappears into one of the back rooms for a moment, but you soon hear his footsteps echoing on the marble, approaching you from behind. He rests a hand on your bare ass, roving over it in slow circles before coming to kneel down beside you.

"Safeword?"

"Peaches."

His eyes search yours—checking, making sure you're really okay with this before he continues, that same awareness never leaving his eyes. "Good. You'll use it if you need to."

You nod.

“You know why I have to do this right?” Jin asks, his voice calm and clear as he stands and steps out of your line of vision. You can hear the clink of a belt buckle as he doubles it up in his hand.

“I disobeyed you.”

“And?”

“I didn’t listen when you asked me to stop.”

“And what exactly did I want you to stop doing?”

“Flirting with him.”

“Who? Say his name.”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He chuckles. “I want that to be the last time his name leaves your lips tonight. Understood?” You nod, wholeheartedly. “The poor boy. You left him so hard and eager for your pretty little cunt. I bet he thought he was going to get to fuck you after all that teasing. Tell me, is that what you wanted him to think?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“And yet, after all that work and you were so quick to drop him just for me. I’m going to spank you and you’re going to take it like a good girl. Seven hits. Count for me.”

That’s when the first hit lands. The air in your lungs whooshes out of you in shock. After the initial pain, a soft warmth spreads through your cheeks.

“I said, count.”

“One,” you say, your voice strong.

The belt comes down on you a second time, cracking against your other cheek. “Two.” Your nails dig into the leather of the couch and his hand spreads across your ass, soothing over the spots where he’s hit you. The feeling of his fingertips against your skin brings coolness to the surface of your burning skin and the contrast sends arousal spiraling through your core.

“Good girl.”

Smack.

“Three.”

On four, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. The number comes out as a gasp, a puff of air and you realize you’ve been holding something else in. Shame. Guilt. Upset.

On five, you let out a particularly loud yelp, your cry of pain mixing with emotion and cutting through your pronunciation. Jin's hand immediately brushes across your sore ass to smooth over the most recent hit.

"Color?" he says softly.

"Green—green, please, keep going," you pant, tears threatening your eyes.

“Only two left.”

On six, you feel something split within you. You know it isn’t just about tonight, about your disobedience or your flirtations with a strange man. It’s about holding back. It’s about letting your brattiness build a wall between the warm thing that’s been building in your chest and Jin, the man who keeps showing up for you.

“Seven! M’ sorry!” you call out as seven comes down on your ass. The wall splits open within you, sending a flood of emotion and endorphins through your body. All you want is to fall into this sensation. The one where he’s here for you, and you can let him be here for you.

Jin smoothes his hands over your ass one final time. You wince slightly, knowing it’s going to be painful to sit for the next couple of days. And yet all you can feel is a golden glow, pulsing through your veins, tinting your perception. Your body feels lighter, the space around you more spacious, and the look in Jin’s eyes is glowing.

Jin pulls you up to your feet, searching your eyes to make sure you’re alright. He finds a strange, new warmth in them, one that spills out completely for him. And something close to daze.

“No hands.” Still, you can’t help but reach out to him, lacing your fingers into the front of his shirt. “I said, no hands.” You refuse to remove them. He’s suddenly stepping back from you.  "You can't seem to listen, can you, little one? Hands behind your back." You stare blankly at him. "I won't ask you twice."

You bring your hands behind you, clasping one hand around a wrist. He circles around you until he's out of your range of sight. You hear the tearing of fabric and then the cool brush of what you assume must be your dress wrapping around your wrists as Jin expertly ties them together. When the knot is tight and secure, he walks slowly back around you so you're face to face.

"Kneel."

Your knees hit the cold marble floor.

"Suck my cock."

"But—" You attempt to protest, your hands still tied behind your back. Your voice trails off as his eyes harden.

His belt is already open and you take the cold metal in your mouth, leaning your head back as you pull it out of the loops. It's an awkward angle, but you do your best and soon it falls to the floor with a clink. You glance up at him, searching for validation. His gaze is still hard, but there's a glimmer of a smile—pride? delight?—hanging at the corner of his lips.

"Keep going."

Leaning forward, you nudge your nose along the hard length sporting in his pants. His arousal is more than apparent through the fabric of his pants: thick, and long, and impossibly hard. Without breaking eye contact, you stick your tongue out of your mouth and slowly trace it up the length of his covered cock.

His hand tightens in your hair and you yelp as pain shoots into your scalp.

"I asked you to do something. Are you getting distracted?" What was once painful has quickly turned into a delicious pleasure as your face flushes, the hand in your hair teasing tingles down your spine. "Answer me." He grips your hair tighter, forcing your head back even further.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He releases his grasp just enough that you're able to lean back to the tenting bulge in his pants, but still does not release you fully.

Carefully, you suck the button of his slacks into your mouth, expertly sucking and tonguing the cold metal until you feel it slip through the hole, before moving down to pull the zipper between your teeth and tug it all the way down. You gasp as you realize he's not wearing underwear and your cunt contracts around nothing. You're face to face with his bare cock.

"Sir, may I?"

He nods and you immediately lean forward to lick a broad, wet stripe up from the base of his cock to the tip. Without the use of your hands, you find yourself relying on the movements of your upper body and your mouth to pleasure him.

Slowly, you lick around the angry red head of his cock, teasing a light gasp from him. You continue to do this until you know he’s just on the edge of frustration and before he can say anything, you purse your lips around him.

As you take him into your mouth, you’re particularly aware of the remainder that you’re unable to fit. Usually, you would wrap one or both of your hands around him, stroking him where you couldn’t reach. But now that’s inaccessible to you.

Relaxing your throat, you attempt to take him deeper but choke at the sensation of his thick head hitting the back of your throat.

"You're so good at this, almost as if you were made to have your mouth stuffed with cock."

His praise urges you to take him deeper and press past the urge to gag. Taking a deep breath, you edge forward, allowing him to slip into the tight confines of your throat. He hiss at this and his hands tighten in your hair, this being the first time you’ve deepthroated him. Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as you continue to ease him deeper within you.

He begins thrusting into your throat. If you could reach up to wrap your hand around your throat, you would feel the protrusion of his cock pressing forward through the skin of your throat, visible and bulging.

You choke around him and he audibly groans at the sensation.

Jin looks down to find tears streaming out of your face, chin wet with drool. The sight of you, so lost in your actions, strikes something in his chest. As you meet his gaze, your lips so pink and pouted around him, the glaze in your eyes filled with adoration, his hips buck and he thrusts into your throat.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And I want you to swallow every last drop of it.”

He grabs your head as he fucks up into you one last time, pushing your nose against his pubic bone. You can feel his cum, hot and bitter, sliding down your throat. He doesn’t release you until he’s done. Finally, he pulls you off of him, your lips releasing from his spent cock with a pop.

Air comes rushing back into your lungs, replacing the black spots that had started to pepper your vision with starshine as you look up at Jin clearly. His forehead is shining with sweat and his cheeks are flushed in pleasure. He’s never prettier than he is now, spent with passion.

Jin quickly regains his wits as he pulls you up and takes his thumb to wipe the combination of drool and cum from your chin.

Something gleams in his eye.

“Up against the window,” he orders.

“Wha—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Jin is walking you backward until your back hits the cold glass. You gasp at the sensation of your heated ass cheeks mixed with the cold spark of the smooth surface.

With your back against the glass, hips pushed towards him again, he kisses languidly up your stomach. There is a gentleness in the way his lips whispered against your skin that shoots something through your chest and leaves you wanting more of whatever it is.

You gather yourself enough to look down and see his plump lips pursed around a nipple. As your eyes meet, he bites down around the swollen bud, and you whimper. He continues to bite and suck your breasts, drawing increasingly lewd sounds from you.

But then his lips leave the tender flesh of your breasts and kiss their way upwards to your neck. For a moment you think his gentle side might return, only to squirm beneath him as his teeth graze the delicate skin. Before you know it, his lips are pressed against you and he's sucking the skin in between his teeth.

"You'll leave a mark!" You exclaim, bound hands struggling to escape from where they’re still tied behind your back But he's quicker and stronger than you and he holds you down, stilling your movements, before continuing to suck and bite at your neck.

"Good." He moves his mouth to the hollow of your throat, sucking a bruise to the surface of your skin. "I want everyone to know exactly who you belong to. I want you to wear me, so no one even has a doubt in their mind whose slut you are."

As you look down, you realize he’s hard again. It’s not uncommon for him to be up and ready to go for a second or third round. His cock is red and rock-hard, and as he realizes what you’re looking at he smirks.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes, sir.” You swallow. “Want it—want you.”

“Do you think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You took your punishment well,” he muses languidly. “And you sucked Sir off so well, too.”

He drags a finger through your slit, forcing you to buck up into his touch.

“Please—” you gasp.

“Since you asked so nicely—” abruptly, he spins you around so you’re facing towards the window. “I’ll fuck you. But I want everyone to see exactly the kind of slut you are for this cock.”

“But—”

“Color?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. From this far up, you can see the gala, still in full swing. Even from this height, you can see their individual faces and you know if any of the people in sparkling gowns and tailored suits were to look up and squint, they would see your fucked-out form pressed against the window of the penthouse, your hands bound behind your back thrusting your chest forward obscenely. The thought sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“Green.”

“Good.”

At that, you feel the head of his cock brush against your dripping entrance. Jin looks down to see his huge cock resting against your red cheeks. You look tiny compared to him, and the sight makes him even harder. As he grips the base of his dick, he pushes gently against your entrance, the bulbous head slipping inside. His cock twitches as he hears you moan.

Jin is undoubtedly the biggest cock you’ve ever fucked. Even after months of him filling you, he was still a tight fit. While you often used lube to ease the slide in, tonight you were dripping wet, your arousal coating your swollen lips and beginning to run down your inner thighs. Slowly, he pushes into you. The sensation of being filled, of being stretched by him has you moaning, the sound filling the spacious apartment.

“You’re such a good slut for me, you take this cock so well,” Jin says as he presses the last inch of his length into you.

Kim Seokjin is a man of control. Despite the painful ache in his cock and the burning desire to pound into you, he isn't done drawing out your pleasure. Torturously slow, he slides his cock in and out of your tight cunt, his thick head dragging against your walls. You whine wantonly, pushing back against him.

He stops.

"Please. Sir," you nearly sob. "Need you."

"And I need you to use your words. This is mine." He reaches down to spread his palm over your sore ass, spreading you even further open for him. The sight of you impaled on his thick cock is one he’ll never get used to. "And I'll do what I want with it."

He can feel you shudder at his words, knowing that his possessiveness affected you just as much as it did him.

"You like that?" he growls. "Knowing you're mine? You're stuffed full of cock and still you want more. What a greedy slut."

"Please, Sir. Need you to fuck me," you beg. Still, Jin makes no indication of moving. "Please. Need you to show them who I belong to."

That does it.

“You. Belong. To. Me.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, his cock spearing through the tightness of your walls.

“Fuck,” you hiss as he lifts your leg. The head of his cock begins to hit the knot of pleasure that’s tightly wound within your cunt. “Sir, you feel so good.” It’s all you can think about.

“He’s down there, isn’t he?” For a moment you’re not even sure who he’s talking about, so lost in pleasure and the sensations he’s teasing out of your body. “He could look up at any moment and see you like this, tits out, pressed up against the glass, letting me ruin you like this.” You moan at his words. “I bet you would like that, slut.” He punctuates the final word with a particularly hard thrust.

Your pussy clenches around him and he moans as he feels your tight walls grip him tighter.

“I think there’s a part of you that loves the idea of the world watching you get fucked.”

"Gonna—gonna cum," you gasp, your words stuttered out of your mouth by Jin's rough thrusts. "Sir, please, can I come?"

"No."

"Sir, please."

"Did you not hear me?" he growls. "Listen, or I'll stuff that pretty little mouth with something less pleasant than my cock."

You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching your abdominal muscles in an attempt to hold back the waves of euphoria that threaten to wash over you any moment now.

“Please, sir, need to come. I’ll do anything.” The tears that have been threatening to run down your face finally spill over as you’re split in pleasure and discomfort. “Please, anything.”

Jin releases your leg with a grunt and pushes your legs together, making it a tighter fit for both of you. With one hand he pushes down on your lower back, arching it for you. His other hand comes to wrap around your bound wrists, using the grip to power his thrusts into you. Somehow the new angle makes him seem even bigger than he already is and you mewl.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Jin,” you force out, trying to find your words through the pleasure that he’s pounding into you. “Only you.” Too late, you realize that you had used the wrong name for him and you gasp, ready for whatever correction he deems fit for you.

But it seems that’s exactly what he wanted you to say.

“Good girl. Cum. Now.”

As soon as the sound has left his lips your orgasm barrels through you.

“Jin!” you cry. You throw your head back, white overtaking your vision. Your cunt pulses around his hard length, spasming for what feels like minutes. Your breath freezes in your throat as sparks of pleasure flood your body.

Watching you come unraveled around his name is what does it for him. He groans as his orgasm washes over him, sending waves of pleasure throughout his whole body. He shudders against you, releasing ropes of cum into your still-pulsating cunt. You can feel his cock twitch against your oversensitive walls as he empties himself into you. His breath is heavy against your neck as his arms tighten around you. As much as you love the Jin in control, these moments when he releases all pretenses are precious to you.

Even as he stays sheathed within you, you can feel his cum begin to drip out of your cunt, running down your thighs. When he finally pulls out, the mix of your combined orgasms gushes out of you and you frown at the proceeding sensation of emptiness.

As you slump against the window, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure and exhaustion, you feel Jin’s large hands ghost down your arms, releasing the fabring binding your wrists together. When he’s done, his hands come to rest on your hips, turning you as he kneels down in front of you. You gasp as you feel him swipe two of his fingers through the swollen folds of your cunt, as he collects his own cum. The sensation splits you in overwhelm.

"Open," Jin commands, standing up. You open your mouth and he slides the two cum covered fingers past your lips. "Suck." Dutifully, you press your lips around him, swallowing around him until he pulls out, not a drop of cum left on his fingers. His eyes burn in desire, and if it weren't for the exhaustion apparent in your posture, you know he would be ready to go for a second round. "Good girl."

You smile softly up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He holds you close and the two of you simply breathe together. You feel comforted against his large frame, his breath flowing easily and freely through him, your own body finding solace in the soft rhythm. He holds you like that for what feels like forever before he tips your weight into his body and leads you to the sleek leather couch. There, he sits down, pulling you into his lap. You curl up against his wide chest, nestling your nose into the crook of his neck.

"How are you?" he asks as he brushes the hair out of your eyes.

"Feel so good," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut in the afterglow that radiates throughout your whole body. Every muscle in your body feels warm and stretched.

"Do you want me to bring you to bed?" After all this time, Jin knows how sleepy you get after a scene like this.

"Mm, surprisingly not sleepy. Just... happy."

He holds you for a while, and you bask in the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around you and the light brush of his steady breath against your hair.

“Earlier,” you begin slowly. “You slipped. You started to call me ‘my’—and then you stopped. What were you going to say?”

Jin is quiet and for a moment you wonder if you misspoke.

“Honestly?” he finally says, his voice brushing over you like a soft breeze.

“Honestly,” you repeat, twisting into him to look him in the eyes. There’s something desperately gentle in his gaze. You could fall into it.

“Honestly, I don’t really know where my mind was going in that moment.” He pauses, chewing over his words. “But, I would like to call you mine—in some way.”

“Yours?”

He nods, shyly. “Mine.”

“Sure, I’ll be yours,” you grin, snuggling into his chest.

“Yeah?”

“But only if you’ll be mine, too.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

Seokjin pulls you tighter and just holds you like that for several minutes before he stands up and disappears into the bedroom for a moment. When he returns, he's holding a slim black box, which he hands to you.

"Put this on," he says.

You open the box to reveal a small black number.

"We're going back?" you ask.

"Only to get our winnings," he grins back to you, pushing his hair back again. "And to show everyone just exactly how much I won tonight."

“What do you mean, winnings?”

“I made a purchase tonight.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “The most colorful piece in the whole building.”

“—You?”

Jin smirks and comes behind you to zip up the beautiful piece of clothing. He traces over the bruises blossoming on your shoulders and neck with a gentle touch before pressing his lips to each and every one of them.

"Only if you're comfortable," he adds softly as you melt against his touch. There's no doubt you're tired. But still, the idea of finally walking into an event with Jin—no pretenses, no questions, no secrets—just together, has a thrill sparking in your core.

“I’m always comfortable with you,” you grin, taking his hand and leading him to the elevators.

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

--

Sitting at your desk after a long day of meetings, you yearned for nothing more than a long, hot shower. Things at work had been crazy lately, the company organizing a large collaborative ad campaign that had you working extra hours everyday. It was extra exhausting considering you always had to sit through senior staff meetings with Yoongi, who loved to ask you questions he already had the answers to as if to trip you up.

Quickly organizing your desk before you planned to leave for the night, loose sheets scattering around had you sighing lightly to yourself. Stapler, stapler, stapler…

No stapler.

Are you serious? You swore you literally saw it on your desk this morning –

Yoongi. That bastard always loved to take your stuff, seemingly enjoying the chase of having you hunt him down and demand he return it to you. Well, you really weren’t in the mood for that today. You’d already been in the office for 10 hours, and you really just wanted to go home. Mouth set in a firm line, you set out to march your way straight into his office, only down the hall from your own.

Bursting into the room, you were startled to see him still sitting at his desk, typing away at something furiously despite your interruption.

“Yes?” he inquired, amusement lacing his tone as he raised a brow at you. He pissed you off, but did he have to look so good doing it?

“You know what I want,” you said bitterly, eyes lighting with barely-concealed anger as you spotted your stapler on his desk. Quickly stepping up to grab it, you were taken aback when his hand reached out to halt your motion, fingers gripping around your wrist.

“Excuse me,” you huffed, appalled at his actions. Sure, he loved to tease you, but he didn’t usually opt to touch you like this. Reaching forward to snatch it with your other hand, your fury grew exponentially as he grasped your other wrist too.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snapped, irritation crystal clear in your voice. Glancing up to meet his gaze, what you saw there was dark, staring into you with unparalleled intensity. That look accompanied by the fact that your wrists were still in his grasp had your breath quickening slightly, butterflies churning in your stomach. You tried to pull away, but he must be stronger than he looks because you couldn’t move an inch.

“Sweetheart,” he pouted, but the hardness in his gaze made it evident that it was definitely for show. “I miss the days when you treated me with a lot more respect.”

Confusion washed over you then. Since when did you not treat him with respect? Sure, you could be a bit brusque, but you couldn’t recall any time where you spoke to him any worse than he spoke to you. Frowning, you opened your mouth to question his statement, but he continued before you could speak.

“’Yes sir,’ ‘no sir,’ ‘yes please.’ You were so adorable back then,” he reminisced, head tipping back to look at the ceiling. “I think about it a lot.” He returned his vision to your face, reading you as he begun stroking the soft skin of your wrists with his thumbs. “You were such a good girl for me before,” he murmured lowly, eyes full of hunger.

Your eyes widened in shock. Surely you misheard. He couldn’t be stood here telling you he fantasized about you, right? …Right? Your heart felt like it was about to leap out of your throat. You couldn’t deny that you’d done the same once or twice… or more… but that was just your horny brain talking. Not your rational one.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he implored, an ounce of insecurity somewhere deep in his voice. You didn’t know what to say. How were you meant to process something like this? This is definitely not how you planned for this encounter to go, and you simply stared at him, disbelief colouring your features. You dropped your gaze to his hands still clasped onto you. Yes, you wanted him, but how would this affect your professional relationship? How could you sit through meetings next to him if all you could think about was him inside you?

Taking your silence as answer, he dropped your hands and backed away as if he had been burned. “Sorry, I thought – I just,” he stuttered out, nervousness and shame evident despite his previous actions. “Sorry, I don’t know what possessed me-”

“Yes,” you blurted out, unthinking, bending forward over his desk to grip at his hands. Curse your horny brain. “I do want it,” you pleaded, searching his eyes for the desire that was present only moments ago. As if a switch was flipped, his expression became ice cold. Yanking you forward by your arms, you gave a surprised yelp as he pulled you as close to him as possible, your hipbones digging painfully into the edge of his desk.

“What was that?” he growled, the animalistic sound sending a wave of arousal through you. You gritted your teeth, determined not to give into him so easily. Not a patient man today, Yoongi’s right hand whipped out to place itself at your neck. At its presence you let out a low moan, leaning your head back to bare your throat to him.

“Thought about this, have you?” he chuckled darkly, thumb stroking up your jaw. You shuddered at the touch, teeth biting into your bottom lip in anticipation.

“I may have,” you mumbled, desire replacing any shame you might have felt at admitting your fantasies. At your words, the grip at either side of your throat tightened, squeezing just enough that you struggled to take in air. The brutal action sent a new rush of wetness to your panties, but you continued to hold his stare.

“You know what I want,” he taunted, mockingly using the exact words you’d so assuredly said to him earlier. His hand tightened its hold slightly, your eyes fluttering shut as you attempted to hold back a moan at the situation you’d gotten yourself into. You could not, however, say you weren’t enjoying it. Realizing there was no way he would let up on you, a minute later you finally relented, desperate for his touch elsewhere.

“I want it, sir,” you gasped out, struggling to catch yourself on the desk as he suddenly released you. Bent almost 90-degrees over his desk, you worked to catch your breath, papers and other supplies digging into your chest. Glancing up, you found Yoongi smirking down at you, hands in his pockets as his eyes swept over the sight of you prone across his workspace.

“Stay just like that, princess,” he uttered lowly, your walls clenching around nothing at the name. He circled around to the other side of the desk until he was no longer visible, standing somewhere behind you. About to stand up so that you could see him properly, your breath huffed out of you in surprise when a hand harshly shoved your chest back into his desk. Your struggle against his strength was fruitless.

He used his other hand to yank your skirt up over your ass, exposing the lacy tops of your stockings and your black thong. Part of you was grateful at the dark colour, hoping the arousal already pooled there wasn’t visible to him behind you. He groaned at the sight.

“You mean to tell me you come to work dressed like this and don’t expect to be fucked like a filthy whore?” he jeered, hand tracing over the curve of your ass. You shivered at the touch, pushing back into it ever-so-slightly. The unexpected harsh sting of that same hand delivering a cruel blow to your left asscheek had you quivering.

“Such a bad girl,” he tutted, rubbing at where he had hit you before delivering an even harder smack to your other asscheek. The sensation burned, but the fire of your heat only grew with each passing moment. Hitting you again and again, your mind became unable to focus on anything besides his actions, moaning out as his next hit was dealt closer to your thigh, the ache heavy but so, so good.

“Say it,” he ordered, tone leaving no room for argument. Though, it felt as though with every blow your ability to argue left you, slowly but surely. Seems like your rational brain left for the night, you thought. Obviously unhappy that your focus was no longer on him, his ruthless hand made contact with your cunt  instead, tears springing to your eyes.

“I won’t ask you again,” he cautioned, and it was at that point you decided to throw your pride away. As you’d already said, you wanted this, and like hell if you were going to ruin it now.

“I’m a bad girl, sir,” you whispered, but thankfully it seemed that was enough to appease him.

“And bad girls get punished, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed out, face hot. Despite your embarrassment, you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on. Your panties were pulled down to your thighs, and you resisted the urge to try to hide.

At the sight of your folds glistening with arousal, Yoongi let out a moan as he roughly dragged his thumb across you, spreading the wetness. The touch had you moaning out, desperate to press back into him if not for the hand holding you down.

“This needy little cunt is sopping already. You like it rough, don’t you?” he goaded before abruptly sticking his thumb inside you. You whined at the contact, walls gripping at his finger, wanting more of him to fill you up.

“Please, sir…” you begged, moaning wantonly at his slow, unsatisfying movements.

“What was that?” he chuckled, removing his thumb to replace it with two of his fingers, scissoring apart and thrusting roughly.

“Fuck me,” you pleaded, overcome by pleasure, needing so badly to be stretched by a cock instead of his hands. When he pulled away from you entirely, you whined out.

“Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?” he sneered, “You haven’t even gotten your punishment yet and you think you deserve to get fucked?” He unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of his pants and doubling it within his grasp. You jumped at the feeling of the cool leather stroking your ass gently, swatting lightly as if to test the motion.

“This is for every time you’ve ever talked back to me. Every time you’ve turned me on with your tight ass blouses and tiny skirts. You drive me absolutely insane,” he barbed, “Five on each side and you’ll get rewarded. ‘Red’ if you need to stop, ‘yellow’ if you need me to ease up. Repeat it back to me.”

“Red to stop, yellow to ease up,” you panted, squeaking when a hand came down on your ass.

“Sorry, I don’t know who you’re speaking to,” he berated, part of you cursing your slip-up after doing well for so long.

“I – Sorry, sir,” you stammered, eager to please him so that you could get what came next. At your words, the belt came down on your left asscheek, and though the force behind it was weak, it was the loud noise of leather on skin that startled you. After giving you another of the same intensity, you almost thought he was going soft on you. Boy, were you wrong.

Satisfied with your reactions thus far, the belt came down harder, reaching the same strength as Yoongi’s hand earlier. Compared to his palms, though, the impact of the belt felt so much deeper, the pain radiating from the hit leaving you trembling. Two smacks of the belt hit you mercilessly in quick succession, causing you to cry out, only remaining standing thanks to the desk supporting your upper body. Your ass felt like it was on fire, but you could feel your arousal running along your inner thighs. You were sure if he thrust into you right now you would be more than ready to take him.

When he hit you again in the same spot even harder than before, tears sprung to your eyes. Your breath was coming out in pants, but you knew this would all be worth it in the end. Another two hits on the opposite cheek had you choking out a moan. You went limp, body instinctively wanting to curl away from the source of pain but the edge of the desk digging into your hips reminded you that such a thing wasn’t possible in your position.

“One more. Can you take it?” he inquired, taking in the shaking of your body and your loud gasps for air. One more. Despite the overwhelming sensation of pain radiating through you, you knew you could do it. You knew you wanted nothing more than the pleasure that followed. You nodded frantically.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped out, bracing yourself for a hit that never came. You burrowed your brow. Several more seconds passed, and you wondered whether he changed his mind. You should have known he was too cruel for that.

Just as you had let your guard down, the hit came, hard and unpitying. You let out a squeak, breath catching in your throat. Relief at your punishment being over quickly made its way to anticipation at the sound of the belt hitting the floor.

“You took it so well,” he cooed, “Are you gonna be a good little whore for me and take my cock too?” You moaned at his words, whimpering when you felt three fingers enter your dripping hole.

“I was gonna take the time to stretch you out, but it seems like this needy little cunt is ready for me already,” he snickered before removing his fingers. He sunk other hand into your hair, harshly yanking your head up and shoving his fingers into your mouth when you gasped. You sucked on what you could as he pressed his fingers as far as was possible, smirking when you gagged around him.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight…” he said wistfully, “Maybe next time I’ll stuff this pretty mouth.”

Removing his hand from you, he moved to unzip his pants, pulling them down just enough to remove his cock, slicking himself against your folds. When he started pushing into you slowly, you wanted so badly to thrust yourself back on him, but a firm hand held you down at the hips. His painfully slow pace had you whimpering for more.

“Please, sir, I need it,” you cried, desperate for the friction of him inside you. You couldn’t feel shame anymore, could only feel him fucking you, but you needed more.

“Your little cunt wants to be pounded, huh?” he growled, suddenly shoving himself all the way inside and starting up a brutal pace. “Just remember you asked for it even though I tried to ease you into it,” he said, punctuating his words with cruel, deep thrusts that left you reeling. His roughness left your mind blank, and you swore you could feel him in your stomach. All you could do was lay there open-mouthed, small moans and whines making their way freely from your mouth.

“You don’t seem to be talking back now, do you? I’m going to fuck you so dumb you won’t be able to say anything, you little whore.” True to his words, you couldn’t even form a coherent thought as he was pounding into you, your walls clenching around him as cries left your lips.

Suddenly, hands pulled you up so that your back moulded against his chest, one hand holding you up at the waist, the other wrapped around your throat. He squeezed in time with every thrust of his hips, and you felt utterly boneless in his grasp. Feeling lightheaded, you surrendered yourself entirely to his hands and his cock, mindless except for the feeling of him. After being wound up so long, you were already so close to falling over the edge, walls squeezing tighter and tighter as you approached your end.

“Gonna cum for me already, hm? Do you think I can’t feel this pussy gripping me for all it’s worth? Well, go on, cum for me then,” he commanded, hand around your waist moving to rub mercilessly at your clit. At the sudden onslaught of pleasure, you cried out loudly as the orgasm hit you in waves, Yoongi’s thrusts never pausing. When his strokes continued, your moans became laced with pain, cunt too sore to take the beating he was giving you.

When he pulled out of you abruptly, you thought it was over, but he turned you around quickly, seating you on his desk and sliding back into you without missing a beat. You whined at the stretch to your sore walls, but the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he thrusted against you had you thankful. You were moaning shamelessly, head tilted up to admire his features when his hand reached up to squeeze at your jaw, forcing it to open to relieve the pain.

When he pulled his own face close to yours, you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t him spitting in your mouth, saliva hitting your tongue. You stared up at him wide-eyed, mouth only closing when he pushed your chin upwards.

“Swallow,” he demanded gruffly, eyes looking like they were going to devour you whole. A shiver went up your spine at possessive action, following his instructions and sticking your tongue out to show him once you were done. The moan you received in return was loud, thrusts quickening to further chase his pleasure.

“Such a good little whore for me, you’re getting better at following instructions,” he grunted out, pulling you forward to change the angle. With each thrust he was rubbing against that spongy spot inside of you, your head falling back as you let the sensation run over you.

The wave snuck up on you again, his thrusts relentless, the grinding of his pelvis against your clit every so often had your eyes rolling back. You were so sore, but it felt too good to stop. As he changed to shallow thrusts that had him only grinding against you, you felt that intense tightness in your abdomen. As he alternated between thrusting shallowly against your g-spot and slamming all the way in to grind against you, you shook in his hold, unable to catch your breath before another rush of pleasure had you weak.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, the release you felt was immaculate. Walls pulsing with seemingly no end, your orgasm left you seeing stars, all the tension in  your body gone in exchange for mind-numbing bliss.

Your heat clenching around him had Yoongi groaning lowly, thrusts shallow and sloppy as he felt his own end approach. When he looked down and spotted the wet spots on the stomach of his button-up shirt, his mind blanked. Shoving himself all the way inside, he muffled his moans into your neck as he came.

You let out a small mewl when he pulled out of you, the day’s exhaustion hitting you all at once. He hushed you, guiding your body down to the floor to rest against his desk, disappearing momentarily as you shut your eyes. Returning with wet paper towels, he dabbed lightly at your inner thighs and between your legs.

Eyelids fluttering open as you felt a hand in your hair, tired eyes met concerned ones as Yoongi inspected you from head to toe. “You okay?” he asked simply, hands moving to fix your misplaced panties and skirt. You nodded despite your fatigue, pausing when you spotted wet spots on Yoongi’s shirt. No way –

“You squirted,” he smirked, looking satisfied with himself, the devil in him returning for just a moment. At the confirmation, your face felt hot, your hands moving to hide as if that would quell your embarrassment.

“Hey,” he called softly, hands pulling your own away, “Don’t be embarrassed. It was hot. I like making you feel good,” he said. His words brought a small smile to your face, though you still couldn’t help but to feel a bit shy.

“Have you done something like this before?” he questioned, any judgment absent from his voice. You assumed he meant the spanking, the belt, the… everything, you guessed. Shaking your head in denial, he smiled gently at you.

“Will you come home with me?” he asked, watching you closely to gauge your reaction. His question had you pausing. Home? With him?

“Why?” you responded, wariness clear in your tone. He couldn’t blame you for your disbelief. After all, it wasn’t normal for someone to spend all his time teasing you, then suddenly fuck you into next year, then ask you home.

“I want to make sure you’re okay. And I wanted to cook you dinner. And I was hoping you would stay and talk. Please?” he urged you, gaze imploring. While you were sure this wouldn’t instantly fix the irritation you’d had with him all this time, he really did seem sincere. And you honestly weren’t sure if you could walk on your own anyway. If anything, this seemed like a good first step to repairing your relationship.

Of course, sex would be the thing to fix your despise for this man, you thought. Curse your horny brain once again.

You’re seated at the counter on this particular evening. The bar is crowded, but even the other patrons’ chatter cannot drown out the conversation surrounding the man and his friends. It’s almost as if you’re attuned to them—like a radio set to a single station before the dial broke off. Every word comes through as clear as day, and you lean back in your seat to listen, sipping languidly on your drink.

“I’m telling you, we’re ready,” one of the men is saying. In the firelight, his brown hair glows orange, and the scruff of beard on his chin is rust. “One more week, and everything will be set. Taehyung’s already talked his way into the palace. We won’t have a better shot than this.”

“It’s hard to believe he’s already in,” the man across from him says, his wide doe eyes a stark contrast to the hard set of his jaw. “I thought it’d take him a lot longer, to be honest.”

“Tae’s a good liar,” a third man pipes up, shrugging. “Always has been.”

The second man snickers, his nose scrunching with mirth. “Really? You don’t say. You wouldn’t happen to be thinking about the dumpling incident again, would you, Jimin?”

Through all of this, the dark-haired man stays silent, sipping pensively on his drink. His gaze roves past where you’re seated, and though you can’t be certain, you swear it lingers for a split second before moving on.

“Let’s give credit where credit is due, though.” The first speaker is talking again, giving the dark-haired man a hearty clap on the back that nearly sends his tankard flying. “We wouldn’t have gotten half as far in our plan if it wasn’t for Yoongi here. How about a toast?”

“To Yoongi,” the one named Jimin intones immediately, raising his cup. “He’s always fighting the good fight.”

“To our very own Min Yoongi, finally taking out the asshole emperor for good,” the first man adds. “To one asshole killing another—and with the same last name, nonetheless. You sure there’s no relation between you two? We could be planning a patricide, for all we know.”

Yoongi stiffens. “Don’t even joke about that,” he says, his voice deep and lilting with a pleasant rasp that sends a shiver down the length of your spine. “That bastard isn’t my family. And even if he is—well, he won’t be for much longer.”

The threat lacing his words is unmistakable, and when you shiver again, it’s for a wholly different reason. People who want the cruel emperor dead aren’t difficult to come by, but few have the courage to speak of it so openly. But now, with the resistance’s plan finally coming to fruition, people are getting bolder. Tougher. Happier.

It hadn’t felt real, at first. The initial whispers were hesitant and disbelieving, but gained momentum with each passing day. Have you heard? The resistance is finally making a move. They’re going to kill Emperor Min. But despite the growing excitement amongst the townspeople, your heart remains heavy.

Ever since Emperor Min came into power a decade ago, his cruelty and ruthlessness have been unparalleled. His guards patrol the streets at night under the guise of keeping the peace, but you know as well as anyone that they’re searching for dissenters. Every night, you huddle away in your home with the windows shuttered, listening as the guards loot the bars and beat the helpless, all the while trying to root out rumored members of the resistance.

So far, their efforts have seen mixed success. Last you heard, some lower ranking members had been imprisoned. Several were executed two months back, their severed heads hung from the palace walls as an example to those who dared defy the regime. But the topmost members of the resistance, as well as the leader, have all managed to evade capture. They began a series of weekly raids, sneaking into the palace’s kitchens and coming away with stocks of food to feed the hungry. Next they looted the money vaults, filling their bags with bars of gold for distribution. And then they visited the armory.

Needless to say, the rumors swelled—as did the emperor’s desperation to quash the dissenters. You kept a careful ear close to the ground for any news, and listened in disbelief as each subsequent story grew more outlandish.

The leader of the resistance is the old emperor, who faked his death all those years ago.

The leader is Emperor Min’s bastard son, and he’s avenging his mother’s death.

The leader is—

A fresh wave of laughter draws you out of your thoughts, and your attention immediately goes to the source. The group of men surrounding Yoongi has dissolved into mirth, but the dark-haired man isn’t grinning with the rest of them. His dark eyes are trained on you, sharp and steady, and you wonder at what he could possibly be thinking. Is he even staring at you? You turn to check behind you, just to be sure.

And when you turn around again, he’s standing right in front of you.

“Oh!” you squeak, startled by his sudden proximity.

Yoongi blinks lazily at you, unfazed. He catches the bartender’s attention and buys another drink, and you belatedly notice that the tankard in his hand is empty and instantly feel foolish for assuming that he came over for anything else. Still, you can’t help but zero in on the way he leans against the counter as he waits, his body a hair’s breadth from yours, his elbows propped up on the polished wooden surface. This close to him, you can see the beginnings of an intricate serpentine dragon coiled around his right forearm, the inky black tail looping around his wrist before coming to a stop near the silver ring on his thumb. The rest of the tattoo disappears into the rolled up sleeves of his worn green jacket, and you wonder exactly where it begins.

Then you wonder what it would be like to trace those lines of ink with your fingers—and your tongue, if he permits it. Your throat bobs at the thought, your thighs squeezing together unconsciously, and it’s almost as if he can read your mind because he’s suddenly leaning closer, a crooked smirk playing on his lips.

“You seem tense,” he murmurs. “Why’s that, doll?”

A spark ignites the base of your spine at the term of endearment, flaring up through your veins. He’s so close you can count each individual eyelash, fluttering against his pale cheekbones with every blink. Silver earrings dangle from his ears—a combination of thin chains and hoops that glitter in the dim light. You think you spot another flash of silver between his lips, embedded in his tongue.

“Long week,” you manage at last, thanking your lucky stars that your voice comes out steady. “Trouble at work. But you don’t want to hear about that.”

“You’re right,” Yoongi replies, accepting the fresh drink that the bartender hands him with a nod of thanks. He takes a long sip, and you can’t help the way your gaze lingers on the soft curve of his lips around the rim of the glass. Then he nods at your own glass, which is half-full and mostly ice at this point. “Can I get you another? I hear alcohol makes your troubles go away.”

You raise a brow. “Really? I hear it just causes new, different troubles.”

An amused grin pulls at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “You may be right about that,” he concedes, setting his drink down with a thunk and leaning in close again. “So how exactly do you propose we make your troubles go away?”

Your other brow rises to join the first. “I don’t recall asking for your help.”

That earns you another grin. “And yet, here I am, offering my services nonetheless.”

A beat of silence stretches between you, taut as a tightrope and thick with tension. Yoongi raises his glass to his lips again, but his dark eyes remain fixed on yours over the rim, unblinking and never once wavering. The clamor of the bar fades into the background, slowing until it feels like you’re swimming in molasses. Your heart thuds in your chest, arrhythmic and fluttery as the wings of the butterflies that have made a home in your belly.

You blink first. Your gaze drops to the soft pout of his mouth, and that’s all it takes for the thread to snap—for Yoongi to ditch his drink and grab your hand instead. “You wanna get out of here?” he asks.

And maybe it’s the alcohol swimming in your system, but you nod. Yoongi stands up, tugging you with him, and you relish the way his fingers fit perfectly into the spaces between your own. He leads you through the crowded bar, weaving amongst the scattered tables and their occupants, and you gasp when he suddenly veers to the side and tugs you into a dim corridor. Several closed doors line it, and he doesn’t hesitate to cage you against the nearest one. His mouth descends on yours, slanting fervently across yours in a kiss, and your eyes flutter shut.

Yoongi kisses you with intoxicating ferocity. His palms are hot against the sliver of skin that your shirt has ridden up to reveal, and devious fingers slide beneath the hem to push it up further. You moan into his open mouth, your breaths intermingling, and it turns into a gasp when the doorknob suddenly digs into your back, cool and unyielding.

Your companion pulls back, frowning at the way the knob refuses to give beneath his fingertips. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Locked.”

“What a shame,” you breathe back.

He hums and takes your face in his hands, kissing you until you go weak in the knees. “I’ve got a car out back,” he rasps when he pulls away.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Not two minutes later, you’re stumbling out into the back alleyway, the low drone of traffic and passersby a welcome change from the din inside the bar. As promised, a beat-up black sedan is parked against the brick wall, and Yoongi wastes no time in pressing you down onto the hood, slotting himself between your spread legs and mouthing insistently at your neck until you’re scrabbling at his back, your breathing labored and shaky.

“Come on, doll.” Yoongi straightens up, raking his dark hair out of his eyes and offering you a crooked smirk. “You can do better than that. Be a good girl for me and let me hear you.”

A pulse of heat spikes through you. His hands come down on either side of your body, twin metallic thunks as the rings on his fingers meet steel. One side of his mouth quirks as he looms above you, but he doesn’t touch you just yet. The silvery chains around his neck glint in the dim glow of the streetlamp at the end of the alley, and Yoongi huffs out an amused chuckle when he notices your diverted attention.

“Eyes on me, doll,” he chides, tapping the side of his nose. “Unless you’re looking for an audience?” Thoughtfully, he glances over his shoulder, where the alley opens up into the main street. Despite the late hour, there are still cars and pedestrians ambling past, completely unaware of the obscene way you’re sprawled atop the hood of Yoongi’s car with the man himself between your legs.

Completely unaware of the way your skirt is now slowly riding up, aided by Yoongi’s warm hand sliding along the soft, delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“I think you might like the idea of an audience too much,” Yoongi breathes, leaning down until his breath is fanning against your cheeks. There’s a tinge of alcohol that lingers on him, the barest hint of sweetness, but it’s neither overbearing nor unpleasant. You’ve been with men like that before—men whose drunkenness made them bold and stupid and immune to your desires. Those men were nothing like Yoongi, who’s staring down at you, ravenous, as if you’re a feast just begging for him to partake. Nothing like Yoongi, whose carnal gaze promises that he knows exactly what you need.

“I think,” he continues, so casually he may as well have been talking about the weather, “it turns you on, knowing that anyone might look this way and see you like this.” His voice is casual but his smile is wicked, and the combination is enough to have your core seizing, untouched.

And then he’s grabbing at the material of your skirt, bunching it up and leaving your bottom half fully exposed. Teasing fingertips skim the lacy edge of your panties, and your eyes widen when he snaps the elastic against your skin. “Yoongi!”

“Much better,” he hums approvingly. Your cheeks flush with warmth.

When he touches you again, it’s with much more fervor, the pad of his index finger tracing your clothed slit and molding the dampened fabric to your folds. Distantly, you think that you should be more embarrassed, being this wet from just some kissing and a few calculated touches, but the rest of your brain is too lost in Yoongi to care. Your gaze traces the dark ink blossoming across the skin of his forearms, following the serpentine coils of the dragon around his wrist. And then it drops to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans, straining against the faded denim.

Yoongi spots your new fixation almost instantaneously, his smirk morphing into something mocking. “What is it, doll? Do you want something?”

“I—” you try, but your voice sticks in your throat. Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“That won’t do,” he says. He cups your mound in one warm hand, his middle finger dipping inside you through the lace of your underwear, and you keen at the foreign texture of the sodden material. “Would you like to try again?”

“Yoongi, please,” you breathe shakily. Your thighs clench together unconsciously, and your companion merely chuckles as he pushes them back apart and settles between them, nosing forward until he’s inches from your dripping core.

“Good girls tell me what they want,” he proclaims softly. “Good girls get rewarded. But bad girls, they get punished. Do you want to guess which one you are, doll?”

He leaves you little room to answer—not that you could’ve mustered up anything coherent even if you tried. In the span of a single breath, Yoongi pulls aside your drenched underwear and sinks his tongue inside your pussy, and you belatedly realize that you’d been correct when you thought you saw a silver piercing embedded in his tongue. The metal ball glides smoothly along your walls, hard and unyielding. Each time he pulls back, or darts up to flick at your clit, or laves at your folds with the enthusiasm of a man starved, you feel it rubbing up against your sensitive flesh, the stimulation unlike any other.

If this is his idea of punishment, you would happily take it any day, night, or afternoon.

There’s something beginning to brew in your belly—something coiling tighter and tighter with each movement of Yoongi’s questing tongue. He’s mouthing languidly at your clit now, winding lazy circles around the little nub while two of his fingers stretch you open, and you’re beyond thankful that he’s chosen to wear smooth rings tonight. The pressure grows as he digs deeper, and he must sense your rapidly approaching high because he doubles his efforts to get you there, sliding in a third finger and sucking harder on your clit. You’re so, so close.

And then it all stops.

Yoongi straightens up and withdraws his fingers, licking his lips. His chin is shiny with your juices and his fingers are likewise coated in your sheen, but he seems otherwise unruffled as he adjusts his sleeves and takes in your gaping visage.

“You—!” you splutter, distraught. “How could… I was so close!”

He pins you in place with a look, the corner of his mouth lifting into a wry smirk. “I told you that bad girls get punished, doll. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now, do I need to repeat myself again, or do you want to tell me what you w—”

“I want your cock,” you blurt. “Please, Yoongi.”

At your shameless declaration, his expression shifts—turning into something dark and positively predatory. “Then turn around for me,” he commands, his voice soft but no less authoritative. “Hands on the hood of the car. I’m not planning on being gentle.”

A shiver dances down your spine as you comply, bracing yourself against the car. It’s a warm night, but the steel is still cool to the touch, smooth and hard beneath your palms. Behind you, you can hear Yoongi shedding his jacket and unbuckling his belt, a muffled grunt of relief escaping him as he frees himself from the confines of his jeans. You want so badly to turn around and look at him—to take in the way his hand grips his cock and memorize every ridge and protruding vein—but you resist the urge. Instead, you wait, your head bowed, for him to make his next move.

Much to your relief, you don’t have to wait long. He’s palming at your hips before you can even draw your next breath, inked arms winding around your body so he can squeeze at your clothed breasts. He takes his time fondling each swell, pinching your nipples until they ache, and you sense the satisfaction radiating off of him when he finally decides to rid you of your shirt entirely.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he rasps, tracing along your spine before splaying a hand at the base so that you’re forced to arch for him. Immediately, you bend to his will, wiggling your hips slightly as you move into position. His sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and neither does the low hum of appreciation that bubbles up from his throat as he smooths a hand along the curve of your ass. You can’t help but preen a bit under his approval, and when Yoongi notices, he chortles and lands a teasing smack on your rear that has you moaning.

“Dirty girl,” he accuses, amusement lacing his tone. “You really want my cock that badly, doll?”

You can only nod, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind. He makes quick work of your soiled panties, hooking two thumbs into the waistband and tugging them down to pool around your ankles. Now completely bare, you can feel every inch of Yoongi’s lean torso as he pulls you close and positions himself at your entrance, parting your walls with near-tortuous deliberation.

“Faster,” you gasp, clenching around him in an effort to goad him into picking up his pace. “Yoongi, I want your cock so bad, please—”

The rest of your sentence ends in a garbled, choked moan. Yoongi thrusts forward with no preamble, filling you up to the very brim, and when he simultaneously finds your clit with his thumb, the jolt of pleasure is enough to steal all the oxygen from your lungs. He circles the sensitive nub between his fingertips with expert precision, and you can only whimper out his name as he starts up a steady rhythm, his mouth finding its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder and lingering there.

The tight coil of pressure is growing in your belly once more, and this time you know that Yoongi has no intention of stopping it. He’s so deep you can practically feel him in the back of your throat, and you hear rather than see the strain in his jaw as he grits out your name and commands you to come, his thumb rubbing against your clit in just the right way to send you hurtling off the precipice and into white-hot bliss.

By the time you come back down, he’s getting close too. You can tell from the way his pace gets more and more erratic, and you pretend you don’t hear the I love you intermingled with the filth and praise he whispers into your skin. Instead, you let him palm your hips and tug you closer, sighing out his name and encouraging him to yes, come inside me and I love you too.

It isn’t until your combined juices are beginning to drip down your thigh and his cock is slowly softening inside you, that he huffs out a hoarse laugh. “You ruined the immersion,” he murmurs, pulling out and turning you around so he can kiss you properly. “I don’t think you’d tell a complete stranger that you love them, no matter how good the sex may have been.”

You smack his arm weakly, giggling. “Oh, shut up. You told me you loved me first, you know.”

Yoongi hums and presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Whatever you say, doll.”

Still smiling, you nestle closer to him, burying your face into his bare shoulder. Idly, you trace the scars littered across his chest—each one its own individual constellation, telling the story of just how long he’s fought against the tyrannical regime you live under. At the thought, your smile fades.

“I hope you’re not wrong about the plan,” you murmur, stroking the scar that’s just above his heart before moving to the ones that decorate his ribcage, the puckered flesh intermingling with the inky gladiolus blossoms he’s gotten tattooed there. One flower for each member of the resistance who’s lost their life—a permanent in memoriam. You follow the delicate outlines with a fingertip, committing each and every one to memory, and think back to all the rumors that say the leader of the resistance is the zombified old emperor, or Emperor Min’s bastard son.

Yet none of the rumors are as powerful as the one that you know to be the truth—that the leader of the resistance is just a man. A man with a good heart and a kind soul, who grew tired of living under the emperor’s relentless tyranny and decided to take matters into his own hands. A man who remembered his fallen comrades, and always kept his word, no matter how small or trivial a thing it might be.

“Come back to me when it’s all over,” you whisper.

His thick lips curve into a pout, eyes doing little to conceal his mock hurt. Exasperation runs through your body, grasping your brain in its clutches. Your entire week has been filled with Jimin’s progressively hideous design ideas for a book cover, to the point you’re beginning to wonder how he got hired at all. The piss-yellow mock-up in front of you is just another straw in the stack that is going to break your back.

“What?” he looks confused, “You said you wanted something eye-catching, and I would have to say this is pretty darn, eye-catching.”

“It’s blinding is what it is. Maybe if we toned it back a bit…” your eyes drift over the design, horror twisting in your gut.

You want to cry. A week ago, your boss had enthusiastically paired you with Jimin to design a book cover for an up and coming YA author, claiming the two of you were the best designers she had, even promising the both of you a promotion if things went well. You aren’t sure what designs Jimin had produced in the past, because what he was bringing to the table now wasn’t much better than a shitty college club poster.

Jimin didn’t make for great company either. Sure he had legs that went for miles, and a face that would outshine angels, but his mouth was filthy. If the two of you weren’t bickering over fonts and hex codes, you were stuck listening to him brag about how loud he could make a girl scream. What’s worse is that while your brain was logical enough to know that Jimin was no good for you, your body had other ideas. As a result, you often went home after a long day, frustrated in more ways than one.

With a little luck- and quite a bit of compromising- you manage to make it to five ‘o’clock without murdering anyone. You manage to talk Jimin down off the yellow in exchange for completing the pitch presentation by yourself. Presentations are time-consuming and tedious, but it’s better than being out of a job because Jimin is set on making the cover look like a neon highlighter.

A half an hour later, you're collapsing on your soft couch, ready to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the weekend. A sigh of relief carries an iota of the stress out of your body as you sink back into the welcoming cushions. You grimace as the tension in your neck became apparent, and you feel the growing ball of angst you have for Jimin tighten. You were going to send him the bill if you had to go to a chiropractor.

In an attempt to move on from your hectic week and into your relaxing weekend, you wander to the kitchen, searching for the merlot you have yet to open. The tall green bottle greets you from the counter. You find a glass and watch as the red liquid quickly fills it. You savor a long sip as you let your mind stray away from the thoughts of work and stress and into notions of self-care and relaxation.

An hour later, having eaten a frozen pizza, you find yourself soaking down into the hot bath suds. The heat begins to draw the ache out of your sore muscles. Once again, Jimin flashes through your mind, coupled with resentment. Your eyes prickle at the thought, sick and tired of Jimin living in your mind rent-free. Why is he preoccupying your brain instead of Seokjin, the cute cook you matched with on Tinder?

While you had yet to meet in person, you and Seokjin had hit off right away when he opened with the cheesiest pick-up line you’d ever heard. He worked at a five-star restaurant a few blocks from your office, but you’d never met in person. That didn’t mean that you hadn’t had a few scandalous conversations. You weren’t usually one for sexting, but Seokjin’s way with words left you little choice.

Eager to take Jimin off your mind, you grab your phone from the side of the tub, quickly opening your messages. You’re much too impatient for small talk, so in the interest of sparking some saucy dialogue, you take a few snaps of your bubble-covered nude body. You suck in a breath as you hit send, anxious for your reaction. It wasn’t the first time you had sent him a nude photo, but it didn’t make you any less nervous. Seokjin was one of the most attractive men you had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on, and it was only natural for you to question your appearance in comparison to his. He would always reassure you, though, flattering you with compliments, both sultry and sweet.

When he doesn’t respond fifteen minutes, a knot forms in your stomach. What if he didn’t like them? What if he was seeing someone else? What if he lost interest? You check your messages with hurried concern. What you find on your screen mortifies. In your haste to tease Seokjin, you had accidentally sent the photos to the last person you texted: Jimin. Worse yet, the little grey “read” sits just beneath the last picture. As you stare at the screen with abject horror, a little speech-bubble pops-up. Your stomach twists in knots, anticipating of what he might say striking you with fear.

The Office Brat: if you wanted a piece of me baby girl, all you had to do was ask 20:33

You suck in a breath when he immediately follows the text with a picture of his own. He’s shirtless, lip between his teeth as he grabs his prominent erection through grey sweatpants. You can’t help the whine that slips out of your mouth at the image. You try to ignore the heat that rushes to your core as your legs rub together. When your senses finally return to you, you drop your phone on the bath mat before sinking into the water, leaving only your face out. The photo is still seared into your brain, taunting you with his delicious abs and what turned out to be a healthy sized dick.

You immediately resolve to forget it ever happened. You spend the rest of the weekend attempting to distract yourself through a binge of every cheesy rom-com you can find on Netflix. You sent Jimin a quick text, informing him that the photos weren’t actually for him. He hadn’t responded, and you didn’t know if you should be relieved or not. It certainly didn’t aid the dread building in your stomach at the thought of having to face him again on Monday.

When you walk into the office two days later, you’re relieved to find that Jimin seemed nowhere to be found. You pray that he actually had an iota of shame and quit out of humiliation. Your hopes are crushed when not five minutes later, you notice him prancing toward your cubicle, his ever-present smirk plastered across his face. When he reaches you, he plops down in an extra desk chair, arms crossed across his chest, eyes looking you up and down. You can’t help but shiver at the knowledge that he knows precisely what you look like underneath your work clothes.

“What do you want, Jimin?” you sigh.

“Haven’t I made that obvious, baby?” He grins. “I want you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Jimin, what happened this weekend was an accident,” you give him a firm glare, “so no matter how much you claim to want me, I want nothing to do with you.:

He raises his eyebrow, eyes locked on yours, before standing and walking to you. His breath is warm on your neck as he leans over to whisper in your ear. You clench your thighs in an attempt to extinguish the heat beginning to burn in between them.

“We’ll see about that, now won’t we, baby girl?”

He pulls away with a smirk, before turning to head to his desk. Your eyes trail to his ass as he leaves, only worsening the situation in your underwear. You silently vow to yourself not to fall for his tricks. You have more self-respect than to allow yourself to be yet another notch in Park Jimin’s bedpost.

Brushing thoughts of your troublesome coworker from your mind, you turn back to your bright computer screen, determined to lose yourself in your work. Your eyes widen when you find an email from Jimin taunting you in your inbox. Heart pounding fast, you click on it, half afraid to find another nude of his (it wouldn’t be beyond him). Instead of a naked Jimin, a PDF with the details for the cover design presents itself. You’re taken aback. Not only had Jimin swapped the yellow for soft coral, but he practically redesigned the entire thing. Scrolling through, you’re embarrassed to admit that it was nearly as good, if not better, then some of your best works.

You immediately realize that this means he’s been pulling your leg for over a week. A groan escapes you, and your head falls forward, smashing into your keyboard. Of course, he was a fucking amazing graphic artist; you shouldn’t have expected anything less. Fury floods down your spine as it dawns on you that it was all a trick to get out of doing the PowerPoint. Now you were stuck making an entire presentation, just because Jimin had pretended to love piss-yellow.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to march to his desk and strangle him. White anger flashes in front of your eyes, resentment growing to cover every waking thought in your brain. When you finally calm enough to rationalize that murder isn’t going to get you anywhere, you decide that your best course of action is to avoid him until the day of the two of you are scheduled to present to the board.

The world isn’t being kind to you today, because when you finally head to the break room for lunch, you immediately run into your new worst enemy.

“What’s got your panties in a knot now, love?”

You glare at him, not trusting yourself not to stab him with your salad fork. He smirks in response, before turning to leave. At the last second, he turns back to you.

“Have fun with that PowerPoint.”

You want to scream.

“Jimin, I swear to god, you little shit, I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna what? Spank me?” His cheeky grin widens. “You know, baby, I’m usually a dom, but if it meant feeling your sweet pussy, I’d definitely be a sub.”

You are lucky that no one else is around to hear his words because you are mortified enough. Red creeps across your face as Jimin winks at you. When he finally leaves, you collapse back onto the counter, trying to get a grip on your surroundings. You swear to high heaven that you’ve never hated someone so much in your life, yet feel so attracted to them at the same time. As infuriated as you are with him, you are even more infuriated with your inability to control your body’s reaction to him.

Why did he have to know exactly what to say to soak your panties? Why was he so hellbent on getting you to sleep with him? Why did you ever have to be assigned to him in the first place? These questions plagued your mind as the week trickled slowly on. Your anger with Jimin was beginning to be diluted with anxiety about your upcoming presentation. No part of you looked forward to standing in front of the company board to make a potential career-changing pitch with the person you hated most in the world. Not to mention public speaking made you want to hide under a rock and never come out.

Thankfully, Jimin is kind enough to offer to do most of the talking- even if his original deal included a blow job- but it also meant you had less control if things started to go south. By the time Friday rolled around, you’re shitting yourself with fear. Jimin does his best to calm you down as you sit in hard plastic chairs outside the boardroom, waiting to be called in.

“Look, we’ll do fine. You made an amazing presentation, and I’m pretty brilliant at charming people if I do say so myself.”

He reaches over and gives your hand a small squeeze. You’re just nervous enough to offer him a small smile. For what it’s worth, he wasn’t terrible at comforting people.

“Thanks, Jimin. I’m sure everything will go great.”

Everything did not go great. In fact, it went very, very badly. Somewhere out there, someone must have hexed you because that’s the only reason you can think of that would explain why you placed Jimin’s original yellow design in the slideshow instead of his new one. You feel terrible. Not only have you fucked up in front of the entire company, but you’ve put both of your jobs on the line.

As soon as the meeting ended, you rushed off to the bathroom. You already embarrassed yourself enough as it is, you don’t need everyone to see you cry too. Tears roll down your face as you sit on the toilet, praying for the sudden end of your existence.

You had one job and somehow you had managed to fuck it up. You managed to ruin your career. You’re going to end up jobless. Broke. Destitute.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts by a knock at the door.

“Doll? Are you in there?”

Jimin’s voice is soft and comforting, and if you weren’t so afraid of humiliating yourself, you would have gladly welcomed his arms around you. But you are, so you try to stifle your sobs in an attempt to make him go away.

“Doll? I know you’re in there. I can hear you crying,” he sighs, “Please just let me in. I just want to talk.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you debate your options. If he already knows you’re crying, what difference will it make if he sees you? You stand up from your seat on the toilet, make a quick attempt at cleaning up your ruined makeup, and hesitantly open the door to let him inside.

He immediately takes you in his arms, closing the door behind him. The feeling of his body wrapped around yours only serves to induce more tears, and you find yourself crying into his shirt collar.

“I’m so, so sorry, Jimin,” you hiccup, “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how I used that one. I’m so sor-”

“It’s okay, baby.”

You pull away to look at his eyes.

“What? How can you say that? I ruined the presentation, and we’ll be lucky if they want us to come back to work tomorrow.”

“They loved it.”

“What?”

“They loved it. They thought it was bright and innovative and really demonstrated that we understood design enough to push its limits.”

You look at him in shock. They loved it. They thought it was great. Your job was safe. You weren’t going to be fired. You may even receive a promotion.

“Feel better, doll?” He smiles down at you.

For once in your life, you return his smile, while shaking your head in affirmation.

“Well, then…”

You’re still smiling but suddenly unsure of what to do. Jimin’s hands are still on your waist, and you hated how aware of them you’re becoming. He seems to notice at the same time and quickly pulls them away.

“I have a question.” His voice is soft and shaky, and his eyes shift from side to side, seemingly unable to focus on you.

“What?”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

You’re taken aback. Jimin, who was usually so confident and larger than life, is now standing before you, small and meek, like an underfed puppy begging for scraps.

“I, I don’t hate you, Jimin.”

“But you must,” his voice is curt, “You never flirt back with me, yet I see you tease Hoseok all day long. You never laugh at my jokes. You never praise my work. As soon as I come anywhere near you, you close up. You snap at me, and you have no patience with me. You avoid me at all costs. So let me ask you again: why do you hate me?”

This time, instead of avoiding eye contact, he stares at you like he’s trying to read your soul.

“I really don’t hate you, Jimin.”

He raises his eyebrow.

“I just don’t want you to hurt me.”

He looks genuinely confused at your statement.

“How could I possibly hurt you?”

“The same way you hurt all those other girls.”

“What other girls?” His voice rises with defense.

“You know, the ones you sleep with in bathrooms, only to leave them broken-hearted when you never so much as glance their way again? The one’s you brag about fucking every chance you get until I want to slam my head into a brick wall? The ones that prove you’re nothing but a narcissistic fuckboy whose only goal in life is to get his dick wet? Those are the girls I’m talking about.”

Jimin looks shocked before his face morphs into an angry scowl, eyes heated and alert.

“That’s what you really think about me? That I’m a no-good player who uses girls for their bodies? Do you really think I trick girls into sleeping with me? Because you're wrong. They know what they’re getting into when they agree to restroom rendezvouses, but they always seem to convince themselves that they can convince me that I should be in a relationship with them. That’s not my fault. I would never sleep with someone under false pretenses. And I bragged about them because I wanted you to like me! Do you not get that? I don’t ever try this hard to get anybody to sleep with me, but I like you. I like you a lot, and this whole time you just thought I was a misogynistic fuckboy because you never cared to get to know me better.”

Jimin is seething, like a dog that went feral. His chest rises with heavy breaths as he backs you into the wall, eyes staring down yours. You let out a small whimper when he leans into your ear, hot breath ghosting your neck.

“If you think I’m such a fuckboy, then a fuckboy is what you are going to get.”

Before your brain can properly register his words, his lips are covering yours in a desperate kiss. Despite your lack of cognizance, you respond immediately, lips moving against his as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you. His hands ghost down your side before he grabs your ass with a rough squeeze, eliciting a whine from your mouth.

He flips you around before bending you over the sink, eyes holding yours in the mirror reflection.  

“I think you’ve been a bad girl, don’t you agree? Leaving me with blue balls just because you think you’re better than me.”

Words fail you, so you nod instead. His hand slips under your skirt, softly massaging your ass.

“Don’t you think Daddy needs to punish you?”

You whimper, eyes struggling to hold his in your shared reflection. His gaze was burning with lust and fiery.

“I need you to use your words, baby.”

“Yes, daddy, I need to be punished.”

He grinned before flipping up your skirt to reveal the supple curve of your ass to his waiting gaze.

“Fuck, baby, do you know how long I’ve stared at this ass walking away from me, trying not to pop a boner in front of the whole office?”

He grabbed a rough handful.

“So long, baby, much too long. I think ten should suffice. Count for me.”

“Okay, daddy.” You whine.

“Say ‘red’ if it gets to be too much.”

“Yes, daddy.”

The first spank sent shocks running through you. While you expected the pain, you hadn’t anticipated how hard he would hit you, or how the contrast of his warm palm and cool rings would send pleasure singing through your body.

“O-one.”

The word barely made it out of your mouth, your brain hazy with lust.

The subsequent slap on the opposite cheek once again jolts you, and you fall forward, bracing your hands on the cold porcelain sink before you.

“Two.”

By the time he made it to five, tears had begun to well in your eyes, and you were sure your ass was painted a nice shade of crimson. By the time he made it to ten, tears had streaked your cheeks as moans and whimpers left your mouth alongside your garbled counting.

Jimin takes a moment to step back to admire his handiwork, his smirk only widening as he takes in his handprint bruised into your ass.

“Holy shit, baby, you’re so hot. You took your punishment so well. Look at how much of a good girl you are.”

Even in your hazy state, you beamed at his praise.

“Thank you, daddy.”

“I think you deserve a reward, baby girl.”

You nod vigorously at that, eager to feel him finally inside you.

“What do you want, baby? Use your words.”

“Your fingers, daddy, please.”

In an attempt to convey your desperation, you grind your hips into his crotch.

“Patience, baby girl. Where do you want them?”

“In my pussy, daddy. Please. I’m so wet for you.” Your sentence ends with a light sob, the need for him overwhelming you.

“Ask and you shall receive.”

With that, he pulls your panties to the side as he cautiously rubs his pointer finger up and down your soaked slit, before slipping inside.

“Fuck, baby, your dripping. Did spanking you turn you on that much? Is my baby girl that much of a pain slut?”

“Yes, daddy. I’m a pain slut just for you.”

He adds a second finger, and your head drops between your shoulders as he begins to move his digits in and out of you at a quick but intentional pace. Moans fall from your lips, and you let out a sharp squeal when he crooks his fingers and brushes against your g-spot.

“Fuck, daddy, right there.”

He quickens his pace, rubbing you perfectly over and over again as he brings you closer to the point of no return.

“Shit, baby, I’m so hard right now. Your pussy is so tight and wet around my fingers; I just want to sink my cock into you.”

“Please, daddy, I want your cock too. I want you to cum inside me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“

Words fail you as you are sent hurtling into your orgasm, waves of euphoria crashing down around you. Your body is shaking as you collapse against the sink.

Jimin lets out a groan at your fucked-out state, removing his hand from your pussy and bringing it to his lips to taste you. He lets out a moan as he does, freehand going to the front of his pants to rub his prominent erection through the black fabric.

After you recover enough to stand, you turn around and replace his hand with your own, pussy clenching at how big he was.

“Will you fuck me now, daddy?” You look up at him under your lashes, and his head falls back at your mock innocence, a light whimper escaping his lips. He tilts his head back up to look at you, hand coming to grab your waist to pull you to his lips.

You taste yourself on his tongue as your hands come to play with his hair, tugging on the strands. He ruts up into you, desperation getting the better of him. He pulls away, revealing his swollen lips and hazy eyes.

“Fuck yeah, I’ll fuck you now, baby girl.” He makes quick work of his belt zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to let out his cock and balls. The tip is an angry red, beautifully contrasted with the white of his dress shirt. Your mouth waters as you take in its wide girth and slight curve. You’re desperate to taste it, but right now there were more important matters at hand.

You drop your panties, before hopping up on the edge of the sink. Jimin gives his cock a few short tugs before lining up with your dripping entrance. You let out soft moans as he sinks into you, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him as close as possible. His hands grab your ass, pulling you to the edge of the sink, before slamming back in. He sets a slow but intentional pace, the sound of skin and desperate moans echoing throughout the small bathroom.

You aren’t going to last long, having already come once, and judging by his quickening pace, neither is he. Your lips meet each other in a messy kiss as he pulls you tight against his body. It’s hard to discern what is a part of you and what is a part of him. Your limbs are so intertwined, that it feels like you are one body.

As his cock continues to drill into your g-spot, stars begin to cover your vision. With the force of a freight train, you come unannounced; your mouth opens in a silent scream. Jimin follows right behind you, painting your walls white with his seed. He lets out a groan of your name, his head coming to rest on your shoulder.

Both of you silently shake as you take a moment to catch your breath and process what just happened. He slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, watching as his cum pours out of your cunt.

“Fuckkkk, that’s hot.” He groans, tucking himself back into his pants, before wetting a paper towel to help clean you up.

“I’m sorry I thought so poorly of you.” You give him an apologetic grin, as you pull up your underwear.

“It’s okay. I can see where I might have led you to think that I don’t treat girls well.”

“Well, now I can see that I was wrong. You seem like you would be a fantastic boyfriend.” You move to exit the bathroom, eager to get away so you can process the rampage of emotions flooding through you now that your lust wasn’t getting in the way.

“I can be yours.”

You pause at the door.

“What?”

“I could be your boyfriend.”

“I-“

“I’ve liked you ever since the first time I saw you, and I think that maybe you like me, and I just really, really want to be your boyfriend.”

Your mind is racing at a million miles per hour, trying to process everything that’s happening. One moment he was fucking you like it was your last day on the earth, and now he’s standing in front of you, pleading for you to make him yours. You aren’t sure what to make of it.

“I think I would really like that too, Jimin,” he beams,” “but everything is going so fast, and I just need a little time to take everything in.”

His face falls a little, but he nods understandingly.

“That’s fair. Let me take you on a date, at least.”

You grin.

“Okay.”

“Coffee on Saturday?”

You had somehow gotten yourself out of bed, rushed through your shower and made yourself presentable for school. Your knee high socks only doing so much to keep you shivering from the cold. It was brisk in the mornings, which is exactly why you needed Jungkook to be on time at least for once.

You sighed yet again, your hair flying due to the breeze. You looked down the street, hoping for the familiar toothy grin and curly hair to make an appearance. Jungkook’s whoop of greeting announced his arrival as you finally calmed down enough to stop your tapping. You scowled as he neared you, letting him see the displeasure on your face.

“I’m sorreee, Y/N!” he whined, usually it was all it took for you to stop being mad at him. And today was no different.

You smiled at him, letting him know you weren’t upset as he thrust a notebook into your hands. “Thank you for letting me borrow your notes, I love you,” you blushed at his usual words of gratitude. Although you remind yourself this is how the two of you had been for ever, don’t go looking for meaning in something mundane.

Jungkook intertwines his arm with yours as you start walking towards school. The two of you have been going to school together since you learned to walk.

You’re walking hand in hand when Jungkook looks at you sideways, you raise your eyebrows at him, questioning.

“What?” you say with a half laugh.

“Nothiiiing, how’s my favourite girl this morning?” Jungkook says with a smile.

You look straight ahead as you answer, “I’d be better if you actually ever showed up on time. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I heard from a certain someone...” he begins when you cut him off.

“From a certain Jimin.”

He looks at you with exasperation as you keep walking, “Would you let me finish?!”

“Oh I’m sorry, do continue,” you reply with a small smile. “You were saying?”

“Yeah so a certain someone told me that Kim Seokjin has a crush on you.”

“WHAT?” You sputter and gasp at the unexpected revelation. Never would you have thought you’d get to hear such a sentence.

“Jungkook is this another one of your bad attempts at being funny? Cause it’s really not working and I’m gonna have to ask you to cut it out,” you say as you purse your lips.

“No no! I’m serious, Taehyung heard his older brother talking to some guy on the phone and he was distinctly talking about ‘Y/N that cute senior in Tae’s class’!” Jungkook says it so earnestly with those doe eyes that you can’t help but believe him. Although it does put you in quite a bit of a pickle seeming how your current crush is telling you about boys who in turn are crushing on you.

“I mean, Seokjin is kinda cute—”

“Kinda?? Y/N, honey, that guy has the most perfect face in the whole world. Literally!” You can’t help but doubt if Jungkook himself is in love with the older man, the way he talks about his friend’s hyung is rather suspicious.

“I just don’t know him well enough, y’know?”

“Nobody’s telling you to marry him, just talk to the guy. I saw him shirtless once at Tae’s house and all I’m gonna say is whoo boy, I could grate cheese on his abs!”

You snort at his antics, Jungkook dramatically enacting another one of his encounters with the cheerleader in love with him as you try not to let jealousy tint you green. The familiar grey building appearing in your sight as you advance closer towards it.

The shrill of the school bell rings out through the class. There is a flurry of movement as students scramble to leave the stuffy room, you sit back waiting for the commotion to die down as you gather your notes and stationary to put back in your canvas bag.

You catch a glimpse of Jungkook rushing towards the door when you yell out for him. “Hey, JK! Where do you think you’re going?”

Jungkook stutters while looking back at you, hesitantly making his way towards you with an expression you know far too well.

“Jungkook... Why are you making that face?” you say as you squint your eyes at him. He twiddles his thumbs as his gaze flitters nervously about the room, taking in everything but your face.

“Jungkook.”

“Well... You see I have this little thing to do uh,,, it’s kinda, a little bit important...” he says.

“Oh spit it out, you monkey!” You say, your patience running thin.

“I have a date!” Jungkook says with eyes widened. Your carefully maintained expression slips for just a second and then it’s back on. You look around the room to catch the pretty cheerleader waiting outside the door. She’s standing with her other cheerleader friends and you can tell she’s jittery from the nerves.

Oh, damn it.

You sigh as you decide to let your unnerved friend off the hook, once again. “Fine, just go on your stupid date. But this project is the last one I’ll be covering for you, after this you’re on your own, bud.”

“Oh Y/N, thank you!” Jungkook exclaims as he breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, thankyouthankyou!!” He repeats as he hugs you clumsily, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you hold your breath, trying to act nonchalant.

The joy of being around your best friend drains from your entire being as your heart weighs heavy again in his absence.

You’re the only one left in the quiet classroom.

You’re still in your uniform sitting on the plush carpet of the Kims’ living room, your notes and study material sprawled in front of you as you take in the bickering pair, Jimin and Tae are smushed together in the bright floral armchair.

You cough once to try and get their attention when Jimin glances at you, looking as if he’s just noticed you. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry were you saying something?”

“Yeah just for the last fucking hour but it’s okay, please continue,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jimin narrows his eyes at you, making it known that he doesn’t appreciate the sass.

“Remind me again why that beefed up rabbit isn’t here to help with the project?” Taehyung quips as he gets up to get a bottle of strawberry milk from the refrigerator. It’s always a delight to be at his house, his parents are always away for some obscure book meeting leaving their gorgeous home and kitchen free for their kids and their countless friends. You send a silent prayer of gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Kim for the years you’ve spent at their home to keep from strangling their younger son.

“He’s on a date,” you say lowly.

“A what now?” Jimin asks, eyebrows raised.

“A date,” you mumble.

“A great what, Y/N will you speak up?!”

“JUNGKOOK IS ON A DATE!” you scream, surprising Tae in the kitchen as he yelps with a small crash following.

Jimin’s mouth hangs open, worry written in the droop scrunch of brows. He strides towards you and wraps his arms around your figure, the scent of his classic Chanel perfume wafting up to your nose.

“Oh you poor thing, it’s gonna be okay. Koo’s an idiot, he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” Jimin coos into your hair as you melt in his embrace, finally letting the heaviness weigh you down as you slag against his frame. He pulls away and holds you back to properly examine your face.

“Are you sad?”

“Just a little, although I know I have no right to be,” you say with an unintentional pout. “Jungkook only sees me as his friend, and he has no reason to put me above potential relationships.”

“Shut up for a minute and give yourself a break, honey,” Tae voices out as he comes back into the living room. He stands behind you and pulls you back into his lap as he lets you sit on him like a child complaining to their mum. Jimin takes his place beside him and faces you head on.

“Next time I see him I’m gonna flick him on the forehead,” you say with mild conviction, knowing you’re making empty promises.

“You do that,” Jimin says.

Taehyung rubs your back as you slouch against him, gathering your thoughts and energy to go through the day without crying. You can’t say this is a new occurrence, Taehyung and Jimin have been your closest friends after Jungkook. You’ve spent a gross amount of time with them, and the coddling and comforting has been something unique to your trio. Every time one of you was upset or sad or frustrated, the other two have comforted and joked and babied them, whatever they needed at that point of time.

You take a deep breath and get up out of Tae’s reassuring hold, you sit back down on the carpet. Silently letting them know that you’ll be fine, for now. “Jimin can you handle the titles and diagrams? I’m gonna get started on the typing, and Tae you gotta start preparing for the presentation,” you get back into work mode, rambling out the designated areas for each of you to overlook.

You’re looking through your notes when the tall, striking Kim Seokjin walks out of his room, he goes straight into the kitchen but you can’t help but follow his movements. Or rather his rear end’s movements.

As he’s walking out, he looks at you from his freakishly tall height and winks at you. You feel your heart do a weird little ballet flip, something you’ve reserved for Jungkook for the longest time. You fluster at the gesture and tuck your hair behind your ear, a shy smile painting your face. You look back up and Seokjin is gone, Taehyung looking at you as if he’s in on your little secret moment.

Jimin groans as he looks up from his work, pouting slightly with his plump lips as he complains about the absentee.

“Jimin, it’s okay! Calm down, he’s saved our asses multiple times. We can do this one thing for him, can’t we?” You try to reason.

“Yeah whatever, of course you’ll say that. You’re the one who’s in loooove with him,” Jimin mumbles to himself.

“I am not in love with Jungkook! It is outrageous of you to suggest that,” you say with a squeal of mild anger.

“Oh admit it Y/N, it’s not just a safe little crush on your best friend anymore, you totally want to snog his face off!” Taehyung accuses you with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. You whine in embarrassment as your press your palms to your face, hoping to cool your heated cheeks.

Taehyung comes up behind you as he hugs you from the back, his head resting your shoulder as he teases you. “Y/N and Kook! Sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!!” You squeal in humiliation as Jimin scuffles over to you as he captures you between him and Taehyung.

He joins in on the embarrassing poem, “First comes looooove! Then comes marriage! Then comes a Taehyung in a baby carriage!!” Tae looks up at the blonde haired boy across from him and yells, “Yah! Park Jimin, I’m not gonna be Jungkook’s baby, how dare you?!”

Jimin is too busy laughing like the gremlin he is to answer Tae’s question, his eyes scrunched up as he releases peals of happy laughter. You’re laughing just as hard, if not harder, alongside him. Your sides are in stitches yet you’re so bubbling with pure joy that you don’t bother with the pain in your stomach.

As the laughter dies down, Tae has a solemn look on his face. One that you don’t particularly like seeing because you know he’s gonna coax you into having the uncomfortable conversations you’re too scared to have yourself.

“Seriously, Y/N. Do you... love Jungkook? You know, like that?”

You sigh, “Yeah, I mean, isn’t it obvious? I really, really love him and it just physically hurts me to know that he may never return the sentiment.”

“Then sweetheart you’re gonna have to talk to him! He might actually even return your feelings but be too scared to tell you himself, and even if he does not you can’t keep hurting like this every time he goes on a date,” Jimin says softly, a gentle hand laying your arm.

“Because right now, Y/N, Jungkook is hurting you. And he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, it’s not fair to you nor is it fair to him.”

You know it makes sense, but you just feel so anxious and confused about how things will go if you actually tell Jungkook about your feelings for him. You take a deep breath as you try hard to let your friends in, “I just— I’m scared of how things will be once I tell him, you know? I don’t want to lose my best friend. If loving him from the sidelines is the only kind of relationship we can have I’m absolutely okay with that. I would never ever want to do something that will chase him out of my life.” You don’t realise the tears running down your cheeks until Jimin is brushing them away.

“If the only dates we can have are ramen and banana milk? Then damn it I will drink that banana milk!” you say with a sniffle. “Loving Koo from the outside is better than not loving him at all,” you manage to say before you choke on a sob. Dropping your head into the crook of Jimin’s neck, Tae rubbing your back from behind you.

And you cry in your friends’ embrace. You cry harder than you ever have before.

It’s the week before the end of the school year, you’re walking across the quad to meet with Jungkook under your favourite tree. It’s a light, breezy afternoon, there’s a bounce in your step as your short school skirt swings on your hips. You feel good and you can tell you look good, the sudden air of confidence is a welcome change from your usual skittish demeanour.

You can make out Jungkook’s big form laying on the grass under the apple tree, his bag under his head and earbuds popped in, you’re sure he’s listening to some My Chemical Romance song once again. You’re about to shout his name when a tall someone blocks your path.

You look up at them to find the startlingly handsome face of Kim Seokjin looking down at you. His hair is slicked back to reveal his forehead and the immaculate eyebrows, his hands are shoved into his bomber jacket as he looks at you intensely.

“Uh,,, h-hi Jin,” you squeak under his gaze.

“Hey Y/N,” he says.

“Um, w-what’s up?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to ask you something kind of important,” he says nonchalantly.

“Really? Okay, go ahead,” you attempt to act indifferent to his attention but the butterflies thrumming in your stomach told you otherwise. Seokjin’s hand flits out of his pocket to run through the hair at the back of his neck, his eyes flicker around nervously, “Would you uhm... would you be interested in like, going to the end of year um... dance? W-with me?”

The sudden change in demeanour from cool to nervous is endearing to you, a light giggle spills out of you as you answer with blood red cheeks, “O-of course, I would love to.” You smile up at him shyly. The thought of Jungkook flickering across your mind for a second before you push it away.

You know you can’t be hung up on him for ever, and he’s sure as hell not gonna take you as his date to the dance. And Seokjin is a good person, you like to think you know him pretty well after the years you’ve spent with him and his brother, it also doesn’t hurt his chances that he’s actually the most perfect looking human in the entire world.

“Oh wow, I didn’t think you’d say yes,” he admits, honestly. “Well, great then! I’ll pick you up at your place on the day of?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum as you try to suppress a smile.

“Cool,” he says with the widest grin you’ve ever seen on him, “I gotta go, I’ll see you soon okay?”

You nod at him as he walks away, taking the opportunity to gaze at his broad shoulders. A blissful sigh leaving your lips as you finally let the suppressed smile break across your face.

Shaking your head you continue on your path towards your best friend, who has by now sat up straight and is staring at you with narrowed eyes, a bitter scowl forming on his charming face by the second. You reach his spot and chirp out a greeting, “Hello, what’s up with you face?”

“What did Jin want?”

“Um, I’m good, thanks for asking, how are you?”

He narrowed his eyes even more to the point where he looked like he had slits for eyes, “Answer the question, smart ass.”

“He asked me if I wanted to go to the dance with him? Why?”

“Oh. I didn’t you were taking a date with you to the dance?” He said as he turned his face away from you.

You plopped down beside him, uncaring. “Yeah well it’s really not the coolest to go to a formal school ball all alone. I’m saving for future formal balls where I can embarrass myself to the fullest.” You chuckle at your poor humour.

“Oh you think you’re sooo funny, don’t you? Hilarious Y/N. Well cut it out cause you’re not, and your hair’s dry and you need a new backpack.” Jungkook quite literally huffs as he crosses his arms in a defensive position and leans his back on the apple tree.

You gasp at the sudden jabs, “What is the matter with you?! That’s just mean and my hair is not dry, it is moisturised to it’s best thank you very much!”

“You’re so obtuse,” Jungkook says with a glare.

“What? What did I do?” you ask, only slightly taking offense.

Jungkook moves his body abruptly towards you so that he is facing you head on, you wither under his strong gaze as he huffs again, “You really don’t know?”

“Um if I knew, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” you retort, equally annoyed by now.

He continues to stare at you as if you’ve stolen his lunch money, slowly starting to feel uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny when he breathes out loud, “If you don’t get it then you don’t get it, I can’t do anything about it,” and he gets up from his spot.

Gathering his bag he starts walking away from you without a word, although you do hear the words ‘stupid’ and ‘oblivious’ under his breath as he moves farther away from your stumped figure.

It had been four solid days that Jungkook ignored you, he avoided you at every meeting and stopped sitting beside you in all the classes you shared. Although four days doesn’t seem like much it was just grossly too long for the amount of time the two of you spent together otherwise, you were annoyed and frustrated but more than anything you felt shunned. Jungkook had never once behaved like this with you and this was an entirely new side of him you were being exposed to.

Two days before the end of school, Jungkook had once again avoided you and sat way over at the other end of the room with his cheerleader groupies. You were dangerously close to tears as he was your only friend in the majority of your classes, you only shared History and Literature with Tae and Jimin and without your best friend you were left completely alone.

The bell rang announcing the end of the period and the school day, you were fed up of this treatment and decided to make things right no matter what. You got up from your desk and walked over to Jungkook’s with what little courage you could gather. You waved timidly at him, he was speaking to the pretty girls who were twirling their curls around their fingers and making eyes at the handsome boy.

“Hey, Kook we should talk,” you said softly.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t want to speak with you.” You felt like he’d just slapped you with the formal smile he was giving you. Anger like fire rushed through your veins as you grabbed his arm and dragged him behind you and out of the classroom, the girls looking on with wide eyes as the centre of their attention was whisked away by the shy girl they never paid attention to.

You storm into the boy’s bathroom at the corner next to your class, swinging around to face your friend as you cross your arms and raise and eyebrow, “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N.”

“What the fuck do you mean there’s nothing to talk about?” you say sharply.

He winces at your usage of the cuss word, “Listen Y/N, I don’t want to fight, please just let it go and let’s move on with our lives.”

“Jungkook?! You won’t even tell me what I did wrong? How do you expect me to move on from something I don’t even know? Please, just tell me why you’re upset and I promise I’ll make it right,” you say pleadingly.

Jungkook chuckles softly, “If only you could.”

You reach forward and place your arms on his thick biceps, you look at him earnestly, “Please Kook, don’t do this to us. Tell me what happened? Please?”

He takes a shaky breath as you notice the tension on his brows, “I just— I thought if you’d ever go to a school dance,”

“What about the school dance?” you whisper.

“I thought if you’d ever go to a school dance... it would be with me...” he says softly.

You feel like your breath has been knocked out of you. Your arms feel suddenly too light, panic wraps its hands around your belly and squeezes.

Somehow you find it in yourself to push through the nerves and ask, “Jungkook... D-do you mean to say what I think you do?”

“If you think I mean to say that I like you then yeah, it’s exactly what you think,” he replies with a slight pout.

You laugh out of relief and realisation, all this while the boy you were in love with had liked you back and you had been to stupid to see it. Everything clicks into place and you piece together all the weird reactions over the years, the sudden bursts of jealousy and possessiveness all make sense now that you know he likes you. He really likes you too.

“Jungkook, you idiot! I like you too, I’ve liked you since fucking forever, oh my god.”

His eyes shine brighter at your words, “Really? Then what was that whole thing with Seokjin and going to the dance as his date?”

“That was just because I was too tired of watching you date girl after girl, I thought I should finally try to move on from you,” you say, “It was tiring to see the boy I love hook up with all these gorgeous girls and know that I’ll never be able to tell him how much I like him.”

Jungkook has the manners to look sheepish as his cheeks grow red, “You love me?”

“I— No of course not I just said it—”

“You love me! Y/N is in love with me!!” He all but whoops. You hide your face in your hands as he announces smugly that you, are in fact in love with him.

“Hey Y/N,” he says suddenly, voice dropping several octaves to send a shiver down your entire body.

You peek out from behind your fingers to sneak a look at him, only to find his face right in front of yours and dangerously close. His big brown eyes are staring into yours as you take in the gorgeous, long lashes; his lips are pink and a cheeky bunny smile shows of his teeth. He whispers and you feel his minty breath on your face, “I love you, too.”

"If you think I don't see you fishing for compliments, you are dead wrong baby boo." You say as a cheeky grin spreads across your face. He acts like he hates that name, but you know better. The tip of Yoongi's ears turns red, proving you right before he again buries his head in your neck and mutters a quiet, "Smartass."

You burrow your head in the warmth of Yoongi’s sweater and let the soft cloth absorb the few stray tears that had slipped out. Your attention now away from your laptop screen, as you miss the rest of the boys and their speeches. You decide to look them up later as your body protests leaving the warmth of Yoongi’s body heat. 

"Do you really feel alone?" You voice out the question that had been bugging you for some time now. You don't want to assume anything but the thought that your boyfriend has been having a difficult time without you knowing about it doesn't quite sit well with you. 

You feel more than hear Yoongi let out a huff, as his warm breath hits the nape of your neck and you suppress a shudder. 

"Jagiya," He begins before suddenly the hands that were around your waist shift and wrap themselves around your shoulders, pulling you closer to the man in question and tilting your head up.

You hum and shift your gaze up-to meet his eyes, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck, his soft black hair, tickling the skin of your fingers as you run your hands over his skin. 

"I didn't mean it how you might think I did. I don't feel alone in the sense that I feel like I have no one. It's more of a....creative feeling, where I feel like my inspiration sometimes runs dry and then I don't know which way I should go next." Yoongi says, and you nod in reply. 

He tilts his head as he tries to catch your gaze, but you shift your eyes away. You don't think Yoongi is lying to you, you know he never would. But you also wonder if he is telling you the full truth or not. You wouldn't put it past him to hold back and keep his feelings to himself if he thinks it might worry you. 

Yoongi might seem rough from the outside, but once he allows a person in, he treasures them more than most do. You know that better than anybody else. 

You see it in the way he brings home your favourite coffee from halfway across the city every time you pull an all-nighter, hear it in the way he whispers goodnight to you every night he comes home late and thinks you are asleep.

More than anything else, you feel it in the way his touch caresses your skin like you are a porcelain doll, glides over your curves leaving you feeling treasured and your heart bursting with love and affection for him. 

"Jagi, I love you." You hear your boyfriend's deep, slight gravely voice say and before you can reply, his hands are snaking from your shoulders to your neck and tipping your head up as his soft lips, dip down and interlock with yours. 

Your surprised squeak is muffled as his lips glide over yours, the feather-soft feel of them leaves you feeling warm as your toes curl and your hands' fist and tug the collar of Yoongi’s sweater, pulling him closer. 

His tongue slips between your lips as it licks a strip over your lower lip and you open your mouth, tongue reaching out and gliding over his in response. A breathy moan slipping out almost unconsciously when you feel his hands slide over your curves, caressing the skin under, and your blush rises, the skin from over your chest to the tip of your ears feeling flushed and warm.

You don't think you are needy, nor are you the jealous, insecure kind, but something about Yoongi’s touch has you aching, craving for more, and the thought of someone else being on the receiving end of it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Huffing, you tug him closer, your nails softly skimming over the sensitive skin of the back of his ears, and he shudders, a grin of your own slipping onto your face when you realise for the billionth time the effect you have on him. 

"Stop grinning," Yoongi grumbles embarrassed, his pale skin, looking red as a sheen of oil gathers over his cheeks and nose, highlighting his soft, curvy features, and you bite your lip, humming back a response before you tilt your head up and drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

"I love you too babyboo," You whisper back, your lips ghosting over his as you keep them close, your words dripping with love and your eyes overflowing with affection as they gaze into his.

You watch as Yoongi’s eyes turn soft, their usual cat-like silhouette, melting into something curvier before he's closing the distance between you two and your eyes slip close.  

With Yoongi’s soft and sugar-sweet lips on yours, you lose yourself, until the feel of his silky hair twined around your fingers and his puffs of warm breaths on your face, are all that you are aware of anymore. 

"Dammit, I swear to god, if you do that one more time, I am kicking you where the sun doesn't shine." You playfully growl out loud, only to squeal when another spray of water hits the back of your neck. 

Huffing dramatically you advance towards your boyfriend, who's now trying to act innocent, his back turned away from you, neck slightly hunched as he looks down and continues to wash the vegetables for tonight's celebratory dinner. 

Coming to stand beside him, you lean your hip against the counter top behind you, and turn to look at your boyfriend. His bottom lip under the clutches of his pearly teeth, his gummy grin on full display despite his apparent attempt at trying to hold it in, Yoongi looked like the picture-perfect definition of the word adorable. 

"Mature, Real Mature." You remark wryly and roll your eyes fondly when the laugh he had been trying so hard to hold in, finally tumbles out. Body hunching over the counter, as his hands grip the edge, chuckle after chuckle flow out of him. His usual gravely, raspy, deep voice, raising slightly in pitch as his laugh starts to go squeaky and his cheeks bloom red due to lack of oxygen. 

Huffing you try to move away and go back to your cooking, but his hand snakes out, tugging you closer. 

The softness of your chest collides against the hard, coiled muscles of his torso, and your eyes drift over to his sparkly orbs. His bread cheeks on full display, eyes melted into two crescent moons, the wide gummy smile stretched wide. 

Even if you had been genuinely angry, you'd have melted immediately. 

"You're too cute for your own good little meow-meow." You tease and watch as Yoongi's blush darkens, a groan spilling out of his lips as he pulls you closer and nuzzles against your neck. 

Giggling, you run your hands through his hair, caressing the skin of his nape as Yoongi's hands tighten around your waist, the soft flesh under his grip feeling warmer. 

"For someone who's supposed to be the tough, scary one you're awfully affectionate," You remark when you feel him leaving soft pecks on your neck. 

"Well, little meow-meow is soft for you," Comes his reply, face rising and dropping a kiss on your forehead, his soft, full lips leaving their impression on your skin even after he's pulled away, and gotten back to his washing duty. 

Heart bursting with affection, you take in the man who in a span of a six-month relationship has somehow turned into your entire world. When you had first met Yoongi, you were still in college. 

Stressing over your impending finals and drowning in stress, you had more or less body slammed into him, drenching his coat with your coffee. Bloodshot eyes, a rats nest of hair, you had then proceeded to scold him for standing in the middle of the cafe, your sleep-deprived brain too shot to realise that you could get into a world of trouble for insulting the world-famous musician. 

Not all that unexpectedly, you had left quite an impression on the record-breaking idol, and thus began the wooing. 

Ridiculously expensive flower arrangements with lyrics and small poems written onto the cards, gifts from all over the world—little trinkets he would buy from wherever he was, would arrive at your doorstep; softening you inch by inch, day after day. 

Yoongi never one to a miss a chance, had swooped in like a prince charming, out of his Mercedes Benz with your favourite coffee from halfway across the city, and hook, line and sinker—

You were wooed. 

Six months later, here you are, fresh out of college, celebrating your graduation night with your boyfriend. 

Smiling dopily at your thoughts, you move past and get back to cooking, Yoongi's hand reaching out and gliding against your wrist as you pass by. 

As the fragrance and warmth of the still-hot Bulgogi and Samgyeopsal wafted up to your nose, you break your chopsticks apart, picking a piece of the meat and biting into it. Moaning, in pleasure and satisfaction, when the sweet and savoury flavour hits your taste buds. 

Lightly swinging your feet under the table, you nudge Yoongi's feet and grin, your hand rising up to cover your mouth when he raises his brows, his hand pausing mid-rise. 

"I kill at cooking, admit it, I am better than you baby," Winking, you tease, your feet under the table hooking under the edge of his PJs, sliding against his legs, and you watch amused as the tips of his ears go red, but he doesn't shift. 

"Who taught you to cook, you brat?" He quips back with a wink, and you just giggle, head tilting as you catch his gaze and receive a soft smile in return. 

Fondly you watch as Yoongi picks a piece before his hand extends towards you, and you rise a little from your seat, reaching out and biting into half of the meat piece and chewing. 

Too big for one single bite, you leave half of it in Yoongi's hold, but before you can reach out and eat it, your boyfriend already has it in his mouth. 

His cheeks bulge out with the still too big a piece, and you gape, a wounded whine deep from your chest coming out in response. 

"Hey! That was mine!" You playfully glare, as your hand reaches out to snatch his chopsticks away, but Yoongi leans back and out of your reach. 

Winking, he grins, "What's yours is mine, baby boo." 

Raising your brow, before your boyfriend can blink, your hand reaches out and clutches onto the last piece of meat from his plate. Inside your mouth not a second later, you let out an exaggerated moan, dramatically closing your eyes and throwing your hands over your heart. 

"Whaa! You brat!" He exclaims, his pout coming out in full force as he moans over the loss of his precious meat. 

Winking you reply, "What's mine is yours, meow-meow."

Seeing your boyfriend get up from his chair, you scramble to getaway. Squealing when you feel his hand graze your waist, you push yourself harder, your laughter ringing across the apartment. 

Breathless you fall onto your bed tired, and move to hastily roll over to your corner. 

Yoongi, however, can be fast when he wants to be, and before you can scoot all the way, his arms are caging you in and pulling you closer. 

Squealing you try to push him away, but his hand's sneak under your sweater, and then he's tickling the soft skin under, sending you into peals of laughter. 

You try to wriggle away, but he entangles his legs with yours and refuses to budge. Gasping for breath, you pat his shoulder and squeal out an apology for stealing his meat. 

Finally taking mercy on you, he stops, and you draw in a long breath. Your body feels hot under your sweater, even in Seoul's harsh winter and chest heaving, breathless you turn to your boyfriend. 

Yoongi's body, conditioned after years of dance practices and concerts, is doing a lot better than yours. The only indication that he had even chased you through the hallways of your apartment are his cheeks; tinged pink and glistening under a thin sheen of sweat. 

You drink in the sight of your boyfriend, from his narrow cat-like eyes to his curvy nose, to his fuller lower lip. His body heat seeps into you and warms you from where his legs are still twined around yours.  

Your appreciation of your boyfriend, however, is cut short when said boyfriend rises and snuggles into you. His face nestling over your chest, and between the creases of your soft sweater, cheeks squishing against your chest, and you just look on amused as your boyfriend makes himself comfortable over your chest. 

You want to call him out on how cat-like his behaviour actually is, but you refrain, content to bask in the familiar comfort that Yoongi brings for now.

"You're soft." He mumbles, his voice coming out soft, half-muffled, his nose and mouth still pressed against you, and you snort out a "You're not,"  when you feel his chin slightly dig against your ribs.  

Picking up on your slightly strained voice, he shifts down, until his face is squished against the curves of your stomach. Breathing no longer a stifled process, you just hum and run your hands through his hair, softly scratching the scalp under your tips every now and then. 

Yoongi melts under your touch, a pleased moan slipping out when your hand slides to the back of his ears and lower to his neck. Smiling, you feel him snuggle closer, his face finding purchase between the warmth and softness of your flesh. 

Maybe if it was anybody else you'd have felt a little self-conscious, might have felt the need to change yourself, lose some weight to be like one of those thin, barbie doll-like female idols. But somehow with Yoongi, you have never felt that. Not an iota of self-doubt ever arose when he caressed your skin, your curves, the hills and valleys over the canvas that was your body. 

It wasn't like you were unhealthy, and if you ever feel the need to lose even an inch, it would be on your own accord, and never because you felt like you had to change, to fit into any mould that the society had carved out for you. Your boyfriend had made sure of it, reassuring you early on in your relationship that he loved you in all of your entirety and you don't doubt him. Anybody else you might have, but Yoongi wasn't one to lie, he valued your trust and you as a person too much to do that.

"I love you," His voice flows up to you, deep and dripping with love for you, and you pull him up, hands curling around his neck as your eyes gaze into his before you let slip a smile. 

"I love you too," You say, your voice soft and small, as though you are afraid that if you speak any louder, this moment might shatter, the little bubble that you two are in might pop, and you'd be sent craning into reality. 

But this is your reality. A voice inside your head supplies and you have to stop yourself from tearing up. Even after six months, the surreality of the situation hadn't left, the reality hadn't quite fully sunk in. 

You think of you and Yoongi together, look at his face beside yours on the pillow every night, and it feels like a dream come true. You wonder what you did in your last life to deserve someone as patient, loving and mature as Yoongi, and while you don't know what your past-self did to deserve any of this, you are thankful to her. 

Looking into his dark, onyx eyes, the moonlight from your window brightening his pale face, something inside your chest, tightens. 

You run your hands across his lower lip as he caresses your cheeks, draws small repetitive circles over the skin, and you relish the moment, the quiet, the space between you two where your breaths mingle until they become one. 

"Let me buy us a house, somewhere outside the city, where it's just you, me, Holly maybe a friend for her, a cat for you, and a pond full of fishes, our own little place." Yoongi proposes, taking the chance and asking you the question he had first worded a week ago. You hadn't given him an answer then, a little hesitant to let him spend all that money on you. It wasn't like you two were married, you had only been dating for six months.

But would you ever marry anybody else anyway?

The same voice from before whispers and you already know the answer. Not anymore. Not after Yoongi. 

Looking into his starry eyes, the ones that hold an entire galaxy and all the love he has for you, you nod, say yes to your own little place away from the rest of the world, somewhere you'll one day build your own family. A garden for your plants, a studio for Yoongi's music, and a courtyard for where one day your children will play, run after Yoongi and you, as you all chase each other. 

You can already picture it and looking at the excited, bright grin on Yoongi’s face, you know he can too. 

Giggling, he pulls you closer, and your laughter spills from between sloppy kisses and half intake breaths. 

Ask me again 다시 나에게 되물어봐 Are you happy now 지금 행복한가 The answer has already been decided 그 답은 이미 정해졌어 I am happy 난 행복하다

—Min Yoongi  화양연화 || The Most Beautiful Moment In Life.

A/N: And so its out! I have loved writing soft Yoongi with every cell of my body, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you Grace for commissioning this and helping fund the BLM movement. Black lives did, do and will always matter.