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cigarettesuga · 15 days ago

Text

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀text me when you get lonely⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀knj⠀⠀)

pairing: non-celeb!ex!namjoon x f!ex!reader

genre: exes-to-lovers, angst, bit of romance, slow-burn, smut

warnings: explicit consensual sex, graphic oral sex (fem receiving), face ridding implied, overstimulation, rough sex, hair pulling, fingering, slight breath control (hand on throat, not choking), cum on body, praise & degradation mix (if you squit your eyes), possessive behavior, size kink, deep penetration, leg on shoulder position, wet/messy sex, begging, post-orgasm sensitivity, soft dom!namjoon, desperation and emotional vulnerability during sex, unprotected sex , aggressive kissing, marking (bites), mild semi-public sexual tension, emphasis in mutual pleasure and yearning (let me know if i'm forgetting something)

word count: 14.3 k

summary: after a night out stirs old feelings, a late-night text opens a door (y/n) swore she’d locked for good. when fate brings them face-to-face at a packed underground gig, sparks fly, wounds reopen, and the line between anger and desire blurs. one reckless night later, they confront what’s left between them—no promises, just raw truth and the fragile hope of second chances.

lu's note: this is officially my longest one-shot ever—and i loved every messy, tender, smut-filled second of writing it. 🖤

i’ll be shifting focus to finish chapter 3 of opposites don’t attract, they destroy (finally, i know lmao) so if content slows down a little, that’s why!! thank you for always being patient with me and letting me take my time with these chaotic little love stories

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the music was loud, someone had spilled beer on the floor, and (y/n) was clutching a half-warm drink like it was her lifeline. she was supposed to be having fun. that had been the plan—get dressed up, laugh too hard, maybe flirt with someone cute and harmless just to feel something again.

but then steph, all glitter lids and tipsy honesty, leaned over and tilted her head like a curious cat.

“hey... didn’t you used to come here with namjoon?”

and just like that, it was over.

it wasn’t the question itself—it was the way the energy shifted. the air changed. the people around them—friends, old classmates, acquaintances that still followed her on instagram out of habit—went quiet in that careful way. like everyone expected her to shatter.

(y/n) smiled. it wasn’t fake, exactly. just... practiced.

“we’re not together anymore,” she said, tipping her cup back. the alcohol went down rough. “it’s been a while.”

steph’s eyes widened. “shit, sorry—i didn’t mean to—”

“it’s fine,” (y/n) cut in, voice light. too light. “i mean, you didn’t know.”

there was a beat of silence. one of her friends, amara, looked like she wanted to say something comforting, but thought better of it. someone else cleared their throat. the music kept playing but it felt like it had gotten quieter.

no one asked anything else.

the hallway outside the bar was dim, lit only by a flickering exit sign and the vague hum of someone’s vape cloud still hanging in the air. (y/n) leaned back against the peeling brick wall, cold seeping into her spine through her thin shirt, and took a slow breath in.

not to cry.

just to breathe.

the night buzzed behind her—voices, basslines, laughter. it all felt far away now, like she was watching it from underwater. her buzz had dulled. or maybe soured. she couldn't tell anymore.

she hated that a name—just a name—could still change the temperature of her blood.

a year. it had been a year. she’d dyed her hair, moved apartments, started journaling again like she was a teenager with a heartbreak playlist. she’d told everyone she was fine. and she was. mostly. enough.

but the way steph had said his name…

namjoon. like he was still hers. like it hadn’t ended in the kind of silence that made her doubt the entire thing ever happened.

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath, rubbing at her arms. the night was cooler than she expected. or maybe that was just what regret felt like.

she checked her phone—reflex. no messages.

she shouldn’t text him. not now. not like this.

her fingers hovered. it was so stupid. she knew it was stupid. but the truth was—

she did miss having him around.

not just the sex, not the shared playlists or the stupid way he folded her laundry like a librarian shelving books. she missed the quiet. the safety. the way he’d always known when she needed to be held without being asked.

and before she could talk herself out of it, her thumbs were moving.

i miss having you around.

she stares at her phone just a moment before locking the screen. “this is so stupid” mumbling under her breath.

the bass was still pounding when she walked back in, like nothing had happened. like her stomach wasn’t twisted and her throat didn’t feel like it had been scraped raw from the inside. someone handed her another drink—she didn’t even catch who. she nodded her thanks, forced another smile, and knocked it back too fast.

the warmth never hit her chest. it just sank.

she hovered at the edge of the circle, letting her friends’ chatter wash over her like static. the laughter felt too loud. the neon lights too bright. she wasn’t in it anymore—just floating above, watching herself nod, sip, grin. a ghost in her own skin.

steph tried to meet her eyes once or twice. (y/n) didn’t let her.

after another drink, she checked the time. 3:08 a.m. perfect excuse.

“hey,” she said, interrupting a story she wasn’t listening to, “i’ve got things to do in the morning, so… i’m gonna head out.”

a couple of her friends blinked. amara pouted. someone offered her a ride.

“nah,” she smiled. “i’m good. thanks.”

steph didn’t say anything. just looked at her like she knew.

(y/n) ignored it, squeezed a few arms goodbye, and slipped out before anyone could stop her.

the night air hit her like a slap—cold, sharp, honest.

she pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. her unsent message was still open on the screen.

i miss having you around.

still there. still blinking.

she didn’t delete it.

but she didn’t send it either.

by the time she stepped into her apartment, the quiet almost made her flinch. no voices, no music, no bass crawling under her skin. just the soft hum of the fridge and the dull echo of her own steps against the floor.

she toed off her shoes in the dark, letting them fall sideways by the door. her makeup still clung to her skin, smudged slightly under one eye, and her jacket was slipping off her shoulder, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. everything felt too heavy. her arms. her chest. even her thoughts.

she didn’t bother changing out of her clothes. didn’t brush her teeth. didn’t even check her phone again. she just dropped her bag somewhere near the couch and made the short, autopilot walk to her bed, collapsing onto the mattress like something hollowed out. the city buzzed faintly through the window, a distant lullaby of car horns and wind, and within seconds, sleep took her like a blackout.

when she opened her eyes again, the light was harsh.

her head ached in that familiar, dehydrated way. her throat was dry, and her limbs felt tangled in fabric she couldn’t remember putting on. the sun was too bright. the room smelled faintly like whatever perfume she’d sprayed hours before and the remnants of sweat and bar smoke.

she groaned, dragging her arm over her face. reached blindly for her phone.

6 unread messages. none from him.

she was halfway through a notification from a food delivery app when she noticed the chat still open behind it. his name. his thread.

and there it was.

the text she swore she didn’t send.

i miss having you around.

right beneath it:

read 4:17 am.

she blinked at it. once. twice. waiting for something—anything—to change. maybe a reply would pop up. maybe it had glitched. maybe this was a dream and she hadn’t hit send after all.

but no.

he’d read it.

and that was it.

no typing bubble. no three dots. no follow-up. no you too. not even a dry hope you’re good.

just silence.

the kind that wrapped around her like cold water.

her stomach twisted, hot with humiliation. god, had she really sent it? like that? no punctuation, no explanation, just—that? a drunk confession disguised as a throwaway text?

she dropped the phone onto her sheets and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. she wasn’t going to cry. this wasn’t something to cry about.

it was just a text.

just a ghost.

just another reminder that he was still good at walking away.

she didn’t even get out of bed until noon.

and even then, it wasn’t because she wanted to—it was because her bladder forced her to. the sun spilling through the curtains made her wince, and every part of her mouth felt like sandpaper. she moved like she was made of rust, each step slow, dragging, her thoughts heavier than her body.

she didn’t check her phone again.

not right away.

instead, she wandered to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter in that hunched-over way she only ever did when she was hungover or emotionally bruised. this morning, she was both.

by the time she sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, her phone was right there next to it—staring at her. taunting her. the temptation was unbearable. not to look at his message—she already knew what was (and wasn’t) there—but to do something about it.

like text him again.

maybe something casual. ironic. a recovery joke.

lol sorry drunk me got sentimental ignore that, rough night lol forget it

but what was the point? he read it. read it. and said nothing.

what the hell else was she supposed to do? follow it up with an apology? beg him to talk to her? no—no, fuck that. she’d already handed him a piece of her vulnerability on a silver platter. she wasn’t about to keep spoon-feeding it to him.

still…

she thought about it.

the entire day, it circled her like a mosquito—tiny, buzzing, impossible to swat away. every time she opened another tab, washed another dish, tied her hair up, the thought came creeping back in: what if he’s waiting for me to say more?

what if he wants her to chase him?

what if he’s just being cautious?

what if he read it and regretted not answering, but didn’t know how?

what if.

she typed at least five different drafts of a follow-up. none of them made it past the keyboard. each one felt weaker than the last. some were angry. some were sarcastic. one was just a string of question marks she didn’t even remember typing.

eventually, she just set her phone screen-down and pushed it to the far corner of the table. opened a new document. tried to work. but even her words—normally her safe place, her breath—betrayed her.

every sentence reminded her of him. or worse, of herself with him.

she was halfway through pretending to write an email when the memory of the message hit her again like a slap: i miss having you around.

how pathetic. how raw.

and he hadn’t said a thing.

the knock came just after seven.

soft at first, then impatient. then followed by the sound of a key in the lock.

(y/n) didn’t move from the couch.

she was still in the same hoodie she threw on after her shower, the sleeves tugged over her hands, one leg curled beneath her and the other hanging off the edge like a question mark. a half-eaten banana and a cup of tea sat forgotten on the coffee table, next to her phone, which she hadn’t touched in hours. not since the last time she opened their thread. not since she stared at the word read until it blurred.

the door creaked open, and the scent of bulgogi and rice and something fried cut through the stale air of her apartment.

“i swear to god if you’re dead in here i’m going to bring you back just to slap you,” amara called out.

a beat.

then: “...oh.”

(y/n) didn’t look up. just mumbled, “hi.”

amara’s boots clicked across the floor, and then she was dropping two plastic bags onto the coffee table and kneeling in front of her like some kind of holy intervention.

“jesus christ, you look like a sad victorian ghost. have you even eaten?”

“kinda.”

amara narrowed her eyes. “do fridge grapes and ibuprofen count?”

(y/n) cracked the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

amara sighed and sat beside her, her presence immediate and grounding. she unpacked the food with practiced ease, muttering something about “soy sauce therapy” and “emergency carbs.” they ate in silence for a few minutes, chopsticks scraping against containers, the only soundtrack a soft playlist humming from (y/n)’s laptop.

then amara said, casually, “so… how bad is it?”

(y/n) didn’t answer at first.

she took another bite of kimchi, chewed slowly. tried to pretend it didn’t taste like regret.

then, finally: “i texted him.”

amara didn’t blink. “namjoon?”

(y/n) nodded.

“when?”

“last night.”

“what’d you say?”

(y/n) swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. “i miss having you around.”

amara’s eyebrows shot up. “oh damn. straight to the throat, huh?”

“i didn’t mean to send it. i thought i didn’t. but i did.”

“...and?”

“he read it.” her voice cracked, just slightly. “and he didn’t reply.”

amara leaned back against the couch, exhaling through her nose. she didn’t look surprised. but she did look like she was calculating something in her head.

“bitch,” she finally said, “i love you, so i need to ask—what were you hoping he’d say?”

(y/n) blinked. “i don’t know.”

“yes, you do.”

“i didn’t expect anything, i just—”

amara gave her a look.

(y/n) sighed, letting her head fall against the couch cushion. “i guess… maybe i wanted him to say he missed me too. or that he’d been thinking about me. or that it sucked for him, too.”

amara nodded slowly, eyes soft but steady. “and instead, he gave you silence.”

a beat.

“again.”

that last word landed hard. (y/n) flinched, just a little. but she didn’t argue.

she hated how familiar this feeling was. the waiting. the not-knowing. the pretending not to care while dying inside.

amara nudged her with her foot. “you know this doesn’t mean you’re pathetic, right?”

“sure feels like it.”

“you were vulnerable. that’s brave. and it doesn’t make you desperate, it makes you human. but let’s also not pretend that this isn’t who he’s always been—someone who disappears when you hand him something fragile.”

(y/n)’s throat tightened.

amara continued, voice gentler now. “you don’t have to chase someone who doesn’t know what to do with your heart. it’s not your job to teach him how to hold it.”

that was when the tears finally came.

not loud. not many. just a couple that slipped down her cheeks quietly, like they’d been waiting all day for permission.

amara didn’t make a big deal out of it. she just scooted closer, wrapped an arm around (y/n)’s shoulders, and pulled her into her side like they’d done this a hundred times before.

and maybe they had.

you don’t have to chase someone who doesn’t know what to do with your heart.

the words hung in the air like incense smoke—sweet, heavy, lingering long after they were said. (y/n) didn’t answer. she couldn’t. her throat was too tight. so she just leaned into amara’s shoulder, blinking up at the ceiling like if she stared hard enough, the tears would slide back in.

amara let her sit there in silence for a moment, fingers tracing idle circles on (y/n)’s back.

then, gently: “you know this won’t be forever, right?”

(y/n) made a soft, scoffing noise. “what won’t?”

“this feeling. the ache. the shame. you won’t always be this girl who sent the text and got ignored.”

she didn’t believe that. not yet. but hearing someone say it out loud made it hurt a little less.

amara sat up a little straighter, nudging her side. “wanna hear something stupid?”

(y/n) wiped under her eyes. “always.”

“i’ve been holding onto this for three weeks.”

“holding onto what?”

amara reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two crumpled, slightly bent paper tickets.

“you remember Still Moss?”

(y/n)’s head jerked up. “no fucking way.”

amara grinned. “they’re playing saturday. small set. underground venue in itaewon. i saw the flyer on some niche subreddit and snatched the tickets before they were even posted officially.”

(y/n) blinked. “amar—what the hell, why didn’t you tell me?”

“because you were doing better,” amara said, voice soft but honest. “you weren’t thinking about him every day. you were flirting with the guy at your gym. you were laughing again. and i didn’t want to pull you back into memories of the past just because one of our old favorites decided to crawl out of their indie cave.”

(y/n) took the ticket with both hands, staring at it like it might bite.

“but,” amara added, “now? i think you need something real. something alive. not a text thread. not a read receipt. not silence in a chat that used to be your whole world.”

(y/n)’s lips parted, but no words came out.

amara shrugged. “you don’t have to go for me. but you should go for you. for the part of you that wasn’t just his. the part of you that screamed lyrics and danced like a lunatic in your kitchen and wore that ugly green beanie just because they mentioned it in a b-side.”

“that beanie was iconic.”

“it was moldy avocado vomit and you loved it.”

(y/n) laughed. just once. and it cracked something open.

the grief didn’t vanish. but it shifted. made space for something else. not quite joy. not even hope. just a sliver of maybe.

“you really think it’ll help?” she whispered, still clutching the ticket.

“i think it’ll remind you that you’re more than what he didn’t say.”

(y/n) looked down at the printed text again. the date. the time. the name of a band that once meant everything.

she wasn’t sure if she could face it. but something in her chest fluttered anyway.

“okay,” she said. “i’ll go.”

amara raised her brow. “with me?”

“obviously with you.”

amara grinned and tossed a napkin at her. “cool. you’ve got two days to get your shit together, wash your hair, and remember who the fuck you are.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered this time.

-----

she stared at her closet like it had offended her.

clothes were already strewn across the bed—black mesh tops, a beat-up denim jacket with a fading patch on the back, her favorite pants that somehow always made her feel like she was too much and not enough all at once. she had half a mind to cancel. text amara and say she got sick. or had work. or—fuck it—just ghost the entire thing.

because this was his band.

not officially, obviously. not legally. but still—he was the one who found them. the one who burned their first EP onto a cheap CD and played it in his car at full volume while they drove through the city with the windows down and their hands out like wings. he was the one who paused every other song to say “listen to this part, wait, right here—this is the line that wrecked me.”

they used to talk about seeing Still Moss live like it was some bucket list item. one day. someday. a future tense wrapped in shared laughter and tangled limbs.

and now she was going without him.

(y/n) sank down onto the bed, the air suddenly thick, her fingers trembling as they pulled at the edge of her comforter.

what was she doing?

what the fuck was she trying to do? prove something? distract herself? reclaim something that maybe never really belonged to her alone?

she reached for her phone, scrolled back to his name—again. the message still sat there like a bruise on the screen.

i miss having you around.

read. still no reply.

and now she was going to the show they used to dream about, pretending it didn’t mean anything?

who was she kidding?

she dropped the phone face-down on the bed and covered her face with her hands.

it felt like treason. like stepping into that venue without him was rewriting history, erasing the version of herself that once existed in his arms. she’d be surrounded by music they once called theirs, lyrics that felt like inside jokes, moments only they knew how to hold. what if they played that song? the one he always hummed when he kissed her shoulder half-asleep?

how could she stand in that crowd and not feel his absence like a blade?

still.

not going would mean something, too. it would mean he still owned that part of her.

and maybe—just maybe—going would be her way of saying: you don’t get to have it all.

her reflection caught in the mirror across the room. she looked tired. haunted. but underneath the exhaustion was something steadier. the shadow of resolve.

she stood up.

grabbed the mesh top.

and started getting ready.

the street outside the venue was already humming with life—groups of twenty-somethings crowding the sidewalk, passing around half-smoked cigarettes and cheap convenience store beers, the faint thrum of bass leaking through the brick walls like the night had a pulse.

(y/n) tugged her jacket tighter around her body, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

no sign of amara yet.

she checked her phone for the third time in five minutes. 7:48 p.m. she’d said they’d meet a little before eight, but amara was always early. always waiting on the curb with snacks shoved in her bag and a too-loud story to fill the silence.

and then her phone buzzed.

a text.

[amara :] babe i’m so sorry. something came up. i can’t make it tonight. pls don’t kill me ily :(

(y/n) stared at the message.

read it again.

then once more, just to make sure she hadn’t misread it. but there it was. soft. apologetic. and devastating in its own casual way.

for a second, everything felt like static. the noise around her, the lights, the laughter—it all flattened into white.

she looked up at the venue entrance.

the line was shorter now. people were already filtering inside. the music inside was getting louder, familiar bass lines testing the sound system. Still Moss. she could already picture the setlist in her head.

she hesitated.

every cell in her body told her to leave. to turn around. take the train home. crawl into bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

because now it wasn’t just a gig. it was a battlefield.

but the thing was—she’d already fought this fight with herself earlier.

in the mirror, while deciding on her top. while wiping mascara smudges from under her eyes. while whispering to her reflection, you’re allowed to have things that used to belong to both of you.

and now, standing in front of the venue alone, she realized something else: leaving would feel too much like surrender.

to namjoon.

to the past.

to the version of herself that thought rejection meant she had to disappear.

no fucking way.

she took a breath.

pushed her phone back into her bag.

and stepped into the venue.

it was dim and loud and crowded, the floor sticky under her boots and the air thick with anticipation. the lights were still up. people milling around, drinks in hand, conversations half-shouted. she squeezed through the crowd toward a spot near the back—not close enough to feel suffocated, but just enough to see the stage, to feel the throb of the speakers in her chest.

and despite everything—the anxiety still clawing at her ribs, the faint echo of read 4:17 am playing on a loop in her head—she felt it.

a flicker of excitement.

this was her night.

and she wasn’t going to let the ghost of a man who couldn’t even text her back take that from her.

the venue had that familiar, half-feral energy only places like this could hold—dim ceiling lights hanging from exposed pipes, old show flyers layered on the walls like bark, the faint hum of something spilled and sticky in the air. voices rose and fell around her, half-drunk excitement wrapped around slurred words and laughter. no one here knew her. no one looked twice.

it helped.

for a second, it helped.

(y/n) found a spot near a worn pillar toward the left side of the room, far enough from the stage to breathe, close enough to see the instruments already arranged—drum set lit in soft red, mic stands waiting like they knew secrets. she crossed her arms and let herself sink into the pulse of the crowd. the subtle rhythm of people shuffling, talking, sipping, swaying.

Still Moss would go on soon.

she could feel it.

and beneath her nerves—below the tension stitched into her shoulders, below the phantom sting of rejection still lodged in her chest—there was something else. something familiar.

want.

not for him. not for the past.

for the music. for this night. for this version of herself that had always existed under the hurt.

someone brushed past her and muttered an apology. she nodded. took a slow sip of her drink. let the noise rush around her like static. the pre-show playlist crackled overhead, layered with old demos and deep cuts, and when the familiar intro of one of their early tracks started up—their song, the one from their first EP—her throat tightened.

but she stayed.

she didn’t flinch.

the lights overhead flickered once. twice.

and then they dimmed.

a hush spread through the crowd—not silence, but reverence. anticipation. the kind that hit you low in the gut.

she smiled.

just a little.

and for a moment, she forgot about the message. the rejection. the ache.

for a moment, she was just a girl in a crowd, heart beating in sync with the rest of them.

the stage lights snapped on—white-hot and gold—and the band filed out one by one to the kind of roar that felt earned. the guitarist adjusted his strap. the drummer spun his sticks once, twice, like ritual. the lead singer stepped up to the mic, tugged his cap low, and said—

“you guys ready for a loud fucking night or what?”

the room answered with a scream.

(y/n) screamed with them.

and for those first few songs, she let go.

she danced. not like she used to—not wild and fearless—but she moved. she let the bass hit her ribs and the guitar wrap around her neck and the lyrics pull her mouth into half-remembered shapes. her hands were in the air by the second chorus. her voice raw by the third.

she was alive.

and that’s exactly when it happened.

a shift in the air. not dramatic. not cinematic. just something off. like the static changed frequencies.

she turned her head.

and there he was.

namjoon.

standing maybe twenty feet away, half in shadow, eyes already locked on her like he hadn’t stopped looking since she walked in.

her pulse stuttered.

she didn’t look again. wouldn’t. she turned back to the stage with the kind of sharp, practiced movement that screamed I didn’t see you and I don’t care, even though her lungs had forgotten how to work and her drink suddenly tasted like regret.

the crowd surged forward with the start of another song, and she let herself be pulled along, like if she just moved fast enough, she could outrun the sudden roar of thoughts in her head. she focused on the band—on the flicker of stage lights slicing through fog, on the way the lead singer’s voice cracked in the chorus like a prayer, on the guy next to her who was already elbowing into her space trying to get closer. she focused on anything but him.

but she could feel it.

his stare.

like heat at the back of her neck, heavy and deliberate, digging in like he was trying to memorize the way she stood now. the way she danced without him. the way she still came, still claimed this night as her own. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t tender. it was invasive. unbearable.

she swallowed hard and lifted her hands, let herself sway with the rhythm, kept her body in motion just to give her mind something to anchor to. the crowd was louder now, rougher—people pushing forward, eager, half-drunk on adrenaline and cheap whiskey. someone brushed up against her, a hand catching too low at her waist before slipping off. another person stumbled into her back, barely catching themselves with a muttered apology and a laugh that didn’t reach their eyes.

the unintended groping, the crush of sweat and sound and strangers—it was a lot. too much. normally she’d lean into it, lose herself. but now every brush of skin felt like static. like him. like memory bleeding into muscle.

she didn’t dare look back.

but she knew.

he was still watching.

maybe trying to figure out if it was really her. maybe trying to decide if he should come over. maybe just… feeling it. the pull. the hurt. the consequence of silence.

her heart beat against her ribs like it was trying to break out.

stay cool. that’s what she kept telling herself. over and over, like a mantra between lyrics. stay cool. stay cool. he doesn’t get to ruin this for you. not again.

and god, she almost believed it.

almost.

but beneath it all, there was still that other voice—small, traitorous, terrified—asking: why is he here? did he know you’d come? is this some kind of joke? or is it fate, sick and stupid, dragging you both back together just to watch you fall apart again?

the lights flashed. the bass hit. the song climbed to its peak.

and she danced.

not for him.

but in spite of him.

she didn’t notice how thick the crowd had gotten until she tried to move.

one song bled into another, and suddenly the bodies pressing in around her weren’t dancing—they were shoving. climbing. surging toward the stage like it was salvation. someone behind her yelled something she couldn’t make out, and the girl to her left kept pushing her elbow into (y/n)’s ribs, eyes locked on the front like she’d sooner break bone than give up her view.

she tried to shift, just enough to step back, maybe slide toward the edge of the crowd—but there was nowhere to go. her foot caught on someone’s bag, someone else’s arm tangled with hers, and in the chaos she realized—fuck—she was stuck.

her breath hitched.

it wasn’t panic. not yet. but it was close.

the air was getting tighter, hotter. the music roared in her chest like thunder, no longer comforting, just loud. she ducked her head, tried to wedge her way sideways—but the wave of bodies moved again, and this time it nearly knocked her off balance. her shoulder clipped someone’s back. her hands went up instinctively, useless.

and then—

a hand.

fingers wrapping around her wrist—firm, familiar, undeniable.

she froze.

looked up.

and there he was.

namjoon.

right in front of her now, eyes wide, mouth tight, brows drawn in that exact expression she remembered from every argument they never really finished—worry twisted into anger. or maybe it was the other way around. either way, it hit her like a punch to the ribs.

his hand was warm.

his grip steady.

and his face—

god, his face.

he didn’t look surprised. not exactly. more like—rattled. like seeing her here was something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head, but the reality of it still threw him off balance. his jaw clenched. his eyes scanned her face like he was checking for damage, like he expected her to be bruised and broken just from being here.

she didn’t know what to say.

she couldn’t say anything.

the crowd pushed again, and this time he pulled her toward him—closer, instinctively protective, his body shielding hers like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

he leaned in, voice low but urgent in her ear. “you okay?”

she didn’t answer.

she couldn’t.

because all she could think was: you left. and I still wanted to marry you.

and now here he was, dragging her out of the storm like nothing had ever broken between them.

the crowd didn’t care who they were or what cracked, fragile history hung between them—it just kept pressing in, louder, harder, all elbows and shouted lyrics and spilled drinks. someone bumped into her back, hard enough to make her stumble, and she felt namjoon’s grip tighten around her wrist immediately. not rough, not possessive—just instinctive. like his body was answering a question before his brain could form the words.

he pulled her closer, chest brushing against her shoulder now, his other hand moving to the small of her back without thinking, guiding her through the tide like muscle memory. even after all this time, he still moved like someone who wanted to shield her from the world, still held her like she was precious and breakable—even if he had been the one to shatter her last.

“we should move,” he said, close enough that she felt the shape of the words more than heard them. his voice was low, almost calm, but the tension in his jaw told a different story. his eyes—those warm, unreadable eyes—searched her face in the flickering stage light, darting over her skin like he was looking for bruises, for signs that she’d been hurt. not just by the crowd.

by anything.

and she hated that it still made her want to cry.

she nodded, or maybe she didn’t. maybe her body just leaned into the pull of him, because the next thing she knew he was gently—gently—pressing her ahead of him through the crush of people, using his frame to carve a path through the chaos. every time someone got too close, he shifted, stepping between her and the noise, that quiet, seething frustration radiating off him like heat—not at her. never at her. just the situation. the pushing. the closeness. the way she’d been caught in all of it, small and alone and so vulnerable.

and she could feel it—how hard he was trying not to let it show. the anger simmering under his skin. the fear, maybe, buried somewhere beneath it. but it was there, plain as breath: he cared. he still fucking cared.

and that—more than the hands or the eyes or the words—was the most dangerous thing of all.

the bathroom corridor was narrow and dim, lined with peeling posters and flickering overhead lights that buzzed like flies. the smell of stale beer clung to the walls, and the occasional echo of the concert leaked through the cracked door down the hall, muffled now. distant. the adrenaline from the crowd hadn’t faded, not fully, but out here, in the quiet, everything felt sharper. more dangerous.

namjoon turned to face her the second they stepped into the space. he didn’t let go of her wrist until he was sure she was steady on her feet, and even then, his fingers lingered for a moment longer than they should have. like he didn’t want to. like maybe part of him still remembered what it felt like to hold her like this for no reason at all.

he stepped back then, ran a hand through his hair, and started in before she could even catch her breath.

“you shouldn’t have been in there alone,” he said, voice low but tight, like he was trying not to snap. “you know how packed these places get. it’s not safe, not when you’re by yourself. what if I hadn’t been there? you could’ve gotten hurt, trampled, or—”

she blinked, still catching up, heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

namjoon’s eyes stayed locked on hers, jaw clenched like he was still trying to hold the anger in his mouth, but it was starting to fracture—splinters showing through the edges. the fluorescent light above them flickered once, casting shadows across his face, and she hated how familiar he still looked in this lighting. like every too-late night in their old apartment, like every fight that ended with her curled up in his hoodie and his hands in her hair whispering, we’re okay, aren’t we? we’re okay.

but they weren’t okay now.

they hadn’t been in a long time.

“i wasn’t alone by choice,” she said, arms folded tight across her chest. “amara was supposed to come with me.”

namjoon’s mouth parted slightly.

she didn’t wait for him to speak.

“she bought the tickets. said i needed to get out of my head for once. i was going to cancel when she bailed but—” she swallowed hard. “i told myself i’d be fine.”

his expression shifted. not dramatically. not in that open-book way most people’s faces moved. but in the subtle ways she still remembered—his brows pulling in just enough, the set of his mouth softening like it suddenly hurt to keep it closed.

“seriously, what were you thinking? you don’t even like crowds like that. and if amara was supposed to be with you, why didn’t you just leave when she bailed? jesus, you could’ve—”

“you’re such an asshole,” she muttered.

the words slipped out before she could stop them. not loud. but loud enough to cut through him.

he froze.

the silence between them was immediate, electric.

she shook her head, chest tight, throat burning. “you don’t get to do this. you don’t get to show up out of nowhere and act like you’re worried about me when you left me on read.”

he stared at her, jaw tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

“you don’t get to act like it’s still your job to take care of me,” she said, her voice trembling just enough to piss her off. “i sent you one fucking message. one. and you couldn’t even be bothered to answer. and now you’re here lecturing me like you give a shit?”

his eyes darkened. “what was I supposed to say, huh?” he snapped, stepping forward. “you text me in the middle of the night after we haven’t spoken in over a year. what the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

her mouth opened. then closed.

namjoon kept going, voice rising like he was finally letting himself feel the thing he’d been pushing down. “you think that didn’t mess with my head? you think I haven’t spent the last few nights wondering if I should’ve said something? if I was allowed to say something? because for a second I thought—fuck, I thought you were drunk, or lonely, or both, and if I said the wrong thing, I’d make it worse.”

she laughed, bitter and breathless. “so you decided saying nothing was the better choice.”

“it was a dick move, on both ends” he said, quieter now. not denying it. just... laying it out.

they stared at each other.

her back against the wall. his shoulders drawn tight like he was holding something back with both hands. and the air between them? thick with everything they didn’t say after they broke up. everything they still don’t know how to explain.

the silence after his last words stretched taut between them, like the air was waiting for one of them to break it. (y/n) felt her breath coming fast, too fast, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile. her heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons—rage, confusion, grief. want. all tangled together so tightly she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

namjoon was standing barely a foot away, his jaw clenched, arms stiff at his sides like if he moved even a little he’d reach for her, and he didn’t trust himself to do it.

and fuck, she hated how familiar he still felt.

the heat between them was unbearable. it had nothing to do with the venue. nothing to do with the crowd they’d escaped. it was just them, trapped in this too-small hallway, skin prickling, hearts racing, eyes locked.

his gaze flicked down—her lips. then back up.

hers did the same.

and it was like time held its breath.

her mouth parted just slightly, and he leaned in a fraction of an inch, like he couldn’t help it, like something in him needed to be closer. and for a second—one long, shattering second—it felt inevitable. like their mouths were going to meet, and this whole night would collapse into something hot and reckless and full of everything they’d been avoiding.

but they didn’t kiss.

neither of them moved.

and the restraint hurt worse than any breakup ever could.

namjoon exhaled shakily, his voice suddenly quiet. “i should walk you home.”

just like that, the fire between them shifted. cooled at the edges. but didn’t go out.

she blinked, throat thick. “what?”

he met her eyes. no anger there now. just something raw. something so tender it made her chest ache.

“it’s late,” he said. “and i don’t want you going alone.”

her lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say.

because she should say no.

she should tell him to go to hell. to let her be. to stop doing these stupid, soft things that made it so hard to hate him.

but the part of her that sent that text? the part that never really stopped missing him? that part wanted to say yes.

god, it wanted to say yes.

the walk back to her place unfolded like a dream they weren’t sure they were awake for—quiet, disorienting, charged with too much everything. neither of them said a word, not at first. not when they left the venue. not when they crossed the street or turned down the familiar blocks of her neighborhood, shadows stretching long under the streetlights, the faint pulse of the city flickering somewhere behind them.

they didn’t have to speak to feel it.

every step buzzed with unsaid things. every brush of his arm near hers felt like an accident that wasn’t. she could feel his body heat like a second skin. like he was walking too close, not quite touching her, but there—solid, steady, present in a way he hadn’t been in over a year.

and she hated how natural it felt.

hated that her body still remembered the rhythm of him. the pace. the weight. the subtle, invisible pull like gravity still worked differently when he was near.

she didn’t know how they got to her building so fast. one second she was replaying their argument in her head like a song stuck on loop, and the next—she was unlocking the front door, his hand hovering behind her like it used to when she fumbled for her keys, like he still had the instinct to catch her if she dropped anything at all.

they stepped inside.

dim hallway. elevator out of service. and then the climb—three floors of quiet tension, every footfall like punctuation. they didn’t speak, not even as she led him to her door, not even as she stood there with the key halfway into the lock, heartbeat thudding in her throat.

and when she turned to face him again, everything came rushing back.

the fight.

the guilt.

the aching, unbearable want.

“you’re still mad,” he said quietly, eyes locked on hers like he couldn’t bear to look away.

she scoffed, soft and tired. “of course i’m mad.”

“i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“yeah?” she said, voice tight, bitter. “then why did you act like i didn’t exist?”

his face twitched, jaw clenching. “because i didn’t know how to handle it, okay? you don’t get to show up in my messages like that and expect me to be fine.”

“i didn’t expect you to be fine,” she shot back, stepping toward him now, all the space between them collapsing. “i didn’t expect anything, namjoon. i was drunk and stupid and—god, i just missed you. i wasn’t trying to trap you or make some kind of fucking dramatic statement—i just… i don’t know. i didn’t think. but you did. you saw it. and you chose nothing.”

he was breathing harder now. so was she. neither of them looked away.

“do you know how much it hurt?” she whispered, voice breaking. “after everything? to be left on read by the one person i thought would at least… at least say something?”

his mouth parted. something crumpled behind his eyes. but he didn’t speak.

they were so close now that she could feel the edge of his breath against her cheek, smell the faintest trace of something warm and familiar clinging to his collar. the scent of him broke her more than anything he could’ve said.

she wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they were standing toe to toe, barely a breath apart, the keys in her hand forgotten, her back nearly brushing the door. his hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself. her fingers curled around the hem of her jacket like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

the silence between them? it wasn’t empty.

it was full. heavy. breaking at the seams.

they weren’t done.

not even close.

namjoon’s eyes searched hers like he was looking for an opening, like if he could just name the thing between them, maybe it would make sense. but it didn’t. it never had. and now, standing inches from her door, with his chest rising and falling like he’d just run here barefoot, all he could manage was, “i didn’t want to make it worse.”

she blinked. slow. disbelieving.

“worse?” she echoed, voice low and razor-sharp. “you think ignoring me made it better?”

he flinched, just a little. his gaze dropped to the floor, like the tile pattern suddenly held the answers. “i thought if i said something, it would… reopen everything. and i didn’t think you wanted that.”

“so instead you just pretended i didn’t exist?” her voice cracked, raw now, too open. “you were the one person who knew how hard that year was for me and you—god, you didn’t even ask if i was okay. you just watched me bleed.”

he took a step back, not far, just enough to pace, to get his bearings—but even that small distance made her feel cold.

“you think it was easy for me?” he said, louder now, no longer calm. “you think i’ve just been—what—fine? do you know how many times i almost called you? how many fucking nights i picked up the phone just to hear your voice and had to put it back down because i didn’t trust myself not to fuck everything up even more?”

“then why didn’t you?” she snapped, stepping toward him again. “why didn’t you call? or text? or do anything?”

“because i loved you too much to hurt you again!” he said it like it burned coming out, like it wasn’t meant to be said at all, not now, not here. but it was out there now. between them. sizzling like an exposed wire.

her breath hitched.

he stared at her, wild-eyed and wrecked. “i still fucking love you, okay? even when i shouldn’t. even when it’s a terrible idea. even when i know you deserve someone who doesn’t keep you waiting at two a.m. for a message that never comes.”

her hand went to the doorknob, like she needed something to hold on to. like if she didn’t, she might collapse under the weight of his words.

“you don’t get to say that now,” she said, barely above a whisper. “you don’t get to stand here and tell me you still love me when you spent the last year pretending i was nothing.”

“i never pretended you were nothing,” he said, voice breaking, “i’ve been pretending you were everything, and that i could live without it.”

and just like that—the thread snapped.

they didn’t move toward each other so much as fall into the space between them, mouths colliding not with grace but with desperation. her back hit the door with a soft thud, his hands finally finding her waist like they were made for it, her fingers tangling in his hair like no time had passed at all. it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet. it was feral—the kind of kiss that tasted like every word they didn’t say, every night spent apart, every second of missing wrapped up in heat and teeth and breathless curses.

there was no going back now.

not after this.

his mouth tasted like all her worst decisions and all her best memories.

they didn’t stop kissing when they left the hallway. they didn’t even pretend to. his hands stayed glued to her hips, dragging her closer with every step like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go. and she couldn’t let go, not when every inch of him felt like muscle memory, not when her hands had minds of their own, sliding under his jacket, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt like she needed to feel the warmth of him to believe this was real.

her keys fumbled in the lock, hands shaking too much to find the hole, her mouth still locked on his, lips bruising against his, his teeth catching her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp and drop the keys entirely.

“fuck,” she breathed, laughing against his mouth, frustrated and drunk on him.

he reached around her, growling low under his breath, picked up the keys, found the lock like it was his apartment and not hers, and shoved the door open.

they stumbled in, mouths never parting. she kicked off her shoes without looking, dragging him inside by the collar. his jacket hit the floor with a dull thud, followed by hers. the air in the room was warmer than it should’ve been. or maybe it was just them. heat radiating from every inch of skin, every frantic touch, every groan pressed into a mouth too busy to stop.

they didn’t bother turning on the lights. didn’t need them.

his hands were everywhere—fisting the fabric at her sides, sliding up her ribs, down her back, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. like he was still angry, still caught in the argument, and this was the only way to speak now. she didn’t mind. she wanted it. wanted to be touched like this. wanted him like this—desperate and undone, like he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her either.

they reached the bedroom door, breath ragged, foreheads touching, lips still grazing each other’s in frantic, broken passes. her hand was on his chest, nails dragging lightly down muscle, his fingers pressing bruises into her waist like punctuation marks.

“this is a stupid idea,” he whispered, voice strained, wrecked, like the words hurt to say.

she grabbed his face, pulled him in again, kissed him like she could erase the thought.

“i don’t care,” she whispered against his lips. “stay. just tonight.”

the way she said it—soft, cracked, a little too close to pleading—broke something in him.

he didn’t answer. didn’t have to.

his mouth was back on hers before she could take another breath, rough, needy, starving, like he was trying to carve his name into her all over again. their bodies collided in the doorway, hands fighting with layers of clothing, mouths locking again and again, each kiss more desperate than the last.

they were already past the point of no return.

and neither of them gave a damn.

they didn’t make it to the bed right away.

he had her pinned to the wall just outside the doorway, their mouths crashing again like every kiss was a bite, a battle. namjoon’s hands gripped her hips hard, dragging her against him, and the low groan he let out when their bodies collided was guttural, like something primal had been knocked loose.

his lips broke from hers only to move down her jaw, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. “fuck—do you know what you did to me?” he muttered, voice rough, gravel-thick. “a year, and you text me like that... then just disappear again?”

her fingers scrambled at the hem of his shirt, yanking it upward, her breath hot against his throat. “you think i didn’t suffer too?” she snapped, dragging the shirt over his head. “you think it didn’t kill me to say nothing when you didn’t reply?”

he stepped forward, forcing her back again, until her shoulder blades hit the hallway wall. his bare chest pressed against hers, skin to skin, and he didn’t pause—just dipped down and pulled her shirt up with both hands, ripping it off in one quick, frustrated motion. his palms roamed her sides, rough and urgent, fingers curling around the waistband of her jeans like he couldn’t stand one more second of fabric between them.

“then why’d you do it?” he growled, mouth crashing to hers again. “why’d you send that message if you didn’t want me to come back?”

she gasped into the kiss, nails dragging down his spine, her jeans already half undone by his fingers, tugging hard, yanking them past her hips. “i didn’t know what i wanted,” she breathed, teeth grazing his bottom lip, “i just—i missed you.”

something in him snapped at that.

his hands locked under her thighs, lifting her with an easy, angry grip. she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to his shoulders as he carried her into the bedroom. their mouths never parted—just shifted, hungrier, rougher, teeth clashing in the dark. he dropped her on the bed like he couldn’t stand not having her underneath him any longer, following her down with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and fuck, finally.

her bra was gone next, pulled off with a practiced twist, his hands covering her like he was making up for lost time. he kissed down her neck, over her chest, marking her with lips and teeth, every touch bruising, claiming. her moans were breathy and desperate, her body arching into him like it remembered every time he’d touched her before.

“you should hate me,” he murmured against her skin, voice strained, like the words were choking him.

“maybe i do,” she whispered, dragging his belt open with shaking fingers, “but not tonight.”

he kissed her again, harder this time—his hips grinding against hers, both of them still half-dressed, bodies slick with heat and hunger.

“then don’t stop me,” he whispered, teeth on her jaw, one hand gripping her thigh so tight it made her gasp. “because i don’t think i can.”

his mouth found her neck first—hot, open kisses dragged along her skin like he was starving for it, tongue tasting, teeth grazing. she tilted her head back with a breathy gasp, giving him more, and he took it like a man possessed. he sucked hard just under her jaw, the kind of kiss meant to leave a mark, and she arched beneath him, hands threading into his hair, tugging as if that would tether her to the moment.

he groaned low in his throat, one hand already sliding between their bodies, palming her over her underwear—rough, slow circles of pressure that made her gasp again, hips twitching up against his touch. the fabric was already damp, and he swore under his breath like that fact physically wrecked him.

“fuck, you’re soaked already,” he muttered against her throat, voice dark and hoarse, almost angry about it. “you miss me that bad, huh?”

her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails biting skin. she didn’t answer—not with words. just a moan that caught in her throat, a roll of her hips into his palm that said everything.

his mouth trailed lower, dragging over her collarbones, down the center of her chest, pausing only to breathe her in like she was the last clean thing in a filthy world. and then he was on her breast, hot mouth closing around her nipple with an obscene sound, tongue flicking before he sucked hard, making her back arch off the mattress. her breath hitched. her thighs tightened around his hips.

his other hand gripped the other breast, rough fingers toying with the sensitive peak, thumb brushing, pinching lightly, just enough to make her whine. he switched sides without warning, lips wrapping around the other nipple like he’d been starving for it, groaning into her skin as if he could get drunk off the taste alone.

his mouth never stopped moving—sucking, kissing, biting gently—while his hand between her legs kept working her over the thin cotton barrier, dragging slow, cruel circles over her clit that made her legs tremble.

he pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes half-lidded, mouth slick, chest heaving.

“you think about me when you touch yourself?” he rasped, fingers curling against her cunt through her panties. “you still moan my name when it gets too much?”

her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting with a shuddered breath, and god—he wanted to hear her say yes. wanted her to admit that she’d been ruined for anyone else.

and he hadn’t even gotten his mouth between her legs yet.

his mouth trailed lower, leaving a hot, open path down the center of her stomach. her skin jumped under his tongue, her body twitching as he nipped along her waist, his hands spreading her thighs wider, slower, like he wanted to savor the shape of her more than the act itself. like being between her legs again was holy ground—and he was a man at the altar, worshiping through gritted teeth.

he looked up, caught the way she was already squirming beneath him, her chest heaving, lips parted as if every breath was costing her something. and fuck, she was beautiful like this—undone and trying so hard to hold it together.

then he got to her underwear.

he pressed a kiss just above the fabric, then let his eyes drop to the soft elastic hugging her hips. he hooked one finger under the band, tugged it lightly—just enough to make her feel the tension of it. a quiet, predatory smile played on his lips as he murmured, “you look so pretty in these.”

his voice was low, dark, velvet-drenched and filthy. he snapped the band gently against her skin, then ran his thumb along the curve of her pelvis, dipping dangerously close to where she was already soaking through the cotton. he let his mouth follow, mouthing her through the thin fabric, slow, wet drags of his tongue that made her hips buck up off the mattress.

and then—rip.

one swift motion. the fabric gave with a sharp tear, and her gasp echoed off the walls, eyes snapping open just in time to see him toss the ruined panties aside like he didn’t give a damn what they cost.

“i’ll buy you new ones,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel. “but fuck, i couldn’t wait. not with how wet you are.”

and then he was between her legs.

not teasing. not easing in.

devouring.

his tongue licked a long, slow stripe from the bottom of her slit all the way to her clit, ending with a soft suck that made her choke on a moan. his hands gripped her thighs hard, thumbs digging into her skin, keeping her spread open as he buried his face in her like a man possessed.

he groaned into her, the sound low and almost pained, like tasting her again physically undid him.

“missed this,” he growled between licks, one hand sliding under her ass to pull her closer, his mouth working her over like it was his job. “missed how you taste. fuck.”

her hands found his hair, tugging, anchoring herself. her hips rolled, helpless, chasing the pressure of his tongue as he sucked her clit into his mouth again, harder this time, relentless now. his tongue moved fast, slick, filthy strokes while he moaned into her like he was getting off on the sound of her falling apart.

“joon—” she whimpered, voice cracked, fingers curling tight in his hair.

he didn’t stop.

if anything, he smiled against her cunt.

and then—two fingers slid inside her. slow at first. deliberate. crooking up, finding that spot that made her eyes roll back as his mouth never left her clit, his tongue flicking faster, filthy, precise, focused. like he was making up for every second they’d lost.

she was close. so close. and he knew it. he could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her moans got higher, tighter, more desperate. he pressed his hand against her stomach with his free hand, holding her down like he wanted to feel her break from the inside out.

“cum for me,” he murmured against her, voice dark and hungry, “right on my fucking mouth, baby. let me taste you fall apart.”

her orgasm hit hard, sharp and fast, like her body had been waiting for his mouth for too damn long. her back arched, her thighs clamped around his head, and a broken, high-pitched moan tore out of her throat as his fingers kept moving inside her and his tongue never stopped. he held her through it, firm hands pressing her down like he needed to feel her shake apart against his mouth, like he didn’t trust her to stay grounded otherwise.

she whimpered his name like a prayer, like a curse, like she didn’t know what else to hold onto—and still, still, his mouth was on her, tongue dragging through her, catching every twitch, every pulse, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her climax.

only when her body gave out, slumping into the mattress with a wrecked, gasping breath, did he pull back—slow, deliberate.

he licked his lips once.

his chin was glistening. soaked in her.

his mouth was swollen, cheeks flushed, and there was a wild, wrecked look in his eyes as he hovered over her—something between pride and hunger, like tasting her had only made him more desperate, not less.

“fuck,” she breathed, staring at him like he was a hallucination.

and then she dragged him down.

no hesitation. no time to breathe.

her hands curled into his hair, and she kissed him—hard, filthy, open-mouthed, tongue tasting herself on him, moaning into his mouth like she was trying to suck the soul back out of him. his weight pressed down on her, solid and heavy, but it wasn’t enough. she needed more.

“please,” she whispered into the kiss, nails digging into his back, hips lifting up against the weight of his still-clothed cock pressing into her thigh. “joon—please. keep going. i need you inside me. now.”

he groaned into her mouth, like her begging physically hurt him. his hands fumbled at his pants, pulling them down far enough to free himself, the sound of his zipper and her ragged breath the only thing between them. her hands went to her own thighs, spreading them wide beneath him in an offering, desperate, ready—wrecked.

“you sure?” he panted against her lips, forehead pressed to hers, cock in hand, lining himself up with a grip that looked almost painful. “you say the word, i’ll stop.”

she looked him in the eye, voice shaking but certain.

“don’t you fucking dare.”

he slammed into her in one deep, brutal thrust.

his hips slammed into her with one long, deep thrust that knocked the air clean out of her lungs. the stretch burned so good she cried out, legs shaking around his waist, hands fisting the sheets as her head dropped back in utter shock.

“fuck—joon,” she gasped, voice raw, almost stunned at how full she felt, at how much she’d missed this. missed him.

he groaned like the sound of her voice broke something in him. his hands grabbed her thighs, yanked her even closer, then pulled out almost all the way just to slam back in again—harder, sharper, each snap of his hips making the bed creak under the weight of it all. her body jolted with every thrust, his cock thick and heavy inside her, dragging against every spot that made her legs tremble and her breath hitch in real time.

“you feel so fucking good,” he growled, leaning over her, teeth gritted as he fucked her like he meant it. “so fucking tight. fuck—i forgot how tight you get when you’re losing it.”

his hand reached up, tangled into her hair, pulled just enough to tilt her head back. she moaned for it—loved it—the little edge of pain sharp enough to drive her crazier, her back arching up into his chest. his mouth was on hers again before she could speak, all tongue and teeth and gasping moans, swallowing every breath like he couldn’t stand the space between them.

their mouths clashed, messy and open and hungry, like kissing had turned into its own kind of fight.

she clawed at his back, dragging nails down muscle, digging in every time his hips snapped forward and buried himself to the hilt inside her again. each thrust hit so deep she swore she saw stars, his pace fast, merciless, like he was punishing both of them for every second of distance they’d ever had.

“you missed this?” he panted into her mouth, voice low, almost mocking, like he knew. “missed getting fucked like this? stretched out on my cock like you were made for it?”

she choked on a moan, nails raking down his spine. “yes—yes, joon—fuck—don’t stop.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with one hand. “not until you’re screaming.”

and then he really let go.

hips slamming into her, deep and fast, skin slapping skin, her whole body sliding up the mattress from the force of it. his free hand went to her waist, holding her down, keeping her steady as he wrecked her, thrust after thrust after thrust—her mouth open, no sounds coming out at all for a second, just wrecked gasps and the kind of expression that would stay burned in his memory forever.

he dropped his forehead to hers again, breathing heavy, fucking her so deep and so hard that tears prickled at the corners of her eyes—not from pain, but from relief. from the way everything in her finally broke under the weight of him.

he pulled out just long enough to manhandle her into a new position—grabbing her thigh, lifting one of her legs and pressing it high onto his shoulder, folding her open for him like a fucking gift. the angle changed everything. he slid back in slow just to feel it, to watch the way her mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back the moment he bottomed out again, deeper now, better.

her moan broke open the silence like a scream, one hand gripping the sheets, the other clawing at his forearm as he started fucking into her again—hard, relentless, that new angle making her feel everything more. every thrust hit home, punching a whimper from her lips, her cunt wet and hot and clenching around him so tight he nearly lost control.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, leaning over her just enough to bring his hand to her jaw, gripping it, thumb pressed under her chin to tilt her head back so she looked at him. “you look so fucking good like this. making a mess on my cock. soaked all the way down my thighs—shit.”

she couldn’t answer. not really. just breathless, broken sounds, tears threatening to fall because it was too much—not just the sex, but the feeling of it. the heat of his skin, the grip of his hand, the filthy way he was watching her like she was something he’d been dying to touch again.

he leaned in, close enough that their faces almost touched, still pounding into her like he needed to fuck the memory of her into the walls.

“you missed this?” he whispered, voice rough, dark, mean. “missed me splitting you open like this? filling you like no one else can?”

her hands grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin, nodding frantically, eyes wild and desperate. “yes—fuck, yes, namjoon—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.”

he growled, pure animal, his grip tightening on her jaw as he kissed her again—messy, filthy, tongue and teeth and moans—his other hand sliding down to where they were joined, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles while he thrust into her like he was chasing a high he couldn’t come down from.

“gonna cum again for me?” he murmured against her mouth, thrusting harder now, faster, body slamming into hers like he meant to break the bed. “you gonna make a mess all over me, baby?”

she was already there. legs shaking. body locking up. her breath caught in her throat and she whimpered, choking on his name like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

“cum for me,” he growled again, voice raw, mouth at her ear now. “fuck—cum on my cock. i missed this so fucking much—missed you.”

and then she shattered.

again.

her body convulsed beneath him, legs trembling, thighs twitching around his hips as she came again—louder this time, back arched, mouth open in a soundless gasp that broke into a moan when he kept thrusting through it. her nails raked down his back, her whole body pulling him in, tighter, deeper, like she wanted to keep him buried inside her forever.

he couldn’t hold it anymore.

the way she clenched around him, the heat, the mess of her under him, the way she looked when she came—completely ruined, all soft and raw and his—it tore the last thread of restraint out of him.

“fuck, i’m—shit, i’m gonna—” his voice cracked, low and hoarse and wrecked, his thrusts stuttering as his body locked up.

he pulled out fast, just in time, his hand wrapped around himself once, twice, and then he came with a broken, strangled whimper right into her ear, forehead pressed to hers, breath hot and fast. thick ropes of his cum landed across her stomach, slick and warm, and he let out a shaky breath as he collapsed halfway over her, chest heaving, fingers still gripping her thigh like he couldn’t let go.

for a moment, neither of them moved. just the sound of their breathing—heavy, ragged, in sync.

but then—he kissed her again.

soft this time.

just under her jaw, then across her throat, right where her pulse still fluttered like a drum. his hand smoothed down her side, his lips slow and deliberate as he pressed them into the soft spot under her ear—the place that used to make her shiver when he loved her gently.

and then—he slid back in.

slow.

gentle.

soothing the ache he’d left behind.

his cock was still hard, still thick, but now every roll of his hips was tender, like he was apologizing with his body. like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her just yet. he buried his face in her neck, groaning quietly as her walls fluttered around him, warm and slick and still so damn tight.

“could stay like this all night,” he whispered, voice barely a breath. “just like this. fuck, you feel so good. like you were made for me.”

her fingers found his hair again, gentler now too, stroking through the sweat-damp strands, her own breath shaky but steadying.

“then don’t go,” she murmured, barely audible.

and he kissed her again.

not fast. not hard.

just full of everything they’d said without words.

the shift was almost too much. like the weight of it all finally sank in once the sweat cooled and the urgency dulled into something deeper. something unbearably tender.

he was still inside her—moving, slow and careful, like he wanted her to feel every inch, like he was afraid to lose the warmth of her if he stopped. their bodies rocked together, hips moving in soft, deliberate rolls, his hands planted beside her head, his chest pressed to hers, their foreheads touching.

he kissed her again, slow and deep, tongues brushing with the kind of hunger that had turned gentle, reverent. her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clutching him close like she was scared he’d vanish. she moaned softly into his mouth, breath hot and broken, each little sound spilling into his throat like a secret.

“you feel so good,” she whispered, voice tight, shaking, almost tearful.

and he felt it. every syllable. the way her voice cracked, the way her body clung to his like she couldn’t let go.

he kissed her harder, but not rough. not anymore.

his hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as he pulled back just enough to look at her. his eyes were heavy, glazed with lust and something aching behind it—something close to regret, or maybe grief, for everything they’d lost between then and now.

“i missed this,” he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers, the rhythm of his hips slow and steady, still buried deep inside her. “missed you.”

her breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed as her legs tightened around his waist. she didn’t say anything for a moment, couldn’t—not when her throat was closing up, not when every slow thrust made her feel everything she’d spent the last year pretending didn’t still live under her skin.

“me too,” she finally whispered, brushing her nose against his. “so much.”

he kissed her again. deeper. longer. her lips trembled against his, but she didn’t cry—not yet. just held him tighter, her soft moans landing in his ear like confessions, her hands running down his back, memorizing every ridge of him like he might slip away again.

he moved inside her like they had all the time in the world.

and for a moment, they did.

he was still buried inside her, hips moving in those slow, shallow rolls like he never wanted to stop. but the urgency had passed. the storm had calmed. and when she brushed her fingers gently along the nape of his neck, murmuring his name soft and low, he sighed against her mouth, like her touch was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

he pulled out with a soft groan, breath catching as he left her warmth. but before the space between them could feel too wide, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him—slow, smooth, and intentional.

he hissed, his body jolting from the sudden touch, already so close from everything they’d done that he twitched in her palm, leaking for her.

“shh,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “just let me take care of you.”

her hand moved slow at first, slick and steady, her thumb brushing the tip every so often in a way that made his hips jerk and his breath come harder. her other hand rested on his hip, anchoring him as she stroked him with a rhythm that was both loving and filthy. his eyes fluttered shut, forehead falling to her shoulder, chest rising and falling fast as she murmured to him—sweet nothings and soft gasps of filth.

“you’re so fucking perfect like this,” she breathed, kissing his temple, “so hard for me still. you liked fucking me that much, huh?”

he groaned—whimpered—a quiet, broken sound that made her clench around nothing. she could feel him tensing, his muscles twitching under her hand, his moans getting tighter, shorter, more desperate.

“gonna cum for me, baby?” she whispered, lips dragging along his jaw now, her pace quickening just a little. “all over my hand? let me feel you lose it, joon.”

his hips stuttered once—twice—and then he did, cumming hard, hot, thick spurts painting her hand and her stomach again, his mouth open in a soft, wrecked sound that died against her throat. he trembled, completely spent, and she held him close, kissing the corner of his mouth as he shuddered through the aftershock.

he collapsed on top of her a moment later, body heavy and boneless, his breath loud in the quiet room, mouth still parted against her skin.

she didn’t mind the weight. not one bit.

her clean hand slid into his hair, damp with sweat, fingers gently massaging his scalp, nails lightly grazing as she whispered soothing little circles into his crown. he hummed against her chest, nuzzling in deeper, her heartbeat loud and steady beneath his cheek.

neither of them spoke for a long while.

but in that silence, her hand never left his hair. and he never moved from the curve of her body.

he stayed on her chest for a moment longer, breathing deep, eyes closed like he could hold back the tide if he just didn’t look up. but even with her fingers carding through his hair, even with her heartbeat steady beneath his ear, the weight in his chest kept growing.

he lifted his head slowly, and even that felt like too much. the air shifted. the warmth between them cooled by a breath.

“what are we doing, (y/n)?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his voice already frayed. his eyes searched hers—deep, dark, desperate. looking for something. for regret, maybe. a sign that she wanted to take it back, that this had just been a moment of weakness, a one-night undoing they’d sweep under the rug come morning.

but there wasn’t any.

not in her eyes. not in her touch.

she blinked, then gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach all the way. “well,” she said, breathless, trying for lightness, “you fucked the shit out of me just now. so… i’d say we’re about four orgasms past asking that question.”

he let out a short, breathy laugh—but it didn’t last. not really.

his eyes didn’t leave hers. and hers… started to falter.

because she could see it. that flicker behind his gaze. the one that said he was trying not to feel too much, not to fall too hard all over again when the edge of her skin still felt like home.

and god—she could feel herself starting to unravel.

“joon,” she whispered, softer now. her clean hand cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing along the line of his cheekbone. “it’s okay.”

“is it?” he asked, the words sharp but the tone anything but. it wasn’t anger. it was fear. “because it doesn’t feel like it should be. it feels like I just—like we just opened a wound we spent a year trying to close.”

she bit her bottom lip. looked up at the ceiling for a second like she was searching for the courage not to let the sting in her eyes turn into tears.

“i’m not sorry,” she said eventually. quietly. “not for a second.”

he looked at her for a long time, as if her answer both soothed and destroyed him.

his hand found her waist under the sheets, gentle now, grounding. like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her—but he couldn’t not.

“me either,” he said.

and yet… the silence said everything else.

“we should probably clean up,” she murmured, voice husky but gentle as she traced lazy fingers down the line of his spine. “we’re both covered in sweat and cum.”

he let out a low, sleepy laugh, forehead still resting against her collarbone. “mmm, that we are.”

it took them a minute to untangle. not because they were too tired, but because every time they shifted, one of them stole another kiss—slow, unhurried, more lips than tongue now. soft breaths, forehead touches, the kind of kisses that meant stay without ever needing to say it.

they padded to the bathroom in silence, limbs heavy, hands brushing. and once inside, under the dim overhead light, the intimacy only deepened.

he turned on the shower and stepped in first, then held out his hand for her without a word. she followed, the water pouring down over both of them, steam curling around their skin as he reached for the shampoo like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he moved slowly, fingers in her hair, massaging her scalp with gentle care. her eyes fluttered shut, arms resting around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest. and when it was her turn, she did the same—dragged her fingers through his hair with a touch that made his knees weak, washed his shoulders and his neck with the pads of her fingers like she was memorizing him all over again.

there was no hunger in it. no spark of lust.

just something closer.

every few moments, one of them would lean in to kiss the other—wet, slow kisses that tasted like water and exhaustion. a kiss to the shoulder. one to the temple. one on the mouth that lingered longer than it should’ve.

they dried off together, standing close, sharing a towel, her eyes following the slope of his back like she was afraid it’d disappear.

he pulled on the shirt she handed him. it was one of his, left behind long ago—somehow still folded in the back of her dresser drawer. she didn’t say anything when he smiled at it. didn’t have to.

and when they were standing in her bedroom again, the air thick with the scent of clean skin and old memory, he moved toward the door almost instinctively—like he should go.

like this had been enough.

“you don’t have to leave,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a thread pulled loose.

he turned slowly, met her eyes.

and god, she looked so bare. not just physically—wrapped in nothing but a towel and damp hair—but emotionally. open. honest. a little afraid.

“stay,” she added, quieter this time. “please.”

his throat worked. like the word caught there.

and then, finally—he nodded.

not dramatic. not with a speech. just a quiet, yes written into the way he came back to her, climbed into her bed, and pulled her into his arms like she belonged there.

because maybe she still did.

they slipped under the sheets like they’d done it a thousand times before—because they had. the weight of the covers settled over them like a secret, like something sacred. her head tucked under his chin, one of his arms curved tightly around her waist, the other splayed across her ribs, his thumb brushing gentle lines over her skin like he had to keep reminding himself she was real.

his breathing was steady against her hair, his legs tangled with hers, the kind of closeness that was impossible to fake. and for the first time in over a year, they weren’t bracing for the next blow. no accusations. no fear.

just truth. in its rawest, sleepiest form.

“i thought you hated me,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

his hand tightened around her waist, just a little. “never,” he said, almost immediately. “i just… didn’t know how to stop missing you without falling apart.”

she closed her eyes, felt that break something in her. a soft exhale left her mouth. “i never stopped missing you,” she admitted. “even when i said i was fine. even when i laughed with my friends and told them i was over it.”

he didn’t answer right away. just pressed his lips to her forehead, long and warm. like he was apologizing for the space that had stretched between them.

“every time i passed that coffee place you loved,” he said, voice low, “i had to walk the other way.”

she blinked hard, tears threatening. “i deleted your number like three times. memorized it anyway.”

he let out a soft laugh through his nose. not happy, not sad. just knowing.

the silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full. full of everything they’d carried in their chests for twelve long months. full of what-ifs and why-nots. full of the ache of having loved each other and the even deeper ache of still loving each other now.

she turned in his arms, nose brushing his, their eyes meeting in the dark. “i didn’t mean to send that message,” she said. “not really. i was drunk, and sad, and tired of pretending i didn’t still—”

“i’m glad you did,” he interrupted softly. “i’ve read it at least a dozen times. didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t ruin us all over again.”

she reached up, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “you didn’t ruin anything, joon. we just… broke. but we never stopped meaning something.”

he kissed her then.

slow. deep. different.

like he heard her.

when they pulled apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together, their breath tangled, hearts pounding in quiet sync.

“can we stay like this?” he murmured, not quite a question, not quite a plea.

“for as long as we want,” she whispered back.

and they stayed.

no promises.

just warmth, and weight, and the hope that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end.

he stayed quiet for a moment longer, just watching her, the way her eyes blinked slowly up at him in the dark. the way her breath steadied when he touched her like that—gently, reverently, like touching something breakable but beloved. his thumb traced her cheekbone, her jaw, the curve of her lip, and when she kissed the pad of it—just a light brush, soft and sure—something inside him settled.

“okay,” he said at last, the word nearly swallowed by the stillness.

her brows furrowed, and he saw the flicker of uncertainty before he caught her chin between his fingers and smiled, just a little.

“we can try,” he said, clearer this time. “if you want to… really try. no more running. no more pretending we’re fine when we’re not.”

her lips parted—surprised, maybe—but she nodded almost immediately. like she’d been waiting to hear that exact thing from the moment he walked into that bathroom corridor and looked at her like she still mattered.

“i do,” she said. no hesitation. “i want to.”

he exhaled then, not shakily, but with the kind of relief that made his whole chest sink into hers.

“me too,” he murmured. “so much.”

they kissed again. slower now, but full. full of things they hadn’t said. full of the ache and the years and the breathless kind of hope that blooms when you stop lying to yourself.

his arms wrapped tighter around her. hers curled beneath his. their legs tangled like they’d never been untangled in the first place.

and this time, when the silence settled around them, it wasn’t heavy.

it was safe.

the kind of quiet you only get when the worst part is over, and something better is starting.

they’d hurt. they’d healed. they’d found their way back through the noise and the hurt and the time.

and now—together, in the dark, skin warm, bodies still humming with memory—they were choosing it.

again.

and this time, they meant it.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

taglist Ꮺ @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @h6rtf9lt @wynterlove

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ktownshizzle · 5 months ago

Text

Love & Lullabies | Part 5

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: Sex. Minors DNI. Also, barely proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 3.8k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 1, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Sorry it has taken me a while to get this part out. But I think you’ll like it. *fingers crossed* FULL TAGLIST TO FOLLOW. Sorry, I'm in a rush today. This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme.

A fancy hotel takeout sits untouched on your kitchen counter, the smell of roasted garlic filling the small space. You glance at the clock—6:47 PM.

Yoongi promised to take you to dinner, but given the circumstances, a quiet night in felt more appropriate. Safer for him. After all, the media has been relentless since the Dispatch scandal dropped close to midnight like Cinderella’s kitten heel at the ball.

You’re kind of pissed, actually. Scratch that—you’re furious. Just when it felt like you finally had Yoongi—finally had the chance to explore whatever this was between you—this bullshit had to rear its ugly head. A photo of his kind of ex leaving his building was enough to set the internet on fire, and now it felt like the flames were creeping dangerously close to your life.

You’ve talked to him once today, and even that conversation was clipped. A text from him at 5 let you know he was about to leave HYBE and swing by his place first. “Be there by 7,” he’d said.

You stare at the pristine takeout containers, willing yourself not to spiral. You’re not that person anymore. You’re not the insecure girl who lets her emotions run wild over things she can’t control. You’ve done too much good work to let this unravel you.

“You’re fine. You’re fucking fine,” you mutter under your breath, pacing the kitchen.

Your phone vibrates on the counter. Namjoon. Always coming to your rescue at the right time.

“Hello?”

“You doin’ okay?” Namjoon asks, his voice calm but laced with concern.

“Define okay,” you quip, though your voice wavers slightly. “It’s been a lot.”

“I figured,” Namjoon says gently. “That’s why I’m calling. Just wanted to check in. Yoongi’s been swamped today, and I know how this stuff can mess with your head.”

You exhale slowly, grateful for the concern but also acutely aware of the simmering emotions just beneath the surface. “I’m trying, Joon. Really, I am. It’s just… exhausting. The waiting, the overthinking, the noise. I just want to know where I stand with him, you know?”

“He’ll tell you,” Namjoon assures you, his voice steady. “Just… don’t let the noise get to you.”

You swallow hard, his words striking a chord. “Thanks, Joon. Really.”

“Anytime,” he says warmly. “And hey, take it easy on him tonight, okay? He’s under a lot of pressure, but trust me, you’re his priority.”

“Will do, dad,” you tease, and for the first time all day, you feel a flicker of lightness.

“Bye.”

You set the phone down, Namjoon’s words lingering in your mind as you glance at the clock again.

You think about Yoongi and the kind of pressure he must be feeling now. You can take care of him tonight. He deserves it.

You’re rearranging the pillows on the couch, trying not to glance at the clock again for the hundredth time. It’s not even about tidying the place anymore. It’s about occupying your hands, distracting yourself from the swirling mix of emotions in your chest.

Then, the doorbell rings.

7:01pm.

You take a breath, smoothing your sweater. Calm. Casual. You’re fine.

You open the door.

And there he is. Yoongi stands in the dim light of the hallway, a dark jacket zipped up to his collarbone, a black mask shading his face, somehow directing the focus on the exhaustion in his eyes. But what caught your attention is his hair—slicked back with a little sprout of inky locks on top.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking bashful at the heat in your gaze.

Christ. He looks good. Criminally.

He steps in. “Hi,” he says softly, his voice carrying that calm rasp you’ve missed.

Your heart clenches. “Hi,” you reply, your tone quieter than intended. You clear your throat, stepping back to let him in. “Come in.”

He steps inside, pausing in the entryway as he glances around.

You then notice the bouquet in his hand—gorgeous white roses and baby’s breath wrapped in brown paper.

He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes flick over your face. Something in your expression must’ve softened, because he quickly averts his gaze.

“I brought these,” he says, holding them out a little awkwardly.

Your chest tightens, a strange warmth spreading through you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

When you reach out to take the bouquet, your fingers graze his, and the contact lingers for just a second too long. Impulsively, your free hand rises to cup his cheek. Maybe it’s too much for whatever the hell this is between you, but the moment feels too honest to stop yourself.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

Yoongi freezes under your touch, his dark eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, as if the tension in his shoulders breaks all at once, he leans into your palm, just a fraction, and the smallest, most heartbreaking smile tugs at his lips as his eyes flutter close.

“I am now.”

You head to the kitchen, busying yourself with a vase to give the flowers the best chance to survive. You do not have a green thumb, so you pray to the gods the beautiful arrangement does not wither overnight.

“Hungry?” you ask, not turning around. “I bought chicken, shrimp fried rice, and some random banchan.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Yoongi replies, his voice closer than you expect. You glance back to find him leaning against the counter, watching you with an unreadable expression.

You place the vase on the counter and fold your arms. “So,” you start, forcing lightness into your tone. “Survived the day?”

“Barely,” he admits, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. “Had to dodge more cameras than usual. Sat in meetings for a couple of hours. Si-hyuk personally called Sung Kyung’s agency. They assured me that they will investigate thoroughly. I couldn’t eat. I get home and there’s still press camping out. So yeah, shit day and I almost didn’t make it out alive.”

“That’s the longest response I’ve ever gotten from you.” You tease. “You really must be stressed out.”

Yoongi chuckles and for a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been hanging over you both all day melts away.

You go around the counter and stand facing him where he’s sitting on your bar stool. He parts his legs and you immediately take that space, crowding him a bit more by placing your hands tentatively on his shoulder.

His eyes, warm like molten chocolate, meet yours. “How about you?”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “I’m fine,” you say, though the tightness in your chest betrays you. “I mean, it’s not like this is new territory for you, right?”

“Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Yoongi says quietly. “And I don’t like that you’re sort of affected by it.”

“I can handle it,” you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel, projecting strength since he looks a little broken right now.

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line, like he’s not entirely convinced.

“I kinda knew what I was getting into when I knocked in your studio yesterday,” you say softly. “And I’d do it again. For you.”

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his face at your admission before it softens into something else. Something deeper. “For me?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Yeah. For you.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then he straightens up from his slouch, taking one of your hands from his shoulder, pressing his lips softly against your pulse point.

“Dinner first,” he says.

“Then what?” you challenge.

Yoongi just grins, eyes crinkling at the corners.

As you sip the last of your drink, you steel yourself to ask the question that’s been bugging you all day. “So,” you say finally, broaching the topic. “Sung Kyung.”

Yoongi pauses mid-bite, his eyes flicking to yours. He sets his chopsticks down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “What about her?”

You take a steadying breath, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. “Namjoon told me you’re co-parenting. But I need to hear where you two… stand?”

Yoongi exhales slowly. “Yeah, we’re co-parenting. That’s it. I don’t have any intention of getting back together with her. At all.” His voice is calm but firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I want Haneul to know his biological mom, but she and I—we’re done. That’s been over.”

Relief washes over you, but before you can fully settle into it, you notice the shift in his expression. His jaw tightens, and his eyes dart briefly to the table before returning to yours.

“There’s something else,” he says quietly, the words heavy with hesitation.

Fuck. You don’t like the sound of it, but you ask anyway. “What is it?”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “A few weeks ago… she kissed me.”

Your stomach twists, and the room feels suddenly colder. “What?”

“I put a stop to it immediately,” he says quickly, his tone insistent. “I told her it couldn’t happen again, that if she wanted to keep seeing Han, she had to respect that boundary. And she has. She knows where we stand.”

You don’t respond right away, staring down at your plate as you try to process his words.

Oh my god. This is so fucked up. You knew Sung Kyung’s reappearance wasn’t as harmless as it seemed, but hearing it confirmed still stings.

“I just thought…” you start, but the words trail off.

Yoongi’s voice is soft but steady. “You have every right to be upset.”

“Do I?” You think out loud. “We’re not…” You nod slowly, pushing your chair back. “I… need a minute.”

When you get to your bathroom, you release a long steadying breath. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, hands gripping the counter tightly. Fuck. You’re okay. This is–

A knock sounds at the door, startling you.

Yoongi’s voice is muffled as he says your name, but it’s gentle as can be. “Can I come in?”

You glance at the lock and realize, too late, that you forgot to turn it. The door creaks open, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and something softer.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him and his arms immediately slide around your waist. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, and you meet his gaze through the mirror.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You lean back against him, the tension in your shoulders easing but just slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“That’s fair,” he presses his lips to your temple.

“But I need you to know–” presses another on your cheek.

“That I don’t want anyone else–” presses the last where your neck and shoulders meet.

“Just you.”

Your heart clenches at the sincerity in his voice, and when your eyes meet again in the mirror, the tenderness there leaves you so breathless.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you turn in his arms, your hands sliding up to his face as you pull him down for a kiss. His fingers tighten on your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you flush against him.

You walk back to your bed, lips fused with his, your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The urgency between you grows as you push him down onto the mattress, his back hitting the sheets with a quiet thud. You follow immediately, straddling him, your body molding against his as you capture his lips again. The kiss is deep, consuming, his hands gripping your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

You stay like that for a while, tongues teasing, breaths mingling, drunk in the taste of each other. Then, a sharp pull of his lower lip between your teeth has him groaning into your mouth.

You’re driven by lust, and something else. A possessive demon seems to be overriding your better judgment, thinking you’ve been timid with your feelings for long enough. No woman, not Sung Kyung, even if he is Han’s mom, can take what you and Yoongi have been building up to for so damn long.

“You’re in your head,” Yoongi says, nudging his nose against yours.

“Did she kiss you like this, huh?” The words leave you before you can stop them. Your lips return to his, sucking greedily, staking your claim.

Yoongi’s breath shudders as you pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, baby.” His voice is rough, lips pink and swollen.

Your fingers slide under his shirt, pushing the fabric up and over his head, tossing it aside before your hands explore the newly exposed skin. He’s warm, toned beneath your touch, and the way his muscles tense under your fingertips only spurs you further. You lean down, lips dragging along his jawline, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his throat. He tastes sweet, salty, and entirely intoxicating.

“Did you fuck anyone else when I left?” you mumble against his skin, your teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

His breath hitches, “No, shit. No.”

“Good boy.” You hum in satisfaction, your lips venturing lower, your tongue flicking against the hollow of his throat. He groans, head pressing back into the pillow.

“Baby, you’re making me lose my shit right now,” he grits out, his voice strained, desperate. His hands now get braver, sliding underneath your top to fondle your tits.

Maybe you’re delirious. Maybe you’re too turned on to think straight. Or maybe—maybe this is exactly what you’ve wanted since the moment you saw him again.

Your hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of his hard length through his trousers, feeling the way he twitches under your palm.

“You’re mine, okay?” you whisper, nipping at his bottom plush as your fingers give his dick a squeeze.

He exhales a shaky laugh, his lips curving under yours. “Yours.”

He lets you revel in your greed for a few moments, allowing you to do whatever you pleased as you lose yourself in the heat building between you.

He ruts up towards your hand, grunting slightly. Honestly, he’s so hard, it’d be a mercy to release him from the confines of his jeans. So you do, helping him unbutton, unzip, and undress, until his cock springs free and flops on his stomach.

What a pretty dick. Literally lickable—solid, girthy, veiny, a bead of white pooling at the slit. You take him in your mouth, tracing the tip with your tongue, the taste of pre-cum coating your throat. You let drool cascade down his length, slick fingers pumping his shaft while your mouth suctions his mushroom head.

His hand goes to the back of your neck, guiding you in a bit more. “Mmm… that’s it, baby.”

Yoongi moans your name as you go faster. You feel him twitching inside your mouth. He’s so hard but you don’t want him to cum yet. You pop him off to lap at the base, before your tongue travels upward to trace the thick veins on the underside of his cock.

Jaw slack, his eyes are dark, dark as he observes you while propped up on his elbows. “Come up,” he says when you reluctantly pull away. “Wanna eat you out.”

Your clothes are yanked off your body as you take his place on the cushions, not a single piece of fabric now separating your skin. He takes you by the hip and adjusts your position so he can get his face close to your mound. Before you can mentally prepare yourself, he shoves his hot tongue against your folds, locating your clit in 0.001 seconds and you know you’ll be careening off a cliff in no time.

“I—Yoongi, that’s… shit that’s nice.” You can’t help it. It does feel nice.

You reach for the little ponytail on his head, gripping it for dear life. He hums against your bud when you pull, the vibrations only driving you more insane.

“You taste so good baby,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“I can eat you out for days, make you cum,” he vows, delirious just like you are. “Over and over… my favorite fuckin’ snack.”

“Oh my god, Yoongi…”

He feasts, and feasts, and soon enough, you’re shuddering in ecstasy, hips bucking in the process, as he slurps all you give him. He wears your cum like a gloss as he comes up for air, a lazy but proud smile on his face.

You reach for the drawer on your nightstand and pull out a new, sealed, and unopened box of condoms shoving it on his chest. He holds it in one hand, nose scrunching as he suppresses a laugh.

“Someone prepared…”

You shrug as he plucks one and unwraps it quickly, “What?”

“Nothing. You’re too cute for me.”

“Shut uppp.”

He rolls the condom on his dick, propping one hand by the side of your face as he uses the other to rub his blunt tip against your entrance. Your pussy is drenched and he slips right in and bottoms out with a grunt against your ear. He’s thick and big against your walls.

A smack against your ass cheeks makes you clench. “Ah, shit.” And another one lands before he soothes it with a gentle massage.

You’re going crazy but you need him deeper. Sensing your needs, Yoongi pushes the back of your knees higher and snaps his hips with more force, pounding your pussy as your bed creaks against the wall. Your lids are heavy but you keep your eyes open long enough to see how fucked out he looks, cheeks flushed pink with a coat of sheen on his forehead, teeth caging his lower lip.

“You’re so hot. I wanna ride you,” you declare, stuttering a bit from his thrusts.

“Yeah?” He pants, slows the roll of his hips, waiting for your confirmation.

When you nod, he slips off with a wince and you feel your juices trickle down your skin. You reverse positions, mattress dipping as you shift your knees on each side of his hips.

“Do your thing, baby,” he urges, lacing his fingers behind his head, elbows bent outward in a relaxed pose.

Your smile is watery as you use his tip to prod against your clit one or twice before you sink him inside your wet heat. You moan in unison when you're fully seated, the feeling of him snug and warm and so full inside you driving you mad.

You tip your head back, palms planted against his chest as you swivel your hips in a slow dance.

You look down on him, hair cascading over your shoulder, and you think how much you like this view. And how you won't mind this view everyday, actually. Seems the possessive streak from earlier still has not satiated.

“Shit—you’re so hot like this.”

You rock against him, clit stimulated deliciously as you ride his cock. He’s got a cocky little grin as you use him. You throw your ass back, and he has a front row seat and VIP access to your bouncing tits, his tongue slack on the side of his lips. He cups your tits with both hands, the wet pads of his thumbs rubbing against your nipples.

“My turn,” he grabs hold of your waist and thrusts upward so roughly your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He pistons into you, finger digging on your skin to keep you in place and a long moan rips from your throat when he jerks up particularly hard.

Your hands slip to his shoulder as your body bounces by the force of his movements, tits sliding against his chest. His thighs must be burning and when he slightly lets up, you dip your head, shamelessly to lick the side of his face, moaning his name against his ear.

“Baby—” you beg, not really saying what you need, but he knows.

He uses a sweaty hand to guide a tit in his mouth, suckling at it with a bit of teeth.

Not a moment later, he’s fucking you again from below, deeper, faster, and when rapidly presses into your sweet spot, you’re a goner.

“I’m close, Yoongi. So close…”

“Me too, baby,” his voice is rough as he lets go of your bruised nipple, brows furrowed in concentration like he is fully intent to give you the orgasm of your life. He pushes into your depth relentlessly,

White hot heat is blooming inside you, and you feel his cock throb, abs tightening, before he spills his seed in the condom, groaning with his eyes shut to savor the intensity of his release. It’s the pure unadulterated pleasure painted on his face and his deep delicious moan that tips you over the edge, too, clenching against his solidness as you slip into the sinful pleasure of your orgasm.

Chest to chest, you rest your full weight against him, softening dick still nestled inside you. You press your lips against his neck, feeling the vibrations of his throaty chuckle. Then he asks, “Was it good?”

“So good.”

“Mm.” He hums, nosing the side of your face so you’d look at him. “Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

“Which one?”

“That you, uh, despite everything, you’d do it again, for me.”

You start to feel a bit shy, but then you remember you’re literally naked. On top of him. And he is still inside you. The point of bashfulness is long past. It’s time for the truth. “Yeah.”

“Bold of you, no?”

“Dumb, too.”

He pushes an errant hair behind your ear, eyes still glazed from the sex, but fond. “You know I really like you, right? If it isn’t painfully obvious.”

“Me too, Yoongi. Since Stan. Maybe even earlier.”

“Will you be my girl, then?”

Yoongi watches you carefully, waiting for your response. The earnest curve of his lips, the slight scrunch of his nose, the way his fingers still rest on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away—it’s all so achingly real.

You study him for a moment, letting yourself take it in. Everything about him—his caring nature, his tenderness, his immense love for Han, his ability to drive you absolutely insane and still make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

The outside world is still in chaos. The scandal, the noise, the questions that neither of you have all the answers to yet. But here, in your little apartment, wrapped in the warmth of him, none of that feels as important as this.

“I will,” you finally say, voice steady.

His breath catches, just for a second. Then, his lips spread into the softest, gummiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, almost like he’s making sure he heard you right.

You nod, “Yeah.”

Your lips meet for a gentle kiss that feels like a promise and the rest of the world falls away. For now, no matter what comes next, it’s the two of you—finally honest, finally sure, and finally together.

A/N: YASSSS. Our babies have finally figured it out. How do you feel right now? Would love to hear your comments!

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! Xo

P.S. Am gunning for 1,000 followers before Yoongi’s birthday. :) I think I’ll get there with your help. Feel free to reblog the story if you like, and that can help more people find our lovely L&L couple.

Love you!~

Permanent Taglist (Part 1)

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

The rest to follow in a reblog.

720 notes · View notes

magic-shop-stories · 4 months ago

Note

Hiii!!! Could I request Namjoon x f!reader boyfriend head-canons like how you did the Yoongi ones?? Also, preferably with a reader who’s American? But you can totally do whatever!!! Ty!!!

💌 Reply:

I really wanted to write this for all the members, so thank you for requesting it... I hope it's what you wanted, tho I struggled a lot this time, I didnt want it to be too much like Yoongis but I think they wouldn't be THAT different in some points so idk... hope you'll enjoy reading xo - c -

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳ NAMJOON (RM) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Early Riser

Slow Starter

awake by 6:30 AM

not by choice

his brain won’t shut off

you find him sprawled on the couch

hair mussed

he's scribbling poetry in a moleskine

glasses slide down his nose

he mutters

“Do you think Thoreau would’ve liked Spotify playlists?”

Coffee Catastrophe

brews matcha lattes

spills half the whisked foam trying to carry it to you

“It’s… abstract art,”

wiping green splatters off the counter

leaves a sticky note:

“Compensation latte en route. Don’t judge me.”

Breakfast Buffet

creates a fusion spread:

avocado toast with gochujang drizzle strawberry Pop-Tarts, sliced persimmons

“It’s a metaphor,” “Sweet, spicy, existential.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Study Sessions

his “studio” is a sunlit corner cluttered with art books, bonsai clippings, and a half-built LEGO Guggenheim

you perch on the arm of his chair

he pulls you into his lap without looking up from his sketchpad

“Your elbow’s on my Hegel annotations,”

grumbles, but lets you stay

Tug-of-War

if you try to leave, he hooks a finger in your belt loop

“Wait; listen to this haiku about cicadas.”

recites it solemnly

“…It’s about us. Maybe.”

Clumsy Affection

reaches for a high-five

misses, and accidentally knocks over his succulent

“This is why we can’t have nice things,”

you sigh

he repots it with dirt-smudged hands

“Imperfection is art. Like us.”

Midday Moments

Park Philosopher

drags you to Han River

rambling about “the duality of ducks”

tossing breadcrumbs grain kernels

you nap under a tree

he sketches you with a pocket watercolor set

“You’re my Starry Night...”

later showing you a blotchy but earnest portrait

Language Exchange

you teach him your slang

“Yeet is a verb, noun, and lifestyle”

he corrects your Korean tones

"Saranghae isn’t a whisper, it’s a promise...”

voice low enough to make you drop your iced coffee

Nighttime Nuances

Pre-Bed Brain Dump

reads Walden aloud until 1 AM

pausing to rant about capitalism

“Thoreau was a hypocrite but right... wait, did you just snore?”

Sleeping Style

starfishes across 75% of the bed

one arm slung over your waist

“You’re my… multiverse…”

snores lightly

you kick his shin = he rolls over

taking the sheets hostage

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my ARMY Bomb manual.”

sighs

handing you a reusable water bottle

catch him nodding off mid-lecture about climate change:

“I’m not… tired. I’m processing.”

mumbles, glasses askew

then faceplanting into his copy of Braiding Sweetgrass

his version of “I miss you”:

“Your absence disrupts my entropy.”

translates to: “Come cuddle before I combust.”

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: screenshot of the sunrise

“Thoreau was right. Also, buy almond milk.”

3 PM: voice note of him beatboxing over a Langston Hughes poem

caption: “New mixtape: Existential Crisis & Chill.”

Midnight:

“The moon’s waxing gibbous. Come stargaze. P.S. I made hot chocolate...”

Notes

scribbles Whitman quotes on museum tickets

leaves one in your coat:

“We were together. I forget the rest... Or I won’t.”

finds your grocery list

adds “Admiration (1 lifetime supply)” at the bottom

PET NAMES

Public:

“Professor”

when you out-debate him

“Okay, Professor, explain TikTok to me again.”

“Sunflower” at the farmer’s market

“Because you’re tall, bright, and… rooted.”

blushes at his own metaphor

Private:

“내 작은 폭풍” (My little storm)

when you’re angry

“Your rage is… awe-inspiring. Also, please stop throwing socks.” “Moonchild”

whispered during late-night drives

“You glow even when the world’s dark.”

CURSING

Worried Curses

you come home late?

he’s pacing

wearing mismatched socks

“씨발… I Googled ‘American urban crime rates’ and now you’re here?!”

crushes you in a hug

“Never do that again. Unless… it’s for tacos.”

sees you struggling with IKEA instructions

“젠장, capitalism wins again.”

builds the shelf upside-down but insists it’s “postmodern.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he knocks over his bonsai

“…God.”

avoids eye contact

“It’s not fair. You’re a distraction.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so… effortlessly disruptive?”

when you reorganize his bookshelves by color

“This is chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

steal his fries

he gasps

“This is why empires fall.”

slides the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, nuzzling your neck

“Your thoughts taste like honey.”

next morning:

“Did I say that out loud? Pretend I didn’t.”

after nightmares:

“Stay. Please. You’re my… sine qua non.”

doesn’t explain it

doesn’t need to

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him humming a melody while washing dishes

later, find a note:

“Your voice in the morning... key of G, tempo adagio.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks rural roots

after a long day, he sighs:

“나 죽겠다… (I’m dying…) But your smile is CPR.”

Artistic Vulnerability

leaves a watercolor of your hands in his studio

caption: “These built my universe.”

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM?

next day, he gifts you a leather-bound journal titled “Digital Detox: A Poet’s Guide to Privacy.”

inside, he’s handwritten firewall tips in calligraphy

“Knowledge is armor. Also, I enabled two-factor authentication.”

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about slow Wi-Fi?

builds a DIY bookshelf router

cites its design in a TED Talk

“It’s a metaphor… for connection.”

Services

you’re sick?

attempts chicken noodle soup but confuses cumin with cinnamon

“It’s… experimental fusion cuisine.”

orders pho instead and blames the app

“The algorithm chose this. Don’t hate me.”

Jetlag Rescue

after your flight from the U.S., he stocks the fridge with Dr Pepper and kale smoothies

“Balanced electrolytes… or something.”

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (PHILOSOPHER’S EDITION)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying over homesickness

recites Mary Oliver until you’re laughing through tears

“You don’t have to be good… but you do have to let me hug you.”

Post-Fight Peace Offering

leaves a dog-eared copy of “The Alchemist” on your pillow

highlighted line:

“Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.” sticky note: “You’re my treasure. Even when you’re mad.”

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

traces the outline of your face

“Your smile… it’s like a haiku. Simple. Perfect. Destroys me.”

ask him to explain

"Just… let me live here.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Period Protocol

tracks your cycle via moon phases

“Lunar energy affects us all.”

leaves dark chocolate and a hot water bottle shaped like Totoro

“Science and Studio Ghibli. Optimal healing.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over burnt cookies

bakes a “deconstructed s’more” (graham crackers, Hershey’s, lighter)

“It’s abstract. Like Rothko.”

Cultural Comforts

wears your college hoodie for a week (way too small)

“It smells like you. And… ranch dressing?”

secretly buys a duplicate to avoid giving it back

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen mocks your Korean accent?

steps in, voice calm but firm

“Language is a living art. Hers is a masterpiece.”

later, he rage-paints a canvas

titled “Ignorance in Primary Colors.”

Sacrifices

attends a crowded frat party to meet your friends

smiles through “Beer Pong 101”

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… but this is hell.”

UNEXPECTED VULNERABILITY

Period Protocol

leaves a care package:

organic tea, a heated blanket, and a handwritten “Period Playlist” (featuring Mitski and BTS’s “Zero O’Clock”)

“Pain is temporary. My love? Thermodynamically infinite.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over a failed work project?

recites “Still I Rise” while kneading your shoulders

“You’re Maya Angelou in Prada. Now let’s rise… to order takeout.”

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment

hurt?

he buries himself in Nietzsche

texts: “When you stare into the abyss… it’s just me waiting for you to apologize.”

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

jokes about his “dad sneakers.”

buys neon Yeezys and wears them to a museum

“Aesthetic rebellion. Now suffer with me.”

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

disappears for days writing his mixtape

returns with a bonsai tree

“It’s a metaphor. Needs patience… like us.”

Breaking Point:

unplug his laptop mid-session

he fumes: “Art isn’t a hobby...it’s my lungs!”

returns at dawn with a handwritten poem:

“Apologies in iambic pentameter. Forgive me?”

GIFTS

Philosophical Pampering

gifts you a first-edition copy of "Leaves of Grass" with annotations in the margins

“Page 32; Whitman’s wrong. You’re the answer to the universe.”

Eco-Warrior Love

buys noise-canceling headphones made from recycled ocean plastic

“Now you can ignore the world and save it.”

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING (BUT LOVES BOOKSTORES)

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

complains about “consumerist dystopias”

but buys a vintage globe to “track our future travels”

carries your tote bag like a badge of honor

“This is not a metaphor. My arms hurt.”

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a $500 art print of Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Iris”

returns with a bootleg version he painted himself

“Mine’s better. It has… soul.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a prairie dress

“You look like a Laura Ingalls Wilder reboot.”

later orders it

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOUR HONESTY)

Philosophical Guardian

finds you tipsy at a party

debating “the existential merit of TikTok” with Jungkook

sweeps you over his shoulder

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… starting with your liquor intake.”

Morning-After Mercies

wakes you with avocado toast and a "matcha IV drip"

“Electrolytes and antioxidants. Also, I Googled hangover cures in MLA format.”

Secret Worry

texts your college bestie and Jungkook:

“Keep her at 2 margaritas. Third one turns her into a teen.”

MARRIAGE (POETIC AMBUSH)

Fight

he skips a wedding expo

call him a “commitment-phobe”

snaps: “Marriage is a capitalist construct!”

you retaliate: “Then why’d you bookmark eco-friendly ring blogs?!”

Ring

minimalist band

engraved with coordinates to the Han River bench where he first said “I love you”

hides it in his Walden copy

find it mid-rant about “transcendentalist proposals”

Proposal

after a fight about his workaholism

projects a poem onto your apartment wall:

“Forever is a fractal. Let’s get lost in the pattern.”

“Marry me. Or let’s debate it over kombucha.”

FATHERHOOD

(THE GREAT PHILOSOPHICAL CRISIS)

Panic

mention kids?

he freezes, spilling matcha on his “I Heart NY” shirt

“…We killed a cactus. A cactus.”

buys a fern named “Baby Freud”

it thrives

he's trying extra hard (bc he secretly really really really wants to)

Test Run

volunteers at an orphanage to read “The Little Prince”

returns with a kid’s crayon drawing

titled “Namjoon Hyung is Weird”

frames it

“Art is truth.”

Revelation

catches you watching a video of him teaching ARMYs to recycle

a toddler comments: “He’s pretty… for a teacher.”

he mutes it, cheeks pink

“…She’s not wrong.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest naming your son “Thoreau”

chokes on his kimchi

“We’re not naming a human after a guy who hated people!”

compromises with “Jun”

“It means truth. And I picked it.”

Fear

finds him researching “How to Raise a Feminist Son” at 3 AM

slams the laptop

“…But what if I’m worse? What if I lecture him about Hegel?”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

reads “The Giving Tree” to your belly every night

records the kicks as a lo-fi beat titled “Kicks of Hope”.

Birth Day

holds your hand while reciting Rumi

passes out when the doctor says “push”

wakes up sobbing

“You’re my supernova.”

First Night Home

swaddles your daughter in a BTS-themed blanket

texts the group chat:

“She has her eyes. And my inability to shut up.”

sends a voice memo of her coos over a Miles Davis sample

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship

PHYSICALITY & ARTISTIC AFFECTION

Protective Poise

Public Gestures

his hands are gentle but intentional

but they linger

thumb brushing the nape of your neck

palm resting on the small of your back at gallery openings

fingers brushing yours as he passes you a book

palm sliding possessively down your spine

whisper: “That Picasso? Overrated. You’re the masterpiece.”

he’s less restrained at home

pulls you into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen

humming off-key to “Trivia: Love” while swaying

pins you against his bookshelf, philosophy tomes digging into your back

“Tell me I’m wrong."

lips grazing your earlobe: "Tell me Rothko’s red isn’t the same shade as your mouth.”

Clumsy Cuddles

tries to lift you for a spin

trips over the rug, and lands you both on the couch/bed

“Gravity’s a social construct anyway.”

cheeks pink

instead of apologizing, he hovers above you

glasses askew

“Fate intervened. Now...”

Intellectual Rivalry (Jealousy, Joon-Style)

overhears a philosophy major flirting with you at a café

interrupts with a “casual” debate on Kant’s ethics

later, buys you first-edition Thoreau

“Just thought you’d appreciate… deeper conversations.”

Subtle Flex

shows up to your work event in a tailored suit

glasses perched low

“Oh, this old thing? Just felt like… elevating the dress code.”

CONTEMPLATIVE GAZES

Staring (But Make It Deep)

watches you sketch in the park

eyes tracking the way your brow furrows

“Your creativity… it’s like watching a storm form.” “That’s your third metaphor today.” he grins “I’m just getting started.”

Staring (But Make It Dangerous)

watches you slip into his oversized Harvard hoodie

eyes darkening as the fabric drapes off one shoulder

rasps: “You’re… violating the dress code.” then closes his laptop: “And I’m failing to care.”

Late-Night Honesty

post-museum date, he traces the curve of your collarbone with a pen cap

“Your body’s a gallery. Every scar, every freckle... curated perfection.”

kisses your shoulder

loosens his tie

voice a velvet rumble

“That dress should be illegal. You should be illegal.” traces the strap of your lingerie: "Sylvia Plath wrote about this, didn’t she? I am, I am, I am… yours.”

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR CONFIDENCE (BUT WILL WRITE A SONNET ABOUT IT)

Artful Admiration

Backhanded Praise

wear a bold, avant-garde outfit?

“You’re… a walking Dadaist exhibit.”

later sketches you in charcoal

captioning it “Chaos Theory: Personified.”

wear a leather trench coat to his speech?

“You’re deconstructing the male gaze. Literally.”

sketches you, nude

Possessive Glances

spots a stranger eyeing you at a poetry slam

slides his arm around your waist

loudly debating “the hegemony of Western canon” until they flee

Possessive Academia

grad student flirts with you at a library?

he accidentally knocks over a stack of Derrida books

pulls you into a secluded aisle

“Let me… re-shelve your priorities.”

BEDROOM PHILOSOPHY

Foreplay (But Make It Existential)

reads Foucault aloud

voice dipping lower with every page

“Power is knowledge… and I know what you’re thinking.”

slides his glasses off, eyes locked on yours

“Prove me wrong.”

prefers lights dim

Miles Davis on vinyl

whisper-reads Rilke as you straddle his lap

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.”

hands grip your hips

“Still… focus, okay?”

Aftercare

braids your hair while dissecting the symbolism in “The Great Gatsby.”

“Daisy’s voice is full of money… but yours? Full of… everything.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

hands speak in sonnets

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

like a quill drafting verses

thumb brushing your bottom lip as if memorizing its shape for a poem

maps your skin like a cartographer charting undiscovered terrain

lingering at pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to sync his heartbeat with yours

“Your body’s a library,” “Let me… read you.”

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back

pressing you closer until his chest meets yours

fingers tangled in your hair

tugging just enough to tilt your head for a kiss that starts as a whisper and ends as a manifesto

“You’re my magnum opus...”

breathes heavy, lips grazing your earlobe

“And I’m… revising.”

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces constellations on your hip with a philosopher’s precision

touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, the curve of your waist

pulls you into his chest

reciting Whitman into your hair

“We were together… I forget the rest.”

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

nipping your lower lip

“Impatient. Inelegant. Perfect.”

he's deep but controlled

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars on your knee/elbows

“Sorry… sorry…” - breathed like a prayer

leaves a haiku on your pillow:

“Pride is a shadow / Your warmth is the sun / Forgive me.”

PACE

Deliberate Crescendo

prefers slow, maddening build-up

undresses you like unwrapping a first-edition novel

mouth exploring every chapter

= collarbones, ribs, the dip of your hips

taking forever before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you.”

warns you at every whimper

eyes dark

“And I’ll give you… everything.”

Feral Surges

when jealousy strikes, he’s relentless

pins you against his studio wall

biting your shoulder as his hands roam

“Mine. Say it.”

you whimper? he gentens

forehead pressed to yours

“Say it… please.”

POSITIONS

Scholar’s Missionary

your legs hooked over his shoulders

hands gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

he's watching your face unravel

“Let me… study you.”

Cowgirl Command (aka you're his "pro rider")

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.”

the moment you falter, he flips you

"Thought so"

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or very dim lights

pages of his journal scattered like rose petals

claims he “hates getting interrupted”

Soundtrack

your whimpers = his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,”

then covers your mouth or lightly choked you

“Too loud. Save it for the encore.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves metaphorical bruises

"ink stains" on your inner thigh

“So you remember… I’m your muse.”

Power Play

lets you “bind” him with his own tie

then breaks free

"You really think you can handle me?"

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity tho if you beg him for more he won't ever stop until you beg fot the opposite

Dawn Encores wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

"You moan in your sleep baby..."

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his lips and gentle kisses

“You taste like… victory.”

Behind Your Ear whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver and even wider when you don't understand

Inner Wrists kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s… because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Joon...”

he cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet. Earn it.”

Competence

take charge!

ride him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he can't hold himelf back anymore

“Fuck… okay.”

flips you mid-stride

then tales you from behind

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare?

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always. I'm sorry - tell me what you need honey.”

308 notes · View notes

smartkookiee · 4 months ago

Text

How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days || Ch.4 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀° ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, flirting, some family drama, crazy and manipulative mom stuff, movie night, some domesticity, they are cute for like five seconds before everything goes to shit (whoops), Jimin and Tae being little shits, Jin being a real homie, some heavy misunderstanding and miscommunication ❥word-count: 7.1k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. a/n: Hi everyone I know this is a short chapter but I hope you enjoy anyway, this chapter introduces some important stuff so I really like it. Enjoy <3 ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

Day 07

“12 dates is hilarious.”

Jin, Ronnie, and Namjoon all snickered as you explained your last date with Jungkook, explaining the end and your sorry excuse to get out of his apartment.

“I couldn’t think of anything else! I needed some excuse to leave and then he asked me how many dates, and I just thought of the first number that felt ridiculous.” You run your hands through your hair, laughing at yourself. The four of you gathered in your small living room, you had taken to laying on the floor. Picking out fibers from the rug you had. Jin sitting next to you and Namjoon and Ronnie on the couch.

“What did he say?” Ronnie asked.

Suddenly a buzz from your phone, a small piece of you wondering if maybe it was a text from him. Seeing who it was, your disappointment became evident but you tried to play it off. Not in the mood to respond to who that text actually came from. Setting your phone down on the coffee table face down.

Thinking back to the shocked and then cool and collected look Jungkook had on his face was amusing, “Oh he was fine with it, maybe a little surprised. Said he just needed to plan for ten more dates.”

“At least he’s got some class.” Jin poked your forehead. The disappointment from whatever text you got was evident on your face.

He had a lot more class than any of you had given him credit for. “So what comes next for the two of you?” Namjoon asked, curiosity had filled the room the whole morning about what your next steps would be.

Another buzz comes from your phone, you don’t need to check it. You know who it’s from. You ignore it and continue, “Well I think I can start to turn up the heat.” You sit up. “Which is the hard part of all of this.”

“Oh you’ve got this. If you can almost break your own nose in front of him, surely anything else will be a piece of cake.” Ronnie assured you with a wink and you roll your eyes.

“Still sore to be honest.” You say touching the end of your nose. Remembering the concern on Jungkook’s face when you had hit yourself, it was sweet.

“When are you going out next? I want to help you plan.” Jin bounced in his spot next to you.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I haven’t even heard from him.” Another buzz from your phone, you ignore it again. Wishful thinking would make it be Jungkook.

“Why not call him? Who says you have to wait on the guy?” Namjoon suggests.

“You think I should?” You felt a little nervous and unsure.

Ronnie nods, giving Namjoon a pat on the shoulder. “Namjoon's right, plus you’ve already called him so the ice is already broken!”

Jin, grabs your phone from your coffee table, holding it to you, “Oh do it now! We can help!”

You take your phone but right at that moment you get another text. Putting it at four already, your face dropped a little as you just ignored them opening your phone. Finding Jungkook’s contact and almost pressing call but suddenly you realized how close everyone was and they were all staring at you with big and intent eyes. You very quickly understood what it felt like to be a fish in a bowl.

“Okay freaks, I’m doing this in the other room.” You stand to your feet, but Jin pulls you back down and they all protest.

“No! No no we’ll be good I swear.” Ronnie said, sitting straight up in her spot like you were a teacher.

“Swear.” Jin crossed over his heart.

“...Fine.” You groan. You decided to press call. Waiting for a moment, immediately regretting your decision. You didn’t have a single clue what you were going to say.

The phone rang and rang, it was possible he was busy and you were almost going to hang up. Just as that moment line picked up, there was shuffling on the other end before the line cleared.

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice came through the line, he sounded groggy and probably not awake. It was 11 you didn’t think it was too early to call.

“Hi.” Your voice is turning lighter than you would normally use it. “Uhh good morning! Did I wake you?”

You look to the others and Namjoon is gesturing for you to put the phone on speaker but you wave him off. One, for the off chance one of them laughs and completely embarrass you. Two, you didn’t need every second of this situation invaded by your friends.

Jungkook let out a tired laugh, “Yeah but I don’t mind… Good morning.”

"I was just sort of calling to say hi…" You hesitated, then smiled. "Which I’ve already done, so I guess I could just hang up now."

Jungkook hummed, amusement slipping into his tone. "Well, it’s a good thing you called. I was just having a crazy dream about us."

“Oh us?”

"Yeah. Something about you coming over and us having a movie night… details are fuzzy, but that was the gist of it."

“Hmm sounds like a pretty lame dream.”

"Lame?" Jungkook scoffed. "I thought it was sweet. A classic date formula."

"I’m teasing, can’t mess with a classic. Well, speaking of that." You started, shifting your phone to your other ear. "I was actually going to see if you were free today… or tonight, I guess."

Jungkook made a dramatic show of shuffling around on the other end of the line, as if checking a nonexistent schedule. "Let me see… yep. A whole lot of nothing planned for today."

"Wow, what an eventful life you lead."

"I know. Truly, I’m booked and busy."

You bit back a laugh. "Okay, can I come to yours again? I have some errands on that side of town."

A small fib. You didn’t actually have errands, but you weren’t ready to have Jungkook over at your place.

"Yeah, that’s fine." Jungkook said easily, followed by a yawn. "Text me some snacks you like, and I’ll go get them."

"Oh, you don’t have to do that."

"I have nothing better to do today anyway." There was a sound of sheets rustling, like he was stretching. "Text me when you’re on your way."

"Alright. See you later."

With that, you ended the call, exhaling deeply before finally looking up—only to find three pairs of eyes locked onto you with identical expressions of giddy anticipation.

You groaned. "Okay, I’m leaving."

Namjoon smirked. "It’s your house."

You stand just to go into your kitchen, honestly trying to step aside. Because you got five more texts in the span of that call. You knew exactly who from, and you were finding your anxiety building on your stomach. Twisting and turning as you read the messages, Jin coming over to you in your focused concern.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” He says it quietly, Namjoon and Ronnie distracted with some conversation by themselves.

You don’t look at him shielding your phone, “That easy to tell?”

“You looked like you saw a ghost when you looked at your phone, then continued to intentionally ignore it. I’m a bit of a detective” He leans on one hip bringing his pointer finger and thumb up to his chin. Obviously trying to make you feel better. “Let me guess, back in the country?”

“I guess so…” You pause, you get another text.

Are you going to respond to me? Hello?

You sigh, shoving your phone in your pocket, Jin sighs. “You can talk about it if you would like.”

"No." You shut it down quickly, then, realizing how defensive you sounded, cleared your throat. "No… it’s fine. I’ll be fine. It goes like this every time."

Jin arched a brow. "Yeah, and every time, you give in."

"I know." You murmured. "It’s just… sometimes hard to say no."

"But you have to." His tone was firm but not unkind. "It won’t be like last time, right?"

You swallowed. "Right."

Jin was clearly not convinced, but he let it go. "If you need backup, let me know. I’ll hover around you like a helicopter if you need."

You let out a weak laugh. "I won’t need that. I just have to keep details short. If I talk about my promotion at all, it’ll turn into a whole thing."

"I know. I was there last time." Jin said, voice laced with frustration—not at you, but at the situation. "Just… don’t let yourself get guilt-tripped into giving her money again. You know it’s not going to where she says it is."

“It’s…not always like that…” A lie, a knee jerk excuse. One you had been trying to stop making.

“Uh-huh." Jin gave you a look. "Just try to remember how bad things got. I know she’s your mom but she has a way of convincing you things aren’t so bad.”

There it was. Mom. Or as she liked to put it, your best friend.

"As long as she doesn’t start showing up at my house, it’ll be fine." You said, picking at your nails. "After that, it’ll be hard to get her to leave…"

Jin watched you closely, eyes scanning your nervous fidgeting, but instead of pressing further, he simply bumped his shoulder against yours.

"Come on," He said, his voice deliberately lighter. "No more talk about her. Take out your anxiety on Jungkook instead."

You snorted, shaking your head. "That’s not how that works."

Jin smirked. "Could be. Just make his life a little difficult for fun." He gave you a playful shove back toward the living room.

"So," Ronnie said as you rejoined them. "What’s your plan for tonight?"

You let out a slow breath, feeling a familiar little spark of mischief flicker in your chest.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀ • *₊

Jungkook spent the day tidying up his apartment—not that it was messy to begin with, but he wanted things to be nice. After all, you were coming over. He even grabbed some snacks, per your request, carefully picking out a selection he thought you'd like. It had been a while since he spent a Saturday night in, but honestly, he was looking forward to it.

Last week getting to know you had been easy, comfortable in a way he hadn’t expected. If the next month went like this, he’d coast through without a hitch. That is, as long as there weren’t any more unnecessary interruptions. Like Channel.

Except tonight, he had a different interruption to deal with.

A series of loud knocks echoed through his apartment just as he was pouring chips into a bowl. He sighed, already sensing trouble before he even reached the door.

"Jungkookie!" Taehyung’s familiar voice called from the other side, followed by the sound of muffled laughter—Jimin, no doubt.

Jungkook frowned as he swung the door open, revealing both of them standing there with far too much excitement for two people who weren’t supposed to be here.

"You’re not dressed." Jimin pointed out immediately, gesturing to Jungkook’s sweatpants and oversized t-shirt like they personally offended him.

"Am I supposed to be?" Jungkook asked, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"Uh, yeah. We have plans." Taehyung said, pushing past him into the apartment without hesitation. Jimin followed, shaking his head in disappointment.

Jungkook turned, face scrunching in confusion. "No, we don’t."

Jimin scoffed, crossing his arms. "We always go out on Saturdays. It’s tradition. Like breathing, or me looking better than Taehyung."

"You wish." Taehyung muttered before grabbing a handful of popcorn from Jungkook’s snack spread.

"Well, not tonight." Jungkook said firmly, closing the door and facing them with finality. "Y/N is coming over. We’re hanging out."

Jimin raised an eyebrow and did a slow scan of the room, eyes landing on the array of snacks, the neatly arranged couch, and the cozy atmosphere Jungkook had set up.

"Oh. Hanging out." He echoed, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. "Not like that. Actually just hanging out."

"So you’re ditching us?" Taehyung asked, feigning a dramatic pout as he stuffed more popcorn into his mouth.

"To hang out with her? Absolutely."

Jimin gasped, clutching his chest. "Who are you, and what have you done with my party animal Jungkook?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Nothing’s changed. I’m just taking our little bet seriously."

The moment he mentioned the bet, Taehyung and Jimin exchanged glances—silent, knowing, mischievous. They weren’t about to lose to him that easily.

"Come on, we came all this way." Taehyung tried again, leaning dramatically against the counter like he was truly heartbroken.

"Yeah, and I feel so bad." Jungkook deadpanned. "Now, please leave before I throw you out."

He ducked into the bathroom before either of them could protest further.

The second he disappeared, Jimin and Taehyung snapped into action.

"Okay, we have to do something." Jimin whispered.

Taehyung’s eyes flickered around the room before landing on Jungkook’s phone sitting on the kitchen counter. A slow, devious grin spread across his face.

"Don’t." Jimin warned, though he didn’t actually mean it.

Taehyung was already moving, snatching the phone up swiftly.

"We’re just gonna... help him out a little." He said, winking.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀ • *₊

Later, another knock sounded at Jungkook’s door.

He wasted no time opening it, revealing you standing there, smiling brightly. You were also dressed down. To his surprise in some very bright pink sweatpants, which were Ronnie’s, but he would never know. You also wore a very cutesy graphic t-shirt with my melody on it to match the vibe. Nothing wrong with them at all but not your usual vibe but this choice of outfit was more of an experiment.

Jungkook didn’t seem to blink at it.

"You wear glasses?" The words tumbled out before you even said hello, your eyes locked onto the frames perched on his nose.

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. My contacts were irritating my eyes, so I went with these tonight."

He stepped aside to let you in, watching as you barely moved, still staring at him like he had just unlocked a whole new level of attractiveness.

"No, they’re super cute." You said quickly, almost tripping over your words.

You actually pull your eyes away though as you make your way to the living room. Needing to bite on your something since you were a stupid sucker for glasses on anyone. Realizing Jungkook had indeed gotten most of the snacks you requested and some you assumed were to his preference.

Everything was spread over his coffee table with some precision it seemed, like he thought about where to place things intentionally.

This was a great opener to turn on your new “Charm” that Jin had helped you perfect most of the day earlier. “Awe! This is so sweet Jungkook.” Pitching up your tone almost borderline in a baby voice. Having to fight back at cringing at yourself. Taking a seat down on the couch.

Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, “I tried. I got a couple things for the both of us.” Acting all nonchalant. Strolling around the couch and taking a seat next to you.

You force yourself to giggle a little too obnoxiously. Hitting Jungkook in the chest with a little too much force but in a playful manner, “So what are we watching?”

Jungkook rubs the spot where you hit him, you had much more strength than he gave you credit for. “I was going to let you choose. I’m not too picky when it comes to movies.”

“Oh yay!” You clap your hands together, god you really hated this. This was not you, Jungkook seemed to be a little thrown by your giddiness but it was whatever. You grab the remote he strategically placed on the table. Guess he had prepared for this. “What to pick, the choices are endless.”

Which it actually had you in a small panic, you weren’t ready to have to pick the movie. You had a hard enough time just telling Jungkook what snacks you wanted. While you began to pursue, Jungkook’s phone sounded with the dig from a text. You glanced sideways for a quick second, Jungkook pulling out his phone to see who it was from.

Jungkook's expressions seemed throne and confused by the text that came through. Then another ding. The expression seemed to twist further. Your interest peaked.

“Something wrong?” You look at him, glancing down to his phone then back to him.

Jungkook locks his phone and sets it down on the couch beside him. “No, I think a wrong number is texting me.” His tone is casual, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression.

You nod, turning back toward the TV, scrolling lazily through the endless options. “Okay… are you opposed to any genres?”

“Nope.” He smirks, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “Do your worst.”

You hum thoughtfully, but you’re already scheming. The goal isn’t to pick a good movie—it’s to pick the worst one possible. Something Jungkook would definitely find boring. But just as you’re debating between a painfully slow documentary or an overly dramatic romance, his phone vibrates again.

And again.

You don’t glance over, but you hear it—persistent, insistent.

Jungkook sighs quietly and checks his screen. More texts.

Taylor: Hey remember me? ;)

Taylor: Busy 2 night?

Taylor: Wanna get a drink??

Taylor: Hello?

He hadn’t hooked up with any Taylors recently. At least, not that he could remember. He locks his phone again, deciding it’s best to ignore it. Hoseok had drilled it into his head not to be on his phone when hanging out with someone—it was rude, and Jungkook actually wanted to be present.

But the buzzing doesn’t stop.

Meanwhile, you keep scrolling, eyes fixed on the screen, but you’ve already started keeping count. How many texts? How many times is he checking? The more his phone vibrates, the more you start tallying numbers in your head.

“Oh! Miss congeniality!” You cheer, a pick that actually really was a favorite of yours. Not a total favorite of any guys you had watched it though.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, glancing at the banner image. “What is it?”

You tuck your legs under yourself, shifting to look at him. “Sandra Bullock is an FBI agent who goes undercover at the Miss United States Pageant to stop a terrorist attack. She gets a really awesome makeover halfway through.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Alright. I’ll bite.”

“If you hate it, we can change it.”

“No, I always commit once I start a movie.” He didn’t seem to be bullshitting you here.

“Perfect.” You don’t hesitate to hit play.

The movie starts to play and Jungkook seems to actually be true to his word, the two of you sat close but he didn’t try to make a move or anything. He had these big brown doe eyes watching and would smile or laugh a little too himself.

But something still gnaws at you.

His phone sits in his lap, and every time it vibrates, you hear it.

And it’s vibrating a lot.

Jungkook ignores it for as long as he can, but eventually, he caves. One quick glance at the screen, and his stomach drops.

Over thirty new texts.

From Taylor.

Taylor: I CANT BELIEVE YOU

Taylor: YOU DON’T REMEMBER WHO I AM

TAYLOR: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

The texts continued like that. Not to mention he was also getting texts from another girl who he seemingly had no recollection of, Jemma.

Jemma: You aren’t going to tell Taylor that we hooked up right?

Jemma: Jungkook she can’t know she like… super likes you

Jemma: Like for serious likes you

Jemma: Jungkookie?

Jungkook stares at the screen, brain scrambling to place the names. Who the hell are these people? His memory isn’t that bad—if he had hooked up with someone recently, he’d remember. Right? Jungkook sighs and quickly types a response, hoping to shut this down before it gets any worse. Whatever was going on was certainly getting noticeable.

Which you had indeed noticed. You kept tally, and you were trying to find a window when you could use this. When could this play to your advantage tonight?

Jungkook begins to type furiously trying to find something to say that will end this for the night or until he can figure out what is going on another time.

Which is when you take your moment to jump, “Who are you talking too?” You ask casually, looking over at his phone. You had already seen the girl's names on his phone already.

Jungkook immediately pulls his phone closer to his chest. “It’s no one.”

Which was not a lie because Jungkook was trying to figure out who these people were.

Your eyes flick to his phone, knowing full well that’s not true. “You seem to be getting a lot of texts.” You remark, folding your arms. “Seems like someone really needs your attention.”

Jungkook notices but figures he can diffuse the situation once he figures out what's going on. He doesn’t respond but continues wracking his brain for a moment as he looks at the texts trying to place these names.

You take the silence as a good opener, having to psych yourself up a bit. “Who is she?”

Jungkook blinks, finally looking up at you. Your eyes are locked onto him, sharp and expectant. “Huh?”

“The girl you are clearly talking to, who is she?” You pressed, your voice was now more accusing and you were waiting to see what kind of answer he was going to give.

“I’m not–” Almost like on cue Jungkook’s phone begins to ring in his hand. The big bold name Taylor is fully visible on his screen for the both of you. “Oh my god this can’t be happening. I swear I genuinely don’t know who this is.”

“You expect me to believe that? Your phone has been going off all night.” You huff and look away from him and keep your eyes locked on the movie. Having to bite the inside of your cheek so as to not laugh at how ridiculous you sound right now.

Jungkook looks lost. Completely lost. He declines another incoming call, his frustration growing. But the silence only fuels your ‘annoyance.’ He was confused how you immediately Jumped from A to Z so quickly. Jungkook grits his teeth and scrolls through the messages again. He scans every name, every interaction—until finally, it clicks.

Only to come to the realization…

“Oh those fuckers.” Jungkook says under his breath. “I will be right back.”

Your eyes widened because was he really going to leave while you were upset right now? Fake upset but still. “You’re actually going to take that call?”

“It’s not what it looks like, just let me take care of this. Then I will clear this all up.”

“Not what it looks like? It looks like you’re going to take another phone call with another girl during the movie? Are you serious?” You wave your arms around a little dramatically but it sells it.

Jungkook is unsure of how to navigate this. “I just need to resolve this so that we are no longer interrupted. I swear it’s not what it looks like.”

Jungkook gets another call from the “mysterious” Taylor. Jungkook answering it and stepping out the front door of his place to take the call, “You guys are really fucked up you know that?”

There’s a dramatic throat clearing on the other end, followed by an overly high-pitched voice. “What do you mean, Jungkookie? I’m Taylor.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Had your fun? Played your games?”

There’s muffled laughter, and then Jimin’s voice replaces Taehyung’s. “We were just screwing with you, man. We were pissed you bailed on us. By the way, how’s your date going?”

Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose. “Thanks to you two idiots, she thinks I’m screwing around. So not great.”

“Oh no.” Taehyung deadpans. “So sad. Taehyung's voice mocked Jungkook but Jungkook was actually mad.

You were already hesitant to date him in the first place and this looked really bad. Your reaction may have been a little strong… and confusing since you were pretty rational. It did look bad though and Jungkook couldn’t deny that.

“Fuck you guys.” He mutters. “We were actually having a nice time.”

“You never said we couldn’t interfere.”

Jungkook ran a hand over his face. “Because that’s fucking insane? I didn’t think I had to say it.”

“Fine, you’re no fun. We won’t interfere from here on out.” Jimin swears” Jimin’s voice was mockingly sincere but Taehyung wasn’t going to make the same promise.

“Goodnight.” Jungkook was too annoyed to deal with them anymore.

“I hope she dumps you-” Taehyung calls into the phone as Jungkook didn’t even dignify that with a response; just hung up and shoved his phone into his pocket. He let out a slow breath before heading back inside.

The apartment felt heavier than before, quieter, except for the hum of the movie still playing in the background. You were still on the couch, but your posture had changed. You weren’t curled up comfortably anymore; instead, you sat stiffly, chewing on popcorn in the kind of silence that was loud. You wish you could see yourself, it was a very convincing performance after all.

Jungkook hesitated before stepping closer. “I’m sorry about that.”

You didn’t even look at him. “Yeah, okay.”

He winced. “You’re mad.”

“Well, duh, Jungkook.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you stared at the screen. “You were texting and talking through the movie when we were supposed to be hanging out. If you’d rather be somewhere else, you could’ve just said so.”

Jungkook sat down beside you, carefully, like you might bolt at any second. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.” His voice was quieter now, sincere. “I’ve really liked getting to know you. I actually wanted to watch this with you, but my idiot friends decided to mess with me.”

You shot him a skeptical glance. “Friends. Right.”

“I swear.” Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “They were pissed I bailed on them tonight, so they changed their names on my phone, spammed me, and set me up.”

You hesitated, but Jungkook was already unlocking his phone. He scrolled up in his messages, showing you the texts. “See? Just last week, their real names were still here. This whole thing was just them being assholes.”

You narrowed your eyes at the screen, scanning the evidence. A pause. Then, finally—“Wow. Your friends kinda suck.”

Jungkook let out a relieved laugh. “Just a little.” He shook his head. “They thought it would be funny. And, okay, maybe it was—”

“It wasn’t.” You deadpanned.

He smirked. “Yeah well, not for me.”

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing just a little. “I guess I… overreacted. I just have a thing about people being on their phones during movies.” You scratched the side of your head, looking slightly sheepish.

Jungkook grinned, happy to take the win. “No more phone.” He picked it up and placed it far away on the couch. “Easy.”

It was a nice gesture but completely unnecessary. “You’re cute but it’s alright.”

“Nah. No more phone. I’ll never look at it again.” He teases as he scoots close to you, “You’re much more interesting to look at anyways.”

“Wow, that was really cheesy.” You teased, shaking your head.

Jungkook just grinned.

Despite the earlier hiccup, the night had settled into something easy and comfortable. You rewound the movie to the parts he missed, both of you sinking back into the cushions as if nothing had happened. There was no tension, no lingering frustration—just soft laughter, playful commentary, and the occasional reach into the snack pile.

“Okay, but like, I would let Sandra Bullock beat me up too.” Jungkook commented, nodding in approval at the screen.

You turned to him, raising a suspicious brow. “Masochist?”

“I’ll never tell.” His smirk was effortless, teasing, but what you hadn’t quite realized was how close the two of you had shifted throughout the night. Your legs had found their way over his lap at some point, and his arm was draped lazily around your shoulders, his bicep doubling as a makeshift pillow. His other hand rested absentmindedly over your calf, tracing absent-minded patterns against the fabric of your sweatpants.

Jungkook couldn’t remember the last time he had just sat with someone like this—no expectations, no rush, just the quiet hum of companionship. It was… nice.

You, on the other hand, were still determined to find another opening to be difficult, but as the night wore on, you were reluctantly realizing that you might have to try again another time.

Jungkook had kept his word, his phone untouched for the rest of the evening. Not that he was missing much. Whatever was happening in the group chat could wait—he was too busy being here. With you.

“You’re all techy and whatever.” You mused, tilting your head up at him. “Would you ever be an FBI agent?”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “Not a chance. I don’t think I’m smart enough to foil a terrorist plot… or go undercover without blowing my own cover.” He absentmindedly played with his lip ring, his voice dipping into something thoughtful. “What about you?”

You exhaled a small laugh. “Yeah, no. I’m a writer, not an agent, that’s for sure.” You paused, considering it for a moment before adding, “Although, I think I could do undercover.”

Jungkook glanced at you, intrigued. “Oh yeah? You could be a Gracie Lou Freebush?” He referenced Sandra Bullock’s alias in the movie.

“Oh, absolutely.” You said with zero hesitation. “Plus, I’ve interviewed and hung out with a lot of pageant girls in the past for my writing.”

His brows lifted in genuine interest. “Wait, what? How come?”

“I did a piece in college about pageantry and got to know a lot of girls who did it professionally. They were really sweet, honestly.”

“That’s so cool.” His voice was laced with admiration. “What else have you written?”

You hesitated, suddenly shy. “Oh god, I’ve written about a lot of things, but nothing worth the time.”

“That can’t be true.” Jungkook’s voice softened, his curiosity undeniably genuine. “I’d love to read something… I mean, if you’ll let me.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. His big, expectant eyes searched yours, but there was no teasing, no ulterior motive—just pure interest.

A warm flush crept onto your cheeks. “Okay.” You murmured, cursing the lovesick way your voice wavered. “Maybe I can find something that’s not totally terrible.”

Jungkook grinned like you’d just given him a prize.

Neither of you had been paying much attention to the screen, and at some point, the movie had ended.

“Alright, your turn.” You pat Jungkook’s arm, the one still draped around you, before shifting your legs from his lap, giving him space in case he needs to move.

Jungkook leans over to the coffee table and retrieves the remote from the coffee table. Shuffling through the choices. He thought for a moment what he should select. If he should stay on the romance vein or go down another path.

Eventually landing on, definitely a left turn movie for the night.

“Okay, I know this totally changes the tone, but I love this movie.” He clicks on Across the Spider-Verse. “The animation is insane, and I really love Spider-Man.”

You laugh. “You don’t have to sell it to me. I’ve seen it before.”

“Good.” His excitement is almost tangible. “I’ve been wanting to rewatch it.”

Without a second thought, Jungkook casually lifts your legs back over his lap, a move that catches you off guard.

“I was cold.” He feigns innocence.

“Uh-huh, I super believe you.” You giggle, settling back against his arm just as the movie begins.

You couldn’t have gotten a minute in before you felt your phone vibrate like you were getting a call. It was in your pocket and you intended to silence it but you wouldn’t be so lucky to ignore it. Your mom’s ID popping up on the screen. You pretty quickly decline it, hoping, no praying it wouldn’t be pushed further than that. That was until the text that it was immediately followed up with.

Mom: Baby I’m coming over. You keep ignoring me.

Mom: I have so much to tell you about!!!!!!

Oh no. Oh no no no.

She was going to your place. You aren’t at your place.

Panic spreads like ice through your veins. You sat up in your place away from Jungkook, hiding the sick feeling that spread across your face. You had to call her. If you didn’t call her back she would go to your place and ask so many questions. She didn’t have a key but she would still manage to get in. Right after you just made that whole stink about Jungkook being on the phone earlier.

You couldn’t ignore her. You have to call her back.

She won’t let it go.

Jungkook was worried for a second when you moved away from him so suddenly and now you were suddenly standing.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice is tense. “I need to take a call.” You hesitate before meeting his gaze. “It’ll just be a second—I need to step into the hall.”

Jungkook for a second almost doesn’t think about it but you just made a whole fuss about him taking a call. “Are you serious?”

“I know.” You say quickly. “I know what I said.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No.” Your phone vibrates again. Another text.

Mom: I’ll be there in 30 minutes.

Shit.

“I’m sorry.” You say again, already moving. You weave around the couch, heading straight for the front door before Jungkook can protest.

You shove your feet into your shoes and step into the hall, needing somewhere private; somewhere your mom won’t hear even the faintest trace of Jungkook in the background.

The elevator.

You dial her number and you press the button for the elevator to go to the first floor. The phone on the other end ringing for what felt like forever in your ear. Feeling more and more sick to your stomach with each ring. Dreading hearing her voice on the other side.

The line picked up as you reached the first floor. “Baby!” Your mom’s voice bursts through the speaker, cheerful and chipper like she hadn’t just threatened to ambush you. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yeah, I know. Mom, why are you going to my place right now?” A headache forming in the back of your mind.

She sighs dramatically. “I miss you, baby. I’ve been gone for three months!”

“Yes Mom-...”

“And yet, you don’t even want to talk to your own mother?” Her voice shifts, just enough to press guilt into your ribs. Her saddened voice on the other end, hitting you in the same familiar place in your gut.

You exhale slowly, biting down the automatic frustration. If you say the wrong thing, she’ll cry. If she cries, you’ll have to go see her. “Of course I want to talk to you.” You say carefully. “I’d love to talk. But I’m busy.”

“Busy with what? Where are you?” Her interest clearly piqued that you could possibly have plans that had nothing to do with her.

“I’m out with some friends. Nothing special.” There is zero chance you’re mentioning Jungkook.

“Oh no, no, no. How many times have I told you those friends of yours are no good?” Her voice is all silk. “Come meet me somewhere instead.”

“How about I come see you later this week mom. I am busy with a work project but I’m all yours later this week…” You grit your teeth. You hope this might be enough and she hums on the other end.

“All weekend?” She counters. “I get to have you all weekend? I just miss you, baby. And I have so many clothes from Europe that don’t fit me right—you’ll love them.” Typical. Dumping overpriced, ill-fitting designer pieces onto you so she doesn’t have to feel wasteful.

“Yes. We can go through them together.” You nod to the air around you almost like she was here or that she could see you. Like the look on your face right now wouldn’t send her into an immediate spiral.

“Oh, perfect! I’m so excited.” She cheers on the other end and it in some sick way brings a smile to your face.

“Okay I really do have to go.”

“Alright, baby. Call me tomorrow!” She sounds almost… normal. But you know better. If you don’t call tomorrow, she won’t let it go.

The moment the call disconnects, you sag against the elevator wall, pressing your palms to your face. Needing something to bring the anxiety that had welled up in your chest back down to a normal level. Your fingers tremble slightly, the weight of the conversation settling in like lead in your stomach.

This was such a bad time for your mom to be back in town. If she got even a whiff of your promotion, she’d find a way to turn it into something about her. And if she caught onto whatever this… thing was between you and Jungkook, she’d find a way to ruin it.

Maybe you should just sic her on Jungkook. That would send him running for sure.

In hindsight, if this were any other date, it would probably look bad. You had disappeared in the middle of the night, left without much of an explanation, and now, you were returning like nothing had happened. It felt messy, inconsiderate even. But everything with your mom is an emergency.

The problem is, you can’t say that.

With that thought, you start the slow walk of shame back to his apartment. The door is still unlocked from when you left, and as you step inside, the difference is immediate. The air feels stiff. The movie was stopped. The room is too quiet. You slowly stepped further inside, Jungkook was leaning against his counter looking at something on his phone.

You hesitated, stepping inside and slipping off your shoes. "Sorry about that." You said quietly.

Jungkook doesn’t look up right away. "It’s… fine."

It isn’t.

Not really.

It’s obvious in the clipped way he says it, in the tension sitting in his shoulders. He’s irritated, trying not to show it, but you can feel it lingering between you.

And honestly? You get it.

You were the one who had made a big deal about him being on his phone earlier. You were the one who rolled your eyes at him answering a call, told him to be present. Then, the moment your own phone rang, you left the apartment with little word.

So yeah, you get it.

"It was just an emergency." You offer, though even you can hear how weak of an excuse it sounds.

Jungkook finally glances up then, dark eyes flicking to yours. "Right. Just a little frustrating though, don’t you think?"

Your stomach twists. "I know."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as he sets his phone down on the counter. "I mean, you gave me so much shit about being on mine. Accused me of something you didn’t have any information about. Then you not only take your call—you leave the floor for it."

"I get it." You say quickly. "I do. And you’re right. It was hypocritical of me."

Jungkook studies you for a moment, expression unreadable. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. "Was there a reason you had to take your call downstairs?"

“What?”

“Well I stepped into the hall to make sure everything was okay but you had totally fled the floor. What’s up?” Jungkook coming off even more defensive now

You freeze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard.

"I—" You start, before quickly regaining composure. "It was private."

Jungkook’s brows lift slightly. "And mine wasn’t?"

You inhale, feeling an edge of frustration creep in now, not necessarily at him, but at this entire situation. At how suddenly complicated something as simple as a movie night had become. How your mom had complicated a simple movie night. Something for your job.

Then you remember. This was for your job. The thing that got you into this situation, for one reason only…

So you switched gears "You were being really suspicious and weird about who you were talking to. Plus who even calls people anymore.” You say, keeping your voice measured.

Jungkook lets out an incredulous laugh. “You literally just took a call.”

“Yeah, but mine was an emergency,” You stress, as if that explains anything.

He narrows his eyes. “Oh, so when I answer my phone, I’m talking to some girl, but when you answer yours, it’s a crisis hotline?”

You shrug. “Correct.”

Jungkook pauses having to think about what was even going on before bouncing back, “Yours seemed much more like a call from another guy than mine seemed like a call from another girl.” Jungkook was frustrated but he was falling back on an old habit. He was falling into that old routine of finding an excuse to run. Except he couldn’t in this situation, so he needed to switch gears just like you.

You let out a slow breath. Acting a little too casual for the situation at hand. "Maybe we call it a night, doesn’t seem like we will see eye to eye on this.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a moment, but eventually, he nods, stepping away from the counter. "Yeah." He mutters. "Probably for the best."

You don’t miss the way his voice shifts, slightly more closed off than before, and something about it stings more than you expect it to.

But you don’t say anything else.

Instead, you slip your other shoes back on, grab your things and leave. It wasn’t okay for him to just automatically assume that you were talking to another guy. Then again that's exactly how you started. It didn’t matter though, having this night go wrong actually helps. It helps push Jungkook away and maybe after tonight he might ghost you who knows.

It would certainly make your article short but you could make a good narrative, losing a guy in 6 days.

Still a small pang of guilt was eating at your stomach. Usually you would fight to explain yourself but you were doing your best to fight those normal instincts. This was the assignment, even if a part of you was actually starting to like Jungkook a little bit. He put in a lot of effort for just a few dates which was completely unexpected.

Maybe in another life where you didn’t have to act insane.

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kooqitas · 1 year ago

Text

— sharing ★ with: bts

#pairings: bf!jungkook X friends!bts X reader #synopsis: where your boyfriend decides to ask his friends what they want to see #tags: pwp, group sex, blowjob, rough oral sex (m.), fingering (f.), humiliation, degradation, cumslut, spit, sperm, tears, free use (?). aftercare mentioned but not shown. mention of bisexual jungkook #notes: this is more fetishistic than usual on this blog, so DON'T READ if you're uncomfortable with 7 guys cumming on your face and swearing at you. #wc: 2,2k

you see your friends after a months, like since you and jungkook are living together you don't see them. it's funny, cause you are friends an years ago, but at a some months you just can't see each other.

"you're so hot dressing like that, maybe if we fuck before the guys comes..." jungkook said lifting your skirt and rubbing your hole.

"namjoon text me, he said that come in five minutes with the guys"

"i promise that i can make you cum in five minutes"

you laughed, because you know that’s real…

but the other six guys are at your door in five minutes. not just six guys but six best friends of yours.

"i know that we fucked yesterday, but god, i need eat your pussy again, i'm addicted, i need fuck you every hour, every minute, every second, night after night..." despite the completely dirty speech, jungkook was kissing his shoulder calmly.

“the guys are coming in any minute” you tried to convince yourself.

“don't be so mean to me, give me that dirty little hole, please”

jungkook moved one of his hands up to the thin strap of your shirt, pulling it down and exposing your nipples, he turned you around, putting his mouth there without any ceremony. you were used to your boyfriend's tongue, how he sucked and bit the nipple of your breast with devotion.

and then the doorbell rang.

"jungkook, stop, the boys are here." you tried to stop your boyfriend.

"i'm sure they wouldn't mind seeing me fuck you, baby. and you don't mind showing how that tight hole stretches with my cock, sure?”

god, this is a FUCKING true, you and jungkook are worse than each other, but more than showing, you'd easily let them stretch you too!

"i know exactly what you thought, dirty little girl." he said before going back to sucking your nipples.

and then they rang the doorbell again.

"holy shit!" jungkook complained, going to open the door, you are trying clumsily to put your clothes in place.

when the other six men entered your house you smiled, you missed them, namjoon was the first to hug you, leaving a kiss on your forehead in a gentle way, and damn, you had seen some photos he posted at the gym, but he was BIG…

seokjin came next, the tall man kissing your hand before giving you a cute hug.

and after, jimin came, leaving a wet kiss on your cheek as he always did, the blonde guy had a scent that was enough to make your panties even wetter.

shit, jungkook shouldn’t have teased you.

you noticed that taehyung whispered something to yoongi, who laughed, muttering something like 'have decency?' and only then did you notice that, probably due to jungkook's saliva, your tits were wet, and the thin shirt clearly marked this.

"oh, yes! you disturbed us, i was dying to fuck my wife and you arrived."

a lot of things happened in that sentence, jungkook calling you 'my wife' and mainly, him exposing your sex life to all his friends.

it's not like they didn't imagine, you were friends before you and jungkook dated, the other six knew what you were like, and how jungkook was too, it was a matter of adding a + b, sometimes they would say something in the group chat, but It was the first time they had said something like that in front of them.

"if you want to fuck her, i don't care, as long as i can watch. it's not like i've never fucked you guys." hoseok said as if she wished a 'good morning'.

and that was the truth, besides jungkook, you had already had sex with at least four of your friends, and the same went for him, it's very likely that that's why he wasn't jealous.

"oh, can i? because i really want to do this."

god, your boyfriend was a perv.

“please, i miss seeing her tits.” namjoon confessed, reminding you of how he loved being on top of you, sucking your nipple to make you relax on his fat cock.

“dude, respect my girl!”

jungkook scolded namjoon, but you knew it was a joke as soon as your boyfriend came behind you, pulling the strap of your shirt down and exposing your breasts to his friends.

if you stopped to think about it, you would think it was crazy, your boyfriend sharing you with six other guys, but on the other hand, the other six guys were your friends, and you wanted much more than just looks at you.

“does anyone want to see anything else?” jungkook asked, making you feel your panties soaking, you felt like an exposed slut, a trophy, and that would never be a bad thing.

"her panties" seokjin said, looking at you with devotion, you had never done anything other than kiss him at a party.

“i want something” taehyung said.

"what do you want to see?"

"i want to see her on her knees sucking my cock." it was direct.

"if you suck taehyung's cock you'll have to suck mine too!' yoongi spoke up.

"and certainly mine too." jimin said, rubbing his thumb across his lips.

“let me get this straight,” jungkook scratched his throat. "are you saying to my face that you want my wife to give you a blowjob?"

"it was you who offered her to us like a prostitute." hoseok spoke up, unbuckling his belt.

god, you never felt so horny, your boyfriend and your friends discussed you as if you were even in that room.

"what do you think about this, baby?" Jungkook asked you.

"well..." you just walked around the counter, heading towards the sofa (being followed by the seven men as if they were puppies), and then removed your skirt and the blouse that was around your waist.

jungkook came to you, kissing you as you removed his clothes, his fingers brushing the white lace of your wet panties as you let out little moans into his mouth. your boyfriend was completely turned on, rubbing his pecs on your nipples making you moan even more.

"my little slut is so greedy, seven guys in your mouth? will you be able to handle it?"

"i need to get it!"

"good whore!" he kissed you one last time. "you don't deserve that much, organize yourself to kiss her in pairs, and you know her and the word, anything I'll insist on killing each one of you.”

jungkook barely finished and jimin and seokjin came close to you, jimin from behind, pressing his already hard cock on your back, and seokjin on your belly, at that moment you wanted both of them inside you, but all you got was seokjin sucking and nibbling your nipples while jimin kissed you and played with your wet panties. you moaning to the two of them while the other five watched everything.

you didn't even notice when taehyung and yoongi arrived, their firm hands using you to rub themself, it was pathetic, the pinch that yoongi gave your left nipple while your hand was inside taehyung's pants made you scream in pain, but mixed with pleasure, you liked that aggressive way.

"are you going to call me daddy again tonight?" namjoon asked as he approached you with hoseok, sticking two fingers into your pussy without any warning when hoseok’s kissing you “i missed that drippy messy hole.” namjoon goes fast, he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, you moan so loud because everything is even hotter when you see all those other men looking at you.

"i think the guys will like to see this" hoseok moved out of your way, exposing everyone to the image of you moaning into namjoon's fingers.

"so pretty our bimbo slut!" jimin said, watching the scene.

your boyfriend wanted to tell namjoon to stop it, take you to the bedroom and fuck you until his body shut down, but just seeing how much fun you were having with it all made him wait.

namjoon adds a third finger in without warning and you're feel so humiliated, leak around his hands when he fucks his fingers in and out of your cunt at an insane rhythm.

"tell your boyfriend how much you miss my cock opening all that hole, how much you miss your girl juices running down my cock. how you love look at my cock crammed in your tight pussy” and then he took his fingers out of you, rubbing them on your lips and forcing you to kneel on the floor. “you're not going to cum, unless whore, you're going to shove our dicks down your throat and let us cum all over your body, then your boyfriend sees what he does to you full of other men's cum”

and then you noticed the other six men approach you with their dicks in their hands, taehyung was the first to pull your hair, and you were agile with your warm tongue tracing his dick up and down.

while your tongue was still on taehyung, hoseok rubbed his balls in your face, and you tried to grab them on your tongue too, but it was in vain.

“jungkook you date a prostitute!” seokjin said when you grabbed his dick, starting a masturbation.

"i'm sure she can handle two" jimin said, shoving his cock along with taehyung's down your throat.

and you sucked it, not even you know how, but you sucked it like it was the most delicious lollipop in the world while they both thrust hard into your throat.

at one point in the night, you had jimin and taehyung's dick in your mouth and seokjin and hoseok one in each hand. namjoon, jungkook and yoongi took turns rubbing their dicks over your body and slapping your chest and face.

jimin took his dick out of your mouth, and you fit seokjin's cock, watching from the side as jimin started jerking off.

yoongi was in your right hand, you caressing his balls.

you felt some tears in your eyes, sometimes hitting your friends' thighs to make them stop for you to breathe, before returning to the aggressive pace.

the feeling was much more pleasant due to the environment than the sexual act itself, since you could barely actually suck the dicks, every time someone was coming in and out of your mouth.

"i think this stupid bitch was too greedy, she hasn't choked on my dick yet" namjoon complained, making you release seokjin and hoseok's dick that were in your mouth, when the two came out, an absurd amount of saliva ran out of you, it was humiliating, but you didn't have much time to think as soon namjoon grabbed your hair and made your nose touch his pelvis.

and then yoongi and jungkook joined him, rubbing their balls all over your face while you just opened your mouth and gladly accepted whatever they gave you.

"you look like a bitch in heat, trying to suck all these dicks when you clearly can't!" yoongi complained.

and this triggered a series of humiliations.

"disgusting mouth, can't even suck dick properly!" jimin said.

"i'm ashamed to say that that mouth touched my dick." seokjin said as he buried his throat on his cock, making you cough and cry.

"i think the only good hole in you is your pussy." namjoon said shortly after spitting at you, encouraging the other six to do the same.

no matter how much they cursed and humiliated you, you had never felt so good, the feeling of having seven men in a circle around you was inexplicable.

and when hoseok left your mouth just to cum you felt even better.

his sperm falling down your face and breasts, mixing with that of jimin and taehyung who came soon after.

“our cumslut, so disgusting, free whore, thank u, jungkook” taehyung joked, grabbing your hair.

you came back with namjoon's dick in your mouth, choking and coughing several times as he fucked your mouth with even greater force than he used to do in your other holes.

“dating jungkook made you stupid, that mouth doesn't do anything right!” namjoon shouted, pulling his dick out of your throat only to spit a thick string of saliva there and hit you on face.

your face full of other guys cum while you was still sucking namjoon was what made your boyfriend cum on your face, making namjoon's big cock a little dirty.

"be useful at least a little and make me cum in that throat" yoongi said.

you put yoongi's dick back in your mouth, sucking it and namjoon's as they fucked you, and you saw stars as they came together and filled your throat, so full to the point that it leaked out of your mouth even though you tried to swallow.

you cum, without any stimulation other than the humiliation and the cum on your body, you just came so hard that your body shook.

you were a mess, your entire body and the room floor is a mixture of tears, cum, and spit. and you were still fucking wet.

"do you want some help with her?" your friends offered, after putting on your clothes and seeing that you were completely destroyed.

“no need,” jungkook thanked. "i take care of my princess."

and then the other six walked over to you, giving you a careful peck on the mouth before being led to the door.

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redrose10 · 15 days ago

Note

#19 Jk post military. Him going straight to business performing right after instead of seeing his girl who’s also a performer /idol

Thank you for requesting. I hope you like it! Sorry it took a little longer.

Idol Jungkook x Female Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, one swear word, slightly suggestive at the end

Word Count: 1,574

Prompt: #19- Are you trying to make me angry?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sitting at your kitchen table alone with cold food, a champagne bottle in melted ice, and burnt out candles was not how you imaged the night going. Your boyfriend was just discharged from him military service. The event was long awaited by you, him, and millions around the world. You knew he had a schedule to complete earlier in the day right after the official discharge ceremony. That was all decided before they even officially enlisted so it wasn’t new to you, but even after his meetings and a small live that he was going to do with Jimin… he should have been home hours ago.

The two of you were supposed to have a nice dinner together and then you were going to relax and watch your new drama that had come out a few months prior. It was your first role as the lead actress which was something you had worked very hard to receive. Jungkook had promised that he wouldn’t watch any episodes or look up any spoilers in his limited free time that he had while enlisted. He wanted to experience watching it for the first time with you by his side.

But he never showed up like he was supposed to. You texted him. You called him. You never got a response, not even left on read. It didn’t take long for you to give up and change out of your new dress you had purchased especially for the evening and you got comfy into some more casual clothes. Just as you got in bed there was a notification on your phone.

The group chat was blowing up after Hobi sent a video of Jungkook practicing for an upcoming performance. The rest of the guys seemed to only encourage him more:

Namjoon: He’s hasn’t even changed out of his military uniform yet.That’s dedication!

Jimin: He never stopped talking about performing.

Jin: Jeeze kid take a break. You’re making the rest of us look like lazy bums.

You were moving past being hurt to just being pure angry. It’s one thing to have to delay your reunion at home so that he could go to the company and complete some of his required tasks there. It was technically part of his job. You understood that much after having been in the industry yourself for quite a while and you knew how much he missed Army so the live was very important to him.

But you didn’t feel that it was necessary or caring for him to go right into practicing choreo and getting ready for a performance when he hadn’t even come home to see you yet.

Your next move may have been a little petty, childish even but you knew there was only one way to get his attention and after what you two had been through over the last two years you were willing to go to that point.

Quickly, before you could change your mind you put back on your dress from earlier. It was short and black lace which was an absolute favorite of Jungkooks and you headed to the company building.

Luckily you managed to slip in without being seen by your boyfriend. You ran into Jin in the lobby so you excitedly let him know how much you missed his cooking. You dropped off a coffee for Taehyung and stopped by Namjoons studio to recommend a new book you had recently read. You knew it wouldn’t take long for word to get back to your boyfriend. The Bangtan Boys were bigger gossipers than a group of fifty year old Aunties.

You only had one more thing to check off your list and thankfully you quickly found Hobi still in the dance studio. It didn’t take much convincing at all for him to film a couple dance challenge videos with you. You never posted a dance challenge with an anyone other than Jungkook before. He was quite a bit jealous when it came to things like that.

It was new to you, but with your background in dance you mastered the choreography in no time. The two of you were able to film a couple different videos. One for Hobi’s Killin It Girl challenge that was coming up and then the two of you took a page out of Taehyung and Leejungs playbook. You guys picked a random song and created the choreography on the spot.

It was intimate and sensual without crossing any lines and you were quite proud of it to be honest. Hobi promised the dance video would be posted within a couple hours so you thanked him and went home to wait.

And as he promised you got the notification that the video was live a couple hours later while you were sitting in bed.

Of course the internet went crazy seeing you two superstars dancing together like that and the video very quickly went viral.

It wasn’t too long afterwards that you heard the front door open and slam shut. The familiar sound of Jungkook’s heavy bag dropping to the floor followed next and then his boots thudded against the hardwood shortly after.

Seconds later Jungkook appeared in the doorway of your bedroom with his hands firmly planted on his hips. His tongue poking at the inside of his right cheek while he stared you down.

You were already changed out of your black dress and had put on your pjs or also known as…just a tshirt from Yoongi’s D-Day tour merch line.

It took everything in you not to smile or laugh or give anything away because your plan had worked just like you knew it would.

“Seriously Y/N?”, Jungkook questioned you without moving an inch.

“What?”, you faked confusion, “If you’re hungry there’s some jjajangmyeon that Jin made and dropped off earlier. I mentioned really wanting some and he was kind enough to make it for me.”

“I’m not hungry Y/N.”, he scoffed.

“Okkkaaaayyy then…what is your problem?”, you questioned.

He crossed his arms against his chest as he eyed you with a glare, “You know…exactly what my problem is.”

With a sigh you scooted out of bed making sure to straighten out your shirt so that Yoongi’s face was front and center, “I have no idea what you’re talking about Kook.”, you said as you tried to walk past him to go to the kitchen and get something to drink.

Just as you walked by him Jungkook grabbed your bad pulling you back into the room with ease. Within a second he had you pinned against the wall of your bedroom. His strong hands held your wrists above your head with force, but he was still gentle enough to not cause you any pain. For a few seconds he stood there staring deeply into your eyes before leaning in close enough that you could feel his hot breath against your neck.

“Y/N, Are you trying to make me angry?”, he growled into your ear.

You felt goosebumps run down your spine in a good way.

“I…I just wanted to get your attention. You left your discharge ceremony and went straight to practicing for your performance. I just missed you and I wanted you to come home.”, you replied barely above a whisper.

“Baby.”, he mumbled into the skin of your neck as he followed that with a kiss, “I missed you too.”

Jungkook released his grip on your wrists allowing your arms to fall back down to your side.

“I’m sorry Y/N.”, he said rubbing his thumb across your cheek, “I guess I was just so excited to get back to performing again that I got a little too caught up in it. I never should’ve kept you waiting this long especially because I’ve missed you so so much.”

You melted into his body wrapping your arms around him, “And I’m sorry for purposely making you jealous.”

“It’s okay.”, he chuckled, “I kind of deserved it.”

“How about I make it up to you.”, you smirked.

He looked at you curiously with raised eyebrows, “I’m listening.”

You pulled the chair from the desk in your bedroom over to the middle of the room. Grabbing his hand you lead him over too and playfully pushed him to sit down in the same chair.

“Y/N…Wh-whats going on?”, he asked with surprised wide eyes.

“Wellll…while I was at the studio waiting on Hobi, Jimin came in and gave me a few pointers for how I can improve my lap dancing skill.

“Wait a minute!!You and Jimin were da-“, he tried to say in a panic, but you silenced him by straddling his lap, unbuckling his belt, and swallowing his words with a kiss in one single movement.

“Okay thank you Jimin I guess.”, he breathed when you pulled away allowing his hands to grab onto the hem of your shirt.

“Wait Y/N…”, he stopped you, “please tell me you’re not about to give me a lap dance while wearing a shirt with Yoongi Hyungs face on it?”, he whined.

You were so excited to have him with you that you almost forgot.

“No of course not.”, you giggled pulling the fabric off and tossing it across the room revealing the black lace lingerie you had been hiding underneath the whole time.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock, “Fuck…I should’ve been home hours ago.”

You turned around making sure to touch him in all of the right spots in the process, “Yeah…you really should have.”

#bts #bts x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook

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theharrowing · 6 months ago

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 24: I have a proposition for you

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Taehyung x Jungkook

🗡️ word count: 18.7k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️warnings: casually discussing & thinking about previous violent events (involving guns, knives, cars, etc.); use of MDMA & cocaine, as well as a lot of whiskey; explicit smut (sex swing; sex under the influence of drugs & alcohol; voyeurism/exhibitionism; threesome; multiple orgasms & overstimulation; squirting orgasm; going non-verbal; a hint of subspace; crashing from the need of more after care but also from drugs) mc is still spiraling a lot.

🗡️note: hello, hello!!! ngl, it annoys me that Jimin's and Hoseok's hair are the wrong color in the mood board but it's impossible finding a good square pic of those three. also!!!! this is a reminder that mc is bisexual lol. also!!! drug come-ups and come-downs happen unusually fast because this is fiction. and because this was originally at least two chapters that have been condensed into one.

🗡️ also note: i love you. thank you for waiting. 💜

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted Jan. 2025 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

With a jolt, you awaken, gasping and struggling to get your bearings. You blink, squinting against the sun that shines through the small rounded windows, slowly returning to consciousness. The plane bounces slightly as it taxis, and you lean over—or, rather, into—Hwasa as you peer out the window. The unfamiliar scenery reminds you that you are not home in Seoul but in Busan.

Bright sunlight causes your entire head to ache. You squeeze your eyes closed and bury your face into Hwasa's neck, which is soft and warm and smells like a fresh bouquet. She audibly pouts and raises a hand to shield your eyes, as well as pet your forehead.

"Rough night," she says sweetly, and you nod. "Don't worry, dove, we'll be home very soon."

The events of last night return in flashes, causing your stomach to roil unpleasantly. Despite Ryujin's insistence that Christian poses no threat, you are not so sure. The way he gripped your hand and stared at you felt pretty fucking threatening. He is not the man you once knew.

But you find it hard to believe she would put you in danger. After everything her family has done to harm Yoongi and his men, you imagine if anything happened to you, he would not hesitate to burn her home to the ground with everyone inside it. Just his display at the hideout alone speaks to his willingness to kill for you.

A cursory glance at your phone this morning showed Seokjin has managed to import everyone's numbers into your contact list. This assuages your concerns somewhat; at the very least, you are able to reach them should something go sideways. Never mind the fact that Seoul is four, possibly five hours away by car—a detail you choose to ignore for the time being.

You could text Yoongi right now and inform him of Christian's appearance. But what would that solve, realistically? He would likely appear with guns—or chopsticks—blazing and demand you return to a home that you so desperately felt the need to leave.

It is possible that Christian behaved the way he did last night because you nearly touched him. It could have been a sore spot for him to come so close to you again. Intoxicated, he may have behaved more strangely than usual. Perhaps bringing up his missing eye was triggering.

The plane finally slows to a stop, and one by one, the women begin to stretch and stand. A long red sedan waits outside, and you watch as staff members begin to move luggage from the plane to the back of the vehicle.

Your stomach lurches as you make your way to the steps and begin the descent to the tarmac. As tired as you are of questioning whether you are making a mistake, you are desperate to settle in and feel a semblance of peace. You would be happy to never leave your bedroom once you are introduced to one. It is not as if you are expected to work. At least, you don't think so.

Solar and Moonbyul climb into the far back of the vehicle, then Hwasa gets into the middle row and pats the seat for you to join her. You are about to scoot toward the center to make space for another, but Wheein rounds the vehicle and gets into the passenger seat as Ryujin slides into the driver's seat, making everyone accounted for.

Once you are buckled in and all the doors are closed, Ryujin is off, driving nauseatingly fast. She drives like she owns these streets—and maybe she does, but it makes you want to barf.

You close your eyes and lean into Hwasa, glad when she slots her arm around you easily. Now that the two of you will be under the same roof in a manner that feels more official, you wonder whether you should confront the way you feel around her. The butterflies, the dizziness, the urge to reach out and touch, the desire to be held just as you are now, but always. You are certain that it is nothing more than a crush and not worth dwelling on. But you are also aware of the fact that in no time at all your loneliness will shift to something carnal, and that having her in your bubble like this could become dangerously tempting.

"We're here," Hwasa says softly against the top of your head.

With a light, pleased sigh, you slowly open your eyes and begin to sit up. A large metal gate scrapes open, and you are greeted by the sight of a massive hanok made of beautiful, brightly stained pine wood and earthen bricks. Ridge-end tiles, pine purlins, and decoratively carved rafters and beams showcase traditional Korean craftsmanship.

The massive double doors are decorated with square metal frames, reminiscent of traditional wood and paper screen doors, and you watch in awe as the door on the right opens and several women come excitedly hopping out. You marvel at how tall and wide the structure is compared to them.

You recognize one of the women as the person who attempted to chuck a ball at your head the first time you went into Yoongi's pool. Surely, she must know that you have come to stay in the house. Is she likely to cause you more trouble, or have they been forced to come to some understanding that you will be living with them now?

Men in uniform follow behind the women and remain stationed at the door. They are dressed in black tactical gear, with handguns at their hips, and you think you even spot earpieces in their ears. Although you know their presence is meant to make you feel safe, something about their hard, stoic nature is off-putting, and you tear your gaze away.

"They're nice," Hwasa chides, gently pushing an elbow into your side. You must really look afraid for her to have noticed.

With a nod, you open the car door and slowly step out. It is warm, but there is a nice breeze that cools you. The sun, however, is bright and oppressive, and the more you stand directly in its shine, the harder your head pounds.

Ryujin and the girls gather all the luggage, including yours, and take it inside. You follow behind slowly, inviting Hwasa to link her arm into yours and lead you. The entrance is a small foyer with shoes on either side and two small tables on which keys and other items are stored, including sunglasses and chapsticks. You step out of your shoes and pass through a set of paper and wood screen doors, where the space opens up into what appears to be a massive sitting room that seems at least two stories tall.

Cushions, couches, and tables are strewn about with a pathway leading through the center and around the sides. The space is dimly lit with lamps interspersed and fairy lights that hang from the tall ceiling and along the walls, creating a dreamy atmosphere.

Through the space, there are hallways that lead to the left and the right, and a large, open kitchen and dining hall. The walls are white, with pine beams that complement the cabinets and floors, giving a traditional feel, but the counters and appliances are light marble and polished steel. Sinks are deep, wide basins with tall faucets that hang overhead, and the dishware appears to all be handmade ceramic, earthenware, and stainless steel.

On the far wall between the kitchen and a long dining table raised on a wooden platform is a door that Hwasa slides open, revealing a courtyard. She steps out onto a wooden ledge barefoot, and you follow behind. Stone paths snake and converge through a massive grassy space, surrounded by the rectangular shape of the hanok, with doors along the walls leading to what you imagine to be the various bedrooms.

"Ryujin sleeps in the far room," Hwasa says, pointing straight ahead to the opposite end of the large structure.

"I'm this way," she says, pointing to what you believe is the third door on the right, "And you will be this way," she says, tugging you to the left.

Along the length of the building is a wooden ledge, with a wide stone step in front of each room that leads down to the path, and on both sides of the ledge are potted plants. Some are flowers, some are small trees and shrubs; your room appears to be surrounded by bonsai trees.

Although the doors are traditional screen doors made of paper and wood, they have been enshrined in thick glass with ornate brass handles. As you reach the door to your new room and step up onto the wooden ledge, it slides open, revealing Ryujin's smiling face.

"Come on in," she says, pointing to a small white floor mat beside two sets of house shoes.

You step onto the mat, rubbing off any dirt that you may have tracked, then slide into the closest pair of soft white slippers before entering. There is a small entrance room similar to the foyer of the house, with a wooden railing to hang coats on the left and a wooden table and bowl on the right. In the bowl rests two gold keys on a small gold ring, and you reach for them, feeling their weight in your hand, and slide them into a pocket of the oversized hoodie that once belonged to Jeongguk.

The bedroom is a decent size, with a tall ceiling to accommodate a loft, the ladder for which is to the left as soon as you enter. A bed large enough to accommodate three is on a raised wooden platform on the right, with white pillows, blankets, and sheets. There is a dresser and a large mirror, all made of the same pine and brass as everything in the house, and similar to the doors, all the hinges on the furniture are in the shape of butterflies.

"This is lovely," you say, taking in the scent of the room. It seems to have been recently dusted, but there is a stuffiness to it that suggests it has been vacant for quite some time. You leave the door open to the courtyard as you sit down on the firm bed and take everything in.

"There is a small futon up in the loft, as well as a low table and cushions, in case you would prefer to be up there," Ryujin says. "And we can swap out the white bedding for something that feels a little more you."

You nod and crack a smile, saying, "Thank you."

"I might have something that's all black somewhere," she chides with a wink, making your cheeks warm. "In fact, one of my black comforters may have golden dragons embroidered on it. You can have a piece of Yoongi and Namjoon."

You hug your arms tightly around your middle, pulling your gaze away from her as she speaks. Although you are grateful for Ryujin's hospitality, it does feel strange knowing she has had such an intimate relationship with the men you love. Perhaps it is the casual nature with which she brings it up that you find particularly jarring.

"I will fetch you those items shortly," Ryujin says. "Feel free to look around. There are bathrooms interspersed throughout, but Hyejin and Hyungseo have master suites with their own. Luckily you do not have to work to butter anyone up to bathe in peace." She winks at you, then grins at Hwasa. "I also have a massive suite with a shower room and tub, which you are welcome to use any time."

Ryujin leaves the bedroom through the door that opens up to the hallway, but Hwasa takes your arm and tugs you back toward the courtyard. You step out of your slippers and slide the door closed, then follow her along the path leading to her door.

"It's faster than walking inside," she says, and you nod, finding it easy to imagine so. "There is also a shortcut from the front of the house, so you don't have to walk through the living room. And if you take a path past mother's door, there is a large outdoor pool and garden. Just don't be alarmed by the guards. They tend to hide in plain sight."

Hwasa pulls out a small ring of keys and slots a golden one into the door, twisting and then retracting it before sliding the door open. You step inside and are immediately hit with a sensation opposite to your bedroom.

Hwasa's room is much larger than yours, with an open door on the left that leads to a bathroom. She has no loft, only a tall ceiling from which she has hung fairy lights and fluffy clouds. Her bedding is pale pink, clothing and jewelry are strewn about, and the air smells distinctly of her. She sits on the bed and reaches for the drawer of the pine bedside table. From inside, she takes out a small golden key and holds it out for you.

"What is this?" you ask, dumbfounded.

"A key to my room, silly," she says through a chuckle.

You take the key between your fingers and examine it, but you are filled with a torrent of conflicting emotions.

"I couldn't possibly—" you begin, holding the key out to her, but she pushes your hand away, saying, "Nonsense. Just take it. You might get lonely in this large house, and I don't need you thinking you have to ask for permission each time you want to come see me."

You slide the key into your pocket, hearing it rattle beside your phone and the keys to your room. You do not tell her that you intend to knock or text before coming over and that it is something she is going to need to accept.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, and you nod. You are more than hungry; you feel absolutely hollowed out.

Hwasa leads you into the house this time, and you take light steps on bare feet, worried about making too much noise; hesitant to draw too much attention. At the end of the hall, you turn right and walk past the raised dining table, at which two women sit on the floor and pick at plates of fruit and bread.

“We have a chef who comes in the morning to stock the fridge,” Hwasa says as she approaches a large, wide refrigerator.

The stainless steel doors open from the center and inside are rows and stacks of glass containers filled with food. Hwasa rummages, pulling out a tub of cubed melons. You find a tub of glass noodles with carrot and other finely cut vegetables, and Hwasa retrieves a cold bottle of grapefruit-flavored soju. You expect to be led to the long table, but Hwasa opens the containers on the counter, retrieves bowls and utensils, and serves herself food only to immediately eat it where she stands. You do not object and do the same.

Slowly, the area fills with women, but you keep your head down, eating the food. The noodles are filling and the fruit is refreshing; the soju brings a little warmth to your chest and very slightly assuages your anxiety.

"Don't worry, you will get to know everyone soon enough," Hwasa mutters.

You hum, but you are not too certain it is possible. There must be at least twenty bedrooms connected to the long halls of the hanok, and you imagine there are rooms that could contain more than one person. How many women might clamber into Ryujin's bed at night, you wonder. Do they all have rooms of their own?

After eating, Hwasa returns the containers to the fridge while you take the used dishes and utensils to the sink and wash them. A large bamboo rack is on the left side of the sink, already stacked with various items, and you add yours to the pile, too unsure where things go to offer putting dried items away.

"Come," Hwasa says, tugging at your hands as soon as you are able to dry them on a cloth that hangs above the sink in a large window overlooking the courtyard. "Let's take a bottle to the gardens and lie on the grass."

With a new bottle of soju, you are led down a long hallway, past all the closed doors, to a gate nestled to the right of Ryujin's wide-open bedroom door. You glance into the space to find her room in bright pastels, namely yellow and orange, and as you avert your eyes, you think about the bedroom in Yoongi's mansion that was inherited from her. After seven years, things have been left the same, and you are unsure how to feel about that.

* * *

You are groggy and chilly as you roll over, waking up to the feeling of grass tickling your left cheek. At which point you had fallen asleep, you are unsure, but you are glad when Hwasa stirs and groans beside you.

Ryujin's garden is so similar to Yoongi's that when you first laid eyes on it, tears prickled, and you felt the overwhelming urge to spiral into an anxiety attack. Statues, shrub walls, fountains…there is even a shrub maze that Hwasa invited you to walk through, but the thought of it conjured memories of Namjoon, and you suggested instead to lie in the grass as was originally planned. The weight of everything must have pressed you down into a brief but deep sleep. The soju bottle was barely touched.

It is hard not to wonder whether you will ever see Yoongi's garden again. From where you sit, on a slight hill overlooking the labyrinth, you can see the large statue of a minotaur near the center, and you wonder whether Ryujin did it as an homage or a fuck you to Yoongi's garden. You like the addition of the minotaur but dislike how it mirrors the theme of Greek iconography. How much of her former life with Yoongi has Ryujin kept here? How often does she think of him? Are you as safe with her as everyone claims?

The rest of the day feels like a blur. You follow Hwasa around until it is time to retire for the night, at which time the roles reverse and she follows you. She offers to help you unpack your suitcase, but you opt to leave it for tomorrow. There is a finality in unpacking that you are not yet ready to face, despite the suitcase remaining a symbol of your ability to leave at any time. You suppose it is complicated. You do, however, find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in the depths of your luggage that are not as soft and comfortable as the ones you had been pilfering from Yoongi over the last several months but cozy enough to make you feel slightly more relaxed. Then you hug Hwasa good night, allowing her to place a kiss on your cheek but feeling incapable of returning the gesture.

Although the walls do a good job of keeping noise out, there is a faint, distant liveliness that can be heard from somewhere inside the hanok. You assume from the living room or possibly the dining room.

You climb into the cold bed and pull the white comforter up to your ears. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You consider calling Namjoon but decide against it, worrying you may ask him to come bring you home. After lying still for an indeterminate amount of time, you sigh, get out of bed, and retrieve the golden keys from the wooden bowl beside your door.

The night is cold as you tiptoe in bare feet out into the courtyard, which is illuminated by string lights, light pollution, and a very bright moon. Although you clench the key to Hwasa's door, as you approach, you gently knock. It only takes a handful of seconds before a light turns on, and another handful until her door slides open. You enter without a word, wipe your feet off, and slide the door closed. Your keys jingle and slide into the basin of the wooden bowl.

Hwasa is barefaced and sleepy, and she smiles lopsided when she climbs into her bed and scoots to one side, facing you as you slip under the warm covers and nestle one arm under the pillow. Once you are settled, she rotates enough to shut off a small bedside lamp, shrouding you in darkness and the scent of flowers. Moments later, you are asleep.

* * *

The hanok is chaotic all day, from the moment you wake to the sounds of voices shouting excitedly, to the moment you stand before Hwasa's mirror wearing borrowed items, giving yourself one last look before setting off into the night. You hardly remember eating food, drinking coffee, and meeting women; your nerves have been alight at the knowledge that you will see your men one more time. One last time, you suppose, for the foreseeable future. It all makes your head spin, and you struggle to focus.

You wear the same asymmetrical little black dress that you wore the first day you met Yoongi—not because you find it amusing, although you do—but because you left behind all the dresses he bought you, and this is the only one you have that seems to fit the vibe of Serendipity.

Hwasa has draped your neck and wrists in gold chains, and you wear borrowed gold daisies in your ears that don't quite match but that you are fond of. She and Ryujin give you the smoky eye look that Yoongi likes so much and pin your hair back away from your face. Borrowed fishnet tights make you feel a bit self-conscious, but you enjoy the way they look with your black loosely-laced boots. You wonder whether the men will recognize the bits of your outfit that you once wore or if they even noticed your dress at all on that first day.

Everyone else wears black and gold, Hwasa in a tight bodice top and pencil skirt with stiletto heels, and Ryujin in a long-sleeve cropped turtleneck and tight leggings with tall boots. Both women are adored in chains, earrings, bracelets, and rings, shimmering with each movement, with their dark hair pinned from their faces and hanging down their backs, Hwasa's falling in pretty waves and Ryujin's perfectly straight.

Despite feeling excitement over seeing the men, you are also concerned about letting loose and feeling too comfortable, teetering continuously between wanting to stay and wanting to return to the mansion. As you take your medications followed by deep, slow breaths, you tell yourself to stop spiraling along this familiar train of thought. You know that it does you no good, and yet it loops endlessly. Finally, when everyone is ready and you feel like you have your shit as together as possible, you allow yourself to be ushered out to the long red SUV.

The drive to Serendipity is so short you could have walked there. Perhaps in another life, you would not need armored vehicles driving you from one destination to another. What had it been like all those months ago to finally have a modicum of freedom? How difficult would it be to run away for real and return to a lifestyle bogged down by working night shift jobs that allow you to be your own person again?

Several security guards are stationed at the door, glowing in the bright red of the familiar sign that reads Serendipity overhead. Ryujin has informed you that only her people, Yoongi's people, and neutral parties to the families will be in attendance, with the exception of bartenders and dancers. So it surprises you when you enter the building and it is already packed. You recognize men from Yoongi's staff but do not see the family men or any of the security staff you have gotten to know. Hwasa veers away immediately with the promise of being right back, so you stick close to Ryujin.

Last time you were here, Yoongi took you directly through dark hallways into a VIP space. This time, you enter the main floor. There is an open area with tables scattered throughout and a large bar on the left. A dancefloor is ahead in a semi-partitioned area, and the VIP section is raised to the far right, overlooking the dancefloor. Your gaze hangs on the VIP section, wondering whether your men are nestled away in those booths, bending low over piles of cocaine as Yoongi had you do—a memory that feels like an indoctrination of sorts into this lifestyle. But as far as you can tell, nobody is over there.

Everything is made of unassuming dark wood and shiny silver metal. It is far less flashy than you would expect from someone like Yoongi, considering it was his bar first. Nothing stands out but the bars, dance cages, and open space, as if the only thing that is meant to be experienced here are the people who come to dance. Or, perhaps, the main draw is downstairs…the thought of which makes you shiver.

Throughout the space, there are raised platforms with bars similar to the dance cages at Paradise. Inside, dancers clad in almost nothing sway and twist to the sultry music that plays overhead. It seems that most attendees are in this first room and not yet on the dancefloor. They congregate around the tall tables and in groups. You scan the room over and over for someone who is more than just vaguely familiar from the Hanok or security teams and feel disappointed when you do not find anyone to run off to as Ryujin places a hand on the back of your right arm and ushers you toward the bar.

People step aside as you approach, giving you and Ryujin a wide berth while never breaking from their conversations. Some turn to bow their heads to Ryujin, but most carry on as if she is not there. Once you are at the bar, Ryujin holds up three fingers, and the tender nods and turns to the shelves, producing a bottle that appears to hold whiskey.

"Your men are running late," she sighs as she glances at her phone before tucking it back into a pocket of her leggings. You feel relieved and disappointed at the same time.

"MDMA for the ladies?" the bartender offers as they set down three glasses of whiskey. You reach for the center glass and glance around for the owner of the third, happy when you see Hwasa's smiling face approaching.

"None for me," Ryujin says, but Hwasa chimes, "Yes, please!"

The bartender produces a small brass decorative box. When they open it, a twinkling song plays, but its tune is lost to the music playing overhead. In the lid of the box is a mirror that reflects your chest, and spinning slowly before the mirror is the figure of a tiny ballerina in a little pink tutu. The box is filled with a white substance that appears to be a mix of powder and crystals, and you turn to watch as Hwasa licks her fingertip and sticks it directly into the substance, then pulls it out, inspecting the powder and small lumps of crystal that coat her fingertip.

"It's fun," she says to you, eyebrows raised.

You nibble on the inside of your mouth, uncertain. The last time you did a similar drug with Jeongguk, you completely lost control of your emotions. But you were also in a more emotionally tumultuous state at the time, and you wonder whether doing it tonight might be different.

"I, uh…I actually took some with Jeongguk not too long ago and I think it had an adverse effect."

Hwasa frowns and asks, "Was it exactly like this?"

You examine the dust and shake your head. "It was more of an…"

"Amethyst color?" Ryujin fills in over your shoulder. You nod, turning your head slightly toward her.

"This stuff is a lot more pure," Hwasa says. "Amethyst was good, but it wasn't quite perfect. Of course, no pressure. But if you want to try a tiny bit, you can always return for more."

"Jeongguk mentioned it may have counteracted my antidepressants. But I was also in a really bad headspace." You feel like you are overexplaining, but truthfully, you are curious to try it again, especially if the women say this version is better than the one he had.

"How much did you take?" Ryujin asks.

"A small capsule," you say, turning to face her more fully.

Ryujin gives a knowing nod. "There are several factors that go into play when taking a drug like this. A capsule could have been too high of a dose, and rather than make you feel euphoric, it overwhelmed you."

You certainly felt overwhelmed that night. And you wonder whether it was the combination of what was in your system that made everything go sour or the aftermath of what Jeongguk had said to you. Do you think you could fall for someone like me? A shutter works its way along your spine.

"I would like to try a little," you say, eager to feel the euphoria and body high that you had the last time before everything went south.

You turn to Hwasa, whose finger is still coated in the drug. With a grin, she says, "This amount should only last about an hour or two. And the come-up and come-down are a lot smoother than they were with amethyst."

With a nod, you begin to lift a finger to your lips in order to wet the tip, but Hwasa beats you to it, holding her own close to your mouth. She raises an eyebrow, and you part your lips, feeling as self-conscious as you are excited to be given an invitation to suck on her finger. The substance is alarmingly sour, and your face puckers as you suck harder, doing your best to get all of it. Hwasa giggles, and when she removes her finger, you quickly pick up your whiskey and knock a mouthful back. As soon as you do so, you begin to worry that you are once again not in a good place to be doing drugs like this. But then you think of Yoongi and Namjoon, and warmth fills your chest, making it hard to imagine your night could turn sour.

Perhaps it is the nerves of waiting for the drug to kick in, but you drink your whiskey a little too fast. It makes you feel light on your feet, especially considering you only snacked all day, not having much of an appetite in anticipation for tonight. You ask for water and are relieved when a large, cold glass is set before you.

Hwasa and Ryujin both lean against the bar facing the main room, and you do the same, clenching the chilled glass as you rest your elbows against the bar top. You look between caged dancers, from glistening pecs and hard abs to soft curves. But your eyes trail to the front door the most, waiting for the men to arrive. It is not like Yoongi to be late, and the longer you wait, the more antsy you become.

And then, slowly, you begin to feel the tingle. It starts in your fingertips but resonates in your chest, too. You feel a warmth work its way over you, but also a chill—it's hard to fully grasp. More than anything, you have an overwhelming feeling that something is missing. Or, rather, someones. Plural.

Hwasa and a few of the women from Ryujin's home dance and giggle beside you. You continue to hold tight to the glass in your hands, eyes trailing back to the front entrance over and over. You would like to dance and sway and get to know the other women a little better, especially since they have stolen your pretty friend's attention. But you feel glued in place with a budding, blooming sense of enrapture and intrigue.

You sigh, drain the contents of your glass of water, and spin on your toes to lean against the bar and perceive a different, calmer perspective. As you set the glass down on the wooden bar top and stand taller in order to get the tender's attention, deciding that perhaps you would like more whiskey to take the edge off, two large, warm hands cover your eyes.

"Guess who," a rich, playful male voice says, and you grin, lifting your hands to cover his long fingers.

"Taehyung," you say, heart pounding, chest filling with warmth.

His hands fall away, and you spin around quickly, unable to hold back glee at the sight of Taehyung standing before you. He is dapper in a deep purple suit with a gold brooch of a tiger on his lapel and a caduceus on his breast pocket, connected by two gold chains.

"Finally," you say, slamming forward into a hug that he hesitates to return. Your arms slide around his ribs, and you flay your fingers open against his back, breathing in his earthy, spicy cologne that carries floral notes reminding you of Jeongguk. You squeeze, and he chuckles as his arms engulf you, gently squeezing back.

"I have a surprise for you," he says as you break the hug, keeping your arms loosely around his waist.

It feels good to hug—really fucking good—and you do not want to stop. You tilt your head to the side, glancing up into his devious eyes. "A surprise?"

Taehyung's eyes study yours, then he leans close and says, "Your pupils are quite dilated. What are you on?"

"Molly," you admit somewhat sheepishly. "Not too much, though. Didn't want a repeat of last time."

Although you have not spoken with Taehyung about last time, you assume that Jeongguk has. He gives a knowing nod.

"There are many factors that can cause someone to have a bad high," Taehyung explains, "one of which is allowing oneself to spiral into a negative thought loop. Sometimes even the best uppers struggle to fight against our demons. If you feel yourself going down that path, you can either do your best to reroute your thinking or remove yourself from the situation entirely."

You nod along, in appreciation of Taehyung's advice. However, it is all a bit too much—too stuffy, too serious—and you lose your patience for it.

Grinning, you ask, "What's my surprise?"

Taehyung chuckles. "I left it somewhere secluded and secretive." He holds out a hand and adds, "Follow me?"

You take Taehyung's hand and allow him to tug you along. Intrigue and excitement simmer through you, pulsing to the beat of the music but also to that of your heart. The path he drags you through is a familiar one: dark curtains, a narrow hallway that leads to a red-lit stairwell snaking deep into the building. The last time you were here, things were so different. You were so new to this world. So inexperienced.

What are you afraid of? Yoongi had asked, pressuring you into trying cocaine. Don't you trust me?

You shake the thought away, doing your best to remember what Taehyung said about keeping a positive mindset. After all, the visit here wasn't all that bad. The tone of his voice when he proudly proclaimed, that's my girl, made all of the pressure feel better. Things had gotten pretty exciting up until Namjoon called. Warmth snakes up your neck to your cheeks at the memory. Namjoon called, and Yoongi let him sit on the line while he finished eating you out.

At the bottom of the stairs, all the black doors are closed but one, which is cracked ever so slightly open. A soft purplish glow shines in a sliver from the bottom and right side of the door at the far end of the hall. Your palm prickles with sweat in Taehyung's hand, and you do your best not to wobble, feeling the full force of excitement laced with joy. And then Taehyung halts in place halfway to the door.

"Ah," he says, releasing your hand, "I nearly forgot."

In a swift movement, Taehyung removes a black piece of cloth from the breast of his jacket and places it over your eyes. Before you can so much as gasp, the cloth is tied tightly and he is taking your hand in his once more.

"You may commence walking," he says before tugging you along, and you stumble somewhat, legs struggling to keep up.

You think you hear voices, but then Taehyung snaps his fingers several times, louder than you have ever heard someone snap their fingers before. And then all you hear is the sound of downtempo music, footsteps, and your whooshing pulse.

A door closes, and you are led further. Then you are stopped.

"We thought it might be fun to play a game," Taehyung says as he lets go of your hand. You hear and feel him stepping away, possibly behind you, before two warm hands are placed on your shoulders. His voice is close to your right ear as he says, "A guessing game."

You smile widely. "And what do I win?"

There is a pause. Beside your left ear, he says, "Pleasure."

Goosebumps cover you and you let out a long, deep sigh, biting on your lower lip. Although you cannot see who is in the room, you can sense them. Colognes mingle in the air, all familiar, all filling you with desire.

In your right ear, he asks, "Are you ready, mon chéri?"

You swoon from the term of endearment, from the accent in which he utters it, from his closeness. Although your relationship with Taehyung differs from the others, you feel a deep sense of longing toward him—a kinship that extends just beyond the boundaries of something platonic.

"Yes," you say, breathy. Eager.

Taehyung's hands tighten on your shoulders, and then he steps away, leaving you to stand alone, suddenly a bit cold. "Keep your hands at your sides at all times," he tells you.

You nod, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, sir," he says in a commanding tone, and you let out a surprised gasp.

You respond, "Yes, sir," but your voice is light and breathy. You expect him to reprimand you and tell you to speak louder, but he does not.

"You are going to feel a touch," Taehyung says from just to your right, slightly behind you. "Perhaps you will detect a scent. You only have one guess per man. Answer incorrectly and they leave the room. Answer correctly, and they stay."

Leave the room? Anxiety swells knowing the stakes are so high. You swallow the lump that slowly forms in your throat and take a deep breath. You know your men. There is no way you are going to lose this game.

"How many are there?" you ask, worried Seokjin, Hoseok, or Jimin could be lingering somewhere, ready to throw you off.

Taehyung sighs, and you smile slightly.

"There are three, as well as myself. But I am not playing."

You nod and lick your lips. You can handle this, you tell yourself. This should be easy.

"Let us begin," Taehyung says.

You stand up straight, rolling your shoulders back as if good posture will give you any sort of advantage. Something in the room seems to shift, and you hear the rustle of fabric but not shoes. Unfair, you think, determined that you would be able to identify Yoongi's walk, if not the others.

Before you feel a touch, you detect a scent: spring morning, fresh and bright. You smile, lick your lips, and open your mouth, ready to greet Namjoon. But then you feel the backs of fingertips grazing your cheeks, and there is a musk that follows, which does not match the rest of the cologne.

The touch is delicate, trailing from your temple to below your ear, down the length of your neck. Your head turns, chasing the touch and the scent before fingers fall away. Silence hangs as you stand and wait, unsure whether you should guess. And then those hands grip you by the hips from behind, large and warm and so familiar.

As you inhale, thinking about all the times those hands have held you like this—all those times bent over and begging—you exhale and mutter through an aroused sigh, "Yoongi."

The fingers dig, grip tightening, and you picture his sharp, devious smile. And then the touch disappears, and you hear the rustling of more fabric.

Two hands grip onto your hips from in front of you, and you can feel the heat radiate from him, sensing he has stepped very close. He leans and rests his forehead against yours, and the bouquet of scents is unmistakable.

"Jeongguk," you declare, and the touch recedes completely.

In the seconds that pass before you detect the same blend of colognes as before, you begin to worry you may have guessed incorrectly the first time. It seems clear that Yoongi and Namjoon are trying to trick you, and you are certain that Yoongi has touched you the way the first man had. But, as far as you know, Namjoon could have, too. The grip on your hips felt like Yoongi—of that, you are certain. You take a deep breath and do your best to calm your nerves, but the drug has you feeling antsy.

Fingers cradle your chin, and you part your lips instinctively. Rather than a kiss, you feel the slow press of a thumb before the hand slides down, and the fingers splay across your throat. Typically, it is Yoongi who touches you this way, and you begin to panic, worrying more than ever that you chose the wrong man.

But then you focus on the feeling of the hand. It is large, warm, soft, and familiar, but it is not Yoongi's hand. It slides away, and then two hands gently grab your ribs as if steadying you or readying you for a hug. You can tell these men are trying to trick you, but it is not going to work because you know these hands.

"Namjoon," you say, voice broken behind the sudden urge to cry.

Footsteps approach from behind—Taehyung, undoubtedly—and then the cloth is lifted from your eyes, and you are left blinking to adjust to the red and purple lights cast from various bulbs, focusing on Namjoon's beautiful smile. His muscles strain under a jacket that is too tight for him, and you giggle as you step forward, causing his hands to slide around your back as you lean close for a kiss. But you stop just before meeting his lips as you notice something is different.

"Your hair," you say as you reach a hand up and rub it over a short stubble. He has a buzzcut, even all around with neatly shaven edges.

Namjoon nods slightly, but seems more interested in that kiss you interrupted than explaining the new look. He presses close, hums with pleasure, and holds you tight, licking firmly into your mouth in a way that nearly makes your knees buckle. You are too high to do anything but allow yourself to be tasted and touched, and as soon as he breaks the kiss, you mutter, "Does this mean I've won?"

Yoongi approaches from the right, stepping behind you and placing his large hands on your hips. You lean into him, smiling at Namjoon as Yoongi says, "You even saw through our parlor trick."

You pout, raising a hand to gently slap it over Namjoon's pec. He holds your hand in place, sandwiching you between their two bodies while two sets of lips claim your shoulders and neck.

"We had faith in you," Namjoon teases, making you feel all the more petulant.

You whine, "But what if I guessed wrong?"

Yoongi nips at your neck, forcing you to giggle and close your eyes. His voice is barely above a growl as he says, "Then you would have fucked Jeongguk while Namjoon and I took another room."

"Not funny," you whimper as hands rove your sides, grazing below your breasts and squeezing at your hips. You feel so good, but you also want to cause as much trouble as possible for these two. "I've missed you."

Fingertips cradle your chin, guiding you to turn your head to the right.

"What's the matter, doll?" Jeongguk asks, "Didn't you miss me?"

Your eyes blink open to find Jeongguk scowling at you. His satin leopard print shirt is unbuttoned below his pecs, and you allow your eyes to fall, taking in each hint of skin you can see. It is apparent that he is trying to appear angry, but his gaze is soft, almost loving.

Do you think you could fall for someone like me?

You push the thought away and reach an arm just far enough to hook a finger on Jeongguk's slacks and pull him close. As he stumbles and looms over you, you grin, tilting your chin toward him, wishing you could stretch yourself a little taller.

Jeongguk chuckles and leans in just close enough to press your lips together. You want more, straining toward him, but then he backs away and begins to fully unbutton his shirt.

"Our buttercup is high on molly," Taehyung announces, met with a chorus of hums and gasps. You bite your lip and sheepishly nod, eyes on the large swath of Jeongguk's bare stomach and chest.

"How high are you?" Yoongi groans against your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed from his touch, and you press your ass against him. Although you had somewhat forgotten about the molly, now you feel it absolutely shimmering through you. "Quite high."

Namjoon presses himself close and licks over your lips, then asks, "I bet you're pretty turned on, then, hmm?"

You smile. "How could I not be?"

"I have just the thing," Taehyung says as he walks past you to the center of the room. He disappears behind Namjoon, then reappears with a step stool that he places down and begins to climb.

Only now do you realize that there is something on the ceiling, which Taehyung unravels with quick movements. You have to heavy-blink several times to realize it is a sex swing.

"Undress her," Taehyung says.

Namjoon grins wide and devious, then says, "Yes, sir," just loud enough.

Two sets of hands make quick work unzipping your dress and yanking it—pushing it to the floor. You wobble and stumble as you step out of your boots and socks, clinging to Namjoon's shoulders while Yoongi, on his knees, assists you. Standing in only fishnets and panties, you feel simultaneously warm and cold as Yoongi stands, trailing his fingertips up the backs of your legs. He hooks his fingers into the netting of your borrowed stockings right in the crotch and roughly rips a hole in them, making you tremble and gasp.

"Fuck, I have missed you," Yoongi growls, hands roughly gripping your hips. Namjoon nods, eyes roving your body hungrily.

"On the swing," Taehyung instructs. "On your back."

Namjoon turns and leads you toward the swing. It looks like nothing more than an amalgamation of straps, and you watch as he clumsily lifts and attempts to sort them. With an exasperated huff, Taehyung steps forward, grabs onto the contraption, and simply presents it in a way that looks like a swing. You are surprised and amused, and you turn, stepping close to it and allowing Taehyung to lift you into it.

You giggle, and your head spins as your legs are maneuvered through straps and spread. It feels strange to trust these bits of rough fabric to hold you up, and you grip onto two sturdy straps that are connected to the ceiling brace while the swing is adjusted beneath you, and you are gradually convinced that it is safe to lie back.

"Darling," Yoongi teases through a chuckle as he unbuttons his dress shirt. "You look so worried. Relax."

You watch intently, chest heaving with each breath. Although you are eager for the events that are transpiring, you are also very high, verging on feeling overwhelmed. Not to mention, your heart feels ripped into warring halves—one part wanting to experience Yoongi and Namjoon again, and the other worried that it is a very bad idea.

Yoongi's black shirt is untucked from his slacks and slid off his broad shoulders by Namjoon, whose eyes are on you. He gently drapes the shirt over the edge of the large bed to your left, then returns, unbuttoning his cufflinks while Yoongi steps forward and gets down on his knees. It is difficult to keep your eyes on him; your eyelids flutter with the urge to close them and become lost to the drugs. But you remain as laser-focused as possible.

"Fuck," Yoongi says as he roughly spreads your legs, warm, calloused fingers yanking fabric to the side and digging into soft skin. "You have no idea how much I have missed this."

You open your mouth to say me too, but the first syllable is lost to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue against your clit. A loud moan rolls from your lips, chased by an intense wave of pleasure that courses through your limbs, causing your head to fall. Yoongi does not give you a chance to catch your breath, sucking and licking while making the most depraved sounds—groaning like a man who is finally satiated after days of fasting. Pleasure builds quickly, and you can already imagine the deep, pleased laugh he makes before teasing you for cuming too quickly.

The sound of a zipper causes you to open your eyes, and you find your head, which is hung back in ecstasy, level with Namjoon's crotch. Reluctantly, you reach back, gasping both from pleasure and the feeling of the swing shifting and swaying from the movement.

Yoongi, either helpful, impatient, or both, grips your thighs tightly, holding you in place. You rub your hands over the sides of Namjoon's legs, licking your dry lips, wishing you had water. Namjoon lets his slacks slide down, and the fabric tumbles to the ground. A particularly slow lap over your cunt causes you to shiver and moan, losing focus on the prize above your semi-upside-down head, and Namjoon chuckles as he palms the tight dark cloth over his growing erection.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean back, head fully upside down, sinking into the pleasure that claws at you so fiercely, you are moments away from bursting. Clothing rustles, metal clangs, and you feel hands on your legs and ankles lifting and spreading you while Yoongi continues to suck and lick. It is clear that you are being restrained, with fabric encircling your ankles and keeping them suspended high. When you open your eyes and attempt to take in the scene, you realize you are tilted back too far to see Yoongi's head between your legs. Instead, you see Jeongguk towering over him.

Fingers breach your entrance, sliding easily despite the tight sting, causing you to whimper. Yoongi's thick knuckles graze deliciously past your walls, and as you relax to his intrusion, his tongue and lips match the steady pace of his hand, bringing you crashing instantly with orgasm. Your head falls back hanging as you squeal and gasp, so overcome with bliss that you feel the urge to crawl out of your skin. You tremble wildly, held tightly in place as your legs yank against their restraints. Yoongi does not slow or stop, and you find yourself gasping for breath and practically screaming from pleasure.

"That's it, doll," Jeongguk practically growls, voice deep and lust-laced. "Make a fucking mess of him."

Only now do you hear the release squelching wetly from you with the movement of Yoongi's hand. Liquid sprays on your thighs, and you gulp for air, no longer able to moan, simply heaving each breath in and out of your tired lungs.

Yoongi removes his mouth and slides his fingers free. When he stands, you notice his mouth glistening, and he makes a show of licking you from his fingers with a hum. Namjoon, who is nude, thick cock erect and level with your face, steps around the swing, meeting Yoongi halfway, and licks your cum from his chin and lips. They kiss deeply, hungrily, lapping your taste from one another, and you watch reverently, wishing for one of them to kiss you in that way—too need you in that way. How is it, you wonder, that you can be practically nude, restrained, covered in your own cum, and the center of attention, and still feel such a deep, aching sense of loneliness and dread?

The feeling fades as skin rubs over your cunt, soft yet firm. You turn your head, slowly as if in a dream, and find Jeongguk standing between your legs with his satin leopard shirt unbuttoned and his slacks open, cock standing erect between the parted zipper. He glares down at you like an animal who has caught his prey, and you part your lips to take a deep, eager breath, feeling at a loss for words.

"May I?" Jeongguk asks, rubbing his cockhead over you once more—undoubtedly the sensation you felt moments ago.

You nod, head turning once more to watch Yoongi and Namjoon paw at one another, connected at the lips, then return your gaze to Jeongguk. He stares down at you as if in waiting, so you croak out a soft, "Please."

"Please, what?" Jeongguk asks.

Licking your lips, you notice Taehyung standing over Jeongguk's shoulder, dark eyes on you. You are high enough that you wonder whether he would like to fuck you, as well. And with a lift of one of his eyebrows, you wonder whether he has somehow just read your mind, although it is more likely that he is encouraging you to answer Jeongguk.

"Please fuck me," you finally say to Jeongguk, though you have failed to rip your gaze from Taehyung. His hands are nowhere to be seen, and you can't help but imagine him touching himself to the sight of you.

"Slowly," Taehyung says, eyes on you. "Make her beg a little more."

Jeongguk grins, responds with a sharp, "Yes, sir," and steps forward. His cock rubs against you again, grazing over your clit before catching on your entrance, and you hold your breath in anticipation. Only he does not press forward. He does not enter you. Instead, he stands watching you with a hint of a grin that spells trouble. And you are not too proud to beg.

"Jeongguk," you mutter, wiggling in the swing, doing your best to push yourself forward but doing nothing that helps your cause whatsoever. "Please."

"Please, wh—"

"Fuck me!" you practically scream.

Jeongguk chuckles, as does Taehyung. To your right, where Yoongi and Namjoon had been connected at the lips, the shapes and shadows of them move to stand behind you.

"Please," you say again, knitting your brow, attempting to hold your head up despite how tired your neck feels. You hold eye contact as well as you can manage, but your eyelids flicker against your will. "Please fuck me. I need you."

Hands reach and grab your breasts—tan, lithe fingers; Namjoon's hands. He squeezes you firmly and rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, causing you to exhale and almost drop your head. You want to feel full so badly, and you wish Jeongguk would cave.

"I said go slow and make her beg," Taehyung says as his hands snake around Jeongguk's waist and rub over his chest and stomach, "not leave her empty and desperate."

Jeongguk's eyes fall to your cunt, where he rubs himself languidly over you, teasing your parted lips and ghosting over your hole. He appears hypnotized, staring down at you, barely moving. This makes Taehyung snicker and paw a little more aggressively at his chest.

"If you won't fuck her, I'm sure someone else will," Taehyung says, gaze roving between your pussy and your face. "You don't want to lose your chance, do you, baby?"

You attempt to read his expression, wondering whether he is insinuating that he will be the one to finally fill you the way you need—a thought that you are not sure you should be having but that the drugs will not let you let go of. Neck tired, you drop your head back and shiver, feeling suddenly cold. You begin to become acutely aware of how untouched and naked you are. Even Namjoon's hands have moved away from your chest, leaving you on display.

"Please, someone," you complain, sounding whinier than you want. You shiver harder, each second seeming to pull you down from your high and cover you in a mist of freezing discomfort. "Touch me."

Warm hands press to your forehead and face, and you look up to see Yoongi leaning over you. His brow is knit, outgrown hair hanging prettily in his face. "Are you coming down?" He asks.

You nod. You must be; the jittery discomfort is impossible to ignore, and the euphoria feels dull.

"Hang on, Ggeuk," Yoongi says as he disappears. He rummages through some fabric and reappears. "This is the same as the shit you took upstairs," he says, then, "Open," and you do as you are told, opening your mouth with an exaggerated ahhh sound. The powder that hits your tongue is intensely bitter and antiseptic tasting, causing you to cringe and pucker, desperately gathering all the saliva you can in your mouth and swallowing it down.

Namjoon, however, takes your mouth and prises it open, then leans close and dribbles cold water from his lips to yours. When and where Namjoon produced water, you are unsure, but you open wide, accepting his offering graciously, allowing it to drip down your throat, taking traces of the unpleasant flavor with it.

"More?" he asks, and you nod, still feeling the lingering drugs on your tongue. Namjoon lifts a glass to his lips, fills his mouth, and then leans close, allowing it to spittle out and onto your tongue.

Once Namjoon is finished, he stands and takes a step back. Yoongi steps close and, taking advantage of how wide open your mouth still is, begins to tap the head of his cock against your tongue. You attempt to open wider—attempt to move closer—reaching back in the hopes of grabbing onto him and moving him near enough to allow you to suck his dick. However, even he seems eager to tease, and he keeps himself just out of reach. You whimper and moan, mouth lolled open. Namjoon chuckles and reaches once more to paw at your breasts, keeping his beautifully erect cock too far from reach, as well.

"You guys are the worst," you pout, closing your mouth to Yoongi's teasing and jutting out your bottom lip instead.

"Alright," Yoongi chuckles, reaching for your jaw. "No more teasing. Jeonggukah, fuck her right now or Namjoon will take your place."

You miss whatever snarky remark Jeongguk says in favor of loudly saying, "Finally!"

Hands grip your thighs, and you are speared unceremoniously and somewhat unyieldingly on Jeongguk's thick, hard cock. The sensation makes you squeal, involuntarily bucking your hips, and he grips tightly, forcing you to take his entire length all at once.

"Fuck," you pant, mouth hung open and attempting to angle your head upward to watch Jeongguk fuck you. But your head is held in place as two fingers press down on your tongue, causing drool to pool before those fingers are replaced with a dick.

Suddenly, you are too full, worked from both ends—gently on one end and rather roughly on the other. You attempt to breathe and relax as your throat is slowly but eagerly opened and fucked, all the while Jeongguk's thighs slam against you in a rhythm that jostles you and causes you to deepthroat who you presume to be Yoongi.

Had Taehyung's earlier game been testing whether you would be able to tell the difference between their dicks in your mouth with you down on your knees, you think you would have easily won. You think you would know any part of them inside any part of you. But at this angle, unable to even properly see the legs of the man who holds you so tenderly but eagerly, with Jeongguk pounding into you like a ravenous beast, you are stumped. Everyone in the room seems to be moaning and gasping, and you imagine that whoever's dick is not in your mouth is in someone else's hand, judging by the sound of skin rubbing against skin. The hands on either side of your face could be mismatched; in this position you are unable to guess.

As the head of the mystery cock presses even deeper into your throat, however, seemingly stretching and opening you in a new, exciting way, the shattered, blissful sound that rips out belongs to Yoongi, and all at once, you are certain that it must be him. And then he pulls out, trailing long strings of saliva from deep in your throat that turn cold the second they hit the air and fall against your chin and down to the floor, bringing Yoongi's paler thighs into view. You gasp for air but allow fingers to press against your tongue. Only now are you able to fully focus on the way your pussy is stretched and pounded so well, and you moan unabashedly, your body quaking its way toward another orgasm.

It occurs to you that you must be high again, but this time from cocaine. The powder Yoongi dropped onto your tongue certainly tasted like the molly you had earlier, but also something else—a combination, no doubt.

Yoongi's hand grips your neck and holds your head up at an angle that allows you to fully see Jeongguk. He is naked and covered in sweat, fingers digging into your skin, and he looks stunning as he fucks you as hard as he seems able to. As the hand presses against your throat and another hand belonging to Namjoon snakes through the straps of the swing and begins to rub over your clit, you explode from pleasure.

Jeongguk's expression widens from alarm and pleasure, and he has to keep from getting pushed out of your cunt as wave after wave crashes over you. When he finally does pull out, he is sprayed with your release, giving you only seconds to scream from the intense orgasm that Namjoon urges out with his swirling fingertips before Jeongguk's cock is back inside you, slamming hard.

Only when Jeongguk pulls out and takes a step back do you see Taehyung in the shadows down on his knees. He opens his lips, and Jeongguk slides his glistening cock inside, moaning as Taehyung finishes him off, swallowing his cum. You spiral on the thought of Taehyung also tasting you but are distracted by Namjoon stepping in front of the scene, stroking his cock and looking down at the mess that is your spread, dripping pussy.

You expect him to fuck you, but he falls to his knees to lap over your cunt and thighs. He prods three long fingers inside you, and you sigh against the hand still at your throat, lost to bliss. It is incredible how easily you cum, even as your high begins to build once more and the tingling nearly feels like too much to bear. When Yoongi's hand lifts from your throat, you feel somehow dizzier, watching as he steps around the swing to join Namjoon on his knees.

Everything is a momentary blur as Namjoon and Yoongi take turns between your legs, using their lips, tongues, and hands to make you unravel past the point of becoming non-verbal. You are vaguely aware of hands on your face, throat, and breasts, feeling the presence of Jeongguk behind you at times and beside you at others. The only constant is Taehyung standing ahead, in shadow, watching.

You take Jeongguk's cock in your throat and drool shamelessly, making as much of a mess as the men between your legs are. In waves, you feel pleasure acutely, bursting through each inch of you, only for it to dull out while you focus on opening your throat as far as it will go. It feels like a dream the way you are touched and used; the dim red and purple lights seem to streak each time you open your eyes.

It is only when your legs are released from the restraints and you are forced to sit up that you feel fully in your body once more and aware of the room and its inhabitants. You hum questioningly and wipe drool from your chin as the straps are moved from beneath you, and you are made to place your feet on the floor in a squatting position.

Below you, Namjoon lies back against the carpet, atop what looks like a bedsheet, and he reaches up to take you by the hips and pull you down. You spear easily on his thick, hard cock, gripping onto the straps of the swing that connect to the ceiling high above your head on either side for stability, and use your leverage to lift and lower yourself. Namjoon meets you halfway, thrusting his hips upward, and the sensation pulls a raspy moan from your mouth—the first sound you have made in a while.

You bounce eagerly on his dick, lost in the movement while your head lols, and you moan unabashedly, so full and at such an incredible angle. Hands paw at your breasts and face, and you open your eyes to find Yoongi to your left, cock leaking and eager. Your lips are sore from stretching around cocks, but you are happy to comply, sucking him only half as deep as you would like but humming and moaning and drooling just for him.

Namjoon holds you in place by the hips and fucks hard and fast, causing you to drop Yoongi from your mouth and scream through an intense, dizzying orgasm. Yoongi gets onto the floor in time to lap over your cunt and make you quake from overwhelming pleasure, and then you feel Namjoon's hips still as he fills you with his hot release.

Your legs shake as you are pulled to your feet and maneuvered. You release the straps of the swing and barely catch sight of the bed before you are bent over the edge of the mattress with one large hand pressing the side of your face firmly against the comforter.

"Yes, please," you beg, desperate for the way Yoongi holds you down and makes you his.

"Please, what?" he asks, voice low and close, breath hot against your face.

"Fuck me, Yoongi. Please."

You feel the tip of his cock graze over your entrance, catching on the stretched and ripped fishnet fabric that once covered you. Your lips open and close, dragging over the soft bedding, unable to fully voice your need and desire. It almost feels unfair that you should get to enjoy him last.

"You miss my cock this much?" he asks, and you realize you have been grinding your ass against him like a bitch in heat.

You nod, winning you a smack against the ass that stings enough to make you squeal. Yoongi squeezes the spot where he slapped and says, "Use your words," in a sharp, commanding tone.

"Yes, sir," you whine. "I've missed your cock. Please. Please, please."

Yoongi lessens the press of your face but keeps his hand on your cheek, holding you in place, showing you that it is he who calls the shots. He rubs his cock over your hole and then presses slow and deep, forcing you to gasp and tremble. You feel sore and used, but you are desperate for more—for him. There is a part of you that is glad it is only the two of you in this moment.

Yoongi starts slowly with one hand on your face and the other on your ass, spreading you. He pulls and pushes in long strokes that you feel each and every inch of, driving you absolutely insane with want. Then he lifts his hand from your face, making you acutely aware of the fact that you had been drooling a cold spot onto the blanket. Both hands find your hips, and you lift your head in time for Yoongi to snap forward, making your back bow with pleasure.

He fucks you hard and fast, a delicious rhythm that you know by heart. You grip onto the comforter and keep your head lifted, letting out each desperate sound that crawls up your throat, eager for Yoongi to know just how good he makes you feel. He lifts one hand and wraps his fingers around your throat, and you see stars, vision blacking as your eyelids flutter closed and you chase a long, rolling orgasm that seems to build and crash, over and over, until your legs are shaking and your body falls limp.

Yoongi continues to use you, slapping and squeezing your ass. "So fucking perfect for me," he moans, thighs crashing against you in loud slaps that burst loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

You nearly forget that it is not just the two of you in existence, that there are other bodies in this room, more bodies upstairs, infinite other bodies in the world. The urge to cry builds and breaks, tears wetting your cheeks and the blanket as Yoongi's thrusts slow into deep rolls, filling you so perfectly. Yoongi must have given you more of the drug cocktail than you managed to suck from Hwasa's fingertip the first time because you feel more high than you have all night. Immensely high. High in a way that makes you question whether you have ever loved another person as much as you love Min Yoongi—in this moment, but in the soft, quiet moments, as well.

Yoongi moans and digs his fingers into your skin, then he cums deep inside you. Rather than pull out, he lies forward, draping his body over yours, panting against you, and pressing you forward. It is awkward the way your bodies are bent, and it makes you giggle. Yoongi chuckles in return, then slowly begins to stand. He presses his lips to your neck and shoulders, then his warmth retreats, leaving behind sweat that turns cold and makes you shiver.

It occurs to you that you will need to move, and you groan. The thought of standing—of using your legs at all—feels impossible. Luckily, a warm hand presses against your lower back, and Namjoon's deep, sweet voice instructs you to stay where you are. A warm cloth rubs over your sore cunt, and you jolt before relaxing into the touch. He wipes you down, then leans close and kisses your neck and shoulder similar to the way Yoongi had.

Yoongi and Namjoon—wearing black slacks but no shirts, glistening with a sheen of sweat—assist you with getting fully naked before gathering your clothing. You are given a dry, clean pair of panties, which Yoongi pulls from the pocket of his jacket, flashing a sheepish grin as he tucks the soiled pair in their place. The stockings are ruined and tossed aside, and Yoongi apologizes for not knowing to bring another set.

"You owe Hyejin," you say with a raised eyebrow, attempting to seem upset about the inconvenience to your friend but unable to keep from smiling.

You realize now that Taehyung and Jeongguk are gone, and you wonder whether they are in another room or have gone back up to the party. You mean to ask, but you are still too floaty to focus on anything but the hands on your body, zipping your dress and stepping each foot into socks and boots. As Yoongi slides his arms into a black satin shirt, you lean half-sitting against the bed, watching him. You have missed those hands, that hair, those muscles. Everything about him. And yet, you are frozen in a limbo of sorts, even now hesitating to reach out and touch him.

His jacket is draped over the end of the bed to your right, and you watch as he walks past, picks it up, and puts it on. You feel mesmerized by his presence, by the slight ringing in your ears, by your body continuing to fully return to itself. You are unsure whether it is the drugs or the sex, or likely both, but you feel as if you are still somewhat tethered to your corporeal form but not fully inhabiting it.

Yoongi runs his hands down his front, smoothing down his jacket, then turns to hand Namjoon his. They lean close, smile sweetly, and share a soft, slow kiss. Then Yoongi pulls his phone from his slacks pocket, thumbs around, and smiles.

"Tae wants the stash," he says.

Finally, you ask, "Where did they go?"

"Next door," Namjoon replies as he straightens his jacket, which covers a black satin shirt matching the one Yoongi wears.

Yoongi steps forward and uses his fingertips to tilt your chin upward. You expect a kiss and part your lips, but Yoongi uses his thumbs to rub at what you imagine is very smeared makeup. Once he is satisfied, he hums and places a kiss against the tip of your nose. He attempts to step back, dropping his hands from your face, but you are unsatisfied, and you grab onto the lapels of his jacket, yanking him toward you with a force that makes the two of you stumble.

"Not so fast," you mutter before your lips meet. You sigh into the feeling and continue to grip his jacket, relaxing only as Yoongi's arms encircle your waist and pull you close.

He deepens the kiss, and tears streak down your cheeks, hot and fast. You chase his tongue, licking, tasting him, tasting yourself, drowning in this moment, in him. And then your tears turn into sobs, and you break the kiss and fall into Yoongi's chest. You tell yourself that it is just the drugs, that you are simply overwhelmed, but you know that is not the full truth. You love him. You miss him. As much as all of this has been an incredible reprieve, the thought of letting him go again feels like a nightmare.

But what could be a greater nightmare than witnessing your friend get shot, than feeling the crushing weight of another vehicle slamming into yours, than the popping crunch of bullets meeting glass and polycarbonates? Your heart feels ripped in two, and you catch your breath, shaking your head as two deep, concerned voices ask whether you are alright, then attempting to nod, knowing that the gesture is unconvincing.

"This has all been a lot for you," Namjoon says, warm thumbs stroking your cheeks. You open your eyes to find his sad smile shining toward you and collapse into his chest, still partially in Yoongi's hold.

The two of them softly shush and stroke you, telling you that you are safe and loved, that they are sorry for how intense everything has become, how they should have known you would need more aftercare.

"Want to go back to the hanok?" Yoongi offers. "A dip in the tub might be good for you."

You think about Yoongi and Namjoon in Ryujin's home, and your stomach roils. Everything has been significantly too strange, and that might make matters worse. And there are still people upstairs who you would like to spend time with. One in particular who you feel like you haven't seen in many lifetimes.

"No," you insist, catching your breath. "You're right, it got too intense. I just needed to come back to earth a little more."

Despite being antsy to leave this room that smells like sweat and cum, they continue to comfort you a little longer. It feels nice, and you tilt your head in a way that urges a soft, sweet kiss from Namjoon. Then the three of you finally bid this room farewell, and you walk into the hallway, hand in hand with Yoongi on your left and Namjoon on your right.

Only, Yoongi pulls away at the first door on the left and knocks, digging into his pocket and pulling out a silver vial that is similar to the one he wears on a chain around his neck, but larger. You wait a beat, breathing deeply in an attempt to get your bearings. At some point, the high must have plateaued because you can feel yourself coming down again, and this time, you are certain that you do not need more powders floating around in your bloodstream.

The door swings open, and you are shocked to see Taehyung standing in only a pair of dark briefs. His hair is tousled, body is covered in sweat, and there are deep scratches down his chest and arms that are raised and red. Yoongi hands the vial over, which Taehyung takes, nodding his thanks. You look past Taehyung to see a nude Jeongguk in the middle of the room, restrained to a sex swing but standing—well, swaying—with his body limp and head drooped forward. He, too, has deep welts scratched down his arms and chest, as well as other red marks that suggest impact play of some kind.

"He just needs a little pick-me-up," Taehyung says with a wink before disappearing into the room and shutting the door behind him. You remain standing with your mouth agape until Yoongi takes you by the hand, and you are led back upstairs.

Namjoon excuses himself to the restroom, and you consider following, self-conscious about the way you must look after what has taken place. You trust that Yoongi will not bring you back upstairs with messy hair and makeup, but you imagine you must have cried and rubbed off every last trace of eyeshadow and mascara. Still, you are more eager to have a drink in hand and continue with Yoongi into the main hall.

Your legs tremble as you make your way to the party, and a jolt of fear rips through you at the sight of the man standing behind the bar who looks suspiciously like Christian, causing your step to falter. Yoongi clocks the movement, turning to you with a hum, and you look over to him, to his curious gaze, then ahead, opening your mouth to tell him what you see. Only, you do not see Christian. The bartender has shaggy dark hair and wears all black, but otherwise looks like every other man in the building. Hell, in a dark enough room, with long enough hair, Jeongguk could look enough like Christian to give you pause.

You chuckle and smile softly, doing your best to play it off. "Just a little shaky from the come-down."

Yoongi hums again, accepting your answer as the two of you continue your approach to the bar. Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin stand along the rightmost edge, drinks in hand. Jimin faces you with his elbows against the bar between Seokjin and Hoseok, who seem to be speaking to and around him. They all wear tan suits—Seokjin's and Hoseok's a darker shade with beige ties and burgundy shirts. Jimin's suit is lighter, fitted tighter, and he wears what appears to be a satin ascot tucked into a white shirt with its top two buttons undone and burgundy suede loafers.

As you approach, you notice a glazed-over darkness in Jimin's eyes, and you have to wonder whether he has partaken in the drugs. He smiles lazy and open, pushing off the bar and turning momentarily to shove his glass of clear liquid into Seokjin's free hand. Seokjin scoffs as if Jimin's action inconveniences him, but his eyes are soft and loving as he shakes his head and continues his conversation with Hoseok, double-fisting his and Jimin's drinks

A sexy R&B song plays overhead, and Jimin's hips dip and sway as he approaches. You watch his movements, impressed with how fluid and delicate he can be. He lifts his hands when you are close enough and runs fingertips of both hands gently over your temples, to your cheeks, and along your neck. A shiver works its way down your spine, and you grin through slightly clattering teeth. The ascot around his neck has a pretty floral pattern and you feel the urge to touch it.

"Need more molly, dove?" Jimin asks.

You shake your head, unsure whether you can handle the come-up and come-down again after all that has transpired downstairs—especially given your emotional state, although your nerves seem to have calmed a bit since your episode downstairs.

"Coke?" he offers, pulling a chain around his neck and revealing a large silver cross with roses inlaid all around it.

With a chuckle, you nod. You have no evidence to support the claim, but you feel like cocaine might even you out. Or it could make you worse. Still, you accept when Jimin unscrews the top of the cross and produces a small spoon connected to his chain that is already full of white powder. You lean close and lift your hand to delicately hold his hand in place and snort the drug into your right nostril. Jimin retrieves one more spoonful, and you repeat the motion on the left side. All the while, Yoongi holds onto your right hand.

"So," Jimin says, leaning to rest his forehead against yours and speaking as he snorts two small piles of coke and then replaces the spoon. "Yoongi's scar…he won't tell me how it all went down, and you know I will die if I don't have all the gossip."

Yoongi's hold on your hand loosens and falls away, and you attempt to look his way, but you are stuck in place as Jimin's arms snake around your waist.

"Whiskey, darling?" Yoongi asks, leaning close.

You try to nod and mutter, "Yes, please. Thank you."

Once he walks away, you sigh and lift your arms to wrap around Jimin. He sways slightly to the music, and you mirror his movements, unable to resist.

"Are you sure you want to recount that night?" you ask.

Jimin hums and nods. You can't see much, but you can see him smile.

You sigh. "After you were shot, I went into a rage." Emotions build, trembling as they fill your chest. Your voice wavers as you say, "Jimin, I lost my fucking mind."

Jimin's arms tighten, and he pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on your shoulder. You sigh and smile, wrapping him in a tight embrace. It is hard not to lament the fact that he has finally woken up and you are not in Seoul to spend time with him. You miss him dearly, and all the chaos that is Paradise.

Once the hug loosens, you both stand straight, hands still on each other's hips. Jimin sways and heavy-blinks, and you wonder why he is so content wasting his high on this moment when he could be on the dancefloor or tangled downstairs with someone on one of the beds. When he giggles, his entire face lights up.

"Doll…I don't know what this has to do with his scar."

At this, you swallow thickly and rapidly blink. The cocaine is hitting, and you have to take in a deep breath.

"Just listen," you say, then swallow again. Jimin frowns. "After you were…" you trail off, unable to say it again.

Jimin raises his eyebrows, slowly and clearly saying, "Shot."

You let out a breath that is halfway to laughter and nod, causing him to smile in return. "Yes, well, I emptied my clip in the guy's face." Jimin's eyes widen and he gasps. "I'm sure I looked insane just shooting a dead man in the head over and over and…"

The song switches to something slightly more upbeat and Jimin sways harder. You struggle with the mental image of the man on the ground with six bullets turning his face into a pile of gore. The sound of flesh, blood, and bone becoming pulp with each shot echoes in your mind and you swallow thickly, then look over Jimin's shoulder, nodding to Yoongi. You need that drink.

Yoongi, who leans against the bar between Namjoon on his left and Seokjin and Hoseok on his right, nods once and steps forward, holding a glass of whiskey in each hand. You wonder whether he has stood there just like that this entire time waiting for your signal. Has he been watching you? What must he think, knowing you feel so deeply for him despite being unwilling to return to his home? Does this, too, open a deep scar on his heart matching the one over his eye?

You stand a bit straighter as Yoongi approaches, and Jimin mirrors you then slowly pulls away, giving you distance. He continues to dance, but there is a faraway look in his eye as you reach past him for the drink in Yoongi's hand.

"Mind if I cut in?" Yoongi asks.

Jimin steps closer, pulling you tight once more, causing your fingers to slip away from the glass that is thankfully still held tightly in Yoongi's grasp.

"Yes, I fucking mind," Jimin says in a snarky tone. You continue to reach for the drink. "She was entreating me with the wonderfully harrowing tale of how you got that pretty little battle scar, since you won't tell me."

Yoongi groans and rolls his eyes, attempting a smile. But you can tell that there is something else in that expression. Something he does his best to tamp down and keep out of sight. He hands you his drink and nods a little bow before returning to the bar.

"Touchy subject?" Jimin teases.

You frown, "Well, I was the one who gave him the scar."

Jimin's hold on you drops at the same time his mouth falls open. Suddenly, you want to curl in on yourself, but you opt to lift the whiskey to your lips and take a nice slow swig, instead. It burns against your tongue, much stronger and more flavorful than what you had been drinking earlier in the evening, and it takes you a moment to gather yourself and continue your story.

"As I said, you were shot and I lost my mind. First, I emptied my clip into the man's head. Then, out of anger over having no more bullets, I tried to bludgeon him with the butt of the gun. But Namjoon caught me and dragged me away, and my weapon was confiscated."

You pause again to take a sip, doing your best to read the expression on Jimin's face. It seems to be a mix of shock and sadness, but also something akin to admiration.

"I was still in a rage, and so I reached for the switchblade that Jeongguk and Taehyung gifted me, which was in a garter on my thigh." You watch as Jimin's expression deepens, and against your will, tears begin to form in your eyes. You rapidly blink, doing your best not to let them fall, and as you continue, your voice wavers. "I took out the knife and attempted to lunge forward. Namjoon caught my hand and pulled it back, and tip must have—"

You remember the way the blade caught and snagged; the way blood leaked between Yoongi's fingers. With a gulp, you finish your drink. Jimin thumbs at the tears you are unable to prevent from falling, then takes your hand and leads you out of the main room and into the hallway, near the restrooms. It is dark and a bit quieter, and he pulls your empty glass from your hand, then wraps you in a hug.

Although you do not feel the urge to fully cry, you lean into the hug and breathe deeply, allowing the tears that have formed to fall. Jimin's hands—which are free of drinkware, and you are unsure how—rub over your shoulders and neck. After a long moment of breathing in Jimin's cologne and settling your heart, you nod and Jimin breaks the hug. You feel exhausted by this night.

Jimin takes your hand and pulls you into the restroom, which is too brightly lit for comfort, making you squint. He pulls a tube of mascara from the inner breast pocket of his jacket and tilts your face toward him, making you smile. "I spoke to Ryujin about bringing you to Paradise some time soon, if that's something you want."

Your smile widens and you do your best to hold your face as still as possible as you say, "I would love that."

"It will be good for you and Yoongi to be seen together in public more than once in a blue moon," he explains, then finishes his task while adding, "and, of course, we all miss you."

"I miss you, too," you say barely above a whisper.

Jimin uses water to fuss with your hair, which you opt not to perceive in the mirror, worried about the weathered, sad person you may find staring back at you. Then he leads you back to the bar for shots of something fruity and strawberry-flavored. He and Hwasa pull you to an empty dance cage, and the three of you lose yourselves to the music while multiple tiny piles of cocaine are introduced to your nose and simmer through your body.

It feels nice to let go and dance, to touch and be touched in friendly and flirtatious ways—to feel like, in this moment, you simply exist outside of the mafia families that surround you. It is only when you are panting and exhausted that the three of you leave the cage and seek out water.

You are tipsy and stumble a bit toward the bar. Taehyung and Jeongguk have returned—Taehyung appearing perfectly put together and Jeongguk looking like he has been to hell and back, shell-shocked with a wide stare and his hair an absolute mess—and you wink at them on your way to the bar.

As you wait for a glass of water, Yoongi's cologne tickles your senses and large hands begin to paw at you. "I was watching you dance," he says into your ear, voice low and whiskey-laced.

"Oh?" you ask, smiling but keeping your gaze ahead. The water is set before you, and you gulp it down, feeling the cold absorb into your body, giving you chills. When you turn to Yoongi, his jaw is set as if he is angry, but you know that it is a horny impatience that he masks.

"Darling," he groans, eyes bloodshot, drunk.

You attempt to bite back a smile, but it is impossible, and the sight of your glee seems to make him all the more impatient. Poor guy looks pained. You lean close, high on your toes to whisper, "Baby, I'm sore."

He groans and nods in pained understanding, making you giggle. "Next time I want you all to myself," he insists, and you nod. You would like that.

Namjoon, whose back had been to the two of you turns, notices Yoongi's expression and cocks his head. You let your eyes trail down and then back up as you say, "He has a problem that needs to be taken care of. Be a dear?"

"Ah," he says in understanding.

Namjoon leads Yoongi off toward the hallway—to the restroom or back downstairs, you imagine. You chuckle and turn back to the bar for another glass of whiskey as Taehyung sidles up to your right, taking Yoongi's place.

"How do you feel?" he asks, leaning close.

You scoff, making him cock his head. "Good," you say on a deep exhale, facing him. "And you?"

Taehyung grins, eyes sparkling. "Good."

"Good," you say, turning back to the bar. You manage to order another glass of the whiskey Yoongi has been drinking with your eyes ahead, but you can feel Taehyung's intense gaze on you.

"What?" you complain when a glass is in your hands. You turn toward him but look at the golden tiger on his lapel.

"Just thinking," he says. Annoying.

You lift your gaze to his, asking, "About what?"

Taehyung licks his lips and says, "You," giving you chills.

You find it hard to hold his intense stare and drop your eyes to his chest once more, taking a drink of whiskey.

"Just making sure you're actually doing well," he clarifies. "The scene in there was pretty intense."

"That it was," you say. You feel antsy, though you are not sure why. Could it be due to the way you were thinking about Taehyung while high? You wonder whether you might feel that way about him while sober.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asks, quieter.

Suddenly, you feel silly. You were not uncomfortable with Taehyung in the room with you before, and there is no reason you should be now.

"No," you say, looking him in the eye. "Sorry. You are right that it was intense, and I think I am still spiraling a little from it all."

"My presence there doesn't bother you?"

You open your mouth but hesitate, gaze falling to his mouth as you wonder what he might kiss like. "No," you say, swallowing your pride before continuing. "I like having you there."

"I'm glad," you watch his lips say. You feel silly for staring openly, but it is the first time you ever have. Taehyung really is beautiful, and his soft, semi-rectangular pout intrigues you almost as much as the cold psychopathy you occasionally glimpse in his eyes.

"It is strange?" you ask, looking up into his eyes. The expression you find is just as intense as it was earlier. "Watching, I mean."

Taehyung's eyes trail back and forth between yours. He appears to be gathering his thoughts. When he simply shakes his head and says nothing more, you lift your free hand to smack him on the arm. With a chuckle, he leans close.

"I like to share and watch, but otherwise not become more involved." You open your mouth and begin to ask why, but he cuts you off, leaning closer. "Nobody can handle my wrath quite like Jeongguk can. I am afraid fucking me is akin to having a near-death experience."

A gasp falls from your lips, in part because you know he is not joking, and because you are so curious to know more. You recall the way Jeongguk looked hanging from his wrists earlier, like a corpse waiting to be butchered. Taehyung chuckles in your ear, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and stands up straight.

"Trust me, it is an honor to be in audience of you, buttercup. You put on quite the show."

This makes you laugh, pushing all the tension out. You feel silly but relieved and step to the side, away from the bar enough to courtesy and say, "Thank you," winning a deep chuckle from Taehyung.

Yoongi and Namjoon return—Yoongi looking far better than he had before, and Namjoon with fresh reddened fingerprints around his neck. You lament missing whatever the two of them managed to do so fast but ultimately feel glad to have sorted out whatever it is you were feeling for Taehyung. It is a relief to keep at least some relationships semi-platonic, especially if being fucked by him means putting your safety and well-being at risk. You think that perhaps this revelation explains a lot about Jeongguk.

You lift your whiskey to your lips, but Yoongi swipes it from your hand, holding stern eye contact as he drinks the entire glass at once. A surge of petulance rises, outmatched only by how much you absolutely adore him with his long, wavy hair and sharp red scar. He makes a dramatic ahh sound as if he had just quenched his thirst with the purest water, then leans into you to set the empty glass onto the bar top.

"What—" you begin, hoping to ask what his problem is, or perhaps what the fuck he thinks he is doing, but he mutters, "Come with me," and takes you by the hand, leading you through the hall to the hallway and up into the VIP section, causing you to stumble in haste to keep up. It is vacant in this area, save for a security guard who nods as you pass, and you are pulled to a dark corner that does not look out over the dancefloor or any other space that another living human may be occupying.

Without saying a word, Yoongi pulls your legitimate engagement ring from his pocket—not the larger one meant for show—and lowers to one knee. Your stomach dips from the movement, and you suddenly feel unstable on your feet.

"I have a proposition for you," he says, taking your left hand and sliding the cold metal onto your ring finger. You stare at him, not quite ready to perceive the ring on your hand once more. Rather than respond, you simply stare at Yoongi, who licks his lips and glances up at you pleadingly.

"I could have a house built for you," he says as if it is nothing—as if simply willing a house into existence is as easy to him as loading bullets into a handgun. "Deep on the property, past the gardens and the other homes, where nobody could ever bother you. You can have all the space you desire, but still be close to us."

Tears build, and you feel bile rise to your throat. This offer is enormous and ridiculous, and there is simply no way you would feel wholly safe or comfortable living on the same plot of land as his mansion. You search for what to say, but words fail you. It feels impossible to tell Yoongi to his face that this offer is preposterous, yet you cannot bring yourself to even attempt to consider it.

He must read the concern on your face, and he sits up a little taller, gripping your hand between his two as if you are suddenly a lifeline that he must not let go of.

"I can buy you a house in Seoul. Or a penthouse, if you prefer an apartment. You can have a private entrance with my most trusted men guarding, and be a short drive away rather than a long one."

This offer is far more reasonable, but it still worries you. What if news gets out that Yoongi's fiancé is not only living separately from him but that they have managed to spot you coming and going? How difficult would it be for someone like Christian to find you?

"Yoongi, I don't know," you finally say. Your guts roil with uncertainty, and your heart pounds, making you feel nauseated.

Yoongi nods and smiles, but you can see that he is disappointed. Here before you, down on one knee, is a man who is not used to being told no. This is not how he anticipated this would go, and it is clear that is the case.

"Alright," he says, standing with your hand still tight between his. He pulls you close for a hug, and you hesitate before lifting your arms to return the embrace. "I am sorry if that was not the right thing to offer. I just thought—"

"No," you say, shaking your head and tilting your face into his neck. You press your lips to his skin. "It was a generous offer, Yoongi. An amazing one, really. I'm just…I don't know. I'm still really afraid."

Yoongi hugs you tighter, and you breathe deeply, eyes closed, silently existing in this moment. It is impossible not to imagine what life with him could be like under any other circumstance, especially now.

"I understand," he says, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. "We can discuss it again if and when you are ready. I am in no rush, darling. Really. I just miss you." Yoongi kisses you softly and says, "I miss you so fucking much."

"I miss you too," you say, doing your best to smile through the tumult of emotion. "It's hell without you, Yoongi. I miss so much about being with you…but there have been so many moments that have had too negative of an impact on my mental health. I don't want this to be forever, though. And when I'm ready, we can talk about it some more. Really, it is such a kind offer, and I appreciate it more than I could ever say."

Yoongi's expression conveys a deep sadness the likes of which you have never seen. You wish more than anything that you could wave a magic wand and make everything normal. No more drugs, no more guns, no more fires or car crashes. The anxiety that fills you at the thought of watching him return to Seoul without you is similar to the anxiety you feel over staying in a hanok full of strangers in Busan whose intentions you are not completely sure you understand or trust.

You continue to hold one another for a moment longer, swaying slightly. Whether it is from the alcohol, or the music playing, or the simple enjoyment of the movement, you are uncertain, aware only that it is nice to be here with him like this.

"I fear we should head back to Seoul soon," Yoongi finally says.

Of course, the realization is somewhat soul-crushing. Just because you are in no rush to return to his mansion does not mean you want him to hurry back there, either.

"Tonight?" you ask, leaning back and cocking your head to the side. Yoongi raises his eyebrows, and you shrug. "I just thought maybe you would leave in the morning."

He appears to think it over. "I suppose I could stay for one night."

From one simple sentence, you feel elated. Falling asleep beside Yoongi is something you have come to deeply miss. Except…you frown.

"I'm not sure how I feel about sleeping under Ryujin's roof with you. Is that weird? Should I not care?"

Yoongi chuckles. He takes your hand and leads you back through the dark VIP area toward the rest of the party. "I have a penthouse nearby, darling."

"Of course, you do," you say with a playful hint of annoyance. Yoongi squeezes your hand, filling you with the same warmth and butterflies that you remember from months past.

"You can part from your girls for a night?" Yoongi teases as you enter the hallway.

You scoff. "Meaning, what?"

He leans close and says, "I see the way Hyejin looks at you. Or…what is it you call her…Hwasa? It really rolls off the tongue." Your mouth falls open, and you watch as his smile sharpens into a grin. "Sorry, is the thought of her name on your tongue making you flustered, darling?"

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you have to look away. As the two of you enter the main hall, you glance to the dance cage you were in earlier to find Hwasa and Jimin grinding in the way two platonic queer besties would. She certainly is dressed to impress with her bodice and skirt hugging each of her curves as if the material was cut specifically for her body. Yoongi chuckles darkly and squeezes your hand before letting it go, only to slide it around your waist and tug you close.

"I wouldn't mind, you know," he says so low that you are not quite sure you heard him. There are no lyrics to the music that plays, but it is loud enough to mask parts of his tone.

"Hmm?" you ask, turning to look at him.

"I wouldn't mind," he says, leaning to press a kiss to your lips. "If you wanted to fuck her."

"Oh, my god," you grumble, turning your face away as your cheeks go even hotter. Leave it to Yoongi to be able to have a serious conversation for precisely one brief moment before returning to his natural state of being a feral, horny monster.

Namjoon spots the two of you and begins to approach, eyes quickly darting down to the ring on your hand as a smile tugs at his lips.

"I am just saying," Yoongi continues, and you wish he would not, "no need to ask permission. The answer is already yes."

Namjoon leans to press a kiss to your lips, then looks between the two of you, asking, "Permission for what?"

You feel antsy and glance around, making sure nobody is around to hear Yoongi say, "For our darling to fuck Hyejin."

"Good god," Namjoon mutters under his breath. You roll your eyes as he adds, "Absolutely, no objections here."

You grumble, "You two are incorrigible," under your breath.

"Ah, Namjoon-ah," Yoongi says as he pulls you closer to his side. His fingertips play with the hem of your dress just below your left breast. "I am afraid I will have to miss tomorrow's activities. Our darling has asked me to stay with her tonight."

Namjoon's smile falters for such a split moment that it is nearly imperceptible. "Ah. No worries, baby. Seokjin and I can handle everything. And, did you ask her about…"

He trails off, but you know what he is hinting at, and a pang of sadness stabs you directly in the gut.

"I did," Yoongi responds with a sigh, "but she is not quite ready to return to Seoul."

Namjoon nods, taking in a deep breath. You nibble on your bottom lip searching for something to say to him, but nothing feels quite right. Promising for an uncertain future feels disingenuous, even if all you want in this moment is to give sweet Namjoon anything in this world he could want.

"I'm sorry," is all you can bring yourself to say.

Namjoon shakes his head. His gaze is soft and slightly sad, but so loving. "Will you at least keep the jewelry? And the clothing?" His lips falter, and he glances down at his shoes. "I know they're just material things, but it felt so strange to see it all left behind. You didn't regret receiving any of it, did you?"

You feel a horrible guilt as Namjoon's gaze lifts to meet yours. How you could have possibly made him think your gifts were not good enough—that you may have regretted them somehow—has you wishing you had never left anything behind. Shaking your head, you step forward, wrap your arms around Namjoon's ribs, and press your face against his chest, listening to his quick, worried heartbeat.

"Nothing about that night went as planned," you say, squeezing him as tight as you can manage. Namjoon's arms lift and engulf you with warmth. "I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I absolutely love the gifts, especially the jewelry."

You loosen the hug and take a step back, holding Namjoon's gaze. It is devastating how handsome he is with tears glistening in his eyes.

"If I'm being honest…" you begin, taking a deep breath. "I left the items because I wasn't sure whether you two would be upset with me. After all, I snuck away. I thought…I suppose I thought I wouldn't be worthy of keeping what had been given to me, and so I left it all behind. I felt guilty at the thought of taking any of it, knowing what I would be doing to you."

Namjoon nods in understanding and then pulls you closer. Yoongi follows, sandwiching you between warm bodies that feel and smell like home. You breathe slow and deep, smiling through the exhaustion that engulfs you; you hate to admit that you will not last much longer on your feet. With the promise of visiting Jimin and the others at Paradise soon, you feel a little lighter; a little more willing to part for now.

Bodies begin to file out as you and your family men crowd the bar for shots. Ryujin and her core group of girls join in, and you all toast and drink, one after another after another until your body is dizzy and heavy and begging to lie down. You hug the women good night, feeling eyes on you as Hwasa wraps her arms around you with a pout. She takes a step back and whines that she will miss you tonight. When you turn to face the men, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jeongguk all wear curiously devious expressions.

As you hug Jimin goodbye, he takes a step back to speak but then eyes your dress and boots, and his expression brightens. "Hold on," he says, "this is the outfit you were wearing the day we all met."

You smile widely and nod, impressed that someone has recognized the outfit. Yoongi steps forward and hums a questioning sound.

"This outfit," Jimin says, "she was wearing it the first time we saw our buttercup."

Yoongi cocks his head to the side and frowns. "The first time?" he asks.

A moment passes that is brief and confusing. The two share a glance, Jimin with his eyebrows raised, and then Yoongi clears his throat, licks his lips, and says, "Of course. Sorry, darling, the alcohol must have gone straight to my head. I remember now. You were so adorably angry in this dress."

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to be an utter brat. "You forgot what I was wearing the day you spirited me away…not very chauvinistic of you."

Yoongi smiles and chuckles, but there is something in his thoughtful expression that makes you uncomfortable, especially with how Jimin is looking at him as if he has said something unforgivably wrong. That had been the first time they saw you…right? Paranoia rears its ugly head, and you do your best not to allow yourself to travel down roads you have no business visiting. Especially after how emotionally fraught this night has been. After all, Christian had been working for him, so perhaps Yoongi saw you in passing once or twice before. Anything is possible.

As you continue to wish everyone a good night, it sinks in that you are soon returning to your life free of the men you love, and sadness settles deep within you. But first, you will spend a night with Yoongi in his penthouse on the ocean and you do your best to be in the present moment and not wallow in what is to come.

Namjoon follows behind in his own car and joins the two of you for a glass of water and a soft, slow makeout session on the couch overlooking the dark sea. He treats you to several blissful orgasms using his skilled lips, teeth, and fingers, and you watch as he and Yoongi take turns cuming in each other's mouths after you regretfully whine that your holes are too sore to accommodate them anymore for the night.

Namjoon slips away with deep promises and soft kisses as you begin to fall fast asleep wrapped around Yoongi's body. You drift off thinking about how warm and solid he is; how your body slots beside his as if the two of you are built for one another. But there is a part of you that also wonders what outfit had been on Yoongi's mind when he was imagining the first time he ever saw you. Were you in that black dress or something else entirely? Had that time at the river been the first time he laid eyes on you, or were there other times? Secret times when you had no idea of his existence. How long might he have been watching you? Of course, you know this line of thinking is ridiculous, and you smile as you bury your nose into his skin and inhale the sweet, musky scent of him.

You drift deeply, swiftly, remembering what home feels like.

i drive fast, wind in my hair i push it to the limit 'cause i just don't care

i've got a burning desire for you, baby

🎵 visit the playlist

❗❗❗ important authors note: as mentioned previously, i am basically condensing everything that was going to be a 20 chapter fic into the last two chapters and the next 6ish chapters. i think you will understand why i chose to do it this way. something to keep in mind: all major warnings are already listed. things in future chapters might seem really, really fucking bad. please trust the author and the tags and don't let me lose you on this ride because i am intentionally going to be vague and non-descript about certain plot points outside of the narrative. i don't like to give things away, which means we might become traumatized together. from this point on, the story is going to shift in a big way. i love you. thank you for reading.

happy new year, my dears! if you observed holidays, i hope they have been good. i hope you have a lovely lunar new year & eat the best foods! if you're on break from class, i hope you get a lot of rest. i got all As last semester, and i bet you also did an amazing job at whatever you got into. i miss you very, very much and i hope to be back soon. 💜

EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU IS THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

😘😘😘

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#yoongi mafia #namjoon mafia #bts mafia #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #yoongi angst #namjoon angst #bts angst #bts poly #fic: collateral

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back2bluesidex · 2 months ago

Text

One Last Contract - MYG, JHS, KNJ

2. Curiosity Killed: None Yet

Pairing: Contract husband!Yoongi X contract wife!Reader, ft. Keeper!Namjoon and Ex-fiancé!Hoseok

Theme: Mystery, angst, smut, dark, morally grey characters, soft yandere (no non-con or dub-con)

Summary:

As a professional wife, you have no choice but to say yes to marry Min Yoongi - a mysterious yet intriguing man. But as you start living with him you discover things that meant be secrets, and it may end up being your ruin. Will your keeper aka bodyguard Namjoon and your ex-fiancé Hoseok, who abandoned you without any explanation, be able to pull you out of grasp of the man who you are falling for?

Warnings: soft yandere, implied meds addiction, mentions of death and abuse (nothing triggering). NSFW!!

Inspired from The Trunk (K-drama)

Banner designed by the utterly talented, the kindest, the nicest soul on earth, the one and only @kingofbodyrolls, Lissa. 😘😘😘💜💜💜

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: So, I am back bitches. enough of moping around, now it's the time for some dark stuff. after contemplating for some time, I decided to post the series here. but the future still depends on the engagement that I receive.

Read the full series on Patreon

Min yoongi moves like a shadow in his own house.

Sometimes you think his feet are padded like a cat’s, hence, those make no sound when in the move.

Whenever your eyes meet his, a cryptic smile crawls up on that beautifully pale face of his, as if he knows what exactly you are thinking.

You have seen a ton of men in your lifetime but you have not seen another one like Yoongi.

His father owns the biggest hotel chain of South Korea but he is a music producer. He produces music in his own small label that specializes in BGMs.

Strange.

Yes. Min Yoongi is quite strange but you find him intriguing and in a way similar to yourself.

Just like Yoongi, you left your past behind and now you are running behind a future that’s as hazy as fog. You have no clarity but you don’t hate it at all.

You don’t hate many things in life.

You don’t love anything either.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” Yoongi asks - his mouth is so close to your ears that you can smell the faint minty scent of his tooth paste.

You don’t startle.

“House chore.” you reply flatly.

Things between you and Yoongi are rather flat and easy - unless you are fucking.

“Ummm..” he moves away. From the beeping of the coffee machine you can tell he is ready to brew his morning coffee, “how about you come to my studio? The boys have been wanting to meet my new bride for some time.”

Behind you, you can hear the coffee machine buzz.

“How many people will be there?” you ask, cracking open an egg in a mid-sized clear glass bowl.

“Four. five including me.” Yoongi replies.

To any outsider, this scene will appear to be a sweet Wednesday morning with husband and wife going about their plans for the day, cooking together in the kitchen. Only if complications were visible - you are sure you would have a large storm cloud looming over your head.

“Okay. I will be there. Text me the address.” you reply, pouring the egg in the pan. The sizzling sound blooms like music in your ears.

Min Yoongi moves like a shadow in his own house.

So, you don't realize when he nears you, wraps an arm around your waist and kisses you on the cheek.

“Thanks Jagi.” he whispers in your ear again.

A chill runs down your spine.

Being a contract wife is still being a wife regardless of the arrangements. Thus, you get no relief from the house chore. And you like it this way.

You like it when you have something to do.

Having something to focus on means fighting less with your demons - remembering less what you left behind.

You neatly fold all the clothes and smooth a hand over each of those. The fabric is soft and velvety. You wonder how much these costs. You wonder if Yoongi always wears materials like these.

You wonder why you even care.

Your phone vibrates cutting through the chain of your thoughts. Kim Namjoon’s name appears on the screen.

“Is everything alright?” the text reads.

Kim Namjoon is appointed by the company as your Keeper, in simpler words, your bodyguard.

When the company got to know Yoongi’s “Undisclosed Reason” they decided to appoint their finest keeper as your personal security.

But if you are being honest, you feel more at ease with Yoongi than you have ever felt with Namjoon in your close proximity.

After you witnessed him breaking the hand of a human being with no guilt, no remorse - you realized people often don’t look like what they actually are.

With the build of a mountain and that fluffy golden blonde hair - Kim Namjoon appears to be godly. But deep down he pets a devil and lets it take him over when needed.

“Yes.” you type and send your reply, then you recall you need to update him about your afternoon plans.

“I am going to Min Yoongi’s workplace in an hour.” you type and send again.

“Okay. I will be at the tail.” Namjoon replies in an instant.

You have mastered the art of faking.

Given the fact this is the most important skill for the job you do - you had to adhere to it and you did, that too, in record time.

You look at the mirror, practice your smile - one, two and three times.

As you look at your reflection, you find a single hair in your eyebrow that is slightly longer than the rest.

Great. You have no tweezers with you.

Leaving your room, you go to the master bathroom. You don’t expect to find any as Yoongi had lived alone in this house for a year after his ex-wife’s death.

And just as you expect, you find no tweezer.

Then you wander around Yoongi’s room - to his attached bathroom.

As you open a cabinet that looks like a medicine container - you come across a dozen of white medicine bottles.

The labels read - Aripiprazole, Risperidone, Clozapine and Haloperidol. Turning one upside down you see a name written under the bottle.

Ryu Seohyun. Yoongi’s ex-wife.

You waste no time in pulling your phone out of your pocket, clicking pictures and sending those to Namjoon.

“Can you find out what these are for?” you add a text.

“Okay.” Namjoon replies after a minute.

“This is Jeon Jeongguk, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin Hyung.” Yoongi introduces one by one.

You smile your practiced fake smile, everyone smiles back.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N-ssi.” Kim Seokjin says.

“Nice to meet you all too.” you reply, setting down the cartoon of coffee that you bought for them, “please enjoy.”

“That’s so nice of you.” Kim Taehyung chimes in.

“Jagi, how about we take our coffee to my studio?” Yoongi proposes, just when you are about to sit down.

“Ohh.. Yoongi hyung, territorial huh?” Park Jimin teases.

“I have always been very possessive about the things that I like.” Yoongi replies, tugging a loose strand of your hair, behind your ear.

Yoongi traps you between him and his desk.

Your waist meets the cold wood, you shiver a little.

“You look nice.” his eyes dips down from your eyes to your lips, to your collarbone, to your bust.

“Thanks.” your heart expands in your chest.

Yoongi hooks his face on the crook of your neck. At first he sniffs and then starts placing open mouthed kisses on your skin.

“Are you under some kind of medication?” you place your question carefully.

Yoongi sucks on a spot on your neck, “why?”

“I found some medicines in your bathroom cabinet.”

Your husband halts his actions. Detaching his face from your neck, he looks at you - no hint of smile visible on his face.

His eyes are dark, unbelievably dark.

He pushes you further against his desk, “have you heard that proverb? It goes something like curiosity killed the cat.”

You don’t reply but suck in a deep breath.

“Never enter my room without my permission, okay Jagi?” he presses his body on yours.

Your hand that is placed on the desk, stretches with the impact. It knocks against the coffee cup and the liquid spills on the back of your palm.

“Ah!” you groan in pain. The coffee was still so hot. Your skin reddens immediately.

“Shit” Yoongi runs to retrieve some tissues, “we need to visit the hospital.” he says in haste.

“It’s okay- I am fine-”

“Y/N. We are visiting the hospital.” he shuts you completely.

Just as you knew, it was nothing serious.

The doctor wrapped it up, prescribed some meds and ointment and asked you to take care.

As soon as you exit the hospital, with Yoongi beside you, Namjoon runs up.

Your breath gets a little labored at the sight of him.

“Y/N, did he do something?” He asks without any greetings or so.

“No. it was an acc-”

“Who are you?” Yoongi cuts you off. You see him measuring Namjoon from head to toe.

Even though Yoongi is a lot shorter than Namjoon - his mere presence challenges Namjoon’s authority.

“I am her personal security.” Namjoon answers.

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow and then smirks.

“Why? Is your company afraid that I might do something to you?” He questions you.

You look away.

Namjoon steps closer to Yoongi, “You can’t do anything to her. Lay a finger and I will break your hand.”

At this Yoongi breaks into a loud laugh. Everyone around you stares at him. You close your eyes in frustration.

“She’s my wife. I don’t need a manual to know what I should and shouldn’t do to her.” Yoongi attacks.

“Your wife for a year. Only a year.” Namjoon’s words leave through his gritted teeth.

“We will…” Yoongi turns towards you, laces his fingers through yours, “see about that.”

Permanent Taglist:

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werezmastarbucks · 4 months ago

Text

running scared

masterlist - part 4 of 6

in which Yoongi comes clean

yoongi x reader

word count: around 3000

author's note: Yoongi's pov present

music: let me know by bts, instant lover by aleph

For the three weeks, Yoongi was hoping you'd call. He didn't hope for his baby, his favorite dog, to fall ill, or get hit by a car. But maybe... maybe he'd do something so unbearably funny that you'd want to call him on video and show. So he'd see your face. Hear your voice. He was feeling something apart from irritation and stress for the first time in a while, and it was good. Warm curling snake in his stomach, clear view inside his head. He knew he had to do something about it. Because at first, this feeling was like a mosquito bite. Stang and wouldn't let him focus on things, and he tried to shoo it away, but once he woke up at night to discover that it has spread into his body. He hadn't seen you for the whole September and then four months after, and somehow the imprint of your face was stuck on the inside of his eyelid. He still chuckled when he thought of Namjoon's birthday, and it bothered him. Finally he realized it's actually good. It felt right. A human to a human, what's so criminal about it? Doesn't he deserve someone smiling at him?

He cherished the feeling so rare for him, understanding it doesn't happen often, and he honored it, decided he has to know. The dogsitting op moved slowly and was kind of disappointing. Nothing happened, except he knew Holly was in good hands. The fact that he had to drive all the way to Daegu, beg his parents to give Holly up for a month, and then drive back all in the same day, still seemed a little insane to him. He hoped it didn't put a strain on the dog.

So, he decided that once he returns and sees you again, he'll ask you out. For once his idol card might be useful, he didn't care, if it helps him, then fine. He just needs one chance.

You didn't call. You texted him diligently, every other day, updating him about Holly. His camera roll once again was full of his dog's pictures which also felt right. He only wished you'd want to hear his voice like he wanted to hear yours.

He had big hopes for a show. If seventy thousand girls lose their freaking minds when he tilts his head and smiles, then surely one will be moved by it, too. The vibration of the floor, the loud music, him together with his band, this was the peak of what he could be. There was nothing else he could give. It's been three weeks of texts from you, and now he finally got to see you again after the show. He searched for the confirmation in the subtle movements of the other members, as if they could know. To some extent, they did. They were aware that Y/N was coming to see the show tonight. Namjoon was very happy about it, in his usual sibling way. That's great! Platonic and pure. Yoongi saw that there was nothing between him and you. Minji probably had knitted that out of the air, and the socials follow was friendly. If there had been something, Yoongi would've bowed his head and stepped away. He hoped he would have.

As he left the stage, the throbbing in his chest just started. The anxiety just now hit him. His heart was beating in huge gulps with the adrenaline and exhaustion, and yet his head only started spinning now. He puffed a portion of it away, wearing his usual post-show face: happy, relaxed, content with himself. He walked in line behind Jin and looked around once the stage and her blinding glow, and deafening wail, was out of sight. He spotted you hiding in the cavity between the two now-empty equipment boxes, in the shadow. People were running to and fro, the post-performance commotion in full. Somewhere, a bottle of champagne popped, and he nodded at Jin asking to scurry a glass aside for him. He stepped away from the course and waved at you.

You watched Yoongi emerge from blue light. Your heart was pumping fresh blood that was about to burst out of your nose because of how tense you'd been. The environment was so new, and you didn't have Minji with you to pacify you. And also this one, lower lip in between his teeth, still high from stage on which he just totally, completely shattered your world just half an hour ago. Your mouth went dry. Drama.

"Hey! How was it?"

Yoongi stood before you, glistening with sweat, his eyes wide open, wolfcut styled to compliment the shape of his face, and so picture-like that he could be a hologram.

"How was it!" you couldn't utter anything, "well, you guys suck, that's what I tell you!"

You slurred on your words trying not to sound too insane. Thankfully, Yoongi saw through you and gave the widest smile. Everything slowed down like in a music video. You felt like a goddamn overgrown princess while he smiled at you. People moved around, the light flickered, sounds drowned you, and he was the only stable thing, smiling so wide that he looked like a child.

"I get it now, I mean, the BTS thing, it's massive".

"Yeah? Did you see when I", he imitated his own gesture when he dropped the microphone at the end of a song you didn't know the title of.

"Yes. Badass. I don't know what else to say. It was really cool. You were all synchronized completely, the whole time. Whoever does your choreography is a lunatic".

He continued with laughter,

"It's Hoseok".

"O-o-oh".

He was still panting a little, mouth slightly open. You wanted out of here, your mind clutching you in iron fixators. Someone called his name, shrieking:

"Yoongii-i-i-iee-eah!"

You hoped he would fuck off and stop torturing you with his agape mouth, with glistening tongue mindlessly slithering inside, but he completely ignored it.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say. I am really impressed".

He nodded like he was hungry for your words.

"Hey, if you wait a little, we..."

His chest heaved with a huge breath he took, and you put your hand up between you:

"I need to go home to Holly. I'm- I don't need to be here, I mean, you probably have your post-show routine".

He gave several small nods and finally closed his mouth. The huge body in front of you, the things it did for two hours straight, it should be dead now, but it wasn't.

"Yeah, of course. I'll pick up Holly in two days, alright?"

You agreed and thanked him for letting you see the show. You bowed to each other like you usually did, only, Yoongi still seemed agitated. As he was leaving, you said,

"Hey, tell everybody I said hi, and that you're great!"

He smiled again.

"I will".

You had to think about it straight. You didn't want freshly used goods and you didn't want anybody whose dick used to be inside your best friend. Simple. Minji meant much more to you. She was your comfort and your shelter, and your happy person. She was the protective shield around you against the world. You picked her up like a... human pet, and now she was yours. Yoongi wouldn't take it away. His stupid low voice wasn't worth it.

You bit your lips clean off and got to the meat by the time he came around. You were looking forward to never seeing him again and recuperating after him. God forbid they get married.

Minji looked happier than ever these days, so you didn't hold your breath. And even though she refused to speak about her affair, you saw that Yoongi did her well; she was only worried about her brother's reaction.

You gathered and packed Holly's things with a small sad spot glaring in your chest. He was a very good dog: sleeping with you at night, helping the quality of your sleep. Walking close to you on the street and always looking at you with these beady eyes. He wiggled his tail so hard that it hit against the furniture, and was playful like a little puppy. Yoongi took good care of him because he was a very happy and naive, carefree dog. It made you respect him a lot. Now it was time for Holly to go home, and you asked yourself, when there's a next tour - and it will come sooner or later - will he call you again?

Yoongi expressed a very similar thought that you had just an hour before he arrived:

"You should get a pet. They help a lot with PTSD".

You nodded gratefully,

"I slept very well with him. I actually feel less tired".

Yoongi raised his face and smiled.

"I can rent him to you from time to time".

He let Holly lick his face so that the dog calms down seeing his dad return. Yoongi wouldn't want to get one on the mouth, so he winced funnily and turned a little away from his long pink tongue.

"Listen, I'm sorry for how I acted after the show".

The eyes opened wide.

"I was honestly flabbergasted and really had no words".

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I'm just glad I set the record straight".

"Hmm?"

Yoongi smiled sheepishly.

"Every citizen of Seoul has been to a BTS concert at least once".

You chuckled.

"I wanna go see PSY now".

"I can arrange that", he said simply, and you got seriously impressed. Maybe not then, maybe you'll buy a ticket like people usually did.

"Can you help me get his things downstairs?"

Together, you went out of the flat, leaving Holly inside for now, hands full of his food, towels, blankets, his sleeping pillow, toys and clothes. You weren't even surprised to see Yoongi's Range Rover sitting out of place on your narrow street. The car was just too big and too clean for it. He took Holly's things out of your hands, brushing his fingers against the back of your palm. You felt like you had to ask something, make conversation, but instead, just kept silent.

You kept silent on the way back up in the elevator.

You kept silent when you opened the door to your apartment and let him in behind you. He gave you a moment to say goodbye to Holly.

"I am serious. If you want, I can give you contacts of a good shelter".

"I have always been a cat owner", you mused, "you don't need to walk cats in the morning".

"They have cats, too".

You got to your knees, and Holly, already used to your touch, and your face, put its snout on yours.

"I will miss you, Holly", you uttered and realized it was an actual problem. The withdrawal from having a pet in your apartment, and then not having it, was going to be real. It would get lonelier than before, by a fraction.

"You can always go on a date with him", Yoongi said in his usual low voice. You thought that somehow his English improved over three weeks.

"Or with me", he added.

Your throat got tense. For a second you looked at Yoongi from your knees, then stood up sharply. His mouth formed a straight line as he hid his lips, shy. He didn't blink and looked you straight in the face, making it impossible to pretend you didn't hear it.

"Oh hell no", you snapped. Your breath became hot in your nostrils. Yoongi's eyebrows flew up, eyes so innocent it was nauseating.

"Oh-kay".

His eyes were searching the rest of your face.

"You don't have to be that mean about it".

He finally dropped his gaze but still didn't budge.

"I love Minji too much. She is important to me", you said coldly. The same vigor in your fist that once made you pick up a soju bottle. Yoongi frowned and looked up again, acting amusingly confused.

"Minji? What's she got to do with this?"

"Tsk".

"What?"

"She told me about your relationship".

Now he looked scared.

"We're friends?"

"Sleeping with no strings attached is still a relationship, Yoongi".

If he could, Yoongi would probably detach his eyeballs and throw them at you, that how far his brow went.

"Mwo?" he almost yelled. No, he did yell. His mouth formed a perfect O. So local, perfect. Holly got scared because Yoongi probably never yelled in his presence. You blinked.

"Get out. Don't fuck with me", you demanded, and Yoongi changed his pose, putting one foot in front, so that you wouldn't be able to ram him out of the apartment even if you tried.

"Hold on", he said, his voice so high now that it must hurt his throat.

"Having sex with Minji?"

With his free hand, as he still held Holly's leash, he took out his phone. His sculpted face was slowly turning into expression of a stone. He avoided looking at you directly and only blinked blankly while he waited.

"Minji-ah!" he yelled again and crunched his nose like Minji could see him. This was all a little much for you. You were confused so hard that you barely understood the fast rap-like speech he gave her on the phone. Maybe he was scolding her for cracking their dirty secret to you. Maybe he was asking when he started sleeping with her, because he had no idea. You were hyperventilating a bit.

"Please leave", you said weakly, trying to push him in the shoulder. Yoongi moved your fist with the back of his hand.

"Wait. Wait a second. Minji!"

He turned on the speaker on his phone and looked at you. However, he was speaking with the girl.

"Minji!"

"Oh my god!" the phone nearly got torn apart with her squeal, "What the fuck you thought I was sleeping with Yoongi? I am so sorry, Y/N!"

Your heart dropped. You felt stupid. You were panting.

"I am so dumb! I was so drunk I must have told you it was Yoongi? Did I? Y/N, we never slept! Ew, he is my hyung!"

Yoongi was silently staring at you as if this whole thing was your fault somehow.

"It's Jin!"

Now he suddenly looked at the phone, dumbfounded.

"You're sleeping with Seokjin?"

"Yes, yes", she clarified, "is Y/N there? I can't hear her, is she there?"

"I'm here", you managed to utter, the walls of your throat glued together.

"We were sitting, remember? And Yoongi must have been in my sight, I was trying to say Jin, and I said Yoongi because I looked at him! No! No! He really likes you!"

Yoongi's ears went a little pink. But he was still in shock from hearing what he heard.

"You and Jin?" he repeated, "Does Namjoon know?"

"No", she said timidly. "Anyway, do you hear? He likes you, I even-"

Yoongi's swift finger pressed End and the call went silent. You couldn't look at each other for some time, but he was braver.

"Please leave", you said again, numb. The only sound was him unlocking and opening the door and Holly's steps. You hadn't cut his nails because you didn't know how. Yoongi's stare was still blank as he closed the door behind him, head low, like he was about to bow to you.

Minji nearly went crazy with guilt. You had a video call that afternoon, as soon as she had a free minute at work, and she rattled on about how she nearly messed everything up.

You watched her small hand with delicate nails cover her face. The gem in the ring on her middle finger (her own gift to herself for being the baddest bitch) flickered with white flash. For how knows which time in a row you thought that she seemed like a premium version of a human.

"I am so du-hu-humb!" she whined, "I am never getting drunk again!"

"You are", you retorted. Still didn't know how to feel. The weight of phantom guilt which turned out to be baseless after all, still had a grip on you, and in a twisted way, it was turning you off from Yoongi. You needed a big push now. It still felt really wrong, like his image was smeared.

"You see, he came to be after Hobi's birthday", she explained. The corridor with glass walls was flying behind her as she walked fast, searching for a vacant room to sit down.

"He said, I can't stop thinking about her".

Your heart fluttered somewhere in your stomach, an impulse so strong that you actually felt pain and wiggled, lying on your bed.

"Really? Are you for real?"

"Yes, I had no idea but he really liked you, like almost from the very beginning!" her eyes were huge on your screen. "And I was so stupid because I told him you liked Namjoon..."

You moaned.

"Minji... you pulled it out of me at the party".

"I know, I know, but I had to make sure, because who needs a love triangle! But then I reckoned you just said it because I pressed you. But Yoongi was like, super hesitant then. Then I told him you don't like my brother".

You did like him. Just, not the romantic way. Minji rolled her eyes at herself and continued,

"God, how did I manage to mess this up? Yoongi is a naturally hesitant person, you know. He takes time to make decisions. I don't wanna say he's slow or anything... but he did take six months to make a move on you, you see".

"Why did you tell me you were having sex with him..." you muttered. Minji gasped in suffering, theatrically. You suddenly thought that it's pretty similar to how Hoseok gasped sometimes, with a flare of overplaying it.

"I was so drunk... literally, I was pointing at Jin. And you were looking at Yoongi. I think I barely heard you, I thought you saw where I was pointing!"

You buried your face into the blanket and stopped breathing. You were, all three of you, in your thirties. How embarrassing: fools all round. No, not Yoongi. He was completely innocent in this. Did nothing wrong, was perfectly adequate and comfortable to be around. And he paid the most, for the both of you. You lifted your face, one eye wrinkled by the force you were pressing it into the bed. Minji was tensely looking into the camera at you.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Do you like him? He was trying so hard".

"I kicked him out, Minji".

She shook her head violently.

"Just drop him a text".

You chewed your lips hard, realized: there's no need to lie to yourself anymore, you can cautiously step out of this cage.

"I really really like him. He is so handsome, Minji. I was feeling so fucking guilty for liking him, because I thought you're DATING!" you yelled the last part, and Minji made the most adorable empathizing face.

"I am sorry... but that's awesome though, right?"

"Minji, is that why I was the dogsitter?" it suddenly dawned on you.

"Well, yes".

"Are you even allergic to dogs?"

"...no".

You turned around onto your back. The sun was filling the bedroom, empty without Holly's click-clack steps and quiet whining. The boy had a habit to hum under his breath like his dad. It was the first dog that liked to sing, that you've ever seen.

"You know what, I won't get further into this", Minji decided, "I feel like I've done enough. He is so angry with me. You're adults, work it out. Text him. I promise he is great".

You noticed that much. Yoongi knew how to keep his distance while teasing himself to you carefully. Knew his way around words, and even the way he used English, so focused on avoiding mistakes, never giving himself a break with the phonetics of it, was very appealing to you. You had a feeling he didn't just ask about the books you liked, to say something. That he really memorized stuff about you, even if he wasn't sure he'd need it. He almost seemed too good to be true.

You lay on your bed, body still unused to not having Holly in your hands. Miraculous how quickly you adjust to having a pet. Maybe you'll get to see him more and cuddle him again.

You spent your Sunday in thinking, and would've spent the whole night before a working week pondering how you can apologize to Yoongi without being needy, or if he will even want to talk to you. But in the evening, your phone screen lit up with a message which knocked the breath out of you. So, here we are, Y/N, you thought to yourself, huh. No drama, huh. That's how we react now to messages from him.

You tried to look at yourself from a perspective. He is an idol, someone you swore to never get involved with, even hypothetically. You were still sure the amount of headache this connection will entail will come back to bite you. You had no idea about the depth of trouble. With that, you took your phone.

I'm sorry I like you

It took away a lot of pride to tell him that he didn't have to apologize; your selflessness towards people usually manifested in acts of service, like saving their life or buying them a coffee; but you weren't good with words. So, when you texted him that phrase, you felt like you were growing, and actually had to make the choice to be serious about it. As long as he was. You decided to go on a date. You made a confession: I don't really like coffee. I'm more of a bubble-tea person. Yoongi took it well, like everything else.

I know a place I will pick you up from work on Tuesday, right?

#yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #bts imagine #min yoongi x reader

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gimmethatagustd · 2 months ago

Text

only here to sin (final); kth, knj, pjm

When your genius of a boyfriend returns to Harvard for his sophomore year of college, you never would have expected to have his worst enemy keeping you entertained in his absence.

Pairing: Taehyung x (f)reader (ft. Namjoon, Jimin)

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Enemies to lovers, college

Content Warning: Angst, infidelity, alcohol, marijuana, toxic romantic and familial relationships, mental health issues, references parental death, virginity kink, emotional manipulation, smut (blow job, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, cunnilingus)

Word Count: 14,588

A/N: This was really the end of an era for me and the ohts taehyung whores back in the day. Especially @taehyungcentral

‣ Main Masterlist

‣ Series Masterlist

Dear Y/N,

Congratulations! After thorough consideration, we are thrilled to offer you admission to the Honors College of…

You read the acceptance letter on your phone and again when it arrived in the mail, snatching up the large envelope with the university’s crest printed on it from your mother’s prying eyes.

At this time last year, the mere thought of transferring to a new college would have seemed intimidating and impossible. Now, though? Now the thought of moving to the other side of the country to finish your next two years of college was so intoxicating that you could barely contain yourself. You eventually told your parents, knowing their response without needing to touch on the topic. But you were a good, dutiful daughter. You played by the rules, even when you were still breaking them. It was a delicate balance.

They still refused to help you move into your new dorm, no matter how you framed the situation. You were ruining their perfect plans. Sure, they wouldn’t cut you off financially, but they wouldn’t help you get to where you wanted (no, needed) to be. It was all on you.

But that was fine. There was nothing for you in your sleepy hometown, anyway. Your parents cared for you too little, your friends were fake, Namjoon wasn’t in the picture to stop you from being independent, and Taehyung was… Well, Taehyung was Taehyung. At some point, you burned down quite literally every bridge in your life, stripped every relationship of whatever flimsy glue has been left holding it together. It would be easy to blame Taehyung. He’d been the catalyst, after all. But something deep down told you that this was bound to happen, with or without Kim Taehyung.

You sat on your bed and scrolled through your Instagram friends. If you were going to skip town, it was time for a purge. You were going to unfollow every single stupid person you’d forced a friendship with simply because your parents knew each other or your families went to the same country club or you met them at piano lessons. Fuck that superficial shit. You were done. No more tea parties and white dresses and sticking noses up at people who didn’t have a stick up their asses. You didn’t care if they realized you’d cut them off your socials.

As Taehyung told you, no more giving a shit about what other people wanted.

It seemed so silly, archiving Instagram posts and unfollowing people. As if that was really what mattered in life. But it felt good, regardless. You gleefully scrolled through the list, every tap of the unfollow button like scissors through strings of fate.

The glee quickly died when you were suddenly bombarded with text messages from the man whose red string of fate was too tangled with yours.

You threw your phone across your bed and watched it skid to a stop right on the edge of the mattress. It teetered for a moment before plummeting to the floor. You didn’t bother to pick it up.

Your attempt at being straightforward and having a no-nonsense attitude with Taehyung worked. It was difficult to be so plain in your responses; not sending an exclamation point or a smiley face made you feel like you were being a total bitch. Especially since you were essentially rejecting him. An hour passed since Taehyung read your message and he still hadn’t responded. To be fair, you had told him to shut up. So technically he was doing exactly what you supposedly wanted.

Except you didn’t want him to shut up.

Unless you were the one shutting him up. With your mouth. Or your pussy.

The thought made you flush with heat straight to your face. And perhaps to other places, too. But you had to stay strong. You couldn’t fall into the traps of Kim Taehyung.

Curling up with your pillow, you cradled yourself into a fetal position.

The last time you’d seen him was almost a month ago. You could stay strong. You could stay away from him. You knew you could. And soon you would be so far away that Kim Taehyung wouldn’t even exist anymore.

Caffeine and anxiety made your freshly manicured nails drum against the reclaimed wood table you sat at, perched on the edge of your seat. The bakery had very few customers in it, much to your good fortune. The fewer people to possibly get into your business, the better. Perhaps you should have asked Namjoon to meet you somewhere more private; then again, did you want to be somewhere private with him? You weren’t quite sure.

His large frame approached you with hunched shoulders and eyes rimmed red. Rather than his usual fashionable outfit, Namjoon wore a plain hoodie and sweatpants. His large-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, likely because his constant crying prevented him from wearing contacts. The feeling of your nails digging into the inside of your palms was unpleasant, but it was better than the possible sting of tears.

Focus. Focus on your breathing, on the tinkling of cafe music floating down from the ceiling, on avoiding that sticky spot on the table your elbow kept touching.

Don’t focus on the fact that Namjoon’s promise ring was still snug on his finger, whereas yours was thrown in the back of your dresser drawer at home.

“Jagi- …. Y/N…” Namjoon stood at your table, eyes cast downward. Your throat conveniently closed in on itself.

With a drawn-out sigh, Namjoon pulled out the seat opposite of you. Its metal legs dragged against the tile floor, making a screeching sound that echoed through the quiet bakery. You would have taken that ear-splitting sound ricocheting in your skull for eternity over having to stare into the look he gave you.

“Hi.”

The longer you looked into his puffy eyes, the hotter you felt your face burn. Your stomach was twisting and churning; you’d spent a good twenty minutes in the bathroom before Namjoon showed up simply because you weren’t sure your body could function.

Your first instinct was to ask him how he was doing, but you left your mouth hanging open when you realized the nicety wouldn’t take you very far. It would likely start the conversation off badly. And you desperately needed this to go well.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you chose to say instead. It reasserted that there was a reason for why the two of you were meeting, but it was void of any emotion aside from gratefulness. Not that you felt very grateful about anything at this point; maybe that was your flaw. Y/N, the spoiled brat.

“How could you throw away so many years of our relationship like that, Y/N?” Namjoon dove straight to the point. He gripped the edges of the table and leaned forward. Looking into his eyes felt like staring into the sun; it was all blinding, painful heat.

“But it was years of something bad, Joon.”

“How was it bad? We were perfect.”

You flinched at the loaded word, leaning a bit back in your seat. The sudden distance only made Namjoon push his defense further.

“You wasted my time.” The hateful way Namjoon spat the accusation didn’t match the tired, weak look in his eyes. “We put so much effort into this, for nothing.”

His words stung more than you expected, even when you’d prepared yourself all morning to anticipate that Namjoon might say hurtful things. He often did when he was angry, and this was the angriest you’d ever seen him - at least, with you. So when the glare didn’t let up and he kept invading your space across the table, you really couldn’t blame yourself for cowering. You weren’t used to anyone talking to you like this.

“That’s hurtful,” you spoke with quivering lips. “What about love, Joonie? Don’t you love me? Was the effort all you care about?” Was it possible to be strong and stand up for yourself while also feeling terrified and weak? Were you weak for reacting like this?

“Oh,” Namjoon scoffed, his eyes trailing off to look somewhere to the side of you. “You think that’s hurtful? But you won’t address the fact that you’ve broken up with me over a lie Kim Taehyung has fed you. If you loved me, you wouldn’t act like this.”

“You lied to me, Namjoon. This isn’t about Tae.”

Namjoon’s head whipped back to look you squarely in the face, and it was then that you knew you’d fucked up.

“Tae?” He angrily repeated the nickname back at you. “So you have been talking to him more than just at the party.”

Your mouth fell open and your fingers dug into the edge of the table. Your brain screamed at you to speak, but you couldn’t let out even a puff of air.

“Were you sleeping with him?” Namjoon’s voice rose slightly. Although he wasn’t exactly loud, the bakery was too quiet. “Y/N, fucking answer me. Did you cheat on me?”

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to Namjoon, but you couldn’t help the fury that bubbled up in your chest at his accusations. No matter how true they were, he had his nerve to deflect blame onto you, as if years of shitty boyfriend behavior didn’t matter.

“Real typical of you to make this about yourself and turn this on me,” you hissed, unsure of where this boldness was coming from. Maybe Taehyung had rubbed off on you. Uncertainty still clouded your mind, though. You still shrank back in your seat despite your uptick of confidence showing through your voice.

“You won’t even deny it!” Namjoon scoffed incredulously.

“Taehyung has nothing to do with this!”

At that moment, the little bell above the bakery’s front door rang to indicate that someone was entering the shop. The tinkling sound carried through the near-empty bakery. Out of instinct, you and Namjoon turned to glance at the door.

“What the fuck?” Namjoon turned his attention back to you, but your eyes were still on the man who’d stepped through the door.

Taehyung stood in the doorway wearing his usual brown leather jacket over a white t-shirt and skinny jeans. There were rips in each knee, but also a slit in the middle of his thigh that showed an inch or two of bare skin. You tried not to look at how form-fitting his clothes were, nor at the way his wavy hair fell unstyled into his eyes.

He locked eyes with you, then shifted to Namjoon’s profile, before landing on you once again. He mouthed a “sorry” and jabbed at the front door with his thumb, indicating that he was going to leave.

You wanted to kill him.

“Did you invite him, too? Were you going to come clean together? Ask me for my fucking blessing?”

“No,” you said in a firm but hushed tone. The bell rang again and Taehyung was gone.

Namjoon scooted back in his chair, fully preparing to leave. Fear shot through your heart at the possibility that he might go after Taehyung. But why did you even care? It wouldn’t be the first time the two had fought.

You scooted back in your chair as well, determined to be the first to leave.

“Our problems began the moment we started dating, Namjoon. And that’s the truth.” You rose to your feet, wrapping your arms around your body. “You never treated me like an individual. You treated me like a project.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, but you simply shook your head. You gathered your half-finished vanilla latte to throw away. It would only upset your stomach even more if you took it with you.

“I also came here to tell you that I’m transferring to another university. In California.” Initially, you didn’t know why you felt the need to tell him, but the crumpled look on his face when he digested your statement gave you the satisfaction you didn’t know you needed. “Goodbye, Namjoon.”

You forced yourself to keep your eyes straight ahead as the bell above the bakery’s door tinkled behind you, refusing to give Namjoon the satisfaction of knowing that you looked back at him, that you lingered. Instead, you scanned the parking lot for an all-black sports car with windows so tinted it was difficult to see the man waiting in the driver’s seat, drumming his long fingers against the steering wheel. Sliding in the passenger seat, you slammed the door shut and continued to keep your eyes straight ahead.

“I’m guessing from the way you’re doing that cute little pout that it didn’t go well.”

“Can you please just drive?”

It was a silent drive to Taehyung’s apartment, save for your sniffling as hot tears streamed down your face. You pressed the sleeves of your cardigan into your eyes, against your cheeks, over your nose. You did your best to collect the mess you were making of yourself, to not lose it yet again in front of Taehyung. People crying made him uncomfortable which was why you were shocked when he reached over to place his hand on your thigh.

Unlike in the past, the gesture wasn’t sexual. His hand was simply a warm reminder that you weren’t alone. His fingers stretched out to grip your thigh for comfort, never once inching up too high.

How could you rationalize going to Taehyung’s apartment? Or involving him in any of this business with Namjoon? You told yourself it was because you had no one else to turn to, no real friends who still lived at home. Sure, you had Jackie, but you felt like your relationship with her as co-workers would cross a weird line if you ran to her apartment to cry over your ex-boyfriend.

Did it make any more sense that you were doing that with Taehyung, though? Especially after he had already made it very clear that there was no potential for the two of you to be exclusive?

Taehyung pulled into his apartment complex and your brain screamed at you to do something, anything, to get him to take you home instead. You could lock yourself in your room and easily ignore your parents. They never checked up on you unless they needed you, anyway.

But do not go into Kim Taehyung’s apartment.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung murmured, running his hand along your thigh in a soothing massage. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and dried your tears. All you felt was a deep-rooted numbness that started in the middle of your chest, seeping into every crevice and limb. Brynn said sometimes with emotions there was nothing to do but ride the wave.

You were going to ride the wave.

Taehyung led you to his apartment, his fingers intertwined with yours to make sure you were keeping up. Nothing passed before your eyes as you stumbled behind him; you barely saw or heard anything but the back of Taehyung’s leather jacket and white noise flooding your ears. There was nothing else for you.

Inside, Taehyung watched you stand frozen in the doorway for a few seconds too long before it eventually unnerved him.

“Y/N, take your shoes off and come here,” he said in a strong voice, hoping to cut through whatever was going on in your head.

With a sigh, you kicked your shoes off and dragged yourself towards Taehyung. You pressed your face against his broad chest and loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. Just as the night you’d broken up with Namjoon, you felt Taehyung tense beneath the hug, and it took him a moment to ease up. His hands found your waist and drew you flush against his body.

“I hate that you’re the only person I can go to.”

“I know.”

Taehyung’s hands tucked inside of your cardigan to find the hem of your shirt. He slipped his hands beneath the fabric, giving himself access to your bare waist. You shivered as he traced patterns into your skin with his fingertips.

“Wanna smoke?”

You tilted your head back to look at his face, admiring his muscular neck and sharp jawline. In the past couple of months when the two of you hadn’t spent much time together, Taehyung had changed. His lanky body had filled in more, seemingly more muscular. He also lived alone; Jungkook moved in with his girlfriend. You found it interesting that Taehyung’s friends were beginning to settle down. You wondered if he was still fucking other people.

Smoking with him was a really bad idea.

“Sure.”

You followed Taehyung to the living room, plopping down on his couch while you watched him grind up weed he plucked from a glass jar. The veins in his hands popped as he twisted the grinder and picked out the pieces he wanted. Those long fingers expertly rolled a joint with a rolling paper that had little cartoon grapes printed on it. You couldn’t stop yourself from remembering the last time you had those hands on you when Taehyung fingered you during your picnic at the local forest reserve. You remembered how secure you’d felt with your back leaned against his chest, your legs hooked around his so he could keep you spread open for him. The way you licked and sucked his fingers clean when he was done.

“Here.” Taehyung’s deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You took the now lit joint from his fingers and brought it to your lips. “You still like the grape, right?”

You nodded, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that made Taehyung’s figure waver in front of you. “I haven’t smoked with anyone else.”

He nodded, taking the joint back from you. The two of you sat in relative silence, only murmuring comments about the weed or for you to get an update about Jungkook’s new place. It was nice to sit, to simply exist, and let the high lift your mood and have your body buzz.

“You can do whatever you want now,” Taehyung commented, tapping the joint against an ashtray on the coffee table. “Go where you want, do what you want, see who you want.”

“But not with you, right?” You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his bloodshot eyes with yours, instead choosing to inspect the glass jar of weed on the table.

“You can do whatever you want with me, baby girl,” Taehyung countered.

Whatever you wanted. With one condition.

But why did you care? You would be gone. There was no longer time to do anything you wanted with him, even if he genuinely wanted you to. The opportunity was rubbish blown away in the wind.

When you stole a glance at him, he had his head tilted back slightly and you watched his jaw muscles flex as he took a hit of the joint. It was finished, but all you could focus on was the way his lips parted to let a perfect swirl of smoke leave his mouth, only to be inhaled again, this time through his nose. His nose with the perfect little mole freckled right on the tip. Upon closer inspection, you realized he was wearing the same gold chain he wore in the shirtless photo he sent you. Once he put the joint out in the ashtray he carded his hand through his messy locks, the wavy strands softly falling back against his forehead.

God, he was so fucking hot.

“Got something you want to say?” Taehyung smirked, noticing the way you stared at him. Somehow, he always did.

Yes, you wanted to say. More things than I possibly know how to express.

You couldn’t tell if it was the weed making you misinterpret reality, but it seemed that Taehyung leaned closer to you on the couch. You continued to watch him with your lips parted and eyelids heavy. When he looked at you with those dark eyes tinged red from hitting that perfect high, fuck, you could melt in his hands.

All of a sudden he was too close. Your knees bumped into each other and you swore you could feel the sensation vibrate up your leg and straight to your core. Inhaling sharply, you breathed in his cologne beneath the thick smell of weed; oak, and spice. Your brain moved in slow motion as Taehyung’s hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently gliding over the apple of your cheek. The feeling of his skin on yours shot ripples of warm electricity through your veins, snaking through every part of your body. Your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned into his touch when Taehyung pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss started slow, almost hesitant, like the two of you were remembering how your lips used to fit together. Taehyung coaxed your mouth open and the feeling of his tongue rolling against yours made you moan. He hummed in response, retreating slightly to suck on your bottom lip.

Taehyung’s hands squeezed your hips and he pulled you towards him until he had you straddling his lap. His shoulders were firm under your hands when you slid forward to wrap your arms around his neck. The kiss became more fervent and sloppier, all twisting tongues and bitten lips. Your body was on autopilot as you started moving against him, Taehyung using his grip on your waist to grind you directly onto his semi-hard cock. The zipper of his jeans dragged against your clit through your pants; every touch had you gushing.

“Tae…”

You let out a small whimper as Taehyung’s mouth landed hot on your throat, sucking deep hickeys into your skin. He flicked his tongue against your skin as he sucked on you, just as he’d done with your clit the night of Jungkook’s party. Fuck, how you’d wished you had at least one more chance to feel his mouth hot and wet on your pussy.

“We, we shouldn’t be doing this, Tae,” you attempted to protest as Taehyung pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the floor.

“Why not? You’re not with Namjoon anymore.” His hands slid around to unzip your jeans. Maybe you didn’t verbally answer him, but you shimmied out of your jeans and that was enough of a response for him.

Taehyung’s shirt was next to go. You ran your hands down the ripples of his abdomen. His muscles were more defined and hard beneath your touch. Taehyung sighed in between kisses down into your cleavage. He used both hands to pull your bra down to allow your tits to spill out, still pushed together from the restrictive clothing.

“Fuck, Tae,” you moaned, arching your back to press further against him as his tongue began flicking against your nipple.

When his mouth closed around your nipple and he sucked you lightly, your hands flew to unbuckle his belt. Taehyung lifted his hips to pull his jeans and briefs down his thighs. You’d slept with Taehyung multiple times, but not enough for you to be accustomed to his size. With his cock erect and throbbing between your thighs, you tried to regulate your breathing as you anticipated having him inside of you. He guided you to move against him, rubbing your clothed pussy against his cock as you watched beads of precum drip from his head. You were scandalized by the way you were practically drooling at the thought, especially since you’d never ridden him before.

“My wallet,” he said hoarsely, gesturing to the coffee table, and the feeling of his baritone voice rumbling against your chest had you weak in the knees. You twisted around to grab his wallet and watched with heat pooling at your core as Taehyung retrieved a condom to roll down his thick cock.

“You ready?” Taehyung pulled your underwear to the side and ran his fingers through your dripping, swollen folds. “Fuck, you’re always so wet for me, jagiya. Shit…”

He moaned at the same time you did as he slipped two fingers into you, your pussy easily sucking them in. Your legs shook as Taehyung fucked you with his fingers, eventually stretching you out with three to be sure you were ready to readjust to his cock after going so long without him.

“Tae, please,” you begged, gripping the hair at the back of his head as the two of you locked eyes.

“Miss me, baby girl?” Taehyung teased.

You hated the way your heart fluttered when he spoke, or when you felt his arms wrap around your waist to pull you against him, your chests pressed against each other. Taehyung held your bloodshot gaze with his own, both of your eyes heavy from lust and being high. You could almost trick yourself into believing that the way he cradled your body in his hands was out of care. You could almost convince yourself that the heavy feeling in your chest was only weed, that Taehyung had no impact. That he didn’t matter. Almost.

“Yes,” you admitted with a whimper, too high to attempt to lie. You lifted onto your knees to line his cock with your entrance. The descent was slow and careful; you weren’t eager to have him slamming into your cervix if you could avoid it.

“Mmmm, that’s it, jagi,” Taehyung moaned, his cock twitching inside of you once you finally sunk onto him, your ass flat against his thighs.“Fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Y-yes, Tae.”

With a tight grip on his shoulders, you rolled your hips back and forth, testing out that technique first. When you lifted until only his head was inside of you and then allowed yourself to drop down, your skin slapping against his, that was when you got the reaction you wanted. Taehyung threw his head back against the couch and dug his fingers deeper into your skin.

“You remember who this pussy belongs to, baby girl?”

“You, Taehyung.” With a small whimper, you nodded, stuttering through your response to him as you worked hard to match the movement of your hips to his thrusts. “Only you.”

“Good girl.”

You felt your chest swell with his praise, a small smile forming on your lips as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. Taehyung took over, planting his feet to the ground so he could thrust into you with more force. All you could do was gasp as he fucked into you, every thrust stimulating your walls and forcing your clit to brush against his abdomen.

“Oh my god, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

Taehyung picked up the pace, growling filthy words of encouragement as he guided you through your orgasm. You moaned his name until your throat became hoarse, your fingers tangled in his dark locks, your thighs burning.

However, your orgasmic high was short-lived. A loud bang against Taehyung’s front door caused both of you to startle. Taehyung protectively wrapped his arms around your waist and the two of you stared at the door. You flinched when the banging continued, your eyes wide and locked with Taehyung’s.

“Who is that?” you whispered, but you were met with a blank look. What had Taehyung been doing lately to have someone trying to smash his door in?

“Open the fucking door, Taehyung!”

Your stomach dropped to the floor when Namjoon’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

“Son of a bitch,” Taehyung growled.

It was no surprise that hearing your ex-boyfriend’s voice made you spring into action. You shakily got up, your legs wobbling when you attempted to stand. You collapsed back onto the couch, fear etched into your face.

“I swear to god, I’ll rip this fucking door off its hinges.”

Taehyung peeled the condom off and pulled his jeans on, not bothering with a shirt. He was so fucking bold. You on the other hand were scrambling to throw your clothes on before Taehyung flung the front door open to come face to face with a very pissed-off Namjoon.

You could practically see Namjoon’s brain putting all the pieces together when his gaze moved from Taehyung’s shirtless torso and the tight crotch of his jeans to the hickeys along your throat and collarbones. You wondered if, as he stormed down the hallway of Taehyung’s apartment complex, he heard you screaming Taehyung’s name as you came.

“You motherfucker.”

The scream that ripped from your throat was uncontrollable as you saw Namjoon wind up to launch his fist at Taehyung’s face. Miraculously, Taehyung ducked in enough time to miss the hit.

“Are you really going to try this again? High school wasn’t enough for you, Joonie?”

Taehyung took a step towards Namjoon, his broad shoulders squared up. To no one’s surprise, Namjoon didn’t back down. Instead, he grabbed a hold of Taehyung and shoved him backward, causing the other man to stumble. The sound of the back of Taehyung’s head hitting the wall echoed through the apartment.

“Fuck you,” Namjoon spat, advancing on Taehyung with a fury blazing in his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about that anymore. I’m beyond that. This is different.”

Taehyung may have been lankier than Namjoon, but he was quicker. You screamed again when you watched Taehyung’s fist smash into Namjoon’s jaw, flinging the man’s face sideways.

“Different, yeah? What about it is different?” By the time Namjoon could collect himself, Taehyung’s fist was firing again, packing more effort than the first. “This time your mommy and daddy aren’t going to save you from the bullshit you brought on yourself?”

By the third hit, a bit of blood trickled from Namjoon’s nose. He doubled over to wipe the back of his hand against his face, and that was when you made your move.

“Taehyung, stop! Stop it!”

You grabbed Taehyung’s arm to pull him back from letting his fist swing again. With Taehyung distracted, Namjoon wrapped his muscular arms around one of his legs and pulled him onto the ground.

“I can’t believe,” Namjoon’s fist collided with Taehyung’s chest as the other man tried to wrestle free from Namjoon’s grasp, “You put your dirty fucking hands on my girlfriend.”

“Should’ve seen how she was cumming all over these dirty fucking hands,” Taehyung spit back.

You watched in horror as the two men continued fighting, spewing insults while their fists smashed into shoulders, cheeks, and chests. No amount of screaming was getting through to them. You could shout until your veins were popping out of your neck, but the only sounds the two were listening for were their heavy breathing and the sound of the other man breaking.

It wasn’t until they’d wrestled into an end table and knocked a vase onto the floor that the two men stopped. Glass shards exploded everywhere.

“Fucking stop fighting right now!” You reached out to grab a fistful of Namjoon’s t-shirt with one hand and Taehyung’s hair with the other. “I hate you! I hate you both! Namjoon, it’s over. Let it go.”

Namjoon attempted to sputter a response, but you let out another ear-piercing shriek of frustration. “I’m so fucking sick of both of you! Get over yourselves! No one wins in this. No one.”

The two men sat on the floor for a moment longer, blinking in dazed confusion, as if they’d been ripped out of a dream. It seemed very clear to you what needed to be done, but they were too dumbfounded by your sudden aggressiveness and take-charge attitude to know what to do.

“Get up!”

Namjoon was the first to stand. He pushed back his bangs from his forehead and stared at you with a stern expression. He was still breathing hard and his t-shirt had a few tiny spots of blood on it. You assumed it was his own, but when Taheyung finally stood, you saw that his bottom lip was cut on one side, causing a bit of blood to trickle into the corner of his mouth.

It was stupid. The whole thing was utterly stupid. You’d all reserved to being wild animals over something that didn’t matter. There was no love here. Namjoon didn’t fight for you because he was in love. No, he fought because his ego was hurt. He fought because he felt wounded and blindsided. And Taehyung fought because he reveled in the adrenaline rush and the possibility to put Namjoon in his place.

They were both infuriating.

“Don’t try crawling back to me when he fucks you over,” Namjoon snapped. He moved slowly, likely trying to disguise how hurt he was. You thought you saw a few scratches on his legs; perhaps they were from the broken vase. He snatched up his phone from where it’d fallen amongst the shards of glass. The front door slammed shut behind him with a force so strong it seemed to make the entire apartment shudder.

You wanted to cry, but the weed wouldn’t let you. Just like your mouth, your eyes felt as dry as cotton. The only thing your body could do was churn up a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you turned to look at Taehyung. His face was flushed pink beneath his honey tones. The beginnings of purple bruises were forming along his ribcage and the apple of his left cheek. Although Namjoon walked away more defeated, he packed a harder punch than Taehyung. Since Taehyung wasn’t wearing a shirt, it was easier to see the damage. Who knew what Namjoon would see when he got home and stripped away his sweaty, bloody clothes.

“Why did you do that?” You took a step towards Taehyung, your body still tingling with adrenaline. “Why didn’t you just walk away?”

Taehyung squinted his eyes. “Do you think he would have stopped?”

You stood with pursed lips. Taehyung’s skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. You fought the urge to pull him close.

No. Namjoon wouldn’t have stopped.

Taehyung exhaled a dark laugh when you didn’t respond. Your silence was nothing new; he was just surprised that now you were being stubborn rather than shy.

“If you want to go back to being his property, by all means, go ahead. But don’t get mad at me for fucking defending you.”

Blood pulsed fast and hot into your face and neck, heating your already charged nerves into a frenzy you weren’t in the right state of mind to control. With a glare, you took another step forward. Your head tilted to look Taehyung in the eyes and for once the dark eyes that stared back at you didn’t intimidate you.

“Is that what you were doing? Defending me?” You tried to keep your voice from rising once again. “Or were you getting revenge just like when you fuck me?”

Taehyung leaned down until the tip of his nose was mere inches away from yours. Despite your confidence, it was hard not to be unsettled by the emptiness in his eyes. Yet it was impossible to look away.

“I fuck you because I want to, baby girl. Not for revenge.” His sneer sent shivers down your spine. He grabbed your waist and walked you backward until you felt your body bump into the wall. You gasped and placed your palms flat against Taehyung’s chest to push him away, but you hesitated. His heartbeat raced beneath your fingers. “And I fuck you because you deserve to be fucked how you want.”

You felt his nails drag down your hips until he reached the front of your jeans. Quick fingers unbuttoned and pushed them down your legs until you could step out of them when the fabric pooled at your ankles.

“So tell me, jagiya.” Taehyung’s voice was alluring and deep when he whispered against your ear. He hooked his thumb beneath your underwear’s waistband and tugged. “How do you want it?”

He was sweaty, bloody, and high on testosterone and adrenaline. And you? You were pissed beyond belief - pissed at Taehyung and Namjoon for being selfish, pissed at yourself for getting into this mess. But then you felt Taehyung’s thumb lightly caress your clit and your mind exploded with marijuana-induced, white-hot pleasure. Standing on your tiptoes, you hugged your arms around his neck rather than push him away.

“Right here,” you whispered. “Like this.”

The words barely left your lips before Taehyung was shoving his pants down far enough to release his cock. His velvety skin brushed you and you felt a bit of precum smear on you. Leaning down slightly, his large hands squeezed the back of your thighs. With his chest pressed against your chest and your back pressed against the wall, he effortlessly lifted you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He’d never admit it if he missed you during the time you were apart, but the way his lips consumed yours and his hands tangled themselves in your shirt told a story on their own.

“Wait,” you spoke through a moan as Taehyung began grinding his cock in between your swollen lips. He nudged the head of his cock against your clit and you felt like your heart was going to give out. “What about a condom?”

“You’re on the pill now, right?” he inquired with a soft murmur against your throat. His lips were slightly chapped aside from the spit of your kiss, and you figured it was from the hits he took to the face.

“Mhmm, but…” How could you say that you were worried about things other than pregnancy if you fucked him without it sounding bad?

“I tested recently. I’m good.” You felt the head of his cock almost slip into your entrance before Taehyung adjusted his position. “I’m not fucking anyone else, jagi. I haven’t in a while.”

You ran your fingers along his jaw, gently guiding him to look you in the eyes. “Not even Angel?”

He shook his head and your mind was too clouded by weed, adrenaline, anger, and lust to unpack what Taehyung said. All you could do was whimper your consent and relax your muscles as Taehyung sunk into you. The stretch was easier this time, though Taehyung was thick enough that you felt full. He pulled back to then ease himself into you again with such a deep thrust that you could feel the ridge of his head glide along your walls. The feeling was so sensual that you instinctually dragged your nails into his back.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So fucking warm.” Taehyung moaned. He pressed his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses lightly brushing against each other. You clenched around his cock when you saw his eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Can I go faster?”

The baby hit you in the chest so hard you couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t baby girl. It was baby. It was baby spoken with such softness you felt like you were going to die.

“I’m moving to California,” you blurted.

Taehyung’s movements paused. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but you were forced to open them when Taehyung unwrapped your legs from his body and pulled out of you so you stood in front of him.

Narrowed eyes studied your face. “What?”

With a deep, slow inhale you tried to focus your fuzzy brain on ordering the correct words in the correct order while your cotton mouth threatened to trip you up. “I transferred to a new school. And I leave at the end of the month.”

“What, so you’re here to get your last fuck before you dip?” Taehyung snorted, turning his head to the side as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

The accusation stung worse than Taehyung’s accusations the night of the party when he accused you of only wanting him because he was forbidden fruit, a boy from the wrong side of the tracks serving as a bit of entertainment until you went back to your perfect life. Your mouth fell open as you watched him tuck his cock, still hard and glistening with your arousal, back into his jeans to zip them up. You suddenly felt very exposed wearing only a t-shirt.

“You brought me here! What are you talking about?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes and began walking down the hall.

“Don’t walk away from me,” you hissed, only mildly shocked by the foreign tone of your voice. Taehyung must have been more surprised than you, though, for he stopped halfway to his bedroom and turned to look at you.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Y/N?”

For the second time that day, you wanted to kill him.

You scooped up your underwear to at least slide that on before you were following the man to his room like he was some petulant teenager. “I already told you, Kim Taehyung. I told you what I wanted from you.”

Although you’d closed the gap between the two of you, standing strong in the doorway of Taehyung’s bedroom while he stood near the foot of the bed, the coldness of his expression put you miles apart. You weren’t quite sure what desperation felt like; you’d always hoped you’d never feel it, particularly because of a boy. But the way your anxiety was clawing your insides to shreds and your desire to scream and sob until Taehyung understood was disturbing.

“Why are you like this? I know you feel something, Taehyung. I know you do.” you challenged, stepping forward with blurry vision. The tears didn’t spill, only collected in pools along your eyelashes. “Why aren’t you letting yourself feel?”

Taehyung turned away from you. You watched his jaw clench and unclench; his entire body tensed. When he finally turned back to look at you, his face was scrunched in distress.

“It would never work out, jagi. People come and go. I mean, look at you. You’re leaving.” He shook his head, sending those waves you loved flopping around his head. “People always leave and expect you to put yourself back together on your fucking own.”

Taehyung let out a dark chuckle and stared at the floor. “It’s better not to hold on.”

Somehow, it didn’t feel like his words were directed toward you.

You wanted to be angry, and part of you was. But the angry part of you was drowned out by sadness. You slid your fingers against Taehyung’s hand, twisting to intertwine your fingers with his. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but he still didn’t look at you. It wasn’t difficult to guess what he was talking about. You couldn’t imagine losing your mother, no matter how frustrating she was. Maybe if you had, you would be like Taehyung, too.

“But I haven’t ever broken you.”

Taehyung slowly brought his gaze back to you and you squeezed his hand more tightly. It was the wrong move; he immediately pulled away.

“Not yet.”

You watched Taehyung’s hands drop to unbutton and unzip his jeans, shoving them down until he was only standing in his briefs, cock semi-hard and visible through the fabric. Every movement was tense like his joints were cemented into position and reaching for a towel from his drawer cracked every bone in his arm. You realized he was preparing to take a shower as though you weren’t standing in the middle of his bedroom with your arms wrapped around your chest and tears still welling in your tired eyes.

“Taehyung,” you called out to ears that wouldn’t hear. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist in a final attempt to catch his attention.

“What?” The glare he shot you should have been intimidating, but you only knew how to solve relationship conflict in one way.

You threw your arm around Taehyung’s neck, pulling him down enough to bring his lips to yours. With every flick of your tongue in the inside of his mouth, the less tense Taehyung became. Eventually, he dropped the towel onto the floor and took your waist in his strong hands to pull you flush against his body. His skin was warm and soft, so different from the hateful energy that radiated off of him.

“What are you doing to me?” he murmured against your lips, using the break from the kiss to pull your t-shirt off. You couldn’t have answered him even if you knew.

Once your upper body was exposed, Taehyung’s mouth fell to your shoulder, kissing along your collarbone, nipping at your skin. One hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear to push it down while his other hand gripped the back of your head, digging his fingers into your scalp.

“If you’re going to leave me, then I’m going to ruin you for every single piece of shit that fucks you after me,” his voice rumbled against your ear and sent spikes of pleasure to your core. “I don’t want you to be able to fuck anyone else without thinking about me.”

You whimpered as Taehyung pushed you backward until you tumbled onto the bed. The hot throbbing of your clit was so uncomfortable that you squeezed your legs together to try to relieve some of the pressure as you watched Taehyung strip away his boxers. When he noticed he gave you another narrow look and roughly ripped your legs apart by your knees.

“Nuhh uhhh, you’re gonna stay wide open for me,” he said with a groan as he admired your arousal as it dripped down to your ass and smeared along the inside of your thighs. It was easy for him to drag his cock through your lips, coat him so well that strings of your arousal stuck to his cock when he pulled back to line himself with your entrance.

“Tae,” you whimpered, bucking your hips enough to force the head of his cock to shallowly dip inside of you.

Despite the annoyed look he shot you, Taehyung hooked your legs around his arms and swiftly sank into you. Like before, you weren’t sure if it was Taehyung or the weed (probably both), but your vision sparkled with stars and hot white light when Taehyung’s thick head dragged against your front wall. Feeling him inside of you, no condom barrier to mute any sensations, had your legs immediately shaking.

This time, it felt different. Taehyung fucked you with no mercy, every snap of his hips sending a rippled shudder throughout your body.

Taehyung pulled out of you until just the tip of his cock was still gripped by the warmth of your pussy. He let his head fall forward and you heard the smack of his lips as he drooled spit directly onto his cock before plunging himself back into you with full force. His spit mixed with his precum and your arousal to allow his cock to glide into you even more smoothly, though you were wet enough for him to drown.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned. Why was he so fucking hot?

“Oh, you still wanna call me baby?” Taehyung sneered. He spread you apart further as he thrust into you.

“You fuck me so g-good, Tae,” you whimpered. The harder he pounded into you the more you babbled. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to stop yourself, but you were on the verge of tears as Taehyung’s skilled fingers came down to rub slick circles over your clit.

“Do I?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes, Tae. Tae.” You moaned his name over and over again, each time your pitch becoming higher and breathier until you could no longer speak. Sounds got caught in your throat and all you could do was gasp as you went mute, your eyes closed in pleasure.

Taehyung reached with his free hand to grab your throat and gave you an experimental squeeze. When he felt you clench around his pulsing cock he squeezed a bit harder.

“Speechless, baby girl?”

And you were. You came with a silent scream, convulsing so tightly and violently around Taehyung’s cock that he was spiraling nearly right after you. You got to ride the orgasmic high you were robbed of earlier, so airy and sweet that you didn’t care when Taehyung’s cum trickled down your thighs.

When you were finally able to speak, Taehyung had melted into the affection, post-coital version of himself that made your heart race and your mind spiral in confusion. You knew he wanted you to forget, or at least pretend to forget, what he said. You knew he wanted you to ignore the feelings you both knew he wouldn’t address. So, instead of speaking, he tossed you over his shoulder, rubbing your thigh to soothe you.

“Taehyung, what are you doing?” you asked with a gasp, worried about how messy you were.

“Bringing you with me to shower.”

The domesticity of it was almost too much for you to handle. You tried not to read into anything when Taehyung dipped low to give you kisses in between washing your hair, your skin slippery against each other. Or when he pressed you against the shower wall and sank to his knees to take you into his mouth while those alluring eyes stared up at you through wet bangs.

It only grew worse when you got comfortable sitting on his bed (the same bed you’d lost your virginity on, you couldn’t help but think), wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his basketball shorts. Maybe you were being delusional, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to be sure.

“So…” You played with the hem of Taehyung’s shirt to pick at a thread that might be coming undone. “Angel…”

Taehyung’s airy laugh wasn’t at all what you’d expected. You quickly looked up to watch him run a product that smelled like vanilla and lavender through his wet hair, so different than his usual smell. His eyes met yours through the mirror. There was never anything in them to read.

“Angel and Jungkook are exclusive now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” His eyes returned to his reflection.

“You’re not going to try to get her to cheat?”

You couldn’t hold back the biting question. Shouldn’t you have been happy that Taehyung wasn’t hooking up with Angel anymore? Now she was no longer a threat to you - not that it even mattered. Yet here you were, sitting on his bed with your arms wrapped around his pillow and a bitter taste in your mouth. Why was Jungkook committed to Angel, but Taehyung couldn’t commit to you? What did Angel have that you didn’t?

He wasn’t hooking up with anyone else because his favorite girl to hook up with was now dating his best friend. Not because you were special.

Taehyung slipped his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and turned to you. You kept your eyes focused on his face, not having the heart to linger on the light purple splotches on his ribcage.

“She already proposed a threesome,” he said with a shrug. The bed dipped and you shifted slightly to allow him to sit beside you. “I declined, though.”

You crunched up your nose at the idea, the image of Taehyung having sex with Jungkook and Angel flooding your brain. Suddenly the room felt entirely too warm and stuffy. You tossed Taehyung’s pillow to the side and stood up, knocking your phone off your lap. Sucking in as much air as you could, you lifted your chin to the ceiling to practice deep breathing and stop the spontaneous tears that were pooling in your eyes from spilling.

“What?” Taehyung retrieved your phone and held it out to you, but you kept your eyes upward.

“I can’t do this anymore, Tae.” You blinked once, twice, and then the tears spilled for the third time that day. “You’re too much. I can’t… I just can’t do it, okay? I can’t.” You knew you weren’t making any sense, but it was all you could say without turning into a blubbering mess.

With blurry eyes, you took your phone and scooped up your clothes from where you’d left them folded on Taehyung’s dresser.

“I have to go home.”

“Right now?” Taehyung rose from the bed to follow you out of the room. “The threesome thing was just a joke, Y/N, a joke. Angel’s always fucking running her mouth.”

You didn’t bother to look at him, keeping your lips pressed shut and barely hearing whatever pathetic excuse he’d crafted for you. If you got out of there as quickly as possible, maybe leaving him would hurt less. Maybe you could tell yourself you were crossing that threshold for the last time. Maybe it would be true.

“Can I at least drop you off?”

“No.”

Taehyung knew better than to argue with you when you were in a state like this. He watched you stomp into your shoes without bothering to change out of his t-shirt and basketball shorts. He noticed that you’d forgotten your cardigan on the couch, but he didn’t say anything.

You were determined to make this exit as unceremonious as possible, but then Taehyung’s fingers found your chin and you were tilting up your face to grant him access to your mouth. Your mind went blank with white noise. He gently sucked your bottom lip as he cradled your cheek in his hand, his thumb swiping over a stray tear.

It was a soft, sweet kiss—a rare kiss from him. Perhaps the last kiss, and you felt your stomach flip.

“You know where to find me, jagi,” Taehyung whispered the familiar promise against your lips. Your eyes dared to flutter shut, but you pulled together what little dignity you had left and stepped away before you could do something even more stupid.

For the second time, you stood in the hallway outside of Taehyung’s front door and requested an Uber, his kisses lingering on your lips.

“And this is you, Miss. I hope you have a lovely time. Much better weather here, even in the spring, than up there in Yankee territory.”

The taxi driver dropped you off in front of a large brownstone building. The university’s banner hung on the porch and a few bikes were thrown onto the yard near the sidewalk. Since you were starting late in the year, no other students were moving in. You couldn’t tell if anyone was home at all.

You dragged two large suitcases behind you. It was all you could manage to bring since your parents refused to help move you in. Leaving home was a decision you’d made on your own; therefore, you were forced to do it all on your own.

You didn’t give a fuck, though.

Hauling the suitcases up the brick stairs to the front door proved to be a bit of a challenge. You tried dragging them both up, but it only took one suitcase tumbling down three steps before you decided to reevaluate your approach. You were halfway done with pulling the second suitcase up the stairs when the front door flew open, caught on a gust of wind that sent the fluffy blonde hair of the boy who stepped outside flying.

He wore an oversized sweater despite the warm weather, and the light, airy way he held himself made you feel like he probably never sweated a day in his life. The fabric at the collar drooped slightly, exposing a bit of his collarbone. You couldn’t look away from the sharpness of his eyes and the lidded expression he wore that seemed unintentionally sultry, especially paired with his parted plump lips.

“Hey, Y/N, right? I’m Park Jimin, your Resident Assistant!” When he smiled the intimidating gaze disappeared and his eyes squinted into happy creases. You felt a bit of relief from the heat he’d caused to spread across your body.

“Nice to meet you,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes in the same way, but wasn’t disingenuous. It was nice to meet him. He was the first person you’d met at your new university. This was a good first step, right? A good first step toward easing the aching loneliness you’d felt in your chest the moment you boarded the flight to California.

You wanted friends so badly it hurt.

Jimin’s bright eyes flitted down to spot your fingers tightly clutching your suitcase on the stairs. He rolled up the baggy sleeves of his sweater. ”Do you need any help bringing your stuff in?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have-”

For a guy on the smaller side, Jimin was strong. He gathered both suitcases and disappeared inside the building.

“I’ll show you where your room is,” he called over his shoulder.

You quickly followed him, making sure to shut the front door securely behind you. The building was old. A few cracks climbed up the walls like ivy and the intricate cut of the staircase’s wooden railing looked far too pretty to be part of a college dorm. You liked the gothic aesthetic, finding that it gave the building a charm that modern fixtures just couldn’t do. Your parents would have hated it.

Jimin led you up the front stairs to a long hallway with many doors that you assumed to be bedrooms. Upon closer inspection, you found that each door had decorations that adorned it, with some of the decorations displaying the names of the students who lived inside. Yesenia and Jisoo in one, Carmen and Emily in the other. The bedroom across the hall from yours listed Jimin and Hoseok.

“Oh, you live here, too?” You pointed to the door once the two of you stopped.

Jimin’s head tilted back in an explosive giggle that exposed his bright teeth. “Of course, as I said, I’m your Resident Assistant. I’m the student in charge of the dorm. You know, to make sure you don’t get into a fight with your roommate or set the place on fire.” He gestured for you to unlock your room.

Alexis accompanied your name on the door, so it seemed safe to assume that the girl typing away on her laptop at one of the desks in the room was Alexis. She quickly ripped her glasses off her face and fluffed up her thick, curly hair.

“Oh my god, wow, hi Y/N, I didn’t know you were coming today. Jimin, wow. You didn’t knock.” The girl’s lips moved faster than her brain and she fumbled over her words, her head twisting like an owl’s as she watched Jimin carry your suitcases over to your side of the bedroom.

“I should have, I’m sorry.” Jimin gave the girl a pout and you watched her olive skin brighten with a twinge of pink across her cheeks.

“No, no, it’s okay! You can come into my room whenever you want.” The moment the words left her lips her large eyes shot to yours. You raised your eyebrows, unsure how you were suddenly being silently called upon. “I mean, like, for your RA duties and whatever, I get it!”

The poor girl was a mess and everyone in the room knew it. You found her apparent interest in Jimin cute, though. It was understandable. You’d just met the guy a few minutes ago and could already tell he was one of those campus heartbreakers they always have in the movies, the ones everyone pines over but are somehow untouchable. They always had a girlfriend at another university or they were fuckboys.

Whatever Jimin’s story was, you weren’t interested.

“So,” Jimin turned back to you, and Alexis practically deflated at her desk. “I can give you my number in case you ever need anything. Like if you get locked out or Alexis tries to kill you in your sleep.”

He shot your roommate a wink as you exchanged numbers and you were sure her soul left her body.

“You’ve been so helpful, already, thank you.”

Jimin waved you off. “Don’t worry about it.” He slowly made his way back to the door, leaning against the frame as he looked at you for a moment longer. “I’ll see you around!”

The moment Jimin closed the door Alexis made a noise that sounded more like a dying animal than a human being. You stared at her with wide eyes as she slid out of her seat and into a puddle on the floor.

“He’s the prettiest boy in the world,” she said after a moment, lying on her back with her eyes glued to the ceiling. Or perhaps staring into nothing; you weren’t sure. “I wish I was a Music major so I could spend every day going to class with him and listening to him sing and looking at that face sculptured by the gods. And his butt.”

“Mhmm, he is very attractive,” you agreed, only half listening. You started unpacking your suitcases, mentally mapping out how you’d like to personalize your side of the room to make it feel a bit more like you. You didn’t know what made you feel like you quite yet, but that was what the new university was for. You were going to figure it out.

Alexis was a lovely roommate. Although she was a bit odd, her quirks were endearing and they made her easy to get along with. She was a self-proclaimed nerd which helped you bond since all the two of you ever did was study. Your bedroom, the common rooms in the dorm, the library - it didn’t matter where, just as long as you had the two of each other. The other students living in the dorms were a lot more rambunctious and less focused on academics. It wasn’t rare for you and Alexis to keep each other company while parties raged downstairs.

There was one thing you wish you could change, though. Alexis snored. This wasn’t some cute snore, either. Her snores were so loud you imagined they were similar to the sound the ground makes when an earthquake breaks it up into pieces beneath civilization.

Yeah, it was bad.

In the beginning you were so exhausted from adjusting to school that the snoring hadn’t bothered you. But now you were lying in bed making shapes out of the dark, Alexis’s violent breathing rumbling through the room.

With a small sigh, you slid into your slippers and snuck through the door, remembering to grab your keys before you left. It was nearly two in the morning on a Wednesday; you didn’t want to lock yourself out of your room and have to call Jimin to let you in. He was certainly a social butterfly, but you doubted he wanted to deal with your problems so late on a school night.

You planned to raid the kitchen for a snack and maybe watch something on Netflix in the living room. A fuller belly and some quiet TV show might be what you needed to lull you back to sleep again, and hopefully you wouldn’t fall asleep on the couch. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

It wasn’t until you reached the bottom of the staircase and turned toward the hallway that led to the kitchen that you heard it: a soft, gentle piano melody. With your interest peaked, you followed the sound across the threshold of the living room. You knew in the corner of the room there was an old upright piano, but you’d never seen anyone use it. No one in your dorm seemed to be musically-inclined except Yesenia, but she played the guitar (another sound to keep you up at night).

Although it wasn’t Yesenia, you shouldn’t have been surprised to find Jimin’s hands gliding across the keys with expert precision. He was a Music major, after all. It was easy to forget. You rarely saw Jimin in the dorms, though he always seemed to be around when anyone needed him. You stood watching Jimin lean forward slightly as the song took what felt like a more serious tone, the notes deeper and more haunting. His eyes were closed and his lips were pouted. His entire body rocked with the music, a push and pull of passion. The only light came from a floor lamp in the corner of the room that cast a soft orange glow that turned Jimin’s hair golden. He looked like an angel.

And then the music stopped. Jimin’s eyes snapped open and he turned to look directly at you.

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly, placing his hands into his lap. You shook your head quickly.

“No, no. Alexis was… Um, I couldn’t sleep.” You bit your lip and decided maybe spilling Alexis’s horrible sleeping habits to her crush would be inappropriate of you. “You play beautifully. Yiruma’s A Moonlight Song?”

Jimin’s eyes widened and a lovely grin bloomed across his face. “How did you know?”

“I used to play,” you admitted shyly, casting your eyes away from the man. One of the many pretentious hobbies your mother forced onto you. “He was always my favorite.”

Jimin scooted over on the bench and patted the now free space beside him. You were tempted to decline, as you had declined nearly all of his offers to hang out with you in the past month. The excuses were abundant: you were busy with school, busy with your new job at the library, busy hanging out with Alexis. And yes, you were busy, but not too busy to spend time with a friend. You weren’t sure what made you repeatedly turn Jimin down. You also weren’t sure what made him keep trying.

The pout his lips were beginning to form pushed you to cooperate this time. You hesitantly slid next to him.

“Play for me?” he inquired in the same soft tone he’d used a moment before. This time the whisper was just against the shell of your ear when Jimin turned to you, and the tickle of his breath made you shiver beneath your sweatshirt.

When you turned toward him you found that Jimin hadn’t looked away. Your faces were close enough for you to see the glow of the lamp light in his eyes. You inhaled sharply and the breathy sound made Jimin’s eyes fall to your lips.

“I’m not good at it anymore.” You swiftly moved to face the piano again.

“Please?”

Now it was your mouth puckering into a pout, but your fingers lightly rested on the keys anyway. They moved on their own accord, dancing along without your brain needing to tell them where to go. There were only a few songs you could play from memory, most of them Yiruma’s. Your mother played them when you were little, before she lost her inspiration.

Jimin hummed softly as you played. You caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, but you quickly looked away when you realized he was watching you, rather than the piano.

“Love me?”

“What?” you asked. When Jimin spoke, your middle finger pressed too hard on one of the keys, throwing off the groove you had going. You wanted to blame your shakiness on being tired.

“Off of his second album. Love Me.” Jimin cocked his head to the side.

“Oh. Right.” You blinked. “I memorized it when I couldn’t read sheet music.”

Jimin let out a small hum of appreciation. “You’re talented. You should take it up again.”

A tight knot twisted inside your chest at Jimin’s words. You’d forgotten how cathartic it was to set aside time for self expression, especially when there were no recitals to attend or extravagant parties to entertain at. Playing for the sake of playing was a beautiful thing.

He watched you for another silent moment, as though he knew you were working hard to breathe through the flood of emotions suddenly seizing your heart. You reached up to swiftly run your fingers along your eyelashes to collect the dampness that had begun to form there.

“Do you want to get donuts?” The randomness of the question made you exhale a puff of quiet laughter. It managed to chase away the lingering bitterness you felt.

“Sure?”

“Sick!” Jimin rose from the bench and adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie. “Have you ever been to Koko’s? Go put some shoes on. We can walk.”

Koko’s turned out to be a small family-owned donut shop frequented by college students. On your walk Jimin explained that Koko’s was open twenty-four hours which partially contributed to the college students’ love for the shop. It also helped that the donuts were “pretty fucking good” in his words.

“There’s nothing like a 2 a.m. donut,” he said with a sigh after taking a bite out of a maple bacon donut.

You opted for something a bit more traditional (or “boring” according to Jimin): a classic glazed donut. The two of you sat on the curb in the parking lot of the shop. Despite the late hour, the inside was packed with college students. It was an already small space, so the two of you couldn’t find anywhere to sit, but you didn’t mind. The night air was comfortably cool and it was nice to stretch your legs out while you watched people file in and out.

“I might end up here every night.” You licked a bit of the glazed sugar off of your fingers.

Jimin grunted in agreement, also finishing the last of his donut. “Tell me when you go. I want to come, too.”

Despite your initial hesitancy to spend time with him, it was an easy promise to make.

“I tried making some once.” You drew your legs up against your chest and wrapped your arms around your knees. The toe of your sneaker scuffed against a loose chunk of asphalt.

“Did they taste good?”

“No,” you snorted. “I got something wrong. But I love baking and sweets, so I’ll try anything.”

Jimin nodded and pulled his legs against his chest in the same manner you had. “You’re really creative.”

“You think so?” It wasn’t how you’d ever think to describe yourself, but the look on Jimin’s face made you believe him. There was something nice about someone else seeing you. It was nice to be seen.

“Have you ever thought about studying music in school? You’re a Law major, right?”

Jimin rested his chin on his knees and watched you with the same unintentionally sultry expression he’d worn the first day you met him. Perhaps this time it was the dim lighting playing with his features. Regardless, it was impossible to look away.

“Law is more practical.” Before you even finished the sentence you were already slapping your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s fine,” Jimin said with a reassuring smile. “Everyone says studying music is impractical. That I won’t find a job or make any money. I don’t really care, though. It’s what my heart wants.” He stood up and held out his hand to help you stand as well. It wasn’t until you were back in your dorm that Jimin brought up music again.

“And Y/N,” Jimin called to you softly.

You poked your head out of your bedroom door to see him still standing in the hallway outside of his room. “Yes?”

“You should do what your heart wants, too.” He gave you a smile just as soft as his words before wishing you goodnight.

“Look at this one.” Alexis pressed her fingers to the base of her neck and dramatically cleared her throat. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve never met anyone as sexy as you. So cringey, oh my god.”

You crinkled your nose at the terrible Valentine’s Day poem taped to a door on one of the university’s academic buildings. The poems were taped all over campus. They served as fliers to advertise some fraternity’s annual Valentine’s Day party.

“It’s the one Jimin is in,” Alexis pointed out as she ripped the flyer down. Her bag was full of them at this point and it seemed like each flyer the two of you happened across was worse than the previous.

“Jimin’s in a fraternity?” You crossed the street with Alexis as you walked back to your dorm. You walked past a streetlight with another bright pink paper taped to it.

“Yup.” Alexis stuck her arm across you to snatch that flyer, too. “Ew, gross. Roses are red, violets are blue, let’s cut the foreplay and head straight to the bedroom. Are they even allowed to post this kind of language around town? And with those disgusting, censored porn memes?”

“No, actually. Obscene public advertisements are very illegal.”

You and Alexis whipped your heads around to find Jimin trailing behind you. Alexis quickly shoved the flyer into your hands as if she wasn’t already carrying around a backpack full of them.

“Oh. Hi, Jimin. How are you doing? We were just admiring the…” She shot you a nervous look. Of course.

You did your best to smooth out the flyer and handed it to Jimin as he fell in line with you as you walked. “Sorry,” you mumbled, face heating up.

“Don’t worry about it.” His giggle eased a bit of the tension. “Are you two going?”

“Absolutely not. We have essays to write.”

Jimin stuck his tongue out at Alexis before turning to you expectantly. “Don’t let her speak for you, Y/N. Do you want to go?”

“Oh, um, I don’t really go to parties…” You hated how lame you sounded. Partying had never been an option before. Not unless you were with Taehyung. And everything about Jimin had you assuming going out with him would be a much different experience than with Taehyung.

“Parties aren’t my thing, either. But you deserve a break from so much studying.” Those happy, soft eyes creased by puffy cheeks made your chest ache, though you weren’t sure why. “Be my date?”

You heard Alexis choke on either air or her own spit beside you, but you stayed focused on the beautiful boy flanking the other side of you.

“M-Me?”

“Yes, you!”

Somehow the three of you now stood outside your apartment’s front door. Jimin fished for his lanyard while you and Alexis silently eyed each other. You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but Alexis’s expression was a mix of horror and something akin to anger or, more likely, jealousy. The lock you had on each other’s gaze was broken by Jimin gesturing for the two of you to enter the building before him.

“Y/N?” Jimin leaned against the staircase railing as you and Alexis ascended. “Think about it?”

You had exactly five hours to mull it over. At least half of that time consisted of Alexis on her “anti-Greek life” soapbox.

“Their hazing practices are unlawful, Y/N. They do horrible things to each other.” She paced the space between your beds with one of the fliers crumpled in her hands. “And they throw these parties to take advantage of girls. The fliers!”

Just like with most of her other rants, you were barely listening to Alexis as you laid on your bed writing a text to Jimin only to delete it before hitting send. Then to rewrite. And then delete. Rewrite again.

“Alexis, will you please go with me?” You tried pouting, but you weren’t in your small town anymore. There were lots of pretty faces in California. Yours did nothing to sway your roommate who threw herself onto her bed when she realized you were going to go. Whatever her response was, it came out garbled and muffled by the fact that her face was pressed into her blankets.

So dramatic.

And perhaps you were being a bit dramatic, too. You skipped the pregame Jimin invited you to, insisting that you would meet him at the frat house on your own. For someone still figuring out how to talk to other people, you weren’t particularly keen on spending hours binge drinking and playing games with a bunch of frat bros and their groupies. The party would probably be too much for you, anyway. It would just be more binge drinking and playing games with a bunch of frat bros and their groupies.

Alexis was probably right.

You were probably going to hate it.

The night was already starting off on a bad note. Your powder blue babydoll dress didn’t fit the Valentine’s Day theme, but you realized with frustrated tears in your eyes as you stood in front of a mountain of clothes in your dorm that it was the only thing cute enough for a college party. It didn’t help that despite getting it cleaned, you still thought it smelled like oak and spice. Like Taehyung. You couldn’t help but fall into the cyclical thinking you always fell into as you approached the frat house, remembering the empty feeling you’d felt when Taehyung neglected you for most of the party that night. Maybe the Valentine’s Day party would be a repeat of that. There was always someone more interesting to entertain, you supposed. That had been true for Taehyung then; it may be true for Jimin now.

And there was the prettiest boy in the world, perched on the wooden railing that bordered the front porch of the fraternity house. He leaned with his elbows on his knees, a sweating beer grasped in his musician’s hands. He was there, waiting for you just like he said he would be.

“Jimin!” You didn’t have the fake the enthusiasm needed to raise your voice over the music and laughter filtering through the house as you bounced up the porch’s stairs.

Jimin grinned into his eyes when he stood to greet you. Gone were the shorts and oversized comfy sweaters. Gone were the fluffy bangs; his blonde hair was straight and swept off of his forehead. It was shocking to see your friend in ripped jeans so tight they didn’t leave much for the imagination and a muscle tank ripped far enough down the sides that you could see his chest when he turned.

“You’re so pretty,” Jimin spoke with a gesture to your outfit.

“You’re so fratty,” you countered with a sly smile.

You liked the idea of testing out a bit of banter, especially when you earned a sweet Jimin giggle in response. It was almost enough of a reward to carry you through the most painful part of the night, when Jimin dragged you through every corner of the house to have you meet more boys wearing tattered sports jerseys and backwards baseball caps while you sipped shitty beer. It wasn’t until Jimin seemingly ran out of favorites that you had a moment to yourselves.

“Your friends seem…” Your eyes swept over the living room where couples danced together to a playlist that somehow ranged from The Killers to Kesha and DMX.

“Stupid?”

“Nice.”

Jimin snorted, but the grin he wore was apparently permanent for tonight. His eyes followed yours into the crowd. “Do you dance?” He tsked when you immediately shook your head. “Everyone dances. Dance with me?”

Yet again, how could you say no?

Jimin’s hand was gentle but firm against the small of your back. He led you a bit of a ways into the crowd, but didn’t push you further than it seemed you wanted to go.

“Shall we waltz?” He gave you a cheeky grin and you noticed that he hadn’t lifted his hand. You felt the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your dress. Unlike when you’d gone out with Taehyung, Jimin didn’t pull you against him; he let you fall in line with him instead. He slowly eased into a fluid rhythm, rolling his hips along to the song.

“Hmm, I would if I knew how,” you spoke loud enough for him to hear above the music. “I have no rhythm at all, for any kind of dance.”

Jimin shook his head. “Dancing is easy. You just make it up as you go…” He brought his other hand to rest against your hip and applied enough gentle pressure to push you to one side. His other hand slid from your back to the other hip. He began to alternate pressure until he had your hips swaying along with his. “Like this.”

The song changed and so did Jimin’s instruction. He guided you through each transition, teasing you every time you tensed up.

“You have to feel it!”

“I do!”

“Then listen to the feeling,” he challenged. “Don’t think too hard.”

The more crowded the room got, the closer the two of you were pushed together, until you had you found your arms hanging loosely against Jimin’s shoulders and your legs practically intertwined as you danced against one another.

“Hi,” Jimin whispered against the shell of your ear. He leaned in close enough that your chin momentarily rested against his collarbone before he pulled away. Though he created a bit more distance between you again, your legs stayed slotted between each other and Jimin kept his hand on the small of your back.

“Hi,” you parroted back, your shy smile making a bright grin bloom across Jimin’s face.

“Having fun?”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and it was impossible not to notice Jimin’s eyes drop down to stare at your mouth.

“Yeah,” you replied in a breathy tone.

Jimin hummed in response. His hips continued to roll into yours to the beat of the music. Your fingers instinctually squeezed Jimin’s shoulder when you felt his cock grind against the inside of your thigh the next time his fluid body moved with yours. You felt him the moment the two of you started grinding on each other; it was impossible not to. But he was soft then, and now he was semi-hard. Now you felt him heavy and warm through his jeans.

Your eyes quickly lifted to look at Jimin. He was already watching you with those plump pink lips slightly parted. Gone was his sweet, puffy-cheeked expression. The lidded, sultry sharpness of his eyes made your entire body prickle with heat.

“Can I kiss you?”

Making the conscious decision to speak rather than freeze or simply nod your head had your anxiety spiking through the roof. But you did it. Despite the shattering pounding of your heart trying to choke you out your throat, you opened your mouth.

“Yes, please.”

Jimin’s hold on you tightened and he finally made the first move to pull you firmly against his chest. He tasted like watered down beer and spiked punch, so much softer than Taehyung’s heavy smoke and vodka. Jimin’s teeth pressed against your lips, but rather than bite you, the sharpness was simply from him smiling. He exhaled a tiny puff of air against your cheek through his nose that released a quiet, bubbly laugh. There was no fight for dominance between teeth, lips, and tongues. His fingers didn’t bruise your hips when he held you. The sounds he gifted you beneath the heavy bass of the music were soft moans, not harsh growls or frustrated whines.

Kissing Jimin was like falling into clouds of strawberry vanilla swirls at sunrise. It was like riding with the windows down on a golden summer day, letting the warm air tickle your nose and the hair on your arms.

Kissing Jimin felt like something you’d never felt before.

Kissing Jimin felt safe.

When he pulled away you weren’t left out of breath, but you still gasped for his touch, lips chasing his.

“I want to take you upstairs,” he murmured against your jaw just below your ear.

It was hard to know who initially led the way through the swarm of sweaty bodies and up the front staircase. Your limbs were tangled with Jimin’s, the two of you nearly tripping over someone passed out in the hallway as Jimin jiggled door handles until he found one that was unlocked. You took no time to bother looking around the bedroom you were in, and Jimin didn’t give you the chance even if you wanted to.

He gently pressed you into the mattress, his hand reaching toward the back of his head to pull his shirt off.

“Wow.” You trailed your fingers along the muscles of Jimin’s torso, your hand growing shakier the lower you got. You couldn’t bring yourself to reach for his belt, even when he bucked his hips into yours and you felt his cock grind in between your thighs. Everything Jimin did was distracting. His soft lips were sucking along your collarbone, his talented fingers rubbing gentle circles into your waist. He was playing you, hitting every note like he’d known you all along.

But it was too much.

You squeezed his wrist when you felt his hands begin to push your dress up your hips. He looked up at you with such fucked out eyes that stood out prettily against eyebrows that scrunched together in concern.

“Do you want to stop? I’m sorry, we can stop. I’m so sorry, I went too fast.” He immediately pulled away to lean back on his knees. “Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“No…” You slowly eased into a sitting position and adjusted your dress. “Well, I mean, yes.”

Jimin’s frown deepened. “What?”

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to look him in the eyes. “I really like you. So, don’t apologize, okay? I just…” Another deep breath. Another pat down of your dress. “I just got out of a relationship and I think I need to just… be myself for a little bit. I don’t think I’m ready to try out anything with anyone else yet.”

You scrunched up your nose and subconsciously matched Jimin’s frown. But then his frown turned into the soft Jimin smile you were becoming so used to seeing.

“Oh, okay. I totally get that.” He reached for his shirt to slip over his head once again. “I was so scared that I’d misread the whole thing. But I think that’s really strong of you.”

You slid off of the bed and averted your eyes when Jimin stood to adjust his cock in his jeans. “Why strong?”

“Relationships are hard to bounce back from. You have every right to take time for yourself.” Jimin wrapped his pinky around yours and tugged until you turned back to look at him. He brought his other hand up to cup your chin when you refused to meet his eye. “Hey, look at me. I’m not upset, okay? And even if I was, who the fuck cares.”

You nodded, but he wasn’t so sure.

“You take all the time you need, okay? I’m not going anywhere. And if you decide you don’t want this,” he gestured to the two of you. “Then you’re still going to be one of my dearest friends. You got that?”

Of course you did. Even if you were too afraid to admit that this was what you wanted, despite knowing that time was also what you knew you needed, Jimin’s smiling eyes were enough to ease the churning of your tummy. And maybe if you could just wipe your clammy hands on his shirt, you might be all but perfect.

You tossed your arms over Jimin’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly against you. “Thank you. For being thoughtful.” Your voice was muffled against his shirt, and maybe from a few tears, but he heard you and that was all that mattered.

“That’s why I’m the best Resident Assistant out there,” he said with a playfully cocky grin.

You rolled your eyes and straightened yourself out with a long exhale. “Should we go back to waltzing now?”

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#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #namjoon fanfic #namjoon x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #taehyung smut #jimin fluff #taehyung angst #namjoon angst #ohts #gimmethatagustd #only here to sin

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sweetvoidstuff · 19 days ago

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Undead, Undressed, Unexpected I Part 2

Jungkook x Reader I Slowburn (sort of) I zombie larp au I smut with feelings I friends to lovers vibes I soft but messy I table trauma I kinda domestic kinda feral I camping chaos I emotional intimacy

Summary: A LARP weekend takes an unexpected turn when BTS wants to film there Vlog there. Or: “I don’t know what’s weirder,” Yoongi muttered, sipping the beer you’d tossed at him. “That this is happening or that you’re all so prepared for it.”

Word Count: 50K (both Parts)

Part 1

Masterlist

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1 and Part 2 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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You looked down at Jungkook—still crouched in front of you like you might fall over again if he wasn’t anchoring you. He looked up, eyes dark and gentle. “You sure you’re okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded once. “…Getting there.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything to that. But the look in his eyes said enough.

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You weren’t behind the bar for long. Not because you wanted to leave—but because Lea kicked you out. It started with a clatter. Taehyung had just dropped his third bottle, this one narrowly missing a stack of mismatched cups, when Lea’s voice sliced through the hum of chatter and music like a blade:

“Out. All of you. Before someone loses an eye!”

There was a beat of silence—then chaos. “Aww, come on!” Jimin whined. “I was practicing, practicing!” Taehyung insisted, holding up two bottles like he hadn’t just tried to juggle them. “But he was about to juggle fire!” Erik called dramatically from somewhere to the left, clearly not helping.

“No fire! No juggling! No!” Lea barked, pointing at the exit flap behind the bar like a drill sergeant. Groans followed—loud, theatrical, and entirely unrepentant. But within seconds, your little group was herded out, blinking into the soft glow of hanging string lights and the fading warmth of evening.

The air outside was balmy, thick with laughter, music, and the scent of grilled food. The lights above you swung gently in the breeze like little suns, and for the first time in an hour, things felt… lighter.

More like your event again.

You mingled slowly, Jungkook staying within arm’s reach, his presence a quiet but constant tether. The others came and went—Taehyung veered off to inspect the DIY tattoo booth someone had set up (god help him), Yoongi ended up in a very serious conversation with someone about amplifier wattage, and Jimin wandered between groups like a glowing social butterfly. Namjoon returned from wherever he’d vanished with two skewers in hand and a fresh drink tucked into his elbow, nodding at you both like a satisfied dad.

People smiled at you as you passed—some hesitated, maybe unsure of what to say, but those who did mention the Lukas incident kept it light. Encouraging. One woman gave you a thumbs up before immediately turning to Jungkook and patting his shoulder with a grin. “Good grip,” she said approvingly. “Otherwise, we’d be wiping Lukas off the floor.”

Another, a tall, bearded man named Markus, clapped Jungkook on the back so hard it made him take a step and blink. “Man, you cost me fifty bucks!” Jungkook looked confused. “Huh?”

You laughed, already translating under your breath. “He said he bet fifty on me decking Lukas.” Jungkook’s eyebrows rose. “Wait—really?”

“He was confident,” you said with mock smugness. “Honestly, you might’ve ruined there highlight of his week.” Markus nodded solemnly, arms crossed. Jungkook’s ears went pink. “Sorry?”

“Don’t apologize,” Markus grinned. “But if you’re gonna keep her from throwing hands, at least teach her how to throw you next time.” You burst out laughing, and Jungkook ducked his head, laughing sheepishly along with you—even if some of the fast slang slipped past him. Namjoon helpfully leaned in and translated the more idiomatic parts, which just made Jungkook groan louder.

By the time plates were passed around, drinks topped off, and the laughter mellowed into a steady hum, the members had naturally rotated in and out of your orbit. Yoongi stayed for a while, then drifted to one group drinking whisky. Jimin disappeared with Erik into the throng to scout the crowd. Taehyung came and went—at one point returning with temporary tattoos all over his forearms and no explanation.

Only Jungkook didn’t leave your side.

He didn’t hover, didn’t smother—but he didn’t drift far either. He handed you a cup of punch when your hands were empty, gave you space when someone needed your attention, and made sure you always had a buffer when the crowd got a little too close. Like he was tuned to your wavelength—moving with you, not around you.

And then Lea reappeared—finally free from behind the bar. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. You saw her coming with a look in her eyes that screamed get ready, and before you could even form a protest, she had you by the wrist.

“Oh no—”

“Oh yes,” she grinned, tugging.

“But my arm—”

“You’ve still got one good one, don’t you?” With a half-hearted groan, you let her drag you forward. You turned back toward Jungkook as Lea marched you toward the dancing crowd. He was laughing—clearly delighted—and offered only a cheerful shrug and a lazy, “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you if she starts breakdancing.” You flipped him off over your shoulder with your non-injured hand.

Taehyung whistled low from somewhere by the speakers. “This is either going to be amazing—or historic.”

“Why not both?” Jimin chimed in. As the music swelled and Lea started dancing beside you, you finally let yourself ease back into the rhythm of the evening. You were sore, yes—tired, bruised, and still reeling from earlier—but the energy of the night had shifted.

It was yours again.

Jungkook stood just beyond the crowd, beside Jimin and Taehyung, his drink long forgotten in his hand. The music pulsed low and steady through the warm night air, wrapped in the haze of string lights and voices, but his attention was fixed on only one part of it—the middle of the dance floor, where you and Lea had claimed the open space like you owned it.

And maybe you did.

At first, it had been pure chaos—exactly what he'd come to expect from you. No rhythm, no structure, no rules. Just movement. You and the other organizers seemed to launch into dancing deliberately offbeat, ignoring every cue the music threw at you, limbs flailing in exaggerated mockery, dragging laughter from the crowd.

But then, like the flick of a switch—something shifted.

The beat changed, and so did you.

You settled into the rhythm with the kind of casual precision that came from knowing your body and not caring if anyone watched. You spun fluidly, your hand catching Lea’s for a short, graceful twirl that made the crowd cheer, and Jungkook blinked.

You were… actually good. Not showy. Not rehearsed. But you were a good dancer.

The kind of dancing that felt like fun had been stitched into your muscles. “Wow,” Jimin muttered, clearly impressed. “She can move.”

“Should we start placing bets again?” Taehyung added, watching with a smirk. “I give it twenty seconds before she breaks the ice with that knee-slide thing she does.” Jungkook didn’t answer.

He was still watching you. His chest felt tight—he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way you laughed, head thrown back as Lea tried to spin you again and failed miserably. Or the way your movements had none of the self-consciousness so many people showed when they knew eyes were on them.

There was something magnetic about it. Something warm and freeing and so unlike the world he normally lived in.

For just a second, Jungkook wanted nothing more than to walk into that crowd, take your hand, and spin you the way you deserved to be spun. He could do it—he’d danced a thousand times before. It would’ve taken no effort. But it wasn’t that simple. “Damn,” Taehyung muttered beside him, side-eyeing the soft smile forming on Jungkook’s face. “You’re doing that thing.” Jungkook blinked. “What thing?”

“That dreamy thing,” Jimin supplied, grinning. “The one where your eyes go all glassy and I start checking if you’re falling in love or just watching a cat video.” Jungkook gave them both a look, but it was half-hearted at best. “I’m not jumping in there,” he said, voice even. “Too many phones. Too many eyes.” He wasn’t wrong. The area around the dance floor was thick with laughter and movement, but here and there were flickers of phones in hands—some recording, some taking pictures. It was honestly a miracle that nothing had started trending already.

“Kind of wild no one’s noticed yet,” Jimin agreed. “Maybe the WiFi sucks.”

“Could be the signal,” Taehyung added. “We are kind of off-grid out here.” Taehyung leaned in, voice low but sly. “If you really want to, Jimin and I can go in with you. If photos pop up later, it’ll just look like the three of us messing around on the dance floor. No one’s gonna think you’re making a move.” Jungkook didn’t answer right away.

Jimin raised a brow, amused. “Or you could just keep standing here, admiring the view.” Taehyung grinned. “You do that a lot.” Jungkook turned to protest—but the moment he did, Taehyung smirked. “Jungkook,” he said innocently, “you’re blushing.”

That made Jungkook snap his head away, ears instantly flushing a shade of red that was unmistakable even in the low light. “I’m not,” he mumbled, eyes narrowed—mostly at himself. Because yeah, he did. But not in the way they were implying. He wasn’t just staring.

He was… caught.

He looked again. You and Lea were still laughing, still moving easily together, the crowd around you growing more confident with each beat of the music. And maybe it was the warm lights strung across the space, or the fact that your earlier stiffness had completely melted away, but for a moment you looked like sunlight had taken human shape.

Jungkook took a slow breath.

He wanted to join you. Really wanted to. Not just to dance, but to be the one who made you throw your head back like that in laughter. To be the one who got to spin you like you were the only person on the floor.

So he stood, caught between the pull of wanting and the weight of reality, until Jimin casually pulled out his phone and shot off a quick message. “To Namjoon,” he said when Jungkook glanced over. “We’re getting everyone out there. If it’s chaos, it’s cover.” Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back. “Come on. We’ll get close, keep it low-key. You don’t even have to dance with her.”

“Unless you want to,” Jimin added with a not-so-innocent smile. Jungkook rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Not this time. Because the truth was written all over his face—soft in the corners of his mouth, burning quiet under his skin as he let himself be nudged, just a step closer.

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It hadn’t taken long. One by one, the rest of BTS had filtered onto the dance floor until all seven of them were there, folded effortlessly into the crowd. Jin threw an arm around your shoulder, a skewer of grilled something in his other hand, swaying to the beat like it was his own personal concert. The bass thrummed in your chest. Lights glittered overhead. And everything—your arm, Lukas, the humiliation—faded into the background.

Then the music shifted, sharp and playful, and without anyone saying a word, a dance battle of sorts began to unfold.

You didn’t know who started it—probably Jimin, judging by the ridiculous body roll he threw out—but soon Hoseok jumped in with an exaggerated wave and Taehyung followed, dragging Lea with him. The five of you formed a loose circle in the middle, challenging and cheering each other on, laughter ringing out every time someone did something particularly absurd or unexpectedly smooth.

But even in the chaos of the music, the motion, and the people, you noticed one thing clearly: Jungkook wasn’t joining.

He was there—close, just at the edge of the circle—but he didn’t step in. Not once. And every time you glanced his way, he was already looking at you. Not in a creepy way. Not even in a smoldering, flirty kind of way. Just watching. Focused. Like he was memorizing the way you moved when you were happy.

Your chest gave a tiny squeeze at the thought, but before you could overthink it, Erik came storming into the circle, determined to show off what he claimed were his “peak college breakdance skills.” What followed was a chaotic mess of elbows, questionable footwork, and a spin so wild it nearly knocked you over.

You stumbled back laughing, hand to your chest, and landed squarely beside Jungkook. He blinked at the sudden proximity. “You having fun?” you asked, catching your breath and smiling up at him. He looked a little startled to be addressed so directly, but nodded, quickly. “Yeah.” You squinted at him, cocking your head like you didn’t believe it for a second. “You don’t look like it.”

That hit home more than you meant it to.

Jungkook shifted, visibly flustered. Because he was having fun—sort of. But not in the way he wanted. Not standing on the sidelines watching everyone else dance with you. Not holding back because of the fear of photos or speculation. If he could’ve, he’d already be in the middle of it, spinning you like he’d imagined, drawing laughter out of you like a magician pulling scarves from a sleeve.

But before he could explain any of that—before he could give you some stupidly careful version of the truth—you reached out and gently tugged at the hem of his hoodie.

Not hard. Just enough to get his attention.

“Come on, Mr. Dancer,” you teased, your eyes glinting. “Show us your moves.” For a second, Jungkook froze. And then—slowly—his smile cracked through. Soft. Sheepish. Full of all the warmth he’d been holding back. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless.

And then he stepped forward. Jungkook barely had time to step into the rhythm with you before his hyungs erupted into a chorus of over-the-top cheers. “Let’s go, golden maknae!” Jimin whooped, clapping above his head like it was a stadium concert.

Taehyung let out an operatic “Oooohhh!” and dramatically fanned himself. Even Yoongi, who had dragged a barstool right into the middle of the dance floor like some mafia boss at a cabaret, lifted his drink lazily and smirked. “Took you long enough.”

The atmosphere was loose, joyful, chaotic—in the best way. And Jungkook? He relaxed. Really relaxed. He moved with you in that way only he could: smooth and unforced, never trying to outshine, just syncing with your energy like it was second nature.

He didn’t touch you directly—he was careful—but every now and then, his hand brushed yours, or his shoulder bumped lightly against yours as you circled each other to the beat. The touches lingered just a second too long to be casual, and every time, you met his eyes with a grin that felt like fire and sunlight combined.

He returned each one like it was the only answer he knew.

The music jumped, and another loud “WOOOO!” exploded behind you—Jimin and Taehyung again, now mid-body roll, clearly trying to outdo each other. Hoseok booed them for lack of originality and busted out a ridiculous robot, which made the entire circle dissolve into laughter.

And that’s when it happened. Markus.

Longtime con attendee. Six-foot-something, bearded, and currently sprinting into the dance hall in nothing but briefs, socks, and sheer commitment to the bit—carrying a giggling girl bridal style like he was rescuing her from a burning castle.

“Princess delivery!” he bellowed, spinning once on one foot before darting straight into the center of the crowd. The music didn’t stop. The crowd just split to make room. But the BTS members stood frozen for a second, eyes wide as if they'd just watched someone launch a streaker at the Super Bowl.

Jungkook blinked. Jin made a strangled noise. Jimin looked like he needed someone to reboot him. You, on the other hand, calmly glanced at your phone for the time. “Huh,” you muttered. “Later than usual.”

Jungkook stared at you, bewildered. “Wait—what?” You shrugged, sipping from your beer. “Honestly, I was starting to think this year might be the exception.”

“You mean… this happens often?” Namjoon asked cautiously, raising a brow.

You nodded. “Every year. Every. Single. Afterparty. Someone decides clothes are optional and just—” you gestured vaguely toward Markus and his princess, “—goes full chaos.” Lea, dancing nearby, overheard and nearly tripped laughing. “Did you just—? Oh my god, I thought I was the only one keeping score.”

You grinned. “Didn’t you get carried around by that trader cosplayer in just your underwear during last year’s party?” She threw a hand over her heart, mock-scandalized. “That dude was beautiful and I have no regrets.” Namjoon was already wheezing into his drink, clearly the only one who caught the full gist without translation. But it didn’t take long for the implication to sink in for the others.

“Wait,” Jimin said, eyes darting between you and Markus, “they just get naked? Like… actually naked?” You tried to keep a straight face but failed. “Not always fully. We do have rules. But yeah. It’s like clockwork. And don’t even get me started on the drinking games.” Jimin looked genuinely stunned. “And they keep drinking?”

“They escalate the drinking,” you corrected, lifting a hand as if to bless what was about to unfold. “The games are about to start. Mark my words—someone’s gonna end up trying to convince the fire pit to let them sleep in it.”

Jungkook leaned in slightly, eyes wide, voice pitched low in mock awe. “What kind of event is this?”

“The fun kind,” you replied, nudging him with a wink.

Lea threw an arm around Taehyung’s shoulder and raised her drink like a declaration. “Welcome to post-apocalypse party culture, boys. Clothes optional, drinks mandatory, dignity negotiable.”

And with that, the music rose again—faster, wilder—and the crowd surged into motion.

Jungkook glanced back at you, eyes bright with laughter and something softer beneath it. The night, it seemed, was just getting started, and with a crowed like this… the fear of him and the members making it was shrinking. It sounded unlikely of someone posting while there nearly naked people running around.

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It hadn’t taken long, the members had spotted at least three more guys sprinting through the venue in nothing but their briefs—varying levels of fitness and confidence on full display—and even one girl who twirled dramatically in a sequined bra and rainbow-striped socks. No one batted an eye. It was strange, wild, and oddly freeing.

The music throbbed through the floor, people moved like waves, and somewhere between a body roll competition and someone juggling glow sticks, Erik nearly toppled into a table, causing a small pause and collective gasp. You’d managed to guide him toward a chair before retreating to the bar, where Lea was now fully in bartender mode again—handing out drinks and tossing witty comments with every pour. You leaned against the counter, catching your breath and chatting casually, enjoying the warm buzz of it all.

That’s when David came barreling into the room.

“I GOT ONE—NO, TWO!” he shouted, eyes scanning the crowd like a wolf on the hunt.

Your face froze. Then your eyes widened. Without hesitation, you shoved your half-finished beer into the nearest open hands—Yoongi blinked as he suddenly found himself holding it—and turned on your heel toward Jungkook, who stood closest to you.

Without a word of warning, you launched yourself at him.

“Wha—?!” Jungkook caught you with a startled grunt, your arms wrapping around his neck like a koala clinging for survival. He instinctively braced, his hands finding your waist to steady you, and despite the surprise, he laughed—clearly used to being climbed by his more dramatic hyungs.

Behind you, David groaned loudly in defeat just reaching you. “Oh, come on!”

Lea, having anticipated this, had already leapt onto a nearby beer crate like a nimble cat escaping a flood. She grinned from her new perch, triumphant. David changed targets immediately and darted toward her instead, only to be denied again.

“You can’t stay up there all night!” he called out in frustration, hands on his hips.

Lea and you locked eyes, both smirking.

“Watch us,” you said in perfect sync, your voice muffled slightly from where your face was half-buried in Jungkook’s hoodie. The rest of the members stared, utterly baffled.

Namjoon stepped forward, brows furrowed, lips parting as he tried to follow the sudden whirlwind of fast-paced English between you and David. The rest of the members looked completely lost, heads ping-ponging between speakers like they were watching a match they didn’t know the rules of.

Namjoon, however, caught it. His eyes lit with recognition, a disbelieving smile forming as he processed what you just said. “Okay… What just happened?” he asked in English, just to be sure.

You wiggled slightly in Jungkook’s hold, arms still clinging to his neck, and grinned sheepishly like a stubborn koala. David looked at Namjoon, explaining “It’s called Orga Tag. All the event organizers are fair game till midnight. Anyone who catches and lifts one like a bride gets a discount on next year’s tickets. But if an Orga gets off the ground—like Lea standing on that crate or, well... her clinging to the dude—they’re safe.”

David, still trying to corner Lea, shouted, “Basically the floor is lava for the Orga.” Namjoon laughed in disbelief. “You guys are insane.”

Taehyung leaned in, clearly baffled. “Hyung, what’s happening?” Jungkook glanced over his shoulder at Namjoon too, confused but still dutifully holding you steady. “Yeah, explain. Why is she stuck to me like glue?” Namjoon switched to Korean, grinning as he translated everything: “Okay, so apparently there's this game going on called ‘Orga Tag.’ All the event organizers are now targets—if someone catches and lifts one like a bride before midnight, they win a discount for next year.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” Namjoon continued, “But! If the Orga manages to get off the ground—like standing on something, or someone—they’re considered safe. Like… she’s using Jungkook as a human tree right now.” The group burst into mixed reactions: shock, laughter, and awe.

Jungkook blinked, still holding you. “So, you’re using me as a safe zone?” “Yup,” you said unapologetically. “You’re warm, tall, and surprisingly sturdy. Perfect perch.” He laughed—a real, breathy, shaking his head at your chaos laugh. “You’re seriously going to stay like this?” You gave a tired little nod, arms still looped tightly around his neck. “As long as I can. Or as you let me,”

But the truth was: your arms were already aching, your core burning from the cling. Jungkook seemed to realize it, because he adjusted his stance slightly and hooked his arms under your legs, hoisting you higher with effortless strength.

“Here,” he murmured, shifting you onto his back like a piggyback ride, “This’ll last longer.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and rested your chin on his shoulder, completely unbothered by the fact that you were now being paraded around the dance floor like a very smug backpack.

“I don’t know what’s weirder,” Yoongi muttered, sipping the beer you’d tossed at him. “That this is happening or that you’re all so prepared for it.” Namjoon just shook his head, half-laughing. “This might be the most chaotic party we’ve ever been to.”

“And the best,” Taehyung added gleefully, already eyeing the crates as if considering joining the chaos. Jimin looked delighted. “Wait, so if someone picks you up—” he pointed at Lea, who was now standing on two beer crates for extra height, “—they win?”

“She’s safe for now,” you confirmed. “But if she comes down…and someone grabs her bridal style…”

“Game on.” Taehyung clapped excitedly. “I love this.” Jungkook just looked back at you over his shoulder, eyes warm with amusement. “You owe me. My back’s doing charity work now.” You grinned. “You’re enjoying this.” He smirked. “Little bit.”, but didn’t complain. In fact, he adjusted his grip and gave you a little bounce—earning a surprised laugh from you that made his heart flip.

Somewhere behind you, another cheer went up as someone caught a different Orga bridal style and took a victory lap. The night was getting wilder by the minute. Still perched securely on Jungkook’s back, you stretched out an arm with dramatic grabby hands toward Yoongi. “My beer, please,” you called, voice light but commanding. Yoongi laughed, clearly entertained. “You’re not even trying to get down.”

“I’m in survival mode,” you replied with mock seriousness. “Hand it over, civilian.” Amused, Yoongi held the drink just out of reach. “You gonna come get it?” You huffed. “Sir, I am currently a limited-function human. My entire movement radius depends on Jungkook.” Jungkook turned his head slightly at that, grinning. “You say that like I’m a mech suit.”

“I wish you came with a cup holder.”

As if summoned by pure chaos, Erik appeared—shuffling into view on the far end of the hall, balancing precariously on two empty tomato soup cans. He used them like stilts, moving one in front of the other, hopping forward with exaggerated care. It was a slow and wobbly approach, and behind him, two guests stalked him like hyenas, clearly waiting for him to fail and hit the ground so they could tag him.

The entire room slowed to watch.

The flickering fairy lights caught the glint of his ridiculous lemur-tail onesie dragging dangerously behind him like a tripping hazard. At least twice, he nearly bit it. But Erik was undeterred. When he finally made it to where you and Jungkook stood, he planted both cans firmly down, took a proud breath, and looked up at you.

“Smooth,” he said, voice flat but approving. You raised your hand again like a queen granting audience. “Knighted.” Erik smirked and turned to Lea, who stood elevated and safe on her beer crate behind the bar. “Can I get another drink before these scavengers pounce?”

“I’ll trade you one for a crate,” she bartered, smirking. Jin blinked rapidly, completely baffled. “What is happening?” Namjoon gave him a look and muttered, “Don’t think about it too hard.” Taehyung, however, was delighted watching the chaos. “We need to try this,” he said, eyes wide as he leaned over to Jimin. “Next Challenge content. I’m serious.”

Behind you, another cheer erupted as Pia, dressed in her frosh-themed onesie, was tackled into a beanbag with a dramatic thump. Before she could scramble away, someone swooped in and lifted her bridal-style, parading her triumphantly through the dance floor to the soundtrack of raucous laughter and applause. You turned just in time to see it happen, laughing, but your attention was quickly pulled back to the boy whose back you were piggybacking on.

Jungkook had crouched a little to keep your weight steady, his arms slung securely beneath your thighs, his palms resting warm and firm on the inner curve where thigh met hip. Your legs were locked tightly around his waist, your arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders, giving him full control of your balance.

You hadn’t expected how… close it would feel. The softness of your onesie meant there was barely any barrier between his fingers and your skin, and the heat of his hands bled through the fabric like it wasn’t there at all.

You stilled for a second as you felt it—his fingertips beginning to move.

Not a shift in grip. Not an absentminded adjustment. Tiny, gentle shapes. Circles. Lines. Rhythmic patterns traced so carefully into the curve of your thigh it was like he was speaking in some quiet language only your skin could hear.

And god, if your legs weren’t locked around his hips in self-preservation, you might’ve melted right off him. Your pulse jumped embarrassingly fast. The shapes weren’t suggestive or bold—just intimate, achingly soft in a way that caught you completely off guard.

You leaned forward a bit, chin resting on his shoulder, hair brushing lightly against the side of his neck. You didn’t say anything—couldn’t, really—but the tiny shift in closeness was answer enough.

He felt it. You were sure he did. Because the second your body pressed a little tighter against his back, Jungkook let out the faintest exhale, his fingers pausing only briefly before continuing their subtle trail, emboldened, slightly more confident now.

It was nothing. It was everything. It was subtle. No one else would notice.

The dance floor kept spinning, lights flashing, people laughing, drinks passed and spilled—but it all blurred to static in the background. You smiled, the curve of your cheek pressed to the warm line of his neck, hiding the way your whole body was humming. And Jungkook smiled too—just enough that only someone holding onto him this closely would notice.

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Someone from the crowd near the doors waved you down—a group of your fellow “crawlers,” the regular post-event mischief crew, already gathering outside for the traditional cool-down drink. You straightened slightly on Jungkook’s back, craning to see who was calling for you, but the second you moved, his grip automatically adjusted, fingers flexing gently into your thighs like muscle memory.

You looked down at him, considering. He’d carried you like this for a while now—granted, you were the one who had leapt onto him like a caffeine-fueled koala—but still. Jungkook hadn’t complained much… until a few minutes ago, when he’d mock-whined to Taehyung that you were “getting heavy,” grinning so wide you knew he was only doing it to rile you up while the others laughed.

Still, maybe it was time to get off before your smug backpack status became an actual burden.

“Hey! You coming or what?” It was Garam, standing just outside with a few other familiar figures silhouetted in the spill of warm light. “Crawler drink time!”

You lifted your head, squinting toward him. A tradition as old as your post-event chaos itself: the final drink with the crawler crew, your late-night cooldown ritual of bad ideas, worse alcohol, and inside jokes whispered until sunrise. But before you could answer, Garam narrowed his eyes, catching sight of you still on Jungkooks back.

“You’re still in the Orga tag?” he called, sounding more amused than surprised.

You glanced at the clock—just under an hour to go. And though the game wasn’t as wild outside the dance hall, technically, yeah… you were still "fair game" if your feet touched the ground.

You hesitated.

Jungkook had already carried you around longer than anyone had a right to. His grip was steady, warm, and you could still feel the faint traces of the little shapes he’d been drawing on your thighs earlier. But asking him to take you outside, into the cool air and across camp? That felt like asking too much. You’d gotten greedy. Maybe it was time to cut your losses.

Your arms shifted like you might dismount, and that’s when Garam smirked and spread his arms wide. “I can carry you if you want, you know. Knight in neon armor and all that.” You looked at him, genuinely considering it—his teasing was good-natured, his offer real. Garam had carried far drunker friends with less reason.

You gave an exaggerated sigh, shifting like you were ready to dismount. “I mean… he did say I was getting heavy,” you said, mock-pouting, “Maybe I should give your spine a break before it cracks under the pressure of my onesie greatness.”

But before you could slip off, Jungkook surprised you with a firm, low: “No.”

You blinked and looked down at Jungkook. His gaze was locked forward towards Garam, but his arms tightened subtly under your thighs. “What?”

“I said no,” Jungkook repeated, like he hadn’t even considered there was an option. “You’re not getting down.” Your brow furrowed, half in amusement. “What if you’re tired? You did say I was getting heavy.”

“I lied.” He looked up at you then, his expression earnest and just a little smug. “You’re not heavy. I just didn’t want to admit I got comfortable.” You blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a flutter. “So… I’m comfy now?” He gave the smallest grin. “Yup. And I already adjusted. I’m not letting you down,” he said. “You’re mine now.”

You smirked. “Pretty sure this counts as kidnapping.”

“Yup,” Jungkook said again, completely unbothered. “Voluntary. No refunds.”

“Damn,” Garam chuckled, watching the exchange. “Guess that’s a no on me being your steed of honor.” You shrugged dramatically. “I got claimed. It happens.”

“Well then,” Garam said, spinning on his heel toward the doors, “hurry up, lovebirds. The crawler drink waits for no one.” That caught Yoongi’s attention, who’d been casually sipping a beer from the sidelines, perked up at that. “What’s a crawler drink?” You looked back at him, grinning. “Come and find out. It’s chaotic, weird, and always too much alcohol.”

“Sold,” Yoongi said with a shrug, already falling into step.

And just like that, the group began to head toward the doors, the night air spilling in cool and sharp against the lingering heat of the dance floor.

Jungkook adjusted your weight slightly and began walking without another word, arms snug beneath your thighs and hands still comfortably braced against your legs. Once in a while, you felt the soft brush of his fingertips again—more gentle shapes, more quiet touches. And each one sent a little buzz down your spine. He carried you easily, like he was perfectly content to play your getaway ride until midnight or longer.

You could’ve asked Garam to carry you. You probably should’ve. But the truth was?

You didn’t want to. Not when this felt so impossibly good. And with his warmth at your chest and the echo of Garam’s laughter around you, you couldn’t help thinking that maybe being a smug backpack wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

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The fire pit flickered low but steady, a smaller ring of warmth nestled just off the main square near the NSC area—far enough from the bigger crowd to feel like your own little world. This was your crawler crew’s turf. You’d all ended more events around this fire than you could count, with stiff limbs, sore feet, smoke in your hair, and laughter hoarse in your throats.

Around the flames were familiar faces: Alex with his arm slung lazily around a half-empty bottle, David reenacting some dramatic fall with Mira’s snorts of disbelief in the background, Yuji poking at the fire with a branch far too long, and Garam, legs crossed like a camp sage, already grinning as you and Jungkook arrived. Molly was here too, one of the survivor game champions from earlier, sipping something in a mismatched mug. She gave Jungkook a salute as you approached, eyes twinkling.

“Still riding high, huh?” Alex called when he saw you. “You know the game ended like forever ago for most other Orgas, right?”

“She and Lea are holding on. Still in the tag,” Mira added with a gleeful shake of her head. “Unreal. You’re like the smug queen of the chaos realm.”

You gave a mock-regal wave from your perch on Jungkook’s back. “One must maintain their dignity. Or, y’know, cling to it.”

There were cheers and laughter at that, and someone passed you a drink—something fruity and cold, served in one of the reusable event cups. You accepted it with a grateful hum, but before you could even raise it to your lips, Mira turned to Jungkook, offering him one too.

“Here, since you’ve become part of our roaming monument to endurance. Sorry for, uh, killing you earlier,” she added with a snicker. “In game. Not like, literally.”

Jungkook smiled, shifting you slightly to keep balance. “No hard feelings. It’s all part of the game.” He made to take the cup but hesitated. With you on his back, both arms locked under your thighs for support, he had no real way to grab it.

“Oh—here, I got it,” you offered quickly, taking the drink from Mira and carefully maneuvering it.

It took a moment of delicate adjustment—your legs tightened instinctively around Jungkook’s waist, and you leaned forward a bit to brace the cup in front of him without tipping it. The closeness made your heart flutter. Jungkook, still as stone beneath you, bent his head slightly and took a slow sip from the edge of the cup you held.

It was like something out of a bizarrely sweet battle couple ritual. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pulled away, miraculously without spilling a drop. “Look at that coordination,” David muttered. “God-tier level.”

“Genuinely impressed,” Yoongi said, just arriving with his own drink in hand. His eyes were on you both, an amused arch to his brow. “You two have achieved perfect symbiosis.”

“Only took half the night,” you laughed, offering Jungkook a second sip before taking one yourself. Yoongi took a seat nearby, warming his hands by the fire. “I like this crew. There’s a good kind of madness here.” You glanced around. The crawler drink had officially begun. Cups clinked, laughter bubbled, and even if you weren’t sure what time it was, you could feel the countdown to midnight hanging in the air.

Across the pit, Erik was being gently heckled by Molly after tripping over the lemur tail of his onesie—his infamous downfall. He’d fallen off his makeshift tomato soup can stilts in spectacular fashion, making him the latest Orga to lose the tag game.

That left only two players standing: Lea and you.

Now that only Lea and you were left in the game and midnight was drawing near, things had taken a sharper edge. The participants—buzzed on drinks and competitive energy—had gotten bold. Lea’s situation had grown steadily more precarious. Earlier, she’d stood confidently on three crates stacked like a podium, but her support had slowly vanished—literally. One by one, people had snuck off with the extras, whittling her down to just one unsteady square of safety. One wrong step, and she was fair game.

You, on the other hand? You had Jungkook.

Mobility. Height. A reliable, unfair advantage in the shape of one very determined man who carried you like it was a job he was honored to hold. And maybe he was. His hands were steady on your thighs, fingers loose but sure, and his body moved with an ease that made it feel like he’d done this kind of thing a hundred times.

But you felt the shift in the air. That charged hum of people scheming.

You were mid-laugh, chatting with Daniel and Garam by the side of the smaller fire pit when a group of three new faces slipped into your circle by the smaller fire pit. They weren’t from your crawler crew, but you vaguely recognized them from earlier chaos—faces painted, shirts rumpled, limbs carrying the unmistakable energy of people who had been chasing others around for hours and were very committed to finishing strong.

They zeroed in on you immediately.

Or more precisely, on Jungkook.

“Okay,” the one in the middle announced dramatically, pointing at you like he was declaring a public service. “This is illegal. You can’t just be carried around like a prize. Get down, woman!”

You snorted. “Make me!”

“She said it!” one of them shouted gleefully. “She said the words! That’s permission!” You grinned and waved sarcastically from Jungkook’s back. “Hell no. I’m very comfortable up here, thanks.”

“Oh, come on, man,” another said with a grin, walking a half-circle around you two, like circling a jungle gym. “You’ve had her on your back for what, hours? Just get down,” stepping forward with dramatic flair. “We’ll go easy on you. Promise.”

“Easy?” you echoed. “You lot look like a pack of gremlins.”

“Flattered,” one said, bowing with mock grace. Daniel, sipping from a cup nearby, called out, “You three couldn’t catch her if she was duct-taped to a crate.”

“Ouch,” one of them clutched his chest. “Okay, now we have to catch her.”

“Group effort,” someone else nodded. “Classic three-man lift-and-yank maneuver.”

You were laughing, but as they started creeping closer with all the subtlety of toddlers playing tag, you felt a shift—their energy wasn’t threatening, just very committed. Determined in that chaotic, tipsy kind of way. And they weren’t about to give up just because you were several inches out of reach.

Worried they might actually lunge and grab you like a game of human whack-a-mole, you quickly shifted your arms, sliding them out from around Jungkook’s neck. If they did manage to yank you down, you didn’t want to accidentally strangle him on your way out.

You leaned down slowly, close enough that your lips nearly brushed the shell of Jungkook’s ear. He didn’t expect it—his breath caught slightly as your voice slipped through, soft but urgent.

“Let me down, Jungkook… or run.”

The hair on the back of his neck rose. His shoulders straightened under you. “Run?” he asked, grip on your thighs tightened just a little—like he was instinctively bracing. “Run,” you confirmed, eyeing the way two of them were definitely circling behind him now.

“Alright,” Jungkook muttered with a grin. “Hold on.”

One of them lunged—

And then you were moving—flying—as Jungkook bolted through the crowd with a sudden burst of speed. You heard shrieks and laughter behind you as your pursuers scrambled to give chase, but Jungkook was too fast.

“Cowards!” one yelled through laughter. “Get back here!”

“Stop cheating! She’s a human power-up!”

He weaved through the crowd like he had a built-in radar for gaps in human traffic, laughter shaking his back under your arms. The crowd parted in patches, some cheering, others just trying not to spill their drinks.

“YOU CAN’T STAY UP THERE FOREVER!” someone called.

“WATCH ME!” you shouted back, wheezing with laughter.

“You better marry her at this point!” someone shouted from the sidelines as you zoomed past.

The crowd parted for you like it was all part of the show, clapping and whooping as Jungkook darted past people and fire pits, his arms still firm on your legs, like he’d absolutely signed up for this. Your laughter rang against his ear, and he was grinning too wide to say anything as he carried you deeper into the chaos.

Someone shouted, “GO JUNGKOOK!” probably Hoseok like it was a horse race. Mira’s voice joined the chorus, loud and proud: “Longest carry of the night, folks! Give it up for our human Uber!” You nearly fell off laughing.

When Jungkook finally slowed down near the edge of the Game Area, hidden from view by smoke and shadows, he let out a deep exhale, still smiling. He bent slightly at the waist, one hand braced against his knee with you still clinging to his back. His breath came out in steady puffs, warm against the cooling night air.

“You good?” he asked, voice a little breathless but still laced with that easy amusement that hadn’t left him all night. You snorted, hugging his shoulders. “No notes. Perfect getaway. Five stars. Would ride again.” He let out a soft laugh, but didn’t move to let you down. The shadows here were quieter, distant from the buzz and cheering still echoing around the central game zone.

After a beat, you said, “Hey—want to rest for a second? You can set me down here if you need. No one’s watching.” But Jungkook shook his head. “Nah. I’m not risking it.” You blinked. “You think someone’s actually gonna sprint out here and snatch me at the last second?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, a mischievous little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t think it. I know it. That crew looked unhinged.”

You laughed. “Jungkook. You could just end the game right now. Snatch me yourself. Drop me and win.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied easily, adjusting his grip on your thighs. “Besides, this is actually kind of fun.”

He shifted again, bending forward a little more so your torso slid over his back at a more comfortable angle. Your arms naturally slipped around his shoulders again, anchoring yourself loosely. It wasn’t the most graceful pose, but it felt oddly cozy. He even hummed softly, like this worked better for his back, and you grinned into the fabric of his hoodie.

“I’m not heavy, am I?” you teased. “You? Nah,” he said, then grunted softly. “Your stubbornness, though? That’s got some weight.” You smacked his shoulder lightly and both of you laughed.

Then, over the low hum of voices and music in the distance, Erik’s voice rang out in the night air:

“Ladies, gents, cryptids, and crawler scum—TAG GAME IS OFFICIALLY OVER! It’s midnight—let’s hear it for our surviving organizer!” A wave of applause and playful groans rolled through the group.”

You twisted instinctively, trying to get a view of the campfire area in the distance—but Jungkook straightened at the announcement, lifting you upright on his back with an exaggerated dramatic movement like a knight hoisting a victory flag.

You laughed in delight, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie to hold steady. “Okay, now you can let me down. Victory achieved, Sir Jeon.” But Jungkook just grinned. “What, after all that? And walk in like a regular person? That’s a terrible entrance.” You wheezed, half from laughter, half from disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.” You let your forehead drop against his shoulder, face hidden in the curve of his neck, your breath warm where it met his skin. “Completely ridiculous.”

“Only slightly,” he said, turning to walk back toward the others—your weight still on his back, your laughter shared with his under the stars and smoke.

“And the only, surviving un-snatchified until the final second of this ridiculous game… still stuck on the back of her noble steed—” Erik paused for dramatic effect, spinning toward you with a grandiose gesture as you and Jungkook were in sight again. “—is Y/N The Orga Who Could Not Be Caught!”

There were whoops and claps, even a makeshift drumroll on the side of a crate. Erik tossed a pair of vouchers toward the participants who had managed to catch an Orga member. Your crawler crew cheered you on with half-sincere bows, and Yoongi raised his cup from where he lounged by the fire. “Not bad. Guess the strategy of doing absolutely nothing but freeloading on Jungkook paid off.”

“I’d argue she perfected it,” Taehyung added, strolling into the ring of firelight like he hadn’t vanished hours ago to chase some side mission. “Honestly, the confidence of riding someone around like a smug little queen while the world burned around you? Inspiring.�� You sniffled loudly, wiping fake tears from your cheeks. “You guys don’t get it. I’ve forgotten how to walk. My legs are purely decorative at this point.”

Mira nearly spat her drink out laughing. Jungkook chuckled too, his body shaking with it beneath you. “You’re ridiculous.” You turned just enough to scowl over his shoulder. “You’re laughing now, but who’s been hauling my dead weight around like a sack of overly caffeinated potatoes?” Laughter rippled around the circle. Jungkook’s shoulders shook with a low laugh too, and you felt the vibration echo through your chest where you leaned against him.

“You’re seriously still comfortable up there?” Yoongi asked, quirking a brow. You shrugged, cheek still resting near the curve of Jungkook’s neck. “Hey, I stayed in the game. Can’t argue with results.” Taehyung looked at you with mischief in his eyes but his voice light. “You gonna come down sometime tonight or…?”

“Okay, okay…” You groaned like it physically hurt you to say the words. “I’ll get down. Let the people rejoice.” That got a round of sarcastic applause and exaggerated goodbyes from your crew, as if you were retiring from the throne. Even Yoongi muttered something like, “Tragic, truly,” under his breath.

But before you slid off, before you gave up the steady warmth of Jungkook’s back and the strong pressure of his hands beneath your thighs, you hesitated. because the truth was, now that it was over, now that you had to leave the steady warmth of his back and the familiar grip of his hands on your thighs, you didn’t want to. A flicker of nerves passed through you.

You hadn’t dared to do anything bold while clinging to him. But now that you had to go? You didn’t want to miss your chance. You’d wanted to do something—anything—to see if the light touches he kept giving you had meant something. And now, as you leaned forward, your breath caught.

You let your head fall toward the curve of his neck, grumbling loud enough for it to sound like irritation, but quiet enough that no one could hear the shift in your voice. Then, barely grazing the soft skin just where his neck and hoodie meet, your lips brushed there—quick, featherlight, not a kiss exactly, but not not either.

Your breath fanned against his skin. Jungkook went utterly still beneath you. Then, his fingers at your thighs curled just slightly—just enough to tell you he noticed, just enough to make your breath catch.

And then, wordless, he bent his knees to help you slide off his back, and your feet touched the ground with an awkward wobble. You winced. “Ugh. I hate being short again.”

Jungkook rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck like he needed to physically shake something off. But his eyes found yours immediately. And something in his gaze—hot, unwavering—made the air around you thrum. The teasing was gone. His eyes were dark with something else. Something sharper. Fiercer.

You opened your mouth to make another joke—anything to break the tension—but stopped. Because you couldn’t tell if he was mad at you. His stare burned, like he was holding himself back from saying something that would crack the surface.

But he wasn’t angry.

Oh no. Jungkook was thinking.

He was thinking about the way your lips had touched his skin like a secret. The breathy way you’d exhaled against him. And more than anything, he was thinking about how fast he could get his hands back on you, about what he would’ve done if you’d dared to do that earlier—when he had you all to himself, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands already at your skin.

If you’d done that while he was still carrying you… he might not have stopped walking. Might have just kept going. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere dark.

But now?

Now he had to figure out how to get you alone again.

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As you and Jungkook stood between your friends at the main gathering, Markus came over first—grinning wide, cheeks flushed from the firelight and maybe a beer or two.

“Hey, untagged champ!” he said, giving you a congratulatory fist bump. “Didn’t think anyone could actually win this thing without getting snatched. But damn—you pulled it off.”

“Technically, Jungkook pulled it off,” you said with a sheepish smile, thumbing back at him. Markus laughed. “True. But hey, teamwork, right?”

Before you could reply, Namjoon approached with his usual laid-back energy, but there was amusement playing in his eyes. He gave you a nod and patted Jungkook’s shoulder. “Nice to see some actual strategy.” Behind him, Taehyung and Hoseok rolled up like a storm front—smirking and already mid-tease.

“Jungkook, the way you ran—” Hoseok clutched his chest, dramatically stumbling back. “Like a soldier carrying a wounded comrade.”

“I’ve never seen your legs move that fast,” Taehyung added. “Did she promise you snacks or something?”

“She is kinda snack-shaped,” Hoseok said with a wink toward you, making you groan and cover your face. Jungkook didn’t laugh. Not really. He smiled a little, but his gaze never drifted from you. He barely acknowledged the teasing, even as the others laughed around him. His jaw was set, and his eyes—still trained on you—were unreadable, something burning just under the surface.

You felt your stomach flip. Yep. Okay. You definitely overstepped.

Your little breathy not-kiss to his neck—it had been a last second decision. Stupid. But the way he looked at you now made it clear that something had shifted. And not necessarily in a fun, flirty way. At least… you didn’t think so.

“I’m, uh, gonna run to the bathroom,” you said, backing away slightly, forcing a smile. “Finally. First time since the game started.” It wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t not an excuse to put a little distance between you and the man you may or may not have semi-offended with not-accidental neck contact.

You felt his eyes on you as you turned, burning a line between your shoulder blades the entire way to the portable toilets near the edge of the camp. The line of vision didn't leave until the buildings finally blocked it.

Once inside, you sighed. Loudly. And then immediately groaned again when you remembered the onesie situation. Peeling the whole thing off was a pain. You muttered to yourself the entire time, caught somewhere between embarrassment, residual adrenaline, and the kind of dizzy thrill that came with being close to someone like Jungkook. And maybe, maybe doing something slightly too bold.

After you were done, you stayed put for a moment longer. The idea of slipping away entirely crossed your mind—not because you wanted to avoid the group, but because you weren’t sure if you could keep your cool around Jungkook after everything. What if he said something? What if he didn’t?

You cracked open the door slowly, peering out at the firelit crowd beyond. And that’s when a very familiar pair of arms slung themselves across your shoulders. “Where have you been?” Jimin whined against your ear. “You and Jungkookie are hitting it off, huh?”

You blinked, surprised, as he leaned into you—definitely tipsy, his cheeks a bit pink and his words loose around the edges. “What?” you said, laughing lightly, unsure how to react. “He looked like he was on some noble quest to save a damsel—only with more swearing and snacks.” You laughed, a real one, breath easing out of your chest. “I’m pretty sure I was the one saving myself.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Jimin tapped your shoulder with the back of his hand. “He had this look on his face. You know the one.” You arched a brow. “I really don’t.” Jimin grinned lazily. “That ‘I’m-pretending-this-is-a-game-but-I-would-tackle-a-bear-for-you’ look. You’ve got him acting weird. In a good way.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You could only offer a soft, awkward chuckle and look anywhere but back toward the fire—where you knew Jungkook was probably still watching you.

Jimin hummed and squeezed your shoulders once more. “Anyway, I approve. You’re cute. He’s cute. And if this was a romcom, this is where I’d wink and tell you not to mess it up.” You gave a short laugh, trying not to show how much his words rattled around in your chest. “Thanks for the pressure,” you said dryly.

Jimin only giggled and wandered off toward the drinks table again, leaving you blinking in his wake. What he didn’t know was that you’d probably already messed it up as you leaned in closer than necessary. That you were smitten with his friend. That your lips had brushed the warm skin at the curve of Jungkook’s neck. That your breath had fluttered there on purpose, just for a moment.

Only Jungkook had felt it.

Only he had gone completely still when it happened.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as the familiar chaos of the night reclaimed its rhythm. Now that you were back on the ground and the tag game was officially over, the after-midnight lull began to settle in. People came over to congratulate you—laughing, chatting, offering quick hugs and goodbyes. Some were already heading home, planning to drive through the night or nap in their cars before leaving at dawn. Many of them you wouldn’t see again until next year’s event.

You nodded along, smiled when you should, but your mind was only half-present. Your eyes kept drifting—flickering toward the area, where Jungkook still stood. Or rather, where he waited. His gaze, though not openly hostile, had a fire to it. Focused. Controlled. And very pointed in your direction.

So instead of moving back toward him, you stayed where the conversations flowed and laughter bubbled, letting the crowd act as a buffer. Out here, you could breathe. Out here, his stare didn’t burn quite so hot.

But of course, he found you.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, voice casual—but his presence anything but—as he appeared beside you. “You free for a second?” You nearly choked on your own breath. “Y-Yeah,” you coughed, straightening. “Totally. Yes.”

He didn’t explain. Just nodded and motioned with a tilt of his head for you to follow him. And you did—like a cartoon character with nerves tangled in knots, your steps a little too fast, a little too clumsy, heart thudding like a drumline.

He led you back toward the edge of the woods, where one of the game area cabins sat half-hidden in the trees. The same cabin he’d practically launched you into earlier in the game. Now quiet, dimly lit by a few lanterns strung along the path, the space felt… different. Quieter. More private. A little too private.

Your brain buzzed with every horror trope you’d ever written or read. Okay. So maybe the setting I helped design for fun and chaos now feels mildly haunted. That’s fine. Totally fine.

Jungkook stopped just inside the doorway, turning to face you fully. And the look on his face—

Like you’d scorched him. Like he didn’t know whether to throttle you or pull you in. In a panic, you blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Sorry!”

He blinked. “What?”

You flailed, trying to backpedal. “For… um. The thing. The neck thing. It wasn’t, like, a kiss-kiss, I mean—it kind of was, I guess—but not really, and I’m sorry if it pissed you off. I swear I won’t get that close again. I’ll just—” You held up your hands like you were under arrest. “—stay way over here.”

Jungkook stared at you for one long second, then—

He laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but one that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Warm and rough around the edges, like it had caught even him by surprise. Your mouth opened slightly, stunned. Laughing was… good? Right? Better than scowling? Better than being ignored?

“You thought I was angry?” he asked, eyes sparkling with something unreadable. “You looked angry!” you said defensively, even as your voice tilted up an octave. “I wasn’t angry,” he said, his smile lingering, but sharper now. “I was thinking about how to get you alone.”

Your throat went dry. “To murder me?”

He chuckled again. “No.” and added quietly. “How I’d get you to do it again,” Your heart launched itself somewhere near your ears. “Do what again?” He took a step closer—just one—but it changed everything. You had to tilt your chin slightly to keep looking at him. Your breath caught.

“The kiss,” he said, voice low. “On my neck.” You tried to swallow, but your throat was dust. “Um… you… want me to… kiss… kiss your neck again?” Jungkook’s tongue briefly touched his lip, making his lip ring gleam. “That could be a start.”

And this close—this very deliberately close—you didn’t miss the subtle shift in his stance, the way his hand twitched at his side like it wanted to reach for you but was holding back, waiting. Testing.

You didn’t know what possessed you—but something bold and reckless inside you stirred. You murmured, “Okay. But I’m not climbing on your back this time,” his quiet, stunned laugh was the only warning you got.

“Deal,” he said, voice husky. And this time, he leaned in.

His fingers brushed along your jaw, a barely-there touch that made your breath stutter in your chest. With a slow, steady motion, his hand slid around the back of your neck, his thumb gently grazing your skin as he tilted your head up toward him. The world narrowed to the heat in his palm and the intensity in his gaze as he leaned in, closing the final inches between you.

The first kiss was barely a whisper—a short, soft press of his lips against yours. But it knocked the air from your lungs. Like your heart, which had been jittering in every direction all night, finally remembered its rhythm and settled into place.

The second kiss came quickly after. Bolder. Deeper.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders without thinking, grounding yourself as his mouth moved against yours. When his lips parted slightly and lingered—waiting—you opened for him, and he kissed you with more intention. Still gentle, still careful not to overwhelm, but with a growing urgency that mirrored the fire pooling low in your belly.

As you kissed him back—matching his pace, giving just as much as you received—his other hand slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. His thumb swept slowly along the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine.

The kiss turned intense fast—too fast, maybe, but you didn’t want it to slow down. You felt it in your knees, in the ache in your chest, in the soft noise that escaped you when you let go of everything and simply let yourself want him.

A low curse rumbled from Jungkook’s throat as he pulled back just slightly, eyes dark and locked on your mouth. The sound of your breathy, surprised little mewl had clearly undone something in him. He looked like he was trying not to lose control right there.

And then—he chuckled.

Just a small one. A soft, amused sound in the quiet space between your bodies. You blinked, flushed with confusion and a creeping edge of embarrassment. “...Why are you laughing?”

Jungkook shook his head, eyes raking over you in a way that wasn’t mocking, but reverent. He took a breath like he couldn’t believe you were real, like you’d just knocked something loose in him that he hadn’t planned on giving away tonight. “You’re just—” His gaze softened, lips curling into a grin that made your stomach flip. “You’re lovely.”

You scoffed, huffing as you looked away—your cheeks warming to nuclear levels. “Yeah, okay. Lovely. Sure. Says the guy who looks like he was born in a Calvin Klein ad. I’m standing here in a wrinkled onesie and messy hair. Super model vibes.” He didn’t respond right away.

Just watched you for a moment longer, then reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“No,” he murmured, stepping closer again. “Just… you. And that’s better than anything I’m used to.” And damn him for saying it like he meant it. Because you believed him. Even as you rolled your eyes and tried to play it off, a small, stunned smile was already forming at the corner of your lips.

Jungkook leaned back in just enough to meet your eyes—searching, almost like he was waiting for a reason to stop. But you didn’t give him one. So he kissed you again—more deliberate this time. Slower, deeper. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that hadn’t been there before, or maybe had simply been buried under layers of teasing and restraint.

There was none of that now.

This wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise. It was a question and a declaration and a need.

Your fingers slipped into his hair before you even realized it, and the moment you gave a gentle tug, a low groan broke from his chest—ragged and raw and real. It made your stomach clench, your breath catch, your knees weaken just a little more.

He kissed you again, lips parting as his hand returned to your waist, grounding you like he was afraid you’d vanish. Then—he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breath warm on your face.

“Is there…” His voice was husky, edged with hesitation, the words catching like they were heavier than he meant them to be. “Is there anywhere… we could go?” He didn’t look at you when he said it. His eyes dropped, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as though he feared you’d pull away.

He wasn’t asking crudely. Not like some desperate guy trying to hook up at a party.

He was asking you—you—because he wanted more than just the rush of the kiss, more than this electric moment suspended in the quiet aftermath of the day. He wanted you, if you wanted him. But he was trying to be careful, to be respectful—even when his body was anything but calm.

And yeah, he knew this wasn’t exactly the best place. A LARP event in the woods wasn’t designed for privacy. He wasn’t about to drag you into one of the shared rooms where someone could walk in, or the parking area where headlights might flash at any second.

And the half-abandoned cabin behind you, with its broken windows and faint mildew smell? Fun for the LARP but not for this. That wasn’t where he wanted to see you come apart for him for the first time.

But still—he couldn’t help it.

The tension in his jaw, the flicker of nerves in his voice, the way he touched you like he was holding back from touching more—it was all written plainly in him. If you’d let him… God, he’d spend every night after this one making it worth your while. Not rushed. Not chaotic. Not borrowed or secret. Just you and him, all the time in the world.

He finally looked up—his eyes meeting yours.

There was heat there, yes. But also hope. And a gentleness that made your chest ache. And somehow, in that unspoken silence between you, he managed to say it all:

If this isn’t what you want, I’ll step back. But if it is… tell me where to go. Tell me how you want me. I’ll follow.

You could still feel the shape of his last kiss on your lips. And now—he was offering so much more.

Your fingers trembled slightly where they touched him—half nerves, half anticipation—as you struggled to find the right words. You licked your lips hastily, heart pounding in your chest, and gave a small, awkward nod.

Then, fumbling slightly, you reached for his hand—still warm from holding your waist—and curled your fingers around it. He followed without hesitation, falling into step beside you with a quiet kind of urgency, his grip on your hand firm but reverent.

You led him through the cool night, weaving between buildings with practiced ease, heading back toward the main part of the asylum grounds. Not through the front—no, you knew better than that. You took a side entrance, one rarely used, your eyes scanning in all directions to make sure no one saw you slip inside. The last thing you wanted was an audience.

You glanced over your shoulder, checking to see if Jungkook was still with you—like you needed reassurance he hadn’t suddenly changed his mind. But every time you looked back, he took it as an invitation to steal a kiss—soft, fleeting touches of lips against yours or the back of your hand. Each one sent a jolt through you, and you found yourself smiling like an idiot, giddy in a way you couldn’t remember feeling before.

Eventually, you guided him to the upper floors, through a locked door you’d used all weekend for gear storage. A room tucked away—out of sight, out of mind—filled with leftover props, costume bins, and boxes stacked in half-organized chaos. But in the middle of it all stood a sturdy old table, scratched by time and paint-stained from past builds. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t ideal. But it was clean—clean enough—and private.

You turned to face Jungkook, your hand still in his. “Would this… work?”

But you barely finished the sentence before he answered with his mouth. His lips crashed into yours—not rough, not impatient, but full of everything he hadn’t said aloud. The wanting. The waiting. The restraint finally snapping loose.

He swept you up easily, like your weight meant nothing to him, and in a single, fluid motion, set you down on the edge of the table. His hands bracketed your hips, and he stepped between your legs, looking up at you with a spark behind his eyes that made your breath hitch.

His gaze raked over you, drinking you in—not just your body, but your expression, your flushed cheeks, your parted lips. Like he couldn’t believe you were really here, wanting him just the same.

He pressed his forehead against yours for a beat, his breath hot as it mingled with yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, voice low, rough with restraint. “I will.” But you didn’t. You only tightened your legs around him.

And Jungkook—his smile was pure reverence before he leaned in again and kissed you like he already knew you wouldn't regret a single second.

The room was quiet except for your shallow breaths and the soft rustle of fabric as your fingers reached for the buttons of your onesie. One by one, they popped open, the fabric loosening around you like petals falling away. Jungkook’s eyes followed every motion, reverent, lips parted slightly as if memorizing you in stages.

When you shrugged the upper half down, he stepped in without needing direction—his warm hands brushing along your shoulders, helping ease the sleeves down your arms. The onesie bunched at your waist, and now, seated in front of him in just your bra and panties, your skin prickled with the electric heat of his gaze.

Your fingers found the hem of his hoodie, tugging softly. Jungkook helped, arms lifting as you peeled the hoodie over his head, revealing smooth skin stretched over muscle, shadows and lines sculpted like he was drawn by hand. Your hands skimmed across his chest, over his ribs, down the slope of his waist.

"Okay," you murmured, a little breathless, eyes tracing his torso like it was a map, "with a body like this? I would absolutely climb you again. Just give the word." Jungkook let out a low, shy laugh, glancing away for a second as a blush crept over his cheeks—endearing and disarming in contrast to his powerful frame. His gaze returned to yours, and it was soft but full of heat.

“Maybe later,” he said with a grin that made your stomach flip. “Right now… it’s my turn.”

He gently nudged your hips, guiding you back a little until the edge of the table met your lower legs. Then he helped tug the rest of the onesie down and away, the cotton slipping off your legs as he moved you into place. You lay back slowly, the cool air kissing your skin, warm only where his hands had touched.

Jungkook’s fingers lingered at your hips, brushing across your waist before he leaned over you. His belt came undone with a quiet click, but your attention was on the way he kissed you—first low on your stomach, a soft press of lips just above your navel. Then higher, at the space between your ribs, the curve of your breast, the hollow of your collarbone.

His mouth trailed a path up your body like it was sacred. The way he handled you—with care, with focus—felt like something more than just want. You threaded your fingers through his hair as he kissed the side of your neck again, slower this time. The spot where it all started. You felt his smile against your skin, and it made you smile too—shaky, caught somewhere between nerves and pure, unfiltered desire.

This wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy or wild. It was… intentional.

And as his hands roamed your body and yours followed the dips and lines of his, it felt like something you’d remember long after the night was over.

Jungkook’s hands moved up your sides with a reverence that made you shiver, gliding slowly over the curve of your ribs. His touch was warm and confident—deliberate in its patience. When his fingers slipped beneath your back, his knuckles pressed lightly into your spine, and with a practiced motion, the clasp of your bra gave way. You felt it slacken, your breath catching as he peeled it away with care.

Above you, Jungkook was a vision of focused control. He held himself up easily with just the strength in his thighs, his abs taut, the line of his muscles sharp beneath his half-unzipped jeans. The band of his Calvin Kleins peeked out, the bold white letters against black teasingly visible. He looked like sin made flesh, and he was looking only at you.

Your bra joined the growing pile of your clothes, though it fell unnoticed as his hands returned—palming over your breasts, thumbs brushing delicately across your skin as his lips traced a line from the swell of your chest down to your stomach. A breathy sound escaped you, and you reached for his wrist instinctively, grounding yourself.

His mouth reached your navel, and just as you tilted your head back with a low sigh, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see it—him slipping your panties into the back pocket of his jeans with a devilish subtlety. You blinked, stunned for a beat, and then let out a breathless laugh. “Wait—are you stealing my panties?”

Jungkook grinned against your stomach, his teeth grazing your skin before he pulled back just enough to look at you fully, mischief shining in his dark eyes.

“Not exactly,” he said, voice low and amused. He sat back slightly, one hand smoothing over your thigh while the other adjusted the pocket with exaggerated care. “I just don’t want them getting dirty. As much as it pains me…” His gaze dragged slowly over your body, lingering, lingering, “You will need them again later.”

The absurd practicality of the comment hit you at the same time as the implication, and you laughed again, warmth flooding your chest. It was disarming—how Jungkook could be so intensely focused on you, so hungry and attentive, yet still be considerate in the smallest, strangest way.

Your fingers traced up his forearm as you looked at him, lips curving softly. “Well,” you murmured, heartbeat still dancing, “that’s actually… kind of thoughtful.” Jungkook leaned down again, brushing his nose against yours, lips ghosting over your cheek before settling by your ear. “Don’t get used to it,” he whispered playfully, “I’m mostly selfish.”

But his hands never stopped moving, and you were already forgetting how to breathe. And then he kissed you again—slow, deep, claiming. He was exploring the soft give of your skin as he coaxed your legs apart with slow, insistent pressure. His touch was confident but not rushed, and your breath hitched as the cool air touched your newly exposed skin.

He knelt between your legs, his gaze dropping, eyes dark and focused as he took you in. There was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smirk, but close—when he saw just how ready you already were for him.

“You look like you’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, voice husky, more praise than question. His knuckles brushed down the sensitive inside of your thigh, the faintest drag of skin on skin. Every nerve there lit up as he traced the line slowly, purposefully, until he reached the aching heat between your legs. He paused—infuriatingly close but not touching where you needed him most.

You whimpered softly, the sound slipping from your lips before you could bite it back. “Jungkook…” you whispered, hips twitching. “No teasing. Please.”

He hummed, tilting his head like he was truly considering your plea. “No teasing?” he echoed, voice maddeningly calm. “That’s funny… I seem to remember someone whispering in my ear, kissing my neck—” his eyes flicked up to meet yours, gleaming with mock innocence, “—and having fun like they weren’t driving me insane all night.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but your breath was stolen as one of his fingers finally pressed into you, sliding in with deliberate slowness. Your body clenched around him, your head tipping back with a low, broken sound. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, your fingers curling ion the table beneath you.

Jungkook’s eyes never left your face. He watched your reaction intently, like he wanted to memorize the exact moment your walls fluttered around him, when the first wave of pleasure made your thighs tremble.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, raw with want. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

He curled the finger just slightly inside you, and your breath hitched again.

“You’re so warm,” he said, almost reverently, leaning in to press a kiss to your inner thigh. “So fucking tight.” You moaned, eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze again, and in it, you saw that hunger—unapologetic, consuming. And all of it was for you.

“F–fuck,” you cursed, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, breathless, wrecked. Your body arched instinctively into his hand, your legs trembling with the intensity of it all. You couldn’t take much more. Not like this. Not with him teasing you with maddening patience that felt like sweet torture.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, the sound desperate and unfiltered. “Need you. Now.” His eyes shot up to meet yours instantly—dark, wide, startled—and for a heartbeat, he stilled.

He hadn’t even come close to prepping you the way he normally would. You were still so tight around just one of his fingers, fluttering with every slow stroke he gave you, and he knew it. But you looked at him like you’d lose your mind if he didn’t do something. Right now.

“I can’t,” he said gently, his voice low, strained from restraint. “Not yet. You barely fit around my finger, Y/N. I don’t want to hurt you.” The words were sweet—so careful, so maddeningly considerate—and you groaned, frustrated and aching, cursing not just the need pooling inside you but Jungkook’s infuriating tenderness.

You threw your hands over your face, hiding your expression. Embarrassed. Flushed. Every word that came to mind sounded obscene and unthinkable, but you needed him so badly your body ached from it. You wanted to scream that you didn’t care if it hurt. That maybe you wanted it to. That the stretch, the pressure—him—was exactly what you craved.

But then his other hand, the one not gently working between your thighs, found yours. He pulled your hands away from your face slowly, insistently, until your eyes were forced to meet his again. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough but soft, “don’t hide from me.” You bit your lip hard, chest rising with uneven breaths. You couldn’t form words. Not yet.

“I want to take care of you,” Jungkook said, dragging his finger out of you slowly before pushing it back in, a second one now joining. You gasped, your hips jerking as the stretch bloomed into something sharp and perfect. “Let me do this right.”

You whimpered, the sound cracked and desperate, slipping past your lips before you could hold it back. “You do it right,” you managed to whisper, your breath hitching against the warm air between you. “That’s the problem.”

Your back arched helplessly as Jungkook’s fingers shifted just right, stroking a spot inside you that made your eyes roll back, a moan catching in your throat.

“I… I can’t do sweet right now,” you gasped, barely able to speak through the haze of need pulsing through every nerve ending. “Not when I feel like I’m going to come if you don’t—”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. The muscle ticked beneath his skin as he fought to stay composed, but you could see it—the fire barely caged behind his eyes. His fingers sank deeper, curling slow and deliberate as he drew another trembling cry from your throat. Still, he didn’t look away from you. Not for a second.

“That’s what you want?” he murmured, voice roughened by restraint. His lips brushed your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “And here I was…” He let out a low breath, then glanced around, a crooked, almost incredulous smile twitching at his lips. “Here I was, thinking that aside from screwing you on this table, I’d take my sweet time with you. Lay you out properly. Make you feel worshipped.”

Your entire body trembled beneath him.

“You can,” you breathed. “You can. Just—just not right now. Later. Please.” Jungkook’s smile darkened, the heat in his gaze intensifying. A dangerous little chuckle slipped from his throat as he leaned in close, lips grazing your jaw as he spoke. “So you’ll let me do everything to you later?” he murmured, voice silk over steel.

You nodded so quickly your head spun. You would have promised him anything. Sold your soul if he’d asked for it in that moment—so long as he gave you what you needed now.

“Okay.” That one word dropped between you like a match to dry kindling.

In one swift, practiced motion, Jungkook pulled his fingers from your soaked core, standing just long enough to shove his briefs down and reach for the wallet tossed near the edge of the table. You barely registered the sound of foil tearing before he rolled the condom down over himself with a hiss between his teeth. His cock was flushed, heavy, perfectly thick, and you stared as he returned to you, muscles flexing, control hanging by a thread.

He leaned over you, both arms braced on either side of your body, and captured your mouth in a searing kiss—hungry, demanding, nothing like the slow sweetness he’d held back with before.

“You asked for it,” he said roughly against your lips, his voice barely more than a growl. Then, pausing, his forehead pressed to yours, he softened—just enough. One hand slid to your cheek, the other still curled around himself as he nudged at your entrance.

“But you have to tell me,” he said, eyes locked on yours, his expression suddenly serious again. “If it’s too much… I stop. Say it, and I stop.”

You swallowed hard, heart thundering, breath caught in your lungs—but you nodded, grounding yourself in the warmth of his hand, in the weight of his gaze, in how much he was holding back for you.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’ll tell you. But I want you, Jungkook. Now.” And with that—guided by your voice, your eyes, your need—he began to press inside.

God, the fit was tight.

Even with all the buildup, the stretch of his fingers, nothing could have fully prepared you for the way Jungkook filled you. Inch by inch, your body strained to take him, and it felt like with every breath, he stole a little more of your sanity.

Halfway in, you couldn’t breathe. Not really. Not with the way he leaned over you, mouth at your throat, kissing your neck like he was trying to soothe the fire he’d started.

“Jungkook,” you gasped, your voice barely there, “slow—slow down.”

He immediately stilled, his lips stilling where they’d been grazing under your jaw, a low hum leaving him in acknowledgment. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours. Your legs trembled where they were spread open for him, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, barely holding on.

“Need a second?” he asked softly, brushing your hair back from your face with one hand, his other still steadying himself at your hip. He swallowed hard, jaw clenched. “Y/N… I’m not even halfway in.”

You licked your lips, chest heaving. The pressure, the stretch, the promise of more—it had your head spinning. But even through the ache, your body craved him. The heat and fullness of him. You needed all of him. “Just—help me,” you murmured, reaching up, arms curling around his shoulders for leverage. “My leg. I can’t—just need—”

For a second Jungkook blinked at you, confused—until he felt your knee moving up his side, pushing, searching for the right angle. Then, catching on, he shifted with practiced strength, gripping under your thigh and pulling your leg up—hooking it over his shoulder with ease.

“Like this?” he asked, voice husky, heat flaring in his eyes as he looked down at you. Stretching yourself for him. Your mouth parted, and you nodded helplessly, breath stuttering. “Yes. Yes—please.” Your other leg fell open just a little more, a subtle, instinctive invitation—and Jungkook pressed forward again.

This time neither of you could hide it—the sounds that tore from your throats as he slid deeper, as the change in angle opened you up even more for him. The stretch was so intense you thought for a moment you might break in half. But it was perfect. Maddeningly snug. The kind of pressure that stole the air from your lungs but left you clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from floating out of your own body.

Jungkook groaned, a low, wrecked sound from deep in his chest as he bottomed out inside you.

“Fuck,” he bit out, his head bowing, forehead pressing to your shoulder as he gripped your hip like a man holding himself back from the edge. “You’re so—tight, shit.”

He stilled—not entirely for your sake (though the way your body was trembling beneath him didn’t go unnoticed), but because he needed the moment. If he moved now, if he let go even a little, he’d lose it. You’d unravel—maybe both of you would.

You were wrapped around him so perfectly, pulsing and hot and slick. The condom did its job, but fuck if he didn’t hate it in that moment. The fit was so good he cursed it. The thought of how much better it would feel without the barrier, skin to skin, had his control fraying at the edges.

Below him, you looked absolutely wrecked in the most beautiful way. Eyes glazed, lips parted, sweat dewing your temples. The stretch bordered on unbearable—but not in a way you wanted to stop. Not even close. It was that perfect, exquisite kind of pressure that made you feel every inch of him, every beat of your own pulse echoing in your core.

“Jungkook…” you breathed, your voice soft but desperate, “Move.”

Your fingers threaded into the damp strands at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, not demanding—just grounding him. Drawing his focus back from the brink. From his own thoughts, from the restraint burning in his blood.

He nodded, breath ragged. With a low groan, he slowly drew back, and the drag of him inside you made your entire body clench in protest. Your walls fluttered, resisting the loss, clutching at him like he belonged there—and he did.

He paused with just the head of him still seated inside you, adjusting the leg that still hung over his shoulder, one hand gripping the meat of your thigh as he straightened just slightly. His gaze dropped to take you in.

“Not sweet… right?” he asked, voice low and sharp, already knowing the answer. You tried to nod—tried to shake your head, to say something—but your brain never had the chance to catch up. Because in the very next moment, Jungkook snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect stroke that knocked the breath out of your lungs.

Your back arched off the table, a choked sound breaking from your throat as the world spun off its axis. He gave you no time to recover—no warning, no space to think. Just another sharp, deep thrust. Then another. And another.

Each stroke was fast and purposeful, the impact of his hips against your thighs echoing through the room. The rhythm was relentless, and the stretch that had felt so overwhelming seconds ago now lit you up from the inside out, nerves strung so tight it was like every thrust sparked lightning under your skin.

You couldn’t remember your name. Couldn’t remember what planet you were on. Couldn’t feel anything except him.

Jungkook’s breath was hot against your throat, his mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses up your neck, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he groaned—low and raw. His hand gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, the other still cradling your thigh over his shoulder, keeping you open for him.

The table beneath you rocked and squeaked beneath the force of him, its old legs whining in protest—but you barely registered it. All you knew was Jungkook’s weight over you, the drag of his cock inside you, the heat building so fast it felt like it might split you apart.

“Fuck, you feel—” he didn’t finish. Just cursed, head dropping to your shoulder as he panted harshly against your skin. “You take me so well.” Your fingers clutched at his back, desperate, your moans louder now, tangled with the rhythm of the table and the slap of skin on skin. You tilted your hips instinctively, chasing the friction, the pressure.

“Jungkook—” you gasped, almost incoherent now.

“I know,” he groaned. “I know, jagi. Just—hold on. I’ve got you.”

And god, he did.

He did—he had you, with every thrust forward, every hard pull back. His rhythm never faltered, hips slamming into yours with purpose, with hunger. The table beneath you creaked beneath the weight of it all, but neither of you cared. Everything had narrowed down to this: the heat between your bodies, the burn of friction, the wild cadence of your breath against his.

Jungkook leaned back just slightly, eyes dragging down your body as if he couldn't help himself. His gaze was heavy, starved. He needed to see you—needed to witness exactly what he was doing to you.

Your hand had slipped from his neck, fingers drifting down his sculpted torso, the pads of them tracing his slick skin, lingering at the edge of the sharp line of his V. You let your nails scratch lightly over the muscle there, drawing a deep grunt from him. The other hand lifted to your chest, kneading one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between your fingers for the added sensation. You wanted more—needed more, and you took it.

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his pace picking up as his gaze locked on the movement of your hands. You were touching yourself while he was buried deep inside you, and he looked like he might lose his mind over it. His hips snapped faster, deeper, so relentlessly good that your toes curled and your mouth opened in a silent cry.

The coil inside you was pulled tight, burning and bright, dangerously close to snapping.

Your head tilted, lips parted, words tumbling out half-formed. “Kiss me—Jungkook, please.” Your voice cracked, choked on a gasp as he hit just the right spot again. You were so close—so desperately close—and you needed him to ground you, to anchor you, or you’d fly apart.

And Jungkook, wrecked and wild and breathless, gave in instantly.

He braced one hand behind your head, cradling it, fingers tangling in your hair. Then he surged forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate. All tongue and teeth and hot, panting breath. It was messy and perfect, a raw clash of need and affection that made your chest ache and your body tense beneath him.

His other hand slid under your thigh, pulling your leg tighter against him, giving him just enough leverage to grind in deeper—so deep you swore you saw stars. His name broke from you in a shattered moan against his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily.

Your fingers clutched at his back again, nails digging in. You were unraveling. And so was he.

“Fuck, Y/N—” he gasped against your lips. “You're so fucking perfect.”

And then he snapped his hips one more time—just right—and that was it.

The coil inside you detonated, blinding white heat exploding behind your eyes as your body clenched tight around him. Your vision went hazy, your thighs shook, and a sob of pleasure tore from your throat as your orgasm ripped through you with devastating force.

Jungkook groaned—growled—low and primal at the way your body reacted to him, his control slipping with every second you pulsed and fluttered around him.

And he wasn’t far behind.

Jungkook filled the condom with a deep, drawn-out groan, hips jerking slightly as his release hit him hard. His entire body tensed above yours, shuddering through the aftershocks, his breath stuttering against your skin. For a second, the world seemed to vanish, reduced to stars behind your eyes and the pounding in your chest.

Still buried deep inside you, Jungkook slumped forward, his body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and you felt the soft flick of his tongue—a gentle, lazy kitten-lick against your damp skin as he came down from the high. His lips lingered there, warm and open, murmuring something unintelligible and breathless as his hand continued to cradle your head like it was the most precious thing in the room.

And then he looked at you again, eyes dark and molten but softened now, his smile slow, completely wrecked. His hand moved from your thigh to gently ease your leg down from his shoulder, his touch careful, as if he was afraid you’d break. But you didn’t move much—your legs stayed parted, relaxed, your body still open to him, trembling faintly beneath his.

Neither of you spoke. You were both too spent, too dazed, the air thick with the shared weight of what had just happened.

Then—

SQUEAK.

There was a small creak under your combined weight. The table shifted.

And a second later—

CRASH.

The table’s legs gave out with a sudden, explosive crack, splintering beneath you as if the poor thing had finally decided it had had enough. The two of you dropped a full foot toward the ground, landing with a heavy thud and a very undignified squeak from you as your hands flailed for balance.

Only Jungkook’s grip in your hair—still instinctively protective—kept your head from bouncing against the edge of the broken table.

You lay there stunned, flat on your back with Jungkook still inside you, his body draped over yours. For a moment, there was only silence, wide eyes, and stunned breaths. Then, both of you groaned in unison—more from the shock than any pain—and when your gazes finally locked again, you couldn’t help it.

You snorted.

Jungkook blinked… and then barked out a surprised laugh, his whole body shaking as his forehead fell to your shoulder. The sound of his laughter vibrated against you, and when you started giggling too, your walls pulsed unintentionally around him.

His breath caught. “Ah—fuck—Y/N,” he wheezed between laughs, half-amused and half-mortified. “Are you trying to kill me?” You were still laughing, helplessly, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “You broke the table, you fix it.”

He groaned as your laugh made your body tighten around him again. “You’re squeezing me, Y/N… Christ.”

“Not my fault,” you managed to say, still grinning up at him like a fool. “That was your idea of ‘not sweet,’ huh? Making me literally fall for you?”

He chuckled again, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he lifted his head slightly. “I was trying to be respectful… until you begged for it.” He nipped you playfully, then kissed the spot. “I was gonna be slow. Romantic. Whisper poetry or some shit.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling even harder. “That was before you decided to rail me on a piece of antic furniture, Jungkook.” He groaned again, head dropping with a laugh into the crook of your neck. “Okay, okay. Fair. But for the record, I totally warned you.”

You nudged him lightly with your thigh, grinning through the afterglow. “You also said you’d take your time… after.” That made Jungkook pause, his eyes flicking down to your face, then slowly lifting his head with a grin blooming across his flushed features. His hair was a mess, sweat still clinging to his brow, but he looked completely undone in the best way—sated, sparkling, and still just a little wild.

“Oh, I did,” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and amusement. He glanced down at the shattered remains of the table beneath you. “Just… maybe not on this table again.” That was it. You both cracked up again, laughter filling the small room, echoing over the snapped legs of the table beneath you. It groaned as you shifted, like it had a final complaint left to give.

Jungkook stayed inside you for just a moment longer, his hand still gently cradling your head, his nose brushing your cheek as the laughter faded into something softer. Eventually, he exhaled through his nose and slowly—reluctantly—slipped out of you.

He handled the condom with care, knotting it deftly before slipping it back into the foil and tucking it into his pocket without fanfare. No way was he leaving it lying around for someone to discover later. Not even by accident.

By the time he looked back, you were trying to sit up, legs trembling slightly. Jungkook noticed immediately and reached for you, helping you upright with one hand on your waist. His other arm slid behind your back for support as he stood, then gently guided you onto unsteady legs. You tried to take a step but swayed—and he was already there to catch you.

“Jesus,” you laughed weakly, leaning into him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice proud and half-apologetic. “Sorry about that. Kind of went feral on you.” You opened your mouth to quip back but he was already moving, bending briefly to retrieve something from his pants pocket—your panties. Neatly folded.

He held them out to you with a small, sheepish grin. “Here.” You blinked, touched by the sweetness. “You really put them in your pocket?”

“I didn’t want them to get dirty.” He shrugged like it was obvious. “So yeah.” Your heart twisted a little. Even post-wrecked and smug, Jungkook was gentle.

You braced your hands on his shoulders for balance, lifting one foot as he crouched slightly to help you step into them. His touch was steady, careful. As he guided the fabric up your legs, he pressed a soft kiss to your bare hip before standing fully again and helping you pull them the rest of the way up.

Once dressed again—him already back in his pants, you tugging your onesie halfway up—you both stood there, quiet for a moment. The only sounds were your combined breathing and the hum of the distant hallway.

Jungkook looked at you. His eyes were softer now, the edge of lust dulled into something warmer. There was tired delight painted across his features—the same kind you felt buzzing through your bones. He gave you a lazy, crooked smile.

“Bed?” he asked, voice low, hopeful. You nodded immediately, but before either of you could move, his eyes drifted past your shoulder. To the table. The ruined, broken, irreparably screwed table. Jungkook blinked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… what about that?”

You turned to look at it, then shrugged and chuckled. “...I don’t know what you mean. That’s how it looked when we got here.” He gave you an incredulous look. “That’s what you want to roll with?”

You grinned cheekily. “Well, unless you want to go out there and tell the others you fucked me through a table.” His ears turned visibly pink. His lips twitched like he wanted to protest, but instead he gave you an exaggerated groan, stepping in and pulling you flush against him. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you there, pressing his lips to your temple.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered against your skin. You smiled into his chest, feeling the soft thump of his heart under your palm. And then you both stumbled—hand in hand, weak-kneed and laughing—back into the hall, on your way to the shared rooms. The table could wait. The rest of the world could wait.

For tonight, all that mattered was you and Jungkook.

Back in the sleeping area, the soft hush of night had settled. Dim, shared warmth lingered in the air, lit only by the faint glow of a dying lantern by the entrance. Several silhouettes were already tucked in—Jin, Hoseok, and Yoongi, each bundled in their sleeping bags, their slow, even breaths giving away that they’d long since drifted off.

You and Jungkook stepped carefully around the maze of mats and bags, your bodies still sore and slow from what had just happened. Every creak of the floor felt like a warning to be quiet. The two of you shared a glance—eyes wide, trying not to laugh—as you tiptoed over to your own setup.

You eased into your sleeping bag as silently as possible, wiggling in with a tiny sigh. You were still warm from earlier, but you felt the cool bite of the air without him immediately beside you.

Not that you had to wait long.

Jungkook didn’t even glance at his own mattress. He grabbed his sleeping bag and shuffled right over to you, dragging his extra blanket with him like a determined shadow. His knees nudged yours under the covers before his whole body slipped in beside you, a quiet rustle of fabric and breath the only sign of his arrival.

In the darkness, you turned to find him already watching you, eyes soft and half-lidded, hair a little messy from the friction of clothes and movement. You smiled—couldn’t help it—and shifted, making more space.

He didn’t waste a second. Jungkook immediately pressed up against you, pulling the extra blanket over both of you before wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you as close as physically possible. The other hand gently adjusted the fabric at your shoulder, tucking you in more securely.

His body was a furnace. Solid, strong, grounding. The kind of warmth that made you melt from the inside out. “Mm,” he hummed, voice barely above a whisper, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “That’s better.”

You reached under the blanket, hand resting just over his heart, feeling its steady thrum beneath your palm. You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. The silence wrapped around the two of you like another layer of protection, soft and sacred.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, a deep breath drawing in your scent, as if to tether himself to you.

And in that moment, tangled together on a too-thin mattress, the air still thick with the remnants of heat and laughter, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to fall asleep.

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

You drifted awake slowly, drawn out of sleep not by any alarm or sharp sound, but the soft hum of voices nearby. Low and murmured, playful but hushed—the kind of tone used by people trying not to wake anyone, but not really succeeding.

“…So is this where he sleeps now?” Taehyung’s voice, unmistakably smug, reached your ears first. He wasn’t even trying to hide the grin in his voice. “You traded party games for a new sleeping arrangement?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. You felt him shift slightly next to you, breath catching in his chest, still half-asleep himself. “I’m not saying anything to this,” he replied, voice rough with sleep. “just leave it.”

That earned a muffled snort—probably from Jimin.

“Well then?” Namjoon chimed in, his voice laced with curiosity and warmth. “Is this, like…a thing now? Are you guys a thing? Or did you just… you know.”

You could practically hear the raised eyebrows and wiggled fingers behind that you know.

Jungkook didn’t answer. You could feel the silence settle in his body before you heard it. The tension. The way his arm curled a little tighter around your waist, the way his chest paused under your cheek. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was uncomfortable—caught between not knowing what to say and clearly not wanting to make a big deal out of it either. You hadn’t talked about that yet. There hadn’t really been time—or space—for defining lines and labels. There had only been heat and hands and breathless yeses.

And you weren’t sure how you felt about it yet either.

The teasing didn’t stop. Jimin chimed in too, not unkind, but relentless in the way only close friends can be. Their light heckling continued, half-laughs and whispered teasing, and it might’ve been funny if it didn’t make Jungkook so uncomfortable. You could feel the shift in him.

And that did it.

You groaned sharply into the blanket and cracked your eyes open, sleep and irritation fogging your brain in equal measure.

The room went still.

They froze like guilty kids caught by the teacher.

Jungkook tensed again, instinctively bracing as if you might snap at him, but you didn’t. You pressed a half-conscious kiss to his jaw, slow and warm, and felt him freeze, then unravel just slightly at the edges.

Still leaning into his chest, you lifted your head just enough to glare past him—past the safety of his body and toward the hyungs huddled in their sleeping bags, all three of them suddenly very quiet.

Your voice cut the room like a thread pulled taut.

“If you have to know,” you muttered, sharp and flat, “I like Jungkook. We fucked. We’ll figure out the rest later. So unless you want to hear more details—shut up and let us sleep.”

Silence.

You dropped your head back against Jungkook’s chest and let your eyes fall shut again. His arms tightened around you, solid and warm, and his breath shuddered against your crown—half-laugh, half-disbelief.

“…Damn,” Taehyung whispered eventually. A strained chuckle from Namjoon.

“Okay,” Jimin murmured, “she’s scary. But I respect it.”

You sighed as Jungkook kissed the top of your head, his smile hidden in your hair. He was still flushed, a little stunned, but now it was threaded with something softer. Calmer. But you could feel his heartbeat under your palm, fast and uneven. Maybe matching yours.

“Jesus,” he muttered into your hair. “You’re gonna kill me.” You hummed, a sleepy smirk pulling at your mouth. “Only them if they keep talking.”

He kissed your hair again—gentler this time. Thoughtful. Then, barely above a whisper, like he only wanted you to hear it: “…When is later?”

It was quiet, almost hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask. Like the answer mattered more than he wanted to admit. Your heart gave a small, careful thud.

You shifted just enough to glance up at him, his eyes barely visible in the low morning light, and whispered back, “After breakfast?”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile—something softer, more relieved. He let out a breath that ghosted against your temple. “Good,” he whispered back. “Because I like you too.”

You swallowed, throat tight for no good reason. A small breath left you as your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt at his ribs. Not for balance. Just to hold onto him. Jungkook responded by pulling you in closer, his arm a secure weight around your waist, anchoring you to him. And for a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved.

The morning still hummed softly around you. The world felt like it could wait. Because here, tangled in warmth and something unspoken, you weren’t in a rush.

Later could come when it did.

You had this. You had him.

Masterlist

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing. English is my second language, and this tools help me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

Taglist: @dachshunddame @hecatesdescendant @chaeisrichnow @canarystwin @mar-lo-pap @notyourfriendooo @bjoriis

Not sure if i did everyting right with the tag list. Please let me know if there was a mistake.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts #jungkook bts #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x you #larp #larp costume #larp bts #bts stories #bts smut

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7ndipity · 2 years ago

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Leaving For The Military

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How they would be with their crush or S/o before enlisting and how they keep in touch.

Warnings: none

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anons who requested this! I debated on whether or not I would post something about this, but since several of you asked, I decided I would. I did decid to make this more fluffy/crackish tho, cause I don’t want y’all getting too sad.(also, I struggled with this one a bit, so I’m sorry if it’s shit)

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jin:

I think back a lot on how he said before that he’s allergic to seriousness, so other than when he first tells you about going, I think he tries to keep things really light and upbeat.

Probably spends the whole week before leaving asking you to shave his head. “I’m not doing that!” “Why not? It’ll be a bonding experience!”

Leaves several little notes/letters for you(similar to his messages for Army) saying how much he loves and can’t wait to see you again. Plus, you’ve seen how frequently he posts on weverse, so you know he’s texting/calling you all the time.

Yoongi:

Since he’s in public service and getting to stay close to home(I think?), he really tries to avoid making a big deal out of it. Like, it’s obviously still a major shift in his life, but being able to still see/talk to you regularly would make it a lot easier.

If you live abroad tho, he would take it a bit more seriously, making sure the two of you talk as regularly as possible.(since they’re not allowed to travel abroad during service)

Literally keeps a list of things he wants to tell you/talk about whenever y’all call/video chat so he won’t forget anything.

Hobi:

He makes a point to spend as much time with you as possible before he leaves, making little bucket lists of things for the two of you to do together before and after enlistment.

Lowkey keeps flexing in his uniform(you’ve seen his insta, you know it’s true) “I look kinda good tho, right Babe? Babe?” *😑agrees but won’t admit it*

He misses you so much, and he calls/checks in with you every chance he gets(honestly, y’all talk more than me and my besties, lol)

Namjoon:

He’s rather solemn and serious about the whole thing, though he tries not to talk about it too much, trying to focus more on enjoying your time together rather than dwelling on what’s to come.

Y’all probably spent the whole night before he left awake and talking about anything and everything, not wanting to lose any time together on sleep.

Tries to call/message you as often as possible, getting over-excited to catch up on what’s going on in your life and share what he’s doing.

Jimin:

He spends the last couple days before leaving practically fused to your side, trying to soak up as much time with you as possible. He doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s anxious abt all of it.

Another that would probably leave you one, or more likely multiple notes/letters for after he leaves for you to read whenever you’re feeling down(totally didn’t read them all in the first week, wym?).

He messages/calls you every chance he gets(probs featuring an appearance from Jk, if it’s true abt them getting to stick together)

Taehyung:

He takes a semi-unserious approach to the whole thing. Like, he’s very sincere and open when you have the initial discussion about him leaving, but after that he’s just making little cracks about it here and there.

“You know, it’s kinda like the plot of a drama.” “It’s really not.”

He’s so dramatic abt missing you, calling you constantly. Another who would likely leave you little notes for when you’re feeling low, though his include random suggestions like eating at certain restaurants y’all like or watching your fav movies/shows.

Jungkook:

As we’ve seen with his posts from the past couple weeks, I think he would be somewhat somber when he first talks to you about everything and maybe again right before he leaves, but the rest of the time he’d try to keep things light and unserious.

(you know he’s constantly trying to get you to rub his head after he gets it shaved🙄)

Obviously, he misses you like crazy, but he tries not to let on too much at first when y’all talk, but it starts to show when he admits you’re always the first person he calls or texts.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

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ktownshizzle · 7 months ago

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Love & Lullabies | Part 4

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: slow ass burn because the series will be extended indefinitelyyyy yall wanted this 😅, so much kissing, sexting, star wars reference, THIS YOONGI, cliffhanger hehe

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 6.7k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: December 14, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ A/N: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist

You glance at the clock again and chew your bottom lip, heart ricocheting against your ribcage. When you sent Yoongi the text, you knew it was overdue. You were finally in a good place—and he was part of what was good.

You’ve known Yoongi for years, but it’s only in the past few months that you’ve really gotten to know him. At this point, you’ve spent hours with him in every context imaginable, from tantruming Haneul to Miss Rachel dance sessions, from boring afternoons to big milestones. But this feels… different.

He’s coming to your place. You haven’t seen him in weeks, not since you kissed in the rain, and he showed up in the hallway, not since everything fell apart and started to piece itself back together again.

You’d started in your pajamas—just a soft cotton set with peaches on them—but after one glance in the mirror, you decided against it. Too casual. Now you’re in a cream-colored cardigan with a camisole underneath and matching joggers. You dabbed on a little lip tint, brushed out your hair, spritzed on a tiny bit of perfume. Now, you honestly look like you tried and while you don’t want to be too obvious, you remember he has been the one trying for months. It wouldn’t hurt if you showed him a little effort. And at least now you know you look cute.

The doorbell startles you, and you jolt forward causing a dull pain in your neck, which has been bothering you for days. You roll your shoulders back, in hopes to shake some of the tension away. You wipe your palms on your joggers and rush to the door, catching a quick glance at your reflection in the hallway mirror. You look… fine. You hope.

When you pull the door open, there he is.

Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in your doorway, wearing a gray hoodie, jeans that sit just right on his hips, and New Balance slides—slides—despite the winter chill. His hair, slightly longer now, still looks as soft as when you ran your fingers throu—

“Hey,” he says, stalling your thoughts. His dark eyes meet yours, something in his expression making you a bit self-conscious. But boy did you miss him.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice smaller than you intended. You clear your throat and gesture at his feet. “Slides? In this weather?”

Yoongi glances down, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “I was in a rush.”

“Come in,” you say, motioning for him to enter. “When I texted you, I didn’t say it had to be tonight.”

“It had to be,” he says quietly. “For me.”

Your cheeks flush, and you quickly change the subject. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea? Iced americano?”

He smiles, seemingly glad that you recall his favorite. “Iced americano sounds good,” he says, settling onto the couch.

You head to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice and coffee. When you return, you hand it to him, watching as he fumbles with the straw a bit. You forgot just how cute he is.

You sip your drink, glancing at him over the rim before deciding to fill the quiet. “So… first day at the daycare,” you start casually. “It went well.”

Yoongi leans back, his shoulders loosening just a little. “Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“It was… honestly, it was so great,” you say, the words tumbling out as you set your drink on the table. “The kids are adorable, and the space is beautiful. Everything’s so well set up.” You pause, the memory of the morning making your chest feel warm. “I forgot how much I missed doing that, you know? Like, preparing activities, seeing their little faces light up when they learn something new… it just—it feels good.”

Yoongi’s lips tug into the faintest smile, his gaze steady on you. “You look happy talking about it.”

You nod, almost to yourself. “I am. I feel… lucky, I guess. That I get to do this again.”

His eyes soften in that way that makes your stomach flutter. “I’m proud of you,” he says simply, his tone steady and sincere.

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is blink at him. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says simply, leaning back against the couch. “It’s not easy starting over. But you did it.”

“Thanks, Yoongi. I really appreciate that.” You pause, then add, “I’m proud of me too.”

He smiles at that, the kind that’s so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t looking.

You grin back, the memory of the morning still fresh. “Well, we also had a capybara mascot.”

Yoongi coughs. “Oh? A mascot? That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” you nod, narrowing your eyes at him. “It seemed really into me. Kept shaking its ass in front of the kids, though, which… you know, questionable.”

“Shaking its ass?” Yoongi repeats, lips twitching.

“Weird, right?” you protest, though you can’t help but grin. “The thing was strangely enthusiastic.”

Yoongi shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds like a fun mascot.”

But then, he’s not done, like he’s empathizing with the man in the suit. “And of course he would be enthusiastic, it’s your opening day. I mean they probably briefed him to be supportive of you and whatnot. And to be that energetic despite the tormenting heat of that costume, he’s seriously doing the lord’s work…”

Huh.

You blink at him, before you decide to test the theory out.

“Haneul kept calling it Appa,” you say with a straight face. “I told him there’s no way his appa is in a capybara suit.”

Yoongi chokes on his drink, coughing again.

“Are you okay?” you ask, patting his back.

“Fine,” he croaks, his voice raspier than usual. “Just… went down wrong.”

You eye him suspiciously but let it slide, suppressing a smile that’s threatening to slant your lips.

He’s definitely the man in the suit. You’ll get him to admit it one day.

But for now, you brace yourself for the talk you wanted to have.

You set your phone down carefully, the action feeling weighted, like it’s tethered to the words you’re about to say. Your fingers twist nervously in the hem of your cardigan, and you glance at Yoongi, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “Yoongi… umm, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you sharply, his brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?”

“For shutting you out,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, the vulnerability in your chest blooming uncomfortably. “I was in such a bad place mentally. I hated myself, I was dealing with so much unresolved shit that I hadn’t even begun to work through.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. Quiet eyes, just watching you, letting you process your emotions. So you continue.

“Just as you depended on me to care for Han, I started depending on you too. I wasn’t happy with my life, but when I was in your place, I felt detached from my misery. Felt wanted and needed which made me feel good. But then… when Sung Kyung showed up, it was like everything I was already struggling with just got amplified. I thought I was protecting myself, but instead, I just… pushed you away.”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and the way he looks at you—tender and unguarded—makes your heart ache. His eyes are dark and steady, the kind that seem to see straight through you, but not in a way that feels invasive or harsh.

“I felt very insecure and abandoned from so many things in my past. I have been working on it though, and I feel like I’m in a better place now.”

The faintest trace of a smile ghosts across his lips as he finally speaks. “I get it,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m glad you’re better. I’ve been there too. Feeling like you have to be strong for others when inside you’re struggling.” He gnaws at his lip. “If I’m gonna be real, I thought you pushed me away because you wanted out. Honestly, if I were you, I’d dip too.”

“Oh Yoongi…” you start, but he shakes his head, so you let him carry on.

“It’s okay, I know my life is… complicated. Everything that happened in the last two months, hell, in the last year, threw me off, too. Like I just lost control of my life. Shit kept piling on and I didn’t know how to deal. But at the end of the day, all I wanted was to do right by Haneul, to make sure he was loved and safe. That was my focus.”

“You’re an amazing dad,” you say with sincerity. “And you’ve been an amazing friend to me, too. Even when I didn’t deserve it. You didn’t give up on me.”

His eyes soften further, and he shakes his head, brushing your gratitude away like it’s unnecessary. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his voice almost gentle.

“At first, I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me,” you admit quietly, glancing down at your hands. “I thought maybe you moved on. Or… that you’d rather I wasn’t in your life anymore.”

Yoongi leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he tilts his head to study you. “Peep the countless messages on Kakao that’s left hanging…”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that. I read every single one. And there were many times that I thought about replying, but I needed to sort myself out. I’m a mess and I didn’t want to drag you down, or add into whatever’s on your plate. You did say your life is complicated.”

“Yeah, but I was just worried about you, because…” his eyes drop to his drink, pauses, then he shakes his head with a chuckle. His gaze meets yours again, his expression firm. “Just promise me something.”

You blink, your hands stilling in your lap. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t do that again,” he says, his voice carrying just the faintest edge of vulnerability. “Don’t shut me out, no matter what’s going on.”

You nod before you can even think. “I promise.”

His lips curve into a faint smile, and the sight of it tugs at something deep inside you. It’s such a small thing—a slight upturn of his mouth, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes—but it feels monumental. Like the bridge you’ve both been too scared to cross is finally, tentatively, being rebuilt.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You think about the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, the way his voice wraps around your name like it’s something precious. And so you think, maybe, just maybe, this could still be something.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Hey–what happened to your shoulder?” he asks suddenly, breaking the moment.

You blink, caught off guard by the shift. “What?”

“Your shoulder,” he repeats, nodding toward it. “You’ve been rolling it a little since I got here. Is it bothering you?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” you say, feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s nothing, really. Just a strain from running, I think. I’ve been pushing myself a bit harder lately, trying to, you know, get my life together and shit.”

Yoongi frowns, his brows knitting together. “Running’s good, but you can’t overdo it. A shoulder strain’s no joke. If you don’t take care of it, it’ll just get worse.”

You smile faintly, appreciating the concern in his voice. “Okay, Dr. Min,” you tease lightly. “Any recommendations?”

He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t let it go. “I mean it. You have to be careful. My shoulder was busted for years, you know. I have a few tricks,” He pauses, glancing at your cardigan. “Can I…? I can take a look if you want. Only if you’re okay with it.”

You gulp. Loud. The neighbors probably heard it. And for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. His expression is earnest, his hand already halfway lifted in a gesture of permission.

“Uh, sure,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. “That’d be… yeah, okay.” You shift in your seat, angling your shoulder for better access.

He waits for your nod before gently tugging at the edge of your cardigan. “May I?”

Your pulse quickens as you shrug it off your shoulder, leaving the strap of your camisole exposed. The cool air brushes your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of Yoongi’s hands as they settle lightly on your shoulder.

His fingers press gently at first, testing the tension in your muscles before applying more pressure. You inhale sharply as he works through a particularly tight knot, your body instinctively leaning into his touch.

“Here,” he murmurs, his tone soft but focused. “This is where it’s worst, right?”

You nod, unable to form coherent words as his hands move with ease, kneading the aches away. Each press of his fingers sends a mixture of relief and something else coursing through you, straight down towards your core.

“You’re really… good at this,” you manage to say, your voice a little breathless. Brain starting to turn into mush.

He chuckles lightly, the sound vibrating against your back. “Years of experience. Needed surgery to get my shoulder sorted out. That’s why I’m serious about this stuff. You need to be careful with it.”

His words linger in the air, and you find yourself focusing not just on the pleasure of his touch but on the deep timbre of his voice, and the way he’s always looking out for you even in the smallest ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder to meet his gaze. His hands still for a moment.

“Of course,” he says softly, licking his lips as you find his eyes going to yours.

Oh my god. You want to kiss him. Shit, you really do. You wonder if you should turn fully to face him.

But then his hands slip away, leaving your skin feeling colder.

You adjust your cardigan, clearing your throat as you sit back, your mind spinning. The intimacy of the moment—of his hands on you, the quiet concern in his voice—has left your heart like it’s going into cardiac arrest. If he fancies himself as Dr. Min he better fix this.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. “Better. Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Anytime,” he replies, with a small, almost shy smile.

He leans forward slightly, eyes searching yours, and you find yourself doing the same, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a second, you think he might kiss you—or maybe you’re the one who wants to close the distance.

But then he stands.

“It’s pretty late, I should go,” he says softly, though his voice carries a hint of reluctance.

“Yeah,” you say, standing with him. Your legs feel unsteady as you walk him to the door.

As he steps out, you hesitate for a moment. “Thanks for coming over, at short notice.”

“Nah, I wanted to,” he says, pink dusting his cheeks before he admits. “Is it weird if I say I’ve been waiting for it?”

Before you chicken out, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for waiting, Yoongi.”

He blinks, startled, then he’s rubbing his wrinkled nose with his index finger. “Goodnight.”

“Drive safe…”

You close the door and lean your back against it, pressing your hands to your cheeks as if that’ll somehow contain the giddy energy bubbling up inside you. It’s stupid, really, how much a simple night with Yoongi—his laugh, his voice, that damn massage—has you grinning like an idiot.

But you can’t help it.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like your heart is beating again, a rhythm that feels almost foreign after the weeks of emptiness you’d carried around.

So, it’s been a week since Yoongi came over.

Each morning at the daycare, Haneul’s nanny walks through the door with her usual warm smile, holding Haneul’s tiny hand as he toddles in. It’s what you’ve grown used to, so you’re not expecting anything different. But sometimes, when the door swings open, you hope that maybe this time, it’ll be Yoongi instead.

It never is.

You shake off the feeling quickly each time. He’s busy, of course. He has his music, his idol schedules. It makes sense that he’d leave the daycare routine to someone else.

But still.

The thought lingers, one you don’t want to examine too closely. Instead, you focus on the small joys: Haneul’s excited “Sarang!” when he sees you, his delighted giggles during circle time, the way he clutches Bora 2.0 during nap time.

And at night, when you’re settling into bed, your phone buzzes. That’s when Yoongi comes to you—not in person, but through his name on your screen.

Yoongi: How’s your shoulder? Dr. Min is still monitoring your progress. You: Much better, thanks. Might even survive the crossfit sesh Joon’s dragging me into. Yoongi: I just texted Namjoon. You’re off the hook. You: What? Yoongi: Can’t do crossfit with a bad shoulder. Doctor’s orders. You: Fine You: You know you’re not a real doctor right? Yoongi: 😑

Then another night:

Yoongi: Haneul wouldn’t stop saying sarang this, sarang that today. Like a little broken record. You: 🥺 My heart can’t handle this. Yoongi: I know.

And then the casual starts to shift:

Yoongi: Did I tell you Haneul fell asleep on my lap during my zoom meeting today? I couldnt move for like an hour and my arm died. You: No, but that sounds adorable. He probably misses u. Yoongi: Yeah. Shld probably cherish this while he’s still not embarrassed by me You: Definitely cherish but why would he be embarrassed by you? You’re such a good dad. Yoongi: I’m trying. But honestly? Sometimes it’s hard. I think about how much I’m giving him and I wonder if it’s enough

You pause at that text, staring at the screen for a long time.

Yoongi doesn’t open up often. When he does, it feels like he’s peeling back a layer, letting you see something raw, something vulnerable.

You: I think every parent feels like that sometimes. But from what I see, Han is such a happy kid. You’re raising him well and he’s so lucky to have you. Yoongi: I needed that. Thank you.

And then, late one night, the tone shifts entirely.

Yoongi: What are you doing right now? You: Bed. About to sleep. U? Yoongi: Same. Thinking about that night. You: Which night? Yoongi: When I came over. And you almost kissed me. 🙂

Oh, shit. Is he drunk?! You sit up, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Mind thinking nonsense, like if this is about to be a booty call, what panties are you changing into?

You: 💀Be for real. You were definitely leaning in more. Yoongi: Maybe. Yoongi: Would it have been so bad tho?

Your cheeks burn as you stare at the screen, unsure if your heart is racing because of his words or because of the way they make you feel. You start laughing in disbelief, and soon you're screaming into your pillow. What the hell?!

When you finally compose yourself, you decide you want to ask him if he’s being serious. But before you can even start to type, another message comes through.

Yoongi: Stop overthinking it, beautiful. Good night. 😉

It’s late afternoon, and the daycare is winding down. Kids are being picked up by the HYBE employee parents or the designated guardians. There’s only one kid left, and he just happens to be your favorite.

“Sarang!” Haneul’s little voice calls, his gummy smile wide as he wraps his tiny arms around your legs.

“Hi, baby!” you say warmly, scooping him up into your arms. His chubby cheeks press against yours as he nuzzles into your neck, and your heart melts a little. “Wonder where Nanny Mel is…”

Before you can fully bask in the moment, you hear another familiar voice.

“Ready to go, Haneul?”

Yoongi steps into the daycare, looking effortlessly casual (and annoyingly sexy) in his usual hoodie and slides. His hair is swept back today, and you have to mentally shake yourself out of staring, not just of how he looked, but because this is the first time he has ever picked up Haneul from your daycare.

The tiny tot, however, has other plans.

“No!” he says firmly, clutching onto you tighter.

Yoongi arches a brow, amused. “No? It’s time to go home, buddy.”

Haneul shakes his head, burying his face in your shoulder. “Play more!”

You stifle a laugh, patting Haneul’s back gently. “He’s been having a good day,” you explain, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at Yoongi’s soft expression as he watches the two of you.

“Well, I can see that,” Yoongi says, his lips twitching in a small smile. He steps closer, holding out his hands. “Come on, Han. Let’s not bother Teacher Y/N anymore, okay?”

But Haneul just whines and clings to you like a little koala, refusing to budge.

Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his soft hair. And you would probably have swooned if you didn’t have other pressing matters. “Aish, this kid…” Yoongi sighs.

You shift Haneul in your arms, trying to coax him down. “Sarang, your appa’s here to take you home. You’ll see me tomorrow, okay?”

But Haneul just shakes his head again, this time tightening his little fists around your sweater. “Noooo!”

Yoongi crosses his arms. “You know, I thought I’d gained a bit more brownie points in the past months, but clearly, you’re still his favorite person.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” you tease, bouncing Haneul gently in your arms. “He loves you.”

“Yeah, but he adores you,” Yoongi counters, his eyes crinkling in a soft smile that makes your heart do a little somersault.

Finally, after a few more minutes of coaxing and promises that you’ll play together tomorrow, Haneul reluctantly lets go, sliding into Yoongi’s waiting arms.

As Yoongi adjusts Haneul on his hip, he glances at you, his expression softer than usual. “Thanks for putting up with him.”

“It’s not putting up with him,” you reply easily, ruffling Haneul’s hair. “He’s a sweetheart. You’re doing a good job, Yoongi.”

Yoongi pauses, his eyes meeting yours for a long moment. “Thanks,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with something you can’t quite place. “That… means a lot.”

Before you can respond, Haneul suddenly tugs on Yoongi’s hoodie, his little face scrunching up as he says in broken, hopeful words, “Sarang… come… home?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart feels like it might burst.

Yoongi blinks at his son, his expression softening, before a mischievous glint sparks in his eyes. He looks up at you, lips curling into that smirk. “I know, buddy. I’d take her home too if I could.”

Stfu?

The comment leaves you completely shook. Is he joking? Is he serious?

As you try to process his words, Yoongi just winks at you, adjusting Haneul on his hip as he heads out the door.

You’re left standing there, stunned, as he calls back over his shoulder, voice smooth like butter, “See you tomorrow, sarang.” And with a bite of his lip, he’s gone. Taking the rest of your sanity with him.

The lights are dimmed, the daycare is quiet, and the faint smell of crayons and hand sanitizer lingers in the air as you finish locking up for the night. It’s been a long day, but instead of feeling tired, you’re restless. Yoongi’s words plague your mind. From the time he brought up the almost kiss over Kakao and that quip he dropped when he picked up Han the other day.

Now you’re sitting in a bus stop near HYBE, gripping your phone tightly, staring at Namjoon’s contact. You’ve already typed and deleted three texts. Why is this so hard? Finally, you force yourself to type something and hit send before you can overthink it again.

You: Are you with Yoongi right now?

A reply pings back almost immediately.

Namjoon: Nope, but why? 👀

You groan. Of course, Namjoon would latch onto that. You can practically hear his teasing tone in your head.

Before you can second-guess yourself again, you press the call button. He picks up after two rings, and before he can get a word in, you rush to say, “Don’t. Just—don’t say anything stupid, Joon.”

“Yo?? Me? Stupid? Never,” Namjoon says, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “But fine, what’s up?”

You hesitate, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “I need your help.”

There’s a beat of silence before Namjoon responds, his voice laced with amusement. “Okay, what kind?”

“Not the kind where you get to tease me endlessly,” you say, narrowing your eyes even though he can’t see you. “Just… can you get me to Yoongi’s studio?”

Namjoon is silent for a moment, and you almost think the call has dropped, but then he laughs. Hard. The kind of laugh that makes you want to hang up and never speak to him again.

“Joon!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he wheezes, barely catching his breath. “My baby's all grown up. I’m so proud of you.”

“Stoppp,” you mutter, your face heating up. “I just… there's something I need to say to him.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawls, clearly unconvinced. “And this ‘something’ couldn’t wait until, I don’t know, Monday?”

“Namjoon!”

“Alright, alright,” he says, the teasing note in his voice softening. “I’ll text you the access code to his floor. Yoongi’s probably in there working himself into the ground anyway. He’ll be happy to see you.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay…Thanks..”

“Use protection,” he says, his grin practically audible. “His kid’s still a baby.”

“GOODBYE, Joon.” You hang up to the sound of his laughter. Such an ass.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of Genius Lab, Yoongi’s private sanctuary. The dimly lit hallway is eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the hum of a vending machine down the hall. Your eyes fall on the cat flipping you off on the doormat, bold letters reading: GO AWAY.

Yeah, okay. Maybe you should.

So you stand there, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. What are you doing? What’s the plan here?

You didn’t think this through. Not really. It feels reckless—like the day you went to his apartment and found Sung Kyung there with Haneul. You swallow hard, trying to push the memory away. You can’t think about that now.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand and knock. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

You start to think maybe you should leave. Maybe this was a shitty idea. Maybe you should turn around and—

The door swings open.

Yoongi stands there, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and exhausted. His hair is slightly mussed, probably from running his hands through it, and he’s wearing a black hoodie with the sleeves of one arm pushed up to his elbows. His eyes widen when he sees you.

“Teacher Sarang,” he says slowly, like he can’t quite believe you’re standing in front of him.

“Hi,” you manage, gnawing on your bottom lip.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Yoongi glances past you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

“I know,” you say quickly, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I– I just… I wanted to talk. If you’re not busy.”

He blinks, his eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for something. Then he steps aside, holding the door open wider. “No, yeah, come in.”

You take a tentative step inside, the familiar scent of coffee and faint traces of cologne washing over you. The studio is dimly lit, the soft glow of monitors reflecting off sleek black walls. It’s minimalist but warm, the kind of space you’d expect from someone like him. There’s a quiet energy to it, one that feels a little intimidating.

Yoongi closes the door behind you, leaning against it. “So,” he says, his tone careful but not unkind. “What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly,” you take a deep breath, staring at your socks before you lift your eyes to meet his gaze. “You.”

“Oh…” His brows shoot up in surprise, but the smirk that tugs at his lips betrays him. He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh?” you parrot as realization dawns on you. The look on his face? Like he has planned this all along. Like all the things he’s been saying and doing is part of an elaborate Jedi mind trick he played on you. And now you’re here—right where he wants you.

A quiet laugh escapes his lips as he lets you stew in your own nerves. He doesn’t move—just stands there, waiting, like he knows exactly what you’ll do next.

You take a step forward, then another, closing the distance until you’re toe-to-toe with him. The smirk growing on his face is both sexy and infuriating as shit. But okay, you remind yourself, he’s been the one waiting on you, chasing you… It’s time to put your big girl pants on.

“I wasn’t planning this,” you admit, letting your bag drop to the floor. “Your doormat’s rude by the way. But… Been thinking about what you texted. If it would have been so bad… if we…”

“You’ve been thinking about that?” He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to follow your train of thought. He licks his lips, maybe subconsciously, but your eyes are drawn to it like a magnet.

“Not just that. Don’t act all innocent. You’ve been planting all these little seeds in my head lowkey for weeks, Min Yoongi.”

His gummy grin widens. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Suspicious as fuck…” You huff, your fingers reaching for the drawstrings of his hoodie. You tug on them playfully, your gaze flicking up to meet his. “And saying that shit in front of your own kid?”

“Damn,” He full-on chuckles, shoulders bobbing as he looks up to avoid your accusatory gaze.

After a while, he looks down. “And you came all the way here just to call me out?” He challenges, voice dropping dangerously lower. “Or are you finally gonna do something about it?”

Your pulse quickens as the distance between you shrinks, his presence so close it feels like it’s wrapping around you. You swallow hard. The thread holding your resolve together snaps.

And then it happens.

You close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s every bit as desperate as you’ve imagined it would be. There’s no hesitation with him, like he knows you are going to pounce and he is ready to be devoured. This mf–

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his arms wrap around your waist, steadying you against him. The way your lips move is fierce, breathless, like neither of you has the patience to take it slow. His tongue swipes against yours, curling in just the perfect way to turn your legs into jelly. Then, his grip tightens to spin you around and–shit–your back hits the door.

Hot and heavy, he breathes your name against the crook of your neck sending electric currents down to your fingertips. You’re easily coming undone with every graze of his soft lips, his wet tongue as it licks a stripe of skin from your neck towards the shell of your ear and the haze of lust is pulling you under slowly but surely.

But you’re not content to stay there. You push him forward, your lips locked again with his as you guide him toward the couch.

He follows easily. When the back of his knees hit the couch, he sits heavily, pulling you down with him so you’re straddling his lap.

You open your eyes and you find him locked on you, dark and all-consuming. But then something else catches your eye from your periphery, like there’s another pair of orbs vying for your attention.

“GAHH! The fuck is that?!” you push yourself to a standing position, pointing towards…

The head of the capybara mascot.

Yoongi immediately turns crimson, his ears burning as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Knew it,” you say, staring at him in amusement.

“Fuck.” He groans, slumping back against the couch as he covers his face with his hands. “This is literally the worst way you could have found out.”

“Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?!”

“Because I didn’t know if you wanted me there,” he mutters, peeking at you through his fingers. “I just… I wanted to support you. And obviously I wanted to see Han off on his first day so the costume was—” He pauses, clearly regretting his life choices. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Then it hits you—the exaggerated enthusiasm, the ass-shaking, the way Haneul kept calling the mascot Appa. You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

Yoongi groans again. “This is so embarrassing.”

You climb onto his lap, straddling him without thinking, and gently cup his puffy cheeks between your palms. “No, no, it’s cute.”

“You’re never going to let this shit go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

The laughter fizzles out, replaced by a quieter kind of warmth as you shift closer. His fingers tighten slightly on your hips, grounding you in a way that feels steady and sure.

“I wanted to be there for you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t know how to do it without… pushing too much.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you turn to face him, your gaze meeting his. “You didn’t have to do all that, Yoongi,” you say, your voice just as soft. “But it means a lot that you did.”

His lips quirk into a small, almost shy smile.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. When he lets out a quiet sigh, you get bolder, letting your lips trail down to the corner of his jaw and then just barely grazing his neck.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, hands twitching slightly where they rest on your back. “Y/N…”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “I like this look on you,” you tease, your thumb brushing over the faint pink blooming on his cheeks. “My shy little baby boy…”

He narrows his eyes on you, hands settling more firmly on your waist. “Don’t push it,” he warns, but there’s no heat to his words, only fondness.

Suddenly, a knock sounds on his door.

“Yoongi-hyung…” the voice calls out. “You still alive in there?”

“Fuck off, Hobi. I’m busy.”

“There’s an extra pair of shoes out here. And I thiiiink I’ve seen it at the daycare.”

You meet Yoongi’s eyes and he’s barely suppressing a grin. He shrugs, as if to say, it’s up to you if you wanna soft launch this thing.

Eh, why not?

“Hello, Jeonghyeon’s appa,” you call out, confirming his suspicion.

You hear giggles and then a rap on the door. “Wow y’all really not gonna let me in, huh?”

“GOODBYE Hobi.” You and Yoongi say in unison, and then you burst out laughing.

“Bye, lovebirds.”

“Did he need you for anything?”

“Yeah, actually,” Yoongi sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Been working on a track that’s due tonight. Actually it’s been due and this is my last extension.”

“Oh,” you pout.

“Don’t pout, pretty girl.”

“I guess you’re gonna have to kick me out now.”

“Not because I want to. You're welcome to stay, but you might have better things to do.”

“S fine. I’ll go…” you stand up, planning to collect your bag where you dropped it when Yoongi pulls you back down by your belt loops, your full weight settling on him. He doesn’t seem to mind as he cages your body against his strong arms, leaning you both back so his chin can rest on your shoulder, the one without the strain.

“I am so happy you came,” he mumbles against the fabric of your top.

“I haven’t. But you better make me. Soon.”

His chest shakes against your back, “You’re horrible.”

You stay wrapped in his arms for a while, neither of you saying much, the silence warm and comfortable. But eventually, the moment comes when you know it’s time to leave. With a reluctant sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder and turn to go—only to find Yoongi already on you, his lips capturing yours once more.

“Yoongi—mmmph…” you giggle, pushing him away lightly. “You're never gonna get work done.”

“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He catches your wrist, pulling you back for one last kiss—this one softer, slower—before pushing the door open for you.

“Text me when you get home,” he says and you nod.

You leave the studio with your heart in overdrive, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin. By the time you’re in the elevator, you’re grinning like crazy, excitement bubbling in your chest.

Saturday can’t come fast enough.

That night—

You: Are u still in the studio? Yoongi: Yeah :( You: Good luck with your track. I’m going to bed. Gnyt. Yoongi: But i miss you.……….. You: lol You: What do you want? Yoongi: What can you offer? 😇

You sit up on your bed, pulse kicking up again, the way it usually does when Yoongi is involved. Is he really asking for…?

Fuck okay you’ll bite.

You let the strap of your thin cami fall on your shoulders, angle your phone camera so it’s aimed at your cleavage.

You compose the money shot: one hand softly grasps one of your breasts making it almost spill out of your top. Your other nipple, taut and perky, its outline faintly visible against the fabric. Just the perfect visual to tease and still leave a bit of mystery.

You get a few shots and send what you think is the best one.

You: [image attached] Yoongi: fuck Yoongi: baby you’re so sexy You: I’m baby now? What happened to Teacher Sarang Yoongi: idk she definitely not the one sending nudes You: stfu Yoongi: Go away im busy now You: GOODBYE yoongi Yoongi: pick you up at 7? You: If you make it worth my while Yoongi: [image attached]

Oh you’re dead. It’s a shot of his very pink knuckles, his very veiny hands grasping his very hard cock against his dark grey sweats.

You: shit You: yes you may pick me up at 7

Your head is spinning when you cozy up under your blanket and bury your head in your pillows.

Not knowing that come morning your head will be spinning for an entirely different reason.

Dispatch Breaking News: SUGA of BTS and Actress Lee Sung Kyung In A Relationship Congratulations to the couple.

Part 4.5 >

A/N: Ahhhhhhh 🥲 I was initially gonna end it in the part where Yoongi opens the door to his studio and you say Hi.

But decided last minute to throw y’all a bone(r) and extend the scene a bit, in the spirit of Christmas. But that also meant getting to that awful last bit… another dun dun dun

Hope you all liked it still! See you at the comments. As per usual, tell me what you liked, hated, etc etc. Shout at me or whatever!

I always appreciate your feedback. And if you are able to, reblogs are also amazing. :)

Thanks for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo

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lostbookmark · 8 months ago

Text

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Whispered Vows Masterlist here

Summary: You thought planning your wedding was going to be a magical memory. You didn't realize that it might make you second guess everything.

Pairing: Fiancée Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Hurt-Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Toxic Family Dynamics, Arguments, Sex Toys, Self Doubt, Over Thinking, Yoongi Overworking Himself, Reader Just Needs To Speak Up.

A/N: I know I just posted chapter 5, but I'm in a good mood. Here is chapter 6.

Chocolate cake is perfectly moist, raspberry filling a touch too tart. You write down your thoughts on the provided worksheet the bakery supplied you after you swallowed the chocolaty goodness. You have been looking forward to your cake tasting for weeks now. Now, as you sit at the table with ten beautiful cupcakes before you, it just feels empty. Your eyes turn to look out the window and see Yoongi pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of the bakery while on the phone with Namjoon, running his hand through his hair. He promised that he would help you with this, but once again, here he is working. Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You just wanted this one day with him, and he couldn't even give you that.

Reaching out, you grab the next sweet confection, cut into it with your fork, and take a large bite. Vanilla cake is moist and sweet, lemon curd filling has a perfectly smooth texture, and vanilla buttercream is not too sweet. Favorite by far. You place your pen back down and sigh as you swallow that bite. You look at Yoongi through the window again and see him hang up the phone before entering the bakery. Sitting next to you, he opens his texts, and you see him message Hobi something. Your eyes drift back to your notes, and you think you might go with the vanilla.

“You can go,” you tell him softly while still focused on your paper but not really reading anything. You just wanted to make sure your handwriting was neat and legible. This would be a nice little keepsake.

“Hmmm,” he says, still looking at his phone as his fingers fly across the screen. His face is scrunched in pure concentration as he rereads what he just typed. “What? What did you say?”

“You can leave,” you say louder, looking at him, and his head finally snaps to you. “You clearly don't want to be here, and I don't want to force you to be here. You can go.”

“I took the day off to be here,” he tells you, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why would you say that? You know how hard it is for me to make time for anything right now. We should be lucky that I am even here right now.”

“You took the day off? Did you really?” You question him and sip on your water that was provided to you to cleanse your palate.

Yoongi hasn't touched his water nor his worksheet. He probably hasn't even looked at the cupcakes that the baker worked hard on. The beautifully piped buttercream and colorful fruits and chocolate pieces were probably not appreciated. You appreciated them.

“I'm right here,” he argues and touches his chest with both of his hands to prove the point that he is indeed there. "I'm sitting right next to you."

“No, you're not,” you whisper. His phone rings again, with Namjoons name popping up on the screen.

“There is something wrong with our software at the studio. We lost a bunch of files,” he explains, gripping his phone tightly when the ringing stops. “You just don't understand. This is really bad.”

“I understand,” you tell him, nodding your head. “I do, I get it, and I said you can go.”

“It's not like I wanted this to happen,” he argues a bit too loudly, causing the bakery staff to look over at your table out of curiosity. You want to shrink away from embarrassment at their stares, and he quickly changes his tone. “We just lost weeks if not months of work,” he said much more softly. “All this time that I had to be at the studio, working all those long hours. It was all for nothing.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach as he starts getting texts in rapid succession, his phone continuously chiming. It rings so loud in your ears. You're tired. You haven't felt this tired in a long time. Not since that night you thought he was cheating on you. You're tired of dealing with this wedding and making these damn choices. You're tired of worrying about him. You're tired of sleeping alone at night. You're tired of being patient. You're tired of being tired.

“Yoongi,” you say and take a deep breath. “Please leave.”

“That's not fair,” he said. “This isn't my fault that this happened.”

“I…I don't care. I want you to leave,” you tell him as you turn back to the baked goods and take the card in front of the next dessert. Chocolate cake, salted caramel filling, and chocolate buttercream. “This experience is ruined. I'm just going to choose a stupid cake that you don't give a shit about and be done with it.”

“Y/N,” he says your name softly.

You ignore him and take a bite of your next pastry. Picking up your pen, you get ready to make your notes. Yoongi’s phone rings in the background, and you can hear him swear. Cake is a little crumbly. The filling is delicious with the right amount of saltiness, and buttercream could be a little sweeter. You can hear him sigh loudly before he gets up from the table and walks out of the bakery. You breathe deeply through your nose and blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears that threaten to fall.

“Is everything okay over here?” The owner and head baker asks as she approaches the table quite cautiously.

“Yes,” you say, giving her a small smile. “I'm ready. I think I have decided.”

“Oh, perfect,” she says and claps her hands together lightly. “I'll go get my tablet. We will get you ordered and get you scheduled on the calendar.”

Your smile drops as she walks away. You are such a liar. You are not ready. Not even in the slightest.

“I'm calling the wedding off,” you say as soon as the door opens.

“I'm sorry….WHAT?” Jisoo says clearly in shock. You push past her and enter her apartment, making your way to her couch where you collapse face first into the cushions in exhaustion. “I think that I heard you wrong. Please say that again and maybe more slowly.”

“No,” you said, your voice muffled by the cushion. You don't even bother looking at her. You know she is looking at you like you are crazy. “You heard me right.”

Jisoo sits on the floor next to the couch and moves your hair out of your face. She gently continues to stroke your hair in a comforting manner. You close your eyes and relax into her touch. She smiles sadly as she looks at you.

“I don't think you really mean that,” she tells you softly as she pulls her delicate hand away. You huff out a breath of irritation and sit up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. “Tell me what's going on.”

“He's been so busy, and I don't see him that often unless I make the effort to go to his studio. Then, I just end up cleaning the studio for him. I finally got him to help me with the cake tasting, and work still came first. I don't know if I can live like this forever,” you tell her. “I don't know if I want to.”

“Have you talked to him about this?” Jisoo asks, moving from the floor to sit next to you on the much more comfortable couch.

“Not really,” you admit, shaking your head. “I just miss us. I miss how we used to be before he got all busy, and the studio became everything to him.”

“Relationships change,” Jisoo tells you. “You may have hit a small rough patch now, but is it worth throwing it all away? After everything that you have been through. Do you want to throw it away?”

“Sometimes, I look at you and Seungkwan or Lisa, and Jimin and I get so jealous. You get to go out on dates and sleep next to them every night. You get to have real conversations and homemade dinners,” you explain to her. “I get to go home to a frozen microwavable dinner and a television for a companion. Sometimes, it's like he doesn't even exist, and it feels like I'm back on my own again.”

The door to the apartment opens, and you see Seungkwan enter. You watch as he takes off his shoes and hangs both his coat and bag on a hook, protruding from the wall before entering the room. He spots you on the couch and gives you a contemplative look.

“Well, that explains it,” he says and walks away to the kitchen.

“What?” Jisoo asks her boyfriend. You can hear the refrigerator open and close before he walks back out with a bottle of water in his hand. “What explains what?”

“I needed something signed, and Yoongi…well…he was grumpier than normal when I went to his studio. He also, kind of…” he trailed off for a few seconds. “Looked like he had been crying. Maybe? Does he do illegal substances?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head at him.

“Then he was definitely crying,” Seungkwan confirms.

On one hand, your heart sank as the words Seungkwan just said sank in. Had he been crying? Maybe you were too hard on him. Maybe you shouldn't have kicked him out of the bakery. You guess you probably could have been nicer about it. On the other hand, it just made you even madder. You were suffering too, and you still don't think that he cares. If he cared, he would have turned his phone off and stayed with you today. However, he didn't. He left. He left you there alone to order one of the plainest wedding cakes there probably ever was. He left in his car, leaving you to take the bus to Jisoo's.

“Can you please give us a minute,” Jisoo asks her boyfriend. Without a word, he walks down the hall and into the back of the apartment to the bedroom. You don't speak until you hear the bedroom door shut.

“Do you think….” You trail off in a small voice. “Do you think I should be getting married?”

Jisoo wraps her arm around you and pulls you down into her lap. She once again moves her hand to your hair and gently smooths it away from your face. She doesn't answer your question right away. It probably takes her a full two minutes before she finally speaks.

“I can't answer that,” she tells you, and it makes you clench your teeth in frustration. “I won't tell you not to marry him. It's okay to be jealous of me and Lisa and our relationships. However, I get jealous of you, too. The way that Yoongi looks at you, Y/N. Jimin and Seungkwan don't look at us like that. Yoongi looks at you like he would hang the moon for you. He would burn the world down for you.”

“I know he would,” you say as a tear drips down your face.

“If you don't love him, then I say don't marry him. If you do love him, then I say fight for him. You tell him how you feel and you fight,” she says seriously.

“I already told her to talk to him weeks ago, but no one ever listens to me," Seungkwan called from the back of the apartment. You and Jisoo start giggling and sit up to look at her. Her nosy boyfriend clearly had been listening to your entire conversation. “I would also hang the moon for you too, Jisoo.”

“Please don't tell Lisa about this. I don't need her saying anything to anyone,” You look at her, hold your pinky finger out. “Jimin loves gossip just as much as she does.”

“I won't. I promise,” she said softly and wrapped her own pinky around yours. “I promise.”

You checked the apartment first but you were not surprised when you found that he wasn't there. Now, you stand outside of his studio door, not sure if you should ring his doorbell or enter the code and walk in. You look up and down the deserted hallway before you slowly raise your forefinger and push the doorbell. Standing up straight, you wiggle your fingers that hang loosely at your sides as you wait for him to open the door. Your heart feels like it's going to pound out of your chest. You take a deep breath through your nose and slowly release it out of your mouth. Again…again…again.

“Y/N?” Jungkook says as the door finally opens and loud rap music flows out of the darkened room from the speakers.

You look over Jungkook's shoulder and see Yoongi look at you from his chair in surprise. His hair was disheveled and sticking up in all sorts of directions. He had changed into black track pants and an oversized white hoodie. They were both wrinkled, and the hoodie might be a little stained. You'll have to try and wash it for him later. Hopefully, you will be able to get the stains out. Yoongi stands from his seat and stares at you but doesn't say anything.

“Umm, can he and I have a minute?” You ask Jungkook, who still stands in the doorway. “Unless you're too busy.”

“NO!” Yoongi exclaims as he takes a few steps away from his chair. “Kook was just leaving.”

“Yeah, I was just leaving,” Jungkook agreed and nodded his head. “Everything is all set now. Have a good talk, bye.”

Jungkook practically runs out of the studio and down the hallway, nearly tripping over his own feet. Yoongi catches the door with his hand before it closes and opens it for you again. As you walk in, you notice that it was pretty cluttered with several discarded white styrofoam carryout boxes on his table and couch. A small pile of dirty laundry sat on the floor in the corner of the room. You can't even begin to imagine how long they have been there for. You know that you haven't been by in a while to clean up for him, but this was ridiculous. It even smelled a little bit, and it made you scrunch your nose as the stench hit you. Yoongi dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck as he caught your facial expression. Good, he should be embarrassed.

“Is everything…” you trail off and motion to his work space.

“Oh, yeah. We got the files back pretty quickly, thankfully. I hurried back to the bakery, but you were already gone.” he explains.

“Oh,” you say softly and continue to look at his mess.

“You weren't at home either,” he tells you, and your eyes went back to him. “I figured you probably went to Lisa's or Jisoo's.”

“Jisoo's,” you confirmed. “Seungkwan said he saw you today. He said it looked like you had been crying. Were you?”

“He's got a big mouth,” Yoongi snaps, turning away from you. He pushes his chair, and it goes rolling across the room before hitting the wall. It makes you jump just a tiny bit.

“Were you crying over me or the lost files?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” He asks, turning back to you. “You think I would cry over work. Baby, I hurt you. I hurt you, and I took you for granted. You take care of me, you have been planning this whole wedding by yourself and I can't even do one damn thing for you.”

“Yoongi,” you say with a sigh and drop your arms.

“No, it's true,” he argues. “I don't even know why you are still with me. I would have left me a long time if I were you. Jungkook is even surprised that you're still here. Jimin tells me all the time that Lisa is worried about you.”

“Do you want to marry me? Be honest with me,” you plead.

“Yes, of course I want to marry you. I want nothing more than to be yours…forever,” he assures you.

"It doesn't feel like it,” you say, kicking a stray chopstick that was on the floor. “It feels like you don't care about the wedding at all. You’re always so busy.”

“Do you want me to quit? Make Namjoon buy me out so I can work some crappy, dead-end 9 to 5 job? Have us both worried about making ends meet? Working paycheck to paycheck?” He asks, throwing his arms in the air out of exasperation.

“Now you're the one not being fair, Yoongi. If you can't figure out how to balance your life with me and work, then maybe…” you say, but he immediately cuts you off.

“Stop right there,” he growls at you and points his finger at you. “Don't you dare finish that sentence. I am trying my best.”

“I don't know how much longer I can do this,” you tell him as you will yourself not to cry. You want to be strong. For once in your life, you just want to be strong and not run away to lean on someone else to help you. “If I knew how alone I would be all the time I….”

“Stop!” he says loudly. “Don't you think I get lonely too? Don't you think that I miss you? It's not easy to live like this. I get that!”

“THEN WHY CAN'T YOU JUST COME HOME!” You scream at him.

Immediately, you feel guilty for yelling. The two of you both stand there, glaring at each other, breathing hard. A large lump has formed in your throat, and your heart starts to race once again. The tension in the room is heavy and thick but not in a good way. It's never been this way between you two, and you don't know how to climb and claw your way out of it. The music in the studio changes over to something slower and almost melancholic. It feels fitting for this moment.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, breaking the silence.

“I’m sorry. I'll clean up,” you whisper as you turn toward the messy couch.

“No,” he says, grabbing your hand, pulling you to him, and you let him. You don't want to fight him anymore. It hurts too much. Your heart hurts so freaking much.

Yoongi guides your hands up and around the back of his neck, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pressing himself right up against you. Yoongi buries his face into your neck, and you rest your own on his shoulder. He gently starts rocking the two of you back and forth. Dancing? Dancing to that slow beat pouring out of his sound system in the middle of his dimly lit studio. His arms and hands cling onto you as if you are his lifeline. Like he would drown if he were to let go of you. You lift your face and kiss the side of his neck softly, lips barely touching him. Yoongi pulls his face back and rests his forehead against your own. Your bodies are still gently swaying side to side in your own little world.

“Please, don't leave me,” he gently begs, “I promise I'll do better.”

“Don't make promises that you can't keep,” you say, looking right into his eyes.

“I promise,” he says again, leaning toward your mouth. You close the gap and gently kiss him on the lips. “Tell me to quit, and I will. Tell me to run away with you, and I will. Do you want to move to Paris? Our own little island? I'll make it happen. I would do anything for you.”

Jisoo was right. He would probably burn the world down for you.

“I know you will,” you tell him and lay your head against his chest. Yoongi rests his head on the top of your head. Your bodies still sway with the music. Dancing. Dancing in your own little world in the middle of his studio. “I know you will.”

《Chapter Seven》

Tagged Readers:

@mggv97, @granataepfelchen, @kam9404, @svnbangtansworld, @futuristicenemychaos, @notarshia, @busanbby-jjk

#bts yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #yoongi au #min yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #bts min yoongi #min suga #min yoongi #suga bts #suga fluff #suga bangtan #yoongi fic #yoongi #bts suga #suga #suga smut

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smartkookiee · 7 months ago

Text

Wounds We Never Show // Ch.6 — jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・ ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 +explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, enemies with benefits ❥chapter warnings/tags: More of a funny chapter, some fluff, Taehyung being the biggest menace on the planet, Some touching (Not sexy touching sorry lol, its worth it), hella tension, dirty thoughts hehehehe, more confused feelings, stress, yoongi mentioned, seokjin continuing to make vics life hard, Jungkook is bad at feelings, drinking, swearing, smoking, y/n continuing to be the biggest avoider of the century, they are getting better just trust me, healthy communicating??? Ji-eun continuing to be my fav ❥word-count: 11.6k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the taglist! a/n: This is like 85% edited right now so sorry if there are mistakes but I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as possible! So enjoy and if you see a mistake no you didn't and Happy Holidays! .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Five years ago

“Come on! Let me take you out. You don’t even have to think about the breakup anymore,” Taehyung called out, trailing after Jungkook as he moved from his bedroom to the kitchen, then back again.

Namjoon had texted Taehyung earlier, saying Jungkook had been sulking around the apartment for days. The breakup was mutual—or so Jungkook claimed—but it was still a gut punch. He and his girlfriend had been together since the start of college, and the shift from something so constant to nothing at all wasn’t easy to navigate. Jungkook hadn’t gone into much detail, just muttering something about them not wanting the same things anymore.

His silence, though, was worrying his friends.

Jungkook barely acknowledged Taehyung, focused on shoving notes and books into his backpack. “I can’t, Tae. I have to meet my project partner.” he muttered, his voice laced with mild frustration.

Taehyung leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “The one who already doesn’t like you? Sounds like a good enough excuse to put it off.”

“I can’t,” Jungkook said, sharper this time. “She already doesn’t like me, so being late will just make it worse. I’m barely tolerated as it is. We’ve been working on this for weeks, and it’s been nothing but cold shoulders and annoyed muttering.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder, heading for the front door.

Taehyung wasn’t giving up so easily. “So...is this the same partner you were complaining about before?”

“Yes.” Jungkook groaned, not breaking stride.

“Well, maybe I should come along. I’m great with people. Could smooth things over—”

“No,” Jungkook cut him off, opening the door. “Anything connected to me seems to make it worse.”

Taehyung kept pace, still grinning. “But you’re already late. What’s five more minutes? I can be a neutral third party. Mediate, make her laugh, maybe even—”

“No.” Jungkook protested again, but Taehyung followed him. Then kept following him all the way to the library.

Once inside, Jungkook scanned the study area. He spotted you almost immediately at a small table in the corner, papers spread around you like a protective barrier. You were frowning, your hand moving quickly across a page as you scribbled something down, a furrow of frustration etched between your brows.

“Alright, time for you to leave.” Jungkook hissed, spinning around and shoving at Taehyung’s shoulder.

But Taehyung wasn’t going anywhere. He caught sight of you, and his playful expression shifted to one of delight. His mouth fell open, and then a slow, mischievous smile tugged at his lips. “Well, hello, gorgeous.” he muttered under his breath.

Jungkook frowned. “What?”

“You didn’t mention she was hot.” Taehyung said, his grin only widening and a wiggle to his eyebrows. “I can work with this.”

Jungkook groaned, grabbing at Taehyung’s arm to stop him, but Taehyung sidestepped him easily, practically skipping as he made his way over to you. You were deep into some calculations for your math class and you felt like you were going insane when someone sat across from you, you peered up to see a stranger swiftly pulling out another chair at your table.

“Hi.” He said warmly, tilting his head as if he’d just stumbled into a casual coffee chat.

Raising an eyebrow to him, you blinked, your pencil pausing mid-air. “Hi? I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Taehyung shook his head, “No, I’m Taehyung.” He held a hand out to you to shake.

You hesitated for a beat, then placed your hand in his for a quick, polite shake. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m actually waiting for someone.”

“Ah, don’t worry. I won’t take up too much of your time.” Taehyung said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m here on a mission.”

You let out a heavy sigh, “If it’s to ask for my number or anything like that. I’m not interested.”

Taehyung waves you off, not that he would mind slipping you his number, “Nothing of the sort… I mean unless you like what you see.” Taehyung leans back posing in his chair, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of him. “I’m actually here to get some information.”

“Okay?” You cross your arms over your chest, an amused grin on your face. Jungkook from a small distance amazed you haven’t bitten Taehyung's head off.

Taehyung nodded gravely, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ve come on behalf of my dear, troubled friend, Jungkook.”

Your polite smile faded instantly, replaced by a tight line of irritation. Casting a quick glance past Taehyung. Sure enough, Jungkook was standing a short distance away, half-hidden behind a bookshelf. His expression torn between embarrassment and dread. “I have to apologize Taehyung–”

“You can call me Tae.” He grins with a wink, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay Tae. I don’t know you well enough to get into all those details.”

“How about we have dinner and discuss it then?” Taehyung scoots his chair closer to yours leaning his arms on the table. Just at that moment a hand comes down on Taehyung's shoulder, he glances up to see an annoyed Jungkook towering above him.

“That’s enough.” Jungkook wants to avoid your annoyance at him increasing any further by Taehyung's antics.

“You’re late,” you said pointedly, your tone icy as you picked your pencil back up and focused on your notes. Refusing to look at Jungkook.

“Can you see why?” Jungkook gestured to Taehyung and took another seat at the table. Taehyung rubbing his chin glancing between the two of you with some amusement.

“Wow, there really is some hostility here… almost electric.” Taehyung leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as his gaze shifted between you and Jungkook. His grin was as sharp as a knife, cutting through the tension with deliberate ease. “For the sake of Jungkook’s sanity—and mine—I have to know. Did he ghost you? Forget a birthday? Sleep with you and never call you again?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief freezing you for a beat before your voice finally squeaked out, “Excuse me?”

“Tae.” Jungkook kicks his leg under the table and Taehyung winces.

“I was just curious!” Taehyung raises both of his arms up in surrender, “Seriously, what did he do?” He pressed, eyes sparkling with mischief as he ignored Jungkook’s obvious irritation.

You shifted in your seat, feeling caged in under their expectant stares, but your posture stayed composed. You refused to let them see you squirm. “I thought I already said I don’t know you well enough for the details?” You replied coolly, hoping to deflect.

“Well,” Taehyung said, clearing his throat as if settling in for a monologue. “I’m Kim Taehyung. I’m a Capricorn. I enjoy wine and find most other alcohol kind of overrated. Jungkook’s one of my closest friends, like, ever. I love dogs, but I have a massive respect for cats. See? We know each other better already.”

His brazen confidence was so unexpected it caught you off guard, drawing a small laugh from your lips despite yourself. “That’s all fine and good,” You said, shaking your head, “but this is personal, Tae.”

“Can I at least put in a good word for him?” Taehyung raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, gesturing toward Jungkook like he was trying to sell a piece of furniture.

You hesitated, glancing at Jungkook than back to Taehyung. “Alright.”

Jungkook was surprised you were even entertaining his theatrics. Taehyung’s face lit up in triumph, and he shot Jungkook a smug look before leaning in like he was about to share a juicy secret. “Okay, listen. Whatever he did to earn this… frustration from you, I can guarantee it wasn’t on purpose. Either that, or he’s completely oblivious. Probably the second one, honestly.”

You tried not to let his words affect you, but the sincerity in his voice was hard to ignore. He didn’t seem like he was messing with you.

“Here’s the thing,” Taehyung continued, his tone dropping lower as if the next part was especially important. “Jungkook’s one of the best people I know. Seriously. He’s somewhat dumb sometimes, sure, but he’s also loyal and… well, kind of a big softie. I think whatever’s going on here is probably just a huge misunderstanding.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his words.

Then, as if he couldn’t resist, Taehyung grinned again and reached over to pinch Jungkook’s cheek. “Plus, he’s a big baby and such a cutie, right?”

Jungkook groaned, swatting Taehyung’s hand away. “Stop.”

“No, seriously,” Taehyung insisted, turning to you with exaggerated curiosity. “He’s cute, right?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, eyes darting between them. “I mean… he’s alright, I guess.” you said, shrugging in an attempt to play it cool. It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed Jungkook’s looks, they were hard to miss, but you weren't really on the market these days.

“Okay, but what about me?” Taehyung tilted his head, all innocent. “Am I more than just ‘alright’?”

“Goodbye, Taehyung.” Jungkook stood abruptly, tugging Taehyung up from his seat. “We’re leaving.”

Jungkook got up from his seat trying to pull Taehyung away from his own. Taehyung resists for a moment, snatching your pencil to quickly scribble his number down on a blank piece of paper you had out.

“Call me.” Taehyung lifts his hand up to hear ear to motion for you to call, as he is getting dragged away by Jungkook. Far out of your sight from your table. You glance down at the number, it was poorly written but you could still make it out.

You knew you wouldn’t call but Taehyung's genuine honesty and unabashed personality was a breath of fresh air. At least you could really only hope everything he said was real and not him covering for Jungkook.

After a minute Jungkook returned to the table, annoyance written all over his face. He took his seat again with a heavy sigh. “Sorry… about him.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I could tell he meant well.” You brush him off and continue to write something in your notebook. “Seems like a good friend.”

“He is.” Jungkook nods, finally taking the time to pull out his own books and notes. “Just a tad nosy.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow with a small smile, presenting the phone number. “Severely cocky too.”

Jungkook laughs, shaking his head at the horribly written numbers on the page. “Yeah, you’re welcome to burn that.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Present Day

Taehyung had always been nosy, maybe even intrusive at times. He really just liked being in people's business and being in the know. This time though, he just happened upon this information and wasn’t really trying to be involved. He really couldn’t help himself in this case.

“If you tell me what’s going on with you and Y/N.” Taehyung said, propping his chin in the palm of his hand. His elbow rested on the table as he studied Jungkook with a knowing glint in his eye.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice steady, though a flicker of unease slipped into his tone. He casually raised his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip as if the conversation was of no consequence.

Taehyung grinned wider, his head tilting. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. I saw you.”

Jungkook frowned faintly, still feigning confusion. “Saw me what?” Jungkook didn’t react—not outwardly, at least. Years of navigating intense courtroom scrutiny made him a master of keeping a cool exterior. But beneath the surface, his pulse quickened.

“You and Y/N. Leaving together after emo night.”

Jungkook blinked once, twice. “Okay?”

“Okay?” Taehyung repeated, drawing the word out mockingly. He leaned forward just enough to make Jungkook feel cornered. “Y/N wouldn’t share a fry with you, let alone a ride home. It doesn’t add up. So I started thinking.” He paused, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, each tap feeling like a provocation. “At first, I let it go. People share cars sometimes, sure. But then Jimin mentioned you’ve been acting... off. Quiet. Weird.”

“It’s called maturity,” Jungkook quipped dryly. “You should try it sometime.”

Taehyung snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Maturity? You? The guy who stress-ate three bags of gummy worms during trial prep and then tried to convince us it was a ‘tactical’ decision?”

“They were sour gummy worms,” Jungkook shot back defensively. “Completely different vibe.”

“Sure but you’re usually unbearable before a trial.” Taehyung raised a brow. “Pacing around, running through every tiny detail like your life depends on it. Hell, last time you made me and Namjoon sit through your entire case just to ‘practice.’ You even roped Melanie into being the jury. Still can’t believe she ruled against me.”

“She has great judgment,” Jungkook quipped, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. But here’s the thing: this time? No pacing, no rambling, no pestering me to play the opposing counsel. Just radio silence. It’s weird.”

Jungkook shrugged, his shoulders stiff with tension. “Maybe I’ve gotten better at managing my stress.”

Taehyung snorted. “Yeah, right.” He turned in his seat to face Jungkook fully, his expression sharpening. “When Jimin said something, I started piecing it together. Thinking on the last few weeks. I thought maybe it was family related but, you hadn’t mentioned anything recently. So then I thought, who’s the only person who throws you off your game? Y/N.”

Jungkook’s stomach dropped, but he kept his face neutral. Barely.

“I also thought it might have just been the forced proximity. You two always go nuclear when you spend too much time in the same 500 yards. Except I remembered how weird you two were acting at the wedding, and how you guys disappeared for a while during the rehearsal dinner.” Taehyung continued, his voice dropping just enough to feel like a warning shot. “You think I didn’t notice?” He tilted his head, his gaze cutting. “So, one more time—what’s going on with you and Y/N?”

A silence hung between them in quiet confirmation. Jungkook's face was hot and he was flustered, but also… filled with relief? Like a weight was lifted? Jungkook hadn’t told anyone what had been going on with you two but Taehyung figuring it out made it suddenly so easy. It had all gotten him so wound up and freaked out that he hadn’t realized how much he really wanted to talk. Talk it through, you certainly weren’t going to want to discuss it.

Taehyung’s face morphed into a relaxed and understanding grin, clearly reveling in his own detective work. “Hey, listen. If you’re not ready to talk about it… whatever! I think it’s great. Whatever it is, friendship, relationship, sex. You’re both adults. Have fun.”

Jungkook let out a breathless laugh, adjusting in his seat. “I don’t even know what’s going on. Definitely not a relationship, I’ll tell you that much.” His lips curled into a shy smile, but his voice carried an edge of uncertainty.

Taehyung nodded knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “Well, start by telling me how this all started.”

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, organizing his thoughts. “What’s weird is that, thinking about it now, it feels… insane. We fought at the rehearsal dinner. Like, properly fought. Then we went outside to cool off, and I don’t know—something shifted. We started talking about how we’re terrible at communicating. Like, talking has never worked for us.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “So, I said maybe we should try something else. Something physical.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up. “You suggested that?”

“Yeah. Why is that surprising?”

“Because Y/N would never suggest that, and you’re usually too uptight to even think about it.” Taehyung took a long, deliberate sip of his drink, clearly enjoying the moment. “So you guys…?” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging even though it was painfully obvious.

Jungkook sighed and gave a reluctant nod.

“Oh my god,” Taehyung said, leaning forward with wide eyes and a grin. “I knew you two had chemistry.”

Jungkook frowned. “No, you didn’t.”

“Did too! The first time I met Y/N, it was so obvious. Sure, she was silently plotting your demise, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t heat. You can have tension and attraction, you know.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “You’re delusional.”

“So,” Taehyung pressed, clearly not planning to drop the subject anytime soon, “How does Emo Night fit into this?”

Jungkook leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Honestly… it’s kind of a blur. We were fighting, then we weren’t. Then we were laughing, and the next thing I knew, we were going back to my place.”

Taehyung let out a low whistle, giving Jungkook a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “Wow. Good for you. It was only a matter of time.”

Jungkook blinked at him, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taehyung shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, come on. You’re both hot. You’re both single. Nothing wrong with playing around and seeing what happens.”

Jungkook hesitated, his expression shifting. “I don’t think it’ll happen again.”

“Why not?” Taehyung asked, his tone light but his gaze probing.

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “I don’t know. Every time it’s happened, I’ve felt this… weird sense of guilt afterward. Like I’m doing something I shouldn’t. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I’m not even living in my own skin.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m not the type to just hook up, you know that. I don’t have the time or the mindset for it.”

Taehyung tilted his head, studying him thoughtfully. His voice was softer this time, almost careful. “Do you feel guilty because you think you’re not supposed to? Or is it because it actually feels good, but since it’s with Y/N, you’re telling yourself it shouldn’t be happening?”

The question caught Jungkook off guard. He blinked, his brow furrowing as he thought about it. “I… don’t know.”

Taehyung chewed on his lip for a moment, his expression pensive. “If I’m not overstepping,” he said cautiously, “I think you are enjoying yourself. And sure, I know you only like to sleep with people if you’re considering a relationship—”

“That’s the thing,” Jungkook cut in, his tone sharper than he’d intended. “I’m not looking for anything right now. Let alone with Y/N.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Taehyung held up a hand, his voice calm but insistent. “I’m saying maybe… let the chips fall where they may.”

Jungkook frowned, his confusion evident. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly against the tabletop as he chose his words. “You’ve had so much going on in the last year. Maybe this—whatever it is—is happening at the perfect time. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be forever. But maybe it’s exactly what you need right now.”

Jungkook snorted, shaking his head. “I’m not like you. I can’t just sleep around. Plus, work takes up all my time.”

Taehyung laughed lightly, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Oh, I’m not saying with just anyone or all the time. I’m saying just whenever it comes about naturally… with Y/N.”

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Taehyung said, grinning now. “Funny enough, I think Y/N is perfect for this. She’s not going to get attached to you, and you already know you have chemistry. It’s like the universe handed you the ideal situation on a silver platter.”

“No,” Jungkook said firmly, shaking his head again. “It’s too complicated with Y/N. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Taehyung pressed, his teasing grin fading into something more thoughtful. His voice softened, but the curiosity behind it remained sharp. “Have you even talked to her about it? Like, actually talked?”

Jungkook let out a dry laugh, the sound short and humorless, as he rubbed his chin. “Sort of. Not really. We talked about the wedding for about five seconds, and then we fought about… well, the last time.”

Taehyung snorted, propping his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Wow, groundbreaking. Gossip of the century. You and Y/N fighting? Stop the presses, I’m shocked.” His voice was thick with sarcasm, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth made Jungkook glare.

“You act like conversations come easy for us,” Jungkook shot back, his tone defensive.

Taehyung tilted his head, his expression shifting to something softer—almost amused. “You know,” he began, his voice thoughtful, “I’ve gotten to know Y/N pretty well over the years. She’s not as stubborn as you make her out to be. If anything, she’s way softer than she lets on.”

Jungkook looked at him sharply, his brow furrowing. “Okay?”

“It means,” Taehyung said patiently, “you should at least try. Y/N is actually pretty reasonable once you sit down and actually talk to her.”

“Talking to her isn’t as simple as you’re making it sound,” Jungkook muttered, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “You talk to people you don’t even like all the time at work. How is this any different?”

“Where do you think I got all that practice?” Jungkook retorted dryly.

Taehyung let out a bark of laughter, his head tilting back briefly before he fixed Jungkook with a pointed look. “Fine. You’re going to Namjoon’s tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.” Jungkook said, crossing his arms like the question was ridiculous.

“Perfect,” Taehyung said, clapping his hands together. “There’s your opportunity. Just try to have a normal conversation with her. Just… be casual. You can do that, can’t you?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know me?”

Taehyung ignored the jab, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m serious. You don’t have to solve the world’s problems tomorrow. Just talk. And for the love of all that’s holy, keep your clothes on. Since that seems to be difficult for you two now.”

“Alright I’ll try.” Finishing off his drink, Jungkook stood. “I should go now. I need to get some more work done tonight.” Jungkook started to leave when Taehyung called after him.

“Hey!” Taehyung called after him as Jungkook made his way to the door. “Just think about it, alright? You might even realize I’m right. It happens more often than you’d think!”

Jungkook just waved to him as he left. He was going to make his way up to his car but he paused. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Taking one and lighting it. He hadn’t been smoking as often lately, but he felt he deserved one after the success of the week. Jungkook took a long drag letting the smoke fill his lungs before blowing it out through his nose. A small buzz washed through him, cigarettes didn’t really have the same hit these days but couldn't quite kick the habit.

He knew the smell would stick to him, would linger and cling to these clothes. He started to walk up the street to his car. Just finishing off the cigarette slowly and making sure he was more than safe to drive. Thinking about what Taehyung told him, he hadn’t thought he had been so stressed. Hooking up with you continuously was just a recipe for disaster, it had to be. He was just asking for something to go wrong and you two were always on thin ice as it was. Not that Jungkook would ever bring up any of Taehyungs advice to you… again.

Last time was the last time, a very specific set of circumstances had to come together for the last two times to even work out.

All though Jungkook had become the furthest thing from your mind this evening. You were entering the hospital at the ungodly hour of 10:30pm because you decided yeah I can totally switch shifts this weekend! I haven’t done a night shift in a while so this will be fine! You are majorly regretting it now. You had slept most of the day but you were still somehow exhausted.

“Good morning beautiful.” Vic greeted you as you trudged your way to sit next to her at the nurses station. You shot her a glare sitting down in your chair pulling out one of the tablets.

“I hate the night shift. Why did I agree to this?” You groan, typing your password multiple times and failing.

“Because you are lovely and wonderful and Maya really needed the switch.” Vic stood up and behind you and rubbed your shoulders. “You can do this, it’s pretty simple at night anyways.”

“Ugh please don’t jinx me. You’ll say that and suddenly everything’s gonna go wrong.” You lay your head back looking up at her with a small pout.

“You’ll be just fine, plus Yoongi is here all night with you. He’s fun to torture during the night shift.” Vic patted you before she grabbed her bag and rounded her way to the elevators.

“Have a good night.” You call out to her but then dive your head into your work. Since it was so easy going you knew this would be a good opportunity to finish up paperwork. There was always plenty to catch up on, you could maybe even get a medication inventory count done tonight as long as everything goes smoothly.

You spend the next little while just working. Yoongi came and joined you after a while and you both just made small conversation here and there. The two of you had actually gotten closer in the time you’ve been up here. He’s actually super nice and much funnier than anyone gives him credit for. The quiet exterior thing was mostly a professional front but when he’s around you and Vic he loosens way up.

Once one of the other night nurses, Kay, had arrived you stole him away to help you with meds.

“Okay would you rather broadcast your thoughts to everyone around you at all times or never be able to think in words again?” You ask as you write down some notes about things that need to be ordered.

Yoongi thought for a moment as he is opening up a box to inspect the contents, “Can I think in pictures?”

“Hmm I’ll say yes but you can’t imagine pictures of words.” You tap your pen against your mouth.

“I’ll never think in words again. I don’t need everyone knowing my thoughts.” Yoongi says and you nod. “What about you?”

“You know what, I agree. I don’t need everyone knowing how often I think about quitting.” You snort under your breath. Yoongi smiles amused.

“We all know, you don’t need your thoughts broadcasted for that.” Yoongi teased and you push his shoulder.

“I’m quitting right now.”

“Right.”

You sigh looking around. “Well we’ve barley made a dent. I’m going to going do a loop and check in, will you see if Kay needs anything?” You hand him the notepad you had been making notes on.

“No problem, and we can totally finish this tonight. Plus we have like 10 more hours.” Yoongi points around the room. It’s true you guys just needed to stay focussed.

“Nah you have better things to worry about tonight. I’ll just force Wendy to help me when she gets in.” You wave your hand back and forth, leaving the closet.

You make your way up and down the wing. Most patients were asleep and you would slip in just to make sure there was nothing you guys were missing or not being alerted about. You had pretty good systems and alarms to make sure that didn’t happen but you always liked to check just to make sure. Everyone seemed in good shape for the night, you decided to ends your rounds with checking in on Ji-eun. You poked your head into the room to find she was in fact awake. She was looking at something on her Ipad. The light dimmed.

“What are you—” You step into the room, Ji-eun's attention pulled to you. At that moment your attention is immediately pulled to the couch that came into view. Someone was asleep there with blanket pulled over them and they were facing away. You drop your voice to a whisper. “Oh my god I’m so sorry. I didn’t know someone was here with you.”

You try to backing out of the room, but Ji-eun waves for you to come back. Her voice also a whisper, “No no no come back in. I’m happy to see you, you’re never here this late.”

A sigh of exhaustion leaves you, “Yeah one of the girls needed to switch shifts due to an emergency. So here I am.”

“That’s nice of you. I can’t imagine overnight shifts are at all easy.” She gives you a sympathetic smile, setting her iPad to the side.

“It’s alright. Dr. Min and Kay are good company.” Your attention is pulled back to the figure on the couch that shifts slightly. Maybe it was Ji-eun’s husband? You hadn’t had a chance to meet any of her family yet. They were never here when you usually worked. “Is that your husband?”

Ji-eun looks over and then back to you with a shake of her head. “Oh no, this is one of my boys.”

“Oh! How sweet he’s here with you.” You glance over and then back to her.

“Yeah he must have arrived just barely before you. He’s had a long week and hadn’t been able to stop by. Then he fell asleep.”

“Is this his first time coming to see you? Since you got here?” You found your curiosity peaked.

“Oh no no. He was with me the day I checked in and then he’s been here several times since. Always late like this.” She glances over then back to you. “I hope it’s okay he’s here.”

Technically you really shouldn’t let family stay over night but it wasn’t a rule. More frowned upon due to some incidents in the past. “Usually we try not to allow it, but I’ll let it go for now.” You give her mischievous grin, and she laughs to herself.

Ji-eun had an operation schedule for two weeks from now for the tumor in her leg to be removed. She was in high spirits about it. Removing that tumor would officially bring her back down to stage 3. The hope was that they could remove the whole thing.

Dr. Kim took a new biopsy earlier in the week and you learned this tumor was completely unrelated to the liver cancer, which was the original belief. Since the tumor had gotten down almost to the bone she would be off her feet for some time. She also will have to stop chemotherapy for a while until she heals from this operation. So mostly good things but concerning in terms of her cancer and how aggressive her case has been.

The current treatment hasn’t shown any signs of improvements to the tumors on her liver. It was still early so it was inconclusive. You could tell from the way Dr. Kim and Yoongi had been speaking about it that they were hoping for more improvement. Ji-eun hadn’t lost her spirit though. She was still so cheerful everyday you saw her and always had a story or smile to give. She’s made the weeks up here easier. In the time you’ve spent up here you have seen a few patients pass. Two just this week. You didn’t know them well but it was still tough. Especially because they were cases that had much better odds than most. Needless to say it weighed on you, so talking to Ji-eun made it easier.

Vic and Yoongi had also done a good job at showing you how they handle it. In other specialties you don’t spend as much with the patients, little easier to become impersonal. Up here you have people who are here for weeks or months so you learn about them. Which makes it worse if they don’t pull through.

“Why are you up so late?” You sit on the end of her bed, “You just had treatment on Tuesday, you need rest.”

“Just a touch of nausea it’ll pass.” She pats her stomach.

“Are you finally admitting to feeling it a little?” You say, talking about the chemo. Ji-eun had been doing well on this one and not shown any major symptoms yet. At least, that is what she was telling everyone.

“A little.” She huffed, “Nothing serious. It’ll pass soon.”

“I can get you something if you need. You don’t have to just tough it out, even though I know you try too.” You lean on one of your hands, your face falling into slight concern.

“I'm tougher than you think. No chemo can get me down. Now you go. I’m sure you have plenty of work that needs to be done.” She tried to wave you out of the room, but you roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a minute.” You glance over to her ever updating pile of crochet projects. “What are you working on right now?”

Ji-eun glances to her pile. “I know it’s a big cliché, but I’m working on a few things for you and Victoria, and the docs.” She pull over some of her stuff, “It’s just scarves.”

She pulls out one that looks to already be complete that is green and blue and red stripes. Another that is all red.

“The stripped one is for Dr. Kim. The red is for Victoria. Felt fitting since she is so fiery, and Dr. Kim is so flamboyant.” She held them out to you, they were very well done. She picked a very oft thread for them as well so they were nice to touch.

“Oh these are lovely.” You fold them and lay them back down on the bed. “Dr. Kim will love his, I assure you.”

“And this,” She reaches down on the side of the bed, “will be yours eventually.” She pull out a dark blue scarf that had stars being stitched throughout. It was still a work in progress, maybe about half way done? It was truly lovely so far. “I think it looks pretty good!”

You give her a happy pout looking at it, “I love it. It’s so cute. I can’t wait to wear it.”

“Well I better hurry up and get it done!” Her voice was a little louder than she intended, and whichever of Ji-eun's sons was on the couch stirred. “Whoops too loud. Can I get your opinion for Yoongi? I want to make him one but I’m not sure.”

You thought for a moment if you should tell her to give him something outrageously bright just to see him feel forced to wear it. You decided against it though. “Probably something neutral. He’s not the flashy type. Maybe a black or grey.”

“Awe I was hoping maybe he had a colorful streak hidden under that quiet exterior.” Her face twisted in annoyance, “Neutral it is.”

You get yourself off the bed. It was time that you got back and continued your work. It was a nice little break but there was a lot left to be done tonight.

“I must leave you now. If you need anything you know where we are.” You take a step towards the door.

“I’ll try.” Ji-eun huffs with fake annoyance in her tone like you were a mom scolding her.

You roll your eyes knowing she’s just going to continue to be tough about it. You turn to the door before something catches your attention before stepping out. It was subtle and you hadn’t noticed it before but you definitely smelt it now.

Just a faint smell of cigarette.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

After a long and grueling night. Your shift was coming to an end. You and Yoongi, with the help of Wendy another night nurse, you managed to get a good jump on inventory. The rest of the night you mostly just did paperwork and bothered Yoongi when you could. No major issues except you were not really built for a night shift. About an hour ago you took advantage and stowed yourself away to get a tiny bit of rest in an on call room. With your slumber abruptly interrupted.

“Rise and shine baby girl!” Vic hit her leg on the side of the bunk you were sleeping in. Rattling it and you awake.

With an angry grunt you rolled over to look at her. “You’re so obnoxious.”

“I’m here to relieve you. Get up.” She holds a hand out to you to help you get to your feet. “How was last night?”

“Not bad.” You yawn and stretch your arms straight into the air. You fill her in on some other details and you both leave the on call room and walk back to the nurses station. Giving her some updates on what you and Kay did in the night.

You collected some of your stuff from the desk when you overheard some of the other girls you worked with talking.

“Okay but like you saw him.” Lana, a new hire here, leaning on both of her hands swiveling from side to side in her chair. Dramatically star struck.

“You were right, hot.” Angel, another girl who usually works opposite shifts of you. So you haven’t gotten to know her much.

“Ladies,” Vic interrupted arms folded, “I think we have better things we could be doing?”

“Yeah but Lana’s crush was here. So she’s all distracted now.” Angel rolled her eyes, nudging Lana to come out of her dream state. You laugh under your breath.

“Who’s her crush?” You breath, balancing your stuff in your arms. Looking between the two of them.

Lana groaned, “I don’t actually know his name. I’m just pretty sure he’s Ji-euns son. You had to have seen him Y/N, you’re on her case.” She looked to you, her pupils practically turning into little hearts.

“I actually haven’t met any of Ji-eun’s family. I’ll see what I can find out.” You yawn thinking back on it. Sad Ji-eun’s been excited to introduce you to her family and you just barely missed him. Maybe next time.

“Get his name as soon as possible please. So Lana can bug you about it instead of me.” Angel got up from the desk, walking away as quickly as she could. You and Vic watch her go in her annoyance and you both have amused smiles.

“I’m sure you could just ask. Ji-eun uses any opportunity to talk about her family.” You pat Lana on the shoulder, “Hope he’s everything you hope he is.”

“Me too.” Lana gets up as well taking a tablet with her in a day dreamy walk.

“Don’t encourage her. She’s new so she doesn’t need to get her hopes high. ”Vic nudged you. She was mostly teasing.

“Hey, we need some new entertainment around here other than Yoongi. I’m just sad her crush isn’t on him so we don’t get to tease him about it.” You laugh, just then Seokjin and Yoongi were rounding the corner.

“Good morning my wonderful staff.” Seokjin beamed between you and Vic. Vic narrowing her eyes at Seokjin already. Oh he’s in for a long day.

“You didn’t sign your charts last night.” She taps her finger impatiently. Yoongi trying to hide. “Yoongi this goes for you two, and you have no excuse you were here all night.”

You place a hand on her, “To be fair he really helped us out with the medicine and inventory count.”

She huffs, “Okay fine you’re off the hook. You sir,” pointing back to Seokjin. “You’re gonna sit and do it before you do anything else today.”

“What’s with the hostility? To think I bought treats for you today and this is the thanks I get?” Seokjin sniffs and fake wipes his eyes.

“I’ll be less hostile when you sign your charts.” She barks.

You decide you need to slip out now before the blood bath begins. You made your way home in record time. You were desperate to sleep in your own bed because you were finally going to see Melanie tonight. You were so excited that her and Namjoon were back, and tonight would be all in good fun. Or at least you hoped it would.

Jungkook's annoying presence would certainly be something to handle… considering.

You couldn’t even think straight as you crashed on your bed. You didn’t even bother to change, just letting the weight of the night overtake you. It felt like a blink of an eye though as it was suddenly 6 pm. You needed to get up and get ready for sure now. You had roughly about an hour before you needed to be getting out the door. So you shower the night off and dress casually, you had a feeling you may be crashing there tonight so you didn’t need to look amazing.

You certainly didn’t feel too amazing, exhausted really.

After too long you were arriving and knocking on the front door. Namjoon and Melanie had a very nice townhome, it wasn’t decorated in a typical fashion. It was always very warm and welcoming and homey. You tended to hang out here a lot because of how good of a job they did at making it so nice. Unfortunately that did involve many night where you, Ash, and Melanie overtake the house and Namjoon is left sleeping in the guest room or downstairs. He really didn’t mind but you always felt a little bad.

With a swift swing open of the door Melanie was who you came face to face with. “Finally! My knight in shining armor has arrived!” Melanie swooned against the door frame.

“My darling I’ve return from war!” You step inside and are immediately enveloped into a hug. It was so nice to finally have her back. You didn’t want to bug her with anything while her and Namjoon were away but now it was free game. “I need to hear every detail about your trip.”

“Oh trust me I’ve got a whole presentation prepared.” She keeps an arm around you as you enter the house.

The entryway was a long hallway with tall ceilings, stairs lined one wall, with entrance to the living room first and then just up the hall entrance to the kitchen. A small bathroom tucked under the stairs.

“Oh I can’t wait.” You giggle and rub your hands together, “I need something to eat though I’m starving.”

“Oh there’s plenty of food so help yourself. We’ve got all night.” She pulled you into the living room where you were greeted with Ash and Namjoon in a heated debate about what looked like a just finished match of Mario kart. Taehyung was sprawled out on the couch, looking like a kicked puppy. Melanie sat down on the opposite love seat leaving you standing,

You squat down to Taehyung's eye level, “What was it this time? Eleventh or twelve?”

He fakes sobs, “If there was a thirteenth place they would make it for me.” You snort and ruffle his hair.

“You’ll get him next time.” You sit down on the love seat with Melanie laying your legs across her lap.

“You don’t want to sit with me?” Taehyung sat up on the couch with a puppy dog look in his eye.

“I need some Melanie time tonight. I’ll give you my attention another time.” You say but Taehyung still played sad.

“Mel! Back me up! He so cheated!” Ash erupted between the three of you, pointing to Namjoon accusingly.

“I did not!” Namjoon quipped back, “She’s the one who was trying to shove me the entire time!”

“I’m not getting in the middle of you two and your stupid Mario kart rivalry again! I made that mistake once and I almost got my head bitten off for it.” Melanie grumbled in annoyance at the two of them. They both deflated but still were annoyed.

“You know how competitive they get, why let them play?” You ask, raising an eyebrow to Taehyung and Melanie.

“I left the room for five seconds and suddenly they were deep into it by then.” Melanie raised her hands in innocence. You believed it, Ash and Namjoon had a years long running tally of Mario kart wins. They always stayed neck and neck and it was very serious for them. You were okay at it, always coming out somewhere in the middle.

“Well I need a drink if this is how the night is going to continue.” You get back up from your seat.

“There’s tons of wine please drink it.” Namjoon called after you, you gave a thumbs up behind you in response. Heading down to the kitchen.

Rounding your way into the in there really was tons of snacks and food at the ready on the island counter. You imagine Melanie had meant to bring it into the living room but got sucked into the game with the others.

You pick a random bottle, opening it and pouring yourself a glass. It was pretty good for a random pick. You balance your glass, the bottle, and a armful of snacks bringing them with you to the living room to lay them out on the coffee table.

“Oh thank you.” Melanie beamed, taking a bag of chips from you.

“I figured they got left behind in the gaming escapades. This wine is also nice.” You take another sip from your glass, setting the bottle down.

Melanie takes the bottle holding it up to Namjoon, he also looks at it, “Joonie, where did we get this one?”

“Jungkook got it as a gift.” Namjoon nodded when seeing the bottle.

Taehyung dramatically held onto the nearest object. You gave him a funny look.

“Sorry Jungkook's name was mentioned in your presence. Thought I should prepare for a disaster.” He teased, you hit him on the shoulder.

“I’m not that dramatic.” You settle down on the couch next to him. “Here I’ll give him a compliment right now. He can pick out a nice wine. Let’s hope it’s not poison.”

“Wow,” Taehyung deadpanned, clutching his chest. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“Anyways, what’s going on with you these days.” You look at Taehyung. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding.”

“I tried to catch up with you at emo night but seems you got stolen away.” Taehyung says and it makes you take a slight moment of pause. Taehyung said it that way on purpose. Knowing what he knows, “You know cause you went home early.”

You nod, playing it cool. “Yeah I had too much. It was good I called it early because it could have gotten messy.”

“Probably smart, a little too much to drink can make us do some questionable things.” Taehyung says it almost with some suggestion, like trying to point to a certain subject. It didn’t slip by you, it felt too intentional.

“Yeah, I guess?” You play it off, “Anyways, any new girl I can hear about as of late? Any crazy stories you got for me?”

Taehyung shakes his head, “I’ve taken a little break lately. Trying to be serious.”

“Really? You?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nah,” He smirks, “What about you? Anyone wrapped around your finger at the moment?”

You narrow your eyes at him, Taehyung had a way of trying to subtly gets answers. Him asking about your love life never comes without a catch. Last time it was a blind date he wanted to set you up on. “No. I’m not really looking right now.”

He slowly nods his head, his stare a bit too intense for comfort. “Very interesting.”

“Okay what are you planning? If you're planning on giving my number out to someone can I at least know who and why?” You groan, leaning your head on the back of the couch looking up to the ceiling.

“No I wouldn't do that to you… again. I’m just confirming a solution to a problem I’m working on.”

You wanted to probe further into what Taehyung was talking about, but decided to just leave it. Whatever he had cooking up in his mind could not be good. Better to not indulge him.

The night buzzed with the hum of wine-fueled laughter, the clink of glasses, and a playlist that had long since fallen victim to the chaos of too many requests. You were tipsy, just enough to feel bold and carefree, your giggles blending seamlessly with the chatter around you.

Ash, Melanie, and you had claimed the big couch as your domain, limbs tangled in a haphazard heap. Your head rested in Ash’s lap, where she was absently braiding and unbraiding sections of your hair, likely creating a disaster you'd deal with tomorrow. Namjoon and Taehyung had been exiled to the love seat and the floor, making them easy targets for your drunken commentary.

This was how these nights always went—wine, games, and an inevitable retreat to Namjoon and Melanie’s room, where the three of you would indulge in a late-night slumber party like teenagers.

Just then a ring from the doorbell sounded through the house. Announcing the arrival of the demon spawn. Namjoon sprung up from his spot and trotted to the door. You could hear a few voices echo in the hall before Namjoon and Jungkook reentered the room with some laughs.

“Golden boy finally arrived.” Taehyung held his arms up in celebration. The wine in his glass almost flinging everywhere.

You rolled your eyes so hard you were sure they’d get stuck. Melanie wiggled her way out from under your legs to give Jungkook a hug, which he returned with genuine warmth. You looked away, muttering under your breath, “Great, now we’re all blessed by his presence.”

Melanie beamed, entirely ignoring your sarcasm. “Okay, now that everyone’s here, we can finally show pictures from the trip!” She dashed out of the room and returned moments later with her laptop, bounding around everyone and hooking it up to the TV.

“Oh you actually had a presentation prepared?” You laugh at her and Melanie rolls her eyes.

“Yes,” Melanie retorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ll like it. Now, everyone, sit.”

Melanie urges Namjoon and Jungkook to sit back down. Namjoon took the available spot next to Taehyung, which left the spot your legs currently occupied the only place left.

The command turned the room into a musical chairs scramble. Namjoon reclaimed his spot by Taehyung, leaving the couch seat you were sprawled across as the only one open.

Jungkook eyed the seat with a smirk and crossed his arms. “Guess you’ll have to move.”

Without budging an inch, you waved dismissively at the floor. “There’s plenty of space down there.”

Jungkook, tilted his head, tongue in cheek. He should have expected the immediate annoyance he would get from you being here. Taehyung watched from the other couch with bated breath, sipping on his wine.

“Oh this looks like such a comfortable spot though.” Without warning Jungkook places his butt right on top of your legs. Sighing joyfully, it was not comfortable but the face you were making was worth it.

Ash immediately burst out laughing, her hands still tangled in your hair. “I mean, he’s not wrong. You’re pretty cozy.”

“Get off.” You groan, tugging your legs out from under him and sitting up straight.

Jungkook stretched out leisurely, claiming the newly vacated spot with a satisfied smirk. "Ah, much better."

You narrowed your eyes at him, resisting the urge to shove him off the couch entirely. Taehyung, still observing from his perch with an amused glint in his eye, raised his glass in toast. "And just like that, our main event is underway."

"You're enjoying this way too much," you snapped at Taehyung, who simply shrugged and sipped his wine.

Melanie clapped her hands, reclaiming everyone's attention. "Alright, children, settle down. You're distracting from my masterpiece here." She gestured to the TV, where the first picture from their trip was already displayed: a stunning view of a mountain range bathed in golden light.

The room collectively oohed and aahed, and Melanie launched into a detailed explanation of the hike they had to endure to get the shot. Namjoon chimed in with a few quips about Melanie nearly slipping on a rock, which earned him a playful swat on the arm.

Ash, kept you grounded in your spot so you didn’t push Jungkook away. He didn’t try to antagonize you again. He stayed settled to his spot and his attention on Melanie. Staying engaged with everyone except you. You got another drink into you during the presentation and so did Ash. both of your giggling every now and then on your side of the couch. Entertaining yourselves thoroughly.

Jungkook just stayed as far on his side as he could. Didn’t mean something else was happening. Because Taehyung was texting him.

Tae: So are you going to talk to y/n tonight??????

Tae: I think you should ;)

Tae: Remember just keep it casual!!!

Tae: Could lead to… well you know… again ;)

Tae: I’ll even break the ice

Tae: ;)

Tae: Should be an interesting evening

Jungkook would look every once in a while and not dignify Taehyung with a response. Jungkook could feel Taehyung’s eyes also boring into the side of his head in anticipation. He was looking for that spark, maybe there was something much more going on here.

After a little while, the wine was really getting to you. As well as your messed up sleep schedule making you fuzzy. Warm. You were watching Melanie talking about some trail her and Namjoon followed and got lost along as your attention was caught to Jungkook moving his hand to run through his hair. Settling it back down into his lap. It caught your attention for a moment and it felt like it moved in slow motion. Then without even realizing you were staring at his hands in his lap.

He was fidgeting with his fingers. Probably mindlessly playing with them. Your mind began to drift though, because you know those hands now. You know they are much softer than they initially look. They were warm and strong. His fingers are long and slender, pretty even. Pretty in an artistic way, almost. A memory of them running all over your body imprinted on your mind. Being pulled to the surface.

Almost too quickly you felt like your face was on fire. The memory coming in small flashes. A laugh to a messy drunken make out in a fluorescent bathroom. Your lips finding their way to his skin. Then being in his apartment and stripping down together. Then suddenly being laid back. First his fingers and and then his tongue painting you with pleasure. You could see his hands in your mind so clearly, then suddenly his eyes. Looking back at you, while he took you over the edge.

You need to stop. You shook your head and adjusted in your seat almost too quickly. You cannot be thinking about this right now. What is wrong with you? It had to be the wine, you always got somewhat horny when you drank wine. You settled back into your spot, playing it cool. Your eyes danced around the room for a moment. Pulling yourself back down to earth. Keep it together, you are better than this.

Your eyes glanced at Jungkook for one second. Not even trying to look but you caught him right as he was playing with his lip ring with his tongue. Forcing your eyes to look back to Melanie and the screen.

Pay attention to the presentation.

Your foggy conscience easily betrayed you though. This time, quiet and patient kisses in an elevator. Then a dark hotel room. An image of Jungkook standing above you saying please. Then him placed behind you, slipping himself inside–

You take in a sharp breath in through the nose. You begin to pick your own nails. Surely if you keep your hands busy you can keep your mind distracted. Yes you were a little tipsy and you were having flashbacks but you can fight this. Remember he’s gross, awful, and has said horrible things to you. He drives you insane.

You will not let your tipsy mind flow to... Jungkook.

You decided you needed to get some ice cold water. The pictures wrapped up, Melanie’s enthusiastic commentary dwindling to polite applause as everyone shifted back to casual conversation. You decided it was the perfect moment to escape, slipping away toward the kitchen with quick, deliberate steps. The quiet was immediate and welcome, wrapping around you like a shield.

Getting yourself a glass and getting some water from the sink. Sipping it quickly, letting the coolness slow your mind.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

You heard the floorboards creak and glanced up just in time to see Jungkook stroll into the kitchen. His presence was impossible to ignore. He didn’t look at you at first, but you felt him there, his every move trying to pull at your attention like a gravitational force.

Your grip on the glass tightened reflexively.

“Jungkook.” Your voice was flat, carefully devoid of emotion.

“Y/N.” He mimicked your tone, brushing past you to grab a glass of his own. His voice carried a teasing edge, but there was something else—something softer underneath.

The silence that followed was sharp and deliberate, the air thick with unspoken words. Jungkook could easily toss out some snarky comment to rile you up, it was practically his trademark, but he didn’t. Not this time.

Instead, he lingered, standing just close enough for the faint scent of his cologne to drift your way. Cedarwood, or something like that. It was annoyingly intoxicating.

You busied yourself with your phone, scrolling aimlessly. A quiet laugh escaped you at something you saw, but it felt too loud in the stillness, too revealing.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook finally broke the silence. “How are you?”

You blinked at your phone, unsure if you’d heard him right. Slowly, you glanced his way. “What?”

“How are you?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his movements almost shy.

“Why?”

“I’m making conversation.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what people do, Y/N. They talk.” His tone had a touch of exasperation, but his lips curled into a faint smirk. “Just answer the question. You’re not going to combust if you do.”

You hesitated, the urge to deflect warring with the odd sincerity in his gaze. “I’m good,” you said finally, though it felt like pulling teeth. “Exhausted, but good.”

“How come?”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to read him. Was this a setup? “I worked an overnight shift last night,” you said cautiously. “So my sleep schedule is all over the place.”

“Overnight shift, huh?” Jungkook turned to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as he studied you. “And you still showed up tonight?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “I missed Melanie and Namjoon. We usually crash here after these things.”

“Crash?” He raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah.” You smiled despite yourself. “Mel, Ash, and I take over Namjoon and Melanie’s room after too much wine.”

Jungkook let out a low laugh, the sound unexpectedly warm. “That explains it. Namjoon was muttering about an invasion yesterday. Makes sense now.”

You laughed lightly, the tension between you softening for a moment. “Yeah, invasion is probably accurate. If you and Taehyung weren’t here, the living room would already be in ruins.”

Jungkook moved then, stepping toward the sink to fill his glass. The motion was smooth, casual, but you couldn’t ignore how close he came, the heat of his body brushing against yours. The scent of his cologne floating your way one more time. You took a small step to the side, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

He seemed to notice your shift but didn’t comment, his gaze flickering to you for a split second before returning to his glass.

You cleared your throat, your voice quieter than you intended. “How are you?”

Jungkook stilled, glancing at you with something like surprise. For a moment, he didn’t answer, his dark eyes searching your face like he was trying to decide if you meant it.

“I’m alright,” he said finally, his tone subdued. “Busy, though. I’m in the middle of a trial.”

“Right,” you said, nodding. “Lawyer stuff.”

A small, wry smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, lawyer stuff.”

“What kind of trial?” you asked, surprising even yourself.

He hesitated, as if weighing whether to tell you. Finally, he said, “It’s a class-action case. Workers suing their company for unpaid wages. I’m representing them.”

Your eyebrows lifted, genuinely impressed. “Wow. Didn’t expect you to be on the workers’ side.”

Jungkook tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” You gestured vaguely. “Knee jerk reaction. I typically expect the worst from you. Most people would go for the big paycheck.”

A low chuckle escaped him, warm and deep. He couldn’t blame you for jumping to a conclusion after all these years. “Fair enough. It was the right thing to do though.” Jungkook rubs on his neck another time. You noticed it, he had done it a couple of times tonight. Almost like it was bothering him.

“What’s wrong with you?” You tighten your eyebrows together, Jungkook’s eyes meeting yours for just a moment before darting away.

“Oh,” He twists his neck trying to relieve the discomfort. “My neck is just hurting. I think I slept wrong.”

“You could take something, or there are some stretches I know that can help.” You begin to look around the kitchen seeing if you can find some ibuprofen. Your hurriedness surprised Jungkook. Threw him off balance.

“I already took something but didn’t seem to help. Still some pain.” His eyes tracked you round the kitchen as you continued your search.

“Well I’ll show you the stretches then, grab a chair.” You exhale, nodding your head to one of the chairs at the dining table.

Jung walked over and pulled one of the chairs out and took a seat. You hesitated for a moment before you stood right behind him. Your hands hovered hesitantly above his shoulders. What the hell were you doing?

“Are you okay if I just do it… t-to show you how?” You say hesitantly.

Jungkook doesn’t look back to you but finds himself rather… nervous even. Had you gotten him in the perfect position to actually just strangle you out? Were these his final moments?

“Just don’t kill me… but yeah go for it.” He nodded, not looking back to you.

“Okay. Just relax.”

Jungkook feels you place one hand on his left shoulder, making sure his posture stays back and your other hand resting on the top of his head gently pushing it forward. Jungkook could feel a small pull in his neck stretching it out. The pain was on the right side so this was too bad. Your hand on his shoulder was touching some of the skin on his neck and it felt like it was burning into him. It was quiet, just your quiet breathing filling the room.

“So you lean your head forward and then you roll your head side to side,” you murmured, guiding his head gently to the left Your voice was softer than you’d intended, the quiet of the kitchen making every word feel heavier.

Jungkook’s breathing hitched slightly, though you weren’t sure if it was from the stretch or the weight of your hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you realized with a jolt that your fingers lingered longer than necessary.

“You should feel a pull right along here.” You hovered for a second, but drew a line along his neck where the muscle was tense. Trying to focus on the task and not the way your voice seemed to tremble.

Your touch made Jungkook want to wiggle away from you. So light but almost electric. His mind drifted away somewhat, almost remembering last week but he kept himself grounded in the present.

“Yeah,” he replied, the pull was slightly painful but felt good. “It’s… helping.” His words were simple, but something about the way he said them made your stomach flip.

You adjusted your hand, sliding it to the other side of his head to tilt it gently to the left. “And this?” You kept your eyes focused on the wall now, You had already spent too much time looking… and thinking about his hands tonight. You didn’t need to think about his neck.

Jungkook exhaled, a slow, deep sound that felt too intimate in the quiet space. “Better,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“It also helps to roll in circles slowly too. Trying to stretch those muscles as far as you can. You want to feel the pull.” You remove your hand, but keep them on his shoulders as he rolls his head around in slow circles.

The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light, felt suspended in time. The sounds from the living room—muted laughter, clinking glasses, the occasional burst of louder conversation—faded into the background. It was just you, Jungkook, and the lingering ghost of your touch on his skin.

Your hands had rested on his shoulders longer than they should have. Neither of you had acknowledged it, though Jungkook had noticed. He couldn’t stop noticing. The weight of your touch, light but grounding, had felt entirely different from the energy you normally exuded around him.

Gentle.

It made his pulse quicken, a response he tried desperately to suppress. But his mind betrayed him, conjuring thoughts he had no business entertaining such as your hands moving from his shoulders, sliding down his chest, fingers tracing his jawline—

He swallowed hard, forcing himself back to reality. Because that feeling was there again, that small guilty twist in his stomach. What he had been telling Taehyung about bubbled up. He still couldn’t name it, because guilt didn’t feel right. It wasn’t that but it felt so strange. What was that?

Almost like the universe had heard his struggle, Taehyung appeared in the doorway, a wide grin already plastered on his face. His eyes scanned the scene quickly, locking onto Jungkook still seated and you standing just behind him.

“Oh my god it’s finally happening. Y/N is going to strangle you out!” Taehyung gasped and threw his hands over his mouth dramatically, “Y/N please spare him! He’s a good boy!”

You laugh to yourself, stepping back from Jungkook letting your hands fall away from him. The absence of touch is almost louder than the conflict itself. “I’m not strangling him,” you said, crossing your arms and giving Taehyung a look. “This time. Now roll your shoulders back.” you instructed Jungkook, stepping even farther away as if to reestablish boundaries.

Jungkook complied without a word, rotating his shoulders as you’d shown him. He tilted his head from side to side, testing the stretch. When his gaze flicked back to you, a faint smile tugged at his lips. “You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

“I do it for patients all the time, the hospital beds are notoriously uncomfortable.” You replied, shrugging as if it were nothing. Your arms stayed crossed, a subtle shield against the shift in energy between you. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t feel like nothing,” he said, his words soft but lingering. His eyes stayed on you a fraction too long, enough to make your chest tighten and your cheeks warm.

Taehyung, clearly enjoying himself, stepped farther into the kitchen. His smile widened, but he kept his tone light. “What exactly were you doing?”

“I slept weird last night,” Jungkook interjected, standing up from the chair and adjusting it neatly back under the table. “My neck’s been hurting all day. Y/N was just showing me some stretches to help.”

Taehyung hummed, unconvinced. His gaze darted between you and Jungkook like he was piecing together a puzzle. “Right. Stretching. Sure.”

You decide this is your chance to escape out of here. You pick up your glass and exit the kitchen quickly to rejoin the others in the living room. The kitchen was quieter now that you’d left, though the tension you’d unintentionally abandoned seemed to cling to the air like static. Taehyung leaned against the counter, his grin infuriatingly smug as he watched Jungkook refill his glass of water, the younger man pointedly ignoring him.

“If I had shown up even a second later, you two would’ve probably stripped naked,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook groaned, turning his back on him to hide his flushed face. “We were only talking.”

Taehyung nodded sagely, his expression far too knowing. “Oh, sure. Just talking. Nothing else. Completely innocent. Two people practically pressed against each other in a dimly lit kitchen, having a totally platonic chat.”

Jungkook shot him a glare. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” Taehyung replied smoothly. “But it’s part of my charm. So, what was it really? A nice heart-to-heart, or were you two silently fighting like usual?”

Jungkook paused, his hand tightening briefly on his glass. “No… no, actually. It was just a conversation. Awkward, but… maybe the most normal we’ve spoken to each other in years.”

Taehyung’s grin widened as he pushed off the counter, his eyes alight with mischief. “Told you.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m always right and you know it.”

“No you’re not.”

“She was sweet, though, wasn’t she?” Taehyung continued, his voice quieter now, his teasing edge softening. “Almost shy? Kind, even?”

Jungkook hesitated, his gaze fixed on the countertop. He hated how easily Taehyung saw through him, but there was no use denying it. “...Yeah,” he admitted grudgingly, barely above a whisper.

Taehyung clapped him on the shoulder, his grin shifting into something genuine. “See? Progress. Keep trying.”

Jungkook sighed, rubbing the back of his neck where your touch still lingered faintly. “Yeah. Easier said than done.”

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