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cigarettesuga · 1 day ago

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⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀closer than this ୨ৎ ( myg )

✸⠀⠀PREMISE ⠀⠀፧⠀⠀ after a charged first meeting, yoongi doesn’t expect to text her — or end up tangled in her sheets after a quiet rooftop dinner that feels more intimate than it should. but some things are too good to leave behind, even when they don’t make sense.

featuring⠀idol!min yoongi x actress!fem!reader genre strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut with emotions™, romantic tension so thick you could chew it wc⠀12.3 k warnings explicit sexual content (fingering, protected sex, oral fixation, teasing, praising, desperate pacing), intense sexual tension, breathy makeouts, soft dominance, mutual control, light pressure to jaw/throat (non-aggressive), mild marking (hip-grabbing/bruising), lots of kissing and emotional intimacy, post-sex cuddling, internal monologue-heavy navi

lu's note⠀i’m so happy to finally share part two of charitable causes — it’s tender, it’s filthy, and it’s a little dangerous. life’s been hectic lately so updates might slow down a bit, but i’m still writing when i can. also: there’s a scene where oc talks about working with a popular actor — i didn’t name anyone ‘cause i don’t really watch dramas and didn’t wanna pick someone who’s suddenly problematic 😭 just pretend it’s your fave lol.

as always, my asks are open & your love keeps me going 𖹭𖹭

⠀⠀

yoongi woke up like he’d been dreaming with his eyes open — hazy, limbs heavy, warmth pooled in his chest that didn’t belong to sleep. his room was too quiet. the sunlight crawling across the floor was too soft. he blinked slowly, one arm flung across his stomach, the other half-buried under his pillow.

it took him a second to recognize where he was. home. the ache in his jaw from clenching during sleep grounded him. so did the faint taste of wine still lingering on his tongue.

he turned his head toward the nightstand.

his phone was there, screen black, plugged in. he didn’t remember doing that. didn’t remember coming in, brushing his teeth, changing clothes — the whole night had slipped through his fingers like water the moment the door closed behind him.

but the piece of paper underneath the phone?

that he remembered.

crisp, folded, barely visible — just the corner peeking out like it was daring him to acknowledge it. her handwriting small and confident. her name and number, sitting there like a secret only he knew how to keep.

he stared at it without touching it.

hadn’t texted her. not yet. hadn’t even typed out a draft and deleted it — though he’d thought about it. several times. thumb hovering over the messages app, brows furrowed, heart punching slow and hard in his ribs like it wanted to be consulted.

his mouth was dry. he brought his hand up and dragged it over his face, palm pressing against his eyes until the darkness turned red.

“what am i doing,” he mumbled into his skin.

he exhaled. slow. rough.

he wasn’t like this. he didn’t do this.

he didn’t slip away from events to kiss strangers in deserted hallways. didn’t flirt with actresses he barely knew just because they looked at him like he was something worth unwrapping. didn’t let his guard down just because someone touched his elbow and whispered something sharp into his ear like a line written for him.

he was careful. calculated. controlled.

but last night?

he hadn’t felt controlled at all. he’d felt seen. and wanted. and a little reckless in a way that hadn’t scared him — not in the moment, anyway.

the worst part?

he couldn’t stop replaying it. her breath against his jaw. the way her body arched into him like they were built to fit. the sound of her voice curling into his ear just before she disappeared again — to be continued?

fuck.

he scrubbed a hand over his hair and rolled onto his side, staring at the number again like it might answer all the questions in his chest.

he didn’t move to text her.

not yet.

but he didn’t put the paper away either.

he stayed in bed longer than he should have.

his body wasn’t tired, not really, but his thoughts felt heavy — dense in the back of his skull, turning over and over like laundry caught on repeat. he stared at the ceiling. listened to the silence. blinked slow, trying not to let his brain go there again.

but it did anyway.

to her.

he told himself not to overthink it. it was fun. harmless. she was beautiful, sure. interesting too. quick with her words, sharp with her looks — the kind of woman who carried herself like she didn’t owe anyone an explanation, but might give you one just to see how you handled it.

he should be able to let that go.

just… let it exist in a vacuum. one stolen night, one breathless kiss, one private moment that didn’t have to mean anything if he didn’t let it.

but his mind — traitorous, persistent — kept leading him back.

to the press of her lips against his. the smell of her skin. the way she’d looked at him like they were sharing an inside joke no one else in the room could read. how she’d flirted like it was second nature, like her words were laced with static — subtle but charged, casual but undeniable. enough to make him second-guess his own memory.

did it really happen like that?

was she really that close?

he shifted under the sheets and let out a low sigh. rubbed at his eyes. cursed softly.

a part of him felt misplaced now. out of sync with his own skin. maybe it was the solitude — the rest of the guys all enlisted, the dorms too quiet, his name suddenly carrying the weight of seven. maybe it was guilt. not for the kiss itself, but for wanting more. for thinking about her mouth while sitting in a studio chair or brushing his teeth or trying to answer emails.

what would the others say? he wondered. not in a shameful way, just… curious. would they tease him? tell him to text her already? would they think it’s weird? would jimin have noticed before anyone else that something was off?

the phone buzzed sharply.

yoongi flinched.

just for a second. barely a movement — but enough to make him painfully aware of everything around him. the weight of the blanket. the cut of light through the curtains. the silence he’d been stewing in. the tiny folded paper still tucked beneath his phone like a match pressed against gasoline.

he reached for the device, thumb swiping across the screen. not her.

[manager] yoongi-ssi, just a reminder you’ve got a photoshoot today @ 3. did you eat already? want me to grab you an americano on the way in?

he stared at the message.

normal. routine. the same kind of check-in he always got on busy days.

he typed back one-handed:

[yoongi] americano’s fine. haven’t eaten yet.

he hit send. stared at the blinking cursor in the chat a second longer than necessary. like maybe the screen would change. like maybe her name would appear right underneath.

but it didn’t.

and he still didn’t text her.

not yet.

yoongi dressed slow, like his body hadn’t quite synced up to the day yet. cotton shirt, loose jeans, something easy and familiar — he wasn’t staying in them long anyway. stylists would tear him out of this and layer him into something tailored and intentional by the hour.

his phone went in his pocket. and so did the paper.

he didn’t fold it again. didn’t look at it. just slid it into his jeans like it wasn’t whispering her name against his thigh the whole way there. like it wasn’t a brand searing quietly through denim and skin and pretense.

the drive to the label was quiet, even with traffic. his manager talked — something about the shoot setup, lighting, a quick reminder of the concept. yoongi nodded. didn’t really absorb. just stared out the window with one arm propped against the door, fingers tapping against his leg like they wanted to move. like they missed her waist. her neck. the sound she made when his mouth dragged over the hollow of her throat.

the rest of the day blurred.

he knew the steps. say hello. get ushered into hair and makeup. sit under bright lights while someone primped and shaped and added shine where the tired lines used to be. change into the first outfit. pose. tilt your chin. don’t blink. switch angles. smile like it’s not practiced.

he did all of it.

but his mind wasn’t in the room.

it was on her — the way her lips had curled around that last kiss, the heat in her voice when she whispered against his ear. the way her eyes had tracked him across the ballroom like she already knew the shape of his mouth from a past life.

he was back in the makeup chair when it finally happened.

his resolve cracked in the smallest way — just a tiny fracture — and he gave in.

unlocked his phone. typed her name into search like it was harmless.

no one would see. no one would know.

the results came fast — clips, interviews, red carpet photos. he chose a video, something recent. a panel, maybe. she was sitting on the far end, wearing something black and minimal. smiling just enough. her voice was steady, but warm. teasing.

he watched. tried not to react.

but his lips twitched at something she said — some smartass remark delivered with a little tilt of her head and that same look she’d given him in the hallway. like she was daring someone to flirt back.

a soft snort sounded behind him.

yoongi startled slightly, glancing up at the stylist behind him.

“she’s nice,” they said, still running product through his hair. “i worked with her once. sweet with the whole crew. brought coffee for the interns. that kind of person.”

yoongi nodded. neutral. not too quick.

“yeah,” he murmured, eyes flicking back to the screen. “met her at the event last night. she’s a natural under the spotlight.”

the stylist hummed. “she’s got that thing, right?”

yoongi smiled faintly — more to himself than anything. yeah. she had that thing.

he didn’t say anything else. just watched her on his screen until the video ended, heart heavier than he expected.

and the number in his pocket burned a little hotter.

he kept it together for the rest of the shoot.

he posed. changed. nodded at directions, half-listened to compliments, let the stylists fuss over the details. when someone asked him to look more intense, he just thought about her mouth on his and delivered it in a single blink. when they said softer, more thoughtful, he let the image of her laughing against his lips soften the corners of his mouth. easy. efficient. no one noticed how detached he felt.

but the moment he walked through his front door, the quiet hit him like a wave.

no music. no voices. just the hush of the apartment swallowing his footsteps as he toed off his shoes and dropped his keys on the counter.

he didn’t turn the lights on right away.

just moved through the soft shadows of his living room, fingers grazing the wall out of habit. he tugged his jacket off with one hand and let it hang over the back of a chair, already heading to the bedroom like his body knew the path by instinct.

the silence felt louder now. thick. intimate.

too much room to think.

he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed — the usual post-schedule slump. but this time, his hand drifted into his pocket, fingers brushing the worn edge of that damn paper like it was a nervous tick he couldn’t break.

he pulled it out.

held it between two fingers. stared at it.

no fanfare. no revelation. just him, alone in the dark, heart tapping against his ribs in a rhythm that didn’t match the stillness around him.

what’s the worst that could happen?

that she doesn’t answer? that she regrets it? that he looks desperate? that he wants something from her and she doesn’t want it back?

his lips pressed into a thin line.

he ran a thumb over the fold crease.

and then — before his brain could catch up, before the second-guessing could wrap both hands around his throat — he grabbed his phone. punched in the number. stared at the blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen for a long, long beat.

he typed out a message before he could talk himself out of it. nothing clever. nothing planned.

just:

[yoongi] so… should i pretend we imagined that night?

he stared at it for a second.

his thumb hovered. and then—

send.

just like that.

the message slid into the chat. final. weightless. loud in the quiet.

yoongi didn’t breathe for a moment. just stared. unread. no reply. but his chest felt like it had cracked open anyway.

he leaned back, sinking into the mattress with a slow exhale, one arm slung over his eyes like it might block out the part of him that suddenly felt twelve kinds of stupid.

too late now.

the paper still sat on the nightstand. but he wouldn’t need it again.

the reply came faster than he expected.

less than two minutes. just long enough to make him stare at his screen and consider if he’d overplayed it.

then:

[y/n] color me surprised… i thought you weren’t gonna text at all.

he let out a soft breath through his nose. one corner of his mouth twitching up.

he didn’t answer right away. fingers hovering, thumbs flexing, debating what to send back without sounding too eager.

then:

[yoongi] i don’t usually text people who get me lost in hotel hallways [yoongi] you’re a little out of my routine [y/n] you say that like it’s a bad thing.

he laughed. short, surprised.

and that was it — the shift. the weight in his chest turned warm instead of heavy. he didn’t mean to, but soon enough, he was fully reclined against his pillows, phone lit up in one hand, face tilted toward the screen like he couldn’t look away.

the chat filled itself slowly. one line at a time. nothing direct. no mention of the kiss. no "so about last night."

instead, it was:

[y/n] what’d you end up wearing for that photoshoot? don’t say leather. [yoongi] was leather ever on the table?? [y/n] i don’t know your life [yoongi] you knew it well enough to pin me to a wall [y/n] are you complaining? [yoongi] still deciding.

his cheeks ached. he barely noticed until he shifted and felt the stretch of the smile again. god. he wasn’t even that into texting. usually short, efficient, dry. and yet here he was, lying in bed like some teenager with a crush, scrolling back to reread what she said just to feel it again.

and under it all — the current kept rising. a breathlessness he could taste, even through a screen. like they were both building to something but neither wanted to break it too fast.

until he did.

maybe because he had to.

maybe because the longer they joked, the heavier it sat between his ribs — what she’d said. what she’d left him with.

so he finally typed:

[yoongi] so… [yoongi] about that “to be continued” thing

he watched the little gray dots appear. disappear. come back.

gone again.

a full minute passed. his pulse ticked harder.

finally, her message came in:

[y/n] depends.

another pause. then a second message.

[y/n] you like dinner under the stars?

his heart stuttered.

he blinked.

then the third message arrived, and it felt like a dare.

[y/n] my rooftop. tomorrow night. i’ll cook. unless you’re scared of heights.

he didn’t smile this time. not exactly.

he just bit his lip and exhaled slowly — chest full of something he wasn’t ready to name.

[yoongi] what time?

he didn’t call it a date.

not out loud. not even to himself.

just dinner. on a rooftop. with a woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

he told himself he wasn’t overthinking it.

he picked out a shirt and changed it twice. but that didn’t mean anything. it wasn’t nerves—it was weather. comfort. fit. totally normal to swap black for white, then back to black because the first one felt too clean and the second one felt more like him.

he didn’t style his hair. barely touched it, in fact. let it fall into his eyes and swept it back once with his fingers, like that would make it look accidental enough to not seem intentional. he wore something casual. comfortable. sneakers. a jacket, even though the air was barely cool.

no cologne. just his skin. a little lotion. done.

not a date.

not like that.

but when he checked the clock again, his foot started tapping against the floor.

he wasn’t expecting anything. not exactly. yeah, if she leaned in close—if her hand found his leg under the table or her lips brushed his again—he wouldn’t stop her.

but that wasn’t the point.

the point was… her.

the woman under the smirk. behind the quick lines and confident eyes. he wanted to know how she took her coffee. if she sang in the shower. if she hated being alone or if she loved it so much she carved silence out of busy days just to feel it on her skin.

he wanted to hear her voice without the music playing. just talk.

and maybe kiss her again, yeah. if she was in the mood.

he grabbed a bottle of wine before heading out. not because it was romantic—just polite. adult. decent.

he kept his hands in his pockets the whole drive there.

and told himself—again—it wasn’t a date.

at exactly 8:03 p.m., yoongi texted her.

[yoongi] should i ask for the address or are you gonna make me guess which rooftop belongs to you

her reply came back almost immediately.

[y/n] hold on let me adjust the spotlight and roll out the carpet [y/n] i’ll send it. don’t be late.

his lips twitched. he didn’t smile much when he texted, not in a way anyone would notice, but she had a way of pulling it out of him like it was nothing.

he typed “on my way” but didn’t send it yet. instead, he checked the location, scanned the route. familiar. one of those luxury complexes you didn’t even look at unless you were someone—or trying very hard to look like someone.

of course she lived there.

he grabbed his keys. then hesitated.

her voice echoed in his mind—something she’d said the night of the event. half-laughed over wine and dim lights. a throwaway line about how she hated most wines but had a soft spot for this one brand, some mid-shelf label that reminded her of home or old friends or maybe just something she’d stolen once from a set party.

he wasn’t even sure why he remembered it.

but now he was standing in the wine aisle at a convenience store on the way to her place, holding that exact bottle in his hand like it had always been part of the plan.

he stared at it. sighed. wondered if it was too much.

then bought it anyway.

when he finally pulled into the underground garage, the nerves hit in a slow, strange wave. not sharp, not loud—just enough to tighten his chest a little. his hand hovered over his phone. a few breaths later, he typed:

[yoongi] just parked. heading up.

her reply was short. clean. cool.

[y/n] use elevator 3. code’s 0112.

he repeated the numbers under his breath as he walked. zero one one two. like a song lyric. or a prayer.

the place was quiet. exclusive. the kind of building where everything echoed in the right way and smelled like clean money and eucalyptus diffusers.

he stepped into the elevator. punched in the code. the doors slid shut.

and just like that—it was happening.

no stylists. no cameras. no people pulling him in four directions. just him, a bottle of wine, and the echo of her kiss still lingering somewhere behind his teeth.

the numbers on the panel ticked up slow.

his fingers twitched at his sides.

not a date, he told himself again.

and then the elevator stopped.

the doors opened.

and her door—just ten feet ahead—was already cracked open, golden light spilling into the hallway like it had been waiting for him.

she didn’t dress up.

he could tell the second she opened the door. and god—he was grateful for it.

no heels. no makeup that looked like a mask. just jeans, low on her hips and snug around her thighs in a way that made his mouth go a little dry. a black spaghetti strap tank, the kind that clung in all the right places, skin glowing under soft light. she wore a button-up shirt over it—open, sleeves rolled—and it only made her look more effortless. like this wasn’t a date. like this was just her. unfiltered. untouchable.

her eyes flicked down, landed on the wine bottle in his hand.

a smile pulled at her mouth, slow and knowing. that kind of smile. the kind that said “i see you.”

“you remembered,” she said, voice soft, amused.

he almost said i’m not the type to forget, but it felt too revealing.

so he just gave a tiny shrug. “figured you wouldn’t want to fake liking something else.”

she laughed under her breath, then reached for his hand—cool fingers wrapping around his wrist like it was natural to touch him, like there hadn’t been a week of silence between their last kiss and this moment.

“come in,” she murmured, tugging him gently across the threshold.

he followed without hesitation.

and instantly, everything about the apartment knocked the air out of his lungs.

he’d expected… something polished. minimalist. luxury sheen and matching neutrals. maybe a little too clean, too curated, like a magazine spread waiting to be photographed.

but what he walked into was something else entirely.

low, warm lighting pooled in the corners of the space. mismatched lamps. candles that had clearly been lit, their wax spilled over dishes and holders like a crime scene of comfort. books stacked in uneven towers on the floor, on shelves, on the wide arm of a velvet chair that didn’t match the couch but somehow belonged. art everywhere—walls splashed with color, linework, frames that leaned instead of hanging, pieces that pulled your eyes and made you wonder what kind of soul lived here.

there was music playing faintly from a speaker somewhere—vinyl crackle and a woman’s voice, soft jazz vocals that kissed the air like an afterthought.

and above all of it—her scent. subtle. familiar now. some blend of citrus and warmth and something he couldn’t name but already missed.

he turned in place slowly, eyes scanning.

it looked lived in.

it looked like her.

the kind of apartment that told stories even when she was silent. full of surprises, personality, contradictions. no sharp edges. no pretense.

“didn’t expect this,” he said after a moment, voice low.

her hand was still in his. she squeezed it once, then let go to take the wine from him.

“what, you thought i lived in a k-drama set?” she teased.

he smiled—real this time. “a little.”

she shrugged, glancing around like she hadn’t already known exactly what she was showing him. “most people do.”

then she walked ahead, barefoot and easy, calling over her shoulder—

“make yourself at home. i just need a sec to grab glasses and check the food.”

he stood there for another beat, just… looking. breathing her in.

and then he let out a slow exhale, shoulders dropping, tension loosening with every second.

maybe it wasn’t a date. maybe it was something else entirely.

but either way—he was here.

and he wasn’t going anywhere.

he drifted toward the record player without thinking.

the vinyls were stacked neatly beside it—some in sleeves, some not, the edges worn like they’d been loved, not just collected. there were classics in there. jazz, mostly. soul, funk, old movie soundtracks. a few foreign titles he didn’t recognize, and more than a couple that made him blink because he didn’t expect her to own those. it made sense, though. the more he stood in her space, the more he realized it wasn’t about expectations. it was about layers.

he knelt slightly, fingers brushing the corners of a few records.

he didn’t plan on snooping. just looking. listening.

her apartment was quiet in a way that felt... intentional. like every soft surface had been placed there to catch sound and hold it gently. the only thing he could hear was the low croon of the vinyl still playing in the background and his own breath.

but then he glanced toward the far side of the apartment—

and his breath caught.

the space curved gently, rooms branching off like arms curling inward, and all of them led to her terrace. glass sliding doors opened onto a wood deck bathed in amber light. fairy lights hung overhead, swaying a little, the breeze soft and warm like it belonged in another city. the table was already set, simple and beautiful, the glow from the lights pooling around the plates like the scene had been carved out of a dream.

and further back—

a sitting area. outdoor sofa. pergola heavy with hanging plants. candlelight flickering against terracotta pots and dark green leaves, like the flames knew they were part of something quiet and sacred.

it didn’t look like a rooftop.

it looked like a world.

private. alive. waiting.

his lips parted slightly, gaze softening as he took it all in. he didn’t hear her footsteps. didn’t register the air shift behind him.

not until her hand slid under the hem of his shirt—slow, warm, the barest touch against the small of his back.

he startled only slightly, but didn’t move. didn’t speak.

her voice came next, right by his ear, soft enough that he could feel the words before he processed them.

“view’s pretty good, huh?” she whispered, her breath ghosting the edge of his jaw. “dinner’s almost ready.”

his spine straightened a little. not stiff—alert. like his whole body had tuned to the frequency of her.

he didn’t turn around.

just nodded, voice low. “it’s… not what i expected.”

he could hear the smile in hers. “you keep saying that.”

her hand slipped out from under his shirt, but she stayed close. too close. the stem of the wine glasses clinked gently in her other hand as she tilted her head to look past him toward the terrace.

“you hungry?”

he swallowed, eyes still on the deck.

“yeah,” he said. and it wasn’t just about food.

she nudged his side with her hip—playful, easy. “good. c’mon.”

and then she was walking again. barefoot. light on the wooden floors like she belonged to them.

he followed, fingers still tingling from where she’d touched him.

“you want help with anything?” he asked, voice soft, already halfway to the kitchen.

she glanced at him over her shoulder, a smile curling on her lips like she’d been expecting him to say that.

“sure,” she said, passing him a couple of plates without hesitation. “you can carry these out while i grab the wine and salad.”

he nodded and took them from her hands — careful, the ceramic warm to the touch, still radiating the scent of roasted herbs and garlic.

he didn’t mean to notice the way her fingers brushed his when she let go. didn’t mean to hold that feeling for longer than he should’ve. but he did. and it stayed with him as he walked out onto the deck.

the evening air was mild, kissed with the scent of jasmine from the corner planters and something rich and buttery from the kitchen. fairy lights flickered overhead like lazy stars, and the city spread out in front of them like a painting—han river glinting in the distance, buildings lit like a quiet celebration.

he placed the plates down and stepped back just as she came out with the rest. wine bottle in one hand, salad bowl in the other, and a little sway in her step like this wasn’t the first time she’d carried dinner for two out to the rooftop.

she caught him watching.

“you’re staring,” she said.

“you look like you’ve done this before,” he replied, pulling a chair out for her without thinking.

“what, dinner on rooftops with quiet men who don’t talk about themselves?” she teased, raising a brow.

he smirked. “sure. that.”

she sat with a graceful drop, skin catching golden light. “maybe i have.”

he poured the wine, not too much. the clink of glass against wood sounded louder in the stillness between them. a beat passed, then two.

“so,” she said, leaning on her elbow. “you’re not gonna ask me about my last project or what it’s like working with [insert big name actor here]?”

yoongi shook his head, taking a slow sip. “no interest.”

she blinked. a little amused. a little surprised. “no?”

“not really,” he said. “i mean—i could google all that. find interviews. soundbites. but i don’t want your press tour answers.”

her gaze flicked down to her glass, then back to him.

“what do you want?”

he exhaled slowly, staring at the way the candlelight caught her features. soft shadows under her cheekbones, a shimmer against her collarbone.

“i wanna know where you’d go if you disappeared for a week,” he said, voice low. “no cameras. no phone. just… gone.”

she stared at him for a moment. still. the corner of her mouth lifted.

“that’s a good question.”

“i’ve got a list,” he added, like it was a confession.

“yeah?” she leaned in, elbow on the table now. “what’s at the top?”

he smiled, eyes dropping to his plate for a second. “somewhere cold. quiet. maybe a cabin in japan. snowed in. nothing but books and music and someone who knows how to keep a fire going.”

“sounds romantic,” she said, tone unreadable.

“i didn’t say i’d go alone.”

that made her laugh. soft and surprised.

and just like that—it started. the shift. away from the noise. into the space where names didn’t matter and fame didn’t reach.

they talked.

about how she ended up in this apartment. how the plants were from her old place and she still didn’t know the name of half of them. about how he used to be afraid of swimming. about how she writes poetry when she can’t sleep but never reads it back. about family. about loneliness. about the kind of silence that feels like home, and the kind that feels like a trap.

they never once said idol. never once said actress.

it was deeper than that. heavier. lighter. real.

and yoongi couldn’t remember the last time a conversation made him feel full.

the dinner had passed in slow waves of wine and laughter.

conversation drifting from deep to dumb and back again — favorite childhood snacks, dreams about disappearing, people they’d outgrown, things they weren’t proud of but couldn’t quite regret. she made him laugh in a way that felt rare. surprised out of him. like he hadn’t done it in a while and forgot how good it felt in his chest.

and when the food was gone — plates scraped clean, wine glasses half-full — neither of them moved to clear anything. there was no urgency. the night wasn’t over, not even close.

she shifted first.

pulled one foot up onto her chair, knee bent. her arm draped across the back of the seat, glass resting lazily in her other hand, gaze warm and slow as she looked at him. like she was memorizing something. or maybe already knew it by heart.

he moved without thinking.

his hand found her thigh — the one propped up, stretched toward him. his fingers resting near her knee, then slowly sliding down. up. back again. just barely pressing. like a tide testing the shore.

her skin was warm under his touch.

her eyes flicked down briefly, but she didn’t stop him. didn’t comment. just took another sip of wine and exhaled through her nose like the silence between them had thickened into something sweet.

her free hand — the one not holding the glass — reached out. lightly, her nails grazed his wrist. then the back of his hand. then up, just a little. a soft, absent drag of touch. casual, if it hadn’t made his pulse jump.

he looked at her. really looked.

and maybe that was why it happened. why the question formed. why the wine and the quiet and the low hum of everything unspoken finally pushed the words to his mouth.

“you think about that night?” he asked, voice low. quiet enough that it could’ve been lost in the rustle of leaves if she hadn’t already been looking at him like she knew it was coming.

her gaze didn’t waver.

“yeah,” she said, just as soft.

he nodded, thumb tracing a slow line over her skin. “me too.”

she tilted her head slightly, the kind of movement that invited honesty. the candlelight licked the sharp line of her jaw, her mouth parted just slightly.

“you regret it?” she asked.

he let out a breath through his nose. “not for a second.”

a pause.

he leaned in a little more, eyes flickering down to her lips, then back up. “but it didn’t feel like me.”

“what part?”

“all of it,” he said. “being there. feeling that pulled in. touching someone like that when i didn’t even know their last name.”

she didn’t flinch. didn’t take offense. just kept watching him, like she understood exactly what he meant.

“was it a bad thing?” she asked, voice lower now.

he shook his head. “no. just… new.”

“you didn’t seem new at it.”

he let out a breathy laugh. “i’m a fast learner.”

that made her smile — slow and crooked.

her hand slid higher, palm over the back of his, warm and sure.

“you wanna know something?”

he hummed.

“i wanted to kiss you the second i saw you across the room. before you looked at me. before you even knew i was there.”

yoongi’s hand stilled on her thigh. heat licked up his spine like a match had been struck just beneath his skin.

“i felt it,” he murmured. “like static.”

she nodded once, slow. “me too.”

the silence returned. but it didn’t feel empty. it felt full. dense with the things they didn’t have to explain anymore.

his fingers curled gently into her leg. her thumb traced a soft circle over his knuckles.

and whatever had been hanging in the air between them all night — that quiet tension, the thread pulled tight — was starting to unravel into something softer. deeper.

real.

she leaned in like the night had called her to do it — slow and deliberate, mouth soft and parted, eyes half-lidded as she closed the distance between them inch by inch. not a question. not a warning. just a shift in gravity that he didn’t try to fight.

yoongi didn’t wait.

his hand slid higher on her thigh, fingers curling as he leaned forward and met her mouth with his.

it wasn’t gentle.

it wasn’t rough either — it was slow, like tasting something forbidden, like drawing out the first bite of something he’d been craving for too long. their lips pressed together in steady, measured rhythm, mouths moving with a kind of practiced hunger neither of them had to rehearse. it was instinct. it was need. it was built from the heat of everything unsaid.

she made a soft sound against him — a quiet, satisfied hum — and he drank it in like it was poured just for him. her hand cupped the side of his neck, thumb grazing just beneath his ear, and the shiver it sent down his spine made his grip tighten.

she kissed him like she had all the time in the world.

and when she bit his bottom lip — a sharp, playful little nip that made him groan low in his throat — she pulled back just enough to laugh against his mouth. breathless. amused. her eyes fluttered open, and she murmured against his lips, still close enough to steal another kiss if either of them so much as breathed too deep.

“your manager better not interrupt this time,” she whispered, her voice soft and stained with heat.

yoongi let out a low laugh, nose brushing hers.

“if he does,” he said, his lips barely brushing hers between the words, “i’m quitting.”

that made her smile — that slow, wicked curl that tugged at the corner of her mouth like she already knew she had him. like she knew he meant it, too.

her fingers slid into the hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing his scalp lightly, dragging another quiet exhale out of him.

yoongi kissed her again — slower this time, deeper.

no rush. no noise. just the quiet crackle of candlelight and the taste of red wine on her tongue.

his other hand found her waist, pulled her closer.

and the night shifted again — this time into something heavier.

her shift came with no warning — just the subtle tightening of her fingers around his shoulders, and then the slow, deliberate sweep of one leg over his lap.

yoongi let out a quiet breath against her mouth, hands instinctively tightening at her waist as she settled onto him — not rushed, not needy, just there, confident and warm and so close it made his pulse stutter.

she moved like she’d done it a hundred times before — not with him, but like she’d always known she would. like her body had already mapped out this moment in some half-forgotten dream. her arms wrapped around his shoulders, draped loosely, wine glass abandoned somewhere behind her. his hands stayed low, fingers pressing into the curve of her hips, thumbs tracing soft lines over the thin fabric of her shirt.

their mouths moved together again, deeper now — more heat, less air.

yoongi kissed her like the wine was still on her tongue and he was trying to drink the last drop.

her breath caught when his hand slipped under her shirt. not rushed — just slow, steady curiosity, palm sliding over warm skin, tracing the curve of her waist before dipping higher, under the second layer — that tight black top she’d worn beneath. the contrast of cotton and silk against his knuckles made his skin feel too tight.

her back arched ever so slightly into his touch. he felt it — the way she pressed into his palm, her breath stuttering in the back of her throat.

and still, they didn’t speak.

not really.

just shared air and heat and quiet, involuntary sounds.

until her lips parted, barely lifting from his — and she said something.

soft. hushed. her voice like smoke against his mouth.

he didn’t catch all of it — too far gone, too focused on her body, her taste, the way his name would probably sound if she moaned it.

but he caught enough.

“…risky out here…” she whispered, a faint trace of laughter coloring her tone, like she wasn’t that worried.

and then she kissed him again — not full, just the ghost of it, barely touching — before pulling back enough to meet his eyes.

“you wanna continue in my room?” she asked.

not a flirtation. not a challenge.

just a quiet, open door.

and all he had to do was walk through.

he nodded before his brain could even make sense of the question.

not that it mattered. his body had already leaned in. already decided. already chosen her.

her smile came easy — that slow, knowing curve of her lips that made him feel like she’d just won a bet he didn’t know they were playing. she pressed a kiss to his cheek, light and quick, like punctuation. then stood, holding out her hand.

yoongi took it without a word, let her pull him to his feet — her fingers warm in his, steady. she didn’t let go.

they didn’t have to go far — just a few quiet steps across the rooftop, toward the sliding glass doors tucked in the corner. she slid them open with one hand, pulling him gently inside, and just like that, the night closed around them.

her bedroom smelled like her — floral and something deeper, muskier, like the skin just under her jaw. warm light spilled from a small lamp on the bedside table, casting everything in soft gold. it felt private. quiet in a way the rooftop wasn’t. no candle flicker, no city hum. just breath and heartbeat and bare feet on hardwood.

he didn’t have time to look around.

because the moment they were inside, she turned to him again — both hands sliding up his chest, then around the back of his neck. she leaned in close, and he was already chasing her mouth again when she stopped short — just barely.

her forehead touched his.

a pause.

she exhaled slowly, lips hovering over his, eyes closed for a moment.

“you wanna stop?” she whispered.

yoongi blinked. not because he didn’t hear her — but because he hadn’t expected her to ask. not now. not when they were this close, when his hands already itched to slide under her clothes again.

but the fact that she did — that she still wanted the choice to be his — it hit him deeper than he expected.

he laughed, low and quiet, tilting his head slightly so their noses brushed.

“you ask like you don’t already know the answer,” he murmured.

she pulled back just enough to open her eyes. her gaze met his, all soft edges and flickering heat.

“maybe i just like hearing you say it,” she teased.

his mouth quirked, one brow lifting. “you’re trouble.”

“mm. and you’re slow,” she shot back, fingers already finding the hem of his shirt.

her eyes lit up — mischief glowing like a secret behind them.

and just like that, the air changed again.

no rush.

but no hesitations either.

they were doing this.

his shirt was the first to go — not yanked, not pulled, but eased up over his head, inch by inch, as her fingers curled beneath the hem. she wasn’t watching his eyes. she was watching his skin. the way it flexed under her touch, the slow reveal of his torso beneath the fabric. he let her, arms lifting lazily, and when the shirt slipped over his head, he shook his hair back into place without looking away from her.

she didn’t comment. didn’t need to.

the way her gaze dragged down and lingered said everything.

yoongi smirked, just a little. barely there. his hands drifted to her waist, fingers brushing over the hem of her top — and then lower, skimming over the edge of her jeans like he was thinking about it.

but instead of undressing her, he stepped closer. pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, light and maddening, his hands sliding under her shirt but leaving it on. just the warmth of skin to skin. a thumb brushing over the edge of her ribs. teasing himself more than her, but he didn’t care. he liked how she inhaled sharply, like she wasn’t expecting the restraint.

her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. just raised an eyebrow — as if to say your move, then.

he took the challenge in stride.

his hands slipped around to her back, slow and sure, and when his fingers found the hem again, she lifted her arms without needing to be asked. he pulled the shirt off carefully, watching her the whole time. she stood there in her black top, skin glowing under the soft light, chest rising a little faster than before.

he kissed her shoulder.

she tilted her head, letting him. then smiled.

“you’re dragging it out on purpose,” she said.

“so are you.”

“only because you are.”

he chuckled against her skin, then let his lips trail a little lower — collarbone, then just above the swell of her chest. when his fingers dipped below the hem of her top, she grabbed his wrist gently and shook her head.

“not yet.”

yoongi looked up, heat flickering behind his eyes. “tease.”

“takes one to know one.”

and then — she moved.

her hands went to the button of his jeans.

he didn’t stop her. just watched.

but she didn’t rush.

her fingers worked slowly, almost cruelly, undoing the button, dragging the zipper down with a sound that sliced through the silence like a sigh.

she didn’t push them down though. just left them like that. undone. dangerous.

her fingers slid beneath the waistband, resting against the line of his hips.

yoongi exhaled hard through his nose, eyes darkening.

he didn’t speak.

neither did she.

but her smile said checkmate’s getting close.

yoongi broke first.

he didn’t mean to. didn’t plan it. one second he was holding still, watching her like she was a flame he could study forever — and the next, he was grabbing, kissing, reaching like he’d been starved of her for days instead of minutes.

his mouth crashed into hers — no finesse, no teasing this time. it was desperate. heated. too much tongue, not enough breath. and the sound she made — soft, muffled, almost surprised — hit him square in the chest. like he hadn’t even realized how much he needed to hear her fall apart under his mouth.

his hands slid to her hips, grip firm but careful, guiding her backward until her thighs met the edge of the mattress. she let him — smiling against his lips, hands still tangled in his hair as he pushed her down onto the sheets.

and fuck, she looked unreal like this.

her hair fanned out across the pillow, her top rumpled just slightly, one hand tracing along her bottom lip like she was waiting to be devoured. her legs still hooked loosely around his waist, her breath coming in slow, shallow waves. waiting. watching.

yoongi knelt onto the bed — one knee sinking into the mattress beside her, the other still planted on the floor as he leaned over her. his gaze dragged over every inch, hungry, reverent. his fingers found the hem of her top again, slower this time, sliding it up inch by inch — revealing skin like a secret, until her bra was finally in view.

he exhaled.

it fit her perfectly — hugged her in all the right places, soft and dark against the warm tones of her skin. his gaze lingered. not out of hesitation — but out of awe. like he needed a second to catch up to the fact that she was real and here and letting him see her like this.

he didn’t kiss her again.

not yet.

instead, his hand slid lower — teasing fingers brushing just above the waistband of her jeans, then curling around the button. he didn’t undo it right away. just played with it. thumb dragging lightly over the metal, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

she stared back at him — pupils blown, lips parted, one hand still ghosting over her mouth like she wasn’t sure if she was holding back or just baiting him.

yoongi smirked — barely there, but sharp.

“this still feel risky to you?” he murmured, fingers now toying with the zipper.

she laughed under her breath — breathless, soft, dangerous.

“only if you stop.”

his fingers worked slowly — one hook of the button, a lazy tug of the zipper — until her jeans eased open, denim gaping just enough to show a sliver of her underwear. he didn’t peel them off yet. didn’t dive in. instead, he dragged his palms back up her sides, under her top, and finally pulled it over her head completely, revealing her in that black bra, all curves and candlelit skin and a mouth that looked like sin just breathed into it.

yoongi swallowed hard.

his jeans were tight now — uncomfortably so — but he ignored the ache. filed it away. because this? this was better. her laid out beneath him, chest rising and falling like she already knew what was coming, hands fisting lightly in the sheets.

he leaned down — not to kiss her lips, but to mouth at the edge of her bra. the soft swell just above the cup. skin he could taste without removing anything. and he did — slow, deliberate presses of his mouth. lips, tongue, the faintest graze of teeth. his hand slid between her back and the bed, unclasping the bra with practiced ease. he watched the fabric part like he was being let in on a secret.

and god, she was beautiful.

his mouth dropped to the top of her chest again — kisses pressed like punctuation across her sternum, then lower. he took his time. praised her without words — just the low sound of his breath catching, the soft hums that spilled into her skin, the way his hands never stopped moving. across her ribs. her hips. her thighs.

she let out a shaky breath when his lips finally wrapped around her nipple, warm and wet and so slow it made her hips lift just slightly. he groaned against her when she moved like that — not loud, but deep, like it slipped out without permission.

“fuck…” he whispered, more to himself than her. “you’re unreal.”

his teeth grazed lightly. his tongue soothed the spot. and when she let out another breathy sound, her hand curling into his hair, he didn’t stop — just shifted to the other side, giving it the same attention. licking. sucking. kissing like he was memorizing her heartbeat through his mouth.

and all the while, his jeans throbbed with every grind of her hips against his thigh.

but he didn’t move for relief.

not yet.

she was already breathing like she was close — and he hadn’t even touched her properly.

that was the point.

he wanted her to feel him for days.

he looked up at her from where his mouth had lingered on her chest — lips parted, breath warm, hair slightly mussed from her fingers. but his eyes were sharp now. intense. like something inside him had shifted — flipped — and now he was moving with purpose instead of curiosity.

like he’d found his rhythm and it was her.

yoongi pushed himself up, hand braced beside her ribs as he leaned in again — straight to her mouth. his lips met hers in a kiss that was wetter this time, deeper, the kind that sent heat straight down her spine. his free hand slid up, fingers curving under her jaw to tilt her face to him. it wasn’t rough. it was firm. like he wanted her attention, and every inch of it.

and when he pulled back, just barely — her lips slick, parted, breath caught — he didn’t say a word. just let his thumb drag slowly across her bottom lip, watching it bounce slightly under the pressure.

then he pushed his fingers into her mouth.

slow.

intentional.

not deep — just enough to feel the heat of her tongue, to let her wet them herself. his fingers curled slightly, and she didn’t resist. didn’t flinch. just looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes like the moment had cracked her wide open and she had no idea what to do with the flood.

fuck, she was dangerous.

he slid his fingers out of her mouth slowly, coated with her spit. his hand drifted down, and he pressed another kiss to the soft curve of her neck — right where her pulse throbbed. she tilted her head slightly, breath catching again as his lips lingered.

“god, you’re good at that,” he murmured — not asking, just noting, like it was a fact she should’ve already known.

his hand didn’t stop moving.

it slipped lower, dragging along her skin — down her stomach, between her hips — until it found the heat still hidden by her underwear. he brushed his fingers over the thin fabric, just barely pressing, and even that made her hips twitch.

yoongi exhaled, low and steady. kissed her collarbone. then kissed lower — just once — before dragging his fingers slowly up the center of her, feeling the heat, the wetness even through the fabric.

“fuck…” he breathed again, mouth close to her ear now.

his thumb circled. one finger traced the edge of her underwear, like he was considering moving it. but he didn’t yet.

instead, he looked up again — gaze dark and focused, as if he was memorizing the way her mouth parted and her thighs tensed and her chest heaved, all at once.

“say it,” he murmured, voice low, just for her. “you still want this?”

not because he doubted.

because he wanted to hear her say yes.

she barely said it.

just a whisper — hoarse, trembling, thick with want. a single syllable soaked in breath and need, like it had fought its way out from somewhere deep in her chest.

“yes…”

yoongi didn’t wait.

couldn’t.

not after that.

his fingers slid beneath the band of her underwear, slow but sure, until he found the heat he’d only been teasing before. and fuck — she was already so wet for him. slick and warm and ready, like her body had been begging for this since the moment their eyes met in that crowded room.

he exhaled harshly through his nose — not a groan, not a word — just the kind of sound that broke free when restraint finally snapped its thread.

and then he pushed his fingers in.

slow, deep, perfect pressure — and the way she gasped, sharp and ragged, made his head drop against her shoulder. he stayed there for a second, buried in her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, the perfume that clung to her hair and collarbones. but more than that — her sounds.

small, breathy moans caught between parted lips. the stutter of her breath when he curled his fingers just right. the quiet, involuntary way her hips lifted into his hand like her body couldn’t help but chase the high he was coaxing out of her.

“that’s it,” he whispered, voice low and rough against her ear. “just like that.”

his free hand braced beside her ribs, steadying himself, while his fingers moved deeper — curling, pressing, finding the rhythm that made her thighs shake.

she was already falling apart.

and he hadn’t even kissed her again.

her hand grabbed at his arm, nails dragging across his skin as her other fisted the sheets, mouth open and trembling. every sound she made was his now. every gasp, every breathy whimper — all of it branded in his mind like a verse he’d never forget.

he lifted his head, just to watch her.

hair fanned across the pillow, her chest rising in shallow waves, lips bitten pink and trembling.

“look at me,” he murmured — soft, commanding.

she did.

barely.

but it was enough.

the moment their eyes locked, she moaned again — louder this time, messier, one leg wrapping tighter around his hip like she was trying to pull him into her completely.

yoongi kissed her then.

hard. deep. swallowing the sound she made as his fingers thrust deeper, curling just right.

and he thought — god, she’s gonna come like this.

just from this.

and he was going to let her.

watch her.

feel her.

every trembling second of it.

her hand moved like she couldn’t stop herself.

one still wrapped around his wrist — gripping, guiding, hips twitching beneath his touch as she pressed him deeper, faster, chasing the pressure that had her breath hitching with every curl of his fingers. she wasn’t just letting him touch her. she was showing him how. claiming the rhythm. dragging it out. her thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

and the other hand — fuck.

the other slid down, across his stomach, slow and shaking, until it found the hard outline of him beneath his jeans.

yoongi’s whole body stuttered.

his breath caught somewhere between his throat and chest, a low groan vibrating in his ribs as her palm pressed down — tentative at first, then with more purpose. like she wanted to feel the way she was ruining him. like she knew he’d been holding back and couldn’t stand it anymore.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice fraying at the edges.

her eyes met his — dazed and dark, lips parted, cheeks flushed — and when she pressed just a little harder, her fingers shifting over him, he thrust into her hand, involuntary, his fingers deep inside her still.

it was messy. desperate. their bodies moving in tandem now, hips rocking against hands, like they couldn’t get close enough.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he breathed, forehead pressing to hers.

she let out a breathless laugh — the kind that barely made it past her throat — and squeezed him again, slow. teasing. fucking lethal.

his fingers didn’t stop. he’d found the spot inside her that made her breath break, and he curled into it with intention now, matching the pace to the way her thighs were tightening, how her nails were digging into his skin, her mouth dragging open in a silent gasp.

“that’s it,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. “you’re close.”

she nodded — barely — but it was the sound she made next that wrecked him. that high, cracked moan as her hips lifted to meet his hand again, her rhythm starting to falter.

yoongi groaned deep in his throat.

because she was palming him harder now, her grip losing finesse, and he knew — knew — she was right on the edge.

so he kept going.

curling his fingers just right, his mouth pressed to her jaw, his other hand sliding to her ass to anchor her down.

“let go,” he breathed, voice shaking. “i’ve got you.”

she fell apart in his hands — breath caught, back arching, her hips grinding helplessly into his palm like her body was chasing the aftershocks. her thighs trembled, muscles fluttering beneath his touch, and her mouth dropped open on a moan that sounded dangerously close to his name.

yoongi felt it everywhere.

in his chest. in his spine. in the way his cock throbbed against the denim, painfully hard, caught in a limbo between control and the kind of need that bordered on reckless.

but it was her voice — the way it broke as she pulled him closer — that did it.

"please," she whispered, raw and aching, “i need to feel you.”

and fuck.

he swore he could’ve come right then — just from the look in her eyes. wide, hazy, flushed and blown out, still shaking, and yet so focused on him. her hands dragging down to his hips, grasping, pulling like she couldn’t bear to wait another second.

his fingers slipped from between her thighs — soaked and trembling — and he exhaled, sharp, eyes closing for just a beat.

then he moved.

with the last shred of resolve in his body, yoongi reached down, hand digging into the pocket of his jeans, fumbling just slightly. there. the foil packet brushed his fingers, and he let out a low breath, almost a laugh, something wild flickering in his chest.

he sat back on his knees, tearing the packet open fast with his teeth, his other hand already dragging the denim and briefs down his thighs.

her eyes dropped.

watched.

and stayed there.

he could feel her gaze — heavy, hungry, wide with anticipation — locked on his hands as he slid the condom on. her mouth parted slightly, breath shallow, fingers still gripping his hips as though trying to anchor herself to the moment.

yoongi looked up, caught her staring, and smiled — not cocky, not smug, just… wrecked. overwhelmed. full of something soft and dark and unspeakably fond.

“you’re really watching that close, huh?” he said, voice rough.

she nodded once, slow. lips brushing open. eyes full of fire.

“can’t help it,” she whispered.

he leaned forward, dragging his mouth across hers — a kiss that tasted like heat and hunger and too many almosts.

“good,” he murmured, hand sliding to her thigh as he lined himself up.

“’cause i want you to remember this.”

yoongi lined himself up — just the tip brushing against her, slick and hot and so tempting — and stopped.

his breath hitched.

his hands dug into the curve of her hips, holding her steady. his jaw clenched so tight it ached. because if he moved — if he let himself go that last inch — it’d be over. the moment would swallow them whole. and he wasn’t ready to lose it yet. not when she looked like this.

spread out beneath him. flushed and flushed and wrecked. the afterglow of her orgasm still softening the edges of her face, her hair stuck to her forehead in delicate strands, her thighs twitching open and ready for him.

but most of all — her eyes.

those wide, dazed eyes watching him like he was some kind of answer. lips parted, chest rising in short, sharp bursts, hands skimming down his arms like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.

yoongi looked down between them, eyes locked on where their bodies almost met — his tip just barely pressing into her folds, catching slightly as he shifted his hips.

he groaned under his breath.

it took everything in him not to slam forward.

instead, he gave her a slow rock — just enough to drag the head of his cock through her heat, the tip slipping in a little more with each movement. her breath stuttered. her nails sank into his biceps, leaving trails of heat behind.

“yoongi—” she whispered, but her voice cracked on the second syllable.

and fuck, that did something to him.

he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, their noses brushing. his breath was hot against her mouth, voice low and dangerous.

“you want more?” he rasped.

her fingers tightened — nails biting into his skin, legs wrapping higher around his waist.

“please,” she whispered, breathless. barely a sound. but her eyes said it all.

and still — he didn’t move.

just nudged forward, inching in a little deeper. not enough. not nearly enough. he watched the way her mouth dropped open, how her brows pinched, the sound she made — like she was about to cry or scream or combust.

“i just wanna remember this,” he muttered, his own voice fraying now, hands trembling slightly as they slid up her sides. “how fucking good you feel already. and i’m not even in yet.”

she whimpered — straight-up whimpered — and it shot straight through him like lightning.

his hips rolled again, teasing another inch, and her whole body arched into him.

“yoongi,” she gasped, finally breaking.

“mm?” he teased, mouth on her cheek now. “what’s that, baby?”

her hands cupped his face so gently it nearly broke him.

fingers threading into his hair, thumbs brushing along his jaw — and then her mouth, god, her mouth — soft and urgent against his. not a kiss so much as a plea, her breath catching on the word he’d been teasing from her for what felt like hours.

“please,” she whispered, kissing him again, lips wet and trembling. “please, yoongi—”

her hips lifted as she spoke, slow and sure, coaxing him deeper — finally sinking him in, inch by inch, her body clenching around him like it had been waiting forever.

his breath hitched so sharp he gasped into her mouth.

then he groaned — low and raw, buried into the crook of her neck as her walls fluttered around him, pulling him in like gravity itself had been redefined.

“fuck,” he breathed against her skin, his voice wrecked. “fuck, you feel—”

but he couldn’t finish. the words died in his throat because she was already moving again — hips rolling, fingers still in his hair, her legs hooked around his waist like she needed him closer. like even being buried inside her wasn’t enough.

she held him there.

whispered into his ear — sweet and desperate.

“don’t stop.”

his hips stuttered, pushed deeper.

“you feel so good, baby. so good.”

yoongi groaned again, his hand fisting in the sheets beside her head. her voice was everything — warm, wrecked, coaxing him through each slow thrust like she wanted to memorize him now.

“just like that,” she murmured, her mouth dragging over his jaw, her teeth grazing his skin. “don’t stop—fuck—please, i need you to—”

and he did.

he moved — not fast, not yet — but deep. every inch deliberate. every sound she made drawing him further into her until there was nothing else.

only her.

her hands in his hair.

her mouth against his cheek.

her thighs trembling around his waist as he started to fuck her like he’d never wanted anything more in his life.

he couldn’t think straight anymore.

his mind was static — white noise between thrusts — her breath, her nails, her skin, the wet sounds where their bodies met. and her voice. god, her voice.

soft and ruined, telling him more, right there, kiss me, don’t stop, and he was following every command like it was instinct.

like he didn’t know how to say no to her.

and maybe he didn’t want to.

maybe there was something in the way she said his name — not just gasped, not just moaned — but called for him. like she knew he’d come. like she knew he was hers the second she touched his face and kissed him between pleads.

he had her pinned under him now — body flush to hers, chest to chest, hips grinding deeper with every roll. the mattress creaked beneath them, sheets tangled at their waists. he was in her in every sense, and still it didn’t feel close enough.

yoongi moaned into her ear — couldn’t stop himself — and her body clenched so tight around him that his rhythm stuttered, jaw falling slack as he swore under his breath.

she whimpered when he hit deep.

he groaned when she tightened.

his mouth found her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone — kissing every inch she asked for, biting gently when her nails sank into his back. one of his hands slid up, grasping the back of her thigh, pulling her leg higher over his hip to get deeper, stay deeper.

the sweat between them made it all feel primal. feverish. real in a way that didn’t make sense, like he wasn’t sure if this was the best sex of his life or a goddamn religious experience.

and he hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

not just the heat. not just the high.

the connection.

the way her hands still held onto him even as her voice broke. the way her body moved with his like it knew him already. like it had been waiting for him to come back to life.

and he was.

piece by piece. kiss by kiss. thrust by thrust.

yoongi pressed his forehead to hers again, panting, hips rolling steady and deep as her breath caught and she whispered his name like a prayer. her nails curled into his shoulder blades.

he groaned again — low, helpless.

“fuck, you’re gonna ruin me,” he murmured against her mouth.

she smiled — crooked and breathless — and kissed him hard, teeth grazing his bottom lip before she said, “good.”

he laughed.

not loud. not amused. wrecked.

it cracked out of his chest like disbelief — like she’d just dared him to snap — and she fucking had.

yoongi leaned back, separating from her chest, chest heaving. and the second she started to reach for him — eyes hazy, lips parting in protest — his hand locked around her hip, tight. rough. possessive.

she gasped, and fuck, he felt it.

the way her body jolted. the way her breath hitched. the way her legs trembled around his waist.

he pressed his thumb into the meat of her hip, slow and deep — not enough to hurt, just enough to claim. he knew it would leave a bruise. wanted it to. wanted her to find it tomorrow and remember the way she asked for this with nothing but a smirk and a dare.

his other hand rose to her jaw — fingers spread, palm warm and solid, thumb dragging across her bottom lip before his grip shifted. just enough pressure to ground her. not choking. not rough. just right. enough to make her pupils blow wide, lips fall open, breath break again.

and then he moved.

his hips snapped forward — hard. deeper than before. rougher. the kind of thrust that rattled her body against the mattress.

she whined. moaned. arched. all at once.

“yeah?” he rasped, eyes locked on hers. “you like that?”

her mouth dropped open — desperate, dazed — and she nodded, voice nearly gone.

“tell me,” he muttered, fucking into her harder now. “tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

she gasped — a jagged inhale, her fingers clawing at his shoulders.

and then, through breathless, broken confessions, she told him.

about the way she thought of him the night they met — how she imagined this. him. the way she touched herself thinking about how he’d sound, how he’d moan. how she'd imagined his mouth, his hands, his weight pressing her down into her mattress, just like now.

yoongi groaned — deep, guttural, shaking through his whole chest. his grip tightened on her hip. his pace faltered for just a second before he snapped back into it — rougher, deeper, his cock dragging against the spot inside her that made her voice crack when she tried to keep talking.

“fuck, baby—” he gasped, mouth finding her neck again, kissing it hard. “you’re gonna make me come.”

and she gasped at that. her whole body reacting — fluttering around him, her legs shaking, arms locking around his back like she was trying to trap him there.

and yoongi?

he let her.

because fuck it — he wasn’t going anywhere.

he couldn’t hold back anymore.

his hips snapped into her again — deep, ragged — and this time he didn’t try to quiet the sounds that came out of him. couldn’t. not with the way she gripped him, her hands dragging down to his ass, pulling him in, guiding each thrust like she wasn’t even close to finished with him.

yoongi groaned — sharp and guttural, the kind of sound that came from deep in his chest, from the place that was losing her already even as she was still wrapped around him.

he dropped his weight slightly — elbows pressing into the mattress on either side of her head, chest to chest, his face buried against her cheek. and then, just before he shattered completely, he turned and left a kiss on her forehead.

so gentle.

so quiet.

like the softest thank you he'd never say aloud.

his hair was soaked, sweat dripping down his neck, his whole body trembling with the force of it as he came — hips stuttering, breath catching, buried so deep in her it almost didn’t feel real. a moan ripped from his throat — her name barely audible against her skin.

but she didn’t stop.

her hands coaxed him through it, fingers digging into his skin, soft, desperate whimpers pushing past her lips as her hips tilted up again. chasing hers. so close.

“don’t stop,” she gasped. “yoongi—please—i’m—”

and fuck.

his body was wrecked, but his heart was still punching through his ribs for her, so he kept moving. slower now, but still deep, rolling into her just the way she liked — groaning as he felt her clench again, tighter this time, like her whole body was pulling him in to come with her.

she shattered with a gasp. a long, aching sound that cracked in the middle as her thighs trembled and her hands fisted into his skin.

and yoongi?

he felt it.

deep.

full-body.

because this wasn’t just release — it was connection. her body shaking beneath him, lips brushing his jaw, her moans quiet now but still there, like they were part of the rhythm of his own breath.

they stayed like that.

pressed together.

sweat-slick and shivering, heartbeat to heartbeat, breath syncing as the silence finally returned — not empty, not awkward.

just real.

just them.

he didn’t move.

couldn’t.

his body was still thrumming — nerves fried, lungs stuttering against hers, every part of him soaked in the weight of her. sweat on his skin, her scent in his nose, her heartbeat steadying underneath his chest like she was trying to bring him back to earth.

her arms stayed locked around him.

tight.

one hand resting flat against his spine, the other tracing slow, mindless shapes into the space between his shoulder blades. he could feel her nails, just barely — not scratching, just reminding. like she didn’t want him to slip away. like she was holding him there on purpose.

yoongi exhaled.

his face still pressed against the side of her neck, breath ghosting over her skin as he tried to find his voice. but nothing came yet. didn’t need to. the silence between them wasn’t awkward. it was full. stretched soft like a blanket. like a memory.

finally, after a minute — maybe two — he lifted his head.

just enough to look at her.

and fuck.

she was a vision.

lips red and bitten. cheeks flushed. pupils still dark and wide and glassy. there was sweat along her collarbones and a dreamy kind of haze in her gaze, like she was still floating somewhere between now and the stars.

her hand reached up — slow and sure — and gently brushed the hair from his forehead, fingers dragging soft against his skin. a quiet, instinctive gesture. so casual and so intimate he felt it in his chest like a bruise.

yoongi leaned in and kissed her.

not rushed. not hungry.

just soft. like he meant it.

when he pulled back, he let his forehead rest against hers for a beat longer before he whispered, voice low and rough, “where should i...?”

he didn’t even finish the sentence.

she understood.

she nodded toward the bathroom door, lips parting slightly, too spent to smile but too sated not to.

he pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth — then carefully pulled out of her, a soft hiss caught in his throat as the warmth of her slipped away. he moved slow, quiet, disappearing down the hall just long enough to take care of it.

when he came back, she was still there.

bare and beautiful in the soft light.

one hand outstretched — waiting for him.

yoongi didn’t even think.

he climbed back into bed, under the light blanket she’d tugged over herself, and let her pull him back into her arms. his head on her chest now, ear pressed to her heartbeat, fingers ghosting over her ribs like she might vanish if he didn’t touch her.

neither of them said a word.

they didn’t need to.

her fingers were still in his hair, slow and lazy, threading through the damp strands like she had all the time in the world.

yoongi’s arm was draped low around her waist, hand curled under the curve of her spine. their bodies had stopped moving, but his mind hadn’t — it buzzed, still full of her. the sound of her voice. the look in her eyes. the feeling of her skin under his hands, her legs around his hips, her breath right there at his mouth.

he felt wrecked. in the most peaceful way.

her lips brushed the top of his head, a kiss that was more like a breath. and then, soft — almost teasing, but not really — her voice reached through the quiet.

“you’re gonna be a problem for me,” she murmured, half-lidded eyes blinking slow, like she was already falling under sleep’s weight.

yoongi huffed a laugh against her chest.

“good,” he whispered back. “i want to be.”

she smiled — he could feel it. the way her ribs shifted slightly beneath his cheek.

a beat passed.

the kind that invited more, the kind that asked without asking.

and then she did — so quiet he almost thought he dreamed it.

“are you staying?”

he stilled.

not from fear. not from panic.

just from the sheer gravity of it.

because she wasn’t asking about just tonight. he could hear it in her voice, feel it in the soft curl of her fingers around his neck. it wasn’t about falling asleep together. it was about after. about what they did with this — with whatever the fuck this was becoming.

yoongi closed his eyes. breathed her in. his hand splayed against her lower back like it had always known how to fit there.

“yeah,” he said, eventually. just above a whisper. “i think i am.”

and she didn’t say anything after that.

she didn’t need to.

she just kissed the top of his head again, her lips barely brushing his skin, and held him tighter.

and for the first time in a long, long while — yoongi let himself be held.

quietly , always cigarettesuga . ୨ৎ

taglist Ꮺ @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @h6rtf9lt @wynterlove @rpwprpwprpwprw @annyeongbitch7 @namgimini @princesstiti14 @belleilichil @busanbby-jjk @sunsetnamjin @vonvi-blog

#꒰     美術。 ꒱ㅤㅤ⛶ㅤㅤ﹫ 静けさㅤ 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚊.#꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀cigarettesuga ⠀⠀◟⠀𖹭⠀◝⠀⠀⠀ᯇ⠀⠀⠀writes.#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts reactions #bts writing #bts #bts army #bts suga #bts yoongi #myg fluff #myg x reader #myg smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff

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rpwprpwprpwprw · 21 hours ago

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that’s about them btw.

2013 — 2025

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btssoul7 · 3 days ago

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Seokjin 💜

#run seokjin ep tour #bts #jin #wwh jin #bts jin #seokjin #kim seokjin #bts seokjin #seokjin wallpaper #seokjin lockscreens #jin lockscreens #bangtan #bts army #bts lockscreen #bts edits #lockscreen #bangtan lockscreens

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voitier · 16 hours ago

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HANS - In your Hands

셋 : What goes around comes around

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WORDCOUNT: 2k7 words

WARNING: a tinge of angst, Tae being Tae and JK being JK, OC having none of their shit.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: heii...heii... how ya doing...? okay, I know, I know, I'm a piece of shit for having y'all wait all this time. I promise that I haven't done it on purpose, exams and writer's block kicked me in the ass. But! Chapter 3 is finally here, all's well, right? right? ok, for this chapter: it's weird. it's all over the place. we've got OC almost killing both Tae and JK. and honestly? can't blame her. Tae pushes boundaries while knowing what he's doing. JK does the same, but he's completely clueless. and she's tired, cause on one hand there's a man who means well but acts reckless, and on the other hand there's a man who's not aware at all of what he's doing. and then, there's Amanda. sweet, lovely Amanda. I won't say much about her, I want YOU to tell ME what you think about her (and her words). there's a lot of hinting to the past in this chapter, but I won't spoil too much. anyway, that's all. buckle up loves, cause the worse is yet to come.

“Do you mind explaining how the actual fuck you managed to stay underwater for a good five minutes without breathing?”

“I call it pussy power.”

“I call it practice. Did you pick up swimming lessons or something during these years?”

Taehyung shrugged, pushing his slick hair back with his hands. "Kinda. Do you remember Chaewon?"

"Your little cousin?"

Taehyung nodded, and you watched with a soft pang to your heart as the man you had known for years broke into a tender, loving expression, his eyes fixed on a random point underwater. His lips were stretched in a gentle reminiscing smile when he spoke again. "The little fucker insisted on betting on who could hold their breath for longer while underwater last summer and the summer before."

Right as you were about to coo fondly at the thought of Taehyung acting like a big brother, the man blurted out "I won every time, of course," with the most obvious tone ever used before.

Your expression froze for a couple seconds before dropping in time with your shoulders, your hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers. You sighed, shaking your head almost imperceptibly. "Taehyung... did you actually compete with a five years old little girl? Seriously?"

"Hey, don't look at me like that," a long slim finger pointed at you accusatory, threatening to poke your eyes if closer. "Life isn't fair and someone had to teach her before she could find out in worse ways. I would argue that I actually did her a favour."

"Tae... fuck, I can't believe you. Do me a favour and get out of here before Jungkook comes back, please and thank you."

"What? No, why should I?"

"Because he's gonna come back and think it's weird that we're both here?"

"Why would he? I swear, you've become so much more paranoid since—"

"Shut up."

A long silence stretched between you two, an apologetic look plastered on Taehyung's face. You hated it, hated noticing how his eyes turned pitiful almost immediately, how he looked at you like he was looking at a kid who had lost everything.

"Vel,” his next words were tentative, delivered while standing on tippy toes. “You need to accept it."

Being locked in a cage would probably feel less claustrophobic than staying in that pool any longer, physically free yet mentally restrained.

"Fuck," you muttered, climbing out of the pool in a rush. In a matter of seconds, you were wrapped in your pool towel and headed towards the elevator, marching away like a fury from the man yelling your name over and over again.

The elevator button rattled weirdly as you continuously pushed it, impatiently waiting for the doors to open. As soon as they did you stormed inside, smashing the "3" button without even looking around to see if you were alone. Safe to say, you weren't.

Shy fingers brushed over your shoulder, catching you unprepared. You jumped slightly, feeling your soul leaving your body for a second before recovering quickly.

Big, round eyes were presented in front of you once you turned around, Jungkook’s expression merging concern and curiosity in a weird puppy-like stare, head tilted and all that. When he spoke, his voice was soft, gentle, almost resembling a lullaby.

"You alright?"

"Yeah..." you sighed, feeling your shoulders drop. You hadn't even noticed how tense your whole body was, almost in an attempt to contain the emotions swirling around. "Yeah. I'm alright. Oh, uh— shit, I haven’t even given you time to get off the elevator, I'm so sorry. Here, let me—" but right as you raised your hand to press the "1" button, Jungkook reached around you and swatted your hand away from the panel.

"No! No, it's fine, I was going to the pool just to be with you anyway."

Oh.

Weirdly… intimate, but ok. The man was probably sexually drained and romantically constipated, saying shit like that to run after anything that might resemble emotional connection before solitude got the best of him. Maybe you were just imagining things, maybe he had meant to say something else entirely but stuck with it cause he still had some difficulties with English every now and then.

Anyway, it didn't matter. Not enough to overthink it, at least.

Not for now.

“Oh. Is everything alright?”

“I can’t just want to be around you?”

“Seems weird.”

“Everything seems weird to you.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

Jungkook snorted as your middle finger went flying in his face, bewilderment clear in his expression. “Okay, first of all, rude,” his hand wrapped around your wrist, pushing your hand down. Your mind immediately catalogued the prominent scratch of his calloused flesh against your own, and you made a mental note to have moisturising cream delivered to his room.

Maybe you could even wring out a sponsorship from one of those expensive cream brands since they were already up and about in his comments under each. Single. Video.

Wouldn’t hurt to kill two birds with one stone, right?

“Second of all,” he continued, moving his towel from his right shoulder to his left, “I figured I haven’t annoyed you enough lately with the GPs and all that stuff. Gotta compensate for my lack of action.”

“Lack of… Jungkook. You hooked up with a random woman in the garage’s bathroom two minutes before you had to jump in the car. Fucking Netflix was all over the place with their cameras and microphones, I had to kidnap that poor woman to make sure they wouldn’t see her. Trust me, you’ve been annoying me more than enough lately.”

The doors of the elevator opened, a quiet ding echoing in the ridiculously large and luxurious looking machine.

Jungkook let you step out first, then followed you right after – it wasn’t something new, he definitely had a habit of walking just a couple steps back from you. He once claimed that he did it because his legs were longer and his steps wider, but you never missed an opportunity to tease him about being your shadow. Except for now, because his confused face only gave you the need to strangle him with your own hands.

“What are you– ooh!” he exclaimed, a lightbulb appearing on top of his empty head. “Isabella?”

You stopped right in your tracks in the middle of the hallway, giving him no time to stop as he lightly bumped into you. “Isabella? Are you fucking serious, Jungkook? You don’t even know her name!”

Throwing your hands up in the air, you stomped away — yes, Jungkook was normally annoying. Yes, he had a lot of casual hookups, just like you. And yes, since you took up the role of PR manager your whole thing was to try and brush away countless scandals he was doomed to be the protagonist of because of his reckless behaviour. But not even knowing the name of the woman he almost risked his career for? That was a new low even for him.

“Wait– Y/N! I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

“Of course you don’t!” jamming the code to access your room you stepped in your room, not even bothering to close your door. You knew he would have pushed anyway inside. “You don’t get to treat that woman like some sort of… object just to empty yourself. Buy yourself a fucking fleshlight at this point, it would be way more respectful!”

Heading towards the suitcase lying open on the ground, you crouched down to pick up a new spare of clean clothes. Jungkook stood behind you, leaning on the wall right beside your bed, arms crossed, an unimpressed expression printed on his face. “All of this just because I don’t remember her name?”

“Jungkook—” your breath hitched, and you had to physically restrain yourself to not jump up and claw at his face. “I swear to god I’m gonna kill you one day. Let’s use our brain for once, yeah?” Babying him. Yes, that was definitely the right move. “What’s the first thing you know of a person when you meet them? Their name. You still don’t know them, but now you have that single element that allows them to exist in your dimension. You’ve got a name, and memories attached to it, and virtues, and wrongdoings and lessons and a whole fucking life. Everything’s chained to your name. There’s a reason why parents are asked to name their children as soon as they’re born. So yes, excuse me if I put some weight over this whole ordeal, but it is an issue and I’m not gonna allow you to disrespect that woman just because you’re Jeon Jungkook, racer of the century. Not gonna happen.”

You watched Jungkook’s expression slowly fall , his gaze lowering in shame. He wasn’t stupid, he was actually insanely good at putting himself in other people’ shoes when talked to, but sometimes you wished you didn’t have to explain to him the basics of human decency.

“Now go, please. I have to shower.”

Nodding, he turned towards the door, head low and shoulders slumped. You couldn’t see him in the face, but you were sure he was pouting.

“Oh and, Jungkook?” you called one last time, letting your tired body lean on the wall right where he was a couple of minutes before.

He turned around, his eyes sparking with a hopeful light. He couldn’t handle being scolded by you. “Yes?”

“Her name’s Isadora.”

“How’s the shoulder doing?”

“Been worse, but my neck hurts like hell.”

Amanda hummed in understanding, pumping body oil in her hands. You sighed into your pillow, burying your nose into the freshly washed sheets, still warm and clean-scented. Gotta love the McLaren team and luxury hotels.

“Take off your shirt, sweetheart.”

Amanda’s kind voice guided you through the motions you had done numerous times before, from the moment she told you to lay face-down on your bed to the moment her hands were on your back, pressing all the spots that felt a little too tight for her liking.

“So, how’s work going?” she asked, hands pressing a spot right under your shoulder that made you wince in pain. Amanda muttered something along the lines of “sorry love, part of the routine” and waited for your answer.

“It’s going,” you sighed, biting back a groan as Amanda’s hands worked around your back like their whole purpose was to draw out insanely sinful sounds out of your mouth that would probably make people press their ears to your door just to know what was going on.

She hummed in understanding, then continued: “What about Taehyung? Still trying to hit on you like the old times?”

You, Amanda and Taehyung used to be friends in college. Or, well, Amanda and Taehyung could be better described as acquaintances instead of friends, they acknowledged each other’s existence when together, but not enough to become close friends or anything similar on that list.

Anyway, Amanda knew about you and Taehyung. She didn’t approve of your friends with benefits dynamics, but she also knew that she could say very little in regards since it wasn’t her life she was judging. She was respectful even when in disapproval, and you appreciated it wholeheartedly.

It was a friendship based on mutual respect and understanding even when the differences between you two were more than the things you had in common. At 20, it was clear that the two of you had lived completely different lives: Amanda came from an upper-middle class family that was definitely too religious for your own liking, and she started college while already being in a committed five years old relationship. So it didn’t come as a surprise to you when she first admitted that she didn’t approve of your arrangements with Taehyung, seeing as not only she came from a strict religious upbringing, but she also spent most of her teenage and young adult years side by side with her boyfriend. You, on the other hand, came from a family whose wealth was inherited from past generations, with family structures that weren’t too strict like Amanda’s, and with a spiritual upbringing almost inexistent. Casual sex wasn’t a taboo to you, much less to Taehyung.

You sighed, closing your eyes as memories of the college years flooded your mind. “I wouldn’t say he’s hitting on me, but he’s definitely trying to go back to those old times, yeah.”

“So he is hitting on you.”

You grumbled, knowing that no matter what you said, she wouldn’t accept that Taehyung wasn’t interested in you like that. Amanda had always had this weird idea that your friend was trying to get to your heart through sex like the hopeless romantic she was, and in all those years she never let go of it.

She didn’t press further, opting to change topic. “I heard another luxury hotel is waiting for us in Monaco.”

“Oh I fucking hope so, I’ve never slept better.”

Amanda chuckled, leaving your side just for a second as she gathered a clean cloth and some sort of cream that she squeezed on top of your shoulder. “You need to take better care of yourself, love. We can’t keep doing this every time.”

“I know, Am, I know.”

You peeked behind you, catching a glimpse of her stomach right below her top. A nasty violet bruise had formed next to her belly button, and you could clearly see where the needle had poked her skin. You reached your fingers towards her body, softly stroking the bruised area.

“Still committed to those IVF shots?”

Amanda looked down, a frown taking place on her face. “Jesus, I don’t remember having this dark of a bruise this morning. I swear I don’t even remember what it’s like to have normal, not bruised skin anymore.” She brushed her hand on her stomach carelessly, almost like she was brushing away dust, then went back to work on your body. “Me and Leo are trying. It’s not an easy thing to accept, but you know how keen on having kids we were already back in college. I guess it’s worth giving it a shot, right?”

You turned around fully, throwing her way a look that screamed “really?” before she replied with “No puns intended, by the way.”

Chuckling, you laid back on the bed, letting Amanda finish her job in peace. A soft buzz from your left brought your attention to your phone, the screen lighting up with two notifications.

Jeon Bun

- I’m sorry for today :(

- Can we talk about it?

You sighed, stomach clenching in guilt as you read his messages again. Jungkook was never one to text first. No, screw that, he wasn’t the one to apologise first. And for him to reach out first and apologise? Topping it all with a sad face? Oh, Jungkook was feeling like shit, that’s for sure.

You

- Sorry bun, I’m with the physio

- Talk to you later?

Jeon Bun

- :(

“Fuck,” you whispered before throwing your phone to the side, looking back to ask a clearly interested Amanda “How much longer, Am?”

“I can make it shorter if you tell me how you ended up being the love interest in a love triangle.”

“A… what?”

“Taehyung and Jungkook? The Jeon Jungkook? There’s too much you’re hiding from me, love.”

“You can’t be serious,” you laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. What was Am even saying? You? A love triangle? With two of the most irritating men you had ever met? Yeah no, hard pass. You couldn’t even remember the last time you were romantically interested in someone, let alone being interested in a douche bag who had been knowing you for years and another douche bag whose body count was higher than his age.

Absolutely not, thank you very much.

“Am you need to hang out more in the garage with us and see what happens in there. I can guarantee you, there’s no love triangle in my—”

The door busted open, Taehyung marching inside with a smug look on his face. “You would never guess how I got the code to— oh, hi Amanda!”

Your eyes darted between Taehyung and Amanda, then back again.

Fuck.

Your life had to be a social experiment, right?

“Oh, hi Taehyung! Long time no see.” Amanda slowly turned to you, her eyebrow raised in what was the most judgemental look you had ever seen her wear, her lips curled in a smirk. “You were saying, love?”

series masterpost here

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yoongsriverandme · 4 months ago

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✩︵ 주문 — MIROTIC!

❝ You want me, you've fallen for me You're crazy about me, you can't escape me I got you under my skin (Ooh) … ❞

⤑ pairing: like crazy!park jimin x shy fem!reader

⤑ genre: smut, fluff, angst, rom-comy vibes, friends-with-benefits, s2l2f2l (they did some things out of order), idiots to lovers, college!au, fuckboy!au, reverse harem, mutual pining, "unrequited love," she fell first but he fell harder.

⤑ wc: 9.3k

⤑ summary: sleeping with your long-time crush was not how planned to confess your undying love to him, but if it was the only way you could be close to him then so be it. jimin's had a lot of lovers, and you're one of them, but why the fuck is he so bothered by the thought of you being with someone else?

⤑ rating: nsfw/explicit - proceed with caution!

⤑ warnings: fuck boy!jimin, popular "it" boy!jimin, shy "loser" girl!reader, lowkey toxic!jimin (i'm not sorry!), making out, bathroom sex, public sex, exhibitionism, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, A LOT of dirty talk, kinda shitty aftercare sorry, protected sex (pocket condoms 😓), JEALOUS jimin like holy shit, possessiveness, angst for a min, heavy pining, feelings realization, miscommunication, arguing, emotionally constipated!jimin, love confessions, angst with a happy ending (sorry nammy :/), not everyone gets a cameo this time sighs sadly.

⤑ date posted: march 9, 2025

⤑ authors note: HEY HEY HEY!!! bet you guys didn't expect this one!!! (i didn't either, random inspo struck me), but literally every single idea i've ever posted about IS sitting in drafts, and this one has been halfway done for weeks, so i figured i'd put it out there as i work on some of my other bigger pieces!

i ALSO just wanted to pop in here and say WOW, thank you so much for your support like... the feedback for my account has been phenomenal, and i want you all to know how touched i am!

with that out of the way, i hope you guys enjoy this fwb!au because wow was this a big one!

𓈒 ꪆৎ masterlist

⁘ preface: i only use bts as face claims! they are my muses, so anything they say or do, do not reflect their real life character!

The first time you ever talked to Jimin was when you had sex with him.

Now you know that sounds bad!

But you had no idea what to do when he had come to you as you hovered awkwardly against one of the walls in the house party you had been forced to attend.

You were the designated driver for all intents and purposes, so the red solo cup that you had clasped in your hand was nothing but plain sprite, which was used as a mixer.

‘Quite the devilish combination’ You couldn’t help but think as you swirled the carbonated liquid around boredly.

The room was stifling, filled to the brim with inebriated, sweaty bodies.

You were surrounded by sex, drugs and alcohol, some couples impatiently groping each other in the corner closests to you, and you forced yourself to look down, your cheeks warm at the blatant show of… affection.

It stunk, the music was too loud, and there were so many places you would rather be than here, like back home in your dorm studying, or watching an episode of your favorite show.

You didn’t fit into places like this, and you were one-hundred percent sure you had that fact stamped to your forehead.

The only pleasant part about this whole experience had been being able to see Jimin.

He was quite popular, and worlds away from you, but you couldn’t help but harbor a school yard crush on the pretty boy.

He was just… tantalizing, with the way he spoke to the way he always held himself with a slight air of seduction. Boys and girls alike were ready to drop to their knees with so much as a word from the man, and you’re ashamed to say that you’re no different.

It was embarrassing, really, with how hard and fast you fell in love with somebody you barely knew, but he shared so much of himself, you felt as though you knew enough.

You know he’s funny, and kind, despite the… whorish, reputation that precedes him.

You’re in no place to judge, truly, because if he were to come up to you right now asking you if you would like to have sex with him, you would say yes.

“Lame party, right?” Sounds a voice from beside you.

You jump ten feet in the air, a bit of your drink spilling out over the edge of the cup as you fumble to keep the damn thing still in your hand.

“Uh – yes?” You answer with a slight grimace, your stomach drops to your ass when said host appears next to you.

Park fucking Jimin.

This was not what you meant! Not so suddenly! Not like this!

You stare at him dumbly as you spiral, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips.

“You think?” He asks teasingly.

You instantly stumble to recover from your mistake. “No! Yes, no, I… I just –” You’re blubbering like an idiot, and Jimin seems to take great pleasure at reducing you to a flustered mess, but he relents with a laugh.

“”M just kidding.”

“No! I just… I’m not used to going to this sort of thing.”

“Oh?” Jimin questions with a raised brow.

You put your drink on the small refreshment table next to you so you can wring your hands together as a nervous tick.

“I’m my friend's designated driver for the night, and they knew I wouldn’t be doing anything, so…”

“That’s selfless of you.” He compliments, and warmth spreads from the roots of your hair all the way to the tips of your toes. “Ah,” You try to wave him off. “It’s… it’s nothing. I don’t mind.”

“But also that makes sense.” Your brows furrow. “What makes sense?” You ask.

He bombards your space, hooded eyelids giving you a once over.

You’re suddenly very aware of how dirty and scruffed your converses are, and you fidget a bit under his scrutinizing gaze.

“That you haven’t come to one of my parties before, because I’d recognize your pretty face anywhere.”

Your eyes widened.

Holy shit. Was he hitting on you?

“Oh!” You laugh nervously. “That’s… that’s very sweet of you.” You gulp.

His smirk only gets deeper, and he leans closer so that his breath caresses the shell of your ear. If his intention is for you to be able to hear him over the music, he’s doing beyond a wonderful job at succeeding.

Your eyelids flutter rapidly, and your hands shake, and you have no idea where to put them as you lean back slightly.

“What do you say we go somewhere else?” He asks with a purr, pulling away just enough to gauge your reaction to his proposition.

Now, you’re not an easy girl. Jimin may sleep with anyone he wants, but you’re just not into that sort of thing, and you know better than to –

“Yes, please.” It comes out as a slight whimper, but he hears you nonetheless, because he takes you by the hand and pulls you through the throngs of people.

Your stomach is tied up in knots, and you’re not even sure if you’re still connected to reality.

Instead of taking you upstairs and into his room like you thought he would, he redirects you into the hallway and into the door, and your stomach drops slightly when he turns on the light to reveal a bathroom.

‘It’s nice’ You try to convince yourself, but your train of thought is cut off when a pair of heavy hands lay themselves on your jean-covered hips, pulling you closer to his body and trailing his lips up the side of your neck.

Your breath hitches and you let out a small, “Oh.”

“Do you still want this?” He murmurs into your ear once more, and you find yourself nodding rather enthusiastically, much to your embarrassment. Jimin just chuckles.

He spins you around, and your eyes land on the slope of his neck that disappears into his leather jacket. Fingers tuck themselves under your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’re a shy one.” He coos, and you shiver when his thumb caresses the corner of your mouth, dipping into it just a bit.

“I’m not used to this.” You admit with a self-deprecating grimace. “What a shame.” Is all he says before tilting your head back and connecting your lips.

The kiss is soft, softer than you would have expected from your soon to be hookup.

You’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s rather ferocious with his kissing, with spit and teeth, but somehow still making sure it's nice for his partner.

He cups your wrists and guides your hands to tangle themselves in his black mullet, and you’re relieved to be able to do something with your hands.

A whimper escapes you when his palms press you to him by the lower part of your back, turning you to the nearest wall for balance.

Soon, the kiss turns hungry, and you can feel the strain of him against his tight black pants, and you tremble, like putty in his hands.

You try your best to keep up with him, kissing back with a lot more fervour than you’ve ever done before.

You’ve had sex once, and that was just because you wanted to lose it before college, just so you could say you did it.

It was awkward because it was with one of the guys from your English class, and he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing either. It was stiff and it burned, and you weren’t sure if you were even turned on enough to participate in penetrative sex.

Well, the same can’t be said for you now, because you can feel the material of your panties grow damp with arousal, sticking to your folds and causing slight friction.

It’s when Jimin finally rolls his hips into yours is when you finally let out a true, loud moan.

“Thought you were going to be quiet all night.” Jimin teases, and you flush. “I - I’m sorry.” You mutter against his lips.

He pulls back and strokes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Relax. ‘M just teasing.”

“Right, right.” You laugh demurely.

He lowers his head to the skin of your neck where he takes the skin of it between his teeth, and your hips buck into his on accident.

“Shit!” You curse, and you slap a hand over your mouth. “You like pain.” He says almost to himself. “Definitely noted.”

You’re not sure what he means by that, but your mind seems to blank when his hands sneak their way to the button of your jeans, fiddling with the metal. That cursed thumb presses into the skin above the hem.

“Do you still want this?”

“Yes, please.” You whimper. Jimin grins and you can feel it, because he places a gentle kiss on the surface. “How polite.”

You swallow a whine at his praise.

He pops them open with practiced ease, and pushes a hand into your pants, hissing when he comes in contact with your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re this wet just from kissing?” He asks in awe.

Jimin finally finds himself in your panties and you gasp when the tips of his fingers press on your clit.

“There it is.” He says to himself triumphantly.

He’s quick to flatten his hand, replacing the tips with the pads of his fingers, drawing quick but fast circles over the pleasurable bud.

“Jimin!” You cry, and your nails rake themselves through his hair, drawing him into you.

You hold him close as he rubs at you, and his free hand keeps himself balanced on the wall just above your hand, completely enveloping you with his body.

“Feels so good.” You mewl, and he nearly growls.

“God, you’re so cute.” He groans.

He takes his hand away and your eyes furrowed in confusion. Was it something you said?

You don't have much time to think because you’re being spun around and bent over the counter, and you’re face to face with your debauched features.

“Jimin?” You ask, but you’re cut off by him snatching your pants and underwear down your hips and they pool at your ankles.

You threaten to turn a scarlet red when he spreads your legs as far as they can go and just stares at your sex.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He rasps and you shiver.

He looks up and meets your gaze in the mirror, making to take his leather jacket off.

“‘M gonna fuck you with my fingers, then I’m actually gonna fuck you. Sounds good?”

“Amazing.” You squeak.

He presses his hand on your lower back to keep you anchored to the marble counter, while the other slips a finger in till he reaches the knuckle.

Your jaw drops in a silent moan, the slight stretch of it hurts for a moment, but your body soon adjusts to it, because he draws it out, no wonder noticing how it glistens in the dim lighting.

Then, he thrusts it back in, over and over and over again until a second one finds its place next to it.

The sounds that escape your cunt are disgusting, and you cross your arms to bury your head in them.

You’ve never felt pleasure like this before, and when he curls his fingers just right, you all but wail.

“Found it.”

He abuses your g-spot with a certain kind of cruelty, and an arm slips out from under you to scratch at the surface of the counter. Of course you don’t leave any marks, but the bluntness of your nails make it a makeshift anchor to this earth.

“Just listen to you.” He huffs. “She’s so sloppy.”

“Don’t – don’t say that.” You whine in humiliation.

“Why not?” There’s amusement in his voice, and you hate how it makes another of arousal leak around his digits.

“‘Cause that’s dirty.”

Jimin laughs. He actually fucking laughs and all you can think about is crawling into a hole forever.

“There’s a lot about me that’s dirty, sweetheart.”

You shake at the nickname, and he notices.

“Oh? You like it when I call you that?”

The condescension in his voice pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel that familiar knot form in your stomach, the one you’re only able to create by yourself.

You clench around him and he gawffs.

“It seems like I’m not the only one that’s dirty.” He remarks. “What else should I call you?” He acts like he’s thinking as he twists his wrist into you without mercy, your legs shake.

There’s tears threatening to stream down your face.

“Hm. What about babe, or baby? Oh! Better yet, how about darling? Hm? Would you like that darling?”

Hearing him call you such sweet names does something to you, because before you know it, you’re catapulted over the edge. You spasm around him, and he just hums.

“There you go, good girl. That’s it.”

You shake as you come down from your high, and there are hands stroking the outside of your thighs, up your hips, and back down again.

Your eyes flutter open from where they squeezed themselves shut to find he’s already looking at you. His gaze is dripping in dark black molasses sticky with lust and want.

“Can we keep going, or are you at your limit?” Jimin checks in ever so gently.

It makes you feel good knowing that he likes to make sure you know you’re still in control, and despite just having orgasmed, you find yourself painstakingly empty.

“‘M really good.” You slur, and a proud smile takes over his face.

He fumbles with the back of his jeans, and retrieves his wallet where he pulls out a condom from it. You eye it warily.

“I just put it in there yesterday, I promise.”

He makes work of his jeans, and you notice that he’s so so hard, and you almost feel bad for the poor man. Almost being the keyword, because when he releases himself from the confines of his boxers, you gape.

He’s averagely long, maybe even a little moreso, but god, is he thick.

He catches you staring and winks.

“Think you can take it?” He pokes and you huff. “Of course I can.”

He raises a brow at you, but rolls the condom on in a tortuously slow pace.

“Hurry up.” You whine, and he swats your ass.

“Be patient.” He chides with a hiss, but you’re still reeling from the sting of the slap to even comprehend what he just said.

Jimin settles a hand on your shoulder, the other helping him line himself up to your sopping wet entrance.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

You both watch each other as he splits you open on his cock, and his head falls back as he groans through his clenched teeth.

“Oh!” You quiver on his length, reaching back to grab one of his hands and breathing out a sigh of relief when he meets you halfway.

He’s twitching inside of you, and you appreciate the few moments to gather your bearings.

“Move, please.” You mewl, and he doesn’t hesitate to listen to you.

Jimin drags himself out, breaking your eye contact to look down at where you’re wrapped around him. You’re so wet, the velvet of your gummy walls are making him feel a little faint.

Then, he thrusts back in until his hips are to your ass, and then he repeats, just for a few slow moments before picking up the pace.

The hand on shoulder pulls you down to meet his thrusts, and you cry out.

“Shit, Jimin!”

“I know, I know – Fuck, you feel so good.”

His plowing is brutal, the tip of his cock spearing and bullying your g-spot with a pace that you can’t quite keep up with.

He releases your shoulder to grab each arm to help his leverage, and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You’re sure you’re drooling, but you can’t find much shame in it because it feels so good.

You know that Jimin has ruined you for anybody else, mind, body, and soul, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to escape him now.

His grunts and groans are guttural, and you know he’s close. You encourage him by clenching around him.

“God – what happened to the shy girl I met in the living room, huh?” He pants. “All I see now a cock hungry slut.”

You let out a surprised moan at his words.

“Oh, yeah? You like when I call you that? Like when I let you know exactly what you look like?”

“Y-yes.” Is your garbled reply.

“Aw… is my baby too cock drunk to even respond?” Jimin tuts meanly. “That’s okay, because I’ve got you, right?”

He’s giving you whiplash with the mix of his words, and you miss the way he calls you his baby.

“Oh, shit I’m close.” He announces. “You gonna let me cum in this tight little cunt of yours?”

“Mhm! Mhm! Gonna –” You hiccup. “Gonna let you do whatever you want.

That seems to soothe something possessive inside of him because he finally cums, and the pulsing of him against that spongy spot inside of you grows to be too much, because you follow right behind him.

It’s quiet in the bathroom as you both stop to catch your breaths, but he pulls out after a few moments of silence, tying up the condom and tossing it into the trashcan next to the toilet without a care.

“You okay?” He asks as he makes to pull up his jeans, and you’re kind of just… stunned.

Is that it?

“Uh… yeah, I’m alright.” You try not to let the disappointment show on your face as you reach down and tug your pants on as well.

Your arms ache from the strange position they were forced into, as well as your stomach from where it had been digging into the ledge of the counter.

“Good.” Gently pushes you out the way so he can wash his hands.

You just stare at him flabbergasted, kind of at a complete loss at what to say.

Do you ask what you are now? Did this mean anything? Were you just another hookup? Were you –

You’re cut off by soft lips meeting yours, and your stomach flutters something pleasant.

Maybe he did like you back and this was a complete misunderstanding, maybe he –

“Call me if you’d like to have some fun again, yeah?”

He speaks against your mouth.

Somehow he’s managed to scribble down his number and hand it to you, which you take somewhat blindly.

He’s already out of the door before you can blink, sending you a cheeky wave as he disappears into the crowd once more.

Your experience with him already feels like a dream when one of your friends drapes themselves over you.

“Finally found you!” She says with a giggle. “Where were you? Me and Sana have been looking everywhere.”

You cringe as you remember your duty, but before you can respond, her nose scrunches up.

“God you stink. Did you have sex?” She asks in disgust.

“No.” You say with a few blinks. “It’s probably because of the party.”

“Oh… okay.” She giggles.

You’re ashamed to say you’ve met up with him a few times after that, finally having the courage to give him a call after a particularly hard day of finals.

He sure did fuck the stress out of you.

This wasn’t how you imagined yourself finding your way into his world, but if sex was the only way you could have him then so be it.

But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He still met up with other girls, still blew you off, still kept you as a secret from his friends. You were just another notch on his bedpost, and it made you almost sick to think about.

Time spent with him after sex was just… confusing.

Someday’s he would allow you to stay over afterwards, maybe even asking you to watch a movie with him, or sometimes he would talk around you leaving until you eventually caught the hint.

It was such a push and pull relationship, and you had no idea what all of this was for.

Were you friends? Acquaintances? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits?

You had no idea what you were or who he wanted to mean to you, but it was slowly ripping you apart.

He had invited you to another party after a particularly long session, and maybe it was just the sleepiness in him talking, but it almost sounded as if he wanted you to be there.

He nuzzles his face into your shoulder, the black of his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat.

You nibble on your lip, tugging the duvet up to cover your bare breasts.

The tips of his fingers graze your arm gently even though his eyes were closed, and goosebumps rose under his ministrations.

It was moments like these that you grew fond of because of how few and far in between they were, when Jimin allows that vulnerable side of his to peek through. You found him beautiful.

You couldn’t stop staring at him, even when the muscles in your neck protested the awkward angle.

You could count every freckle on his cheek, every eyelash he had, and you had to bite back a smile at the sight of his crooked front tooth peeking out through his swollen plump lips.

“Mm.” He groans, and forces himself to crack an eye open.

Your eyes flutter in embarrassment at almost being caught, but he seems none the wiser.

“(y/n).” Jimin mumbles. You find a way to wind your arm around his neck, settling a hand in his hair, rolling the ends of the damp strands between your fingers.

“Come to this party ‘m throwing.” Jimin slurs.

You finally allow yourself to smile then. “Why? I’d like to think last time was a bit of a mess.” You tease. He just grumbles. “Never feels like a mess when I’m with you.”

Your smile quickly falls.

It was crowded once again, but you felt a sort of superiority at your fucked up relationship with him.

You went searching around for him; maybe you guys could actually talk this time! Maybe share a beer and talk about your favorite music!

Your body thrummed with all the different types of things you could do when you found him, but not in the way you wanted.

He had another girl pushed up against the wall, just like he had you in the bathroom on that fateful day.

‘But he wasn’t kissing her how he had kissed you’ You tried to reason with yourself, even as tears began to form in your eyes.

This was embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing.

You were so much better than this. You were a smart girl, you had things going for you, your life shouldnt revolve around a man who could not give any less of a fuck about you.

You find yourself stumbling away - backwards might you add - and you accidentally bump into someone, their liquor spilling over and down the back of your shirt.

You yelp, and it’s loud enough to catch Jimin’s attention, but you don’t notice because of how fast you spin around to face the person.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

You and the stranger speak at the same time, and you look up to find that he was quite… handsome.

He was tall, broad shouldered and obviously thick under that sweatervest he was wearing - which fuck it was too hot for that, even for you - and dimples settled into his cheeks and glasses that were raised high on his face, perched on his nose.

“No, no!” You wave away his apology nervously. “It’s fine! It’s my fault, I didn’t see where I was looking!”

“I shouldn’t have been carrying so many open drinks at the same time when I knew how crowded this place was, so it’s okay.”

You just watch as a genuine smile seems to spread on his face.

“How about this: we're both at fault, and we're sorry. Does that sound good?”

You find yourself nodding with a small smile. “Yeah… that sounds good.”

He stares at you, and you stare back, but then your eyes fall on a dark stain on his vest. His eyes seem to follow your gaze because he tries to wave you away this time.

“Hey, listen, it’s fine, it happens all the time! I’d say you took the brunt of it. How about you come with me, and I’ll get you a new shirt?”

Going with a guy that you’ve never met before to “get a new shirt” doesn’t seem like a good idea, but the image of Jimin plastered to that girl is all but tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Okay, yeah.”

The man’s smile gets bigger, but then falls as his gaze flickers to something behind you. Your brows furrow in concern, but before you can turn around, an arm slides itself around your waist.

“I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks man.”

You’re surprised to see Jimin next to you all but glaring at the tall man’s face, and there’s a prickle of irritation in your gut. The weight of his arm on you feels like a hot iron with the way it burns, and you step out of his grip just slightly.

The guy seems to notice, because his gaze narrows right back at him.

“Is this guy bothering you?” He asks.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the dog fight that might happen before you, and you just sigh.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure…” You let your voice die out, and the guy seems to make the connection.

“Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.”

You grin slightly. “(y/n).”

“Great. Bye, Kim Namjoon. Thanks for ruining her shirt.”

Jimin tugs you along behind him, and he’s silent the whole way to his room, and you’re half tempted to snatch yourself from his grip.

“What’s your problem?” You ask once you’re finally safe behind closed doors.

“What do you mean what’s my problem?” Jimin’s voice is hiding a thin layer of anger that you can hear clearly.

“You were such an asshole to him! And he didn’t “ruin” my shirt by the way. It’s just beer. It’ll get out.”

“That doesn’t matter. You were about to fuck off and go with some guy you didn’t even know!” He throws his hands up in the air like it’s obvious.

“Okay? It’s my business on who I go and “fuck off” with. The guy looked nice, so I trusted him.”

He scoffs. “Oh yeah, so you just trust any guy that asks you to leave with him? It’s so obvious he wanted to fuck you, and you were just going to do it with a smile on your face.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious right now.” You breathe.

“Very.” He says flatly.

You encroach in his space, getting in his face and settling him with a glare.

“I came to look for you at a fucking party you invited me to, and then I find you with your tongue down some random girl’s throat.” You sneer. “So forgive me if I’m a little peeved that you’re bothered by who I might go fuck.”

Jimin doesn’t know why he’s so bothered. ‘Doesn’t know why seeing you laughing and smiling with that guy makes something in his gut twist in disgust.

“I don’t like him.”

You lean your face away from his.

“That’s what you’ve taken away from this.” You let out an incredulous laugh, and the amusement behind your eyes is fake.

“I…” You shake your head. “I can’t believe this.”

“You are not who I thought you were.” Something in you wilts. “You are a grade A asshole, Park Jimin.” You spit his name like it’s a slur, and something inside him dies.

“What?” It’s his turn to scoff. “Don’t tell me you like me or something?” He knows he’s being mean, but he’s hurt, and he feels as though he has nothing else left.

“Excuse me?” You look like a kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guilty.

There’s a sickening pleasure that takes root in his heart knowing that you want him like that.

“You’re doing this whole weird, possessive girlfriend thing.” It’s his turn to step in your space.

“Well, sorry to say, but were just fuck buddies. I don’t want to be with you. All I want you for is a booty call, nothing more, nothing less.”

His words are like a knife to your heart and you deflate.

The tears burning behind your eyes finally fall, and your hand twitches at your side.

“I fucking hate you.” Is all you can say.

You push him out your way and he lets you, watches as you leave.

‘Good’ He thinks.

He tries to convince himself that the quicker he cuts this thing off, the easier things will get, because he doesn’t like you like that.

Right?

Right.

Your head was pounding by the time you had found your way back to your dorm, your shaking hands made it near impossible to get the key in the lock, but you managed it.

You hadn’t expected Sana to be there, bed engulfed by books and different studying utensils.

“Hey.” She greets mindlessly, flicking through papers in a certain folder before huffing and closing it when she clearly doesn’t find what she needs.

Your grip on your keys grows weak and they clatter to the floor, and she looks up in alarm, just as you take in a loud, pitiful sniffle.

“Oh, (y/n).”

She scrambles to get up and you fall forward, trusting her to catch you, and she does, even if she’s extremely confused.

You’re sobbing into her shirt, and your chest twists and everything just hurts.

Jimin’s words feel like a slap in your face, and your heart burns like you had actually been slapped. You would have preferred that if you were going to be honest.

“(y/n), please. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I liked him.” You sob. “I liked him so much, and, and, and –” You’re close to hyperventilating at this point, and Sana just seems to grow more anxious, because she pulls away from you and cups your cheeks.

“You need to breathe for me.” She says with a nervous albeit reassuring smile.

You attempt to take a deep breath.

“Good, that’s good, just keep trying.”

Eventually, your breathing evens out, and she leads you over to your twin bed, seeing as hers is a bit of an organized mess right now.

“Now, can you finally explain to me what happened?”

Your hands shake as you make to pick at your cuticles, but she catches the habit before you can get to it, encasing your hands in hers.

“There’s a lot of things that you don’t know.”

“Okay…”

“But you know I like Jimin, right?”

“Mhm, like… big time.”

“Well, do you remember that party that you and your friend forced me to?”

“Mhm.”

“Well… while I was waiting for you guys to be ready to go, Jimin approached me.”

“Oh my god?” She says excitedly, but you give her a sad smile.

“Don’t get excited just yet.”

“Anyways,” You continue. “He talked to me, then invited me to… you know, sleep with him.” Your cheeks burn as Sana stares at you dumbfounded, but you keep going. “The sex was great, don’t get me wrong, but he was so distant after everything was done.”

“He gave me his number and asked me to call him if I ever wanted to hook up with him again.”

“Douche.”

“Sana.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

You laugh a bit and she grins, relieved.

“Well, I did.”

“(y/n).” She sighs, releasing one of her hands to rub at her forehead.

“I know, I know! I also know I’m gonna sound really stupid when I say that I thought he actually liked me, but he… but he said some things to me tonight that really broke my heart.”

“Before we get to that, what made you think he likes you back?” She wasn’t trying to be mean by asking the question, you knew better.

“Because there’ll be moments after we are done hooking up where he’d be super sweet. Like, sometimes he would cuddle me, or ask me to watch a movie, just things outside of the common hookup aftercare.”

“But then tonight,” You sighed. “I went to the party he invited me to, and caught him making out with some other girl, and so I went to leave but then I bumped into this guy.” You smile a bit at the memory.

“His name is Kim Namjoon, and he was super sweet – spilled a fuckton of beer on my shirt though.”

“So that’s why you smell like that.”

“Yep.” You laugh. “And then Jimin came up and acted all… jealous and possessive and shit. Took me up to his room, we argued, he accused me of liking him and laughed in my face and called me just his fuck buddy after I didn’t deny that I did.”

You look up to find Sana seething.

“I’m going to call Taehyung.”

Taehyung was one of Jimin’s best friends, and he was currently groveling at Sana’s feet trying to be with her. Though she likes him, she wants to make him work for it just to see if he’ll lose interest, even though you know it’d kill her if he actually did.

“Why?”

“To break it off with him in solidarity.”

“What?!” You asked incredulously. “No, absolutely not. Taehyung is a good guy. You don’t need to do that for me.”

She regards you with a raised brow.

“Are you sure?”

You find yourself nodding. “Kinda need some roomie time right now.” Your eyes fall to her studying materials. “But if you’re too busy, I –”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

You laugh joyously as she begins to put her things away, and you make for the small fridge in your room where your sweet treats are held.

Maybe things are going to be okay.

The next week is like a living hell.

You’ve basically made it your life’s mission to avoid Jimin as much as possible. You had already blocked him after a few encouraging words from Sana.

She still ended up calling Taehyung in the end, putting him in the dog house until his friend got his shit together. You could almost hear his pout as he begged her not to. She hung up on him.

The weather was nice, with early spring wandering around, you could finally start to wear flowier clothing, as well as study outside again.

Your head is so immersed in your book that you don’t see someone approach your table until a finger gently breaches your line of vision and taps the page.

You startle a bit and look up, and you're greeted by Namjoon’s sheepish face.

“Sorry, I didn’t know another way to get your attention, you looked really focused.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s okay. You could’ve interrupted me.” He gestures to the seat across from yours. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, yeah! Go ahead!” You begin clearing things out of his way, and he smiles gratefully.

“I didn’t see you again after you left.” With that guy, is what’s unspoken, but you caught it anyways. “Yeah… uh – something came up, so I had to leave early.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and he nods. “I see.”

“Yeah.” You grimace.

“Well I –” Namjoon swallows nervously. “I wasn’t able to tell you, but I think you’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.” You breathe in surprise, and the man visibly deflates. “Unless that guy was your boyfriend, then I’m sorry! Oh, God, I should have asked first.”

“No, no! He’s not my boyfriend.” You reassure him. “‘M surprised, is all; and very, very flattered.”

You know you should reject his advances, but you’re hurt, and he’s just… so sweet. A complete contrast to Jimin, and you think he’s the change of pace that you needed.

“I think you’re handsome if that makes you feel any better.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you grin nonetheless when his cheeks warm an admirable red.

“I…” You meet each other's eyes, and look down at the same time, laughing shyly.

Maybe Namjoon could be good for you.

“You look pathetic, man.” Taehyung speaks through a mouthful of instant ramen disgustingly.

Jimin hits him upside the back of his head, and the poor boy winces.

“Ow!”

“Don’t forget you’re in the dog house too, idiot.” Jungkook mumbles from his side of the table.

“So what you’re telling me is that you want me to beat your ass?”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugs. “Hyung fucked up, and now you’re being punished by association. No (y/n) means no Sana.”

Jungkook’s right.

Ever since that night, Jimin’s desperately been trying to forget about you, about how hurt you looked. He almost feels sick thinking about it.

He admits that he could have handled that situation a lot better, but it was like something had taken over him. As soon as he’d seen you with Namjoon, and how willing you looked, something inside him just… snapped.

“I’m just waiting for hyung to admit that he was jealous and go and fix it.” Taehyung says simply. “It’s obvious that he’s in love with her, and I have no idea why he won’t just go and tell her.”

“I’m not -” Jimin hissed, “In love with her.”

“Yeah man, you are.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, but his attention was stolen by your laugh.

You were laughing because of him.

You looked so sickeningly demure talking to him, wringing your fingers together and kicking out your legs as a nervous tick. You usually only ever did that when you were with him.

Jimin liked the effect that he had on you.

He liked how your eyelashes fluttered when he complimented you, how you held on to him when he fucked you, how you kissed him back like you meant it. Sure, your body was nice, but so was your personality.

You were kind, studious, selfless, and he wasn’t sure what drew you to him the first night he had met you.

He thought that your hidden affections were all for him, but it proves that he was mistaken. That’s fine. You could be with anybody that you wanted to.

‘Just not him’ Is supplied unhelpfully.

The thought shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

It’s just… Jimin doesn’t do the whole commitment thing. The last time he had a partner, it blew up in his face, so he just finds that casual one night stands was just the easier way to go.

But things between you and him were never casual to begin with, huh?

“Listen,” Taehyung starts once more, and points his chopsticks at Jungkook. “Jimin-hyung, he'll realize what he wants when it’s too late. Girls like (y/n) don’t come around as often as they should.” Then, he dives back into his noodles.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed. Were they right?

He turns his head to look at them. “Was it ever casual between me and her?” He can’t help but ask.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wow, okay.”

“I mean, you let her sleep in your bed, hyung.” Jungkook basically scoffs. “You’ve never let any of your hookups stay the night, or cuddle with you; yet somehow she’s different.”

Different.

That was the key word here.

You were different.

The last few weeks with Namjoon have been nice.

The man was smart, and kind, and overall just a sweet, gentle giant that deserved everything in the world; but you knew deep down in your heart that you couldn’t be the one to give him that.

You saw it in the way that he looked at you, starry-eyed on his worst day, and heart-eyed the best. You can’t find it within yourself to feel flattered by it anymore, because you know that you don’t deserve it.

You don’t deserve his chivalry, his affection, and maybe - hopefully not - his love.

You’re ashamed to say that this whole rebound business blew up in your face like you went ahead and personally strapped the bomb to yourself.

You didn’t know how to tell him you didn’t like him like that, just how you had no idea how to tell Jimin you loved him after months of sleeping with him; exactly how that fateful night you said yes instead of no.

The words on the pages in front of you bled together like a big blob of ink, and Namjoon’s large foot snuck over to yours under the table and trapped it playfully.

You tried not to allow the grin you gave him to look like a grimace, even as he acted like he was reading as well. You were sure both of your reasons were entirely different.

You needed to put a stop to this, you needed to tell him you didn’t see him that way and you just wanted to be friends.

“Hey, Namjoon –”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Of course.”

Fuck.

The look that Namjoon gave you was beaming, and you felt tears sting at the back of your eyelids.

You said yes to a date like the stupid, idiotic, selfish, terrible person you are.

Namjoon had offered to walk you back to your dorm after your study session was over, but you couldn’t look at him anymore, the guilt crawling around in your stomach becoming something almost too much to handle.

“No thanks, Nammy.”

“Okay.” He pouts a bit. “But you be safe, alright?”

For the first time today, you gave him a true smile. “I will!”

The walk back to your dorm was slow, and heavy hearted, and you were so lost in your head, you couldn’t see that you were about to walk into someone until their hand shot out and caught you.

“Oh!” You squeaked, your head shooting up.

Your eyes widened at a very disgruntled looking Jimin.

He didn’t look as put together as he used to; his black mullet ruffled out of place and his black leather jacket rather wrinkly.

“(y/n).” He spoke.

It had felt like forever since you heard his voice, and it took you everything in your power to not shut your eyes and bask in it.

You swallowed heavily. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“(y/n) please.”

You stare at him before huffing and crossing your arms. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” He breathes, and you finally notice how close you are, because you stumble back to finally put some space in between the two of you. If Jimin’s hurt by the action, he doesn’t show it.

You hate how much that bothers you.

“I fucked up.”

“No.” You instantly put a hand out to stop him. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“What?”

“You started this whole thing, Jimin! I… I admit that I do like you, and I’ve liked you for a long time, but you don’t get to be the one to say you “fucked up” and regret everything you did.”

“Why not?” He asks, almost offended.

“Because you’ll never change!”

Jimin looks taken aback by your outburst.

“You’ll tell me you’re sorry, we’ll fuck, and then it’ll be this process all over again. You don’t get to just do that! I need full commitment, and that’s not something you’re able to give me.”

“Plus,” You continue, taking in a deep breath. “I’m seeing someone right now.”

Jimin fucking snorts.

“Don’t tell me you have a date with the Namkim guy.”

“It’s Namjoon, and yes, I am. He’s nice.”

“Oh, is that it? He’s just nice?”

“And… and he’s smart too!” You exclaim almost petulantly. “He gives me flowers and tells me how much he likes me all the time, unlike you, who’s so emotionally constipated that not even laxatives would be able to help you!”

“Wha –” Jimin laughs in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I’m gonna go on a date with a guy who actually likes me!”

You straighten your tote bag on your shoulder and brace yourself, straightening your posture.

“Now if you excuse me, I have a date to plan for, and homework to do.”

“What? (y/n)! Come back, I’m sorry!”

“No!”

You’re not going to lie and say you didn’t replay your entire interaction with Jimin for the rest of the week.

There was something about talking to him that gave you the energy to get through class, the haunting realization that maybe he was worth a damn.

Wondering what would have happened if you had allowed him to apologize instead of cutting him off, of accepting his apology and allowing yourself to be with him in that way.

But you know, you know that if you were to go back to your old routine with him, it’d kill you. It’d kill you to watch him flirt with other people, or watch him take them home.

You fiddled with the strap of your dress, staring at yourself in the mirror and feeling awkward at the fact that the material only looked good if you didn’t wear a bra.

You were going to a restaurant with Namjoon; it was a nice, original first date idea. You’d talk over food, and get along just fine!

Namjoon was a nice guy. He was sweet, and he wouldn’t try to fuck you on the first date.

Oh, God, would he?

You really hope not.

“Damn girl.” Sana whistles from her spot on her bed. “You look sexy! You’re gonna blow that nerd’s socks off!”

“Sana.” You warned. “Be nice! He’s not a nerd. He’s just studious.”

“Sure. Every Philosophy major is studious.” She giggles to herself.

“Oh! Do you think he’s a virgin?!”

“Sana!” This time it’s a whine, but your arguing is interrupted by a couple knocks on the door.

“Oh, God, it’s him!” You whisper in a panic.

You continue to mess with the front of your dress, pulling the hem up at the top to try and hide as much boobage as possible.

“Stop!” Your roommate hisses. “You look great!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Now go!”

You waddle over to the door and pull it open, your heart melting at the sight of a good looking Namjoon in front of you.

His hair was tastefully rumpled, a button up shirt tucked into a pair of slacks that hugged his thighs deliciously.

Wow, you were really hogging this man for yourself.

There was another stab of guilt when his eyes fell on your figure and he swallowed, his cheeks painting themselves an adorable pink.

“W – wow, (y/n). You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” You say shyly. “Should we go?”

“Oh! Of course, of course!”

He offers you his arm and you take it.

The conversation between the two of you was kept light, even as you got into the Uber that he had paid for.

“I uh – I don’t have my license.” Namjoon had sheepishly admitted to you one day.

He usually rode his bike to places, so you were surprised to see that he had splurged for today.

Shame burns in your gut once again.

(y/n): 0, Guilt and shame: the winner.

The restaurant was nice as you were led to your table, and very quiet.

You shuffled around in your seat, sheepishly ordering water as Namjoon looked over the menu.

“I’m so happy we're doing this.” Namjoon says after you get your drinks, and you sip on the freezing tap water.

“Yeah…” You speak after a few hefty gulps of your drink.

“I meant it when I said you looked gorgeous tonight.”

“Ah…” You fluster. “Where did all this confidence come from?”

“It comes from me wanting to ask you a question that you’ll answer truthfully.”

Instantly your heart falls into your ass, because you know exactly what’s coming.

“I might be a bit of a stick in the mud, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind, (y/n).”

“I can see that you haven’t really been in any of… whatever we have going on. And I’m not even going to lie, I don’t even think we’ve had anything to begin with.”

“What gave it away?” You ask with a grimace. “That.”

“That?”

“That thing you do with your face when you lie.”

You blink at him in surprise.

“Oh.”

“And you’ve done it every single time I’ve tried to flirt or compliment you. I’m surprised you even agreed to go out with me.”

“I…” You feel like you’re going to throw up. “I swear I didn’t mean to lead you on! There’s just been this thing, and I can’t tell you what it is –”

“Yes you can.”

“Pardon?” You ask in surprise.

“You know exactly why you can’t commit fully to this.”

“I…” You deflate in your seat, fiddling with the napkin. “You’re right.”

“It’s that guy, right? The one from the party?”

Namjoon’s words aren’t hurt, judgemental, or angry, they’re just factual. Like how he gets when he breaks down a piece of difficult text in one of his ancient little books he likes to read.

“I should start from the beginning shouldn’t I?”

“We’ve got all night.”

So you do. You start from that night at the party, over how you’ve felt these last few weeks, even as the food had come and gone, you two hadn’t stopped talking.

You had refused to let him pay at the end of the night, and you literally almost had to fight him over splitting the bill.

“This was supposed to be a date.” He speaks with a pout, and you just laugh.

You two worked well as friends, because you nudged his foot. “Yah! We can go on another date soon, okay?”

He just laughs with a shake of his head.

When you guys leave, you offer to pay for your shared Uber when you spot someone you weren’t expecting.

Jimin’s in the parking lot, leaning against his car and looking around. When his gaze lands on you, his slouched position straightens, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“This guy is like the fucking boogeyman.” You murmur, and Namjoon laughs once more.

“I uh… may have sort of called him here.”

Your head whips around and you stare at him in betrayal. “What?!”

“Listen. You and him have some shit to work out, and - bless your heart - we both know you don’t have a backbone, so I think it would be better if you both fixed this, or ended it for good.”

You can’t help but just stare at him. “Where did you even get his number?”

“Taehyung. The poor man’s been practically begging me to leave you alone and let Jimin fix this because he’s been sexiled.”

You sigh, glancing over at a waiting Jimin who’s watching you hopefully.

“You won’t be here for solidarity, will you?”

“For both our sakes, I think you know the answer to that.”

You swallow, turning your attention back to him. “I really am sorry about how everything went down between us. You’re a great guy, and I’m sure one day another person will be able to see that. I’m sorry it’s not me.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s alright, I need to worry about my studies anyways.”

You smile sadly at him, and he just chuckles and shakes his head, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“I mean it (y/n),” He starts when you separate, “It’s okay, but you need to go, because Jimin looks like he’s about to throttle me, and I’m not really interested in fighting someone tonight. I have a test in the morning.”

Your smile is a little less sad this time, and he waves you off.

The walk to Jimin feels like a walk to doom; it’s silent, tense, and you’re unsure about where you’ll end up at the end of the night.

“Hi.” You breathe awkwardly. You grasp onto your clutch purse like a lifeline.

“Hey.”

“Uh…” You begin, but Jimin just sighs, opening the passenger door, and gesturing for you to get in. “We need to talk.”

Your shoulders deflate. “Alright.”

Even though he said you needed to talk, the car ride is silent, even as you watch yourself being pulled into a parking lot, the man stopping and turning his car off.

“So, are you going to let me speak this time, or are you just going to cut me off again?”

You scowl. “Is that really how you want to start this conversation?”

“No, no, fuck I’m sorry. I’m already fucking it up.” His hands grip the steering wheel, twisting them around nervously.

“I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“Dating, feelings, that kind of thing. And I thought that if I hurt you, and never had to see you again, that those things would just go away, but they didn’t.”

He slumps back in his seat, casting his gaze out the window before turning his attention towards you.

“When I saw you with him –”

“Namjoon.”

“Yes,” He all but hisses, “With Namjoon, I felt sick to my stomach. Like something was wrong, like he was taking something from me.”

“But I was never yours to begin with.”

“Yeah,” He sighs. “I know, and that’s the issue.”

“You were right about me being an asshole, because I was. I projected all of my weird, little possessive feelings onto you and totally flipped out when I should have just talked to you.”

“But instead I pushed you away, said things I didn’t mean, and you still went with that guy, and I felt horrible.” Jimin hesitantly reaches out a hand – an olive branch of sorts – and waits for you to take it.

He hopes you take it.

You look at him and back down to his hand, before lifting yours and intertwining your fingers.

“What are you trying to tell me, Jimin? Because… because if we do this friends-with-benefits bullshit again, I think it’ll actually kill me.”

“I don’t think I could handle that even if I tried.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that seeing you with the other people that aren't me makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I’d rather have you all to myself like the nasty, greedy bastard I am.”

“Like a boyfriend.”

Jimin finally smiles.

That beautiful, eye closing smile that makes your heart skip a beat too many.

“Yeah, (y/n), like a boyfriend.”

“Does that make me your girlfriend?”

“I would sure hope so.”

You grin as well, happiness painting over your features as you watch him.

“What does this mean for us now?” He leans forward into your space, and this time you don’t move back, just gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes. “This means that you’ll hopefully let me kiss you.”

“Well lucky for you, I’m feeling nice tonight.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, yet connects your lips together. Your eyelids flutter shut.

Euphoria. That’s the only feeling you could describe after feeling the plushness of his mouth after so long. It’s felt like centuries since you’ve touched him, and every nerve in your body lights aflame.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and his hands cup your jaw, tugging you to him over the center console.

“I can’t go that far.” You pant with a chuckle, and he huffs a small smile.

“Backseat?”

“Please don’t tell me you want to have makeup sex in the backseat of your car in the middle of the park.”

“You want to have makeup sex?” His eyes glimmer. It’s your turn to snort. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Then no, we're absolutely not doing that here.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

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en-lov3r · 1 day ago

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𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙮 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚…

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mooncakepoptart · 3 days ago

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#bts #bangtan #bts army #jin #yoongi #jhope #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #suga #agust d #hobi #seokjin #bt21

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urmingirl · 3 days ago

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the maknaes

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jiminieverse · 2 days ago

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Sometimes I feel this unexplainable urge to crawl into Park Jimin's brain and just sit there for a while.

It has come to my attention that people are not able to understand anything being said, so context:

(Reading Comments)

🐣JM🐣: Oh, you were a teen before we went and turned into an adult while we were in the military?

🐰JK🐰: Oh, really?

🐣JM🐣: Aigoo! Now, people are turning into adults just like that. Everything is all over the place. *Laughs in angel*

🐰JK🐰:*laughs* What? Now what? *Uncontrollable laughter*

🐰JK🐰: What is happening now?

You are requested to take this translation with a grain of salt as I am not at all fluent in the Korean language, and this is not the literal translation just the gist of it. If you find this to be incorrect somewhere feel free to correct me.

#I want what he is on #BTS #bts army #bts updates #park jimin #jimin bts #bts jimin #jimin #jeon jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook

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littlegochu · 2 hours ago

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"just friends" part 8 │ jjk 18+

"no feelings. no promises. just a night that didn’t end when it should’ve."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: friends with benefits, cold male lead, cold female lead

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: we weren’t close. just mutuals. he was mia’s boyfriend’s friend — always quiet, always there, always looking like he didn’t care about anything. then we hooked up once. and then again. now it’s late-night texts, locked doors, and pretending not to look at each other during group hangouts. no feelings. no rules. just whatever this is. and yeah, maybe i’m in too deep — but if he is too, he’s not saying it either.

his mouth is warm.

he doesn’t move, just breathes in, slow and sharp through his nose, like he’s waiting for something to pull him out of it.

his fingers tighten slightly where they’re curled around my hip. he exhales through his nose and starts to kiss me back, slower this time. his lips slide over mine like he’s trying to memorize the shape.

i shift closer on his lap, the fabric of his sweats soft under my knees, and he lets out the faintest sound. a low hum, almost a grunt.

his hand moves from my jaw to the back of my neck, palm warm, thumb skimming my skin, tilting me where he wants me.

his mouth drags against mine, firm and patient, like he’s not in a rush to get to anything else. like this is the part he likes best.

when i start to pull back, just barely, he chases my mouth without thinking. its the kind of kiss that says i’m not done with you yet.

his hand drifts down from my neck, slow over the back of my shoulder, tracing the edge of the hoodie fabric like he’s trying to feel everything underneath without pulling it off.

then he pauses.

pulls back just enough to look at me.

his eyes scan mine — unreadable, dark, but still… focused. like he’s trying to figure out if this is a mistake. if i’ll disappear if he touches me too hard.

like maybe he wants to stop this, but doesn’t know how to either.

i look back at him, pulse thudding in my ears, his hand still resting at the base of my neck. his thumb brushes my jaw once, tender. a contradiction.

my throat tightens.

“…just tonight.”

his eyes flicker down to my mouth again.

and then he kisses me like he’s mad at himself for needing it so badly.

his hands are everywhere now — not frantic, but steady. unwrapping me.

he pushes the hoodie up over my stomach, fingers brushing my skin, warm and firm. i raise my arms, let him pull it off, and suddenly i’m just in my bra, my breathing uneven, chest rising against the lace. his gaze drags down — slow — and he pauses like he’s savoring the image. like i’m something he wants to ruin carefully.

his hands slide up my sides, thumbs tracing the dip of my waist, then settling just under the curve of my ribs.

he leans in again, lips brushing my collarbone, open-mouthed, his tongue tasting as he drags lower — down my sternum, between the curve of my breasts. he tugs one cup of my bra down, just enough to expose me, and his mouth is on me before i can even gasp.

my head drops back.

his lips wrap around my nipple, slow and steady. no teasing. just hot, wet pressure and the faintest graze of his teeth that makes my thighs tense around his hips.

“fuck—” i whisper.

he hums in response, still sucking gently, his hand curling around my waist to keep me still.

and when i grind down without meaning to, trying to relieve the heat building between my legs, he stills.

his mouth pulls back with a soft, wet sound.

he looks up at me.

the lamp behind him casts a gold glow across his cheekbones, his mouth wet, hair slightly messy from where i tugged it.

his jaw ticks.

his voice is so low it barely sounds like him.

“off.”

i blink.

his hand moves to my back, fingertips skimming the strap. “this. take it off.”

i reach behind me, fumbling slightly, and he watches the entire time — eyes tracking every shift, every breath, every inch of skin i reveal.

once it’s gone, he exhales like he’s been holding it in for hours.

“fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself.

his hands move to my thighs, spreading me slightly wider on his lap, and the shift of pressure makes me gasp.

his thumbs stroke slowly along the inside of my thighs, just above my knees. soft, repetitive.

like he's waiting for me to squirm.

i do.

his mouth curves, barely. his gaze flicks down, to where i’m dripping onto the front of his sweats. fabric darkened. the tiniest crease between his brows.

he looks back up at me.

“look at you,” he murmurs. low, lazy. “already making a mess.”

he palms the underside of my thighs, fingers wrapping around the backs until he’s lifting me slightly — just enough for me to feel the stretch in my hips, the ache beginning to pool low in my stomach. he shifts forward on the bed, closer, until i can feel the heat of his cock pressing up through his sweats against where i’m soaked.

my breath stutters.

his jaw flexes again.

he doesn’t grind. doesn’t move. just holds me there, legs spread over his lap, skin hot everywhere we touch.

then, finally, his hands move.

one slides between us, knuckles grazing my cunt, and i gasp when he presses two fingers through the slick mess between my legs.

his eyes don’t leave my face.

“wet enough to take me just like this,” he says, quiet. like a confession.

my pulse skitters.

he teases — strokes up and down, shallow, just enough to make my thighs tremble again. he doesn’t push in. doesn’t give me anything steady. just glides through everything he’s made, eyes dark and locked on mine, his tongue running across his bottom lip like he’s trying to be patient.

but then he shifts forward.

and everything slows.

i feel him under me — thick, hard, twitching slightly under the fabric. my breath hitches.

he lifts his hand from between my thighs, brings it to his mouth.

sucks his fingers clean.

and then he grabs my hips.

“sit,” he says.

i blink.

he pushes his sweats down just enough — enough to free himself, the fabric bunched low on his hips. my heart slams once in my chest.

he’s thick. hard. flushed all the way to the tip.

i swallow.

he doesn’t stroke himself. doesn’t guide me. he just leans back slightly on one arm, breath slow and shallow, watching me.

“come on,” he murmurs. “you’re the one who started it.”

his tone is flat. cold. but his eyes betray him — burning, desperate, starved.

i move slowly — hand between us, reaching, lining him up.

his hips twitch.

he groans — low, broken.

“fuck—”

i sink down.

just the tip, just enough to make my mouth fall open, enough to feel the stretch burn.

my nails dig into his shoulders.

he holds perfectly still, teeth clenched, head tilted back slightly like he’s trying to think about anything else.

“more,” he grits. “don’t stop.”

i breathe in through my nose, lower again.

inch by inch.

he’s big. thicker than i remembered. the pressure makes my legs shake.

but when i finally sit all the way down, skin flush to his, his jaw drops — his head falling back against the wall behind the bed.

“jesus christ.”

i shift once, adjusting.

he twitches inside me.

his eyes snap open.

“don’t.”

i freeze.

his hand flies to my hip, grip tightening just enough to bruise.

his voice is strained, hoarse. “give me a second.”

he’s breathing heavy.

i can feel his pulse in his cock, thick between my thighs.

he’s not teasing anymore.

this isn’t control. this is restraint.

he looks up at me — his eyes wide, hair falling over his forehead, sweat beginning to bead at his temple.

i roll my hips once. slow. testing.

he groans.

then his fingers dig in — and he starts to fuck up into me.

no warning.

just a sharp, hard thrust that makes me cry out, then another, and another, his hand locking me down like he’s trying to keep me there until i forget everything but him.

he doesn’t talk now.

he just fucks.

deep, relentless, like he wants to feel me around him until i break.

his other hand slips between us, thumb pressing to my clit — fast, tight circles, just enough to make me jolt with every stroke.

“jungkook—”

“louder.”

“jungkook—fuck—”

he grabs the back of my neck, pulls me forward.

kisses me.

it’s messy this time. teeth. breath. sweat.

i can’t keep my balance, so i cling to his shoulders, nails scraping skin. he groans into my mouth like he likes the sting.

my second orgasm creeps up on me fast.

too fast.

i try to fight it — to slow down — but he doesn’t let me. just keeps going, deeper, faster, fucking up into me like he needs this, like he’s trying to chase something he lost.

and then i fall apart.

right there, in his lap, clenching around him while he fucks me through it, thumb still tight on my clit, mouth still on mine.

my vision blurs.

my thighs lock around him.

he groans into my neck when he comes.

i feel the twitch of him inside me first — the sudden swell, the pulse — then the warmth that follows. hot and slow, spilling deep, his hips jerking up once, twice more, like he can’t help it.

he buries his face against my shoulder. exhales hard.

his chest is damp. his hand’s still on my hip, fingers flexing once as his body shudders beneath mine, and then everything stills.

his breath hits my neck. warm. uneven.

his voice comes a few seconds later, quiet. almost unreadable.

“…fuck.”

my mind’s still foggy. my legs feel numb where they’re wrapped around him. my body’s pulsing, heartbeat loud in my ears.

he doesn’t pull out right away.

and i don’t ask him to.

i just sit there, straddling him, breath slowing in sync with his.

my forehead eventually drops to his. barely touching. just enough.

his hand trails up my spine, fingers light, almost hesitant.

and for a second — one long, quiet second — it feels like he’s about to say something.

i feel him breathe in.

his mouth parts.

but then he stops.

pulls back a little. blinks slowly.

his gaze is hazy when it meets mine. not cold, not hard — just tired. like he’s suddenly remembered what we are. what we’re not.

i shift slightly. wince.

he notices.

“sorry,” he says, low. rough.

“don’t be.”

he nods once, but the muscle in his jaw ticks.

a beat.

then, slowly, he lifts me off him. gentle, careful. his hands firm under my thighs as he helps me settle back onto the bed. i lie down without thinking, still dazed, still warm all over.

he disappears for a second — the rustle of fabric, the soft pad of feet on the floor — then comes back with a towel.

i close my eyes when he cleans me up.

it’s quiet.

his touch is light. no teasing. no words.

just soft swipes of warmth between my legs, up my thighs.

he doesn’t look at me.

and for some reason, that stings worse than it should.

when he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and sinks down next to me.

he doesn’t say anything.

neither do i.

he’s lying on his back, one arm under his head, the other resting on his stomach. his face is turned toward the ceiling. unreadable again.

i stare at him.

he looks calm.

but his fingers are twitching slightly against the blanket, like he’s still buzzing.

i roll to my side, slowly.

watch him in the dim light.

his voice comes after a long pause, low and flat.

“are you staying?”

i freeze.

“no,” i say. too quickly.

he doesn’t look at me. doesn’t react.

i swallow.

“i’ll go in a bit.”

“okay.”

and that’s it.

no kiss.

no teasing.

no joking comment to break the weight of the air.

just silence.

and the quiet, aching reminder that this was never supposed to be anything else.

i sit up slowly.

my legs ache. my chest’s tight.

i reach for the hoodie — still crumpled on the floor near the edge of the bed — and pull it over my head with shaking hands.

i don’t say goodbye.

i don’t look back.

i just walk to the door, heart thudding, and leave it half-shut behind me.

his lamp stays on.

the sun’s barely up when someone starts banging on a pan.

“wake up! checkout’s in two hours!”

groans echo down the hallway. someone throws a pillow. mira’s uncle yells back something about cold pancakes and no mercy.

i bury my face in the pillow.

my body aches — not just from the mattress, but from last night. from him. from everything i didn’t say and everything he didn’t let me stay to hear.

i sit up slowly. hoodie still on.

the cottage smells like coffee and maple syrup and leftover tequila. sunlight slants through the front windows in golden stripes. the floor’s cold against my feet when i stand.

someone hands me a mug. leon, probably. i take it without looking.

in the kitchen, jimin’s shirtless and flipping pancakes like it’s a sport. mira’s yelling about her missing lashes. someone’s dragging garbage bags to the porch. someone else is already half-packed and standing by the door like they’ve been awake for hours.

jungkook’s sitting at the table.

black hoodie. hood down this time. hair messy, pushed back with one hand while he scrolls his phone with the other. calm. unreadable. like always.

our eyes meet once.

just for a second.

his gaze flickers down — to the mug in my hands, to my bare legs, to the faint mark on my collarbone — then back up again.

but he doesn’t say anything.

i don’t either.

and it’s weirdly… okay.

not awkward. not tense.

just nothing.

like we both decided, without speaking, to file it away under didn’t happen.

like we’re both a little too tired to pretend it was more.

part 9 here

#bts army #bts x reader #bts #jungkook #bts jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jungkook scenarios

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mrsvante · 1 day ago

Text

Under All That Shy - Part Two

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: office au, coworkers to lovers, fluffy and filthy

summary: introducing the softest man alive who’s been in love with you since the day you offered him half your highlighter pack and smiled like it meant something. he fixes the printer without being asked. brings you the wrong coffee order on purpose and blushes every time you say thank you.

for years, he’s loved you quietly. from a respectful distance. never daring to hope you might look at him the way he’s always looked at you—like you hung the moon.

but now? there’s a chance.

and taehyung, who has never been bold, never been reckless, decides this time… he has to be. because some things are worth the risk. and you’ve always been one of them.

warnings: soft!dom taehyung, oral sex f/m!receiving, protected sex (wrap it up!), multiple orgasms, teasing, begging, creampies (in condoms), big dick kim taehyung 😜praise kink, a little manhandling, hair pulling, fogged up glasses 😏printer room shenanigans, aftercare, mentions of body insecurity and self consciousness

word count: 9,253

a word from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: have i discovered a new kink? nerdy taehyung has me blushing harddd. like how can you not be hopefully in love with him?! anyways, hope you all enjoy ☺️

Inside your townhouse, the atmosphere shifted to something a little more quiet, warm, lived in in all the right ways. The lighting was low, casting soft shadows across the hardwood as you led Taehyung into the kitchen with your heels already kicked off by the door.

You reached toward the back of the fridge, carefully sliding out a tall glass pitcher filled with sliced citrus, berries, and sprigs of mint.

“Don’t laugh,” you said, turning with a grin, “But I have homemade sangria. Got the recipe off Pinterest like a suburban housewife.”

Taehyung blinked, clearly delighted. “You made sangria?”

You shrugged. “I get bored sometimes.”

You poured two generous glasses and handed him one, your fingers brushing again in that casual but magnetic way that had been happening all evening.

So often it had become its own kind of language.

The sangria was perfectly chilled, fruity and rich. As Taehyung followed you into the living room, he glanced around at the framed prints on the wall, the oversized candles by the windowsill, the blanket half draped over the edge of the couch.

Everything in your space was unmistakably you. Comfortable, thoughtful, and quietly charming.

You curled up on one end of the couch and motioned for him to sit beside you. He settled into the cushion, keeping a respectful space between you as you both sipped your drinks, letting the cool wine and slow jazz from your soundbar smooth out any lingering nerves.

Conversation flowed easily like it had all night. You shared stories from your childhood, weird work moments, the most recent book on your nightstand, and Taehyung told you about the time he’d almost walked into a glass door because you complimented his tie one morning.

You laughed so hard you had to set your glass down.

He laughed with you, head thrown back, cheeks flushed with heat and alcohol and wonder.

What neither of you noticed, was how close you’d gotten. Legs brushing, shoulders pressed against one another. Your knees folded toward him, his glass forgotten in his lap. He looked at you like he didn’t know where else to look, and wasn’t even trying to look anywhere else.

You turned to him.

And everything else melted away.

Slowly, you reached up, brushing your fingertips gently beneath the curve of his ear, sliding his glasses off with careful grace. You leaned forward, placed them on the coffee table without a word.

Then, you looked at him, really looked, and smiled like you knew what this moment meant.

Taehyung opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Before he could try again, you leaned in and kissed him. A press of lips that sent his heart stuttering and rewired his entire system in a single breath.

He didn’t move at first, just sat frozen, stunned into stillness as your mouth moved against his while your hand slid into his hair. Then, like a switch flipping, he melted into it. Sighing against your lips as his own parted and gave way to you.

The kiss deepened, mouths parting and meeting again, your breath fanning across his cheek as you shifted closer until you were climbing over his lap, knees bracketing his thighs as you straddled him.

He gasped.

You gasped with him, because even through his slacks, you could feel the pressure of his growing arousal beneath you.

He broke the kiss instantly, eyes wide, hands half raised as if he’d committed a crime. “I—I’m so sorry—God, I didn’t mean to, I swear, I—”

You cupped his cheek before he could spiral. “Tae.”

He blinked at you, stunned and flustered and practically vibrating.

You leaned in, brushing your lips just below the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay. I want this.”

He swallowed audibly. “You—you do?”

You nodded, and kissed him again.

This time, he groaned into it.

His hands hovered awkwardly until you reached for them and brought them to rest on your hips. His fingers twitched like he was terrified to move. But as your hips began to gently rock, he exhaled a shaky breath, forehead tilting towards yours.

You moaned softly as you rolled against him, the friction catching just right. His grip on your hips tightened, finally grounding himself in the feel of you. Your lips parted wider inviting him in, and his tongue brushed yours shyly, then again, more confident.

The kiss turned hungry.

Your hands moved to his chest, then down, pulling at the fabric of his vest, desperate for the heat beneath it. He whimpered when your fingers brushed his collarbone. You rocked harder, sliding against the length of him as he swelled beneath you.

He tried to say your name but choked on it, only for you to swallow the sound.

Still kissing him, you reached for his hands again. This time, you guided them higher, placing them over your breasts.

Taehyung’s eyes fluttered open for just a second, dark and dazed, his fingers splayed across the curves of you like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch.

But you moaned, hoping to encourage him as he stilled, lips hovering against yours.

“Is this…is this okay?” he rasped, voice wrecked.

You nodded, cupping his jaw as your hips rocked again. “Yes.”

He groaned, low and helpless, and kissed you like he never wanted to stop.

Taehyung tasted like sangria when you kissed him again, sweet and ripe, edged with citrus. He whimpered softly into your mouth as your hips rolled over him again, the fabric of his slacks taut between your bodies, doing little to hide how hard he’d become beneath you.

Your fingers found the buttons of his vest.

“Okay?” you murmured, lips ghosting the shell of his ear.

He nodded—eager, breathless. “Y-Yeah.”

The vest came undone parting to show his shirt beneath. Then your hands moved to the dress shirt beneath, slipping each button through its loop until the fabric parted just enough to reveal his chest.

You leaned back slightly to take him in.

And blinked.

Because wow.

His chest was lean but defined, hard lines of muscle beneath smooth skin with a light dusting of hair scattered across his pecs and tapering down toward the waistband of his pants. His abs shifted slightly with each breath, a soft sheen of heat already building along his skin.

Not bulky just sculpted.

You let your eyes roam and then met his again, brows lifting with playful surprise.

“I didn’t know you worked out.”

Taehyung flushed immediately. “Oh. Uh—I didn’t, for a while. I started in high school… got picked on a lot. I guess I wanted to feel like I had some control, y’know? And it just… stuck. Helps with stress.”

You leaned in again, kissed him slowly, your palm splayed over his chest.

“You look good,” you murmured against his lips.

His breath hitched.

Then you kissed lower.

Down the line of his jaw, to the curve of his throat, then the fluttering pulse at the base of his neck. He tilted his head back on instinct, baring himself to you, eyes fluttering shut when your tongue flicked over the hollow of his clavicle.

He was panting now, fingers twitching on your thighs like he wasn’t sure if he should hold on or let go.

Your lips found one nipple, dusky brown and puckered, and he gasped out loud.

“Ah—!”

You smiled against him, then did it again.

His hips jerked beneath you. A shaky, high pitched sound slipped from his throat, a whimper trying to disguise itself as something deeper. He was crumbling, melting beneath your touch, and the effect it had on you was heady.

You kissed down his chest, his stomach, fingers trailing the firm lines of his torso. You could feel him watching you, dazed and wide eyed, lips parted like he couldn’t remember how to close them.

As your kisses neared his waistband, your hands found the belt at his waist and made quick work of it, then moved to his zipper. He made a small, startled sound as the tension eased around his hips.

You looked up at him through your lashes and let your fingers drift over the outline of his cock, thick and straining against his boxers.

He choked on a breath.

“Take these off,” you said gently, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

He blinked. Staring at you like you’d spoken in another language.

Then he swallowed hard and sat up slightly. “You don’t have to—” His voice cracked. “I mean, if you feel like you have to, or that I expect anything—please don’t. I’d never—this night, it’s not about—”

You pressed your fingers against him again. Light, teasing strokes over the length of him through the fabric.

His words collapsed into a strangled gasp.

You leaned in, brushing your lips across his flushed cheek.

“I won’t do anything I don’t want to, Tae.”

His chest rose sharply, his eyes dark and full of awe and disbelief and something that had been building all night.

You kissed him again while your fingers continued their gentle strokes, teasing and light, building the pressure just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch.

And Taehyung?

Taehyung could only groan into your mouth, helpless and wrecked, as his hands clenched at the cushion beneath him like he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.

But he wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

—

The moment was thick with heat, your kisses dragging lower as Taehyung lay back, bare chest rising and falling like he was trying to breathe through a dream.

When your fingers hooked into the waistband of his slacks, he didn’t stop you this time. He helped, shaky hands finding the sides of his pants and pushing them lower, hips lifting so the fabric could slide down and pool around his ankles. His boxers followed, clinging briefly before they slipped away also.

And then he was fully bared beneath you.

You paused for just a second as his cock sprang free and rested against the plane of his abs.

You almost choked from your shock.

He was big.

Long and thick, flushed deep at the tip, the vein along the underside pulsing faintly. His stomach twitched under the weight of it, a thin trail of hair leading down to where you hovered, lips parted, eyes wide with something somewhere between want and awe.

Taehyung caught the flicker of hesitation in your gaze, and his whole body went tense.

His voice cracked. “Hey… hey, we don’t have to—really. If this is too much, or you’re not sure, I—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You leaned forward, wrapped your fingers around the base and brought your mouth to the head.

The first kiss was soft. A little bit of a tease.

The second? A slow, deliberate suck as your lips closed around the tip and your tongue flicked across his slit.

He gasped so loud it echoed off the walls.

“F-Fuck—”

You moaned around him, low and pleased, as you slid further down his shaft, taking your time, letting your mouth adjust to the stretch and weight of him. Your fingers stroked what you couldn’t fit, wrist twisting slightly as you built a rhythm.

Taehyung was wrecked.

His thighs trembled beneath you, his head tossed back against the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes like he couldn’t bear to watch, but couldn’t dare not to.

His breath came in broken gasps. “Oh my god—oh my—wait, you don’t—you don’t have to—”

You pulled off just enough to say, lips slick and smiling, “Taehyung.”

His eyes snapped open.

You stroked him again, slow and steady, watching him crumble beneath your touch.

“I want to,” you said. “So let me.”

Then you took him again, deeper this time, lips sliding down his cock with a practiced grace that had him swearing under his breath, body shuddering with every pass of your tongue.

He tried so hard not to move.

Not to thrust into the heat of your mouth. Not to tangle his hands in your hair. Not to moan the way his body wanted to.

But you weren’t having that.

You reached for his hands, pulled them gently toward your head, and guided them to gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail. His fingers curled around the strands like he was afraid he might break you.

You sucked harder, deeper, letting your throat flex and tighten around him.

He choked on a cry. “Oh my god—fuck, I can’t—”

His hips jerked once, barely restrained. Then again.

You let him.

His grip tightened, his moans growing louder despite his best efforts to bite them back. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his cock with every pull, hollowing your cheeks and stroking the length of him like it was the only thing that mattered.

You bobbed your head in rhythm, fingers working at the base, spit slicking his skin as you pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” he panted. “Please, I—if you keep—I’m gonna—”

But you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

You wanted all of it.

The taste of him, the sound of him, the way his body gave itself over to you completely with trembling hips, thighs clenched, and his hands fisting your hair like a lifeline.

And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, you moaned around him and he broke.

He was gasping, moaning brokenly into the thick air of your living room as he spilled into your mouth with a choked, desperate cry.

You kept him there.

Held him.

Took everything he gave you, mouth still warm around him as his cock pulsed between your lips. His hands clenched in your hair, too overwhelmed to let go, the tremors in his thighs rolling upward through his whole body.

It took a long, quiet moment before he finally loosened his grip. Before his head lolled back on the couch with a dazed, stunned exhale, and you pulled off of him with one last soft kiss to the sensitive underside of his shaft.

Then you sat back on your heels between his legs, catching your breath.

Your lips were swollen, your thighs damp with arousal, your chest heaving slightly from the intensity of it all.

Taehyung looked like he’d seen every version of God and lived to tell the tale.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tilted your head. “So…”

He blinked down at you, flushed from head to toe.

You smiled. “Was that your first blowjob?”

He looked startled. “Wha—no! No, I—” He winced, laughing breathlessly as he ran a hand through his hair. “No, but I wish it was.”

You raised a brow.

He looked almost sheepish. “Because nothing before this compares. Like, not even close.”

Your lips curved, amused and touched all at once. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m serious.” His voice dropped, still breathless. “I think I forgot where I was for a minute.”

You leaned up, hands resting on his knees. “Should I be concerned?”

He smiled. “Yeah. Because now I want to make you feel even half as good as that.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he was already standing—then stumbling.

“Shit—” he yelped, catching himself against the back of the couch, pants and boxers still tangled around his ankles.

You burst into laughter.

“Okay, okay, wait—” you said through a grin, reaching up to help him. “Let’s get you untangled before you fall and break something.”

He groaned, still blushing, as you helped tug the fabric up over his hips. “I’m so sorry. That was not cool.”

“It was cute,” you said, patting his thigh. “Like an overexcited golden retriever.”

He deadpanned. “I was trying to be sexy.”

“You were,” you assured, rising to your feet. “But now I need you to commit to the next bit.”

He stepped forward, and without a word, swept you up into his arms, bridal style. You squealed, arms flinging around his neck as he smiled, triumphant.

“Now this is sexy,” you murmured, cheeks warm.

He grinned, eyes still blown out and hazy from pleasure. “Point me in the right direction, please.”

You nodded toward the hallway. “Second door on the left.”

He carried you there with careful but eager steps, only slightly out of breath by the time he crossed the threshold into your room.

The space was warm. Lit only by the faint glow of the hallway light and the twinkle of string lights you’d forgotten you even left on.

He paused inside your doorway, chest rising and falling beneath his half unbuttoned shirt, eyes scanning the room like it was a painting he didn’t want to rush through.

You tilted your head, still cradled in his arms. “Why did you want to come to the bedroom, Tae?”

He looked at you, gaze steady, voice low.

“To eat your pussy, properly.”

It was said so casually, like he was just commenting on the weather.

You blinked.

He smiled hesitantly. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you said, dazed. “Just… wasn’t expecting you to say it like you were announcing the forecast.”

He set you down gently at the foot of your bed, hands resting at your hips.

“I’m serious,” he said, fingers sliding up to the straps of your dress. “I want to. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You opened your mouth, ready to tell him it wasn’t necessary, that tonight didn’t have to be anything more, but he caught your gaze with his.

And said, soft and certain, “I want to. So let me.”

You stilled.

Then nodded.

Taehyung stood in front of you, hands gentle as they hovered at the straps of your dress.

“Okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

He let out a breath, then eased the straps from your shoulders with a tenderness that made your knees weak. The fabric slid down your arms in slow, whispering folds, dipping below your breasts and settling at your waist.

He paused.

Not because he wasn’t ready, but because you had him completely undone.

His gaze swept over you like he was seeing the stars for the first time. Curves and softness and skin kissed by the ambient light. His breath hitched when your nipples pebbled in the open air, his hands twitching slightly before curling into gentle fists at his sides.

“You’re…” He swallowed hard. “God, you’re beautiful.”

You reached for him, catching his hand and guiding it to your waist.

That was all it took.

He sank to his knees in front of you. Like his body had decided on its own that this was the only way it knew how to worship you properly.

His fingers moved to the fabric gathered at your hips, slowly tugging it downward inch by inch. Your dress pooled around your feet, and you stepped out of it without breaking his gaze.

Now only your panties remained, a delicate black thong that hugged the curve of your hips and did nothing to hide the heat gathering between your thighs.

Taehyung’s eyes darkened.

His hands slid up your legs, brushing the inside of your calves, your knees, your thighs. Until he was cupping the backs of them and looking up at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

“It’s embarrassing, how many nights I dreamed about this,” he whispered. “About you.”

You smiled gently, brushing his hair back from his face. “You don’t have to rush.”

“I don’t want to,” he said.

Then he leaned in and pressed a soft, closed mouth kiss just above your knee. Then another, and another, moving higher with each one, until his lips brushed the crease of your thigh just beside the lace.

When you gasped, he did it again.

Your hands fell to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as you were beginning to slowly unravel. He kissed you through your panties, his breath soaking through the fabric, and you whimpered as your hips rolled forward, aching for more.

Then, finally, finally, he hooked his fingers into your panties.

And pulled them down.

You stepped out of them, body now fully bare in front of him. And he just looked at you. Took you in like you were a painting he needed to memorize. His hands traced your hips, your waist, your stomach, rising slowly until they cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You arched into his touch, soft gasps leaving your lips.

“Tae…”

He looked up.

“I want you.”

He rose to his feet, chest bare, pants abandoned long ago, cock heavy and flushed between his legs.

“Lie back for me?” he asked softly.

You did.

Climbed onto the bed and lay back against the pillows, legs falling open just enough to welcome him in. He followed, crawling between your thighs with a hunger he was no longer trying to hide.

He kissed your belly first, then your hips, moving lower and lower until his mouth hovered just above your slick center, lips parted, breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered.

“I won’t,” you breathed.

He smiled.

Then lowered his mouth to where you needed him most.

—

Taehyung kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

And between your thighs, he tasted you like he wanted to learn everything, slowly and in detail.

His mouth moved hesitantly at first.

Soft licks between your folds, like he was easing you into it, letting you feel the breadth of his hunger without overwhelming you. His lips brushed over your clit, light and fluttering, then down again to lap at your entrance with a low hum that vibrated through your hips.

Your fingers found his hair, sinking in and tugging without thought, hips rolling instinctively toward his mouth.

“Taehyung,” you whispered, voice already shaking.

He groaned softly against you in response. The sound was soaked in something hungry, and it only made your body light up more. His tongue flattened and dragged up through your folds again, then circled your clit in slow, lazy spirals that made your breath catch in your throat.

Every move was purposeful. Every stroke was patient.

He wasn’t rushing.

He was learning.

And fuck, was he a fast learner.

Your thighs began to tremble after only a few minutes, breath coming in shallow bursts, your back arching as the heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

Taehyung moaned again, just from the taste of you, the sound rumbling deep in his throat like it was tangled in pleasure. And then, without a warning, he sucked your clit into his mouth and flicked his tongue once, then again before easing back down into a slower rhythm, keeping you just on the edge.

You whimpered.

“Tae—please—”

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you from between your legs, lips glistening with your arousal. His hair was mussed, cheeks flushed, and he looked drunk on you.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “I want more.”

Then his mouth was on you again. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open for him like a meal he refused to stop savoring.

It didn’t take long after that.

Your orgasm hit like a wave breaking just before shore. You cried out, hands fisting in his hair, thighs shaking around his head as you came with a breathless gasp of his name.

But he didn’t stop.

He only slowed slightly, tongue lapping through the aftermath of your release like he wanted every last drop.

Your body trembled, too sensitive, too open, but also still wanting.

Still burning.

And he knew it.

His fingers entered the picture without warning. Two of them sliding into you slowly, curling upward with devastating care as his mouth continued to suck and flick at your clit. He moaned again, deeper this time, as your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Tae—oh my god—”

He didn’t speak.

He just kept going.

Rhythmic, relentless. His tongue moved in circles, matching the slow thrust of his fingers until you were climbing again. Faster this time though, soaring higher.

The second orgasm tore through you.

This one wasn’t a wave.

It was an explosion.

A shuddering, helpless cry left your lips as you bucked against his mouth, hands tugging at his hair, your whole body wrung tight with pleasure that refused to ebb.

Still, he didn’t stop.

You tried to close your legs, tried to twist away, too sensitive and overwhelmed, but he kept you pinned, murmuring softly against you, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His fingers pressed deeper now. His mouth gentler but still steady. And then, he did something new.

With one hand still thrusting, the other rose to press flat against your lower belly, just above your clit.

You gasped. “Taehyung—what—”

“I studied karma sutra in high school, though I haven’t ever tried this in person. Only read about it.”

He pressed again, fingers inside you crooking just right.

And you saw stars.

Your body convulsed.

Pleasure detonated across your skin, bursting in every nerve ending as wetness gushed from you with no warning or resistance. You squirted, hard, legs trembling violently around his head, a sob of pleasure caught in your throat.

Taehyung groaned, deep and dark, as he kept working you through it, tongue still moving, fingers still stroking up into that perfect spot, his palm pressing into your pelvis like he could wring every ounce of sensation out of you.

You were crying out now, babbling nonsense, unable to stop shaking.

“Taehyung—fuck, I—please, I can’t—”

Only then did he ease off.

You were still trembling in the aftermath, breath shallow, skin flushed, thighs sticky and warm from everything he’d just pulled out of you. Your pulse was in your ears, your neck, your fingertips.

Every part of you felt touched and every part of you craved more.

Taehyung kissed up the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering, as if reluctant to leave the space between your legs. When he finally looked up at you again, his lips were swollen, slick, and a little bit smug. But his eyes were soft, so incredibly soft.

Glowing like he’d just done the impossible. Like you were the impossible.

And he couldn’t believe he got to worship you like that.

You reached for him.

He followed instantly, crawling up over your body on his elbows, mouth meeting yours in a kiss that tasted like everything he’d taken from you. He kissed you deep, kissed you sweet. His cock dragged against your inner thigh as he settled over you, hard and heavy.

And you whispered against his lips, “I need you.”

He froze.

His mouth stilled, his eyes opening slowly as your words sank in.

“I…” he started, voice hoarse, “I don’t have anything. I didn’t bring—” He stopped himself, face cherry red as a shaky laugh left his lips. “I didn’t think I’d need to.”

You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

Then you reached blindly toward your nightstand, popping the drawer open with ease. You felt him lift his head to watch, his eyes trailing over your profile in wonder as you pulled out a little pouch and handed it to him with a teasing arch of your brow.

“Pick your poison.”

He flushed immediately, lips parting in awe and panic as he peeked inside the pouch.

You leaned back, watching as he gingerly pulled out one—black wrapper, gold foil—then sheepishly tucked the rest back inside and set them on the nightstand.

“You sure?” you asked, tilting your head.

He nodded, still flustered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

You grinned. “Magnum XL, huh?”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. “Please don’t say it out loud.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “You’re still shy after all that?”

He kissed your jaw, shy smile curling against your skin. “It’s different when I’m touching you. When you’re looking at me…”

You felt his heart flutter against your chest, his weight hovering just barely above you.

Then he pulled back.

And finally fully undressed for you.

First, his shirt. He tugged his arms through the sleeves, the vest sliding from his shoulders to the floor. His chest gleamed in the low light, pecs firm, abs carved deep, with that soft dusting of hair trailing downward.

Then he stood at the edge of the bed.

Pants gone. Boxers off. All of him bared to you now.

Your gaze dropped, and your mouth fell open slightly. Still surprised by what he’d been hiding behind those slacks that were just a size to big at the office.

He was stunning.

Built like a man who kept quiet about it. Broad shoulders, lean waist, muscular thighs and calves that flexed subtly as he shifted his weight. His cock curved slightly upward from the base, thick and flushed and veined, the tip gleaming faintly with precum. The condom wrapper still dangled between his fingers.

You sat up slightly on your elbows, eyes trailing the full length of him.

“Unreal,” you murmured, teasing. “You’ve been hiding all that delicious muscle at work?”

He stammered, suddenly shy again. “I—I don’t want anyone looking at me unless it’s you.”

Your smile softened.

And so did something deep inside your chest.

You reached for him, palm open. “Then get up here.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He rolled the condom on with careful fingers, sliding it over the length of him and stroking once, a shaky breath leaving him as he settled over you again.

You parted your legs.

He slotted between them.

And everything stilled.

His eyes searched yours, one arm braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

“This okay?” he asked again, voice raw with emotion.

You nodded, whispering, “Yes.”

He kissed you once, then pressed forward. The head of his cock nudged at your entrance, catching slightly, then pushing just inside.

Your breath caught at the stretch of just the tip of him inside of you.

He didn’t move.

Eyes never leaving your face. Not for a second. His brows were drawn, jaw clenched, from careful consideration. From watching you closely, every twitch and flinch and gasp.

You tightened your grip on his shoulders and whispered, “Keep going.”

He nodded.

And eased in slowly.

Inches of him. Stretching.l and filling. Your walls clenching tightly around him, breath catching with every shift forward.

He moved with a softness, with patience you weren’t used to. One slow, careful thrust at a time, until he was fully seated, the weight and heat of him stretching you completely.

Your mouth fell open.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered.

“Too much?” he rasped.

You shook your head quickly. “No. No, just—full.”

He swallowed hard. “You feel… you feel so good. I don’t—fuck—I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not,” you whispered, nails digging lightly into his back. “You’re perfect. Just like this.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a second, body trembling from restraint. Then he leaned in, kissing you softly, and began to move.

—

Taehyung’s hips moved with trembling care.

He thrust slowly, barely rocking into you at first, as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to. As if every inch he sank into your body was a revelation he wasn’t sure he deserved.

You gasped softly, legs curling around his waist, your body adjusting to the thick stretch of him. It was intense, all consuming. The way he filled you, bottoming out so deep you could practically feel him in your stomach, had you clinging to him with desperate, trembling fingers.

“Tae,” you whispered.

His head dropped to your shoulder, breath shaking.

“I know,” he breathed. “You feel—fuck, you feel so good.”

He withdrew slightly, then rolled his hips forward again, the motion smooth and tender and aching with restraint. He kissed your neck as he moved, slow thrusts dragging every inch of him against your walls.

The air between you grew thick with heat and quiet sound. His breath in your ear, your soft moans, the wet, rhythmic slide of his cock pushing deeper and deeper into you.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, the words falling from his lips like a confession. “You’re so beautiful, and perfect.”

You pulled him closer.

His body pressed flush to yours, his chest grazing your nipples, one hand gripping your thigh as he guided it higher around his hip. The new angle made you both gasp, his cock nudging against your g-spot with every slow drive.

Your head tipped back.

“God—Tae—”

He looked down at you, eyes wide and full of emotion, as though he was watching you fall apart and didn’t know how to hold it all.

“You’re taking me so well,” he rasped. “Such a perfect fit…”

He thrust a little deeper now, hips rolling into you with a rhythm that grew more confident, less tentative. You felt his control waver with every stroke, the soft slap of skin meeting skin filling the room, punctuated by the desperate little sounds he made when you clenched around him.

You dragged your nails down his back and whispered, “Don’t hold back.”

His breath hitched. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I want you. All of you.”

And with that he let go.

His hips snapped forward harder now, each thrust a deep, full bodied push into your cunt. His mouth found yours again, kissing you hard and messy, as if he couldn’t get close enough no matter how deep he buried himself inside you.

You moaned against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he fucked you slow but rougher now, the bed rocking faintly beneath the rhythm of your bodies. His cock dragged perfectly against that tender spot inside you with every thrust, your thighs trembling from the pressure.

Taehyung was a mess.

Whimpering against your mouth. Mumbling things you could barely make out. Your name, soft pleas, and dirty curses.

“I’m not gonna last,” he gasped. “You’re—it’s—you’re too much—”

You cupped his face, pulled him down into a kiss, your lips colliding hard as your hips rose to meet each stroke. The friction built fast now, unbearably good. Your body coiled tight again, the beginning of another orgasm tightening in your belly.

“Tae,” you gasped. “I’m close.”

His thrusts faltered.

“You are?” he choked.

You nodded quickly. “Don’t stop—please—”

And he didn’t.

He fucked you through it with deep, purposeful strokes, his pelvis grinding into your clit with every roll of his hips.

You shattered with a cry, body locking tight around him, the orgasm pulling through you, hot and uncontrollable, leaving your thighs shaking, and your hands gripping his back like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

You clenched around him so tight it undid him.

He moaned deep in his chest, a hoarse, broken sound as his thrusts turned erratic. His whole body tensed, and with one final, stuttering push, he came. Cock pulsing deep inside you, his hips jerking as he spilled into the condom.

“Fuck,” he panted against your neck. “Oh my god—fuck…”

You held him as he collapsed gently over you, both of you shaking, breathless, wrecked. The room was humming with the aftermath of your shared release. Your limbs boneless, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat where your bodies clung together.

“That was…incredible.” Your chest heaved with every word.

Taehyung didn’t move at first.

Just rested over you, breath ragged, forehead tucked into the crook of your neck as his cock softened inside the condom.

But then, quietly, you felt him shift.

You blinked up at him, still dazed, as he gently eased out of you and slipped away for a moment. You expected him to collapse beside you. Maybe kiss you again, whisper something soft, stroke your hair until your breathing evened out.

Instead, you heard the soft rustle of foil.

Your eyes flicked down in surprise.

Taehyung was already reaching into your nightstand, pulling out another condom.

You barely had time to react before he rolled it down his cock, flushed, and impossibly hard. Your mouth parted in disbelief, he was ready again?

But you didn’t have the chance to ask before he was kneeling between your thighs again.

His fingers slid down your slick folds, two of them gliding easily through the mess he’d made of you, and you gasped, hips twitching as he dipped them back into your pussy.

Then he pulled them out.

And slid them between his lips.

You stared, eyes wide, and lips parted in disbelief.

“Taehyung.”

He moaned around his own fingers, slow and filthy, like he was tasting the finest wine. His eyes darkened as he licked the slick from his knuckles, gaze locked on yours, lips shining with the wetness he’d just stolen from you.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered.

You were just about to tease him, something breathless and incredulous already forming on your tongue when suddenly, he grabbed you.

One hand slid beneath your thigh, the other around your waist, and with surprising strength he flipped you over, pressing you down gently but firmly onto your hands and knees.

You gasped, heart lurching, hands braced against the mattress as your hair tumbled around your face.

“Wait—”

“I need to hear you again,” he rasped behind you, voice deep and wrecked. “The sounds you make when I’m inside you—God, they’ve been in my head for months. Hearing them is unlike anything I could’ve imagined.”

You felt the head of his cock notch at your entrance again, dragging through your folds before pushing forward.

“And that?” he breathed, pushing in to the hilt, hips slapping against your ass. “That was not my best.”

Your breath hitched violently. “Tae—”

“I can do better.”

His hips snapped forward, sharp and deliberate, cock driving deep into you in a rhythm so filthy it echoed through the room. You collapsed down onto your forearms, spine arched, moaning so loudly you were sure your neighbors would hear.

He didn’t give you a moment to recover.

Thrust after thrust, he rocked into you. Hard, deep, relentless strokes filling you so completely that every drag of his cock against your walls made you cry out. His hands roamed freely now, one teasing the weight of your breasts, pinching your nipples as you bounced with every thrust.

“Listen to you,” he groaned. “You’re so vocal. So wet for me.”

You whimpered, pressing your face into the sheets. “Tae—oh my god—”

His hand slid down to your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh before he slapped it once. Just hard enough to make your breath catch and your pussy clench.

“That,” he growled. “Do that again, please.”

You clenched around him once more, whimpering from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“Is that good?” he asked, rough now. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, please—”

He slammed into you harder, faster, cock plunging deep again and again until the slap of skin was the only thing you could hear over your moans.

You were a mess.

Drooling. Shaking. Eyes rolled back.

And Taehyung?

He was unraveling right behind you.

Pounding into you like he couldn’t help himself, like the taste of you on his tongue had awakened something primal he didn’t know how to cage.

His fingers wrapped in your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arched even deeper.

“Keep making those sounds,” he panted. “Don’t stop, please, don’t. I want to hear everything.”

And you gave it to him.

Moans. Whimpers. Choked off cries as he hit that perfect spot over and over again.

You were so close again, could feel the orgasm building fast, so intense your toes curled.

“Taehyung—I’m—”

“I know,” he growled, hand sliding beneath you to rub your clit in fast, tight circles. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

And just like that, the spring coiled tightly inside you snapped.

You cried out as your body clenched around him, shaking violently as pleasure ripped through you, your vision going white hot at the edges.

Taehyung moaned behind you as he slammed into you a few more times before groaning out your name and stilling, cock pulsing as he came hard inside the condom.

You both collapsed.

The room was thick with sweat and breath and the steady hum of overstimulation.

You were trembling beneath him, legs spread wide, hips slack and sore, your body barely able to hold its own weight. Taehyung was still buried inside you. Hard, and hot, twitching with aftershocks. His chest pressed to your back, one hand braced beside your head as he caught his breath.

You thought that was it.

Thought he would finally ease you both down now, kiss you soft, hold you in his arms while your heart found its rhythm again.

But then his arm curled around your waist.

And slowly, gently, he pulled you upright until your back arched into his chest, your thighs trembling as he shifted onto his knees behind you.

“Taehyung—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice gravely and low in your ear. “One more.”

You gasped as he rutted his hips forward again, sliding back into the soaked, spasming heat of you.

“Just one more,” he pleaded, wrapping an arm tight across your middle, his other hand slipping down between your thighs. “I need it, baby. I need to hear you cum again, it’s so beautiful. Please—just one more.”

Your head fell back against his shoulder, a cry escaping your lips as his fingers found your clit again, circling in slow, tight patterns.

“I—I don’t think I can,” you panted, voice cracked and raw. “I already—Tae, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your neck. “You can. I know you can. You want to—you want to cum for me just as much as I want to feel you.”

You whimpered, hips rocking weakly as he fucked you from behind, his thrusts slower now, deeper.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, pressing kisses along the curve of your jaw. “So, so good for me, baby.”

His hand slid up, splaying over your belly. Pressing down just enough that you felt the glide of his cock from the outside, dragging against that tender, aching place that made you cry out every time he hit it just right.

“You feel that?” he whispered.

You choked on a gasp.

“I’m so deep inside you,” he groaned, rocking forward again. “So, so deep I can feel myself right here.”

He pressed again, and you saw stars.

Your body jolted, a moan ripping from your throat as your head dropped forward, chest heaving.

Taehyung held you up.

Cradled you.

Fucked you.

Gentle but relentless, lips still moving against your skin, fingers rubbing firm, perfect circles on your clit while his cock filled you again and again, dragging against every swollen, overstimulated inch inside you.

“You’re shaking,” he breathed. “God, you’re shaking for me.”

You were sobbing now. Soft, messy cries of pleasure, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as your body bowed against his.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, almost desperately. “Cum for me, please. One more. You can do it, baby, I know you can.”

And you did.

With a broken, helpless sound, your body melted into bliss. Walls clamping down around him so hard he gasped, almost lost it, as you fell apart in his arms. Your thighs shook. Your stomach clenched. Your whole body lit up with heat and ache and release.

Taehyung cursed low in your ear, hand tightening on your belly.

Then his rhythm faltered.

His breath hitched.

And with a hoarse cry of your name, he buried himself deep and came with you. Hips pressed flush, cock throbbing inside the condom as you both trembled through it together.

He held you through the comedown. Kissed the salt from your shoulder. Rocked with you until your breath evened out. Until the world returned in pieces, soft and slow and yours.

The room was heavy with warmth.

Your limbs were boneless, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to come down from the final wave. Every nerve was buzzing, every muscle tingling with the ghost of his touch. Your thighs still trembled, lips kiss swollen and parted as you tried to catch your breath.

And sweet, gentle Taehyung was already moving.

He withdrew from you with care, hissing softly at the sensitivity as he slipped off the condom and knotted it before tossing it in the bin by your nightstand. Then he leaned forward, brushing his lips over your temple.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly, too wrung out to speak.

When he returned, he brought warm water on a clean cloth and a softness in his hands that made your heart ache. He settled between your thighs and began to clean you gently, whispering apologies for any soreness, and praise for how good you’d been, how beautiful you looked like this.

“Unreal,” he murmured as he wiped between your legs with slow movements. “You’re so beautiful, you don’t even know.”

You whimpered at the sensitivity, but he shushed you sweetly, pressing light kisses to your inner thigh, your knee, the side of your hip.

Once he was done, he rose again.

This time, he returned with a full glass of water.

He helped you sit up slowly, wrapping an arm around your waist, and pressed the glass to your lips with careful hands. You drank in soft sips, letting him guide you until it was nearly gone.

“Finish it, please,” he instructed, voice gentle but firm. “You gave me everything tonight. So you’ll need to rehydrate.”

You smiled faintly and tipped the glass back.

When you finished, he set it on your nightstand and kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your shoulder.

And then he slipped under the sheets with you.

The room was quiet now, lit only by the softness of the string lights. Outside the window, the city hummed in the distance, but in your room, in his arms, the only thing that existed was the sound of your breathing and the steady thump of his heart.

He pulled you close, curling you against his chest. One leg slipped between yours, an arm banded around your waist. You could feel his nose nuzzling the top of your head, and the way his thumb traced lazy circles against your spine.

You sighed, nuzzling closer.

He kissed your hair. And then softly, almost too softly to hear, whispered, “This was the best night of my life.”

You blinked and pulled back slightly to look at him.

He smiled, a little sheepish, a little wrecked.

“I didn’t think… I didn’t think this would ever happen,” he whispered. “Not with you. I’d hoped. Every day. But I never thought I’d get this. You.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

“You have me,” you said softly.

His eyes fluttered shut.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m not gonna take it for granted. Not a second of it.”

You smiled, kissed him one more time. Then tucked yourself back into his arms as sleep pulled at your limbs.

And Taehyung held you through it, the ghost of his smile still resting against your hair.

—

The shift at work was subtle at first.

A brush of fingers when you passed each other in the hallway. An extra coffee cup placed on your desk, this time without the fake excuse. The kind of smiles that lingered, soft and secret, like the two of you were sharing an inside joke the world wasn’t invited to hear.

But subtlety didn’t last long.

Especially not with Jimin in the picture.

It was Monday morning when the dam broke, an all hands meeting had just wrapped, people filtering out in ones and twos, and Taehyung had wandered into the break room to grab a banana and breathe for five seconds when Jimin pounced.

A loud slap landed across his shoulder, making him nearly drop the fruit.

“Fucking finally!” Jimin bellowed, loud enough for three departments and an intern in the hallway to hear.

Taehyung froze, blinking behind his glasses. “Hyung please—”

“I’ve been sitting on this secret for two years, Kim.” Jimin wagged a finger at him with exaggerated flair. “You had a goddess within arm’s reach this whole time and you waited until a charity raffle to shoot your shot?!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Taehyung mumbled, ears already burning.

“Uh huh. Well, I hope it was like that. Because you looked like a new man when you walked in this morning. Giggling at your phone like you’ve won the lottery.”

“We did win the lottery,” you reminded him sweetly, walking past with a paper cup and a smirk.

Taehyung nearly choked on air.

Jimin pointed dramatically. “You see?! This is chemistry. This is what I’ve been trying to force for months! You’re welcome.”

Taehyung buried his face in his hands. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He did.

But he loved you more.

—

For your second, but first official date, he'd told you to wear something you could dance in.

And when he met you outside the venue, hand warm in yours, dressed in a slate colored suit with no tie and a soft curl in his hair, he looked at you like he couldn’t believe his night had already peaked.

The jazz club was hidden, all moody lighting and velvet booths, tucked behind a speakeasy style entrance that required a password.

But the real surprise came halfway through the evening, after a shared cocktail and a small plate of grilled octopus, when the band’s trumpeter stepped aside and Taehyung stood, adjusting his glasses and offering a crooked little smile.

“You play?” you asked, stunned.

He grinned. “You’re not the only one with Pinterest secrets.”

The song was slow and soulful, and when he played, he poured himself into it. The crowd faded. The world faded. It was just him, standing under soft amber lights, sending music across the room like a confession he couldn’t speak aloud.

When he returned to your side, cheeks flushed from both adrenaline and nerves, you kissed him before you could even say a word.

The night continued with a late dinner on a restaurant barge docked along the Han River. As dessert arrived, something with yuzu and raspberry and too many syllables, a drone show lit the sky above. A thousand glittering points of light shifting in and out of constellations, blooming into shapes and words and hearts.

Taehyung leaned close, chin on your shoulder. “I may have timed that.”

You stared at the sky, then at him. “You’re serious?”

“Maybe.”

He was.

You ended the night walking hand in hand along the river’s edge, sharing tiny mochi in the dark, teasing each other over flavors and making each other laugh until you had to lean on him for balance.

And when he kissed you beneath the stars, hands gentle at your waist, you tasted sweetness and salt and certainty.

—

You hadn’t meant to sneak away.

But the day had dragged, long and tense and full of people who needed too much. You’d texted Taehyung one word during a meeting—now—and he’d met you in the back hallway, near the third floor copy room that no one used because the copier was older than most people who worked there.

The door clicked shut behind you.

“Are—Are you sure?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

Just kissed him hard, tugging him by the collar until his glasses tilted on his nose.

And then, you were perched on the edge of the printer table, skirt pushed up, thighs spread with Taehyung on his knees.

Tongue deep, hands greedy, glasses fogged and askew as he devoured you.

Your thighs shook against his shoulders as you moaned down at him, fingers threaded tight in his hair.

“God, your nose—” you gasped, rocking forward into the steady pressure of it against your clit. “Has anyone ever told you how perfect it is?”

He pulled back for just a second, grinning, lips shiny. “No honey, you’re the first.”

Then he dove back in.

And you saw stars.

It had become a ritual.

The Great British Bake Off, a fuzzy blanket, and Taehyung’s arms around you while the smell of chamomile and cookies drifted faintly from the kitchen.

You were both curled on his couch, legs tangled together under the throw he always kept folded just so, your head resting on his chest as the bakers on screen stressed over cracked tart crusts and overworked meringue.

He was warm beneath you, in a faded hoodie and sweats, one hand absently running through your hair, the other curled around a bowl of popcorn you weren’t even eating anymore.

You’d been dating for almost eight months.

And somehow, despite all the changes—his growing confidence, your deepening relationship, the way he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you when no one was looking—this quiet was your favorite.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and close to your ear.

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah.”

Then, after a pause, “My parents are visiting next week.” You tucked yourself a little deeper into his side, gauging his reaction.

His hand in your hair stilled for a beat.

You lifted your head. “They want to see me. Just for a few days and I was thinking maybe…” You ran a hand over the logo on his hoodie. “Maybe they could meet you.”

His eyes widened behind his glasses.

“Oh.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to. Really. It’s totally okay if you’re not ready—”

“I am,” he said quickly, voice soft but certain. Then, sheepishly, “I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

You sat up a little more, brushing his bangs off his forehead. “I just want them to meet you, baby. That’s all. No pressure. No speeches.”

He flushed, but didn’t speak.

You tilted your head. “Tae?”

He leaned forward and kissed you. Just a warm press of lips, soft and slow. Then he pulled back and whispered, “I’m actually trying really hard not to write a speech to ask your dad for his blessing.”

You blinked before breaking out into a fit of giggles.

“Taehyung.”

“What?” he mumbled, already burying his face in your neck. “I wasn’t gonna give it to him. Just, you know… read it. For practice.”

You laughed again, threading your fingers through his hair. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

He froze, pulling back to look at you, his eyes wide as the dinner plates on tv.

“You’re not joking?”

You leaned in, nose brushing his. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

His breath caught.

And then he kissed you again, a little harder this time, his huge hands gripping your hips as you laughed against his mouth.

When he pulled back, he was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “Okay.”

You smiled. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded, eyes turning mischievous. “But now I need help writing it.”

You arched a brow. “Right now?”

He didn’t answer.

Just scooped you up into his arms in one swift motion, blanket and all, rising from the couch with a little grunt and adjusting his hold like he’d done it a hundred times.

You squealed. “Tae!”

“We’ll write it together,” he said, already walking toward the stairs. “Though I should warn you… the first draft might be mostly just me describing your smile.”

“And the second draft?”

“Probably how you moan when you’re on my tongue,” he muttered into your neck.

You laughed, breathless, as he carried you up the stairs. And you both knew there wouldn’t be much writing happening at all.

But there would be kisses.

And laughter.

And the quiet kind of love that felt like home.

one | masterlist

#bts #bts army #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts au #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #coworkers to lovers #office au #nerdy boy #a man who yearns is a man who earns #under all that shy mrsvante

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