7darkshadows

[7darkshadows]

SHUT UP AND DRIVE | JJK

PAIRING: street racer!jungkook x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Anyone could have predicted how bad it is to make a bet with your brother, yet you were hoping the outcome would be different. But alas, you were meant to be taught a lesson tonight; never go behind your brother’s back.

WC: 6.4k

WARNINGS: brother’s best friend trope, a lot of plot, light angst (if you squint), I know nothing about cars so there might be very inaccurate cars/street racing stuff. Smut, brief mention of oral sex (f receiving), brief mention of fingering, dirty talk, pet names, slight grinding, handjob, manhandling, jk calling mc dumb (1 time), unprotected sex, hair pulling, big dick!jk, jk didn’t pull out (oops). Can’t think of anything else, if I’m missing something lmk.

A/N: got a bit carried away with the plot oops, but i hope you enjoy your reading.

masterlist | part 2

Growing up in a city as big as yours, you had to learn to love its evident duality. How the sky would go from bright blue to pinkish to orange, and lastly a deep and dark blue that left you feeling at ease whenever you looked up at the stars. Those colors were the only indicators to make changes throughout the day. That characteristic transferred onto you with such an ease during the early stages of life, and now it was second nature to show different colors of yourself depending on the time and place you were found in.

The city would change and turn into a whole different place when midnight struck. During the day, streets were filled with the mouthwatering smell of food, along with the indistinct chatter of the pedestrians trying to find solace in the nearest place that would protect them from the scorching sun; under a bright blue sky. You would see kids clinging to their mothers while crossing the streets; teenagers racing their friends to the nearest convenience store, and betting their allowance on whoever gets first; along with couples sharing ice cream cones, with the sweetest of smiles plastered on their faces; covered in a pinkish color due to the beautiful sky looking down on them. You could even see people dreadfully walking towards their workplace for their 9 to 5 shift, with orange hues decorating the background. However, at night that scenario was completely erased.

The dark blue sky, tinted with the most beautiful array of stars would prone adults in their early twenties and late thirties to hop from bar to bar; looking for any alcoholic beverage to throw into their system that could make them forget about their overworked and underpaid jobs, or their stressful college life. The yellow hues of the street lights would adorn every dark corner, along with the neon signs outside the obnoxiously loud clubs scattered around the city, illuminating the excited faces of the pedestrians walking straight into those stuffy places. The music, albeit too scandalous for your own liking, served as an invitation for others to peek into the deceiving nightclubs, only for them to be wrapped into the tricky hands of an owner that would encourage people to spike others’ drinks.

But that’s what nightlife in your city was about, shitty alcohol, overrated music, and the occasional creeps lurking for anyone who they deemed “worthy” enough for them.

Nonetheless, that wasn’t the part of the city that you loved most. It was not the bars, not the clubs, not the alcohol, and certainly not the crazy people surrounding you in packed rooms. That would never make that thrilling sensation spread throughout your body to ignite a flame within your heart.

The south side would.

The abandoned buildings that served as a sanctuary for all those who wanted to take risks and forget about their lives, at least for a night. It would be the blaring music coming from the speakers of a severely modified ‘65 Ford Mustang. It would be the cold drink sitting in your hand, while you listened to one of your brother’s friends talk about his next race.

That’s what excited you, that’s what kept you alive.

Your brother was well known in the street racing world, everyone knew who Kim Taehyung was, and hence to that, everybody knew who you were as well. It was as if your brother had thrown a spell on you. Your name didn’t matter, though, it was pointless to urge people to use it, you were often addressed as Vante’s —which was the nickname people in the racing world would use to refer to him— little sister. And as annoying as it was, it was equally beneficial. The perks of having a popular brother would provide you with the nicest parking spot at Mura’s restaurant; it would draw people to pay for your drinks in order to make a good impression for either of you; but most importantly it would scare the creeps away, which you were very thankful for.

Taehyung often brought you along with him every weekend, racing in one of his precious cars that he worked so hard to get. While you watched —and occasionally cheered— him, swerving through lanes, pulling stunts that never failed to make your heart quicken its pace, and hold your breath until he was out of a dangerous zone. That’s what your life has come down to.

The roaring engines of classy and modern cars echoing through the streets; the smell of gasoline and smoke mixed with the aroma of anticipation and failure emanating from the racers; along with the scent of weed and beer. You were used to people walking a bit too close to you, invading your personal space to do simple things like asking where they can find the restroom —there’s none—. You were now accustomed to the wide view of your city at night, with the sparkly lights shining in the distance and the tall buildings looking small for once; almost untouchable.

“I’m telling you Tae, these new rims are worth it.” Jimin, one of your brother’s friends, was so desperately trying to prove his point.

He recently made a purchase for Taehyung’s car that was deemed unnecessary by your brother himself. His blond friend —although it wasn’t his natural hair color— was the one in charge of upgrading Taehyung’s car every now and then. His extravagant tendencies, however, would push him towards making decisions out of pure enjoyment and not strategically. Hence why the two guys were found in such a predicament.

A modification made under no other reason than to make the car look cool, which was, in hindsight, impractical. But Taehyung was the kind of guy that couldn’t say no to his friends, and so instead of asking him to change the rims back to his preferred ones, your brother opted to let out the longest sigh that his lungs allowed him to, and asked the important questions.

“Did you adjust the brake discs, at least?” He queried, in a flat voice.

“Of course, I did! Who do you take me for?” Jimin brightly answered, with a slightly faltering smile.

Park Jimin was an interesting guy. Whimsical as a fairy tale, and mischievous as they come, but with an IQ that would leave you wondering how a guy that looked like the embodiment of hardcore partying, would speak about mechanical stuff with such an ease and fluency. Amazing, in more ways than just one, never living up to the expectations of others, and more often than not, he would go to the farthest extents to be out of the ordinary.

At first glance, it was a stark contrast to who your brother was and made himself out to be, however, after being dragged into their nonsensical banter on more occasions than what you would like to be in, it was rightfully proved that both boys were more alike than what they would actually admit.

Truth be told, their exchanges were always comical. It wasn’t rare for the two boys to bicker and throw shady comments to one another in a monotone voice, which would make you think they were one hundred percent serious about the matter. But rather than ending up in a fight, they would simply laugh it off and move onto the next best thing to do, which usually was annoying you. And although it was unbearable to deal with a hyper-aware-of-his-influence-on-people type of guy and your I’m-too-cool-to-be-talking-to-you type of brother, you wouldn’t, in all honesty, have it any other way.

“I made Hoseok hyung do it.” Park’s unbothered demeanor finally broke under Taehyung’s piercing stare. “So rest assured, it won’t interfere with your race tonight.”

Your brother only hummed in acknowledgment, nodding once he was reassured that there would be no problem with his car.

“Speaking of which,” Your breezy voice slipped into their conversation easily, “where’s Hobi?”

Jung Hoseok was often described as the embodiment of a ray of sunshine, and rightfully so. The boy would light up a room whenever he stepped in, so unaware of how his lively attitude would be the best remedy for a gloomy day. Out of all your brother’s friends, you reasoned with him the most. Hoseok was easy to talk to, easy to be around. Whenever you felt like you were on the verge of losing your calmness, you would find solace in his soft arms, engulfing you in a warm embrace.

“He’s on the way.” Your brother responded shortly after. “Jungkook had to pick him up, but he’s coming, don’t worry.”

There was a glint in your brother’s eyes that left you slightly squirming in your place. Maybe it was the meaning behind the “he’s coming”, and how you were sure that he wasn’t exactly referring to Hoseok anymore at the last part. Perhaps it was the guilt that was rapidly creeping up in your chest, almost urging you to add some commentary to his response, to clear the air and come clean for once. Or it could be the fact that, deep down, you knew your brother was aware of your little secret.

It wasn’t a hunch anymore, Taehyung knew. And it was confirmed when his deep brown eyes slowly drifted towards you when both of his friends finally arrived.

An all black Mercedes AMG parked right besides your brother’s car, blinding you by its bright lights. Hoseok was the one to get out first, sporting a wide smile while walking towards where you and the other two boys were standing. With a faltering grin, you greeted the boy whom you were asking about no longer than a minute ago, however, in that precise moment, you were no longer preoccupied by his whereabouts. Instead, you held your breath, waiting for the person behind the steering wheel, the one who hasn’t made an appearance just yet.

“How’s it going, Hobi hyung?” Jimin asked, after a quick handshake with the aforementioned guy.

“It’s all good…”

Their conversation was tuned out for you the moment the driver's door was finally opened. It all happened at a tortuous slow speed; a pair of black combat boots were the first thing in sight, followed by a pair of washout baggy jeans and an oversized black t-shirt. Your eyes were quick to gravitate towards the tattoo sleeve the guy was sporting; fingers cladded in rings and a silver bracelet adorning his wrist. His fashion sense was one most guys envied, nonetheless, no one has been able to look as good as the man in front of you in oversized black clothes.

“Long time no see.” His amused tone snapped you out of your thoughts.

Jungkook was standing tall in front of you, with a mischievous look in his eyes, one that secretly warned you about the possible risky situation you will be in tonight. And as much as you’d want to say no, it was impossible for you to reject any proposition the boy was willing to make.

However, no one could really blame you for falling that hard for him.

Jeon Jungkook was a man often described as charming, flirty, funny and, evidently, attractive. Girls would fawn over the young man all the time, staring at him with bedroom eyes whenever he made an appearance; it was interesting the way Jungkook walked around as if he owned the place, lowkey bragging about his car and his winning strike with such confidence, but not even once he showed an ounce of arrogance when talking to you. He proved over and over again that the generic description people would give about him was undeniably true. He was charming, flirty and quite attractive, however, you would add another adjective to the long list of words that girls always used when talking about your brother’s friend; troublesome.

Jeon Jungkook was a walking disaster, a man worthy of a warning sign. The bright yellow with dark letters and a huge exclamation mark type of warning. But alas, you never noticed, not while he was charming you up since the first night you two met. You were in too deep now, with no way out, more than coming to terms with the consequences you were bound to face, once you decide to be honest with your brother that is.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, JK.” Taehyung was the first one to talk, making you look away from the man a few feet away from you. “How’s it been?”

“It could’ve been better.”

You could feel his piercing stare, but refused to look in his direction.

“Ready for tonight?” He opted to ask once he realized you weren’t budging. “Heard the prize is five grand this time.”

“Yeah, I’m taking all that money with me when I win.”

At that you scoffed playfully, looking at your overly confident brother.

“If you win.” A mischievous smirk took place on your face.

“You still doubt me, little sis?” Taehyung directed his attention to you, taking interest in the way you decided to finally insert yourself in the conversation. “Why don’t we make a bet then?”

Hoseok and Jimin were quick to encourage the proposition, fueling the fire for competition between you and Taehyung.

“What are we betting?” You questioned.

“Anything you want”

The possibilities were endless, you could bet money or his secret stash of snacks, hidden in his apartment; you could even ask him for his overly expensive shirt that looked better on you than it did him. But all those things were somewhat easy to provide, easy to give away; however, there was one thing that your brother has always refused to do.

“If you lose…” you drifted off, pretending that you were thinking about what you wanted. “I’ll be the one racing next Saturday.”

Taehyung’s face morphed into a grimace, his serene stance changed to one more rigid and tense. He wasn’t expecting your answer to be that, but then again, it should have been telling by the way you were so quick to agree to the deal.

“Oh and I’ll use one of your cars, too.” The cherry of the cake, as if your previous statement wasn’t enough.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea—” Jungkook wanted to mediate and make you ponder about your proposition and how dangerous it was.

“Alright.” Taehyung cut him off, with a decisive look in his eyes. “I’ll let you take any car you want.”

“And if Vante wins?” Hoseok asked, eagerly.

“I’ll tell her later.”

A weird feeling found home in your chest after your brother’s statement. Something within you was telling you that making that bet was the worst idea you could have had so far. Whether you didn’t want to ponder over it, or you were too sure that you would win, you didn’t argue about his ambiguous answer anymore. Instead, you let him make his way towards his car, getting ready for a race that would change a lot of things after tonight.

A cold hand was quick to wrap around your right arm, preventing you from following Taehyung’s path, like Jimin and Hoseok did.

“Are you sure you wanna continue with this?” Jungkook’s preoccupied voice almost made you coo at him, but at the same time it ignited a desire to push his buttons.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You argued. “It's fifty-fifty. Worst case scenario, I lose my race next week.”

After sending him a confident wink, you parted ways, positioning yourself next to Hoseok. You completely ignored the way Jungkook’s stare hardened, not willing to sour your mood with his protectiveness.

“You sure he’s gonna lose?” Hoseok asked beside you, staring right up ahead at Taehyung’s car. “He seems pretty confident, if I say so myself.”

“Why is everyone doubting me?” You groaned. “Of course he’s gonna act like that, because he needs to pretend he has everything under control.” The explanation wasn’t enough to convince your brother’s friend to be on your side. “Besides, Jimin changed his rims, that’s gotta do something to his performance, no?”

The brown haired man could only laugh, shaking his head as if saying that you couldn’t be more wrong. Your ego was bruised by his reaction. It was known that you didn’t like being laughed at or being the but of a joke you’d never understand. However, the situation in itself was way more than just your friend making fun of the little knowledge you had about cars. It was about how stupid you were for getting yourself a deal in which you won’t be the one winning.

“That just shows you’re not ready to be part of this anytime soon, little one.” Hoseok messed with your hair, before opting to pay attention to the race that was about to begin.

Taking a look at your brother, you could tell he was slightly worried, nonetheless, that worry was not enough to wash away the firm grip on the wheel or the determined look on his face. And it was just then that you realized the big mistake you made.

Maybe you should have been more clever, perhaps you really shouldn’t have pushed your luck in the way you did, but what’s done it’s done, and it was a bit too late to back down.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious who was going to be the winner tonight. Ever since you and your brother found your second home in the cold streets of the south side, Taehyung has never backed down from a challenge, let alone lose one.

So when the lady cladded in a mini skirt and tank top waved the blue bandana, you knew you were done for.

“… Set, go!”

All the cars drove past the girl at an incredibly high speed, almost knocking her out of the street. The cheering and shouting started way before the race could; people pushing others, urging them to move so they could see more clearly.

Looking away from the distant figures of the cars, you encountered a pair of brown eyes already staring at you. Jungkook hesitantly stepped forward to where you were, almost reminding you of the first time you met. His confident demeanor never made an appearance that night, and it certainly threw you off by how hesitant he seemed to approach you. However, you two hit it off right away, starting an easy conversation that led into more than it should have.

But once again, no one could really blame you.

On the night you and Jungkook met for the first time, you were entranced by his alluring physique and charming attitude. His black on black attire pulled you in, and urged you to take a few steps forward to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you.

He was the most handsome man you have ever seen in quite some time, and far from being exciting, it was annoying. It annoyed you the way the shiny piercing adorning his bottom lip looked so inviting, as if it was taunting you, begging you to risk it all and have a taste of it. His doe eyes were a stark contrast to who the guy seemed to be. His tough exterior got combined with a pair of big brown eyes covered in a soft glint.

It was unfair, it was annoying. Moreover, it didn’t help the fact that he granted you a beaming smile, while his tattooed hand reached out to take yours.

His whole existence was annoying, for he was off limits.

Therefore, you had to push your wandering —and very lustful— thoughts away, to the farthest corner of your mind. It was the only way to keep your relationship with your brother safe. No man will ever be worthy of messing things up with Taehyung… or so you thought.

The ugly truth was that you were tempted by the little devil on your shoulder, chanting for you to risk it all and drag the boy to the nearest dark corner, and give both of you a night that neither would be able to forget. It was hard to admit, but there was something about Jeon Jungkook that made you ponder if it would really fuck things up if you were to get intimate with him. For it was risky, as walking all alone in a deserted street at night, but tempting, like eating a forbidden fruit; and the possibility excited you.

Fast forward, the first time meeting him ended up being the first —but certainly not last— time the guy buried his face deep in between your legs, while his eager hands commenced a trip to memorize every curve and dent of your body.

No one knew at the time that amidst the deafening cheering, the blaring music coming from the speakers and the roaring of the cars’ engines, moans were falling from your swollen lips, while your back was pinned against the wall, with a pair of lips covering your body in wet kisses and avid hands were touching every inch of your skin. No one knew that while there was a race happening a few feet away from where you were located, you were also competing, desperately trying to reach your high, at the same time someone’s Camaro drove over the finish line, receiving wild cheers from the crowd.

The situation in itself was impractical and very stupid, however, in a matter of days you developed some sort of addiction towards the beautiful tall young man. And so, after getting accustomed to a routine of secrecy and betrayal, it stopped being a hard pill to swallow, but rather a recurrent predicament to be found in the strong arms of Jungkook, with his lips kissing up and down your neck while his skillful fingers were pumping in and out of your warm walls.

Even on regular days you would still yearn for his touch, playing on repeat his husky voice and the sweet nothings he would whisper in your ears, while thrusting into you.

“My pretty princess, taking me so well.”

It was like music to your ears, a melody that would lift you up so high to almost reach the sky. But despite the amazing feelings Jungkook would put you through, the unbearable truth of going behind your brother’s back and messing around with his friend outweighed the pleasure. You didn’t realize how fucked up you were by being involved in such a messy situation.

At least not until you were almost caught red handed.

“I missed you so much, princess.” A husky voice echoed through the confines of the Mercedes-Benz you were in, sending shivers down your spine. “Don’t make me wait this long to have you, ever again.”

The sentence uttered by Jeon Jungkook himself was intriguing enough for anyone who might hear it on passing, for you, nonetheless, it was sort of a complaint.

Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly your fault the lack of encounters in the past two weeks. Taehyung was starting to get suspicious, asking more questions than he usually would when you went out, he started to pay attention to every little thing Jungkook did when he was around. It was starting to become a bother for you to hide this little secret affair you two were having. And so instead of following the routine of coming over to Jeon’s place like any other day, you rain checked three times in a row. It upset him beyond belief; Jungkook was starting to get dependent on your delicate touch, on your sweet words and the pretty sounds you would make whenever he was buried deep inside you. He couldn’t stand not having you like he usually would.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have surprised you when he pulled you out of the crowd and into his fancy car. It shouldn’t have been shocking the way his hands desperately reached out for you to position you on his lap; nor should have baffled you the way his crotch was grinding up against your core, seeking some comfort to calm the burning sensation running through his body. It was bound to happen.

“Let’s make up for the time apart, then.” You hummed, after placing a passionate kiss on his lips.

Without a second thought, your hands descended down Jungkook’s firm chest, finding their favorite place inside his pants. He felt heavy resting on your palms, and it was so obvious how painfully hard he was. Your fingers wrapped around his base, through his underwear, feeling him up. It was pure torture for the boy; not only did he need you to go faster, but he also wanted to feel the sheer touch of your hands on his aching cock.

His patience was running thin, that much was obvious by the way his gaze darkened, and the grip he had on your waist tightened.

“Princess…” Jungkook hissed. “If you’re gonna do something, do it now.”

You giggled, delighted by his eagerness and irritated voice tone. You were pushing him to the exact point you wanted to have him.

“Not so fast, baby.” You murmured against the skin of his neck, “I wanna enjoy this a little longer.”

Jungkook could only groan, letting you do whatever you wanted to him. It was so easy to be at your mercy, the tattooed man would effortlessly give himself up to you, with no objection. And that was your first mistake: taking more than you should from him.

While he was devoting his body to you willingly, it didn’t go beyond that. He wasn’t yours to take, he wasn’t yours to keep. You could only claim his body whenever he allowed you to do so. But maybe, deep down, that was enough. Perhaps having him physically was better than emotionally; that way you could avoid a complicated relationship that would need to be explained to your overprotective brother later on.

You had him for the time being, albeit not entirely, but attaining his heart seemed to be a hard task, one that you weren’t prepared to go through.

“Fuck baby, just move a little faster.” His strained words echoed through the car, snapping you back into reality.

Your hands were still wrapped around his clothed cock with a vice grip; you were sure that if it could, his dick would be already begging you to free it, and that thought alone was enough to boost your ego. Nonetheless, you ended up realizing you didn’t have much time to spare, despite wanting to keep toying with him. And so, putting an end to Jungkook’s suffering, you finally pulled down his jeans and underwear, watching his girthy cock spring free.

“Fucking finally.” He sighed in relief. “Are you gonna stop being a brat and let me fuck you dumb?”

“I don’t know, am I?” You smirked, mischievously.

Jungkook got fed up with your antics. The dark haired man groaned, pushing you off his lap and positioning you on your hands and knees, so effortlessly that it left you baffled for a few seconds. He rapidly pushed up the hem of your skirt and took off your underwear.

“I’m done playing this game of waiting.” Jungkook’s hands were firm on your skin, keeping you in place. “So be a good girl, and take my fucking cock.”

Without much of a warning, he thrusted into you. His thick tip made its way inside your cunt with ease, due to how wet you were already. It took you a couple of seconds to get used to his big size, but once Jungkook made sure it was safe to move, he bottomed out, reaching the deepest parts of your soaked pussy like no one before.

“I missed this pussy so much.” He hissed.

Moans were falling off your lips, as if they were the only sounds your mouth could utter, and maybe they were. Jungkook always knew how to turn you into a babbling mess whenever he got a hold of you. It was hard to form a coherent thought by the way he was skillfully moving inside of you, let alone to make any other sound that wasn’t a moan or a whine.

“Shit, you’re already clenching on me.” Jeon moaned, feeling your warm walls wrapped around his cock with a hard grip.

Jungkook was pounding relentlessly into you like a mad man. Maybe you underestimated his desire for you, perhaps all these days apart were actual hell for him, as it was for you. But then again, when hasn’t he been like this? It wasn’t out of the norm to be fucked into oblivion by Jungkook. He would often find creative ways to ruin you, to leave you a complete mess once he was done with you.

Hasn’t it been clear already, how much he could do for you? How bad he needed you?

“Jungkook… fuck.” His name left your mouth in an attempt to beg for mercy, for him to slow down a little, but it was pointless. Not even God himself would make him relent.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you.” His fingers weaved through your hair to get a good grip, pulling your head back as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Be a sweetheart and finish your sentence for me, hm?”

Your eyes rolled back, enjoying how deep he was going. Neither your mouth nor your brain seemed to work at the moment, and it was difficult to comply with what Jungkook asked of you.

“Come on, princess, don’t make me repeat myself.” Every word was accompanied by a hard thrust.

“It’s— too m-much...” You struggled to say, while your mouth hung low and an obscene sound came out of it. “Please…”

A chuckle rumbled inside Jungkook’s chest, transferring the vibrations onto your body. He was so deliciously close, that it was easy to sense every reaction, to hear every little sound that would abandon his lips unwillingly.

“Please what?” He urged you to keep talking. “Baby so dumb that can’t even speak properly, can she?”

His words shouldn’t arouse you in the way they did, but oddly enough, his husky voice combined with the rude term ignited a flame inside of you. However, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you were enjoying every bit of it.

“Fuck… you!” The words came out through gritted teeth.

“That’s what I’m doing, honey.” Despite not being able to see him directly, you could tell he was grinning. “Can’t you feel me? Should I go deeper then?”

Had you been more clever, you would have kept your mouth shut, because if it was difficult to deal with his unrelenting pace, it became unbearable when he changed the speed only to thrust harder and deeper than before.

“Can you feel me now, princess?”

Such a dangerous question, one that set your body ablaze.

“Y-Yes… So big.” You breathed out, finally being free from his hard grip on your hair. “I’m getting close.” The confession was somehow refreshing.

It meant that you could finally have your sweet release, but only if the man fucking you manically deemed you worthy of having it, that is.

Unfortunately for you, he had other plans in mind.

“Hold it a little bit, baby. I’m not there yet.”

Jungkook’s stamina has always amazed you; the guy could go for hours without taking more than a five minute break, and not even once he complained about it. Whereas you had to take longer breaks in between rounds, and more often than not, you would only last from two to three rounds before calling it a night. Maybe he was more experienced, or perhaps it was his breathtaking physique. Whatever it was, it often came in handy in times like this.

“Jungkook,” You breathed out his name. “I can’t— I’m so close.”

Your walls were clenching on his dick, sucking him in with ease. It was such a marvelous sensation that almost drove the tattooed man over the edge.

“Fuck, you’re making it difficult for me, doll.” Jungkook chuckled breathlessly. “But I want to see your face when you cum.”

Without pulling out, Jeon flipped you over to make you rest on your back on the leather seats of his fancy car.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

Ever since you got into Jungkook’s car, you haven’t been able to properly look at his face for long. It was such a beautiful sight. His disheveled hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat; his rosy and swollen lips, probably from biting them so much; his lustful glare directed towards you, and his furrowed eyebrows due to how good it felt to be inside of you after so long. Everything about Jeon Jungkook was undeniably attractive, and beyond arousing you, it ignited a warm feeling in your stomach. One that was difficult to mistake for anything else than infatuation.

However, it wasn’t the right time to be thinking about it. Your heart wasn’t connected to your brain, apparently, and so it made you ponder over scenarios that fell into the category of fantasies.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” His question was left unanswered the moment one of his hands flew down to rub your clit. “There you go, princess, make a mess on my cock. You’ve earned it.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. It took a few more thrusts for you to finally let go, crying out his name while your hands reached out to pull him down on you. There was a need installed in the depth of your soul to have him close at all times; to feel his warm skin burning against yours.

“That’s it, beautiful, just let go.” His whispers were like a comforting blanket thrown upon you, encouraging you to move your hips to help him reach his high. “Atta girl, no need for that baby. Let me do the work.”

His pace finally slowed down, while his strong arms wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Jungkook was desperate for his release, but at the same time, he wanted to enjoy the moment a little longer. As a result, his slow pace guided him steadily to his orgasm, thrusting deep inside of you and moving his hips in circular motions to reach every corner of your insides. Touching places no one has ever touched before, and providing you with a sensation that always left you craving more.

A few more thrusts and Jungkook was finally falling apart, groaning against your neck, while his soft lips were bathing your skin with warm kisses. His hot breath was also hitting your flesh, sending shivers through your body; making you harden the grip on him.

“I could stay like this forever.” Jungkook sweetly whispered. “You’re so warm.”

You giggled, scratching the back of his head before slightly pulling away.

“But we need to go, before any of the guys start looking for us.”

The tattooed man groaned annoyed, slowly detaching himself from you.

The rest of your usual routine would often happen in a comfortable silence, this time, however, neither of you could actually stop smiling or stealing kisses from one another. It was sickeningly romantic, and it almost made you wonder what it would be like to be in an actual relationship with the tall boy sitting beside you.

“Just one more kiss.” Jeon begged, lightly pulling you in, to place his soft lips on yours.

“That’s enough.” You stopped him, with a shy grin on your face. “You go first.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook opened the door, ready to get out and act as if he wasn’t making you see stars a few minutes ago. Although, your happy and exciting moment was short lived.

“JK, there you are dude.” Hoseok’s voice rang through your ears, making goosebumps coat your skin in a matter of seconds. “We’ve been looking for— wait, did I interrupt something?”

A knowing small took place on the brown haired man’s face, not before playfully smacking his arm to tease him.

“Uh… I, kinda, yeah.” Jungkook was praying he couldn’t recognize you. But the moment Hoseok tried to look inside his car he quickly closed the door, taking a few steps away from the vehicle. “What’s up? Why were you looking for me?”

The moment their voices became indistinct chatter you could finally release the breath you were subconsciously holding. Your hands slowly relaxed their grip on your skirt, but the anxious feeling settled in your chest, refusing to leave.

“This needs to stop.”

The only problem was that you didn’t know how to make it stop.

The wild shouting from the crown snapped you back into the present. Reminding you of the place you were in, the people you were surrounded by, and the fatal bet you made early in the night.

A bright white Camaro ZL1 was rapidly approaching the finish line, with the roaring of the engine echoing through the street, and making the ground vibrate a little. Fate has dealt its cards and sadly they weren’t on your side. Defeated and tired of experiencing an array of emotions through the long night, you waited at the side of the road for your brother to cross the red line.

Anyone could have predicted it, yet you were hoping the outcome would be different. But alas, you were meant to be taught a lesson tonight; never go behind your brother’s back.

“That’s my boy!” Jimin excitedly yelled while walking towards Taehyung’s tall figure. “I told you the rims were perfect.”

Your brother could only chuckle, shaking hands with his friends before directing his full attention towards you.

“Seems like I won’t be racing next week.” You faked annoyance, although in reality you were sort of relieved. Maybe Hoseok was right after all, and you weren’t ready for that world just yet.

Everything seemed fine so far, no malicious intent, no ulterior motives. No way to predict the chaos that was about to unravel. Perhaps you should have prayed with a little bit more conviction, maybe you should have put more effort into making sure you would win. Otherwise, your downfall could have been prevented.

“So, what do you want as your prize, idiot?” You asked, so confident that nothing bad could happen.

Your brother slowly prepared to say the words that would inevitably change the route of the night.

“It’s very simple, in all honesty.” Taehyung started saying. “I want to ask a quick question.”

“Shoot.” You encouraged him.

Oh, if only you had known.

“I just want to know for how long?” His piercing glance should have given it away. “How long have you been fucking my best friend behind my back?”

[7darkshadows]

Scream

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: It’s been a year since your mother was slaughtered, with no leads pointing to any possible suspects. It’s been an up-hill battle for you to accept what happened— especially with no answers or closure— and the citizens of your hometown have been sleeping with one eye open ever since. But now, the mystery killer has decided to make an anniversary visit, and is making it known that they not only have a dire love for infamous horror films… but they also have their targets set on you and all of your closest friends.

Word count: 8k

Headline: Small Town Woodsbroro Is Waking Up Screaming Once Again!

Warnings: dark themes; Gore; Smut; Crackhead humor (only because I promised my bff I’d give her an honorable death scene); Foul language; Jungkook is psychotic; Graphic depictions of him killing your mom/friends; we’re also going to pretend that it’s outrageously easy to get away with murder; dont fact check me on anything you read here; rough sex; mask kink. 

Admin: @tatertotthethot​

Baley was high as a fucking kite.

 So high, that she didn’t care about it being 1am as she blasted the Cha-Cha slide at full volume. 

  So high, that she was completely disregarding her lactose intolerance whilst making herself a triple layered, sharp cheddar grilled cheese that was bound to have her ass blasting right back off by 3am. 

  So, outrageously stoned, that she was totally unaware of the masked killer standing just outside the glass doors in her kitchen, watching her every move.. With her beat up, hogtied boyfriend laying out next to him. 

  “Now it’s time to fawnky! To the right now—“ 

  She crab walked along with the instructions, spatula in hand. 

  “To the left!”

  “Take it back now, y’all.” 

  Ghostface grimaced beneath his mask, eyes stalking the stoned woman with disdain. She was  the epitome of “crackhead energy” and it pissed him off how much she resembles you. It only makes sense, being as you two have been best friends since kindergarten— probably soulmates in a past life— but it is within that fact that Ghostface has grown to absolutely fucking loath her. 

Keep reading

[7darkshadows]

SHUT UP AND DRIVE | JJK

PAIRING: street racer!jungkook x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Anyone could have predicted how bad it is to make a bet with your brother, yet you were hoping the outcome would be different. But alas, you were meant to be taught a lesson tonight; never go behind your brother’s back.

WC: 6.4k

WARNINGS: brother’s best friend trope, a lot of plot, light angst (if you squint), I know nothing about cars so there might be very inaccurate cars/street racing stuff. Smut, brief mention of oral sex (f receiving), brief mention of fingering, dirty talk, pet names, slight grinding, handjob, manhandling, jk calling mc dumb (1 time), unprotected sex, hair pulling, big dick!jk, jk didn’t pull out (oops). Can’t think of anything else, if I’m missing something lmk.

A/N: got a bit carried away with the plot oops, but i hope you enjoy your reading.

masterlist

Growing up in a city as big as yours, you had to learn to love its evident duality. How the sky would go from bright blue to pinkish to orange, and lastly a deep and dark blue that left you feeling at ease whenever you looked up at the stars. Those colors were the only indicators to make changes throughout the day. That characteristic transferred onto you with such an ease during the early stages of life, and now it was second nature to show different colors of yourself depending on the time and place you were found in.

The city would change and turn into a whole different place when midnight struck. During the day, streets were filled with the mouthwatering smell of food, along with the indistinct chatter of the pedestrians trying to find solace in the nearest place that would protect them from the scorching sun; under a bright blue sky. You would see kids clinging to their mothers while crossing the streets; teenagers racing their friends to the nearest convenience store, and betting their allowance on whoever gets first; along with couples sharing ice cream cones, with the sweetest of smiles plastered on their faces; covered in a pinkish color due to the beautiful sky looking down on them. You could even see people dreadfully walking towards their workplace for their 9 to 5 shift, with orange hues decorating the background. However, at night that scenario was completely erased.

The dark blue sky, tinted with the most beautiful array of stars would prone adults in their early twenties and late thirties to hop from bar to bar; looking for any alcoholic beverage to throw into their system that could make them forget about their overworked and underpaid jobs, or their stressful college life. The yellow hues of the street lights would adorn every dark corner, along with the neon signs outside the obnoxiously loud clubs scattered around the city, illuminating the excited faces of the pedestrians walking straight into those stuffy places. The music, albeit too scandalous for your own liking, served as an invitation for others to peek into the deceiving nightclubs, only for them to be wrapped into the tricky hands of an owner that would encourage people to spike others’ drinks.

But that’s what nightlife in your city was about, shitty alcohol, overrated music, and the occasional creeps lurking for anyone who they deemed “worthy” enough for them.

Nonetheless, that wasn’t the part of the city that you loved most. It was not the bars, not the clubs, not the alcohol, and certainly not the crazy people surrounding you in packed rooms. That would never make that thrilling sensation spread throughout your body to ignite a flame within your heart.

The south side would.

The abandoned buildings that served as a sanctuary for all those who wanted to take risks and forget about their lives, at least for a night. It would be the blaring music coming from the speakers of a severely modified ‘65 Ford Mustang. It would be the cold drink sitting in your hand, while you listened to one of your brother’s friends talk about his next race.

That’s what excited you, that’s what kept you alive.

Your brother was well known in the street racing world, everyone knew who Kim Taehyung was, and hence to that, everybody knew who you were as well. It was as if your brother had thrown a spell on you. Your name didn’t matter, though, it was pointless to urge people to use it, you were often addressed as Vante’s —which was the nickname people in the racing world would use to refer to him— little sister. And as annoying as it was, it was equally beneficial. The perks of having a popular brother would provide you with the nicest parking spot at Mura’s restaurant; it would draw people to pay for your drinks in order to make a good impression for either of you; but most importantly it would scare the creeps away, which you were very thankful for.

Taehyung often brought you along with him every weekend, racing in one of his precious cars that he worked so hard to get. While you watched —and occasionally cheered— him, swerving through lanes, pulling stunts that never failed to make your heart quicken its pace, and hold your breath until he was out of a dangerous zone. That’s what your life has come down to.

The roaring engines of classy and modern cars echoing through the streets; the smell of gasoline and smoke mixed with the aroma of anticipation and failure emanating from the racers; along with the scent of weed and beer. You were used to people walking a bit too close to you, invading your personal space to do simple things like asking where they can find the restroom —there’s none—. You were now accustomed to the wide view of your city at night, with the sparkly lights shining in the distance and the tall buildings looking small for once; almost untouchable.

“I’m telling you Tae, these new rims are worth it.” Jimin, one of your brother’s friends, was so desperately trying to prove his point.

He recently made a purchase for Taehyung’s car that was deemed unnecessary by your brother himself. His blond friend —although it wasn’t his natural hair color— was the one in charge of upgrading Taehyung’s car every now and then. His extravagant tendencies, however, would push him towards making decisions out of pure enjoyment and not strategically. Hence why the two guys were found in such a predicament.

A modification made under no other reason than to make the car look cool, which was, in hindsight, impractical. But Taehyung was the kind of guy that couldn’t say no to his friends, and so instead of asking him to change the rims back to his preferred ones, your brother opted to let out the longest sigh that his lungs allowed him to, and asked the important questions.

“Did you adjust the brake discs, at least?” He queried, in a flat voice.

“Of course, I did! Who do you take me for?” Jimin brightly answered, with a slightly faltering smile.

Park Jimin was an interesting guy. Whimsical as a fairy tale, and mischievous as they come, but with an IQ that would leave you wondering how a guy that looked like the embodiment of hardcore partying, would speak about mechanical stuff with such an ease and fluency. Amazing, in more ways than just one, never living up to the expectations of others, and more often than not, he would go to the farthest extents to be out of the ordinary.

At first glance, it was a stark contrast to who your brother was and made himself out to be, however, after being dragged into their nonsensical banter on more occasions than what you would like to be in, it was rightfully proved that both boys were more alike than what they would actually admit.

Truth be told, their exchanges were always comical. It wasn’t rare for the two boys to bicker and throw shady comments to one another in a monotone voice, which would make you think they were one hundred percent serious about the matter. But rather than ending up in a fight, they would simply laugh it off and move onto the next best thing to do, which usually was annoying you. And although it was unbearable to deal with a hyper-aware-of-his-influence-on-people type of guy and your I’m-too-cool-to-be-talking-to-you type of brother, you wouldn’t, in all honesty, have it any other way.

“I made Hoseok hyung do it.” Park’s unbothered demeanor finally broke under Taehyung’s piercing stare. “So rest assured, it won’t interfere with your race tonight.”

Your brother only hummed in acknowledgment, nodding once he was reassured that there would be no problem with his car.

“Speaking of which,” Your breezy voice slipped into their conversation easily, “where’s Hobi?”

Jung Hoseok was often described as the embodiment of a ray of sunshine, and rightfully so. The boy would light up a room whenever he stepped in, so unaware of how his lively attitude would be the best remedy for a gloomy day. Out of all your brother’s friends, you reasoned with him the most. Hoseok was easy to talk to, easy to be around. Whenever you felt like you were on the verge of losing your calmness, you would find solace in his soft arms, engulfing you in a warm embrace.

“He’s on the way.” Your brother responded shortly after. “Jungkook had to pick him up, but he’s coming, don’t worry.”

There was a glint in your brother’s eyes that left you slightly squirming in your place. Maybe it was the meaning behind the “he’s coming”, and how you were sure that he wasn’t exactly referring to Hoseok anymore at the last part. Perhaps it was the guilt that was rapidly creeping up in your chest, almost urging you to add some commentary to his response, to clear the air and come clean for once. Or it could be the fact that, deep down, you knew your brother was aware of your little secret.

It wasn’t a hunch anymore, Taehyung knew. And it was confirmed when his deep brown eyes slowly drifted towards you when both of his friends finally arrived.

An all black Mercedes AMG parked right besides your brother’s car, blinding you by its bright lights. Hoseok was the one to get out first, sporting a wide smile while walking towards where you and the other two boys were standing. With a faltering grin, you greeted the boy whom you were asking about no longer than a minute ago, however, in that precise moment, you were no longer preoccupied by his whereabouts. Instead, you held your breath, waiting for the person behind the steering wheel, the one who hasn’t made an appearance just yet.

“How’s it going, Hobi hyung?” Jimin asked, after a quick handshake with the aforementioned guy.

“It’s all good…”

Their conversation was tuned out for you the moment the driver's door was finally opened. It all happened at a tortuous slow speed; a pair of black combat boots were the first thing in sight, followed by a pair of washout baggy jeans and an oversized black t-shirt. Your eyes were quick to gravitate towards the tattoo sleeve the guy was sporting; fingers cladded in rings and a silver bracelet adorning his wrist. His fashion sense was one most guys envied, nonetheless, no one has been able to look as good as the man in front of you in oversized black clothes.

“Long time no see.” His amused tone snapped you out of your thoughts.

Jungkook was standing tall in front of you, with a mischievous look in his eyes, one that secretly warned you about the possible risky situation you will be in tonight. And as much as you’d want to say no, it was impossible for you to reject any proposition the boy was willing to make.

However, no one could really blame you for falling that hard for him.

Jeon Jungkook was a man often described as charming, flirty, funny and, evidently, attractive. Girls would fawn over the young man all the time, staring at him with bedroom eyes whenever he made an appearance; it was interesting the way Jungkook walked around as if he owned the place, lowkey bragging about his car and his winning strike with such confidence, but not even once he showed an ounce of arrogance when talking to you. He proved over and over again that the generic description people would give about him was undeniably true. He was charming, flirty and quite attractive, however, you would add another adjective to the long list of words that girls always used when talking about your brother’s friend; troublesome.

Jeon Jungkook was a walking disaster, a man worthy of a warning sign. The bright yellow with dark letters and a huge exclamation mark type of warning. But alas, you never noticed, not while he was charming you up since the first night you two met. You were in too deep now, with no way out, more than coming to terms with the consequences you were bound to face, once you decide to be honest with your brother that is.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, JK.” Taehyung was the first one to talk, making you look away from the man a few feet away from you. “How’s it been?”

“It could’ve been better.”

You could feel his piercing stare, but refused to look in his direction.

“Ready for tonight?” He opted to ask once he realized you weren’t budging. “Heard the prize is five grand this time.”

“Yeah, I’m taking all that money with me when I win.”

At that you scoffed playfully, looking at your overly confident brother.

“If you win.” A mischievous smirk took place on your face.

“You still doubt me, little sis?” Taehyung directed his attention to you, taking interest in the way you decided to finally insert yourself in the conversation. “Why don’t we make a bet then?”

Hoseok and Jimin were quick to encourage the proposition, fueling the fire for competition between you and Taehyung.

“What are we betting?” You questioned.

“Anything you want”

The possibilities were endless, you could bet money or his secret stash of snacks, hidden in his apartment; you could even ask him for his overly expensive shirt that looked better on you than it did him. But all those things were somewhat easy to provide, easy to give away; however, there was one thing that your brother has always refused to do.

“If you lose…” you drifted off, pretending that you were thinking about what you wanted. “I’ll be the one racing next Saturday.”

Taehyung’s face morphed into a grimace, his serene stance changed to one more rigid and tense. He wasn’t expecting your answer to be that, but then again, it should have been telling by the way you were so quick to agree to the deal.

“Oh and I’ll use one of your cars, too.” The cherry of the cake, as if your previous statement wasn’t enough.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea—” Jungkook wanted to mediate and make you ponder about your proposition and how dangerous it was.

“Alright.” Taehyung cut him off, with a decisive look in his eyes. “I’ll let you take any car you want.”

“And if Vante wins?” Hoseok asked, eagerly.

“I’ll tell her later.”

A weird feeling found home in your chest after your brother’s statement. Something within you was telling you that making that bet was the worst idea you could have had so far. Whether you didn’t want to ponder over it, or you were too sure that you would win, you didn’t argue about his ambiguous answer anymore. Instead, you let him make his way towards his car, getting ready for a race that would change a lot of things after tonight.

A cold hand was quick to wrap around your right arm, preventing you from following Taehyung’s path, like Jimin and Hoseok did.

“Are you sure you wanna continue with this?” Jungkook’s preoccupied voice almost made you coo at him, but at the same time it ignited a desire to push his buttons.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You argued. “It's fifty-fifty. Worst case scenario, I lose my race next week.”

After sending him a confident wink, you parted ways, positioning yourself next to Hoseok. You completely ignored the way Jungkook’s stare hardened, not willing to sour your mood with his protectiveness.

“You sure he’s gonna lose?” Hoseok asked beside you, staring right up ahead at Taehyung’s car. “He seems pretty confident, if I say so myself.”

“Why is everyone doubting me?” You groaned. “Of course he’s gonna act like that, because he needs to pretend he has everything under control.” The explanation wasn’t enough to convince your brother’s friend to be on your side. “Besides, Jimin changed his rims, that’s gotta do something to his performance, no?”

The brown haired man could only laugh, shaking his head as if saying that you couldn’t be more wrong. Your ego was bruised by his reaction. It was known that you didn’t like being laughed at or being the but of a joke you’d never understand. However, the situation in itself was way more than just your friend making fun of the little knowledge you had about cars. It was about how stupid you were for getting yourself a deal in which you won’t be the one winning.

“That just shows you’re not ready to be part of this anytime soon, little one.” Hoseok messed with your hair, before opting to pay attention to the race that was about to begin.

Taking a look at your brother, you could tell he was slightly worried, nonetheless, that worry was not enough to wash away the firm grip on the wheel or the determined look on his face. And it was just then that you realized the big mistake you made.

Maybe you should have been more clever, perhaps you really shouldn’t have pushed your luck in the way you did, but what’s done it’s done, and it was a bit too late to back down.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious who was going to be the winner tonight. Ever since you and your brother found your second home in the cold streets of the south side, Taehyung has never backed down from a challenge, let alone lose one.

So when the lady cladded in a mini skirt and tank top waved the blue bandana, you knew you were done for.

“… Set, go!”

All the cars drove past the girl at an incredibly high speed, almost knocking her out of the street. The cheering and shouting started way before the race could; people pushing others, urging them to move so they could see more clearly.

Looking away from the distant figures of the cars, you encountered a pair of brown eyes already staring at you. Jungkook hesitantly stepped forward to where you were, almost reminding you of the first time you met. His confident demeanor never made an appearance that night, and it certainly threw you off by how hesitant he seemed to approach you. However, you two hit it off right away, starting an easy conversation that led into more than it should have.

But once again, no one could really blame you.

On the night you and Jungkook met for the first time, you were entranced by his alluring physique and charming attitude. His black on black attire pulled you in, and urged you to take a few steps forward to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you.

He was the most handsome man you have ever seen in quite some time, and far from being exciting, it was annoying. It annoyed you the way the shiny piercing adorning his bottom lip looked so inviting, as if it was taunting you, begging you to risk it all and have a taste of it. His doe eyes were a stark contrast to who the guy seemed to be. His tough exterior got combined with a pair of big brown eyes covered in a soft glint.

It was unfair, it was annoying. Moreover, it didn’t help the fact that he granted you a beaming smile, while his tattooed hand reached out to take yours.

His whole existence was annoying, for he was off limits.

Therefore, you had to push your wandering —and very lustful— thoughts away, to the farthest corner of your mind. It was the only way to keep your relationship with your brother safe. No man will ever be worthy of messing things up with Taehyung… or so you thought.

The ugly truth was that you were tempted by the little devil on your shoulder, chanting for you to risk it all and drag the boy to the nearest dark corner, and give both of you a night that neither would be able to forget. It was hard to admit, but there was something about Jeon Jungkook that made you ponder if it would really fuck things up if you were to get intimate with him. For it was risky, as walking all alone in a deserted street at night, but tempting, like eating a forbidden fruit; and the possibility excited you.

Fast forward, the first time meeting him ended up being the first —but certainly not last— time the guy buried his face deep in between your legs, while his eager hands commenced a trip to memorize every curve and dent of your body.

No one knew at the time that amidst the deafening cheering, the blaring music coming from the speakers and the roaring of the cars’ engines, moans were falling from your swollen lips, while your back was pinned against the wall, with a pair of lips covering your body in wet kisses and avid hands were touching every inch of your skin. No one knew that while there was a race happening a few feet away from where you were located, you were also competing, desperately trying to reach your high, at the same time someone’s Camaro drove over the finish line, receiving wild cheers from the crowd.

The situation in itself was impractical and very stupid, however, in a matter of days you developed some sort of addiction towards the beautiful tall young man. And so, after getting accustomed to a routine of secrecy and betrayal, it stopped being a hard pill to swallow, but rather a recurrent predicament to be found in the strong arms of Jungkook, with his lips kissing up and down your neck while his skillful fingers were pumping in and out of your warm walls.

Even on regular days you would still yearn for his touch, playing on repeat his husky voice and the sweet nothings he would whisper in your ears, while thrusting into you.

“My pretty princess, taking me so well.”

It was like music to your ears, a melody that would lift you up so high to almost reach the sky. But despite the amazing feelings Jungkook would put you through, the unbearable truth of going behind your brother’s back and messing around with his friend outweighed the pleasure. You didn’t realize how fucked up you were by being involved in such a messy situation.

At least not until you were almost caught red handed.

“I missed you so much, princess.” A husky voice echoed through the confines of the Mercedes-Benz you were in, sending shivers down your spine. “Don’t make me wait this long to have you, ever again.”

The sentence uttered by Jeon Jungkook himself was intriguing enough for anyone who might hear it on passing, for you, nonetheless, it was sort of a complaint.

Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly your fault the lack of encounters in the past two weeks. Taehyung was starting to get suspicious, asking more questions than he usually would when you went out, he started to pay attention to every little thing Jungkook did when he was around. It was starting to become a bother for you to hide this little secret affair you two were having. And so instead of following the routine of coming over to Jeon’s place like any other day, you rain checked three times in a row. It upset him beyond belief; Jungkook was starting to get dependent on your delicate touch, on your sweet words and the pretty sounds you would make whenever he was buried deep inside you. He couldn’t stand not having you like he usually would.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have surprised you when he pulled you out of the crowd and into his fancy car. It shouldn’t have been shocking the way his hands desperately reached out for you to position you on his lap; nor should have baffled you the way his crotch was grinding up against your core, seeking some comfort to calm the burning sensation running through his body. It was bound to happen.

“Let’s make up for the time apart, then.” You hummed, after placing a passionate kiss on his lips.

Without a second thought, your hands descended down Jungkook’s firm chest, finding their favorite place inside his pants. He felt heavy resting on your palms, and it was so obvious how painfully hard he was. Your fingers wrapped around his base, through his underwear, feeling him up. It was pure torture for the boy; not only did he need you to go faster, but he also wanted to feel the sheer touch of your hands on his aching cock.

His patience was running thin, that much was obvious by the way his gaze darkened, and the grip he had on your waist tightened.

“Princess…” Jungkook hissed. “If you’re gonna do something, do it now.”

You giggled, delighted by his eagerness and irritated voice tone. You were pushing him to the exact point you wanted to have him.

“Not so fast, baby.” You murmured against the skin of his neck, “I wanna enjoy this a little longer.”

Jungkook could only groan, letting you do whatever you wanted to him. It was so easy to be at your mercy, the tattooed man would effortlessly give himself up to you, with no objection. And that was your first mistake: taking more than you should from him.

While he was devoting his body to you willingly, it didn’t go beyond that. He wasn’t yours to take, he wasn’t yours to keep. You could only claim his body whenever he allowed you to do so. But maybe, deep down, that was enough. Perhaps having him physically was better than emotionally; that way you could avoid a complicated relationship that would need to be explained to your overprotective brother later on.

You had him for the time being, albeit not entirely, but attaining his heart seemed to be a hard task, one that you weren’t prepared to go through.

“Fuck baby, just move a little faster.” His strained words echoed through the car, snapping you back into reality.

Your hands were still wrapped around his clothed cock with a vice grip; you were sure that if it could, his dick would be already begging you to free it, and that thought alone was enough to boost your ego. Nonetheless, you ended up realizing you didn’t have much time to spare, despite wanting to keep toying with him. And so, putting an end to Jungkook’s suffering, you finally pulled down his jeans and underwear, watching his girthy cock spring free.

“Fucking finally.” He sighed in relief. “Are you gonna stop being a brat and let me fuck you dumb?”

“I don’t know, am I?” You smirked, mischievously.

Jungkook got fed up with your antics. The dark haired man groaned, pushing you off his lap and positioning you on your hands and knees, so effortlessly that it left you baffled for a few seconds. He rapidly pushed up the hem of your skirt and took off your underwear.

“I’m done playing this game of waiting.” Jungkook’s hands were firm on your skin, keeping you in place. “So be a good girl, and take my fucking cock.”

Without much of a warning, he thrusted into you. His thick tip made its way inside your cunt with ease, due to how wet you were already. It took you a couple of seconds to get used to his big size, but once Jungkook made sure it was safe to move, he bottomed out, reaching the deepest parts of your soaked pussy like no one before.

“I missed this pussy so much.” He hissed.

Moans were falling off your lips, as if they were the only sounds your mouth could utter, and maybe they were. Jungkook always knew how to turn you into a babbling mess whenever he got a hold of you. It was hard to form a coherent thought by the way he was skillfully moving inside of you, let alone to make any other sound that wasn’t a moan or a whine.

“Shit, you’re already clenching on me.” Jeon moaned, feeling your warm walls wrapped around his cock with a hard grip.

Jungkook was pounding relentlessly into you like a mad man. Maybe you underestimated his desire for you, perhaps all these days apart were actual hell for him, as it was for you. But then again, when hasn’t he been like this? It wasn’t out of the norm to be fucked into oblivion by Jungkook. He would often find creative ways to ruin you, to leave you a complete mess once he was done with you.

Hasn’t it been clear already, how much he could do for you? How bad he needed you?

“Jungkook… fuck.” His name left your mouth in an attempt to beg for mercy, for him to slow down a little, but it was pointless. Not even God himself would make him relent.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you.” His fingers weaved through your hair to get a good grip, pulling your head back as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Be a sweetheart and finish your sentence for me, hm?”

Your eyes rolled back, enjoying how deep he was going. Neither your mouth nor your brain seemed to work at the moment, and it was difficult to comply with what Jungkook asked of you.

“Come on, princess, don’t make me repeat myself.” Every word was accompanied by a hard thrust.

“It’s— too m-much...” You struggled to say, while your mouth hung low and an obscene sound came out of it. “Please…”

A chuckle rumbled inside Jungkook’s chest, transferring the vibrations onto your body. He was so deliciously close, that it was easy to sense every reaction, to hear every little sound that would abandon his lips unwillingly.

“Please what?” He urged you to keep talking. “Baby so dumb that can’t even speak properly, can she?”

His words shouldn’t arouse you in the way they did, but oddly enough, his husky voice combined with the rude term ignited a flame inside of you. However, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you were enjoying every bit of it.

“Fuck… you!” The words came out through gritted teeth.

“That’s what I’m doing, honey.” Despite not being able to see him directly, you could tell he was grinning. “Can’t you feel me? Should I go deeper then?”

Had you been more clever, you would have kept your mouth shut, because if it was difficult to deal with his unrelenting pace, it became unbearable when he changed the speed only to thrust harder and deeper than before.

“Can you feel me now, princess?”

Such a dangerous question, one that set your body ablaze.

“Y-Yes… So big.” You breathed out, finally being free from his hard grip on your hair. “I’m getting close.” The confession was somehow refreshing.

It meant that you could finally have your sweet release, but only if the man fucking you manically deemed you worthy of having it, that is.

Unfortunately for you, he had other plans in mind.

“Hold it a little bit, baby. I’m not there yet.”

Jungkook’s stamina has always amazed you; the guy could go for hours without taking more than a five minute break, and not even once he complained about it. Whereas you had to take longer breaks in between rounds, and more often than not, you would only last from two to three rounds before calling it a night. Maybe he was more experienced, or perhaps it was his breathtaking physique. Whatever it was, it often came in handy in times like this.

“Jungkook,” You breathed out his name. “I can’t— I’m so close.”

Your walls were clenching on his dick, sucking him in with ease. It was such a marvelous sensation that almost drove the tattooed man over the edge.

“Fuck, you’re making it difficult for me, doll.” Jungkook chuckled breathlessly. “But I want to see your face when you cum.”

Without pulling out, Jeon flipped you over to make you rest on your back on the leather seats of his fancy car.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

Ever since you got into Jungkook’s car, you haven’t been able to properly look at his face for long. It was such a beautiful sight. His disheveled hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat; his rosy and swollen lips, probably from biting them so much; his lustful glare directed towards you, and his furrowed eyebrows due to how good it felt to be inside of you after so long. Everything about Jeon Jungkook was undeniably attractive, and beyond arousing you, it ignited a warm feeling in your stomach. One that was difficult to mistake for anything else than infatuation.

However, it wasn’t the right time to be thinking about it. Your heart wasn’t connected to your brain, apparently, and so it made you ponder over scenarios that fell into the category of fantasies.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” His question was left unanswered the moment one of his hands flew down to rub your clit. “There you go, princess, make a mess on my cock. You’ve earned it.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. It took a few more thrusts for you to finally let go, crying out his name while your hands reached out to pull him down on you. There was a need installed in the depth of your soul to have him close at all times; to feel his warm skin burning against yours.

“That’s it, beautiful, just let go.” His whispers were like a comforting blanket thrown upon you, encouraging you to move your hips to help him reach his high. “Atta girl, no need for that baby. Let me do the work.”

His pace finally slowed down, while his strong arms wrapped around your waist and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Jungkook was desperate for his release, but at the same time, he wanted to enjoy the moment a little longer. As a result, his slow pace guided him steadily to his orgasm, thrusting deep inside of you and moving his hips in circular motions to reach every corner of your insides. Touching places no one has ever touched before, and providing you with a sensation that always left you craving more.

A few more thrusts and Jungkook was finally falling apart, groaning against your neck, while his soft lips were bathing your skin with warm kisses. His hot breath was also hitting your flesh, sending shivers through your body; making you harden the grip on him.

“I could stay like this forever.” Jungkook sweetly whispered. “You’re so warm.”

You giggled, scratching the back of his head before slightly pulling away.

“But we need to go, before any of the guys start looking for us.”

The tattooed man groaned annoyed, slowly detaching himself from you.

The rest of your usual routine would often happen in a comfortable silence, this time, however, neither of you could actually stop smiling or stealing kisses from one another. It was sickeningly romantic, and it almost made you wonder what it would be like to be in an actual relationship with the tall boy sitting beside you.

“Just one more kiss.” Jeon begged, lightly pulling you in, to place his soft lips on yours.

“That’s enough.” You stopped him, with a shy grin on your face. “You go first.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook opened the door, ready to get out and act as if he wasn’t making you see stars a few minutes ago. Although, your happy and exciting moment was short lived.

“JK, there you are dude.” Hoseok’s voice rang through your ears, making goosebumps coat your skin in a matter of seconds. “We’ve been looking for— wait, did I interrupt something?”

A knowing small took place on the brown haired man’s face, not before playfully smacking his arm to tease him.

“Uh… I, kinda, yeah.” Jungkook was praying he couldn’t recognize you. But the moment Hoseok tried to look inside his car he quickly closed the door, taking a few steps away from the vehicle. “What’s up? Why were you looking for me?”

The moment their voices became indistinct chatter you could finally release the breath you were subconsciously holding. Your hands slowly relaxed their grip on your skirt, but the anxious feeling settled in your chest, refusing to leave.

“This needs to stop.”

The only problem was that you didn’t know how to make it stop.

The wild shouting from the crown snapped you back into the present. Reminding you of the place you were in, the people you were surrounded by, and the fatal bet you made early in the night.

A bright white Camaro ZL1 was rapidly approaching the finish line, with the roaring of the engine echoing through the street, and making the ground vibrate a little. Fate has dealt its cards and sadly they weren’t on your side. Defeated and tired of experiencing an array of emotions through the long night, you waited at the side of the road for your brother to cross the red line.

Anyone could have predicted it, yet you were hoping the outcome would be different. But alas, you were meant to be taught a lesson tonight; never go behind your brother’s back.

“That’s my boy!” Jimin excitedly yelled while walking towards Taehyung’s tall figure. “I told you the rims were perfect.”

Your brother could only chuckle, shaking hands with his friends before directing his full attention towards you.

“Seems like I won’t be racing next week.” You faked annoyance, although in reality you were sort of relieved. Maybe Hoseok was right after all, and you weren’t ready for that world just yet.

Everything seemed fine so far, no malicious intent, no ulterior motives. No way to predict the chaos that was about to unravel. Perhaps you should have prayed with a little bit more conviction, maybe you should have put more effort into making sure you would win. Otherwise, your downfall could have been prevented.

“So, what do you want as your prize, idiot?” You asked, so confident that nothing bad could happen.

Your brother slowly prepared to say the words that would inevitably change the route of the night.

“It’s very simple, in all honesty.” Taehyung started saying. “I want to ask a quick question.”

“Shoot.” You encouraged him.

Oh, if only you had known.

“I just want to know for how long?” His piercing glance should have given it away. “How long have you been fucking my best friend behind my back?”

[7darkshadows]

it's been a while since i logged in to this acc it made me realize just how much i miss reading fics😭 but i got thesis this sem and life is still kicking my ass. also I'm gonna turn 21 this month holy shit i was 18 when i made this account.

ALSO STILL WAITING FOR BTS💜

[7darkshadows]

remedy

summary: "i think, just think, if you stay here, just for a while, play with my hair or whatever, i may fall asleep, just saying."

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: jeon jungkook rotting my brain fluff

wc: 875 words (tiny baby)

a/n: lmao look who's back because she fell asleep on jungkook's live (like literally my phone was on my face) also for this story's sake, this took place in the dark of morning and not the dawn :] also, also, there's a spoiler for the pale horse by agatha christie in here :P happy 10 years everybody! here's to more ♡

-

"how was the book, my love?"

you trip over the soft rug placed infront of the bathroom door, startled that your boyfriend's still awake at 3:33 a.m. you figured he would fall asleep after watching spiderverse reels and coming up with tons of theories about the final movie of the trilogy. jungkook lies on your side of the bed, fluffy mop of dark hair covering his tired eyes. you take your time with your skincare routine, describing the agatha christie you've been reading for the past 2 and a half hours, knowing it was gonna be a long night anyway.

"it was thallium poisoning, koo, not witchcraft. i never knew your hair could fall out in clumps because of that." you gently massage the serum into your face, looking around from the mirror to jungkook's gaze on you, slight smile playing on his pierced lips.

"did you put this before heading to bed, koo?" he moves his head absentmindedly, eyes darting from the small bottle in your hand to your face back again. you take it as a yes, meticulously placing the bottle in its designated place. you all but rush to bed, sneaking under the covers to his side of the bed.

your beloved shifts from lying to his side to on his tummy, chin placed on his special neck pillow, cheeks getting squished from his hands holding up his head. you scoot closer to him, brushing the bangs away from his face. you finally catch the stars in his eyes, nose scrunching in delight at the impromptu head massage.

"what's on your mind, baby?" you mumble into his hair, when he finds his way to your chest, arms immediately wrapping around you tightly in the softest way possible. "dunno," you feel his shoulders go up and down when shrugs, "there's always something up there now, you know?" he practically buries his face in your neck, placing a chaste kiss here and there. his fingers trace their way all the way from your hipbone to your shoulder, fidgeting with the thin silver necklace holding the delicate pendant he had given you on your birthday.

"wanna sleep and at the same, i don't wanna," he pouts, moving away from you ever so slightly to look up at you. "and why is that?" you ask curiously, smiling at him shivering at the touch of your cold fingers at the back of his neck. jungkook gazes at your eyes boring into him like warm rays of sunshine after a sudden spring shower. your moon-like eyes turns into pretty crescents when the silence gets comfortable, your bodies blending into one for warmth, despite the sultry heat outside. jungkook flings his leg over you, practically intertwined with you like vines on a lamp-post. its like his mind has come to a standstill, in a good way. the million thoughts running in his head has suddenly ceased, all because of your firm yet tender hands on him, one playing with his hair absentmindedly and the other tracing hearts on the upper part of his tattoo sleeve.

jungkook knows, despite not answering your question, you see right through his silence. he has wondered and pondered, over countless nights and self made whiskey cocktails, what exactly plagues his mind to avoid him catching up on some shut eye. he is no stranger to insomnia, often finding himself with new hobbies to while away the time till he finally gets sleepy. he boxed, karaoke-d, cooked his way through it all, that is until, he found you.

his own personal remedy, in the form of the most emotive, sometimes amorous love. nights spent with you is new everyday, no matter the place or time. you both could be on the couch, tummies full and hearts content at 9:45 p.m and jungkook would find himself asleep within seconds, something he could rarely achieve by himself. your lingering touches are something he thought he could only dream of, often waking up to you rolled over to the other side of the bed, grumbling to himself about your adventurous sleeping habits, wondering why you could never stay in one place, knowing he's subject to your teases about the same everyday. he gently pulls you to him anyway, spooning you until he finds the warmth he was searching helplessly for so long in his dream-like state.

"i can only sleep well when you're here with me," he confesses, a whisper into the dark space you both fondly call home. you catch his doe eyes on you, the night lights from outside never failing to enhance the galaxies you wake up to and sleep to everyday. jungkook clasps the back of your shirt in his hand, a subtle sign that he's succumbing to sleep's heavy hold.

"i think, just think, if you, just for a while, play with my hair or whatever, i may fall asleep, just saying."

your hand immediately resumes it's precious job, chuckling slightly at his quiet request of a head massage. his eyelashes flutter when his eyelids betray his mind, wanting one last look at you before he sees you again. before you know it, he's snoring away to dreamland in your arms, where you trust you'll meet him soon.

-

taglist: @soobhyun ; @september-husband ; @snoozeagustd ; @cherishoshi ; @fragmentofyourlife ; @jjkeverlast ; @nlsonsprings ; @starlight-1010 ; @swga-ficrecs ; @zharoszn

[7darkshadows]

Double Trouble (m) | 3

prologue • part one • part two • part three • (…)

A bet with your roommate Jungkook gets you in a world of trouble, though you’re not exactly complaining. After all, who wouldn’t love trouble when it comes in the form of the man, the myth, the legend; the tattoo artist across the street, Christian motherfucking Yu?

collab with Mars @jooneos​​

≽ pairing: jungkook x reader, christian yu x reader, a dash of jk x christian ≽ au: f2l, tattoo parlour/flower shop!au, roommate!au ≽ genre: smut (implied + actual), fluff, angst ≽ warnings: porn with plot, swearing, the tequila returns, come eating, it’s precome but hey a gal’s gotta get her fill, speaking of fill, christian has a big dick, dom/sub themes, soft dom!christian, sub!reader, brat!reader, lots of teasing, lowkey some cracky foreplay, male masturbation, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, a bit of deepthroating/gagging, fingering, grinding, unprotected but safe sex, vaginal penetration, little bit of biting, boob/nipple play, dirty talk, some scratching ≽ word count: 25k

a/n: helloooo friends, we hope you’ve had a great weekend!! The train to thirst town has arrived at its third stop, we hope you enjoy it ;)

›› tag list: @jooheonbee​ @freckleyoon​ @ajokeformur-ray​ @hobisdreams​ @ultraanonymousey​ @k0modob1ue​ @jesuislalune​ @bloom-oppa @fawn08 @thesilenthill​ @copa-c-havana​ @jiminisnotavirgin​ @theravengoddess​ @your-cherry-bomb​ @chogiyeol-utopia​ @mercurygguk​ @bapbaptothetop​ @fleur-dreams​ @nllisa @magicshop-myg​ @honeydewseoks​ @rubydotexe​ @joonadore​ @jihoonspout​ @spoopysoph​ @ironically-indifferent96​ @tatajoonie​ @thegirlwithamigraine​​ @alterbru​​ @under-dah-sea ; let us know if you’d like to be added! ‹‹

masterlists; series | bangtanstanst | jooneos

You sigh, stomping your feet on the doormat to shake off the remnants of snow sticking to your shoes, your shoulders slumping. Your walk through the snowy streets has extinguished the remnants of tequila burning at your insides. The cold has frozen your fingers and still bites at your skin, and you’re shivering; you barely want to take off your coat even though the apartment is more than warm enough.

The living room lights are still on – you let out a short breath, feeling some of the tension rushing out of your muscles. A weird feeling has been bubbling in the pit of your stomach ever since the front door to Christian’s apartment fell closed behind you, and you’re eager to return to the comfort of Jungkook’s arms.

Keep reading

[7darkshadows]

stop thinking about me | myg

✰ pairing: ex!yoongi x f!reader ✰ warnings: angst; they're on facetime; they're exes who can't let go of each other, because that's all i know how to write about apparently; canon compliant-ish? ✰ word count: 1.2k ✰ note: i am still ~ technically ~ on a writing hiatus, but i saw a reel of yoongi performing seesaw looking all tortured and it was over for me. sorry, i can't help but be chaotic when the muses strike. it's the air signs 😌 planning for this to be the first in a drabble series!

✰ listened to: trivia 轉: seesaw - BTS

my blog is 18+ only. minors DNI.

—

2:02 AM PST [6:02 PM KST]

"I still think of you, you know. Every time."

You sit back in your office chair, watching as your computer screen flickers off from inactivity. It occurs to you that you've been at this place for five years, now—stared at the same frosted glass walls and chic Swedish furniture and your needlessly expensive office equipment for far longer than you'd like to admit.

To Yoongi's credit, he'd done all he could to make sure you were taken care of, after everything. Pulled his strings, called in favors. Set you up for your own career—cut clean from him, from Big Hit. Did everything short of giving you straight cash, which you'd made clear you wouldn't be accepting.

Some might say it was the least he could have done, but you still think there are plenty of guys who would have left you out in the cold.

But Yoongi's not like that. Never has been, not even after you parted ways. Still isn't, even though five years have passed since then and nothing's left to rise from the ashes.

Maybe it's cruel to pick up his calls, knowing what he's like. Or maybe you still feel like you owe it to him, years later, to keep picking up.

Maybe he's the one who's cruel, reaching out when he knows you'll acquiesce. Over, and over, and over again.

He has tells. Glaringly obvious ones, and you watch as he leans back in whatever hotel bed he's in, eyelashes kissing cheekbones that protrude just a bit too far. The cropped sleeve of his shirt rides up, revealing a bicep that's more swollen than you remember. You will your heart to stop accelerating.

"You haven't eaten much today," you observe, passing over his comment entirely.

He laughs—a low thrum of chords in his chest, a sound you can feel in yours. A flash of teeth, quickly vanishing behind a pout. "Stop reading me."

"I just know what you're like."

Silence. You think you hear the noise of something in the background—the TV, maybe, or music playing on his speaker. Another little habit of his. Could never be left alone with his thoughts for too long. Hated silence, couldn't stand it. Needed to be hearing something, all the time.

It'd driven an argument or two, back then. Nothing serious, because it never was. You'd laugh it off, and he'd make fun of you for picking a fight before kissing you goodbye. Before slinking back to his dorm, leaving you to walk home alone through places where he couldn't be seen.

He blinks at you from the screen, gaze unreadable. So, so familiar. You remember butterfly kisses on those eyelids. Holding his ragged edges with care.

You wish you'd fought for it. You wish he'd fought more. You wish you hadn't shut him out. You wish he'd tried to get in.

You wish it wasn't like this: Limbo. Never really relying on him for anything. Leaving a Yoongi-shaped space in your life... just in case.

"Tell me about work." He shifts again, yawning. "That woman still bugging you? What's her name, Shin Jeonghyeon?"

You give him a wry smile. "Surprised you remember."

"Hey, I remember the things you tell me."

He does. He always remembers. The names of your coworkers, your childhood dog, the high school you'd attended. He'd once remembered a passing comment you made about strawberries on your third date and showed up at your doorstep a month later with a whole box of them, the second they were in season.

It's something you love about him—loved.

Almost involuntarily, your eyes shift to the little strawberry-shaped charm dangling from the strap of your bag. The little cross you still bear, for a long-dead thing.

"She's whatever," you say, trying to sound nonchalant, though it's really her doing that you're here this late—fixing atrocious PowerPoints, shooting off last-minute emails to sponsors, doing damage control. "Things have been better, lately."

He blinks again, then sighs. Something you used to hear, a lot. One of the things you didn't like so much, because he relied on it far too often to say the things he couldn't. Wouldn't. Now, though.... "You're still at the office, though. Have you eaten dinner?"

You narrow your eyes, a smile playing at your lips. "Have you?" you challenge.

He shakes his head. Smiles back, eyes sliding shut. He's so pretty, so delicate that you ache to touch him. You bite back the thought. "So you haven't."

"It's still early, Yoongi. Don't worry about me." You take a tentative sip from the melted iced coffee on your desk. Pull a face, because it's been sitting there since the morning and tastes even nastier than it did then. He exhales a laugh.

There's a sharp knock at your office door. You glance up to see a shadow moving behind the frosted glass. A small thump, retreating footsteps, and then the shadow disappears down the hallway. On the screen, Yoongi wiggles his eyebrows.

When you open the door, there's a knotted plastic bag sitting on the floor by your feet. You smell it before you can see its contents: jjamppong. Extra spicy. The last four digits of his number scrawled on the receipt.

"Yoongi," you say quietly. You can't tell if it's meant to thank or admonish.

He pulls his mouth into a little line. Shy. "Just eat it."

You bring the bag back to your desk. "You're impossible, do you know that? Never listening to me."

"Only when I know you're wrong."

"I'll eat it at home." At the sharp click of his tongue and furrowing of his brows, you fight a grin. "I promise. Soon. I just need to send off one more thing...."

"It's always just one more thing."

You pout, just a little. Something you only ever do with him. "Stop reading me." You wiggle your mouse to wake the screen, type in your password. You try not to think about the fact that the password is still the name of the restaurant where you'd gone on your first date—and dozens of dates thereafter.

The same restaurant whose name is printed on the receipt.

Your desktop has two clocks on it. One on KST, and the other.... "Yoongi, it's two AM over there."

"Jetlag."

"Bullshit," you counter. "You were just in New York and Chicago, and it's even later over there. You should be asleep."

He rubs his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Can't sleep until I know you've gotten home safe, though."

It's one of those things he says, all casual and offhand, that spikes your senses anyway. Makes you wonder what he isn't saying—what's left between the lines.

It's so, so unfair.

"Go to sleep," you say, softly. "You have another show tomorrow."

"Yeah, I will."

You regard each other for a moment. You wonder who will have the courage to get off first.

"I wasn't lying," he murmurs, almost like he's talking to himself. "I really am thinking about you, up there. With that song." His words go liquid, formless. He clears his throat. "Every single time."

You blink back whatever's gathering in your eyes—the thing that feels suspiciously like grief. "Yeah. I know."

He knows that you heard him. That you heard the quiet part. "Yeah. Night."

In the end, he hangs up on you. Just like before, just like always, he's the one to get off first.

—

[7darkshadows]

𓆩♡𓆪 “i heard from a friend of a friend, that that dick was a ten out of ten” — jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — threesomes, sexual objectification, yg and jk are both high, dom-sub undertones, petplay(?) yg just calls oc puppy and makes her crawl, dumbification, protected sex, pussy eating, blowjobs, reader’s in for it LMAO, cum-eating(?), it gets soft i swear

“You remember I told you about Yoongi, right baby?” Jungkook wraps his arm around your waist and gently guides you out of the car, “ ‘s not gonna take long, we’ll be in and out. I just need to pick something up.” He closes the door and tugs you with him with a hand on your ass.

You sleepily look around the parking lot mumbling about how pretty the apartments looked. “Yoongi is the one you said sells you weed?” You softly reply as you follow him into the building, “But I thought you said weed makes you dumb, ‘s why you don’t let me get you any from Jooheon.” You pout.

Jungkook presses a kiss to your forehead, “Jooheon’s a idiot and I don’t want you near him. At least Yoongi actually sells shit worth buying.” He presses the button to the elevator, “You’ll like him baby, he’s a good friend of mine. Plus his roommate has a dog too.”

You step into the elevator with a angry little pout, “You said we would be in and out, does that mean I can’t play with the doggy?” You huff, you’re no stranger to Jungkook taking you out so late to do god knows what, but you really hope he isn’t making this a short trip because then it means you got all dressed up for nothing. :(

Jungkook kisses the pout off your face, “Don’t give me that fuckin’ pout, I’ll take you out after this. You think I’m gonna let your cute ass go to waste?” He teases softly as he gives your ass an appreciative squeeze.

Well, he does have a point. You ARE dressed pretty cute tonight, you had chosen to wear this pretty jean miniskirt along with your new pink tube top that had little rhinestones all over! You find yourself smiling brightly at Jungkook, “Can we go get fried chicken at that one karaoke place?”

Both of you reach Yoongi’s floor, his roommate Hoseok(?) invites the two of you in and he heads off into his room talking about needing some sleep. You coo quietly at the small dog sleeping by the TV stand all curled up into a tiny fluff ball. “He’s so cuteeee.” You whine as you bend over to get a better look at the dog.

Jungkook chuckles quietly and leaves you be, “Yoongi! Get your ass out here!” he says, disappearing down the dark hall in search of said man.

You’re left all alone in the dimly lit living room with the puppy. You’re too busy cooing over it to notice Yoongi come out from the room opposite of the hallway Jungkook went into. “So you’re the one Jungkook talks about.” Yoongi’s eyes rack down your form until they land right on your ass where your skirt rides up just a tiny bit, “Guess he wasn’t lying afterall.”

You jump a little at the new voice and turn around to look at Yoongi with puppy eyes, “You scared me!” You hold a hand over your chest, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you look like a creep.”

Yoongi snorts, “My bad sweetheart,” he holds his arms up in surrender as he licks his lips, “didn’t know it was a crime to walk in my own house.” He shakes his head and walks to the kitchen connected to the living room, “Where’d your ‘Jungkookie’ go hm? Think you can be a good girl and use that little brain of yours?”

“He went to look for you down the other hall!” You smile cheerfully and stand up a bit straighter. He eyes you silently and you make a confused noise, following his gaze down only to see he’s staring at your chest where a tiny bit of boob pops out. “Oh. Sorry,” you softly huff and mutter about your ‘stupid top’ as you fix your tits.

Yoongi nods, “Nah, nah… you’re absolutely fine..” He trails off and sips his water. Jungkook comes barreling in a few moments later and Yoongi perks up, “Oh there you are, I was just asking about you to your girl.” He clears his throat.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in faux annoyance, “Yeah, yeah dickhead I was looking all over for you. Got my ass yelled at by Hoseok cause I was making too much noise supposedly. You got what I need or what?” He grunts, pulling you to his side.

Yoongi nods, “I just rolled one a couple minutes ago, why don’t we smoke that one first, on the house Kook you know hyung rolls the fattest blunts.” He smirks, “On the house.”

Jungkook raises a brow and looks over at you, you’re obviously lost in your own world as you coo at the now awake puppy which is hiding at your feet. “Fine, but y/n’s not smoking, got it. So don’t even fuckin offer any cause I know your ass.”

Yoongi grins, “Pinky promise.” Jungkook doesn’t miss the wink he shoots you.. Oh, so now Yoongi likes to share his blunts all of a sudden? Generous.

They get situated on the leather couch together as Yoongi lights the blunt up, taking a long drag from it and passing it off to Jungkook. You mostly ignore the two, opting to sit out with the puppy playing around and cooing at it. Yoongi watches you with darkened eyes sitting back in his seat and enjoying the sight of you looking so pretty on your knees.

“I can see you staring bitch,” Jungkook grunts and hands off the blunt back to Yoongi, “you’re not being so fucking subtle like you think you are.” He narrows his eyes.

Yoongi shrugs, all to calm for someone who just got called out, “I know a pretty ass when I see one, I’m only a man after all, sue me. Don’t worry, I won’t go near your precious y/n.”

Jungkook looks over at you, you’re sitting so pretty and clueless at the same time. He looks back at Yoongi who’s intently watching him with those cold calculated eyes which hold something akin to mischief in them. It suddenly dawns on him he’s more interested than he initially thought he was. Jungkook has a vision (which is partly owed to the weed taking over his senses and clouding his mind) and something in him wants to see just how perfect you go with Yoongi..

His beloved Yoongi hyung whose reputation was built far more worse than his own was. His hyung that fucked a plethora of women who all had one thing in common–their shared love for his tongue and fingers which apparently they referred to as heavenly and mind blowing.

“... How bad would you say that you want y/n, and none of that what are you talking about shit. I see the way you’re looking…shameless bastard.” Jungkook smirks as he takes a long hit.

Yoongi slowly tilts his head to look at you as he licks his lips, “Does little Kookie wanna watch hyung fuck his girlfriend into another universe? Is that what you like Kook, watching someone else ruin that pretty thing over there?” He grins, eyes half lidded with desire. Jungkook shivers, he’s possessive sure but something about getting to see you get wrecked right in front of him does things to him.

“You know my answer to that.” He pokes his tongue against his cheek and smirks in return.

The two carry on in silence passing the blunt back and forth. You on the other hand sit there in utter shock, frozen in your spot after hearing all those things Jungkook and Yoongi were saying about you. Yoongi gives you butterflies in your tummy, the good kind too, and hearing them talk about you like you’re not even there makes it ten times more appealing.

You slowly turn around to look at the two sitting across from you. Yoongi catches your gaze and stares right back at you with a promising grin. It has you feeling a second heartbeat down there between your thighs as you shift around and rub them together. Yoongi hands off the blunt to Jungkook and curls his finger at you in a ‘come here’ motion.

As you go to get up Yoongi stops you, “Ah, ah,” he grins evilly, “on all fours sweetheart, wanna see you crawl like a cute puppy.”

You flush under his words and slowly lower yourself back down, crawling towards Yoongi with a sway of your hips. Jungkook’s own eyes are dark and half-lidded, he watches you with close eyes and mutters something about how hot you look on all fours like that.

“There you go sweetheart, guess your little brain does work for something after all.” Yoongi pats his knee, “Right here baby, right where you belong.” The insinuation itself has your pussy creaming, clit throbbing from arousal and neglect. You’re not too sure you can survive this.

“Let’s get this flimsy thing off.” Yoongi pulls you in even closer once you’re on his lap, his (veiny) hands slithering down to your miniskirt as he begins to unbutton it for you. “Up you go,” he slaps your ass, “yeah, just like that baby, I think your Jungkookie likes what he sees.” He motions over to Jungkook.

You turn around to face Jungkook with puppy eyes, pouting even more when you see his tattooed hand rubbing over his growing erection sitting so sinfully in his sweats. He nods at you with a grin, “Be good for hyung baby, show him how much of a good girl you are.” With that in mind you turn back to Yoongi.

Yoongi hisses under his breath when he comes face to face with your lacy panties, chubby little pussy hugged so perfectly by the flimsy material with an obvious wet patch over the center. “Do a little spin for me sweetheart, nice and slow for me.” He licks his lips sitting back and staring up at you.

You shyly do a spin, making sure not to go too fast since you’ve done this countless times for Jungkook. Yoongi’s hands come up to stop you mid-twirl, holding you still in front of him as he runs his hands over your baby-soft skin, gently cupping your asscheeks and bouncing them in place.

“Shit.” He growls, “So fuckin’ pretty.” He suddenly pulls back to smack your ass harshly, watching it bounce in place as a hand print slowly starts appearing. You yelp softly and chew on your bottom lip, this isn’t fun at all if he’s only looking :( you want him to make you feel good too!

“I bet you’re even prettier over here.” He whispers huskily and gently presses two fingers right up against your cunt, rubbing over the wet patch as he presses in to emphasize his words.

You mewl softly and give him the best puppy eyes you can muster, “You’re being really mean right now. ‘S not fun at all!” You huff angrily.

Yoongi smacks your ass hard, “You’ll take what I give you sweetheart, no need to get fucking mouthy with me. Your greedy little pussy is practically beggin’ for it at this point, look at you,” he laughs which adds further to your embarrassment, “you want me here?” He presses right up against your swollen clit which lies hidden away in those damned panties. “Puppy forgot how to speak?”

“N-No, ‘s just–”

“Just what sweetheart?” He quickly interrupts and forces another whine out of your throat. “C’mon, I don’t have all night to sit here and wait until you decide to use your little brain to figure out what you want.”

Yoongi is cruel with the way he pinches your clit while he nonchalantly talks to you still expecting for you to be able to reply to him. Your lip wobbles and you begin whining again with small hiccups, “Y-You’re being mean..! I don’t want your stupid fingers anymore, you’re not even doing anything and it’s not fair.”

“Not fair puppy? How, if you can’t tell me what you need? Are you that dumb you can’t even figure out your own needs? Has Jungkook fucked you stupid babydoll?” Yoongi pulls you back into his lap as he circles his arms over your waist and holds you still against him, “Hm?”

“ ‘s not true, I know that I want your fingers.” You huff cutely and lick your lips, “And if you won’t do something about it then I’m going to Jungkook, he’ll do something.” You glare.

Jungkook makes a noise since he’s addressed for the first time since this has started. “My patience is running thin Yoongi, if you won’t I will and you’ll single handedly ruin your only chance to get your hands on my baby.” He smirks.

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lays you back on the couch, “Brats, the lot of you.” He slides your panties down your soft thighs and tosses them in Jungkook’s direction, “Get yourself off with those loser.” He grunts and lays his eyes over your glistening pussy.

Your breath hitches in excitement and you let your thighs fall open for the older, biting your lip in anticipation. “Actually I got a better idea.” Jungkook muses as he rises off the couch and slowly walks over, “from what I remember…puppies don’t speak.” He grins.

Yoongi looks up at Jungkook and then trails his gaze down to you, “You’re right.”

+

Soft moans and garbled little cries are punched out of your throat with every thrust Yoongi sends your way. His cock punches in deep and strikes a spot inside that has your thighs shaking and pussy leaking. His thighs smack into your over and over again, he practically has you hanging off his cock bent over at a perfect angle with your ass up high.

Yoongi grips your hips tightly and occasionally digs his fingernails into your soft skin, leaving behind marks from his aggression. He releases a series of pleasured grunts and tiny sighs as your pussy tries to milk him of all he’s worth. “Loosen up for me will you sweetheart? Gonna give it to you just the way you need.” He moans.

You’re trying not to tighten up around him but it’s a little difficult with your mouth preoccupied with Jungkook’s cock. You’re trying not to choke up around him but Yoongi keeps catching you off guard with his punishing pace. The pleasure clouds your senses, making it a bit harder to focus on Jungkook.

“C’mon baby, you can do better than that.” Jungkook grunts as he guides you up and down his cock, watching as you slobber all over him and leave behind a mess.

You whimper loudly and squirm around, your jaw aches pleasantly from the stretch but you don’t find it in you to care much. Not when Jungkook’s cock settles just nicely over your tongue, you easily catch him off guard when you suckle around him and slurp up your spit and precum. Yoongi however, catches your attention again when he delivers a slap to your ass.

“I don’t want a drop wasted, good girls always make sure to clean their messes don’t they? You gonna be good to Jungkook and swallow all of it, or are you too cock drunk to understand.” Yoongi pants softly and re-adjusts his grip on your hips and fucks into your harder.

The sound of your ass clapping off of his pelvis resonates loudly, between your thighs there’s a mess of your creamy slick which seems to form a visible white ring around Yoongi’s cock everytime he backstrokes. Yoongi hisses at the sight, he wishes that he wasn’t wearing a condom so he could fill your sweet little cunt up and watch as his cum was pushed back in.

“Ah fuck,” Jungkook groans out and throws his head back, “keep going like that baby.” He whispers in pure bliss, “You’re doing so good for me.” He grips your hair tighter.

You gag around his cock in response, feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You’re pretty sure you look a mess right now, tear streaks down your face and ruined makeup. “Mmm..!” You cry out in a mix of pleasure and some pain when Yoongi reaches between your thighs to pinch at your swollen clit, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingertips.

“Go on and make Jungkookie cum baby, don’t be a selfish little slut.” Yoongi purrs as he slows his hips down to a sensual grind. “Hold it in for me sweetheart, good girls cum when they’re told to.”

Jungkook on the other hand loses it when you make eye contact with him, he grabs on to your hair tightly and begins fucking up into your mouth. His balls press snug against your chin as he rolls his hips quickly. “Shit, shit baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” he shudders as he tightens his grip, “just a little more for me.” He moans.

Not wanting to disappoint him you swallow around his cock and moan loudly, letting the vibrations travel as you flick your tongue on the underside of his cock where a particularly sensitive vein lies. Jungkook’s poor cock throbs as the first few spurts of warm cum shoot down your throat. He lets out a long moan, eyes slipping shut and head falling back in pleasure, “Shit.”

Yoongi licks his lips and pulls you off of Jungkook’s cock, “Swallow for me.” He whispers, yanking your head back as he watches you greedily gulp down the cum. “That’s a good girl,” he licks his lips and delivers hard punishing thrusts, “gonna cum all over that pretty ass sweetheart.” He closes his eyes and groans.

Your cunt throbs in excitement as you shakily whimper and hide your face in Jungkook’s thighs. “P-Please, ‘m so close,” you sob softly it gets harder to hold your orgasm back, and you do NOT want to be a bad girl.

Yoongi suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing as you whimper from the loss. You hear him rip the condom off and toss it on your ass. “Fuck,” he hisses as he strokes his cock rapidly, “turn over for me.”

You shakily comply and push yourself off of Jungkook, lying on your back and staring up at Yoongi with those sweet puppy eyes of yours. He aims his cock down at your lower tummy and spills all over, hissing through his teeth as he tips his head back and sighs. You watch with teary eyes, this isn’t fair! They got to cum but you didn’t!

“Don’t you pout at me, I haven’t forgotten you yet.” Yoongi sighs, utterly relaxed from his strong orgasm as he wedges himself between your thighs, “You did so well for me puppy, sit back and relax.”

His hot mouth ghosts over your pussy until you feel his lips wrap around your clit. You cry out in sensitivity and reach up to hold on to Jungkook’s hands while Yoongi begins ferociously eating you out. He eats you like a man starved, basically making out with your cunt at this point.

“Mm..! Mmm..!” Your head is thrown back, mouth agape as he spits on your cunt and traces your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Jungkook gently hushes you, “Just let go for me baby.” He leans down to smooch your cheek and whisper words of encouragement.

The praises are what leads to your orgasm. A loud cry escapes out of you and you’re left shaking on the couch as you cum harder than ever with your clit in Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi slurps up the mess he made on your cunt as he pulls back to pant softly, “Good girl, look at you.” He whispers as he watches your chest rise and fall.

You pout your lips up at Jungkook for a kiss and he easily complies without hesitation. You happily sigh into his mouth and relax under both men. Jungkook for the most part ignores Yoongi and murmurs against your lips if you’re okay. You think he’s so sweet for that and it makes you melt even further.

“Are you guys getting the fuck off my couch anytime soon? I gotta clean this shit before Seok wakes up.” Yoongi says now standing as he smokes the rest of the blunt he and Jungkook were sharing earlier. “I have a magical thing called a bathroom where you can do this thing we call freshening up.”

“Fuck off.” Jungkook snorts as he gently gathers you in his arms, “Leave my baggy out there and we’ll be on our way after we freshen up.” He says as he lifts you up and begins carrying you off down the hall. You pass by Yoongi mumbling a ‘I have to go peepee remember?’ to which Jungkook replies, “Yes you do baby, ‘less you want a STI.”

Yoongi stands there with a unreadable expression, “Get the fuck out of my house.” He rolls his eyes and begins cleaning. (He doesn’t mean it though..)

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe

[7darkshadows]

1999 | jjk (m)

summary: the year was 1999. boybands were wearing all-white outfits, everybody wanted an ibook or a tamagotchi, tlc didn’t want no scrubs, fight club was playing in movie theaters and you became jeon jungkook’s fake girlfriend in order to fix his reputation.  pairing: campus royalty!jungkook x f reader  genre: one shot, 90s au, college au, hockey au, childhood neighbors to friends to idiots to lovers, fake dating, fluff, crack, angst, smut  rating: 18+  word count: 17.9k warnings: ok so we got lots of swearing, 90s lingo throughout, crack humor, banter, jk calls reader tiny, alcohol consumption, mentions/use of cigarettes, steroids and drugs (eg. marijuana + ecstasy), partying, 90s pop culture references, 90s technology, neglectful parents, family issues, mention of minor character death, angst! angst! angst!, pining lol, lotta kissing, sexual tension, pet names, explicit smut so clit stimulation, titty fondling, handjob, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected sex (pls wrap it before u tap it), big dick!jk, calvin klein jk, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, creampie, minor degradation, aftercare (uwu)

a/n: this was so much fun to write and i absolutely adore these characters—i hope you guys do as well! thank you to everyone who read the teaser and waited patiently for the full fic, i appreciate you all so very much. fingers crossed it exceeds your expectations ♡ please feel free to let me know what you think, my ask box is always open! ☻

masterlist | taglist | 2002

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Shoulders slumped, you leaned back into the hard plastic, bright royal blue colored chair you’d been occupying for the past ten minutes. 

The glimmer of hope had instantly vanished from your eyes and your lips had curved downwards into a small, discouraged frown. 

Truthfully, you couldn’t be overly disappointed. This had become a standard occurrence; one you were far too familiar with by now. You’d expected your inbox to be empty, but that didn’t take away from the sheer devastation you felt upon seeing the bolded zero on the computer monitor screen. 

Since your first year of college, you have been sending your father emails from your student account once a week during your scheduled time slot in the campus computer lab. 

These emails consisted of updates any loving and involved parent expected from their children, such as: what your week was like, what projects and assignments you’d been working on and what your grades were. 

Not once did he reply.

Your fraught relationship with your father had begun since the day your mother left when you were just a preschooler. He wasn’t a terrible parent, but he wasn’t a fabulous one either. He did the bare minimum for you growing up (as in, what is legally required for parents to do for their children). When it came to taking an interest into what your hobbies were or what your talents and strengths were—he was totally absent. 

He didn’t know how to be a ‘girl dad’, as he claimed. His main focus outside of his work as an industrial engineer was ice hockey. Ever since he was a child growing up in the rockabilly ages of the 1950s, your father had utterly adored hockey. He’d played the sport religiously since the tender age of six, when he unwrapped his first pair of skates at Christmastime. His ultimate dream had been to play hockey in college, but he was highly encouraged (more like intensely pressured) to pursue engineering by his parents instead. So hockey became a dream of the past, but an unwavering passion of the future. 

The only time he’d marginally paid attention to you outside of basic parenting 101, was the year your elderly neighbors from across the street sold their house to go live in a retirement village and a family from Canada moved in. The Jeons had left the province of Ontario and migrated to your tiny state of Rhode Island with their two sons. 

Your dad instantly introduced himself (and you, by association) to the Jeons, welcoming them to the neighborhood and eagerly asked if they loved the beautiful game of ice hockey as they hailed from Canada. 

The Jeons dived into their story, elucidating to your father that Mr Jeon had been promoted to a new, advanced position within his law firm in Providence and refused to turn it down as it meant that their children would be able to attend Harvard Law in the future. 

They’d meticulously illustrated the perfect collegiate life for their eldest son, Jaehwa, who already at the age of twelve was embodying the prerequisites of a great lawyer.

Their youngest, eight year old Jungkook, was an animated child with an unrelenting passion for hockey. With a missing front tooth, Jungkook proudly rambled to your father that his dream was to become a professional player for the NHL and one day be the MVP of the Toronto Maple Leafs. 

Your dad set up your first after school play date that day. And you automatically became best friends with Jeon Jungkook. 

A friendship that still remained to this day. 

Exhaling heavily, you signed out of your Hotmail account and exited the window. You logged off the computer and gathered your book bag, knowing your session was going to be up any minute. 

Maybe he called instead? You thought hopefully to yourself as you departed the campus computer lab, keeping your spirits up that perhaps your dad left you a voicemail while you were out. The chances were pretty slim to none, but you refused to completely give up hope. 

You made the trek across campus towards the student residences, retrieving your Sony Discman from your bag and clicking play on the latest album from No Doubt. You let Gwen Stefani’s voice drown out your surroundings as you approached the female dormitories. 

You made it through three songs before you arrived at your dorm, fetching your keys and unlocking the door. You pulled down your headphones and shuffled inside, closing the door behind you and letting out a tiny puff of air. 

Your roommate, Rose, appeared from the confines of her room then, munching on a packet of Cool Ranch Doritos. “Sup,” she muffled, watching as you wrapped up your headphones, “you got a call while you were out.” 

You immediately brightened, “really?” 

“Yeah it was JK,” you deflated at Rose’s words, feeling your stomach twist at the awful realization that your dad didn’t call. Or respond to your emails. I should’ve known... “he said he’s gonna be late to your dick appointment by like five.” She smirked, dipping her hand back into the blue aluminum packaging. 

You rolled your eyes in aversion, “how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not bumping uglies with Kook?” You threw her a pointed stare, tucking your Discman back into its designated spot in your bag. You were going to need it again later when you had to go to the library. 

Rose snorted, shaking her head incredulously, “girl, how many times do I have to tell you that you should be slurping on that dick!” She exclaimed, placing her Dorito dusted fingertips in her mouth and sucking her digits obscenely to make her point. 

“He’s my friend since elementary school,” Your nose scrunched up, repulsed by her overt indecency, “we don’t like each other like that. We’re just homies. You know this. My dynamic with Jungkook hasn’t changed since the day you first met me.” You shrugged, trudging over to the kitchenette and snatching a Diet Dr Pepper from the fridge. 

You never understood why your roommate was so adamant that something more than a lifelong friendship lingered between you and Jungkook. She’d been badgering you with the topic for the past year specifically and it was seriously exasperating. 

She raised an eyebrow at you whilst you cracked open the can of soda. “Whatever you say, babes,” she popped another corn chip into her mouth, “but for the record, when you finally hook up with JK, I’m gonna scream ‘I told you so’ hella loud up in your grill.” 

“As if,” you took a few sips of your soda, “but I’ll let that slide just for shits and giggles.” You teased her playfully, retreating to your bedroom to acquire the textbooks you’ll need for your study session at the library. 

She retorted something intangible from the shared living room, leaving you snickering to yourself. Rose absolutely despised losing an argument (or in your case, a lighthearted bickering relay) and was no doubt trying to get the last word in. 

You finished your soda, disposed of the can into the trash and stacked your textbooks in your arms. You were planning on revising the post-it notes you’d stuck inside your sociology textbook alongside your current notes from yesterday’s lecture. Now, the amount of revision you’ll be able to complete will fundamentally depend on how talkative Jungkook is today. He always had a knack for distracting you, even when you were at your utmost focused. 

You retreated from your room then, organizing and rearranging your book bag while Genie In A Bottle by Christina Aguilera resounded from Rose’s room. She was obsessed with blasting pop radio from her boombox, whilst you preferred to listen to your favorite albums with headphones. Each to their own. 

“I’m outie!” You called out in the direction of Rose’s room, alerting her that you were on your way to the library. You couldn’t make out a response over the music bellowing through the dorm, but you were sure she heard you, so you picked up your bag and locked up behind you.

One paragraph of revision was all you managed to complete one since your childhood best friend joined you at your (unofficially) assigned desk in the far back right corner of the campus library. 

Jungkook had been restless since he arrived. The sable haired man in question kept fiddling with your Loony Tunes tin pencil case and bouncing his right knee up and down, causing the desk to rattle and a headache to brew. 

You started to grow a little concerned that he was fucked up on Molly, given his slightly turbulent behavior, until he finally clicked his tongue and sighed out of boredom. 

He’s just bored out of his mind. Like always. Classic Jungkook! You continued on with your note taking, corresponding between your textbook and notebook when Jungkook unceremoniously nudged your foot underneath the desk. 

“So I need you to do me a favor—”

“As if.”

You hadn’t intended to be so terse and deadpanned at first, but the very idea of agreeing to do Jungkook a favor was basically the equivalent of signing yourself on for overarching frustration. 

He blinked owlishly, big round eyes shot open wide in puzzlement, “harsh, Tiny.” 

“Whatever.” Looking up from your notes, you offered him a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders, “Kook, I’m not doing you any more favors. Your friend privileges have been revoked.” 

“Lame!” Jungkook whined, leaning forward onto the desk in a way that accentuated his broadened shoulders, “this is bogus! They weren’t even that bad, dude.” 

You clicked the top of your ballpoint pen and placed it down beside your sociology textbook and folded you arms across your chest. 

“Sophomore year. You asked me to buy condoms for you during lunch because you had a one on one with Coach Murray. Guess who was standing behind me in line at the store? Ms Peterson!” 

Jungkook visibly winced at the mention of your most despised high school homeroom teacher. The woman was utterly miserable and sucked the life from every student’s body during first period for an entire year. 

You huffed in minor aggravation. “She gave me the stink eye for the rest of the year thanks to you.” 

Jungkook chuckled haughtily, pushing himself off the desk so that he could lean back into his seat instead. He sure as hell looked widely entertained by the rehashing of your distressing high school incident. All because Ms Peterson believed that he could do no wrong—he was the golden boy. 

“Okay but she was a total buzzkill. Was probably salty that her student was having a boinkfest instead of her.” 

You scowled. “Senior year. My dad went out of town to visit Gammy and you asked if you could bang Kelsey Moffat in my bed so your parents wouldn’t find out.”

“Oh yeah. Kelsey was a tight chick. If you know what I mean.” Oh how you wished you could flick a booger right in the middle of his smug little smirk. Albeit immature, it would bring you so much satisfaction. 

“Step off, butt munch!” You grumbled, flipping him the bird, “not only did she steal my Oasis cassette but she also stole my Keanu Reeves ‘Speed’ poster. I paid eight dollars for that at the theater!” 

“I can’t believe she swindled you while I was taking a leak—”

“Not helping, dickweed.” 

He bit his bottom lip to hold back a laugh. It wasn’t hard to tell that you were still pressed over losing those two items, particularly the poster. You’d gushed about that for weeks on end, only to have it disappear from your wall after Jungkook defiled Kelsey Moffat in your twin bed. To say you were livid at the time was an understatement. 

“Aight, that one was whack. But that was one time!” 

“Spring break, second year. You asked me to go on a double date with you, Ashley McFadden and Mark Lee.” 

“Oh snap! I forgot about that,” Jungkook grinned wolfishly, “Ashley was postal. But Mark was pure class though, the bomb diggity.” 

You gawked at him incredulously. “Are you trippin’? Mark threw up down my shirt before we could even order dessert!” 

He grimaced, scrunching up his nose at the unpleasant memory that no doubt jarred his brain. “Oh yeah, that mad gnarly.” 

“No shit, Sherlock!” 

Jungkook seems rather sheepish now, having come to terms with the fact that you were rightfully reluctant to do any favors for him after your series of unfortunate events. But he couldn’t think of anyone else to turn to, especially not with something like this. 

Out of all his friends, you were the only one that’s been with him through the long haul. Yes, you both roamed in different social circles since first year orientation, but that didn’t change anything. You both still persisted with the tradition of catching up once a week in this dingy campus library whilst you studied meticulously and Jungkook ceremoniously filled you in on hockey affairs.

Old habits die hard. 

“Look Tiny, this is a matter of life or death.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you studied him carefully. He didn’t look like he was pulling your leg. In fact, he appeared to be more serious than you’ve seen him in the last few weeks. 

You decided to hear him out. But after you teased him a little, of course. “You always had a flair for dramatics.” 

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Coach cornered me after practice yesterday. He said that scouts are gonna start coming to games.” He paused, reaching for his Pepsi.

“Dude, that’s great!” 

He took a quick swig of his soda and exhaled with a sigh, “not exactly. There’s, uh, rumors about me among the potential scouts. They’ve heard about my rep and aren’t digging it.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Coach basically said that if I want a chance at going pro after grad, I need to clean up my act.” 

“Rightio. I still don’t know how that constitutes a life or death situation.” You snorted, picking up your pen in order to return to studying. You’d already sacrificed too much precious time on Jungkook’s meandering. 

“Because one, the NHL is my life! And two, I will die if I don't get recruited!” 

Putting your pen down (once again), you raised an eyebrow, “so why haven’t you had that in the back of your mind since first year?” 

Jungkook scoffed. “I didn’t want to be a fucking noob my entire college experience, Tiny.” 

You smiled innocently. “Hm. So what does that make you right now?” 

“Hilarious,” he drawled sarcastically, leaning forward off his seat and leaned onto the desk once again. Only this time, his eyes began to implore into your own. “I know I sounded melodramatic but this shit is serious to me. If my parents found out about this… I’d be a further disappointment. They’re already unimpressed that I chose to pursue sport over law or medicine.”

Jungkook exhaled heavily then. His shoulders sagged and chin ducked down closer to his chest. The atmosphere shifted and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why. “This is all I have going for me. If I don’t get into the NHL, I’ll be a failure. My parents already think I’m one because I didn’t go to Harvard. I can’t do shit right since Jae…” 

“Kook, that’s not true.” You gently interjected, shaking your head. He wasn’t a failure. He was the captain of the hockey team, the most popular student on campus and still managed to maintain a decent GPA. He needed to know that he wasn’t incompetent. 

“It sure as hell feels like it,” he sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his raven curls, “anyways, I know what I need to do to fix this. My reputation will be stellar in no time.” 

“Well that’s awesome!” You cheered, giving his hand a supportive squeeze. “But I still don’t know where I fit into all this.” 

Within milliseconds, Jungkook’s chiseled face broke out into a massive grin. His smile was so bright, it almost blinded you. Why the ever living fuck is he smiling at me like that for? 

“Here comes the cheddar: you’re gonna be my girlfriend.” He declared triumphantly, as if you’d won the grand prize at a local county fair. 

Your eyes bugged out of your head, jaw slackening in an instant. He’s gotta be wiggin’! 

“Please say sike.” 

He personified the meaning of a Cheshire cat grin in that very moment, unable to wipe the smugness from his face. He seemed so satisfied within himself—which was utterly ridiculous because his idea reached levels of absurdity you didn’t think was even remotely possible. 

“Why do you look like I just jizzed in your cereal? Dude, it’s a radical plan!” He enthused, eyes twinkling with excitement.

Jungkook’s vivacity was always something you admire about him. He always gave one hundred and ten percent into everything he believed in for as long as you’d known him. But this idea was preposterous and you didn’t know what on earth he was thinking. 

“It’s totally whack and I’m not doing it,” you informed him, picking up your pen and mentally chastising yourself for wasting so much valuable study time, “why don’t you ask one of your many screaming fans?” 

A petulant whine of your name escaped his lips, “it won’t work if I go out with someone from my scene. It won’t look respectable to Coach. And if it’s not swinging with Coach then it’s not swinging with the scouts. I need to be with someone—”

“Jeon Jungkook, if you say ‘someone like you’, I will kick you in the balls so hard.” Your voice was stern with warning. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, nodding hastily to show you that he completely understood. He couldn’t risk getting his little dudes crushed like that. 

He nibbled on his bottom lip, tugging the black ring between his teeth, “what I was going to say, is that I need to be with someone who is a model student. Someone that takes college seriously and preferably has a 4.0 GPA,” he explained cautiously, tip-toeing around the subject because he really didn’t want to piss you off. “Y/N, you’re the first and only person I thought of. You’re like mad smart, dedicated to your studies and weren’t you a TA last semester? Cause seriously Tiny, last time I checked you had three letters of rec for post-grad internships, so I’ll for sure look dope by association.” He stated with a shit-eating grin. He knew he’d get you there. 

And unfortunately he was right; he had your undivided attention now. Damn him and his good memory! You cursed him out internally, closing your textbooks and pursing your lips in thought. He buttered you up good, you did have to admit that, but you still couldn’t quite fathom how his proposition could be anything other than ludicrous. 

You chewed on the bottom of your ballpoint pen, mulling it all over, “I don’t know Kook. This sounds like it could get messy real quick.” 

“Dude, trust me. It’ll be a cinch,” Jungkook said in an assured tone, reaching for his Pepsi to take another large swig of the cola, “we’ve known each other for almost our whole ass lives, it won’t get messy.” 

You poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue, narrowing your eyes. You weren’t thoroughly convinced. “Well what’s in it for me, Romeo?” 

“Besides having bodacious arm candy and the campus king as your boyfriend?” Jungkook smirked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. The pressing urge to flick a booger at his mug was back again. 

You fake gagged, “charming. Never seen a head that enormous before in my life.” 

“Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game.” He chuckled, stretching his arms out over the chairs that resided beside him and looking effortlessly attractive. Not that you would ever utter those words aloud because god only knows what kind of loud mouthed ego monster Jungkook would turn into. 

You scowled, completely unimpressed. “I’m being serious Kook. What would I get out of pretending to be your girlfriend?” 

It took Jungkook all but two and a half seconds to come to the conclusion that you weren’t having any of it. He desperately needed to provide you with an incentive, otherwise you weren’t going to agree to his proposition and he didn’t have a back up plan. 

He needed your cooperation.

“Look, I know you don’t give a fuck about popularity or social status and shit like that so I’m not gonna sit here and try to make that sound worth your while.” He began, lifting his arms off the back of the chairs and scooting forward until his chest touched the desk. He was taking this seriously and you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t intrigued. Never had you seen Jungkook so invested in something outside of hockey—although this technically had to do with hockey, so you decided to retract that. “But there is a huge perk in being my fake girlfriend.” 

You rested your chin on your hands and batted your eyelashes at him purposefully. “Enlighten me, oh wise one.” 

“Smart ass,” he rolled his eyes, “the perk is that your old man fucking loves me. I’m like the son he never had,” Jungkook finished off the rest of his Pepsi and then gave you a knowing stare, “he’d be majorly pumped if you were dating me. I bet he’d finally start replying to your emails.” 

You bristled. As shitty as it sounded, Jungkook did have a point. A really good one. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” 

“Stop pouting, Tiny. You know I’m right.” He tittered, giving you a playful nudge with his foot once again underneath the desk. However, this time it was to lighten the mood, given you were feeling a little soured after the mention of your father’s negligence. “Besides, it’ll only be until the semi-finals. I think that’s manageable.” 

You kissed your teeth, pondering the consequences that could arise if you were to agree to his proposal. “But that’s like six whole months, Jungkook. It means we’ll have to act like we’re together during Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years… are we even gonna be able to pull that off?” 

Jungkook smirked at you knowingly. “Tell me, how many people already think we’re fucking?” 

Rose immediately came to the forefront of your mind and you frowned. What’s with him and making solid points today? 

“No comment.” 

“Exactly. Plus, we both go home during winter break so it’ll be easy to keep up the act,” He chortled, flashing a self-satisfied smile, “it’s gonna be a piece of cake. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. So can you just put me out of my misery and agree already?” He pleaded, giving you the biggest demonstration of puppy dog eyes you’d ever witnessed. He even had the audacity to jut out his pierced bottom lip into a pout. 

You eventually caved. “Fine. But only ‘til the semi-finals.” 

Jungkook whooped instantaneously, pumping his fist into the air and inciting an onslaught of shushes from the other students across the library. You giggled into the palm of your hand, unable to stop yourself. He sheepishly mouthed an apology to the very pissed off librarian and then turned his focus back to the matter at hand. 

“Thank you Tiny, you’re the best!” He grinned boyishly, causing the dimples in his cheeks to make an adorable appearance, “I promise I’m gonna be the most wicked, tubular, off the chain boyfriend you’ve ever had.” 

“Fake boyfriend,” you corrected with an amused smile, “and before we start anything we need to lay down some ground rules.” You asserted, flipping to the very back of your lined notebook and picking up your pen. 

“You’re writing them down?” Jungkook mused, folding his muscular arms across his chest in mirth. He found your dedication to impose regulations onto your fake relationship to be indisputably entertaining. 

“Yes doofus. How else are we gonna remember?” You reached over and flicked his forehead, evoking an indignant ‘hey!’ from your new fake boyfriend. “Anyways, I hope you have a pocket pussy because we can’t be seeing other people. It’s way too risky.” 

Jungkook’s face split into a wolfish grin, “you’re small enough to fit in my pocket so does your pussy count?” 

You glowered. “You’re a neanderthal. And no.” 

“Damn, struck out already. Relationships are tough these days.” He snickered. 

You threw an eraser at his forehead. 

The next twenty minutes you spent the time outlining the fundamentals of your fake relationship. You both concurred not to see anyone else, given how quickly gossip spreads across campus. In tandem with that rule, you both conceded on not telling anyone about your arrangement. Not even Rose or Jungkook’s roommate, Taehyung. The truth of your relationship had to remain a secret. 

Smaller details were also agreed upon, such as: calling each other terms of endearment (with Jungkook begrudgingly consenting to limiting the use of your nickname, since Tiny wasn’t overly romantic), holding hands on campus, kissing in public spaces and attending a couple of frat parties together. 

Jungkook also made a stipulation that you had to attend every home game, whilst wearing his jersey. You bickered back and forth for a good five minutes about the attire (with you arguing that it felt possessive and objectifying) until you settled on a compromise. You would wear the jersey if Jungkook bought you sundaes after every game. And you’d both leave the fraternity parties before one in the morning. 

Once the rules had been laid out, you both shook hands on it.

“So babe, should we seal the deal with a kiss?” Jungkook wisecracked, doe brown eyes twinkling with mischief. 

You threw another eraser at his forehead.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that,” Rose sniggered, taking the cardboard tray of nachos from the employee at the kiosk and then giving you a look, “still salty you didn’t tell me.” 

“Rose,” you whined, “I already said sorry like a billion times. I told you that we—”

“Wanted to keep it on the down-low for the first month. I know, I know,” she waved it off, taking a sip from her fountain soda, “it’s just I was rooting for you two since day one. At least you let me scream ‘I told you so’ in your face like I said I would.” Rose grinned victoriously, causing you to chuckle lightly. 

You felt terrible for lying to her—but you and Jungkook had explicitly agreed. Nobody could know about the truth behind your relationship. It would only reflect poorly on Jungkook’s already suffering reputation. You were trying to resurrect his image, not create a further hindrance. 

So that meant letting Rose have her fun. 

“Of course I did, I’m not a sore loser.” You took your own fountain drink from the kiosk and proceeded to make your way towards the rink. 

“Same can’t be said for your boyfriend,” Rose teased playfully, referring to Jungkook’s incorrigible competitiveness, “no wonder he got you clothed in his jersey—which by the way, you look hella dope. It makes one fresh oversized shirt dress.” 

Your cheeks flushed crimson at the compliment. Especially given the undertones: you looked good whilst repping Jungkook’s family name in all capitals with his signature number seven on the back. 

“Thank you babes. I didn’t like the idea of wearing it at first but I think it’s grown on me.” You confessed with a shy smile. 

Rose opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again when you were approached by a group of four women. Your roommate’s mood became acidic and you couldn’t blame her—you’d been obstructed by the puck bunnies. 

“Can we help you?” Rose asked in an agitated tone, raising an eyebrow as she sipped on her soda. 

You had a sneaking suspicion they were here to confront you in light of Jungkook’s new relationship status. No doubt he had stuck his dick inside each of these girls at some point during his time on the team. You could only imagine how much they detested you right now. 

“Not really,” one of them spoke, completely ignoring Rose’s presence as she locked her gaze onto you and smiled falsely, “just wanted to see if the rumors were true. JK doesn’t do relationships, after all.” 

You hummed to yourself, “not with you anyway.” 

Rose stifled a laugh from beside you and the artificial smile on the redhead’s face vanished.

“Just because you’re wearing his jersey doesn’t mean you’re dating. You’re probably just another hoochie; a notch in his bedpost.” The redhead snapped, seemingly inflamed by your presence and your choice of attire. 

You tongued your cheek. Jungkook had warned you last night over the phone that you’d be cornered by some jealous ladies. He was worried about how you would address that kind of confrontation, but you reassured him that you could handle yourself. 

And that you did.

“Look, I don’t like the idea of tearing down other girls over a guy. Call me a hoochie all you want, but my relationship with my boyfriend isn’t anyone else’s beeswax,” you affirmed, grabbing ahold of Rose’s hand and stepping around the posse, “so if you’ll excuse us, I have to go take my seat so I can support him.”

You descended the stairs with your roommate then, undoubtedly leaving the redhead and her friends agape. You felt pleased with how you handled the situation and hoped that it wouldn’t backfire badly onto Jungkook or yourself. 

“Oh snap Y/N!” Rose cheered from beside you as you both took your seats, “that was off the chain! You were radical! God, you must really love him.” 

“Yeah, I really do.” You smiled wide, but the light didn’t reach your eyes. You felt a weird sensation in the pit of your stomach. 

You weren’t entirely certain if that was due to your little white lies or the fact you used to feel that way about Jungkook when you were a teenager. 

Your crush was most definitely gone though… right? 

The home game flew by before you knew it. Jungkook was at the top of his game, that much was obvious. Every single person in that rink had their eyes fixated on him. He was irrefutably the best center forward the university has had in over a decade, so there was no surprise that he continuously scored goal after goal every game. He was known for being the grand master of the hat trick. 

The match was now in the last five minutes of the third period and everyone was on the edge of their seats. The opposition had secured another couple of goals in the first ten minutes of the period, leaving Jungkook restless. He blatantly refused to let the other team win. 

From your place in the crowd, you chewed nervously on your nails as you watched Jungkook speed across the ice. Having known him for almost your whole life, you knew that he’d be tense and eager to win. You hadn’t realized how mesmerized you were by his movements until Rose tapped your shoulder, commanding you back to reality. 

“He’s so fly on the ice. Like, really fast, sharp shooter, good with his hands. Is he like that in bed?” She smirked, trying to scavenge some juicy information from you. 

You felt your cheeks burn, meaning there was definitely a flush of scarlet spreading across your face right now. You blushed because you didn’t know how to respond to such a thing. Jungkook was your childhood friend—what were you supposed to say? Frankly, you had no idea what Jungkook was like during sex. He never looked at you in a sensual way growing up, therefore you learned quickly not to let your mind run away from you with fantastical delusions. 

Rose’s smirk increased at your reddened cheeks, no doubt assuming that you were blushing because you were shy rather than embarrassed. She thinks I’ve fucked him and she’s never gonna let me live it down!

Before your nosy roommate could push the subject any further, the crowd began hollering in desperation. There was only a minute left on the clock and everyone in that arena wanted a secured win for their respective team. 

You found yourself clutching the edge of your seat, eyes following Jungkook’s every move as his teammate successfully completed an assist. Within the final five seconds, Jungkook scored a faultless buzzer beater. 

His team had won. 

The arena erupted into applause, with loud chants, cheers and claps echoing around the rink. You shrieked alongside the dedicated fans, unable to help yourself as the entire moment was inarguably exhilarating. 

Jungkook’s teammates circled around him, clambering to get their hands on his shoulders and hype him up for his unbelievable shot. The raven haired male in question, however, paid no mind to the actions of his teammates and proceeded to look around the seats. He searched high and low for about a minute until he located you, immediately pointing in your direction and creating a heart with his glove-clad hands. 

You covered the sides of your face with your hands, hiding your blush. And despite being well aware of the expectations that coincided with the nature of your fake relationship, you just couldn’t believe it. He dedicated the winning goal to you. Jungkook had demonstrated to the entire arena that he was taken. 

“Oh my god?” Rose sputtered, eyes widening as she turned to catch a glimpse of your reaction, “so much for keeping it on the down-low. Everyone and their dog knows you’re his girl now,” she mused, noticing the way dozens of young women looked crestfallen or green with envy, “but watch out for the bunnies babes. You’ve snatched up the university’s most eligible bachelor and made him all cute and soft. They’re not gonna rate that.” 

Hm, maybe Jungkook’s crazy idea will actually work after all? 

With that in mind, you smiled brightly and blew him a kiss, to which Jungkook enthusiastically caught with his mitts and held them to his heart (as his team celebrated their victory around him).

Needless to say, the crowd went wild.

The nauseating stench of stale beer emulsified with cigarette smoke, a touch of marijuana, copious amounts of sweat and inexpensive cologne, bulldozed you upon entry to the frat party Jungkook had dragged you along to. 

Oh how you wished you could turn back time and protest harder against this being a condition of your disingenuous relationship. You compromised far too easily and now look where that has gotten you. 

“Stop frowning so much, Tiny, you’re gonna get premature wrinkles.” Jungkook murmured against the shell of your ear as the two of you walked further into the fraternity house belonging to Alpha Sigma Phi.

You scowled, “I’m sure I already have premature wrinkles from dealing with your ass for the past fourteen years.” 

Jungkook couldn’t hide his grin. “I love it when you talk about my ass.” 

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a playful shove. “Shut the hell up, butt munch.” 

“See? You’re obsessed with my ass. If you want it baby, just say—ow!”

He scowled at you this time, rubbing his pectoral where you’d successfully pinched his nipple through his jet black muscle tee. 

You were mere seconds away from teasing him, when one of Jungkook’s teammates approached you both and slung their arm around your fake boyfriend’s shoulders. 

“Hey lovebirds,” Jacob drawled, his pupils dilated to the extent where his irises were a thin blue colored ring, “glad you could make it. JK’s always the life of the party!” 

You forced a smile (for the sake of appearances). 

There was no chance in hell you were going to be consuming any illicit drugs that night, especially not surrounded by careless idiots such as Jacob.

“I’m really not all that, Jake,” Jungkook half chuckled, carefully shrugging his doped up teammate off his shoulders, “why don’t you go find Kevin? He’s the O.G. party animal.”

“Aw righteous!” Jacob slurred, lifting both fists in the air cheerfully, “peace out, home skillet.” And with that, he staggered away through the crowd of grinding bodies. 

Now you’d heard plenty of rumors over the last few years regarding the varsity hockey team and their usage of recreational drugs, stimulants and performance enhancing substances. You always dearly hoped that Jungkook wasn’t involved in that kind of activity. Not only was it illegal, but it would irrefutably affect his chances at having a professional career with the NHL and you knew how important that was to him. 

The disapproving lour on your face was an obvious indication that you were unimpressed. It wouldn’t even need to take a genius with a high IQ to figure that out.

Reaching for his inked up hand, you tugged Jungkook over to the corner of the crowded room. It was almost impossible to hear yourself think over the volume of the stereo, but you had to confront him about what you just witnessed. 

“You’re not taking any of that shit, are you?” You asked him gently but cautiously, eyes full of concern. 

Jungkook blinked owlishly for a moment and then shook his head resolutely. “No, Tiny. I’m not.” 

“Even the ‘roids?” 

He shook his head once more, a little firmer this time round, “I promise. Coach would use my balls as new pucks if he found out I was doping.” 

You visibly sagged in relief. You then released the shaky breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding that entire time. 

Jungkook’s lips quirked upwards into a smile, “were you worried about me?” 

“Of course I was worried! You’re my closest friend, Kook,” you exhaled, “I care about you a lot and don’t wanna see you get yourself into trouble.” You’d surprised yourself by the openness of your admission, having revealed more than you were initially anticipating. I care about him just as a friend…

Jungkook’s gaze softened at your confession, his doe eyes beseeching your own in a way you hadn’t bared witness to before. 

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as he took a small step towards you, his tattooed arm encircling your waist. What is he doing? Why is he looking at me like that? 

He brought your body flush against his own—face to face, chest to chest—and for a brief moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you. Your sole focus was on Jungkook. He occupied your line of sight. He captured your full attention. He was the only thing on your mind and you didn’t hate it. In fact, you liked it a little too much. 

Breaking your intensely reciprocated stare, Jungkook’s dark chocolate brown eyes flickered down to your lips, lingering on the plushness of your mouth for a few moments. 

“Baby?” His regular tenor had dropped a few octaves, leaving his voice deeper and huskier than usual.

Fuck. His rasp turned you on. “Yeah?” Your thighs had involuntarily pressed together. 

His tongue swiped at his bottom lip, his unwavering gaze never once leaving the curves of your mouth. “Can I—”

“JK! Sup dawg?” An obnoxious voice broke you both out of your own little world. 

Jungkook tongued his cheek, looking a little pissed off at the interruption, “hey Josh, wassup?”

You slowly wriggled out of his hold, trying to provide yourself some breathing room (and personal space) after that moment you shared. Jungkook didn’t let you get far though, as he reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers while he chatted aimlessly with one of the fraternity members. 

Was Jungkook about to ask if he could kiss you? You’d technically agreed to kiss in public for the sake of the whole charade but why did that particular moment feel so different? You were lost in your own thoughts for a few minutes, until a loud whoop snapped you out of your reverie. 

“Booyah!” Josh grinned wolfishly, rubbing his hands together, “you’ve got first dibs on a partner. I call bagsies on starting though.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and glanced up at your fake boyfriend, “what’s the dealio?” 

“I’ve been challenged to a game of beer pong,” Jungkook explained, gesturing to the ping pong table that was set up across the bustling living room, “and you’re playing with me.” 

Your jaw fell open. “As fucking if!” 

He whined your name petulantly. “Chillax babe, it’s totally in the bag. Please don’t let me look like a major noob.” He pleaded, whipping out the puppy dog eyes. 

“Nuh uh! Nope! That’s not gonna work, not this time!”

It worked. Like always. 

And you won—just like he said. 

Jungkook was truly the most talented person you’d ever met. He excelled in almost everything he did, including a shitty game of beer pong. Your opponents—Joshua and Jennie—were stunned at how easily and effortlessly Jungkook sank tiny orange balls into red solo cups. 

You’d even managed to secure one or two, but really you were there for show because your partner was the shining star of the game. 

“We did it!” He beamed, pulling you in for a bear hug and lifting you up off your feet, spinning you both around once. 

Despite winning, you’d both downed a couple of drinks (that Joshua had successfully sunk his ball into) and god only knows what was in those plastic cups. So it was no surprise that you and Jungkook were a little buzzed. 

“Put me down you goof,” you giggled at his antics, playfully thwacking the side of his shoulder until he steadied you back on your two feet, “that’s better, thanks.”

You felt a little breathless now, given the way Jungkook was still holding onto your hips and peering down at you with an impassioned gaze. 

“Gonna kiss you now, okay?” He murmured, moving his inked hand from your waist to your face, cupping your cheek gently. 

You knew this was all for show, so you jerked a nod. It’s just a kiss, you braced yourself internally before his lips grazed yours. 

Your eyes fluttered shut when your lips connected, the taste of lukewarm beer prominent on Jungkook’s tongue. He held you close as he kissed you emphatically, consuming your mouth with his own and stealing every shallow breath. 

Obnoxious hoots and hollers surrounded you, meaning that your public display of affection was doing its job at convincing the masses of your so-called relationship. You slowly pulled away when his team stopped cheering him on; your lips tingling from the rather intensive kiss. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, looked a little disappointed. Had you not kissed him long enough to be convincing? 

Wetting your bottom lip, you inhaled through your nose, “think they believe it?” 

“Who cares?” He murmured in the same husky tone as before, cupping both your cheeks this time, “c’mere.” 

He kissed you deeply this time, his tongue invading your mouth and sensually gliding across your own. He knew how to leave you breathless and have your head spinning. 

Every thought that entered the forefront of your brain was about Jungkook. He had you absolutely keening for him and you couldn’t deny that your panties were becoming damp with arousal. 

You hadn’t been this affected by him since freshman year. What the hell was going on? 

Minutes felt like hours. You were totally entranced by Jeon Jungkook and unfortunately, you had to brutally remind yourself that it was all a lie. You were doing him a favor and this was a part of it. 

Breaking apart from him, your lips were a little swollen and your cheeks were flushed. Jungkook couldn’t help but grin lazily, tugging his lip ring between his teeth. 

“We should head out,” he spoke for the first time in a little while, “this party’s lame. Besides, I promised you we’d go home early.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. And why did your stomach do a somersault at the mention of we? “If you wanna stay for a bit longer we can.” 

Jungkook shook his head, “I’d rather walk you home.” Shit, there goes your heart again. 

Trying not to turn a shade of crimson, you nodded and followed Jungkook through the sea of partygoers (as he wanted to say goodbye to his teammates). 

He located them with ease. He kept his hand in yours the entire time, wishing his friends a good rest of their night whilst they relentlessly teased him for being a fart knocker for leaving the party early.

“Dude, you really have changed! It’s not even one!” Chris chortled, shaking his head incredulously, “I guess that’s what happens when you get tied down, huh?” 

“Word!” Joshua echoed, his syllables slurred as the man was hammered from losing beer pong against you and Jungkook earlier. 

“Whatever man, I’ll see you at practice,” Jungkook clapped his hand on Christopher’s shoulder and then gave Joshua a fist bump. He turned to you with a soft smile (one that you’ve come to recognize he only reserved especially for you), “let’s bounce babe.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice.

The twenty minute journey back to your dorm had been more than pleasant. In fact, you could argue that it was the most fun you had the whole night. Despite being completely alone during the early hours of the morning, Jungkook continued to hold your hand the entirety of your walk. 

He looked utterly breathtaking under the moonlight. He’s your friend! Cut it out! 

As you approached your dorm room, Jungkook leaned against the wall beside your door and grinned boyishly. “Princess Y/N, I have successfully brought you back to your castle. My quest is complete.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully at his ridiculousness, “I’m eternally indebted to you, Sir Jungkook.”  You said as you unlocked your door. 

He chuckled in amusement, his nose scrunching up in a way that resembled a baby bunny. He was so endearing when he made faces such as those. 

“No but for real, if anyone’s indebted to someone it’s me to you.” He said, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. He was restless. You weren’t sure if that was due to nerves or because he had consumed alcohol. “I appreciate you being so cool with all this. You’re really the bomb, Tiny.” 

You blushed vividly at his compliment. 

“You were a rad fake girlfriend tonight, everybody believed it,” he continued with a broad smile. His words caused your heart to sink in your chest a little. You didn’t like that you were feeling this way—or any way for that matter. “I promise the hard yards are done. It’s gonna be wicked easy for the next few months.” 

You laughed it off, trying not to let your heart mess with your head. You knew what you were getting into agreeing to this arrangement: now wasn’t the time to start feeling things. You simply had to focus and shut off your brain. 

“Kook, it’s really not hard to pretend to be into you,” you blurted, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them, “you’re very easy to love.” Shut up! 

Jungkook didn’t say anything. His lips parted for a second, almost as if he was going to respond, but instead he lurched forward and kissed you. 

This kiss felt nothing like the other two. This one was soft, gentle, tender. His lips moved with yours in a sweet, slow rhythm (like your mouths were dancing the waltz). His nose caressed yours as he delicately sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, wanting to get a quick taste before the night concluded. 

You both parted at the same time, breathless and flushed. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you respired quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, “there’s nobody around to see it.” 

Jungkook’s lips etched up into a tiny smile, “I know. I wanted to,” he pressed a featherlight kiss to your lips once more, provoking your heart to start hammering hard against your rib cage, “goodnight Tiny. Sweet dreams.”

You dreamt of him that night. And they were sweeter than sweet.

Thanksgiving week rolled around sooner than you could say ‘turkey baster’. 

You’d been occupied all week studying for finals and the stress was starting to really get to you.

Rubbing at your temples, you blinked back tears. You didn’t want to cry over coursework but these looming exams were really testing your patience and resilience. The enormous pressure you placed on your own shoulders was inconceivable. There was no real reason to be that harsh of a self-critic, you just really wanted to prove yourself to your father (even though he didn’t care enough to read your emails, let alone your thesis). 

“Hey baby,” a familiar voice broke you out of your self deprecating slump, “you look totally buggin’.” Jungkook frowned in concern, sliding in the seat beside you and wrapping his arm over your shoulder. He always did that now whenever he met you at the library. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t grown accustomed to it. 

“I’m cool beans,” you forced a smile, closing your textbook and giving him your undivided attention, “totally super. Wassup babe?” 

Jungkook looked marginally unconvinced but he didn’t press you any further, “just wanted to let you know that I have an away game this weekend.” 

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, “but it’s Thanksgiving?” 

“I know,” he sighed in defeat, “it’s gonna be a huge game though. Coach said if we win this one, he’s gonna shout us all Pizza Hut for a month.” He tried to hide his smile by flicking his lip ring between his teeth, but you knew him too well. 

“You’re majorly psyched about the pizza, aren’t you?” 

Jungkook cracked a grin, “I’m a simple man, baby!” 

Shaking your head playfully, you bumped your shoulder against his. “You’re such a noob.” 

“I’m your noob, Tiny.” 

Your heart did a backflip in your chest. You absolutely despised the way your heart reacted to cute little quips like that. He was obviously saying it in case people were eavesdropping. Everything was for show and you had to constantly remind yourself of that. 

Luckily for you, he changed the subject: “So are you going home for Thanksgiving?” 

“No,” you shook your head obstinately, “it’s too expenny. I’ll just have a chill one in the dorms.” 

Jungkook scrunched up his nose, but this time it was in disapproval rather than delight. “Babe, that sounds totally lame.” 

“Don’t diss my plans!” 

“Just keeping it real, Tiny. You can’t spend Thanksgiving alone, okay?” He said, mindlessly rubbing his fingers along the hem of your shirt, “I’m gonna call you from the hotel after my game so we can spend it together.” 

You blinked, utterly stunned by his statement. From your knowledge of paid varsity sports trips (which wasn’t much, only what you found out from Jungkook over the years), the players were allowed to make one call from their hotel room to contact their close family or friends. So naturally, your heart rate increased expeditiously at the significance behind it all. 

“Kook, are you sure? Wouldn’t you wanna call Tae?”

Jungkook shook his head with a sincere smile, “I’m sure. I want to spend Thanksgiving with you.” 

Your entire body is filled with warmth. You were positive that your cheeks were heating up with rosiness, but you didn’t care. You were floating up on cloud nine at that moment. 

“Cause like, think about it—it’d be weird for me not to call my girlfriend, you know?” 

“Yeah…” Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach. Of course! You reminded yourself bitterly, it’s all a farce. You felt so deflated, that you kind of wished he never said anything in the first place. 

To get your mind off the previous conversation, you swiftly changed the subject to winter break, which was coming up in the near future. 

You both discussed how you’d be going home at the same time, so it made perfect sense to travel together. You strategically planned to spend Christmas with each other’s families, while also making an appearance as a couple at the annual New Year’s Eve party.  

“How should we break up?” You asked curiously, looking up from the piece of lined note paper that you were busy scribbling your holiday plans onto, “I just realized we never discussed that.” 

Jungkook frowned. 

You could’ve sworn that you saw a flash of disappointment in his doe brown eyes, but that also could be you hoping that he felt similarly to yourself. Pathetic, you chastised internally. 

“Well, uh, we can say it was mutual. That we agreed we’d be better off as friends,” Jungkook shrugged, “but let’s not worry about that right now. It’s months away.” He was quick to dismiss the topic. Instead, he redirected the focus back onto you and the tenseness of your shoulders. 

“You’re already worrying about so much,” he murmured, moving his arm off your shoulder and gently cupping your chin with that inked hand of his, “I don’t like seeing my baby so bugged out.” 

You puffed out a short breath, “yeah well it’s finals season. I’m gonna be a walking, talking ball of stress for the next few weeks.” 

Jungkook tongued his cheek. He gently released your chin and shuffled in closer towards you, “let me help you relax then.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as his large hands found your thighs. He trailed his fingers up along your denim-clad leg, inching closer and closer to your crotch. No doubt your eyes were widened to the size of saucers—you couldn’t believe how brazen he was being. 

“Are you trippin’?” You hissed, “we’re in the library! Anyone could see or hear us!”

Jungkook chuckled, as if you’d said something witty, “take a chill pill. Nobody is around. We won’t get caught if you keep quiet, baby.” He moved his hand to your clothed center, cupping you there and nibbling on his lip ring. 

You swallowed harshly. “Isn’t this weird?” 

He shook his head once. “You can’t pretend to be my girlfriend and not reap all the benefits. Now hush,” he purred, slowly tugging down the zipper of your fly and dipping his hand into your jeans. 

Given the way that you were both seated, there was no feasible way Jungkook could finger you without it being blatantly obvious. If you had worn a skirt, things would be different. But he didn’t let that minor detail deter him. No—he was going to get you off no matter what. 

You whimpered the second his fingertips began rubbing you through your panties. He dragged his fingers up and down your clothed slit, getting your underwear lathered with your juices so he could feel how aroused you were for him. 

“So wet baby,” he mumbled, his fingers expertly finding your clitoris (even with your undergarments in the way) and began rubbing circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves, “look so pretty when I touch you. So fucking pretty.”

“Mm Kook…” You desperately clutched at the fabric of his t-shirt, your eyes clenching shut while he played with your pussy. You bite down hard on your bottom lip in order to keep your moans at bay, since getting caught would certainly tarnish your shoe-in for a dean’s list valedictorian. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He rasped, relishing in the feeling of your slick coating his digits. “Wish I could fuck this little pussy with my fingers. I bet you’re so tight and warm… Shit! I just felt your cunt gush. That was so hot.” A prominent bulge had tented in his jeans now, straining against the zipper. He was so turned on. By you. 

“Jungkook—ah!—please,” you mewled, your head falling onto his broad shoulder as he dexterously stimulated your pussy, “wanna…” 

“Wanna come, baby?” He husked, his rich cocoa eyes having darkened lustrously, “wanna make a mess of these panties in the library like a naughty girl for me?” 

You whined at the slight degradation. He knew exactly what to say to have your pussy clenching (more like squelching) around nothing. He rubbed a swift figure of eights against your clit, determined to bring you to your much needed climax. Truthfully, you couldn’t remember the last time you were brought to the brink of an orgasm so quickly. 

“Uh huh,” you nodded dumbly, unable to construct a proper sentence as the pleasure was overtaking your thought processes, “please let me come.” 

If Jungkook wasn’t hard before; he certainly was now. Hearing you beg him like that—all soft and desperate—was the sexiest thing he’d ever witnessed in his fucking life. 

His eyes fixated on your face contorted with pleasure, Jungkook picked up pace with his fingers. He only had to stimulate your cunt for a few moments more until you were spasming underneath his touch. Your thighs quivered as your orgasm washed over your body, resorting you to a whimpering mess. 

“Good girl,” he gently praised you, slowly riding out your high with a few flicks of his fingertips, “you did so well, baby. That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen; it got me so hard.” Jungkook grinned unabashedly. 

He removed his hand from inside your jeans, wiping his moistened fingers lewdly on the inside of his own denim. He kindly zipped you back up though, taking the initiative to situate yourself on your behalf. 

You giggled tiredly into his chest, feeling a little chuffed but also a little embarrassed. Did you seriously just have an orgasm in the campus library? And did you seriously let your childhood friend give you one? 

Lifting your head from his chest, you brushed some loose hairs from your face and mouthed a tiny thank you. 

“Definitely relaxed now, huh?” Jungkook asked with a wolfish grin, feeling pretty goddamn pleased with himself. He wasn’t at all cocky though. Instead, he looked like he had won a championship. 

You blushed, nodding in lieu of a response.

Shifting your gaze downwards, you noticed that he was still sporting a raging hard on. “Do you want—”

“No it’s okay,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I just wanted to do something for you. I feel good knowing I made you feel good.” 

Without thinking, you cupped his face and pressed your lips to his. 

Jungkook reacted instantaneously, moving his lips with yours in unison and planting his hands at the curvature of your waist.

He pulled away after a few moments, his softened eyes then implored yours, “you didn’t have to do that. There’s nobody around to see.” He echoed your words from a few weeks ago, nervously chewing on his lip piercing. 

Smiling adoringly, you pressed a featherlight kiss to his lips (just like he did all those weeks ago) and reiterated his own words back to him: “I know. I wanted to.”

New Years celebrations were in full swing in your hometown: with every Tom, Dick and Harry buying up booze at the liquor store and dozens of parents desperately trying to secure teenage babysitters for the night. 

You were currently in the middle of getting ready for the annual New Year’s Eve party you agreed to attend with Jungkook. The party in question was an infamous one that took place at the community center every year, for young adults aged between eighteen and twenty five. It was a way for your town to encourage safe partying during the thronged holiday season—such as enforcing rules like only attendees over the age of twenty one were allowed alcohol—and you’d had the pleasure (if that was even the right word…) of going a couple of times. 

Each time had been uneventful. 

The music was always lackluster and you didn’t really get along with many people from your high school. Not that it was your fault, they just didn’t take the liberty of ever getting to know you. You were simply known as Jeon Jungkook’s nerdy friend. 

Speaking of Jungkook, he was the only one that ever paid you any mind at those parties and majority of the time he was preoccupied with another girl. 

This time was going to be different. 

It had to be—the news of your relationship had spread like wildfire. All it took was for Jungkook’s elderly (and nosy) next door neighbor to overhear Jungkook’s mother on the phone to him, confirming your attendance as his girlfriend to Christmas Eve dinner, and the rest was history. 

The entire neighborhood knew of you two ‘dating’ before you’d even left campus for the year. 

Luckily for you both, Christmastime was a walk in the park. Not a single person questioned the legitimacy of your relationship and the dynamic between yourself and Jungkook’s family continued to remain moderately the same. 

His parents were hesitant at first—having heard tidbits from girls in town about Jungkook’s tendency for hookups—but soon warmed to the idea of you being their son’s girlfriend. 

Mrs Jeon was thrilled to hear your post-graduation plans involved more education and potential for career advancement, whilst Mr Jeon was rather impressed that his son was dating a woman with the intention to become a child psychologist. 

“If anyone’s the most impressive one, it’s your son.” You’d told them earnestly, advising them of Jungkook’s consistent GPA and comments of high praise from well respected professors. “He’s the best player the university has had in almost a decade—you should be so proud.” 

You’d been so engrossed in hyping up your fake boyfriend’s achievements to his parents so stuck in the past, you hadn’t noticed that Jungkook was looking at you the entire time. He didn’t spare his parents a single glance. You were the only thing he wanted to focus on.

Meanwhile in comparison, your father was overjoyed at the news. As expected. He spent the entirety of Christmas Day lunch discussing hockey and Jungkook’s statistics of the season. Your fake boyfriend was kind and conversed with your dad with a polite smile, but always made sure to turn the conversation back onto you. 

He praised your academic achievements and practically bragged to your father about how awesome (or in his exact words: majorly bodacious) you were. It clearly made an impact, as your dad proceeded to ask you about college and what internships you were thinking of applying for post-graduation. 

You almost cried three times that day. And you were certain that you stopped seeing Jeon Jungkook as just a friend that day too. 

A rattled knock against the doorframe snapped you out of your thoughts. You were almost finished applying your maroon colored lipstick when Jungkook entered your childhood bedroom. 

“On a scale of one to ten, how fresh do I—holy shit,” Jungkook uttered out, cutting himself off as he gawked at your appearance, “Tiny is that a new dress?” He visibly gulped, causing his Adam’s apple to bob up and down. 

Looking down at your plain black dress, you smoothed out the fabric and nodded, “yeah I got this in the fall. Does it look okay?” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook croaked, clearing his throat shortly after, “it looks great. Really pretty.” 

You blushed a shade of scarlet. “Thanks Kook. You look great too. We’re accidentally matching.” 

He was wearing a pair of dark wash denim and a charcoal button up. He left his hair down in unruly raven curls—just the way you liked it. Jungkook always looked effortlessly attractive; it was so unfair. 

“Couple goals.” He joked with a cheeky grin. “Now let’s roll, I wanna get crunk. It’s the last year of the nineteen hundreds, babe! Time to go big or go home!” 

You both originally chose the former. 

Until a few hours later you decided the latter. 

The party wasn’t fun whatsoever. The music was just as awful as you remembered it to be, the partygoers were all high as fuck and Jungkook kept getting approached by old flings from high school.

You felt utterly miserable and just wanted to retreat back to your bed. It wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend the last couple of hours of 1999, that was for certain. 

Jungkook noticed your shift in mood and decided that he’d had enough of the party as well. He realized somewhere between hour two and three that he couldn’t have fun without you. He needed you by his side in order to genuinely enjoy himself, otherwise he was putting up a front to appease others. And my god, was he sick of trying to be a people pleaser all the time. 

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he whispered into your ear, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. 

You wouldn’t ever grow tired of the way his hand held yours. It was such a simple gesture but a meaningful one at that. In addition, your small hand always fit so perfectly inside his much larger one, like they were two missing puzzle pieces destined to be conjoined.

Jungkook led you out of the venue and towards the parking lot where he’d parked his well loved 1980 model Chevrolet Chevette. That old car had been his prized possession since it was handed down to him from his dad on his sixteenth birthday. Granted, the model was almost twenty years old now but Jungkook didn’t care. He would treasure that car until the day the engine stopped running. 

“How much have you had to drink?” You quizzed him as he unlocked the car, opening the passenger door for you. What a gentleman. 

“I had like one beer over an hour ago,” he shrugged, closing the door gently behind you once you’d hopped in the vehicle and jogged over to the driver’s side, “although I don’t really wanna go home yet. Can we just chill for a bit?” 

You smiled fondly, “you really wanna chat in the parking lot on New Year’s Eve?” 

“Yeah. We could even sit in silence and I wouldn’t mind. I have the most fun when I’m with you.” 

You looked down at your lap, face flushing vibrantly once again at his sincere compliments. He was going to make a tomato out of you if he kept this up! 

Drumming his fingers against the wheel, Jungkook chewed nervously on his bottom lip. “Can I be real with you for a sec?” 

You snapped your head up to meet his anxious gaze, nodding immediately. “Of course Kook, wassup?”

“I’ve been fucking terrified all year about getting recruited,” he admitted in a quiet voice, shrugging his shoulders and slumping back into the driver’s seat. “I kept thinking I wasn’t good enough… that what my parents thought was true. That I was just wasting my time with sports and I was gonna end up flipping patties at Wendy’s for the rest of my life after grad because I would be nothing but a washed up college player…” he trailed off, poking his tongue at his piercing before turning to lock eyes with you, “until last week when you spoke about me at dinner.” 

Your lips parted in shock. 

“The way you talked so highly of me, like I was the best thing to happen to hockey since Gordie Howe… I believed in myself after that night. I might not get any offers but at least I believe I have talent… that I have worth.” 

Stunned into silence, you slowly reached across the gearshift and took a hold of his hand. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze and met his gaze. His doe brown eyes were full of sincerity and you knew then, without a doubt, that you were in love with him. 

You were hopelessly in love with Jeon Jungkook. 

“You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met, babe. You will get offers, more than one, I just know it,” you whispered, your eyes shining with the purest form of unabridged adoration for him, “I believe in you and I’m so happy to hear that you believe in yourself too.” 

The way he looked at you in that moment had your heart beating a million miles an hour. Oh how you wished he could look at you like that all day, every day. 

“I think you’re the only one that’s ever really believed in me,” Jungkook confessed quietly, giving your hand a squeeze, “you’ll be the best child psychiatrist. You’re warm, kind, gentle and sweet. You believe in everyone without expecting anything in return. You’re fucking perfect, Y/N.” 

You don’t know who exactly made the first move, but Jungkook’s hands were now cradling your face and your lips attached. 

You kissed him with all the love you had in your heart, pouring every feeling you harbored for him into the movements of your lips. You sincerely hoped that he could feel what you were too afraid to say. 

After reluctantly breaking your passionate kiss, Jungkook stared at you through hooded eyelids as you shuffled around the interior and propped yourself onto your knees. 

“Whatcha doin’ baby?” He asked in amusement, eyes bright and curious. They say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. 

And satisfying him is exactly what you planned on doing. 

“Wanna suck you off,” you deadpanned, cupping his crotch with your tiny hand, “you deserve a reward for being a good fake boyfriend.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened so far his eyeballs almost bugged out of their sockets. “Tiny, you don’t have—”

“To quote someone very much like yourself: you can’t pretend to be my boyfriend and not reap all the benefits. Now hush,” you giggled, palming his bulge that had already developed underneath your hand. 

He grunted at your touch, his curly haired head falling back against the headrest. “Fuck,” he cursed, jaw slackening when you unzipped his jeans and untucked his hardened cock from its confines, “your hand feels so good, baby.” 

You marveled his erection for a moment. He was huge, much bigger than you had imagined. He felt hot and heavy in your hand, throbbing at your delicate touch and oozing with arousal from the mushroom tip. 

Leaning down, you pressed a barely-there kiss to the head of his cock. The action had Jungkook hissing in desire, his eyes rolling back into his head. Your chest blossomed with pride at his reaction, so you continued your ministrations. With a kitten lick and a butterfly kiss there—you were purposely trying to tease him (more like torture him). 

“Baby,” he pleaded in a husky voice, “gonna die if you don’t put me in your mouth.” 

“Drama queen.” You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, wrapping both hands around his girth and gently pumping his impressively hard cock. You glided your makeshift fist up and down his length, drawing guttural groans from the man above you. Each sound he made had your pussy leaking. It was almost embarrassing how turned on you were just from his moans. 

You swiped the beads of precum from his slit, spreading it around his bulbous head and giggling at the way his breathing became heavier. He was already a mess and you hadn’t even wrapped your lips around him yet. If that wasn’t a compliment towards your skill, you didn’t know what was. 

“Fuck—please.” He begged in desperation. 

You decided not to tease him any longer. Lifting your eyes so that you maintained eye contact with him, you brought your mouth down to his cock and wrapped your painted lips around the tip. 

Jungkook wished he could take a photograph in his mind and keep that sinful view of you a mental image forever. 

His breathing was labored as you started to suck at the head, swirling your tongue around and teasing his salty slit. Jungkook groaned brokenly, reaching out to move loose strands of hair from your beautiful face. As pretty as you looked with your hair a disarray—he wanted to be able to see you. He didn’t want to take his eyes off you. 

“How is your mouth so good?” He practically whined, his hips involuntarily bucking up as you began bobbing your head up and down on his cock, taking as much of his length as you physically were able to. “Oh shit—careful baby… easy… don’t choke.” 

You hummed and glanced back up at him, lifting off his cock with a lewd pop, “what if I want to choke on it?” 

Jungkook’s jaw dropped. You laughed at his reaction, eyes twinkling in amusement before wrapping your lips around his dick once again. 

Any kind of retort he was trying to conjure up in his brain was lost on him now. All he could focus on was the way you sucked his cock like a fucking pro. 

His car sounded like (and frankly looked like) something straight out of an 80s porno. But so much better.

You pumped whatever you couldn’t fit into your mouth and continued to swirl your tongue around his girth, focusing on the underside and his sensitive slit. He was absolutely throbbing on your tongue and judging by the way his moans had become guttural and erratic; he was close to coming. 

“You’re perfect, so perfect,” he rambled, his eyebrows knitted together with his obsidian curls falling into his eyes, “fuck I love yo—your mouth. So good to me, baby.” 

Your chest spread with warmth at his praise. 

His pelvis continued to jerk forward, signaling that he was teetering on the edge of his climax. You took that as a sign to suck harshly at his tip, knowing he was sensitive there. The strangled moan you evoked from the back of his throat was more than enough motivation to keep up with your efforts. 

“Come in my mouth,” you gurgled around his cock, words muffled but you honestly didn’t give a damn. You were sure he heard you, “please Kook. Want it.” 

You didn’t have to tell him twice. 

Jungkook whimpered your name when his orgasm shuddered through his body. His dick twitched on your tongue before spurting hot ropes of white cum into your mouth. You swallowed his load, taking all that he gave you with vigorous enthusiasm. Jaw slackened and eyes heavy, Jungkook for sure thought he was going to come again just by how undeniably sexy you were. 

You really were all that and a bag of chips. 

You released his now softening cock with an obscenely wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and giggling at his fucked out expression. 

“Feeling rad?” 

Jungkook grinned lopsidedly. “Feeling wicked and jammy.” 

You helped him tuck his cock back into his jeans and zipped him up. The energy between you had irreversibly shifted now that you’d given each other an earth shattering orgasm. But it didn’t feel weird; it felt right. 

“Should we head—” Your words died in your throat when you heard the faint shouting of numbers. The partygoers were counting down. 

It was nearing midnight. 

And you couldn’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be in your last moments of the nineteen hundreds than with Jungkook. 

“Three, two, one. Happy new year.” He whispered, bringing your lips to his. 

While fireworks exploded into the night sky and the sound of cheers, screams and wishes of a happy new year encompassed you—your sole focus was making a positive mark on the year 2000 and kissing the man you loved with everything you had. 

“Happy new year, Jungkook.”

Months had passed since that fateful night after the most dreadful New Year’s Eve party, and your fake relationship had restored Jungkook’s reputation in the exact way he’d been hoping. His coach was satisfied with the significant changes the team’s captain had made and encouraged Jungkook to keep it up during the playoffs—to which he most certainly did.

He led his team through to the semi-finals with outstanding leadership and determination. His hard work had not gone unnoticed (according to the whispers he’d overheard in the men’s locker room), as the scouts were impressed with his progress. Everything was falling into place and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. 

Your ‘relationship’ was most definitely included in that too.

Something had shifted for the both of you after that party. Prior to winter break, you did just above the bare minimum when it came to being Jungkook’s girlfriend. But now, you were more inclined to show physical affection and willingly hang out with him in your dorm twice a week, rather than just meeting up at the library. 

Things felt really domestic. 

You became comfortable and content with your unique dynamic, and for a while there, you forgot that this was just one extended favor for Jungkook and that you’d be breaking up sooner rather than later. 

Hockey finals season was among you and graduation was right around the corner. You wouldn’t need to keep pretending after that. It was a bitter truth that you were having a tough time accepting (even though you’d agreed to those terms and conditions from the beginning). 

When the clock struck five in the afternoon, you decided to give Jungkook a call. 

You’d spent the entire day filling out applications for post-graduation internships with prestigious psychiatric clinics, in hopes to fast track the start of your career. The process of completing the questionnaires was tedious and exhausting, as you had to write down your responses on a separate piece of paper and staple it to the back of the physical application. 

You found yourself hoping for technological advancements within the next five years regarding the internet and being able to use computers to apply for jobs. That would make your life so much easier. 

Leaning back against your sofa, you pressed the speed dial, knowing it would contact Jungkook’s landline. Rose always used to tease you about that tiny detail but stopped once you’d started dating. She was currently out on a date with the guy she was casually dating (Cameron, you think his name was). 

The phone rang for about half a minute before the sound of the receiving end being picked up. 

“Y’ello?” It was Taehyung—you could recognize that rich baritone anywhere. 

“Hey Tae, it’s Y/N. Is Kook there?” You mindlessly twirled the cord connected to your landline phone around your fingers. 

“Nada. He’s out; something about an impromptu meeting with his coach. Sorry dude. But what’s the four-one-one?” 

You felt your shoulders sag and your entire body deflated. 

You should feel happy that Coach Park organized a last minute meeting, as it no doubt had to do with the scouts and their interest in Jungkook—but you missed him. You wanted to see him. It sucked that he wasn’t home. 

“Oh… nothing really. Can you tell him to schwing by my dorm once he’s back?” 

Taehyung hummed in agreement, “sure.” 

“Wicked. Thanks Tae.” You bid him a quick goodbye and ended the call, placing the phone back onto its dock. 

Why were you feeling so out of sorts? Jungkook talking to his coach should be a good thing, right? You felt your stomach twist and churn uneasily at the possibility of the meeting having negative connotations. What if his reputation wasn’t good enough? What if someone found out the truth and told Coach Park? 

Your head was spinning. You felt queasy. 

The stress from earlier today had manifested into full body nausea. It made you miss Jungkook’s presence even more, as he would go to extreme lengths to make you comfortable and get your mind off certain things. He was really good at taking your mind off shit. 

You were totally whipped. 

And it’s a major reason as to why you were dreading the next few weeks. You didn’t want your relationship to end, even though it was fabricated. 

Jungkook made you feel alive. He brought you out of your shell the last few months, by dragging you along to hockey games, parties and other social events. He introduced you to a bunch of new people and showed you what it was like to not worry so much about your future for two point five seconds. 

You were terrified that it was all going to disappear the second you stopped pretending. More than anything, you were terrified that he was going to disappear.

Anxiety gnawed away at you for the next half an hour, up until a knock sounded at your front door. Swinging your legs off the couch, you got to your feet and padded over towards the door. 

You swung it open to reveal your (fake) boyfriend in a pair of navy wash denim, a white scoop neck Calvin Klein tee and a matching jean jacket. His hair was untamed and left to hang down past his ears and to his shoulders. How does he just look like that? You practically swooned.  

“Hey baby,” he smiled widely, leaning in to press a delicate kiss to your lips, “you look gorgeous.” 

Blinking once, then twice, you gazed down at your turquoise, knock-off Juicy Couture velour tracksuit. He really thought you looked pretty in sweats? Your heart surely did a double take. 

“Thanks,” you blushed, opening the door wide to let him in and then closing it behind you both, “you look gorgeous yourself.” 

He smirked. “I know, you were practically drooling when you opened the door.” 

“No duh, dickweed! You look like you stepped out of a magazine.” 

He smirked even wider. “Playboy, I hope?” 

You rolled your eyes and gave his shoulder a shove, “you’re so infuriating. How do I even put up with you?” 

“Because you love me.” He teases you playfully, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

Good lord… if only he knew just how true those words were. 

You gently pinched his hand in retaliation, evoking that high pitched laugh from his lips. Your entire body filled with warmth upon hearing his carefree laughter—you really adored him profusely. 

“So feisty today Tiny,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, “what’s the dealio?” He turned you around effortlessly then, bringing you flush against his chest so that you were face to face. 

“I’m totally bugged.” 

Jungkook frowned, “what’s got you strung out? Did Rose set fire to the dish cloth again?” 

You bit your bottom lip to hide your smile, trying not to laugh at his question. You promised Rose that you wouldn’t discuss that incident ever again, not even with your boyfriend. 

“No,” you shook your head, “I spent all day writing out applications for internships. I’m stressed that I won’t get one and that I’ll be jobless after grad.” 

He soothingly rubbed invisible shapes against your hips, having succeeded in locating a sliver of your bare skin between your matching sweats. “You’re gonna get one.” He said definitively. 

“But—”

“No buts. None of that yadda yadda,” he clicked his tongue, tsking at you, “you’re going to get an internship, baby. Why? Because you’re the bomb. You have the perfect grades, the perfect attendance, the perfect recs and the perfect attitude. They would be brain dead not to—hmph!” 

You smashed your lips onto his fiercely, cutting him off because you wanted to show him your gratitude rather than vocalizing it. 

Jungkook groaned throatily against your mouth, sliding his hands down to the curvature of your ass and hoisting you up with ease. Your legs instinctively encircled his cinched waist, wrapping yourself around him as you kissed him passionately. Tongue and all. 

The two of you had engaged in steamy make out sessions before (numerous times in the recent months), so this wasn’t anything new. What was new was the pressing urge to feel his rigid cock deep inside of you. 

You desperately wanted him to fuck you. 

Maybe it made you a bad person, but you wanted to experience it just once before the whole charade had to come to an end. 

“You’re making me hard, baby,” he rumbled against your lips, bucking his pelvis so that you could feel the impressive bulge that had formed in his jeans, “but I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” 

You reluctantly broke the kiss, lips swollen and eyes hooded with desire as you met his stare, “I’m always comfortable with you, babe.” You reassured him with a hint of a smile. 

His eyes sparkled, “yeah? Ditto.” 

“Good. Because I really want this—want you.” 

Without another word, he carried you to your bedroom. No surprise that he knew the way without even looking, he’d been inside your dorm countless times. 

You yelped out a giggle when he tossed you down onto your bed, your backside bouncing as you hit the mattress. 

He avidly shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in that tight fitting tee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

“I want you so bad. Have for so long,” Jungkook confessed, dragging his piercing into his mouth and gazing down at you with a lucent, zealous gaze, “are you sure? You can back out whenever, okay?” 

You nodded vigorously before making grabby hands in his direction. You were so damn eager for him. You couldn’t wait any longer. 

Jungkook chuckled at your actions, crawling onto the mattress and hovering over you within seconds, “can’t believe you got horny over a few compliments.” He teased playfully, eyes bright as he gently (and attentively) brushed loose tendrils of hair from your face. 

You rolled your eyes but the smile on your face revealed that you weren’t offended. “Shut your mouth, Jeon. You know my love language is words of affirmation.” 

“Jeon, huh?” He grinned voraciously. “Family naming me in bed? You’re so freaky, baby.” Another eye roll. 

You reached out and brazenly pinched his nipple. 

“Ow!” He laughed, his smile only tripling in size, “lucky for you I have a pain kink.” 

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, shaking your head at his ludicrousness. 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

He joined in with your laughter, eyes crinkling at the sides as his hands found the hem of your velvety sweatpants. “I do when I’m eating pussy. And I’m fucking dying to taste yours.” 

He rendered you speechless instead. Never did you expect to be so turned on by such vulgar language. Usually you would cringe when guys said obscene things like that, but when Jungkook does it? Your clitoris throbbed. 

Wetting your bottom lip, you watched him with esurient eyes as he tugged your pants down your legs and discarded the fabric somewhere on your carpeted floor. 

“You’re drenched already,” he rasped, gazing ravenously at your clothed pussy. His fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and swiftly dragged the soft cotton down your body. He spread your legs greedily, exposing your glistening cunt to him. “Fuck. Prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen.” 

Your cheeks flamed.

He nestled between your legs, hooking them over his broadened shoulders so that his face was at the perfect angle.  

“You’re dripping.” Jungkook was utterly mesmerized by your saturated cunt. He nibbled on his piercing while his talented fingers lightly spread your folds and teased your slit all the way down to your tight little hole. “So sensitive. Bet you taste fucking divine.” 

You whimpered pathetically at his words. You felt your walls constrict around nothing and no doubt Jungkook saw the way your pussy clenched. 

He certainly did—which is what prompted him to lick a bold stripe up your slit and then bury his face between your thighs. 

“Fuck! Kook!” You cried out, eyes squeezing tightly shut the second his tongue made contact with your clitoris. “Oh g-god…” 

He moaned unashamedly, creating delicious vibrations against your cunt that had your head reeling. The contrast between his hot tongue and the cool metal of his piercing was driving you fucking crazy. Your breathing was already becoming staggered and it’d only been a couple of minutes. 

“Wanna drown in this sweet little cunt,” Jungkook growled, eyebrows knitted together and lapping away at your juices insatiably, “so fucking wet for me.” 

He ate you out with vigor, as if you were the last delicious meal he was ever going to consume. His tongue was everywhere—dragging along your slit, over your folds, dipping into your hole—and his lips suckled on your sensitive nub like it was candy. You opened your eyes to glance down at him and almost creamed at the sight. He looked utterly sinful between your legs, slurping your juices lewdly with his hair matted to his forehead. 

You were one lucky bitch at that moment. 

“Kook,” you keened, your voice resembling that of a sob as your fingers dove into his onyx curls, “feels s-so good. Please don’t stop.” You were practically slurring now, totally succumbing to the pleasure. 

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, swirling his tongue around your clitoris and grinning triumphantly when your thighs clamped around his ears, “not ‘til you come for me. Want you to come on my tongue, baby girl.” 

And with that he gently grazed his teeth against your bud, sending your body into a frenzy. 

“Ungh! M’gonna—” a shrill shriek erupted from your mouth, your orgasm crashing over like a gigantic wave. You sobbed out a string of curse words and his name, your chest heaving up and down rapidly while your legs trembled. 

Jungkook enthusiastically helped you ride out your high, with smooth strokes of his tongue. Once your thighs loosened around his shoulders, he lifted his head and made direct eye contact with you. He couldn’t help but chuckle at how fucked out you were. Clearly you needed that stress relief. 

“How do you feel baby?” 

“Tubular.” You giggled tiredly, running your fingers through his hair and pushing the loose strands up off his forehead, “you’re like, crazy good at that.”

He grinned, “that’s cause you have a crazy good pussy.” 

You rolled your eyes, giving his shoulder a playful thwack before pushing yourself up onto the bed. You unzipped your velour jacket and shrugged it off, revealing your bare breasts to your (fake) boyfriend. 

Jungkook didn’t look stunned or gobsmacked by your chest, instead he looked to be in awe. He gazed at your naked body as if you were the most exquisite thing on planet earth and it was truly the most remarkable feeling. 

“So beautiful,” he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before reaching up and shrugging off his white t-shirt. He tossed it on the floor alongside your clothes and hastily unzipped his jeans. 

While he clambered to get the denim off his body, you took the time to appreciate his naked torso. You’ve seen Jungkook without a shirt on multitudinous times over the years. The platonic line of friendship hadn’t stopped him from walking around half naked as you grew up together, so you weren’t taken aback by his taut muscles and toned abdominals. 

You still salivated though. How could you not? He slipped out of his boxer briefs once his jeans were a part of the pile, causing his hardened erection to slap against his stomach. 

Goddamn. Jungkook was so fucking hot. A real life Adonis. And here he was, gloriously naked and wanting to fuck you. 

“I want you to ride me,” Jungkook confessed, shifting himself on your twin bed and then lying back against your flannelette sheets. 

You nervously chewed on your bottom lip. Being on top wasn’t something you were used to. You’d had sex a couple of times in your adult life and every time was either missionary or doggy style. The men you’d fucked preferred those positions because they were the ones on top. So Jungkook’s admission had you a little anxious but mostly excited. 

“Don’t overthink it Tiny,” his voice brought you out of your own thoughts, “just really wanna see you bounce on my cock.” He eagerly reached for you and situated your body in his lap, his leaking erection standing to attention. 

You knew your cheeks were burning but you couldn’t help it, this moment was just so intimate. Not only that, you absolutely loved the way Jungkook manhandled you. It sent pleasurable shivers down your spine knowing that he could pick you up and move you around with ease. 

“You look like an angel right now,” he smiled lopsidedly, cupping your breasts with his large hands and gently teasing your pert nipples. 

Releasing a soft sigh, you relished in the stimulation and gently rocked your hips over his achingly hard cock. “Mm…”

“Oh fuck,” Jungkook moaned, eyes fluttering shut as you continued to slowly drag your sopping wet pussy lips over his throbbing dick, “that shit feels fucking amazing. God, I wanna feel you so bad.” 

Breathing heavily, you grasped his cock and positioned it at your entrance. He was pulsating in your hand and it made you wonder just how good that would feel inside of you. 

So with that in mind, you slowly sank down onto his cock. You whimpered at the intrusion, squeezing your eyes shut as his girth stretched you wide open. 

“Holy shit baby,” Jungkook hissed out, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “you feel better than I ever imagined. So tight and warm—ngh!—fuck.” 

“So b-big!” You whined at his filthy words, planting your hands on his pectorals to keep yourself upright as you adjusted to his size. Your tight walls gripped his massive dick like a vice, leaving the both of you breathless and insatiable. 

Once your pussy had relaxed around him, you felt your pelvis graze his own. You couldn’t believe he’d bottomed out; you were amazed that he even managed to fit inside of you. 

Jungkook continued to play around with your tits as you started rocking your hips back and forth, spurring on whiny moans from the both of you. 

“That’s it,” he grunted, pinching your nipples and kneading the soft flesh as you bounced on his cock, “good girl. Just like that.” 

The praise encouraged you to keep your rhythm, even with your thighs beginning to burn. You wanted to please him. You wanted to keep inciting those husky moans to fall from his pierced lips. 

When you lifted your hips up and slammed them back down again, Jungkook choked out a groan. His eyes rolled back into his head and his hands dropped from your chest, now grasping at your waist in order to help you ride him so you wouldn’t collapse. 

You sobbed his name, your head falling forward as you felt that familiar sensation beginning to form in the pit of your stomach. Jungkook always managed to bring you to the brink of a climax faster than anyone else could. You were certain that he was going to ruin you. 

“I know baby,” he husked, lifting his hips upwards to hit that sweet spot inside of you, “I feel it too. Fuck… you’re so warm. Gonna pump this little pussy full of my cum.” 

“Please J-Jungkook.” 

“You want that? Wanna be leaking with my cum for the rest of the night, hm?” He grunted, his voice gruff as he sloppily met your slow, tired bounces. 

You nodded pathetically. You wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of him.

Jungkook released a guttural groan, “such a dirty girl for me. I love it.” 

I love you! You wanted to say, but you decided to keep that to yourself.

Your thighs started to shake once again as your second orgasm of the night approached, with Jungkook’s stomach tensing up as well. He was close. It was easy to tell given the way his dick was twitching inside of you. 

“Come with me baby,” he begged shamelessly, lifting his head up and seeking out your lips. 

You whimpered into your kiss, which was a messy clash of teeth and tongues as you desperately chased each other’s high.  Not even a minute later, you were climaxing. You wailed out his name amidst a string of curse words and Jungkook exploded right after, spurting his cum deep inside of you as he groaned your name slowly. 

With a few lazy rocks of your hips, you rode out yours and Jungkook’s intense orgasms. Your breathing was completely erratic, chest heaving up and down as you tried to catch your breath. 

Jungkook panted heavily, his eyes half-lidded as he peered up at you with a lazy grin. 

Regular sex wasn’t supposed to feel like that. You knew it, he knew it—but neither of you touched on it. You wanted to bask in the moment a little while longer before facing reality.  

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” Jungkook admitted after a few minutes of comfortable silence, gently aiding you off his softening cock and hissing at the loss of contact. 

You hissed too, but only because you felt his release beginning to seep down your thighs. 

Jungkook grinned triumphantly. He looked pretty fucking chuffed with himself. “Score! That’s so fucking hot,” he said, inspecting the inside of your thighs, “but let’s get you cleaned up so we can cuddle and watch the new Friends ep.” 

“Wow, truly a man after my own heart.” You wished that were reality though. Too bad this was all for nothing. 

“No duh! Hasn’t anybody told you I’m pure class baby?”

An hour and forty five minutes later, you were curled up in Jungkook’s warm embrace, squished together on your tiny sofa with a beige fluffy blanket propped up over your bodies. 

After your unbelievable round of sex, the two of you showered together for forty minutes, dried off and then watched the new episode of Friends on your shitty analogue television. 

You couldn’t believe Ross was actually dating Elizabeth, his student! That would be like you hooking up with one of your professors—so totally whack! 

“Ross is one gnarly dude,” Jungkook said with his words all muffled, having stuffed his face full of Oreos that he had borrowed (correction: stole) from your cupboard, “can he finish his midlife crisis and get back with Rachel? She’s such a babe.”

“Watch the writers drag it out for another couple of seasons.” You teased, nudging his side and taking an Oreo from the packaging and plopping it into your mouth. “Oh by the way, I was meaning to ask you earlier: how was your meeting with Coach?” 

Jungkook swallowed harshly and shrugged nonchalantly, “it was aight.” 

“Taehyung made it seem like it was a big deal when I called earlier. What did you talk about?” 

He released a heavy sigh, running his tatted up hand through his curls, “he told me that fixing my rep worked. Four different scouts are coming to our last game and wanna sign me.” 

Your jaw dropped in shock at first before shrieking in delight. “Oh my god, Kook! That’s amazing! Holy shit, congrats!” You hugged him tightly, wrapping your tiny arms around his body.

He immediately hugged you back, holding you close and burying his nose into the crook of your neck, murmuring a barely-there thank you. 

That’s when it hit you like a freight train. The realization dawned on you then—he was thanking you for your active participation in the scheme that improved his reputation. You had successfully helped him fix his issue and now he was getting exactly what he wanted. 

You felt sick to your stomach. “So… I guess that means we don’t need to keep this up anymore, right?” 

Jungkook’s face fell, “what?” 

“This—us. Your reputation is pristine now. We don’t need to keep pretending.” The words left a bitter taste on your tongue. You were trying your hardest not to burst into tears. You couldn’t—not when you had agreed to this since the start. 

“I guess not.” 

Putting on a brave face, you forced a smile, “I’m really happy for you, Kook. You got everything you wanted.” 

He murmured something under his breath. You could’ve sworn it sounded like “did I though?” but that could just be your imagination.

“What was that?” 

Jungkook cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, “nothing. Thanks, uh, for being happy for me.” 

“Of course, what are friends for?” 

Awkward silence fell over the two of you after you said that godforsaken word. 

You tried to keep your composure. You wouldn’t cry until later tonight when you were alone in bed. You refused to burst into tears in front of him, especially when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You have gotten yourself into this mess. Now it was time to face the consequences of your own careless actions. 

Jungkook moved the blanket off his legs and shifted off the sofa. “I should head out—Tae’s probably wondering why I’m not home yet.” 

That was a lame excuse if you’ve ever heard one. He wanted to leave because he didn’t need to keep up the pretense anymore, you were sure of it. 

“Okay.” You whispered, hiking the blanket up to your chin and pretending to watch whatever commercial was playing on the television. 

“Will I see you at the library next week?” 

You gave him a weak nod, unable to say no to him. You could never say fucking no to him and that’s why you were hurting like hell right now. “Sure.” 

Jungkook smiled awkwardly and walked towards the front door, “cool beans,” he said flatly, reaching for the door handle. You tried not to crumble in that moment, as he really couldn’t leave fast enough. He made it painstakingly obvious too. 

“Goodnight Tiny.”

“Goodnight Kook.” 

The second the door closed behind him, you buried your face into the blanket (that unfortunately smelled like his cologne) and broke down into body-wracking sobs.

You made it. You’d finally pulled through; having successfully graduated with high honors.

Class of 2000.

“Now I know I said it earlier, but your speech was just fantastic, sweetheart,” your father assured you gently, giving your shoulders a squeeze, “I’m so proud of you.”

Your eyes become glassy with unshed tears. “Thanks Dad.” 

Although far from perfect, your previously severed relationship with your father had slowly begun amendments since Christmastime. He was becoming more involved in your life by being active via email and corresponding with you twice a week. He even took the liberty of calling you a few times. Sure, the conversations were short and awkward, but you could tell that he was making an effort and that’s the kind of thing you had been dreaming about for years. 

You sincerely hoped that things would continue to get better between the two of you, and that you’d feel more comfortable going home for the holiday season each year. 

“I’m going to miss you when you’re in Boston.” He smiled, referring to your upcoming move to Massachusetts next month—having accepted a spectacular paid internship at a reputable, highly regarded clinic. 

You were shocked that they’d even offered you the position, given the fact you were contacted days before graduation. But the hiring manager happily informed you on the call that it was your stellar grades and glowing letters of recommendation that really sold them on your application. 

You said yes in a heartbeat and the rest was history. 

Goodbye Providence; hello Boston. 

“I’ll miss you too Dad,” you said with a warm smile, “but I’ll visit all the time, I promise.” 

“I know you will sweet—wow is that the time? I need a coffee.” Your dad rambled, glancing down at his watch-less wrist and scurrying off to god knows where. 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his odd behavior. You were about to go follow after him and find out what the hell was going on, when you felt a hand gently brush yours. 

Gasping at the electrifying touch, you turned around and then bit down on your bottom lip at the sight of your childhood friend. God, he’s a sight for sore eyes.  

“Congratulations Miss Valedictorian.” Jungkook smiled kindly, gesturing to the medal that rested proudly on your chest. 

You flushed crimson. “Thank you,” you said in a soft voice, tugging at the lapels of your robe, “congratulations on your NHL contract. I know it’s been your dream since forever to play for the Toronto Maple Leafs.” 

“Thank you.” He blushed this time, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. 

You both stood there awkwardly; not knowing what to say to one another. 

From the night he left your dorm onwards, things hadn’t been the same. You barely spoke after that. You stopped going to his games and Jungkook stopped meeting you at the library. Something shifted and it wasn’t a positive thing. It had been weeks since you indulged in a proper conversation and that was unheard of for your friendship. 

You wished things could go back to the way they used to be, before you got caught up in all the fake relationship bullshit. But you also knew the friendship could never go back to being platonic, because you were madly in love with him and you couldn’t be his friend. You couldn’t hurt yourself like that. 

Jungkook broke the silence first, blurting out: “I fucked up. Majorly.” 

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. 

“I fucked up that night,” he confessed, taking a hesitant step towards you, “I wasn’t one hundred percent honest. I should’ve told you that I didn’t get everything I wanted because what I wanted was you.” 

Your jaw dropped. “What?” 

Jungkook bit back a smile, trying not to laugh at your adorable reaction, “I wanted you. For real. It stopped being fake for me the second you wore my jersey to that game.” 

You stood in utter silence; completely at loss for words. 

Was this really happening? Was the man you were so unbelievably in love with confessing that he liked you more than a friend? And that he also started developing feelings the same time you did? 

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just needed to tell you that I fucked up and I’m sorry and that I’m fucking crazy in love with y—ow!” 

You’d pinched his nipple. For old time’s sake. 

He pouted and rubbed at his pectoral. “What the fuck, Tiny?” 

You smiled brightly, “I’m in love with you too, doofus.” 

The weight that had been lifted off your shoulders was truly astounding. You felt so much lighter, freer—happier now that your feelings were out in the open. In that very moment, you felt like you were standing on top of the world and that nothing was going to bring you down. 

It was extraordinarily beautiful. 

Jungkook’s entire face broke out into that signature bunny-esque smile of his, that you absolutely adored, with his nose scrunched up and eyes shining with elation. He didn’t hesitate for a second to reach out for you, pulling your body flush against his own and rubbing his nose over yours lovingly. 

“You love me,” he whispered giddily, “you fucking love me.” 

You giggled, pecking his lips to further elucidate his point, “I love you so much, Kook.” 

Cupping each side of your face with his large hands, Jungkook’s doe brown eyes were full of nothing but pure, unadulterated adoration as he looked at you, “Y/N… you’re the first person I spent the two thousands with and I mean it when I say you’re the only one I want for the next thousand years.” 

The sincerity behind his words had your heart jackhammering in your chest. Your eyes immediately welled with tears once again, but this time a lone tear escaped and slid down your cheek. “That was so fucking cute, what the hell.” You blubbered as Jungkook quickly swept away the tears and smiled cutely. 

“What do you mean? I’m always cute.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully. Some things truly never change, “step off, butt munch.” 

“Eat my ass later tonight baby,” Jungkook grinned cheekily, “right now I really wanna kiss my girl.” 

Needless to say, it was one hell of a kiss.

© tattookoo. all rights reserved 2023

▸ want to be tagged for future works? click here.

[7darkshadows]

Toned, Tanned, Fit & Ready

PAIRING: Boyfriend Jungkook x Reader

SYNOPSIS: Jungkook loves acting like the word "Pain" doesn't exist in his vocabulary.

WARNINGS: Smut, fluffy fluff, long-haired Jungkook, pet names, talk of injury, Jungkook acting like 2 days w/o sex are an eternity, spoiler (Jungkook was indeed not fit and ready)

A/N: long time no see <3

"Kook, you're not supposed to be moving too much," you cry out after your oh so sporty boyfriend who injured his leg while boxing the other day.

"But I'm fine." Jungkook almost whines, his lips in a pout as he purposely walks around the room, showing off how—in his words—"perfectly fine" his leg was. Spoiler; it wasn't.

Although it wasn't a major injury, it was still quite alarming to see the large wound on his leg. While thankfully, no bones were broken and the bleeding was minimal, it was obvious that the wound required attention in order to heal properly.

Despite his insistence, you could see that Jungkook was still limping as he walked, and you worry that he may be making his injury worse every step he took. You knew that it was important for him to rest and recover, but it seems your restless boyfriend didn't.

You look over at Bam, who was already staring up at you as if saying, "What's my daddy doing?"

You stroke his head before walking over to your boyfriend and gently pulling him over to the couch. "You're stronger than people give you credit for, bun," he says as he sits down, unintentionally hurting his injured leg. "Ouch," he winces.

"I told you it may not hurt when you walk, but putting pressure on it won't help," you sympathize, tucking a stray strand of his long hair behind his ear. You loved how much patience hed put into growing it out and how it still managed to look so put together even on lazy days like these. "Listen, how about I make you some warm ramen while you browse through Netflix and pick out a movie? The choice is yours this time."

Jungkook only hums when you make a beeline to the kitchen, taking out some ramen packets and warming up the water.

As you start to prepare dinner, your mind wanders to the last time you and Jungkook cooked together. You remember how the two of you giggled and joked around the kitchen, tossing ingredients at each other until it turned into a full-blown food fight. (Jungkook won)

After calming down from his victory, Jungkook had pulled you close and kissed you deeply and before you knew it, you found yourself pressed against the kitchen counter, Jungkooks hands roaming over your body as he kissed you hungrily.

It's moments like these that make you grateful to have Jungkook in your life, but for now you had to take care of him, and make sure he was fine so you could recreate much more memories like that one.

-

Jungkook was in obvious discomfort, groaning and staring down at his leg while munching on his food. "This sucks," he scolded his own body part, "if Taehyung hadn't pushed me, I wouldn't have-"

You interrupted him, trying to calm him down. "Taehyung already apologized," you reminded him gently, running a hand through his hair as he lay down on your lap. "And you were already foolish enough to stand on a chair with wheels, Jungkook - on WHEELS," you added with a sigh.

Jungkook only pouts up at you with a sly smile. His devil-may-care attitude having brought him to situations like these more times than just once.

You knew that even if you scolded him for doing stupid shit like that, he wouldn't stop. His behaviour could be a source of frustration for many, but for you, it was just the way Jungkook was; adventurous and too proud to let down a challenge.

"Let's eat up and put some cream on that wound," you whisper at him, placing a small but meaningful kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, Bun," he muttered, his doe eyes locking with yours.

"I love you too, Kook," you replied, a small giggle escaping your lips. "That's why I'm trying to take care of you, but you're so stubborn sometimes."

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you went to the bathroom to grab the cream. When you came back, Jungkook sat up and pulled up his sweats, allowing you to apply the cream to his injured leg.

-

Jungkook layed between your legs with each of your legs propped on one of his shoulders.

"I can do it." he whispered to himself. You rolled your eyes, finding the situation somewhat comical. Despite your scepticism, Jungkook had his heart set on having sex with you in missionary position that day.

So as he positioned himself, you couldn't help but voice your concern that he might hurt his leg. "Jungkook, are you sure you can-ah!" Before you could say much more, Jungkook began to ease himself inside of you, eliciting a moan of pleasure from your lips.

"You see?" he said proudly, breaking the silence. "I've still got it." He licked his lips "yeah"

You couldn't help but laugh at his confident declaration, "its been 2 days Kook, two days aren't enought to make you suck at sex" you laugh before moaning again, his dick reaching great places inside you.

Jungkook had always been confident in his—well, everything, but as he picked up the pace and saw the way your boobs bounced beneath him, his ego grew. "I'm just good at everything at this point," he chuckled between thrusts.

Your moans got louder with each movement, adding to the pleasure. However, the moment was cut short by a sudden cry of pain. "You son of a-" he cursed before falling limp beside you, clutching his leg and cursing the pain.

And just like that, Jungkook's confidence waned as he realized he may not have been as skilled as he thought.

“Jungkook,” you yelp out, sitting up. Your heart races as you stare at his pain written face. You feel guilty for letting him get hurt. You slowly take his hand and gently rub it with your thumb, trying to comfort him as he winces.

“Fuck” he curses still rubbing his leg. You can see the pain etched on his face.

"Fuck i shouldnt have been overly confident" he groans frustrated with himself for not being more cautious, and for putting himself in this situation.

He shakes his head, wincing slightly. You do your best to comfort him, massaging his leg lightly. As you look at him, you see a slightly different look in his eyes, as if he is determined to do something.

“Let's just-” he says as he lays back down and pats his thighs, indicating that you should sit on them. "Just ride me, babe"

You feel a bit hesitant, but do as he says. As you straddle him, you roll your eyes, making sure not to touch his bruise. "You're lucky I'm horny"

[7darkshadows]

ARK 45 | 01

Summary: Actions have consequences and when your boss Jimin lets you know you'll be working undercover at ARK 45 for no other than Jeon Jungkook, you feel as though you've gotten yourself into something that will eventually get you killed.

WC: 4.4k

Play me while you read.

Pairing: Club Owner/Mafia!Jungkook, Hitman!Reader

Genre: Dark Romance, Angst and Smut (Eventual)

Chapters: 1 (ur here) | 2

Warning: undercover working as stripper, reader has done some fucked up things and will witness much worse, graphic and explicit themes, trauma is ur new best friend, people will die and there is a lot of betrayal, but at least it'll have some good porn, right?, reader is badass tho

“Do you work here?”

Your eyes lul over from the desktop to a redhead with a face full of freckles. Pretty? Sure. Dumb as hell? Apparently. 

Your eyebrows knit at the question, unsure if she really asked you that, given the fact that you’re sitting at the receptionist's desk. You can’t help the amused tug of your lips when you say, “What does it look like, cupcake?” 

Redhead apparently does not appreciate your question because her nose immediately scrunches as she scowls. With a huff and a roll of her dark brown eyes, she points to the ‘Employee’s Only’ door to your right. Your brows lift and you look behind at the black doors then back to her. 

“Is Jimin in today?” 

Now, you’re intrigued. You plant your chin on your palm, which rests on the surface of the glass desk, and grin, “And how do you know Jimin works here?” 

Her face flashes and the red hue of her cheek instantly pale. Looks like Jimin didn’t give Little Miss Sunshine the notice that she shouldn’t be here without an appointment, asking stupid questions that could get her killed. 

“I-“ 

You cut Redhead off because it looks like she’s about to cry and you’re not in the mood to listen to her whining. Besides, it’s ten in the morning and you clocked in an hour ago for fucks sake. 

Lifting your pointer finger toward Redhead, you grab the receiver to your right and press number one— Jimin’s office. 

It rings once, before a familiar deep voice answers, “I’m listening.” 

“There’s a pretty Redhead standing right in front of me asking to see you, isn’t that interesting?” 

Jimin sighs, mumbles a few explicit words, and finally says, “Bring her to my office.” 

Looks like Redhead does know Jimin.

Your grin grows wider, and when you meet Redhead's gaze she suddenly spins around. You hang up on your Boss with a murmur and by the time you place the phone back into its original spot, Redhead’s gripping the handle to the exit. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

 Your words hold no malice, but the message is there. She will regret walking out now that she’s made her presence known. Now that you’ve seen her face. 

Redhead halts, body unmoving for a solid few seconds before retreating from the glass. When she turns back to face you, her cheeks burn a bright red which matches her hair delightfully. Her lip quirks inward as she sucks on it using her teeth, and you somewhat feel bad. 

Her fuck up will either result in her miraculously walking out of the office, or not. Simple. Once you walk her through the doors, she’s no longer your problem. 

Yet, you can’t help but feel intrigued. Why would a girl like her come here? What made her grow the balls to show up to a place like this alone and unannounced? She knows Jimin, but so do the hundreds of others that flock to his side like insects.

“What’s your name?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop the wandering thought. 

Her gaze lingers on yours, she releases her bottom lip and looks to the carpet. “Miranda Ricci.” 

Instinctively, your finger taps the glass, long nails clicking against the surface at the familiar name. She’s here about Richard Ricci, the man you killed four days ago. An old, sleazy fuck that’d been meddling with Jimin’s shipments in the Terrero Region. The shit-bag had it coming. 

Jimin even had the courtesy of sending you out a month prior as a warning. Senior Ricci had too much pride though, and it was exhilarating draining every ounce of it out of his body.

You wonder if she knows her best friend ratted Daddy out to Jimin. 

Not like she’d ever find about that. 

So, like any good secretary would, you stand from your desk, and motion toward the black door. As Miranda approaches you, you place your hand on the small of her back and lean in, “Don’t say anything that’ll get you killed, darling.” 

She tenses under your hold indicating your message was heard loud and clear. 

“So?” You ask as you push open one of the double doors leading to Jimin’s office. 

About two minutes ago, Redhead ran out of the black door with tears streaming down her freckled face. She didn’t even bother to spare you a glance on her way out. 

Jimin’s sat at his desk with his head bent over the top of his chair. 

He groans.

Someone’s unhappy. But then again, if the daughter of a crime boss you ordered to have murdered came into your office you’d be irritated too. 

“She’ll do it.” 

You plop onto one of the leather couches in the middle of his obnoxiously large office and scarf down the Dunkin Donut’s jelly-filled donut you Uber’d. 

“So what’s the problem?” 

Swallowing down the drier-than-expected donut, you peer over to Jimin who’s lifted his head to look at you. There’s a twinge of concern etched on his pretty face and your stomach flips because when Jimin’s concerned, there’s a fucking problem. 

Jimin’s eyes blaze and he crosses his feet in front of him. “She wants to know who killed her father.”

Well, that could be a potential problem.

You tilt your head and smile, pretending like the statement doesn’t phase you in the slightest. 

“You think she’ll try to have me killed?”

Jimin breaks his gaze, looking over toward his shelves of books. He’s deep in thought, most likely weighing out the options you two have. If it’s worth the potential risk of admitting that his secretary killed her father, or simply lying. Either way, Redhead will convince her brother to get rid of all of the shipments coming from Terrero. 

“I do.” 

You can’t help but glare at Jimin. Even though the answer is expected, hearing the words leave his mouth leaves you grinding your teeth. 

You’d kill the bitch before she even gets the chance to tell her brother who’d murdered their sweet little Daddy, hell— you’ll drop off a letter with every single fucking detail. 

“I need you to spy on them.” 

Your eyes turn to slits, and you bite at the inside of your cheek. Spy on one of the most influential Mob families in New York? They have undercover agents, security, and influence from every fucking corner to alley. It’s like Jimin wants you to die.

“More importantly, on Jungkook.” 

The sound of Jungkook’s name piques your interest. The stepson of Richard Ricci. Jungkook’s biological mother married Richard after immigrating from Korea, who’d given his stepson half of his businesses, letting him run drug transactions disguised in form of clubs. 

The corner of Jimin’s lip tugs upward and you chuckle because he’s challenging you. Pushing you past what could very well be your limits. What might just finally get you killed. 

You lick your lips, tasting the sweetness left over from the donut. You suck on your bottom lip between your teeth, unable to stop the smile from forming on your face. “And how exactly do you want me to do that?” 

Jimin’s mischievous eyes hold yours. You’re not going to like his answer and he knows it.

He runs a fingertip over his bottom lip as he assesses his words, their weight, and how you’ll react. 

“You’ll work at ARK 45.” 

You snort, then puff out a breath, completely baffled, “You want me to work at his strip club?” 

“I need you to,” he says flatly. 

“And if he recognizes my face?” 

He glares at you because the question is stupid and you almost turn away from embarrassment because you’re being irrational.

“No one knows your face, Viper.” 

Your eyes hold his, clenching your jaw, and the air crackles between you both. 

Jimin rarely uses the name, like it’s been forbidden from his tongue. But it reminds you of who you are. Not a receptionist, but a weapon which he yields at will. 

You blink and your Boss’s eyes flash with sympathy, as though you’d gotten yourself into something that will eventually kill you. 

You swallow, tear your gaze away, and walk from the couch without another look back. You don’t want to think about what will come out of this. 

ARK 45 pulses with slow-paced, sensual music. The walls drum with vibration and the street thuds beneath your stilettos with each passing beat. You inhale sharply, taking in the red hue illuminating from the grand windows fifty floors above you. 

“Name?” The bouncer asks, giving you one solid look from head to toe. 

You peer at the man who’s holding a clipboard with what you guess is a list of names. Jungkook doesn’t like strangers entering his territory. He thrives on keeping his enemies under his radar. 

The bouncer wears black-rimmed sunglasses regardless of the fact that it’s well past midnight and the dragon tattoo snaking its way up from his nail into the shadows beneath his shirt convinces you he does more than just play security. He’s attractive even with the grays in his beard and the wrinkles around his mouth that give his age away. 

“Joanna Webb,” you lie, providing him with the name Jimin fabricated for you.

He nods and quickly flips through the pages, skimming down the list of what feels like ten thousand names. He then grabs the pen that's lodged into his ear and presses it between his lips, leaving the cap between the folds. He writes something down and nods towards the two glass doors. 

With a quick thanks, you push past him and head toward the entrance. The two doors are completely transparent, except for the large black handles, the left with a number four and the right with a five. 

The first floor of ARK 45 serves as a receptionist area, and if it wasn’t for the three grand chandeliers that hang from the ceiling that conceal the painted ARK 45 in red bold letters, you’d mistake it for any other lobby of an overpriced hotel. 

The real action comes fifty floors above, where the core of ARK 45 sits. 

The bar turned Strip Club after ten is Jungkook’s main event. What draws people into the ARK 45 is its enticing women and mysterious owner. 

To everyday people, Jeon Jungkook is a young multi-millionaire who built his clubbing empire without using the aid of his Daddy. A single bachelor that has girls from all backgrounds coming to try out for a position at his club, for a single glimpse of him.  

To others— people like you and Jimin— Jungkook is a pest. A menace with a presence too large for the entirety of New York. Killing his father was a pinch in his ass, nothing more. Truthfully, he’s probably happy the fucker is dead. 

Jimin had you kill Richard as a warning to Jungkook. 

Because Jungkook runs the shipments from Terrero, not his father. 

Because Jungkook decided to keep them running even after Jimin warned him not to. 

Jungkook will kill you after he finds out you slaughtered his father. Not because he loved Daddy dearest, but because you ruptured his ego, his pride, and tested his territory. 

He’ll kill you as a warning to others to not fuck with the Jeon name. 

Luckily for you, no one bats an eye at Jimin’s secretary. Which makes your job eerily easier. 

You saunter toward the elevators and press the metal button to your left, it glows red as the elevator hauls down to you. The elevator doors slide open, revealing an empty box with mirrors on all sides. 

Momentarily, you take a good look at the red cocktail dress Jimin had delivered to your apartment. The way it clings to all your curves, hugs your body in the right corners without making it feel like you’re suffocating beneath the cotton. He knows what kind of man Jungkook is, what he likes on women, and what he doesn’t. The attached note of, “Wear this, and nothing else. Love, Jimin” confirmed your assumption. 

The doors begin to slide inward before you’d stepped in and with a quickened step you squeeze past the closing doors and heave a sigh. You glance at the columns of numbers and linger on the ‘P.O’ at the very top, the button to Jungkook’s office. 

Which is most definitely guarded by security. 

Huffing, you press the number fifty and watch it erupt with light. The elevator thuds and then proceeds up. You watch the numbers increase, from one to ten, twenty, thirty, forty, till the elevator dings and the wave of music hits you like a tsunami. 

It’s louder— way louder— than outside and your ears pop as you step out of the elevator. ARK 45 is well known for its exclusivity. The walls are painted a dark brown, and the booths are designed into the walls, making the space feel intimate. The stage is in the center of the room, with a single spotlight shining down on it and an array of diamonds and jewels hanging from threads. Every booth has a girl assigned to it, and VIP has two girls with a separate area on a loft to the corner of the club. Attached to the loft are booths that hang from different areas in the upper walls, giving its special guests a view unlike any other.

It’s packed to the brim with men hungrily eyeing the workers, their exposed breasts, and petite frames. The sensual rhythm pumps through your ears and as you make way through the floor your heels vibrate. It smells like vanilla with a hinge of musk which is predominantly radiating from the men. 

You scope the area, and your eyes fall onto a dip in the wall where the mirror in the walls deflects the booming lights ever so slightly. There are two-way mirrors on the upstairs floor. 

Men like Jungkook need control— crave it, and you can bet your life that his office is located at the very top, overlooking the guests as if he were God. 

Below one of the panels lights pulses a red ‘LADIES ONLY’ sign. 

You make your way through the main floor, avoiding the lingering gazes from the men sitting at the tables which are scattered throughout the floor. The last thing you need right now is to draw attention to yourself, unwanted attention specifically.

Without much thought, you push the door open and are met with girls sitting at vanities fixing their makeup, hair, or outfits. Some are half naked, or entirely, while others wear burlesque type of outfits, big feathers and all. 

Blinking, your eyes adjust to the white light that contrasts the dark red in the main area of the club. You stand there like an idiot, but they pay you no mind, too enticed in the music and the atmosphere of the club to worry about someone entering the dressing room. 

“You’re late.”

You spin and an older woman with brown hair and red lipstick scowls in your direction. 

Here goes nothing.

“I need to speak to Jungkook,” you say.

Her lips purse and she eyes your silhouette before sighing, “You have fifteen before you need to be on the stage.” 

You nod and she points in a direction to the right. With another turn, you walk away and head toward another door. After pushing through, there’s a staircase and two more doors with white letters that read “Showers” and “Lockers”. 

Stairs it is. 

You look over your shoulder and peek through the circular hole before booking it up the stairs. 

Confused, and completely lost you feel a tinge of disgust in your sloppiness. 

You’re not thinking properly. You stormed into the dressing room, lied and now you’re standing at the edge of a door that you don’t even know leads to Jungkook’s office. 

Your hand hovers over the wood, and you’re unsure if you should knock or walk the fuck away.

Jimin sent you to the Lion’s Den and you’re lost for the first time in your life. 

You kill. That’s your job. To kill, mercilessly and selfishly.  Not to play dress-up and dance on a pole for the same men you torture daily. 

You turn away, ready to walk down the stairs and out of the club when you remember Miranda. She’s searching for you, so is Jungkook, and when they find you they’ll end you. They’ll do everything in their power to make sure the Viper hangs from a noose outside of ARK 45. 

Are you willing to risk everything you’ve worked so hard for because the Jeon’s need their ego fed? 

You wipe the perspiration from your forehead. When you look at your hand, you glimpse at the cut beneath your thumb, the one Richard managed before you slit his throat. Your temples pound in sync with your increasing heartbeat.

To hell with Miranda and Jungkook.

With a wicked turn, you gouge at the handles and force the doors open. Swinging in full force as a bull would, you’re prepared to meet the gaze of Jeon Jungkook but you’re met with nothing. 

It’s empty. 

You look around the over-the-top luxurious office. It’s ridiculous, with a 180-degree view of the dance floor, the fucker can see everything happening downstairs. It has a large lounge area with a fully stocked bar and leather stools that line up the front of the conference table area. You even notice a hallway with a private bathroom and an extra door. 

You step forward, nearing the desk by the wall. 

You’ll kill him. 

“What are you doing in my office?”

Your heart thumps against your chest with the speed of light and it almost hurts. Breathe, Jesus fucking Christ breathe. You’re the Viper. You’re used to situations where you’re caught off guard, where you risk your life for the “greater good” as Jimin jokes. 

So why the fuck are you paralyzed?

You turn and you see the Grim Reaper himself. 

The man—undoubtedly Jeon Jungkook is tall, well built, and dark. 

He’s wearing a black suit, perfectly tailored. It compliments the tan accompanying his throat and tattooed hands. His black hair, shorter in the front with longer ends frames the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen.

Jungkook’s dark eyes are narrowed to slits. His straight brows, the small bump to his nose, and the flawless curve of his lips are all enhanced by the metal ring pierced into its corners. 

His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail. But his features remain motionless, and in all your years you’d never seen such coldness in a human face. 

You’re staring at him open-mouthed, frozen in horror as if you hadn’t murdered his father a week ago and enjoyed every fucking second of it. His mere presence has reduced you to a shell of who you truly are. 

It feels like twenty minutes have passed. The silence ticks by, and he cocks an eyebrow up, amused by your reaction.

Finally your voice rasps out, “Job. I’m here for a job.” 

“You’re here for a job?” He questions as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever been asked. 

“Is that a problem?” Your voice rises, the edge of hysteria sharp as barded wire. 

He tucks his hands into his pockets and laughs, perfectly straight teeth on full display. His laugh echos tauntingly in your head and your patience hangs on a loose thread. 

“I don’t just hire anyone, sweetheart. My girls are top of the fucking top,” he muses. 

You blink.

“I am the top of the top.” The words are out of your mouth before you could stop them, instantly wishing you could reach out and take them back. 

The last time you danced publicly was ten years or so ago. At a Christmas Recital, your parents forced you to participate in. And the last time you stepped foot into a Strip Club was when you had to lodge a knife between the owner's eyes.

Jungkook takes a small step forward and as if you’re the same poles of a magnet, you take one step back. 

He removes one hand from his pocket and a glint of amusement stirs in his eyes as if you’d just performed a trick that entertained him. Your stomach churns and you can’t stomach the sinking feeling that you did not want to be Jeon Jungkook’s personal entertainment for the night. And an even stronger feeling that you already are. 

Jimin said this would be easy. Walk in, shake your ass a little here and there and you’d get the job. Yet here you are standing a mere foot away from the one man he said to stay away from completely engulfed by his presence. 

“What’s your name, darling?” 

You gulp, and the name Jimin gave you runs in mismatched pairs in your brain. Jocelyn? Jaclyn? Jacky? Think. 

An odd thumping begins in your chest as Jungkook’s gaze falls down onto your body once again. Joan, Joanelle, Joanna. 

Joanna. 

It’s Joanna. 

“Joanna.” The name is foreign on your tongue, but, Jungkook’s face remains emotionless. 

His eyes narrow on your stilettos. “And you think I’d hire you, Joanna?” He drawls the last syllable of the name and his heavy gaze travels upward eventually meeting yours. 

Your eyes burn from the intensity. How can the face of an angel have the eyes of a blackhole? 

 Too afraid to tear away from the darkness pulling you toward him. You nod, slowly.

“Dance for me.”

You stare at him, probably looking dumbfounded as hell. He nods his head toward the chairs beside you. 

“I-“

“You want the job, don’t you? How else would you get it besides impressing me?” A frightening smirk lifts his lips and he approaches you. 

His dress shoes are heavy against the wooden panels of the floor and you’re cemented to the floor. Unable to move an inch. 

You’ll have to dance for him. 

Your heart pounds so loudly you think it’ll rip from your ribcage. 

You don’t even know if you can dance. 

Something caresses your skin and when you stare at the finger, Jungkook’s seated in the chair directly beside you. During your daze, he must’ve turned on the speakers because a Weeknd song you recognize vibrates the room, consuming you. 

Imma care for you, you, you… 

Your eyes fix on Jungkook once more, on his cold, malicious and painfully beautiful face. 

Jungkook’s head cocks to the side and so does a strand of his hair, following the axis of his body with haunting motion. Every instinct in your body is keeping to run away from him, fuck Jimin’s plans and reap his rath as punishment later.

But Jungkook’s hand envelopes your wrist and you swallow the saliva that’s gathered in your mouth and step in front of him. 

You make it look like it’s magic. 

Jungkook’s hand slides from your wrist to the top of the armrest. His dark eyes remained locked with yours and in your life, you’ve never been as frozen as you are right now. It has everything to do with his cold touch, face, and demeanor. This must be what it feels like to have your soul ripped out by the Grim Reaper. 

He’s going to eat you alive. 

Cause I see nobody, nobody but you, you, you… 

Your heart soars with explosive fireworks when Jungkook opens his legs, giving you the access to his lap. 

He’s expecting a lap dance. 

As if noticing your hesitation, he says, “You can always suck my cock.“

Your finger twitches and the unnerving ease in his manner of speech sends your throat into anaphylaxis. 

You have to dance.

I’m never confused. 

You shake your head, and inch into the space between Jungkook’s legs. You’ll kill Jimin for this, rip his balls out and serve them on a platter. Right now though, you have to dance. 

Hey, hey. I’m so used to being used. 

You spin around, because if you have to look into those scorching eyes for another moment you’ll surely pass out. It’s easier facing his desk, facing a blank wall. 

So I love when you call unexpected, cause I hate when the moments expected. 

Using your heels as leverage, you sway your to the rhythm of The Weeknd’s voice. His soft words coursing your ears, guiding you through this torture. 

Your hands find their way to the back of your thighs, grazing the exposed skin ever so slightly before proceeding to your ass. You linger at the shell of your asscheeks, and you use your index fingers to carve out the shape of them. 

 So imma care for you, you, you… 

There’s warmth on your hip, and you try to steady your breath after realizing Jungkook’s using his hands to guide your hips lower and lower. You allow him because rationality is out of the window at this point, you lost it the second you stepped foot into this cell. 

Cause girl you’re perfect, always worth it, and you deserve it, the way you work it.

It’s like your ass collides with a wall. Jungkook’s hard muscles tense beneath you and you grind yourself into him. Into the darkness that’s consuming you from every possible angle.

 The warmth of Jungkook’s body sends shivers down your spine, and the way both of his hands are now gripping your hips, ushering you to glide back and forth on his erect cock. You’re grinding against him, feeling the thick swell of his cock pressed between your clothed ass. 

“Get off,” he growls into your ear.

The trance you’d put yourself in lifts and you blink repeatedly as Jungkook pulls you off his lap. 

When you’re back onto your feet, you spin and Jungkook’s eyes blaze darker than you’d ever seen them. 

He was— is hard. 

What’s the problem? 

The sweet melody of The Weeknd comes to a close and you finally take notice of the remote on the armrest. 

Jungkook stands and there’s no space between you now. His face is inches from yours, bodies so close that his heat and yours radiate in one continuous loop, feeding the tornado brewing. 

He wets his lips, his features dissolving the lust present seconds ago.

“I don’t hire whores.” 

And with those words, he pushes past you and walks the fuck away. 

Next Part.

[7darkshadows]

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t

WC: 11k

Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)

Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love 

A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic! 

I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!

Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!

“Anything new with you? How’s work?”

You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies. 

You admit to being a little bit on edge. 

You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world. 

Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.

Until this year.

No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.

You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.

You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.

“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”

“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”

“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.

She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote. 

“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings. 

“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out. 

There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below. 

Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately. 

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.

You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.

“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”

“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”

“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”

Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk. 

“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye. 

You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.

You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker. 

He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money. 

He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. 

He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks. 

Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”

Five years. But who’s counting? 

“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?” 

He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”

“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”

He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”

He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.

You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.

“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.

“Do what?”

“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”

Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble. 

He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

Maybe that used to be the case. 

The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”

He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”

He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell. 

“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”

Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”

That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard. 

“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”

He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.

Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle. 

“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”

“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.” 

“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”

You flip him off, smiling. 

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”

Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”

“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”

Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”

When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair. 

The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.

That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list. 

Like it didn’t hurt him at all. 

None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?

You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone? 

No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.

You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.

That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace. 

The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”

“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”

“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.

“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”

“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.

Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone. 

Not here, in front of him. 

Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list. 

The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.

From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself. 

“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”

You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.

“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly. 

Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.

You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”

You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”

Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”

You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”

“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest. 

“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party. 

“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”

He refuses to look at you. 

After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app. 

In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia. 

You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.

“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”

“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly. 

“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”

“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”

You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.

Or maybe you are.

“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”

“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive. 

You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?

He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”

You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address. 

“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address. 

The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.

“Did your family move?” you ask finally.

Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.

“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.

He mumbles something, still not looking at you.

“What?” you snap. “You what?”

“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor. 

“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”

“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored. 

Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.

But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot. 

Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.

Reasons five through whatever, moot. 

You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies. 

“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”

What life? You wonder. 

The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.

It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones. 

Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that. 

You always break your own rules for him.

The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you. 

“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.

Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks. 

He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.

You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.

And he’s back, Yoongi is back. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.

“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry. 

Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.

“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”

“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”

“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.

He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”

He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time. 

You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to. 

Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again. 

“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past. 

“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it. 

You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly. 

He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”

“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”

“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”

He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom. 

When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering. 

It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.

“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”

“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”

You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.

You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. 

“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”

He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”

He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.

“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.

He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.

You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.

You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.

A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.

The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…

He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently. 

It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.

Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.

He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”

You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”

Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”

He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”

You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.

He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”

“You know I do.”

He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”

You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?

Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.

“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”

You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?

He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly.  “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”

You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”

He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”

You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”

He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.

“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”

“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”

You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.

He knows.

“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”

You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.

He says your name, still so soft, so quiet. 

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”

You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure. 

“But now?” you prod. 

He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”

You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning. 

He knows.

He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.” 

You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”

“Your city.”

“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.

He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?” 

You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in. 

“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”

Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?

But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already. 

He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek. 

His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours. 

Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.

His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.

You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip. 

He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet. 

He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly. 

Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.

“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter. 

“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do. 

“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes. 

It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side. 

“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”

He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”

“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband. 

It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale. 

He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.

You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.

And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.

He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside. 

Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that? 

He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.

You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.

“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”

“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.

He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.

You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.

When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.

“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor. 

“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys. 

You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.

“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.

“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”

“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?

Of course you do. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”

“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.

“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet. 

You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.

He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before. 

You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust. 

“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.

“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines. 

You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”

He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.

“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.

The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”

“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit. 

The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.

You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.

“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse. 

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.

“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.

“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”

“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different. 

“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.

You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together. 

You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts. 

“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him. 

“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.

“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you. 

You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.

“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.

You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.

You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going. 

It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.

You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.

“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.

“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth. 

You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach. 

You’re not sure where you go from here. 

You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you. 

You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.

Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.

You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair. 

You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.

“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys. 

“I just wanted to answer a few -”

“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold. 

“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”

He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.

“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it. 

You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”

He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses. 

You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?” 

It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you? 

And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.

“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”

You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs. 

“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.

“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”

Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.

You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing. 

“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.

“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.

Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes. 

“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”

“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up. 

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees. 

He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.

“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.

You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.

“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv. 

“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice. 

He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”

“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.

He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”

You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”

He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”

You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top. 

Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run. 

Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now. 

Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”

“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)

[7darkshadows]

OMFG AAAHHH i just died lmao and my cheeks hurt from smiling

yess it's worth the wait thank you <3

Love Lockdown | 07

𝐯𝐢𝐢. 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; rather be drenched by the rain than dead

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yoongi x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: zombie apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, horror au (?), slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, fingering, breast and nipple play, unprotected sex, denied orgasm, dirty talk

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 17k+

banner by: @dee-ehn​

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢

“Yoongi?”

The said man lowers his knife, squinting his eyes into the distance at the approaching bodies as he slowly deciphers there’s no real threat.

Keep reading

[7darkshadows]

i miss reading fics but it's finals szn in uni and yknow life in general :|

also stream indigo💙 that album is a masterpiece

[7darkshadows]

— the one where jimin is not supposed to freak out but he freaks out anyway.

↳ alternatively jimin does not enjoy getting calls that let him know you’re in hospital, even if they give you chocolate pudding.

↳ genre established relationship / implied idol!au ig? / fluff & comfort / a lil angst and a lil humour / wc - approx. 700+

↳ warnings gn!reader / reader gets in a car accident (not described much) / jimin is very worried and frustrated / oc is a bit of an idiot PLSJSJS / injury — fractured arm

“hey, baby.” your voice fills jimin’s ears through his phone, and his lips immediately twist upwards into a soft smile.

“hi, sweetheart,” he replies cheerfully, ignoring the grimace taehyung sends in his direction. the two of them have been holed up in jimin’s studio for half the afternoon, and your phone call is a welcomed break from all the work he’s been doing. “what’s up?”

“listen — i need you to not freak out, okay?” you say guiltily.

the smile fades from jimin’s face, and his tone drops into suspicion. “why would i have to freak out?”

“you don’t have to freak out!” you suggest. “in fact, i’m telling you not to freak out. please don’t freak out.”

“you’re freaking me out!” he says, panicking. “what’s wrong?”

you hesitate. “i — i may have gotten into a… very small accident.”

“what?”

“but it’s like a teensy tiny one! miniature! microscopic, in fact!” you interject hurriedly, as he stands up, already searching for his keys. “jimin, there’s no need to freak out!”

he ignores this, and ignores taehyung’s concerned looks. “where are you? are you hurt? what kind of accident?”

“nooo, are you freaking out? you’re freaking out.” you sigh dispassionately. “i told you not to freak out!”

“oh my fucki — where are you, ___?” he repeats frustratedly. “please.”

“well.” you give him a sheepish laugh. “i’m kind of at the hospital right now. i have my own room and everything! they gave me chocolate pudding!”

he tugs a hand through his hair frustratedly. “chocolate puddi — god. i’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? don’t — fuck. yeah. i’ll be there soon, baby, i love you.”

“love you too!” you say brightly, a stark contrast to the panic in his tone as he hurries towards the exit. “i’ll be here! in my hospital bed… just chilling….”

—

it takes jimin fifteen minutes to burst into your hospital room with a worried frown on his face. “hey,” he says breathlessly, striding over to you and cupping your face in his warm hands. “hey, what happened?” his hands run over your face lightly, his brown eyes distraught as he catches sight of the cast on your arm. “oh, baby.”

“you are freaking out,” you inform him knowledgeably.

he shakes his head at you, throwing his head back in exasperation. “you are so — of course i’m freaking out, you’re in the fucking hospital! what happened?”

“i was driving back from my lunch break — i went to that pastry place, you know? — and this guy ran a red light and hit me with his car. it was an accident! it’s not a big deal!”

“you’re hurt.” his voice is tight, and you see the tears in his eyes and suddenly realise just how worried he is. “it’s a big deal to me.”

“it’s not even broken,” you say softly, reaching up with your good arm to cover his hand that rests on your cheek. “it’s just a fracture. i’ll be fine soon, okay?”

he blinks furiously, and then sighs, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “okay,” he breathes, letting his panic seep away slowly. “okay. i just — if something happened to you — ”

“but it didn’t,” you interrupt gently. you don’t want his mind to go there. “nothing happened. i’m right here.”

he hums into your neck softly, muttering a quiet, “thank god.”

“and look!” you change tone, ready to lighten the mood. “the nurse wanted to sign the cast but i said you had to be the first. it’s all yours.” you offer him your cast and a pen, and he smiles fondly, scribbling his name and heart.

“she thought i was crazy, saying that park jimin had to be the one to sign my cast first,” you recall, giggling. “she wanted to check my head too.”

jimin’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “that’s why she was looking at me like that when i came in!”

you examine his signature critically. “hey, do you think i could sell this after?”

“yah!” he cries, but he’s laughing as he scolds, both of you leaning into each other — park jimin never half-asses a laugh, he laughs with his whole body. eyes sparkling, teeth flashing, body leaning into yours like he wants to share this moment with you and nobody else. even in the oddest of places, park jimin brings you warmth and love like no other.

©️ userhobis 2022 | do not repost, copy or plagiarise

💌 let me know what you thought / comments, asks and reblogs motivate authors more than you can imagine, please don’t be a silent reader. <3

[7darkshadows]

this is BEAUTIFUL <3 everything is so sweet and gentle. i don't even know what to say. every sweet soul deserves to be loved like this. the meeting on a subway concept? a dancer and an artist? YUP that is my kind of romance right there and the way you wrote it ugh I'm in love

tae and hobi tho💀 I'm wheezing helpkshdjdh i thought it'd be joon and yoongi i did NOT see that coming i wanna know how they met😭 they just healed my period cramps fr i was laughing

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)

A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜 (oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)

an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨

read on AO3!

~*~

You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.

Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.

Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.

Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.

It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.

There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.

But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.

You just wish you knew him, too.

Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?

Well, you know a few things.

He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.

He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.

You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.

He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.

You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.

Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.

On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.

Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.

And then the train stops moving.

There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.

You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.

“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.

You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.

Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”

A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.

“Definitely not.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.

With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.

Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”

You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.

“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”

You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”

“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.

“What did you pay them for?”

“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.

Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.

It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.

But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”

Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”

There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”

Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.

“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”

As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”

His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.

“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.

“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.

“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.

The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.

“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.

“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”

You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”

“You in grad school too?”

“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”

His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”

“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”

“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”

You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”

He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”

You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”

“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”

You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.

“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”

“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.

And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.

A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”

You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”

“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.

You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.

You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.

It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.

Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.

You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.

Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”

You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.

It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.

But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.

You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.

He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.

The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.

By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.

Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”

“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.

The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.

He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.

You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.

You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”

He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”

“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”

You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.

With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.

You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.

You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.

“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.

You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.

~*~

The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.

You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“

“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“

“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”

Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.

“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”

“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”

He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”

You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.

“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”

“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”

You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.

“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”

You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”

“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”

“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“

“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”

You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”

“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”

~*~

Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.

When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.

Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.

He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.

Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.

The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.

Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.

You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.

When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.

Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.

Holy shit.

You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.

“Fucking asshole!”

It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.

“Yoongi?!”

“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”

He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”

“What about the coffee shop?”

He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”

“What about the bar?”

“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”

“What about the—”

“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”

“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.

“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”

“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.

The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”

When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.

Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.

“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”

He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.

Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.

The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.

But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.

You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.

Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.

With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.

~*~

That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.

It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.

“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.

“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.

“Is this about the penis?”

The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”

You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”

You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”

He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”

You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”

“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”

“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.

“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”

Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.

“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.

You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”

He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”

Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”

There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”

“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”

Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”

He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”

Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”

“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”

“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.

In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.

You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.

“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.

By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.

You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.

The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.

You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.

Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.

This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.

But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.

The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.

A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.

But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.

Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.

With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.

It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.

You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.

“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”

Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.

“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.

You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”

Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”

Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”

“Gay together.”

He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”

Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”

You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.

You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”

He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”

Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”

You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”

Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”

“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”

He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”

You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.

“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.

There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”

The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.

“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.

You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.

“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.

“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.

“Guess so.”

“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.

The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.

~*~

The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.

You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.

To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.

An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.

As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.

When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.

After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.

Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.

For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.

“That was fast.”

You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”

He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”

Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.

When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.

Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.

“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.

You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.

“When are you done with classes today?”

It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”

Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”

Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”

~*~

When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”

You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.

“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”

“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”

You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”

Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.

“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”

The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.

“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.

It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”

He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”

“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”

A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”

You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”

You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”

Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”

“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”

Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”

“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”

At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”

You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.

Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”

He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”

Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”

You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”

He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”

It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.

“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.

Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”

As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”

“White and sparkling?”

“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.

Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down. 

“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”

The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.

“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”

You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”

“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”

He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”

A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.

“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”

“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”

At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”

After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.

“Ready?”

“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.

He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.

Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.

When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.

The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”

“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.

“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.

It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”

He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”

There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”

Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.

Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.

He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.

Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.

You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”

Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”

“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.

Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.

He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.

It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.

You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.

“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”

You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.” 

Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”

“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.

In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”

“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”

He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”

Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.

“Let’s hear it.”

His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”

You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”

He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.

“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”

His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”

~*~

Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.

He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”

On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”

These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.

Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.

At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.

When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.

But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.

“Subway Boy, huh?”

“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.

It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.

~*~

You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.

His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.

“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.

“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”

“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”

This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”

You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”

“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.

You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.

It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.

“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”

“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.

When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.

“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”

He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.

You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”

Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.

“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.

He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”

“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.

“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”

“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”

His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”

You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.

“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”

There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”

You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”

Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.

“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.

You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”

“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.

His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”

Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”

Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”

His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”

You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”

Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”

Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.

“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.

“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”

Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.

Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”

You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.

You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.

Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.

“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.

“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.

“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”

Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”

“I think so, yeah.”

There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”

“Is Joon?”

He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”

“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”

Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”

He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”

You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”

His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”

“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”

Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.

~*~

During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.

They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.

His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.

“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.

“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.

His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”

“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”

The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”

You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”

Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.

The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.

His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.

You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.

You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.

“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.

It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.

While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.

You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.

He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.

Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”

You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.

He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.

“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”

The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.

His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.

Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.

Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.

Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.

When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.

“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”

You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.

Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.

Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.

You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”

You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”

“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”

“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”

Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.

It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”

“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.

“Y-yeah.”

You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.

Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.

As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.

When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”

You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”

He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth. 

You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.

“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?” 

His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”

You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.

When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”

Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”

“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”

He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.

You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.

He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”

You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.

“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”

Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.

“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.

A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.

“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.

“The Louvre?!”

“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”

Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.

You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.

He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”

“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”

Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”

Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.

As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.

You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.

Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.

“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.

Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.

“Hobi?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.

“Jimin?!”

“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”

“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”

You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.

“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”

Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”

You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.

It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.

It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.

The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.

You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.

“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.

Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.

He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”

When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.

You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.

It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?

Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”

You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.

“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.

The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”

He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”

Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.

“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”

In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”

He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.

But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.

It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.

But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”

Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.

He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”

You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”

Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.

You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

~*~

Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.

The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.

It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.

You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.

Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.

Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”

You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”

A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.

“In a bit.”

You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.

He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.

You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”

You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”

There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.

Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.

“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.

“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.

Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.

You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.

He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”

You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.

“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”

His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.

With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.

“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.

Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.

“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.

He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.

You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.

“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”

He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.

At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.

“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”

You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”

There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

[7darkshadows]

Love to Hate (Ch. 11)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Fuck Buddies / Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you’ve done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function – or a blind date with playboy billionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can’t deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed… and quickly realize you’re in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: none for this chapter, but please read warnings for previous chapters before reading this series!   

Word Count: 8,641

Author’s Note: links to be updated at a later date!

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