#ohts

[gimmethatagustd]

delicate | pjm

After months of not talking to each other, Taehyung thinks he can charm his way into your life again. Thankfully, Jimin is there to help you work through your feelings.

○ Pairing: Jimin x f!reader (from Only Here To Sin)

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Established relationship, fluff, smut, pwp

○ Word Count: 3,987

○ Warnings: It's pretty much just porn, OHTS Taehyung strikes again!! he's annoying!!, mentions past sex with Taehyung, references toxic past relationships, consensual sex while under the influence of alcohol (just tipsy), using a tie as a blindfold, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, it's their first time together 🥹, I definitely didn't edit this (as usual, we post when we're done and we never look back)

○ Notes: This can be read as a standalone oneshot, but I recommend reading OHTS to get the full backstory~ and also because it's a disaster of a series, so it's kind of like watching a trainwreck. Don't judge me too much; I had no idea what I was doing when I wrote it. I still have no idea what I'm doing!

○ Post Date: December 16, 2023

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Like Crazy - Jimin

You knew going out with Jackie was a mistake. Even more of a mistake was your agreement to go to this nightclub. 

“Are you cold?” 

Jimin’s arms snake around your waist and draw you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. The light, minty scent of his toothpaste mixes with the floral notes of his cologne. Rather than overwhelm you, the smell grounds you and brings you into the present. 

“I’m okay,” you mumble. 

Jimin hums. You feel the sound vibrate from his throat against your shoulder and the side of your neck. He’s not convinced, and you know he isn’t. 

“Want to go find your friends? I’ll order us drinks.” 

You nod and reluctantly detach yourself from Jimin’s embrace. The poor bartender has far too many people crowding the counter. Jimin will have to wait a while; he’s too polite to cut in front of other customers. 

The club isn’t big, but it’s packed. You feel like you’re clawing through the bodies swaying to the music with your head on a swivel to find your friends in the crowd. The last time you were at this club, you’d ended up in the bathroom with Taehyung’s fingers shoved inside you. 

No. You are not going to think about that. 

It has been five months. Five months of detoxing, of neatly packing away the hurt and confusion that Taehyung caused you and storing it in the attic of your mind. You’re a different person now. The person Taehyung manipulated and strung along was no more. And the most important part is that you’ve forgiven the person you used to be. It was too easy to be angry at yourself for your mistakes. 

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you weren’t nervous about returning home for summer break. The memories and emotions triggered the moment you pulled into your parents’ driveway were enough to make you feel like throwing up. You’re lucky Jimin got time off from his music apprenticeship in California to visit you, or you may not survive the summer. 

Dreary thoughts aside, you’re beginning to feel frustrated with your inability to find Jackie when you feel a warm hand slide into your palm and long fingers intertwine with yours. 

“Hey, jagi.” 

Despite the loud thrum of music, that smooth voice pierces through you sharply and clearly.

Taehyung’s cheeks shimmer pink with intoxication beneath his honey-toned skin. His hair is longer than when you last saw him. It falls into his eyes, obscuring them in a way that makes his already mystifying gaze all the more intimidating. They nearly glow in the pulsing club lights, sparkling with amusement. 

“Miss me?” Taehyung tongues his cheek as his eyes take apart every inch of your body. “You look really good.” 

How your stomach flutters with butterflies you’d thought were long gone makes you feel sick. You quickly rip your hand from Taehyung’s. You’d missed him, in the beginning, a little bit, but being with him had hurt you more than leaving him. It took making new friends to realize you’d missed companionship, not Taehyung. Now, you have far healthier friendships. 

You can practically hear Alexis’s voice in your head, nagging you about toxic men like Taehyung. 

“The worst thing a man can be is aware that he’s hot,” Alexis lectured you the first time you opened up to her about Taehyung. She wasn’t wrong.  

“No, I did not.” The steadiness of your voice surprises you, though it shouldn’t. You’ve put in a lot of work to process your fucked up relationship with Taehyung. You can do this. 

The smug look on Taehyung’s face doesn’t disappear, but that doesn’t surprise you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in town, jagi?”

“Why do you even think I would tell you?” 

Before you can demand that Taehyung stop calling you by the inappropriate term of endearment, you feel lips brush against your temple. 

“I gave up,” Jimin admits with an apologetic smile and empty hands. His eyes take in your crossed arms and rigid stance when you don't speak. With a frown, he follows your gaze to notice Taehyung finally. “Oh, sorry, hi. I’m Jimin, her boyfriend.”  

You try to be kind, but you want to punch the smug look off of Taehyung’s face when he offers his hand to Jimin. 

“Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi. I’m Taehyung,” he introduces himself. “Her ex.” 

Jimin is too polite for his own good. He shakes Taehyung’s hand with his head cocked to the side. His pink lips scrunch into a sideways pout, and his eyebrows are just as tense. It’s the look he makes while writing his Music Theory essays. (“Music is about feeling, Y/N! Why do I need to write papers about it?”) It isn’t anger or frustration but a struggle to understand. 

All you can think about is that Taehyung called himself your ex. After the grief he’d given you for wanting to be more to him than a sexual conquest, it’s unfathomable that he could claim the two of you had dated. 

“She’s told me about you,” Jimin finally states. You’re not sure what angle he’s going for. In all honestly, you’d love to melt into the floor and bypass this entire conversation. 

“That’s cute.” Taehyung’s eyes twinkle with the sparkles of the disco ball rotating overhead. 

“Hmm, I guess, if you think being an asshole is cute.” 

You hope your gasp isn’t detectable. Both men continue staring at each other, so it’s hard to tell. 

“Do you?” Taehyung grins, and you barely hide your shock when Taehyung blatantly checks Jimin out. 

It’s the same predatory look he’s given you in the past that makes your heart flutter and heat blossom between your thighs. You find it odd to see the look directed at someone else, let alone at your boyfriend. 

It’s also odd that you feel relieved when Jimin’s cheeks flush pink at the sudden attention. Somehow, Jimin’s reaction is the validation you need to remind yourself that you haven’t made anything up. Taehyung has this uncanny power to capture people’s attention and draw them into his clutches with a simple look. Seeing Jimin affected by Taehyung makes you feel better about falling into his trap. It doesn’t take away all the blame; you take full responsibility for your actions. But it helps knowing someone as strong as Jimin can be flustered by Taehyung, too. 

“I do not, actually.” Jimin tightens his hold on your waist. The feeling of his warm hand on your hip keeps you out of your head. Grounded. Jimin always keeps you grounded. 

“Unfortunately, that’s all Taehyung knows how to be,” you pipe up. Even if your snappy comment does nothing to remove the smug look on Taehyung’s face, you get satisfaction from voicing your thoughts regardless. 

“If I remember correctly, you enjoyed that about me.” 

You let out a long sigh. “Tae, what matters is that I’m not enjoying anything about this conversation right now.” 

Jimin presses his fingers into your side, gently reminding you he’s there – as if you could ever forget his presence. 

“Let’s go, Jimin.” You wrap your pinky around Jimin’s and tug. “I’m sure whoever Taehyung came with is looking for him.” 

You don’t wait for a response from either man. You’re over the days of having men tell you what to do.

Two hours later, you’re thoroughly tipsy and stumbling into Jimin’s hotel room with sore feet and the sensation of cotton in your ears from the nightclub’s loud music. Never the type to be out all night, it didn’t take long for you to ask Jimin if you could head back to his hotel room. Although you succeeded in ensuring Taehyung didn’t ruin the night for you, partying isn’t your thing anyway. 

Jimin, on the other hand, is still wired. He strips off his shirt and tosses it onto the couch before working on unbuckling his belt. 

“What’s the name of that guy Jackie’s dating?” he asks with a huff like he’s out of breath. You watch him tug his belt from the loops and toss it onto the couch. 

“Seokjin? Well, he goes by Jin.” Jin and Jackie. They’re an unlikely pair but cute. 

“Yes! He’s so funny!” Jimin pushes his jeans down his thighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone take that make shots. And you know how my fraternity is.” 

Following Jimin’s lead, you shimmy out of your dress. The hotel’s vents are blasting cold air, so you quickly sort through Jimin’s suitcase to find one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of loose boxers to wear. The two of you have undressed in front of each other before, and you’ve even fooled around while naked, but nothing has ever gone beyond using your hands and mouths to get each other off. Jimin has been unbelievably gentle and kind with your desire to take your relationship slow. You’ve been dating for nearly half a year, and he hasn’t pressured you. 

You know it’s basic decency to respect someone’s boundaries, but considering the relationships you’ve had in the past, this is a big deal for you. 

Not ready to sleep yet, Jimin sits in the bed and reaches for you with grabby hands and a slight pout. He looks adorable with his fluffy blonde hair. You’re not sure you can deny him anything, honestly. 

“We probably should have had more water,” Jimin points out as you climb into his lap. Heat radiates from his bare chest, prompting you to snuggle against his skin to absorb some of that warmth for yourself. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re talking with this cute little slur.”

“I am not!” 

Okay, maybe you are, but you’re not drunk. You’re just tipsy enough to feel loose in your limbs, light in your head, and hot in your core. Biting your bottom lip, you shift to straddle Jimin’s lap. The blankets pool around your waist, and Jimin’s hands naturally rest on your bare thighs. 

Jimin lets you lift his chin so his head is tilted to look at you. 

“Are you okay?” His hold on your hips is light but sturdy. 

“I want you.” 

Jimin’s eyes flutter closed when your lips brush against his neck. You suck at the soft skin where his jaw meets his throat while you thread your fingers through his blonde waves. When you nestle your fingers into the roots, you gently tug his hair. 

A low groan rumbles from Jimin’s chest. His grip on your waist tightens, and the sensation causes your body to shudder. 

“Are you sure?” He opens his eyes when you pull back from his neck, but you’re focused on the dark, reddish-purple bruise you’ve left on his skin. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to do anything after running into–” 

“No.” Your response is curt, probably sharper than Jimin expects if his widened eyes are anything to go off of. “Taehyung doesn’t have any influence over me anymore, Jimin. This is just me wanting you, okay?” 

It’s true; Taehyung has nothing to do with your desire for Jimin. Maybe if he does have some ounce of influence over the situation, it’s only because you feel empowered and emboldened after standing up to him. That, mixed with the alcohol, is giving you a sense of invincibility. It’s confidence that you might lose by the night's end, but you’re willing to ride the wave for as long as you can. 

None of this is anything you’ll regret in the morning. If anything, you’ll be thankful for the opportunity to prove to yourself and everyone else that you’re ready to take on the things you’ve once feared. 

Accepting your reassurances, Jimin nods. He runs a hand up your spine, stopping at the base of your head to cup your neck.

“Can I just say something first?” 

His question makes your stomach flip, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact while you nod. You tend to get nervous with him when you’re intimate. There’s nothing wrong with Jimin; he’s kind and attentive. It’s your bad experiences with sex that make you hesitate. There’s too much pressure to perform well. 

“You always get really nervous,” Jimin starts slowly, rubbing his palms up your thighs. “And I was trying to think of a way to help you relax.” 

Shame burns your cheeks because you feel like this isn’t something Jimin should have to do. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Why can’t you handle sex without getting so stressed out over it? 

“Okay…” you prompt him to continue, though you aren’t sure if you want him to. 

“Would you be willing to try something? I promise if you don’t like it, we can stop.” 

If it were anyone else, you’d be scared of Jimin’s question, but you find it relatively easy to agree to whatever plan he has – albeit nervously. 

Careful not to jostle you too much, Jimin maneuvers you off his lap and goes to his suitcase. It takes a few seconds for him to find what he’s looking for, but when he faces you again, you feel your heart flutter.

In Jimin’s hands is a silk black tie, which he keeps for special occasions – such as the dinner he attended with you and your parents when he first arrived in your hometown for the summer. It looks good on him, especially when he loosens it and lets it hang haphazardly around his neck. 

Despite your limited sexual experience, it’s clear that he won’t be the one wearing it tonight. Approaching the bed, Jimin instructs you to sit back with your legs spread so he can kneel between them. 

“You trust me?” he whispers. When you nod, he reaches behind your head to secure the tie so that it covers your eyes. “Let me know if it’s uncomfortable, and I can redo it.” 

“It feels okay.” Strange, but okay. 

You can’t see anything, so you keep your eyes closed. Rather than become even more nervous about the unknown of the darkness, you find that it’s actually relaxing. So often, you let negative thoughts ruin intimacy with Jimin, preventing you from moving forward in your relationship. Somehow, being blindfolded empties your mind until all you can think about is how you imagine what Jimin looks like while he touches you. 

You let Jimin guide you to lie flat on your back. With your most prominent sense taken away, you focus on your others to tell you what’s happening. Jimin is slow as he slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt to push it up your torso. 

“Can I take this off?” His breath is hot against the side of your neck, and you feel the bed shift when he hovers above you. 

“Yes,” you reply, barely above a breathy whisper. 

Once Jimin has removed your shirt, his body heat disappears. You don’t panic, but you feel lost without his touches there to ground you. That is, until you feel something wet flick across your nipple. 

“Oh, god,” you moan when Jimin wraps his lips around your nipple and gently sucks. 

His tongue is hot and sloppy as it swirls around the bud until it’s perky and hard. Satisfied with his work, Jimin attaches his plush lips to your other nipple and repeats the same action. 

You arch your back, pushing against his mouth. Jimin wraps his arms around your waist to press his palm to the small of your back, further pulling you into him. The darkness heightens your sense of touch, making each hot swipe of Jimin’s tongue and the graze of his teeth against your skin even more tantalizing. Your pussy throbs with how wet and hot you’re growing just from this alone. 

“Jimin,” you whimper. 

His fingers hook around the edge of your borrowed boxers. “Can I take these off, too?”

You nod your head quickly and lift your hips to make it easier for Jimin to pull his boxers off of you. 

“So pretty…” 

You let out a high moan when you feel the pads of Jimin’s fingers brush against your entrance. He gathers your arousal and smears it over your lips and clit. You can hear the squelch the wetness makes when he dips his fingers inside of you just enough to gather more of the sticky mess. Your wet skin goes cold, and you can tell Jimin has blown air on you. 

“I’m going to eat you out, okay?” Jimin punctuates his question with a tiny flick of his tongue against your pussy. 

“Please, fuck, please,” you want to cry and try to push your hips against where you think his face is, but his hands hold your hips down. 

“I will, I will.”

Jimin laughs, airy and gentle, before pushing his tongue further between your lips to flick your clit. He repeatedly sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin while his lips envelop you. 

Your skin is blazing from the heat of his heavy breathing and how his touch makes you burn. Every suck of your clit makes you gush between your thighs. You can imagine Jimin staring up at you with dark eyes as he eats you out, humming into your pussy with satisfaction.

You arch into his face when you feel pressure at your entrance again, and Jimin slips two fingers into your pussy. He thrusts them in and out, hooking them to press his fingers against your front wall to find the spot he knows so well that makes you squirm. 

“Fuck,” he groans into your dripping pussy. Turning his head to the side, Jimin brushes his mouth against the inside of your thigh. His lips are soaked and sticky. 

You rock against his hand as he fingers you, letting out little “ah ah ah’s” with each thrust against your front wall. You feel like you’re on fire, like every breath will ignite your body, make you combust. 

“Please, Jimin, please.” You never thought you’d be the type to beg, but you’re so desperate to cum that it’s embarrassing. “I’m going fucking crazy, please.” 

You try not to compare Jimin to Taehyung; you really try. But it’s hard not to, especially when Jimin gives you the best head you’ve ever had. Foreplay has never lasted this long before. You can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse. 

“Ready for me?” It’s both hard to hear and so fucking hot when Jimin asks the question into your pussy. 

It’s disorienting when Jimin uses his clean hand to pull his tie off your face. You blink a few times to adjust to the light, belatedly realizing neither of you ever turned it off. While some people like intimacy in the dark, you and Jimin always keep the lights on. It’s nice to look at it other; it feels more intimate. 

You switch positions, allowing Jimin to sit against the headboard and have you straddle his lap like you were before. 

“Ride me first, okay?” Jimin whispers in your ear when he takes your arms and wraps them around his shoulders. “I want to see your face when you take my cock for the first time.” 

Your pussy flutters, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to survive taking his cock if his words are enough to create a reaction in you that makes your knees weak. 

“Oh, oh,” you whimper as Jimin sits against the bedframe. “Okay.” 

“Look at me.” 

And you do. You stare into those narrowed, sultry eyes as you line his cock with your entrance, one hand squeezing his shoulder to help you lean at the correct angle. The stretch is quite easy despite your previous concerns about taking Jimin fully. It should have been obvious; you’re so drenched that you slide down on his cock so smoothly that you want to fucking die.

You know what you’re doing, having had plenty of experience riding Taehyung in the past. It’s different this time, of course. Jimin never takes his eyes off yours as you bounce on his cock. His hands squeeze your hips to guide you up and down his cock, encouraging you to lift until only the head of his cock is nestled in your pussy before sliding back down his entire length. You’re so wet that Jimin’s thighs glisten with your arousal, as do yours. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jimin says with a soft smile. 

“Oh my god,” you squeeze his shoulders as you rock against him, “You’re, you’re cuter.” 

“Whatever you say, baby.” Jimin rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

He’s so cute, even as your pussy sucks in his cock and clenches around it. How is it possible for him to seem so innocent in a moment like this? It makes your heart swell with a love you’re worried you’ll never be able to fully articulate to the precious boy beneath you. 

“Feels good,” you moan against his mouth when you lean forward to kiss him. “I’m gonna cum already.” 

Jimin sucks your bottom lip at the same time he slips his hand between your bodies to start rubbing your clit. The two points of pleasure cause you to slump forward, but luckily, Jimin takes over. He thrusts into with swift, strong movements, never stuttering even when you can tell that he’s nearing his orgasm, as well. 

There’s no shame in not lasting very long. You’re both a little bit drunk and extremely horny. The buildup to this moment is almost a climax all on its own. Neither of you can be blamed for how frantically you claw at each other and do your best to grind against each other’s bodies as hard and fast as you can. 

“Come on, baby,” Jimin groans into the crook of your neck as he fucks you. “We can cum together, okay? Let go for me so we can make each other feel good.” 

“Oh, Jimin, y-yes, fuck, okay.” You nod your head and pant your words against the curve of his ear. Needing something to hold onto, you dig your fingers into Jimin’s hair. 

Jimin always knows the right things to say and finds a way to ease your stress and ground you. He talks you through your orgasm and holds you close as you cum. It’s erotic, but it feels gentle and intimate. Rather than dirty talk, it feels sweeter and more caring. 

Even when Jimin finds his release, coming in you with a brutal grip on your waist, he whispers soft words of gratitude because he sees fucking you as a privilege – not a challenge to be won. 

When it’s over, you melt into Jimin’s embrace, chest to chest, with your head resting against his shoulder. You’re both sweaty and sticky, but it doesn’t matter. All you want to do is be close and be held. 

“How are you doing?” 

You nod, unable to find the words to express how utterly content you feel. Not just content – you feel cared for, even when all you’ve done is fuck. It’s different with Jimin. It’s gentle. It means something. 

“Did the tie help?” he asks, curious and wanting to have done a good job coloring his tone. It’s sweet, just like all of Jimin. 

“It did,” you finally speak up. Turning your head to the side, you press your lips against Jimin’s neck and speak to his warm skin. “It helped me get out of my head, so all I focused on was you and how you made me feel.” 

“Good?”

You smile with your eyes closed when you feel him kiss your forehead. “You always make me feel good.” 

Jimin squeezes you in his arms, content with humming a happy reply against the top of your head. No other words need to be said; for now, the two of you bask in the warmth you bring each other and know that whatever the morning brings, you’ll always have safe arms to fall back into. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[itsnotgray]

my au’s!

one soul three hearts au

~ fantilli sister!oc

sparks fly au | william nylander

~ william nylander x knies!sister

cracked spines and pre-wrap au | jj mccarthy

~ jj mccarthy x athletic trainer!oc

elusive lovers au | mat barzal

~ mat barzal x hughes!sister

[i-am-shitpost]

Luz brings the gang into town and Hunter sees THIS SHIT

AGFJDKSJSGFA

EDIT: ALSO HE SEES THIS SHIT

[pkaykim]

Tav & astarion comic dump.. + tiefling party

[idiotsinthesnow]

I never believed in you, because you never believed in me.

[s0up1ta]

my himbo fish man if everything was okay and nothing bad ever happened to him ever

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and exhales deeply. He lets all the air trickle out of his lungs until his chest feels concave, until spots dance behind his closed eyelids, until his lips start to go numb. Then he lets go and lets the air get sucked back into him like a vacuum.

“One more try,” he whispers to himself, conscious of Lance sleeping — finally — beside him. “One, and then we move on.”

He swipes the touchpad on his computer to wake it back up, dragging the blinking curser over the rarely-used blue ‘10’ under the Google logo. The page loads, and loads, and loads, and finally spits out the next few results.

Most of them he’s already seen before. Dozens of times. BARGAIN BALLET TICKET SUBSCRIPTION, reads one link, CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF YOUR FIRST MONTH. Another reads, Rush Ticket Prices — Buy Now!

He’s been there. Clicked that. Priced it out. Looked at the worst possible, next-to-the-washrooms, garbage seats. Nothing. Not a single ticket within their limited budget — or even close to it.

Completely out of the realm of possibility even if they hadn’t agreed on a price limit for their Christmas gifts.

He keeps scrolling down a few pages that all advertise the same thing — a disgustingly costly subscription here, bargain-but-not-really tickets there, more scammy resell ads than one would believe possible. Even, notably, a still-active link from 1997 that Keith peruses for clicks and does not actually count towards his one-more-try limit. (It even tries to accept his Paypal, which is crazy and means that someone updated the site to accept modern payment for a show that is no longer running. Keith is so amused by the pure audacity that he has to fight the urge to buy one. Wild thing, ADHD.)

Just as he’s about to give up and buy his boyfriend yet another plant this year, a link catches his attention. It’s the very last result on page 13, with no description, no punctuation, hell, hardly even a sentence of text. Nutcracker ticket sales, it reads, for a website called ‘FeuillesBrillantAcademie.org’.

Keith shrugs. Might as well. Not like anything else has been promising.

He clicks the link and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The ugliest website he’s ever seen literally assaults his eyes — a bright blue and a neon purple, clashing in the worst possible way. It takes at least four solid seconds for his eyes to unblur enough to recognise the screen in front of him as having words rather than a solid wall of Bright And Bad. Even then, he has to squint, glasses practically touching his eyeballs.

Feuilles Brillant Academy is pleased to present the final performance of the hard-working dancers this season, is what he can finally make out. The show begins at 7 p.m. on December 23rd, tickets for $20 per person. In-person payment not accepted. Please pay via e-transfer using the link below. Call out administrative office if there are any difficulties.

Keith stares at the page for as long as his eyes can handle, then he looks up at the ceiling. (Where, he may add, he can still see the screen perfectly, because the damn thing has been burnt onto his retinae. He will never mock Matt for his web design degree again. Well, probably.)

This seems…too good to be true.

It’s outrageously cheap, for one. Keith has been looking for literal days and the cheapest he’s managed to find is $50 per person, for bad rush tickets. $20 is bonkers. For two, this is a perfect time, and nearby, as well. And there are still tickets left. Somehow.

Something is amiss.

Keith’s first thought is that it’s a prank page. But the page is buried so deeply — page thirteen of Google. The hidden archives, basically. If this is someone’s prank, it’s garbage. His second thought is that the link is a virus, which, while possible, is still kind of unlikely for the same reasons. Why on Earth would someone post something nefarious so obscurely? It doesn’t make sense. This might be one of those rare times when something isn’t too good to be true, it’s just good.

Then again. Keith just got his laptop back from the last time he fucked around and well and truly Found Out.

Time to get a second opinion.

Despite the disgustingly late hour, the phone picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, stinky,” says Pidge. Keith can hear the smile in her voice as clearly as the explosions and gunfire of Call of Duty in the background.

“Asshole.”

“Turd for brains.”

“Skidmark.”

“Rotting splatter of parking lot vomit at three in the afternoon in Arizona during high summer.”

“…Pidge, that’s disgusting.”

She snickers. “I win.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith freezes as Lance stirs next to him, curling his arm around Keith’s bent leg and muttering something in Spanish too fast for him to understand. Keith smiles, tucking a stray curl back under his fluffy frog-eye hairband, lingering over the scar on his temple from a skateboarding accident when they were fifteen. “I need your help.”

“Well, obviously. You’re calling me at three thirty four in the morning. Usually you’re in bed by nine because secretly you look up to Adam and emulate his habits.”

Keith flushes. “I don’t remember ordering a psych analysis, fucker.”

“Consider it a bonus! Tell Auntie Pidge about your troubles.” He can practically see the face she makes immediately after, and snorts. “Ignore that. My mouth is not attached to my brain. Carry on.”

“I need you to check out a link,” Keith says, choosing to be merciful. “It’s pretty buried and obscure, but honestly I think it’s fine —”

“Yeah, last time you thought a link was fine you fucked your shit up so bad I had to download another virus to cancel it out. I’ve never had to do that before. You fucked your laptop up so bad I’d actually never seen that kind of damage before, Kogane. And I do this for a living.”

Keith pouts. “No, you commit cyber crimes for a living.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel and have never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. I am a law abiding citizen. Send over the link.”

Switching his phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, Keith does. “I need to know if the link does what it says it does.”

Pidge hums. He can hear the ding of her laptop as his e-mail goes through, and then the sounds of her clicking as she inspects the website, running it through her various programs that Keith cannot fathom for the life of him.

“What did you say you were looking for, again?”

Keith closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it thunk gently on the thin wall under the big window, in the corner of the apartment where they’ve shoved their bed. He lets his eyes go blurry, lets the stars they stuck on the ceiling before they did anything else turn into bright green dots. They’re real constellations. The two of them spent hours on them; Lance on Keith’s shoulders, tripping and shouting and laughing.

“I need tickets,” Keith says quietly. He turns his gaze slowly to Lance, who is sleeping soundly again, who has bags under his eyes, whose hands twitch every few seconds, who frowns deeply. “And we can’t — these are the only ones I could find. That I can even pretend to afford. I need it to be —” He swallows. “I need you to tell me they’re real.”

Pidge is quiet for a moment. The only sound is her breathing, her nail tapping slowly on the edge of her screen.

“The link is exactly what it says it is.”

Keith sits up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man.”

Keith bites back a cheer so he doesn’t wake Lance up. Hell yeah! This is perfect! Exactly what they needed! Just — a little bit of luck. A little bit.

“Thank you, Pidge,” he gushes, hurrying to punch in his information. “Seriously.”

Pidge huffs fondly. “Okay, dweebus. Gross. Go be all affectionate somewhere else.” She pauses. “Take a picture when you tell him.”

Keith smiles. “I will.”

———

It takes every inch of Keith’s willpower to keep his mouth shut for a whole three weeks.

“I Know you are hiding something, Kogane,” Lance says while walking home from classes, while curling up into him as they watch TV, while cooking, while showering. “I see it in your face.”

“It’s nearly Christmas, you dweebus,” Keith says every time, and every time he softens it with an exaggerated kiss to Lance’s cheek, one to make him laugh despite himself and shove Keith’s face away. “Of course I’m hiding something.”

But it’s eating at them both. Lance’s blatant curiously makes it that much harder for Keith to keep things hidden, to stash the tickets between the pages of his corniest romance novel that Lance won’t touch with a ten foot pole. To wait, and wait, and wait, as they set up the three-foot high discounted Christmas tree and Lance changes their sheets to the flannel ones his mother gave them.

But the days pass. Finals come and go and so does the time. And finally, finally, it comes time to crawl onto the creaky mattress, knees on either side of Lance, nose kisses down his neck, and murmur, “We’ve got plans today.”

Lance groans. “No we do not.”

Keith smiles widely. He knows Lance can feel it, because he scowls harder, trying to hide his own fondness even as he melts into Keith’s affections.

“Yes, we do. I know. I planned them.”

“Well, then, un-plan them,” Lance grouches. He turns over so he’s facing Keith, now, trying hard to glare up at him, but late afternoon sunlight bleeds into his dark brown eyes and makes them shine golden, and they are as warm and bright as the rest of him, and his hands slide up Keith’s chest, over his shoulders, brushing through his hair, to rest on his cheeks. “Come nap with me.”

Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Lance’s palm, keeping his mouth there. Lance rolls his eyes, and can no longer hide his smile. “Later. I made plans. Dress up, I’m gonna pick us up some food for the way. We’ll leave in forty minutes.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, baby. I can see you eyeing the closet.”

“Shut up and get me a burrito.” He soothes the bite of his words by pulling Keith’s face closer to his, pressing their lips together softly. “Please.”

“Whatever you want.”

God, he’s whipped, and Lance knows it, because he grins, pleased, and pulls Keith even closer, kisses him stronger. It takes Keith a good five minutes to muster up the willpower to pull away, and Lance knows it, smirking.

He finally manages to yank himself away, stumbling backwards towards the kitchenette of their studio. Lance pouts at him.

“Menace,” Keith says sternly, deliberately turning away as he pulls on his boots and coat. He ignores his boyfriend’s grumbling and finally makes it out the door, hustling to their favourite bodega and hoping it isn’t too crowded.

Thirty-seven minutes later, burritos secured, Keith is shoving his frozen fingers around the door handle to jimmy it open. The bodega was indeed crowded and they are indeed late. The show starts in an hour. From what Keith remembers from Lance’s recitals — and he has been to many — people who are late are people who miss the show. The ballet does not fuck around with tardiness and disruptions; if you’re late, that’s tough shit for you. Plan better.

“You’re going to eat shit,” Lance says, amused, the fourth time Keith power walks right over black ice and nearly actually dies. “Slow down, babe.”

Keith does not.

“Can’t,” he huffs, keeping a half-eye on the pavement. A tourist walks into him, shoving him into Lance, who takes the opportunity to slide his hand into Keith’s back pocket and wink at him when his cheeks colour.

“Why can’t we slow down? Where are we going?”

“It’s like you don’t know what surprise means.”

“I do know. I also know that if I annoy anyone long enough they’ll snap so I’ll shut up.”

“Nah. I like it when you talk.”

He’d meant it as somewhat of a comeback, as a jab back to Lance’s teasing. But suddenly Lance stops, spine going rigid, something like shock flirting across his face for half a millisecond before he blinks it away and moves again. It happens so fast that Keith would almost be convinced he’d imagined it, except Lance’s cheeks are crimson.

Keith smiles. “Lance.”

“Shut up.”

“Babydoll.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m barely sayin’ anything, baby.”

“You are so fuckin — gay, you know that? God. Who fuckin — who says shit like that? Who on this Earth?”

Keith laughs, bending down to kiss right below Lance’s ear, to feel his flushed skin warm to frozen tip of his nose.

“You are so easily flattered.”

“Easily flatter this dick. How about that. Fuckin. Jerk.”

He lets Lance grouch at him, pleased and embarrassed about it, as he pulls them along the overcrowded streets. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes ‘til the show starts, thirteen minutes ‘til they get there. Hopefully.

“Are we almost there? It’s cold and these shoes are pinchy.”

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes!”

“You told me to dress up! I can do one of those things, Akira!”

At the seven minute mark Keith starts running. Lance, surprisingly, doesn’t complain — a grin pulls at his sharp features, actually, and he wraps their hands together and runs faster, despite not knowing where they’re going. Every time they bump into someone in a suit he laughs. He laughs harder when they curse at him. Keith has to fight to keep his head in the game, to keep running, to not stop where he’s standing and watch Lance laugh for hours and hours and hours. It’s been too long.

He nearly pulls Lance’s arm out of his socket when he stops then abruptly, shouting “Here! Here! We’re here!” and pulling him inside a well-kept brownstone.

“Where’s…here?” Lance wonders, taking in the well-salted walkway and pretty red-and-green decorations all over the aged brick.

Keith doesn’t answer. “Close your eyes.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Keith makes his expression as wide and pleading as possible, and in seconds Lance caves, much to Keith’s satisfaction.

“You’re a pain in my neck.”

Keith kisses him quickly and chastely. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let me walk into anything.”

Satisfied that Lance won’t peek, Keith shuffles them over to the box office, holding out their tickets. The stewardess smiles at him, scanning them, eyes twinkling at Keith wordless plea for her to keep the secret, and gestures towards a grand set of doors.

“Up the stairs, to your left, seat and row on your ticket,” she murmurs. “Enjoy the show.”

Keith nods his thanks and rushes them off.

“This sounds very fancy,” Lance observes as their shoes click on the — literally marble, how the hell were these tickets $20 — floors. “Dangerously so.”

Keith shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“…Not to be. A bummer. But please tell me you remembered our budget, Keith.”

“I did, Lance. I swear.”

Lance relaxes into him, and Keith realises for the first time how tense he was. He winces to himself. He probably could have made things a tad less stressful and still kept the surprise. He’ll remember that for next year.

“Okay, good. I trust you.”

They barely make it to their seats in time. Keith’s butt barely makes contact with the cushioned chair before the lights dim and the orchestra starts tuning, the rest of the audience lapsing into almost immediate silence.

Lance inhales sharply. “Keith…?”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Lance does, and they’re wide, and his mouth drops open, slightly, and for a moment he just stares, frozen, at the stage and the lights and the set, the familiar set, as the dim light casts shadows onto his face. The orchestra’s tuning note reaches its satisfying peak, harmonizing as one sound, and Keith’s full attention is on the lines of Lance’s face, the set of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones.

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.

Before he can say anything else, before Lance can say anything else, the familiar sound of pointe shoes tapping delicately across the stage steals Keith’s attention. He turns his eyes to the stage, watching the dancers strut on the stage, and — stops.

He leans forward, squinting.

What?

Keith is…very familiar with the Nutcracker. He’s grown up alongside Lance’s family since he was eight years old. He’s been to more recitals than he can count. He’s been dragged to more performances than he can ever remember. Lance has lived and breathed and loved ballet his whole damn life, for the entire time Keith has known him, and that love bled well outside of the studio, has lasted even after he aged out of the program last year. Keith knows how the Nutcracker begins, and nothing about the program said this one was supposed to be any different.

Half of the dancers walking onstage are significantly shorter than they should be.

Now he knows damn well that there are kids in the Nutcracker. The main character is a kid. That’s the whole deal.

But there is not one adult on that stage right now. Hell, not even a teenager.

Keith looks down at the ticket — Feuilles Brillant Academy. He looks back at the stage. He looks at the other audience members — lots and lots of people with camcorders. And other small children.

Keith sinks into his chair, head in his hands.

His dumb ass bough a ticket to a children’s ballet recital.

Lord above.

“Lance, I am so sorry,” he whispers, “I was so caught up in the ticket being in budget I didn’t bother actually, like, looking deeper into things, this is totally — Lance?”

Keith leans forward in alarm, hands immediately falling on Lance’s knee, on his back. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed to his eyes.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” Keith says desperately, embarrassment replaced with panic. Everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, as dramatic as that is. He’d been so excited for this. Now it’s a whole mess. “I didn’t mean to — fuck things up, shit, we can leave.”

Lance shakes his head. Blindly, he reaches over the grasps Keith’s hand, holding tightly. His own hand is damp from his tears.

“No, no, it’s — perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I —”

His chin trembles, and more tears spill over his cheeks. As the music swells along to the climax of the first dance, Lance lifts the armrest separating their seats, half crawling over Keith until his head is tucked in the crook of Keith’s neck, arms folded between their chests, hands clutching at the fabric of his sweater. His voice is wet with tears and soaked in an emotion Keith can’t quite name, an almost — relief.

“It’s been so long. I didn’t want to — I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this again. I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”

Keith lets a huge, relieved exhale, sagging forward. He wraps himself more comfortably around Lance’s frame, squeezing him back, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

Growing up has been…hard. For the both of them.

They’d been told by everyone who knew them that they were being stupid and reckless. Keith has been promised that they won’t last more than two years by almost every grownup he’s ever known. Even his own brother had sighed his trepidation when Keith told him, stubborn and bold-faced, that he was moving in with Lance, that they were going to start their lives together the second they pulled off their caps and gowns, that they were ready for the next step. That they were eighteen and ready to face the world.

“Sacrifices,” Shiro had warned, “are going to be half your life now. It’s not that I think you can’t, Keith. I just. There’s a reason people don’t move in with their highschool sweetheart they summer after they graduate. Katy Perry wrote a whole song about it. It’s a banger.”

Keith hates it when his brother is right, and this time he was right about so many things in consecutive order. Living on your own is hard. Learning to live with someone else is harder. Doing it in a city far away from home, while balancing school and work and rent and groceries, is the hardest.

“I miss dance,” Lance croaks, and Keith closes his eyes and breathes deeply and holds Lance tighter.

He knows Lance misses dance. He knows that he hasn’t so much as listened to a ballet since they moved to New York, unless it’s in the dead of night, and he thinks Keith is asleep, and he puts in his headphones and moves their furniture as silently as he can to the edges of their tiny ass studio apartment and laces up his falling-to-pieces pointe shoes and dances like the very act of it is tearing him apart, and cries the whole time. And then stashes his shoes in the bottom of his gym bag and crawls back into bed and pretends again in the morning that he left his pointes back in Arizona. And Keith looks away and lets him because school is already twenty thousand a year and in no shape or form can they afford that and money to rent a studio.

But Keith can give him this. For a little bit, maybe, even if it’s little kids with handmade costumes pirouetting across a stage.

“I know, bluebell.”

Lance exhales, shaky, breath ghosting across Keith’s collarbones, and finally turns back towards the stage, keeping tucked under Keith’s chin. The kids dancing as the Snow Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are — three years old, maybe. At most four. They keep twirling right into each other like clumsy little bumblebees. It’s maybe the cutest thing Keith has ever seen in his entire life, and what’s better is the tiny smile that graces Lance’s face, despite the tears, growing bigger every time one of them wobbles back up to their feet and prances on, oblivious.

They watch the rest of the play in silence, Lance hands entwining with his sometime around the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and holding fast. They stand and clap as loudly as the gathered parents, louder even, at curtain call, as each kid jumps and twirls across the stage to thrown roses and cheering. It’s adorable.

They’re among the first to walk out, because the majority of the crowd surges towards backstage to collect their kid, so the walk is blessedly unrushed. They take their time, observing the pictures of grinning ballerinas that line the walls and numerous awards on endless shelves. Keith is filled with a deep and strong longing, a strange feeling of coming home — years of waiting on plastic chairs for Lance to finish solo practice when they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Of taking his boots off at the door and quietly sneaking in the back of the studio, ducking away from other dancers’ boring stares, to watch Lance shine under the studio lights, reflected a thousand times by mirrored walls. Of the smell of lemon cleaner and polished hardwood floors and satin.

He notices a poster on the wall, among dozens of drawings and pictures of intricate sets, and freezes.

“Lance,” he says, tilting his head, “look.”

At the end of a hallway, right next to a door, is a hand-painted banner, reading: WE’LL MISS YOU, MISS RAULA! HAPPY RETIREMENT!

He squeezes Lance’s hand. “I bet they’re looking for a replacement.”

Lance stares at the poster for a long time. “You think?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to shoot them an e-mail.”

Smiling, Lance stops them in the hallway, puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders, stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him, long and sweet and loving.

“I’m already in a pretty tight spot now,” he murmurs, still standing so close to Keith and smelling so sweet that he has trouble focusing on his words, “‘cause this is already kind of the best Christmas gift ever. If that ends up being true I’m never topping you again.”

Keith laughs, suddenly, not expecting the turn, and Lance grins, pulling Keith down to him and kissing him again. It’s less of a kiss and more of a press of smiles, a clack of teeth, a shared laugh.

“I love you, Lance. Merry Christmas. I will be the Gift Giving King forever.”

“Shut up, goober.” He lifts Keith’s arm, tucking himself under it as they walk back out into the snowy December night. “I love you too.”

———

based on this post (third slide)

[birdricks]

you do it to yourself, you do / and that’s what really hurts

[thepoisonroom]

my roommate finding a cat on the street when i have been wanting a little cat and their existing cat has been lonely and bored.......fate???

[gimmethatagustd]

dirty, dirty boy | kth + knj

For Taehyung, the only revenge sweeter than fucking Namjoon's girlfriend behind his back is fucking Namjoon from the back.

↳ pairing: fuckboy!taehyung x namjoon (from only here to sin)

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | enemies to… enemies with benefits ?? | smut

↳ wc/date: 4.3k | July 2023

↳ warnings: typical ohts!tae level of emotional manipulation, loss of virginity/virginity kink, hate sex, blowjob, anal fingering, protected anal sex, slut-shaming, humiliation, degradation, they're mean to each other in general lol, tae and jk are fwbs (is it really a jai fic if there isn't a taekook moment?), marijuana, sex under the influence (is it really a jai fic without some weed?) so ig it's kinda dubcon if this was real life but in the context of the fic they're both fully aware of their actions

↳ notes: if you know ohts!taehyung then you know that he loves to use his dick for revenge 🤷🏽‍♀️ also, i went back and forth on whether i should write this using third person or second person to refer to the main character in only here to sin. i decided that since some people might read this as a standalone, i would use third person. it also kind of felt weird to say "you" when there isn't actually a "you" character in the story lol. i hope that makes sense/y'all don't mind

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? a fuckboy spotify playlist

“You’re not even just a little bit curious, Joonie?”

Taehyung’s tongue glides along the edge of the rolling paper pinched between his index fingers and thumbs. Little clusters of purple grapes drawn in a cartoonish style are printed onto the thin paper. When he brings his lighter to the twisted tip, the smoke he inhales is sweet. 

“No desire to know why your girl thought getting fucked by me was worth breaking her promise to you?” 

Taehyung leans his head against the back of the couch and watches Namjoon out of the corner of his eye. The other man sits in a chair diagonal from Taehyung’s spot on the couch. He looks odd in Taehyung’s apartment, wearing tortoise-shell geometric glasses and a cream-colored cardigan. Meanwhile, Taehyung lounges in light grey joggers and a tight white t-shirt with the sleeves cuffed around his bulging biceps. 

They’re a funny sight, him and Namjoon. Taehyung is sure of it and can’t help but smirk to himself at the thought of Namjoon’s ex-girlfriend knowing he’s here. He’s sure Namjoon hasn’t mentioned it to her. As far as Taehyung knows, she hasn’t had any communication with Namjoon since she went off to California. 

Taehyung knows they’re both thinking about how the last time Namjoon was here, they were beating the shit out of each other. 

Taehyung also thinks about how he fucked Namjoon’s girl on the couch right where he’s sitting, but Namjoon doesn’t know that. The asshole might have his suspicions, but he can’t ever know for sure. 

That is unless Taehyung tells him. And Taehyung loves it when Namjoon gets all purple in the face, and the veins pop out in his neck. But he also loves knowing what Namjoon doesn’t. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Namjoon hisses. His face isn’t quite purple yet, but his neck veins are starting to show. 

Taehyung’s mouth shapes into a lazy rectangular smile. 

“Make me.” 

“You’re so fucking childish.” 

Taehyung snorts. When he exhales, smoke rushes from his nostrils. He leans one elbow on his knee and extends his other arm out to offer Namjoon the grape-flavored joint. 

“I don’t smoke,” Namjoon declines with a wrinkle of his nose. 

It’s ridiculous because Namjoon doesn’t like Taehyung, yet here he is in his apartment, and for what? Their meeting is under the pretense that Taehyung wanted to make amends now that the object of both of their affection is no longer in the picture. The important thing to remember about Kim Taehyung, though, is that he is always honest - you just have to decipher the meaning behind the truths he speaks. 

“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” Taehyung licks his lips and doesn’t miss how Namjoon follows the action with suspicion in his eyes. “C’mon, these were her favorite. S’good; it’ll make you taste like grape soda.” 

Namjoon doesn’t comment on Taehyung’s implication that anyone would be tasting his mouth for proof, and Taehyung doesn’t expect him to. He waggles the joint, careful not to let any ash hit the floor. 

The funny thing about Namjoon is that he thrives off of controlling the weak people he’s closest to, but he is hopeless when presented with someone just as manipulative as he is. Taehyung figures it’s his nonchalant demeanor that gets Namjoon’s panties in a twist. While Namjoon is high-strung and anxious in his desire to maintain control, Taehyung is more willing to play with his food. He likes feeling around, getting a sense of the situation. He’s willing to be patient, to wait for the opportune moment to get someone right where he wants them. 

And Namjoon is nearly there. 

With a grunt and an eye roll, Namjoon plucks the joint from between Taehyung’s long fingers and sticks it between his lips. 

“Keep your lips tight, but not too tight,” Taehyung guides Namjoon in a soft murmur. “Inhale some air right after you take the hit, but don’t let any of the smoke out. That’s it.” 

Namjoon coughs a few times, but that’s expected of a first-timer. Taehyung schools his face, careful not to have any expression that could be read as condescending. If he wants Namjoon to chill out, he needs to avoid bruising his ego. There will be plenty of opportunities for that later. 

“See? Feels good,” Taehyung reassures when Namjoon passes the joint back. He has to lean across the coffee table to reach it. “Come sit over here; it’s fucking annoying having to lean like that.” 

When Namjoon hesitates, Taehyung draws his lip between his teeth to hold back a grin. 

“What? I don’t bite.” 

“Shut up,” Namjoon immediately counters, but he gets up and sits beside Taehyung on the couch. 

“Relax.” Taehyung blows a smoke ring toward the ceiling. “Ride the high.” 

It’s surprisingly easy to get Namjoon to relax once he has a few more hits. Taehyung has been told he has a calming voice, so perhaps Taehyung’s random ramblings aid in getting Namjoon to feel more comfortable. He’s certainly hesitant at first, but they have enough history to fuel their conversation. It isn’t painless, but it isn’t awful. Taehyung steers clear of girlfriend-talk, instead reminiscing about stupid teachers they’d had in school and getting into an only semi-serious argument over their favorite basketball teams. 

Yes, Taehyung brought Namjoon over to earn his trust because he’s playing the long game, biding his time until he can truly fuck Namjoon over, but he doesn’t expect that trust to develop so quickly. Too quickly. 

“I wish I could talk to her,” Namjoon says with a sigh. He rests his head against the back of the couch and stares at the clouds of smoke they’re blowing into the air. 

“Probably not a good idea, my guy,” Taehyung counters. 

Namjoon turns his head to the side. He and Taehyung are only a few inches apart, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. There’s a strange look on his face that Taehyung can’t decipher because he doesn’t know Namjoon that well. 

“You haven’t reached out to her?” Shock colors Namjoon’s voice and muddles his odd expression. 

“Nope.” Taehyung draws out the word and lets it pop at the end. 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs. 

Namjoon lets out a disgruntled sound like he’s frustrated that Taehyung hasn’t wanted any communication with his ex, but he has. 

“What would be the point? It’s not like we had anything serious going on. Sorry, but it was a good fuck, and that’s it. And I can get a good fuck from plenty of people.” 

It isn’t entirely true, but Taehyung strangles the voice inside his head that tries to point that out to him. 

Sex talk must make Namjoon just as uncomfortable as it had his girlfriend because the guy practically squirms in his seat. It makes Taehyung want to roll his eyes, but he’s trying to be nice right now. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Namjoon sniffs, and if he could lift his nose fully into the air, Taehyung is sure his snooty ass would. 

“I know. It’s cute,” Taehyung says with a crooked grin. He brings the joint to his lips and watches Namjoon through the hazy smoke. “That you’re a virgin.”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to roll his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. Virginities mean nothing.” 

“Don’t they?” 

“It’s a social construct.” 

Taehyung waves a hand once Namjoon takes the joint from him. “That’s all that fancy college talk,” he dismisses. “You’re telling me you don’t care about fucking for the first time? Don’t care who it’s with, when, none of that?” 

Namjoon is overcome with a fit of coughs, so he shakes his head instead of verbally answering.

“Then why did you care so much about you and your girl saving yourselves for marriage?” 

Namjoon sighs like Taehyung is the stupidest person in the world. It isn’t the first time. “That wasn’t about virginities. That was about not being a fucking slut like some people.” 

“Like me,” Taehyung muses. Namjoon doesn’t find it to be as funny. 

“Yes, like you.”

Taehyung hums in understanding, but he doesn’t speak right away. Namjoon is confusing. Abstinence before marriage implies sexual purity, yet he finds virginities to be arbitrary. Wouldn’t that make a person’s body count arbitrary, too? College kids and their stupid, contradictory ideas. Taehyung always knew college wasn’t for him, and this type of pretentious bullshit is exactly why. 

“What counts as sex for you?” Taehyung leans forward to tap the joint against the edge of an ashtray. 

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know, if you’re saving yourself ‘cause you wanna be a prude, how far are you willing to take it? Is a handjob considered sex? Some sloppy toppy? Where’s the line drawn?” 

Namjoon grimaces at Taehyung’s crass language. “I don’t know.” 

Taehyung hums again and rests the now spent joint at the bottom of the ashtray. He and Namjoon aren’t that high; another joint would be needed to really get them to the level he likes to be at. They’re buzzed, relaxed enough that they aren’t at each other’s necks, but Namjoon’s eyes aren’t even red yet. 

Taehyung twists his body to face Namjoon and props his elbow on the back of the couch so he can hold his head in his hand. “So if I sucked you off right now, it wouldn’t count?” 

Namjoon nearly chokes, but Taehyung keeps a straight face. 

“Excuse me?”

“If I sucked you off, it wouldn’t count as sex?”

The neck veins appear now, but Taehyung thinks they aren’t out of anger. He can’t help but smirk when Namjoon’s eyes fall to his lips. 

“It doesn’t matter because you wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” Taehyung lets himself laugh this time because it’s utterly ridiculous how Namjoon goes from calling him a slut to calling him a liar in the same breath. “Like I said before, aren’t you curious why your girlfriend cheated on you with me?” 

It’s the Forbidden Topic, but Taehyung thinks right now is an appropriate time to bring it up. He wants to rile Namjoon up, but now his strategy has evolved slightly. 

Before Namjoon can answer, Taehyung leans forward to rest his hand on Namjoon’s knee. He squeezes it lightly, then drags his palm up the length of Namjoon’s thigh, making sure to curve his fingertips into the inside of his thigh when he squeezes the muscle. 

“Quit it,” Namjoon whispers, but Taehyung notices that he spreads his legs. The movement is almost imperceptible, but it happens. 

“She always said she liked my mouth,” Taehyung ignores Namjoon, kneading his thigh as he speaks. “I could show you what’s so special about it.”

He can see it, the fight in Namjoon’s eyes. It’s in the way he looks at Taehyung’s mouth, then to his hand squeezing his thigh, and then back to his eyes. Eyes that Taehyung knows are dark and full of lust, but mostly mischief because this is a game. Fucking Namjoon’s girlfriend had been a game, too. It just hadn’t ended the way Taehyung wanted or expected it to. 

“C’mon, Joonie,” Taehyung whispers. He slowly moves off the couch and sinks to his knees on the floor between Namjoon’s legs. “You’ve always wanted to shut me up, right?” 

Having Taehyung between his legs must light a fire inside of Namjoon because he blinks a few times as though he’s just woken up. It’s cute how his cheeks flush a deep pink, the color intensifying as Taehyung’s long fingers begin unbuckling his belt. Taehyung wants to ruin him.

“I need you to say it,” Taehyung murmurs. Even though Namjoon willingly lifts his hips, letting Taehyung pull his jeans and underwear down to free his cock, Taehyung needs verbal confirmation. He watches Namjoon with curiosity as he brings his cock to his mouth and flicks the head with the tip of his tongue. Taehyung hasn’t sucked a dick in ages; he’s normally the one choking someone with his cock. Luckily, being out of practice won’t matter in this situation. Namjoon is already folding, and Taehyung has barely done anything. 

Namjoon’s bright eyes narrow into a hateful glare. “Fuck you.” 

“Oh, now we’re gonna do that?” Taehyung teases. “Let’s worry about me sucking you off, and then we can talk about fucking, okay, Joonie?”

He molds his lips around the tip, and Namjoon lets out a deep groan. He throws his head against the back of the couch and digs his fingers into his own thighs to keep himself rigid. 

“Fuck, fine, do it.” 

Taehyung hates when people tell him what to do, but he’ll give Namjoon a pass this time. Slipping the man’s cock down his throat is more interesting than getting into an argument. Funny how life works. He’s way too giddy with the excitement of finally getting at Kim Namjoon, the man he’s hated more than anyone else for nearly a decade. 

Taking it all at once is a mistake, though. Namjoon is more tightly wound than Taehyung had anticipated. The moment his cock hits the back of Taehyung’s throat, Namjoon practically starts crying. Taehyung eases up on his approach, going slower and not applying too much pressure. He doesn’t want to be an asshole about it, he really doesn’t, but the hum he makes around Namjoon’s cock is the closest thing to laughter that he can do with a dick in his mouth. He manages maybe two bobs of his head before he has to pull off. 

“Damn, Namjoon,” he huffs, voice low and thick. He rests his chin on Namjoon’s thigh and slowly drags his hand up his cock, avoiding the tip. “You’re such a virgin. It’s kinda embarrassing; I’m sorry.” 

Namjoon covers his face with his hands, and Taehyung can see where his blunt nails dug half moons in his thighs. “Fuck you, Taehyung.” 

“Mhm, you said that already.” Taehyung runs his tongue up his cock just to be mean, though he’s a bit afraid Namjoon might kick him from the way his body twitches. “You’re not fucking anyone with this pathetic thing.” He squeezes the base of Namjoon’s cock, also to be mean. “I’m not opposed to fucking you, though I thought you didn’t wanna be a slut.” 

Taehyung expects Namjoon to cuss him out even more, but he just stares at Taehyung’s tongue as it licks around the head of his cock. Heat builds in the pit of Taehyung’s stomach, but he does his best to ignore it. He needs to stay focused on Namjoon. Namjoon, who has yet to refuse Taehyung’s offer. 

With a quirk of his eyebrow, Taehyung sits back on his heels. “Unless you want it?” Silences. “Oh, you want it.” Taehyung bites his lip to suppress a grin, but the cockiness bleeds through his tone anyway. Namjoon already looks fucked out, and for once, the little bitch has nothing to say. It’s great; Namjoon deserves a taste of his own fucked up medicine for being such a controlling asshole in his last relationship. 

“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do since you’re too nervous,” Taehyung holds up his hand when Namjoon starts to protest. “I’m going to my room to get a condom and some lube. If you’re still here when I get back, I’m gonna split you open, aight, Joonie?” Taehyung pats Namjoon’s knee and stands up. 

Taehyung is enjoying the fact that he rendered the man speechless a little too much. Part of him wouldn’t be surprised if Namjoon has his dick shoved in his pants and the door swinging behind him by the time Taehyung returns to the living room. It wouldn’t matter either way, he figures as he retrieves the items he needs from his bedroom nightstand. The damage is done regardless; it doesn’t matter how far they take it now. Besides, Taehyung wasn’t going to swallow, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to let Namjoon nut on his face. He’s got more self-respect than that, wouldn’t let Namjoon have the pleasure. 

To his pleasant surprise, Namjoon is right where Taehyung wants him - sitting pretty with his pants and underwear in a pile on the floor. He’s kept his t-shirt on, but the cardigan is gone and that’s just fine with Taehyung. The important parts are exposed and that’s all he can really ask for. 

“Don’t fucking say anything,” Namjoon hisses but it’s whinier than it is biting. 

Taehyung holds up his hands, one of them clutching the lube and a condom. “My lips are sealed, Joonie baby. Now turn around and get on your hands and knees.” 

Fuck, Taehyung never could have imagined how good saying that would feel. He doesn’t even bother hiding his triumphant grin as he strips down to only his t-shirt, mirroring Namjoon. 

Namjoon looks hot spread out for Taehyung on the couch. Despite his sharp tongue, the man is completely pliant for Taehyung as he massages his lubed-up fingers inside of him, one by one. It doesn’t take long for Taehyung to find Namjoon’s prostate. He pays special attention to the spot for a bit - just long enough for the burning tension to build inside of Namjoon and slowly drive him mad. But eventually, Taehyung steers clear of it despite a whine from the man spread open. 

“No way I’m letting you come now,” Taehyung grunts, using his knees to push Namjoon’s legs wider apart. 

It’s been a while since Taehyung has had to prep someone. Usually, when he and Jungkook fucked, Jungkook did all the work himself. Said he liked to put on a little show for Taehyung, and Taehyung isn’t ever going to deny his best friend anything. 

So maybe he rushes a bit through it, making fingering less like foreplay and more like true preparation - merely a task that must be completed before they can move forward with the night. There’s no need to be sexy or passionate; Taehyung is doing this to make a point. He fucking owns Kim Namjoon’s ass. 

“You ready?” Taehyung huffs, trying his best to sound as unaffected as possible while he rolls the condom on. It’s difficult to keep steady when he slowly slides his cock in between Namjoon’s ass, letting it drag up the curve. He rolls his hips forward to chase the pleasure, even if it’s minimal compared to what he’ll soon have. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Namjoon bites back. 

Rather than respond to his smart-ass comment, Taehyung lines his cock up and pushes through the stubborn muscles - slow enough to not hurt Namjoon too badly but fast enough to knock the air out of him. 

“Oh god,” Namjoon gasps in a voice much higher-pitched than Taehyung would have expected. Taehyung lands a stinging slap on his ass. 

“Don’t fucking clench,” Taehyung commands with a hiss, using both hands to spread Namjoon’s cheeks to better watch the way his cock, shiny with lube, slides further inside him. 

It takes a few shallow thrusts before Namjoon lets out a broken-sounding sob and completely melts into the cushion. His body rocks forward as Taehyung deepens his strokes, pulling almost all the way out to slide back in again, angling his hips to hit Namjoon’s prostate with each stroke. 

Grabbing a fistful of Namjoon’s sandy-blonde hair, Taehyung twists the man’s head to the side and pushes his upper body into the couch. When he squeezes his fist and gives a slight tug, a ragged groan rumbles from Namjoon’s chest. Taehyung already knows this isn’t going to last long. Namjoon is trembling like a leaf, and Taehyung is still going slow by his standards. It’s fine; Taehyung isn’t looking for something drawn out and sensual. He wants to fuck Namjoon hard and fast just because he wants to be able to say that he did. 

“Someone likes to be manhandled, hmm?” Taehyung snickers. Without slowing the pace of his thrusts, he leans forward to press his chest against Namjoon’s back. “Can you do something for me, Joonie?” 

Namjoon bites into his lip so hard the skin turns nearly white. Another tug on his hair almost forces out a moan, but he keeps his teeth clamped down to muffle the sound. 

“Oh, c’mon, Joonie,” Taehyung whispers against his ear. 

Taehyung’s lips brush against the curve of it before he slips his tongue out to tease the tip down to Namjoon’s earlobe. After a few flicks, he sucks it into his mouth, nibbling on it until Namjoon’s lip falls free, and a moan that sounds more like a sob escapes him. The wrecked sound makes Taehyung’s cock twitch inside him. 

“Good boy.” His praise drips poison as he straightens up to kneel between Namjoon’s legs once again. He still bucks into Namjoon, but his thrusts have slowed to a relaxed, steady pace. “Now, are you going to do what I want? It’s a good thing. I promise.” 

Namjoon nods as best as he can with Taehyung’s fingers still digging into his scalp. 

“I want you to touch yourself.” 

Namjoon lets out a whimper, but he obeys. One arm remains raised above his head, hand squeezing the arm of the couch to both ground himself and prevent his head from hitting it when Taehyung thrusts particularly hard. His other arm snakes between his body and the couch cushions. 

Although Taehyung can no longer see Namjoon’s hand, he knows he’s done what he asked by the way his arm starts to shake with the effort of fisting his hand up and down his cock. 

“See? That. Wasn’t. So. Bad.” Taehyung punctuates each word with a brutal thrust. He lifts Namjoon by the hair just enough to slightly elevate him from the cushions. The position allows Namjoon to rest on one elbow and jerk himself off more easily. 

“Y’know, next time, I think we should invite your pretty princess over, don’t you think?” Taehyung usually isn’t the type to talk during sex, but a sick part of him enjoys how Namjoon tenses with… embarrassment? Humiliation? Something, every time Taehyung mentions his ex-girlfriend. “Could fuck her and make you watch.” 

Namjoon lets out a whimper in response, and his eyes squeeze shut.  

“No? Not into that?” Taehyung lets go of his hair to hook his middle and ring fingers into the corner of Namjoon’s mouth. “Of course, you’re a greedy little bitch. You can’t just sit back and watch. That’s fine. Maybe she’d like two cocks up her pussy.” 

Taehyung brings a stinging slap to Namjoon’s ass. By this point, he’s drooling around his fingers. 

“She’s pretty tight, though. Not sure she could handle it.” 

“F-Fuck y-y-ou,” Namjooon stutters. 

Taehyung is sure it’s meant to be biting, but he says it through the most debauched moan once Taehyung slips his fingers out of his mouth that all the statement does is turn Taehyung on more. 

“You’re the only one getting fucked,” he points out with a grin Namjoon can only catch out of the corner of his eye. 

“T-Then, d-do it, you piece of s-shit,” Namjoon says with a shallow breath. 

He’s going to come soon. Taehyung can tell by the way he slumps face-first into the couch. It’s perfect timing because Taehyung’s steady pace is starting to slip. He leans forward and wraps his arm around Namjoon’s waist, batting his hand away from his cock to replace it with his own. 

“Ohh f-fuck.” Namjoon’s moans are muffled by the cushion, but Taehyung’s pressed close enough against him that he can just make out the other man’s pathetic cries. “Taehyung.” 

“C’mon, Joonie, that’s right.” 

Namjoon’s cock is slick with precum. Taehyung pays special attention to the head, squeezing it and rolling his palm over the tip, doing his best to match his hand’s movements with the rhythm of him pounding into Namjoon. His whimpering makes every nerve ending in Taehyung’s body tingle with pleasure; he can practically see himself crackle and pop like a live wire as Namjoon falls apart under him. 

“You gonna come for me, Joonie?” Taehyung digs his teeth into Namjoon’s shoulder just hard enough to make him squirm. “Come all over yourself ‘cause I fuck you so good?” 

When Namjoon doesn’t respond, Taehyung slides his fist down to squeeze the base of his cock. The action makes Namjoon jolt with a cry of frustration. 

“Fuck! Taehyung, fuck y-you-” 

“I wanna hear you say it. Fucking say it, Joonie.” Taehyung pushes Namjoon deeper into the cushions. “Or do you want me to stop?” 

“No!” It’s pathetic the way Namjoon whines. Taehyung has to bite his bottom lip and focus on the pain there to stop himself from coming. 

“Then fucking say it.” 

“Fuck, okay,” Namjoon is panting, and his voice wavers with each brutal thrust. “You fuck me, so, fuck, so good. Ohh, Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, please.” 

It only takes a few pumps before he feels Namjoon shiver and lock up beneath him, and warmth spills into the palm of Taehyung’s hand. 

Knowing that he’s fucked Kim Namjoon, the man he hates most in the world, is a pleasure so deep that only sweet revenge could foster it. But knowing Kim Namjoon had moaned his name when he made him come? It’s enough to simultaneously send Taehyung over the edge and inflate his ego. 

“Shit,” Taehyung curses as he comes. “Fuck.” 

Slumping into Namjoon’s back, Taehyung’s weight pushes him all the way into the couch. They’re sweaty, and the cum on Taehyung’s hand is disgusting; it’s always his least favorite part about fucking guys. It’s messy and sticky, and he doesn’t know what to do aside from smearing his hand on Namjoon’s t-shirt in a poor attempt to clean himself up. 

With a deep breath, Taehyung lifts himself up to a sitting position to allow Namjoon to roll onto his back. His glasses are askew, barely hanging onto his face, and his hair is a mess. He looks utterly wrecked, and Taehyung knows it’s not just his ego telling him that. 

“Good?” He asks with a smirk. Namjoon’s answer won’t matter because they both know the truth. 

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do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

[carmyboobear]

I’ve been going to the gym recently and I’ve been thinking about going to the gym with carmy…among other things🔞

The Adrenalin after working out? Like LISTEN. Carmy coming after working out and he’s all pumped up and sweaty and he’s shirtless abs glistening guns out. He still has so much energy that he doesn’t know what to do with…

I just imagine Carmy being horny after working out and then taking his excess energy out on you by fucking your brains out ARGHHHHHHH

Anyway sorry Here’s some inspo pics

[imthursdaysyme]

Kali aka little miss hated affection until she was taken out of a traumatic situation and survival mode

[slightly-obssesed]

Not to be dramatic but Young Royals is the best written and acted teen drama I've ever seen

[nc-vb]

THIS HUALIAN POSTER FROM THE EIGHTH VOLUME PREORDER RELEASE AHHHHHHH MY LOVES!!!!!!!!!

AND THE NOTEBOOK AND THE POSTCARDS AND THE STICKERS AND THE BOOKMARK AHHHHH

[rnoonsetter]

listening to the silt verses is a constant seesaw between "oh sister carpenter we're really in it now" and "oh brother falkner we're really in it now"

[rosesofenvy]

Golden Future Arc 2 Chapter 5 has been posted!

This is one of my favorite chapters I’ve written so far, I hope you all enjoy!!

Exclusive art by @sha-biest in the fic!!

Check out the #goldenfutureau tag for more art!