Fail-safe

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane. 

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it.  “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye. 

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself. 

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.” 

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot. 

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.” 

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion. 

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place. 

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor. 

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to.  You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder. 

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation. 

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears. 

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.” 

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her. 

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know,  try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts. 

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

.

.

.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas. 

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with. 

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it. 

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter.  Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

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sex education

pairing: jungkook x virgin!reader

summary: “You want me to… what?” Jungkook chokes on his croissant, and how could he fucking not, with you looking at him with those pleading eyes, asking for something that he knows would get him into jail. Well, maybe not like actual jail. But definitely the Bro Code Jail. The jail where only bros who broke the Bro code went to.

wordcount: 12k+

genre: fluff - smut/college!au/brother’s best friend!au

rated: m (duh)

warnings: alcohol consumption, weed,  cursing, handjobs, fingering, oral sex(f/m recieving), spitting (the good stuff y’know), slight breath play, unprotected sex (f is on birth control tho) and thats it i think i don’t even remember what else there is to it, based on my own experiences with sex lmaoo also demasiada redundancia, but my brain is is dry af so sorry

read sex education 2.0 here!

Keep reading

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Colors 01: Pink and Blue (M) | KTH + PJM

♥ Summary

     ↳ Movie night with the boys gets pretty intense when you find yourself caught in the middle of Jimin and Taehyung’s little game. 

          ♥ Pairings: Taehyung/Reader/Jimin, featuring a side order of Jungkook.

          ♥ Rating: Explicit

          ♥ A/N: This was the first fic I ever wrote and has been moved off of my masterlist to my “archived” list. I’ve kept the fic/series up for those of you loved reading it, but I don’t feel as if its the best representation of my writing. If you’re new, please keep in mind my writing style and goals have changed a lot since I wrote this. Whether your like “Colors” or not, I would still recommend checking out my current Masterlist to see what I’ve been up to and how I’ve improved. 

          ♥ Word Count: 4,124 

          ♥ Series:  Part Two Part Three

          ♥ Genre: Smut. Porn w/o plot. Roommates au? Minor college au. 

          ♥ Content Warnings: Fingering, dirty talk, exhibitionism/voyeurism (a little), pet names, moderately explicit consent, it’s finger-lickin’-good, hint of noona

masterlist

“Alright, what’s the movie tonight, boys?” You plop down next to Taehyung, quick to toss your legs over his lap so you can recline more comfortably. You sigh contentedly at the warmth that radiates from his palms as he curls his fingers around your calves. “And please tell me we didn’t let Kookie pick again.”

You shoot a cursory glance at your roommate, who frowns and throws some popcorn at you, punctuating the action with a half-heartedly annoyed, “Noona!”

You pick up one of the offending kernels and toss it back at him. “Hey, I’m just saying, I’m not ready for another horror film.” 

Keep reading

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nine to five

pairing: jimin x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: dr. park jimin's unbreakable when it comes to skill, dedication, and work ethic; meanwhile, you jump between part-time jobs for the fun of it. he's just trying his best to look out for you — too bad he sucks at it. (spin-off to take five!)

alternatively, you're friends with benefits with jimin and you always kiss him on the cheek before he leaves — but one day you stop.

[ mutual pining, 30% angst (there is Redemption I Swear), smut, fluff n wholesomeness, jimin's rude + out of touch towards ppl outside of his tax bracket for a hot minute, minor injuries (dog bites n scratches, bruises, blood, etc.) sustained from part-time jobs ]

notes: inspired by workman on youtube!! you don't necessarily have to watch it in order to read this <3 a lot of people told me they started watching hospital playlist after reading take five, so i'm doing the same with this to try and convert u into my emotional clutch shows agenda :D also a reminder that i am in no way making fun of any of the jobs mentioned below!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

It's not easy to throw Jimin off.

Simply to say, his tolerance is as good as boundless. He just continuously endures and although it doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s passive, he just chooses to let things slide. He, of all people, would know that constantly furrowing your brows speeds up one’s wrinkling process. It’s not like Jimin doesn’t care enough — it’s just that he’s almost always unfazed.

He remains calm and doesn’t yell any louder than necessary when he’s dragged into haunted houses and escape rooms. If he was being blunt, he’d say that anyone who willingly puts themselves through it and scream bloody murder, must have never learned about the concept of cause and effect. You pay to get scared and in turn would go through the experience, and you still have the nerve to be surprised about it?

Tiny internal rant aside, Jimin is still calm.

He's patient with pranks and laughs it off, no matter how impractical they could be. It’s as impractical as his parents spending two hours in the crack of dawn to fill up his room with balloons on his 15th birthday, and it is a little lame, but Jimin isn’t heartless — of course he wakes up laughing! The little stretches of his genuine laughter outweighs his knowledge that he had been hearing latex squeaking since two hours ago.

All throughout their medical careers, if Dr. Min is known to be patient, then Dr. Park is known to be a saint. He was the junior that every senior wanted to tuck under their wing, and the senior that every junior wanted to bag with them. There was a time in their fellowship when Yoongi kept replacing Jimin's stethoscope with a toy version of it right when he was about to do rounds, for a whole week, and the most reaction he got was a flick to the forehead at the end (read: surrender) of his prank.

Jimin’s just so unbothered to the point that it’s unnerving.

He’s not exactly clueless with the way that the people in his life still strive to throw him curveballs; in fact, it’s amusing.

Was it annoying that Yoongi moved every piece of furniture in the clinic two inches to the right to try and grit at his co-owner’s gears? Yeah. Was it fulfilling to pretend that he didn’t keep bumping his hip into table corners and mess up his depth perception, just for the sake of frustrating Yoongi? Completely.

Sure, it did tick his nerves a little when Hoseok kept paging him into the lobby, only for the receptionist to tell him that he didn’t call his name. It must have went for only ten times, and the only reason Jimin went for the previous nine was because he wanted to save face! What would the dozens of clients in the lobby think when their doctor doesn’t come when asked for?

Yoongi is far from giving up.

Hoseok is long done.

The latter is what completely confuses Jimin.

Jimin had never been caught off-guard this badly and when it happened, he tried to reel himself in the moment he came back to his car.

It's when he's getting dressed to leave after the best, most fulfilling, and only sex he's had in a long while, making conversation with you while he makes himself coffee to drink while driving back home.

Jimin thought that since you’re Hoseok’s friend, he must’ve put you to the task. It’s not that far off to think that for the three months you’ve been fucking, all of it was his friend’s plan to throw him out of his rhythm.

What’s more confusing, is that he’s beyond certain that what you did was sincerely done out of your own accord. No one dear to him could faze him to this extent.

But you? You throw Jimin off.

You do it in such a genuine yet nonchalant way that Jimin thinks he must’ve conjured the whole scenario in his head at one point.

It’s surreal to think about because you lean into him with ease, a gentle hold on his forearm as if he just didn’t blow your back out minutes ago.

All of his senses shut down and the remaining control he has left is all used into squeaking a goodbye, speed-walking out of your door and holding his breath until he reaches his car.

He’s far from calm and he’s the furthest thing from collected. There’s no reasonable explanation to anything that happened in the last two minutes, and that’s as far as his mind could go.

You kissed Jimin on the cheek.

( ♡ )

Did Jimin lose sleep over you kissing him on the cheek? Without a doubt. He’s been jumpy since this morning and it’s beginning to startle everyone in the clinic — everyone.

Awhile ago, Yoongi was being observant and good-natured as usual that naturally, he tried pointing out to Jimin that he sees a pimple forming on his cheek. He only poked it for the sake of locating it, and he was just about to offer treating it for him, when Jimin jumped two feet away from him the moment his cheek (the one you kissed) was touched.

True enough, there is a pimple forming and with abrupt agreements, Jimin told Yoongi to do his magic with it the moment he gets a break. He did wear a mask to try and avoid unnecessary attention, but of course someone just had to startle him even more.

“Ah, you look sleazy with that mask on. Kisses? Really?” Hoseok squints his eyes, unaware of the way Jimin’s eyes bulge in panic. All he cares about is sitting on the comfiest chair in the breakroom and eating his lunch, but that plan’s steadily bound to be overthrown.

He’s pointing to the pattern of kisses on his face mask, a spare stock of what all the staff wore back for valentine’s day. Hoseok knows that he’s pertaining to the design, but Jimin clearly doesn’t.

“Y-you know?” he mutters under his breath, caught breathless in a situation he’s unsure to whether or not it favors him. At his surprise, Hoseok has an inkling that they’re not on the same wavelength at the moment.

Not at all.

“What do I know?” Hoseok tilts his head, still grasping at nothing with how Jimin’s now doubting him.

“Are you faking?” Jimin counters, swallowing the lump on his throat. They’re literally going nowhere and he wants to get somewhere at least before the day ends, atleast starting off with someone who knows you better than him. “Listen, what if we both say what we think we’re talking about at the same time?”

It’s a half-baked idea but Hoseok just shrugs it off, saying the first thing that came to his mind the moment Jimin started counting down.

“Aren’t we talking about your pimple?”

“You know that Y/N kissed me?”

Hoseok groans in annoyance at the instance the words leave his friend, putting his head on his hands to try and shrug the image off his brain.

Sure, he has an inkling that the two of you looked at each other a little too suggestively for your first meeting. He introduced you to Jimin when you came into the clinic bearing his homemade birthday lunch (one that you’ve been making yearly for him the past five years), and it’s not like he regrets introducing you! Both you and Jimin are good people; he just didn’t want to know too much information.

"Gross. Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear about your sex life with my friend."

"But she kissed me," Jimin half-whispers and half-whines, gripping into Hoseok’s arm as if it was his lifeline. The receptionist doesn’t budge him off, but his furrowed brows are telling enough that he wants the conversation to be over soon.

"Okay...? What do you want me to say to that?"

Jimin grows exasperated, tempted to throw a tantrum as he runs his hand through his hair.

"Hoseok, I meant she kissed me in like, a lover way and not a friends-with-benefits type of way!"

There’s obviously too much information being shared with yours and Jimin’s mutual friend, and mutual friend does not like it, but said mutual friend now knows too much to the point that he’s invested.

Hoseok pauses his eating, blinking slowly with no malice peeking from his tone.

"But don't you like Y/N in a lover way?"

Jimin’s not mad that Hoseok’s caught on to him this quickly, the emotion isn’t even in his vocabulary when it comes to you. It’s just that he’s torn and confused and wary — all the other three feelings that he despises going through.

"Yeah but like not completely, y’know? I still said I was unsure if I really do have those feelings for her," he admits with a shake of his head, his cheeks puffing in a sigh out of recollection about what he was really discussing. “A cheek kiss! She kissed me on the cheek before I went out of the door."

"Again, Jimin," his friend rolls his eyes, setting down his chopsticks after a large bite because he knows the younger won’t stop talking anytime soon. "What do you want me to say?"

Jimin quirks his lips to the side, looking down on his lap. What does he want Hoseok, a friend to you first and a friend to him second, to say? He doesn’t necessarily know if he wants him to hyper-analyze your actions. He can’t tell if he wants advice. He’s unsure if he wants to be reassured.

He goes with the first question that pops into his head, no matter how blunt it sounds.

"Don't you find it weird? Who kisses the guy they fuck on the cheek after sex?"

Now that he phrases it that way, Hoseok sighs deeply, shaking his head in passing. Quite frankly, even he doesn’t know what to say to that.

"Dunno. Never happened to me before," he shrugs his shoulders, waving his hand off to further prove his upcoming input. "Calm down. It's probably nothing."

"But it's something!" Jimin rebutts, eyes widening now that he realizes that the reassurance he wanted to hear does not comfort him at all.

"Well now you sound like you want it to be something,” Hoseok snorts, electively humming to provide background music to Jimin’s mini meltdown.

"Why would she kiss me on the cheek?"

"Eh. She kisses me on the cheek too,” he says as a matter of fact, thinking that the tidbit of information is gonna help calm his friend’s nerves down and stronghold him into letting him eat without interruption.

Jimin narrows his eyes, a quiet scoff leaving his lips as he crosses his arms.

"Why would she kiss you on the cheek?"

"Now you're just jealous."

Hoseok stares Jimin down and the look of emotional constipation on the latter’s face makes him hiccup, making the former chuckle while raising his hands in surrender.

"God, I don't know! Friends can kiss each other on the cheek, Y/N's affectionate like that. Don't think too much of it."

Right. Of course Hoseok’s right!

Friends kiss each other on the cheek all the time and it just so happens that your love language is physical touch and affection. It all just happens to be and you don’t actively make it happen.

That’s probably the answer that Jimin of five minutes ago would’ve wanted to hear, but the Jimin of now is unsatisfied, the plausible explanation still not tickling his brain in the way he thought it would.

Just as if on cue, Yoongi enters the room, audibly gasping at the sight.

"Ugh. Breakroom gossip without me?!" he whines, pouting at the door in irritation.

"Yoongi! Finally. I need your opinion on this one," Jimin beckons him over and Yoongi doesn’t waste a single second, immediately replacing Hoseok in the throne of his comfortable chair.

"Good. You deal with him," Hoseok mutters, but not before swiping Yoongi’s coffee on the way out.

Jimin clears his throat to repeat his previous narration, instantly getting a wince not even two sentences into his recollection.

"Do I really need to know about your sex life?"

"You don't need to but of course, you just have to be sulky when you're left out with breakroom gossip, don't you?" he rolls his eyes, his coat sleeve being tugged in franticness when he pretends to stand up.

Yoongi straightens his posture, giggling whilst shaking his head.

"Kidding, kidding. Don't leave me out ever again," his voice deepens, leaning closer with knitted eyebrows to hear the gossip he sensed that’s been brewing since this morning. "I'm listening."

( ♡ )

Yoongi is not the devil’s advocate.

However, he is an occasional asshole that really just wants to get on Jimin’s nerves every once in a while.

He cares about his friend’s feelings, he really does, but Yoongi thinks that Jimin just really isn’t looking at his problem in the right way. His girlfriend would call him out for meddling but really, all that he’s doing is merely teasing — a tiny bit of teasing won’t hurt, especially if he knows it would launch Jimin into a different yet positive spiral (but it’s still a spiral nonetheless).

“What if it was a cheek kiss out of pity?”

Now in hindsight, maybe that wasn’t Yoongi’s brightest idea up to date.

He said the words playfully and yet Jimin sits shocked as if he cussed his family tree out, mouth slightly part open at the syllables that keep ringing in his head. What’s worse is that he misinterprets the shock as amusement, going much further this time.

“Kinda like a participation certificate, y’know? A thanks for showing up badge.”

Out. Of. Pity.

“I’m just uh, I- well would you look at the time? Lunch break’s over,” Yoongi awkwardly excuses himself, looking at his bare wrist that’s not even adorned by a watch today. The look of distress is just too overwhelming on Jimin’s features that it makes him squirm, too preoccupied in giving him space that he doesn’t fully realize that it’s perhaps the first time he’s seen him in such disarray.

He breezes through his schedule for the day and honestly speaking, he wasn’t even paying half the attention he usually would to his clients. Barely engaged in small talk and if that wasn’t enough, he also managed to call a client (or two) the wrong name.

It was an indelible loop that keeps playing in his ear, the buzzing so obnoxious that he physically has to shake his head to block it out.

Did he not satisfy you enough?

Jimin, against probable and rational judgement, calls if he can come over — not to talk, but to rather prove himself instead.

You look beat as soon as you come home to your apartment, fatigued eyes widening in surprise to see that Jimin, against patience and virtue, really did take your offer of letting him in with a spare keycard.

You told him you would be coming home late awhile ago and he hummed in recognition. By late, you meant an-hour-overtime late and not the usual fifteen minutes that you’d warn him about.

Jimin’s been waiting for you in your own home for an hour straight.

It’s odd, to say the least. The whole context is weird but what’s even more weird is that you’re not surprised at all to see that true to his word, he waited for you patiently. There’s not a single thing out of place — the only space being occupied being your couch, and particularly in that specific spot he always sits on.

Jimin’s sneakers are placed next to yours on your shoe rack. His car keys are placed on your counter, in the same tray you’d also put yours in. He’s wearing the sweatpants he’d wear inside his own place.

Jimin looks like he belongs to your home and in all honesty, you don’t hate one bit of it.

“Hiii.”

You drawl in recognition as soon as you enter your front door, immediately padding towards Jimin while he smiles at the sight of you. He doesn’t even know that an hour has passed already since he let himself inside your apartment, and he isn’t even aware that not once did he look at the time in impatience.

“Tired, baby?” he asks gently, humming as he puts his hand on your lower back out of instinct, a chuckle involuntarily leaving him when you decided to sit on his lap.

It isn’t even sexual to begin with. You sit on his lap because you’re tired and he’s warm and in the little time you decided to initiate skinship with him, you melt.

Jimin feels you get comfortable in his lap and he has no qualms in bundling you in his arms, hugging you as he realizes it belatedly.

He doesn’t hate one bit of your warmth.

“Mhmm. Lifting candy makes you so tired,” you murmur to his neck, trying to fight away the sleep that’s weighing down on your eyelids. You try to fight it by realizing that you’re dirty from being outside and you need to take a shower before heading to bed, but the lingering scent of Jimin’s perfume on his neck says you don’t necessarily need to break from his grasp now.

“Candy? I thought you worked in sports,” his eyebrows knit in confusion, turning his head to look at you to confirm his knowledge, but you’re just so close that all he sees is your cheek; so close to the point that the tip of his nose nudges it.

You hum in response, unabashedly nudging your head closer to Jimin’s neck to breathe in his scent that calmed you to no end. “The court cleaner gig? Ah. That was from a week ago.”

He blinks earnestly, pausing from looking at you to look at your framed certificate on the console across the room.

“Didn’t you graduate with a double major in finance and accounting?” he knows the information to heart because it was the first thing he learned about you from Hoseok, so he doesn’t know why he looked at your certificate.

Actually, Jimin doesn’t even know why he’s so curious about it, because the last time he checked, he came here to disprove his insecurities and prove himself to you — even if you know nothing of the matter. “Never mind that. Are you sore, hmm?”

“Very,” you wince at the reminder that the entirety of your arms are aching, the sensation reminding you why you even accepted Jimin’s meek question if he could come over.

“Jimin,” you mumble and he perks up attentively, using everything in your strength to will yourself at prying your face away from his neck just so you could deliver your request sincerely. “Fuck me to a good night’s sleep, please.”

He buffers.

He buffers for one, two seconds — and it doesn’t help that you go back to nuzzling into him as if you didn’t ask of him to basically fuck you into next week.

In fact, Jimin even forgets that he’s here for that exact reason. He thought that he was here to be your furnace as you sit on his lap because you’re spent from lifting candy all day, but he’s obviously not opposed doing the other, first-most reason.

He chuckles at your choice of words now that it really sinks into him, feeling you peek one eye open with a faux mocking look.

“Can you do all the work?”

“Can I do all the work?” he lilts his voice and it’s enough to know that he’ll deliver on your request, a content smile forming on your face the moment you feel his hands roaming to undress you.

Jimin chooses not to move you because it’s clear to him that you already have a favorite spot at the moment (on his lap regardless if he’s naked or not), and just makes the reminder to carry you back to bed once you’ve finished.

“Up,” he lifts you by your thighs, taking off both your pants and your underwear in a few swift motions. He feels your sigh elongate in contentment because you return to his warmth once he sets you back down, immediately making quick work of massaging your thighs from standing up all day. “How many hours do you sleep?”

“A minimum of eight if I sleep late on the weekends.”

Jimin can’t help but to chuckle at your prompt answer, shifting his thumb closer to your heat when you hum to his ear. He finds you moving yourself closer to his hand that’s removing his sweatpants, flattered enough that he doesn’t even try to lift you a little so he could undress himself easier.

“It’s only nine in the evening.”

He finally acknowledges the time on the clock behind you but you don’t even follow his gaze, simply just groaning and making an off-hand comment that the candy industry is just not for you.

“What time do you want to wake up tomorrow?”

Jimin nudges you by your thighs again to shift, this time to put his straining cock in you. It’s merely an innocent question at first glance, even if he grunts the second you put all your eagerness into sinking down on him slowly to savor the stretch.

He’s amused with the way you chuckle with your chest even if he’s already cock-deep inside you. It isn’t in his routine to you know, normally talk and make conversation while he fucks! It throws him off his distraction so for any other occasion, Jimin just resorts to showing his presence by letting out absentminded grunts while chasing his climax.

The two of you are exclusively fucking, by the way.

It’s all just so casual and easygoing with you that even if you’re half-asleep and wholly turned on at the moment, Jimin finds no real rush.

“I wanna say one in the afternoon, maybe?”

He clicks his tongue, audibly groaning to look down where the two of you meet. Nobody takes him as well as you do and Jimin really can’t be willed to test that fact with anyone else.

“1 PM on a Saturday?” he repeats for clarification, grunting when your pussy clenches around him, your core already done with adjusting to his.

He gets a first shallow thrust up into you, the position burying him into you deeper than he normally could. You feel so good that it makes his bottom lip quiver, ripping away a shaky moan from his throat.

“Yeah, no problem. I can fuck you good enough tonight to knock you out until tomorrow noon.”

True to his word, Jimin fucks you good — more than good. He thrusts into you slowly and deeply while he holds you just as tightly, kissing your lips more than he ever did before and it's all too euphoric.

Maybe the question all along wasn't about if he satisfied you enough.

Maybe it's about if he appreciated you sufficiently.

Jimin carries you to your bed and cleans you up, going the extra mile to tuck you in with pillows on either side of you. He fills up the bottle on your bedside table with cold water so it wouldn't be room temperature by the time you wake up tomorrow. He arranges his house slippers next to yours, preparing to tell you good night when you beat him into asking.

“Driving home tonight?” you ask even if you already know the answer, no hint of malice in your tone.

“Yeah. Early morning tomorrow." He's apologetic but he just doesn’t know why. He never apologized before for leaving, because after all that's what friends with benefits do, but the reminder of the status doesn't calm him like he expected it would.

Jimin looks lost and you don't know why, and you want to know why, but your head is just too fuzzy to bring it up and you figure that no one likes an existential question after a head-splitting climax — so you reserve the question for next time.

“Come here.”

You beckon him over because you’re clearly too tired to stand up, and for a second, you don't even know why you ask him to do so.

Jimin doesn't know why he complies either, but he does it nonetheless.

You kiss him on the cheek, again.

“Drive safe.”

Jimin tenses up, an involuntary squeak leaving his lips that you mistaken it for words you can't even place just because with how blurry your mind is, taking it as his goodbye for you instead.

“If I wake up even a minute earlier than one in the afternoon tomorrow, I’m blocking your number.”

He breathlessly laughs, holding on to your side table for support. You've already closed your eyes even before he can leave your room, the belated realization that you kissed him on the cheek after sex, again, making him clutch at his hair.

You wake up the next day at 2:03 in the afternoon.

Jimin barely got any sleep throughout the night.

( ♡ )

One thing that Jimin can't do is be discreet.

He can't hide his nosiness when he's curious. He physically just can't keep it to himself no matter how small or big is the information intentionally withheld from him, considering that the ones closest to him know how inquisitive he could be.

Jimin particularly can't be discreet when he sees Hoseok at the next workday, only pretending to look at the logbook for a grand total of five (5) seconds before he caves in and rushes behind the receptionist booth to sit next to his friend.

“Where does Y/N work now?”

Hoseok sighs, having already foreseen Jimin's nosiness the moment he stepped foot into the clinic. He keeps his eyes at the monitor though, double-checking and organizing the booked appointments for today.

“She’s a window cleaner at Lotte at the moment.”

“The World Tower?" Jimin scrunches his nose, tilting his head because maybe the new angle would make him understand better. Hoseok wordlessly nods, making him shriek in surprise. "You mean the high-rise?!”

Jimin's too loud and the clinic hasn't even opened yet so there's no establishment music nor client chatter to act as buffers, the sound whole enough to make Hoseok wince.

He grunts, furrowing his brows because they both know they're on the same page but Jimin keeps skimming to the next one.

“Yes...? What windows do you want her to clean?”

“But she was making candy a week ago!” he stammers in reply, the confirmation coming from your best friend further plummeting him into disbelief.

Hoseok tuts, nodding understandingly. He surely remembers your candy job because he became your tester, remembering the taste of caramel that was too bland and watermelon candy that oddly enough, didn't taste like watermelon.

“Ah, yeah. That was last week though.”

Jimin's not hearing things. You did work as a part-time ball and mop cleaner for a basketball team last month, you did work as a candy maker last week, and now you do work as a window cleaner for a high-rise.

It throws him off-guard completely, his curiosity unable to be contained at this point.

“Why does she do this?” he blurts, face scrunched up in confusion. “Jump from one part-time job to another, I mean.”

The additional thought crosses his mind and Jimin really tries to reel himself in, the side comment slipping from his lips before he could notice. “Or if you could even call them jobs at this point.”

Hoseok clicks his tongue in distaste, rolling his eyes.

“Heard that.”

He's typing a little too loudly now and even Jimin notices it, meekly apologizing for the comment. He just waves him off, turning to the next spreadsheet at hand to keep himself occupied. “You want me to call her and ask that? The signal might be good on the 83rd floor.”

“Why’s Y/N like that?”

Jimin asks again this time but the genuine wonder is more evident this time compared to the condescension, making Hoseok indulge him begrudgingly.

“The cheek kisses or the career shifts?”

“I think you could hardly call them careers.”

“Jimin,” Hoseok scolds, his tone warning him to not cross the line any further than he's already doing.

He frowns, fiddling with his fingers but relenting later on. “I’m just being realistic, Hobi.”

“Shh. Don’t speak on it," he asserts. Hoseok finally stops what he's doing to give his undivided attention, spinning with his chair to face Jimin. "Y/N just loves doing the things that she wants, alright? Don’t ruin it for her.”

Your best friend did just say to Jimin to not ruin it for you, but maybe one last interjection won't hurt to point out. After this point, Jimin swears he'll shut his mouth.

“A cum laude. Double-major in finance and accounting. And your best friend’s cleaning windows on a high-rise!”

“And I’m proud of her,” Hoseok means sincerely but says nonchalantly, pursing his lips. “That job pays, by the way. Eight hours for three days and her wage is like, yours and Yoongi’s combined.”

Jimin, finally, shuts up.

He'd be the first to admit that knowing your new job at the moment, or even just knowing a somehow 555m high life update about you but doesn't come from you directly, makes him miss you more.

Getting the update from Hoseok may have made him take his phone out and text you, asking if you have any plans for lunch. Friends with benefits shouldn't ask the other to go to lunch together, and friends with benefits shouldn't agree when the other asks them for lunch.

Neither of you adhere to the supposed FWB etiquette.

At this point, maybe (and the two of you are well-aware now) you aren't just friends with benefits.

"Jimin! There you are. Jeez, I almost went dizzy out there."

You attach yourself to Jimin's side the moment you spot him, his face lighting up in recognition. He's been trying to locate you for the past two minutes assuming that you were wearing something from your closet that he's already familiar with, but of course, he forgot that you work here.

He locates you not a second later because of course, he wouldn't miss you who's wearing a neon orange jumpsuit and is jogging towards him.

Jimin bites his cheek and wraps his arm around your waist in greeting, the urge to do so being so natural that it feels like a second instinct.

He could've went to see you without lunch being involved but seeing that he used the latter as an excuse, Jimin brings you up to the café upstairs and orders for the both of you.

He only left you for a total of five minutes and the moment he comes back, there's a guy sitting on his seat. The guy with the red hair is probably familiar to him, judging by the way you're motioning to him slyly with a knowing smile, but Jimin is just too annoyed to play courtesies.

“Get out. Go search about enemas on your own and shit,” he mutters his remarks based on the tidbits he managed to overhear, tapping the back of his seat impatiently.

Jungkook, your friend, hurriedly gets up from the chair. He only sat in briefly because he's been sitting alone prior to your arrival and of good nature, and also because he wants to ask if your current part-time job has any more openings, he decides to make himself comfortable at the chair opposite to you.

Jimin, however, does not wait for Jungkook to leave before he talks about him to you directly. "Didn't you work with him in that café?"

“Did you mean éclairs?” Jungkook mutters, correcting the extremely different assumption of Jimin as to what he was talking about. Jimin clicks his tongue and groans audibly, making him equally as irritable to go out. “I’m going, I’m going! God, I’m completely harmless to your girlfriend, jeez!”

You freeze upon hearing, but the guy who's now in his rightful chair doesn't.

Jimin doesn't correct him.

( ♡ )

It's only a matter of time before something else entirely throws off Jimin.

He's no longer bothered about the cheek kisses, the gentle pecks on his skin unable to make him lose his sanity at this point in time. He came to accept that you just happened to love giving them to him, and although he could do something about it if he really wanted to, he chooses not to.

He came to accept that you're the only one, if not one of the few people who manage to throw him off his track without prior notice. It's not as if your life's goal was to get under his skin, but it feels like it.

No, Jimin doesn't hate the cheek kisses — he’s bothered about something else now.

Your part-time jobs.

It's been boggling his mind for months now. He didn't necessarily hate each job you've been willingly putting yourself in, but what he hates is that it's completely unnecessary. He'd understand jumping from one job to another if it's what pays the bills, but what he doesn't understand is you don't need to do these jobs at all.

In all fairness, even if you needed them to get through, you could just find part-time jobs that were normal in a sense that it didn't require you to look like a fool or risk your safety.

You simply just like making a fool of yourself and Jimin hates it.

He hates it especially like that time when you asked him out for dinner and you didn't show up, or atleast that's what he thinks of in the first ten minutes. Turns out you signed him up for a floating restaurant that's suspended 70 ft. into the air with a crane — and you showed up! You showed up, not to be his date, but to be a floating restaurant staff member.

Jimin remembers gritting his teeth when you secure his seatbelt and harness, all with an excited grin on your face and whispering "It's me, Y/N!" as if he couldn't pick you out in a sea of a thousand people.

He doesn't remember if he was gritting his teeth because he made the mistake of looking behind him and realizing that maybe he does have a fear of heights or if it was because the food he's been served looks undercooked. What he does remember is getting the fright of his life when you playfully pretend to trip over the edge, but it was all just part of a skit, and Jimin yelled out your name in panic for nothing.

Jimin hates your jobs especially like that time when you worked as a K-9 apprentice trainer. On the first day, your boss asked you to test out the prototype dog bite suit they were trying to patent, and as soon as the agitated Belgian Malinois comes charging after you, you could feel its teeth. Of course the bite neither broke your skin nor the suit, but what you and your boss didn't anticipate is the other German Shepherd who broke out of its cage to tackle you from behind.

It's a miracle that they immediately let go of you after some stern commands, but that didn't exactly mean you came out unscathed. There was one particular scratch on your calf that you think would scar, so you immediately come to the clinic where Hoseok works.

Sure, he was the receptionist for Serendipity Aesthetics but that doesn't mean he's batshit clueless when it comes to the products they carry. Hoseok's clearly intrigued to see you drop in his workplace all of a sudden, but he's even more baffled when you reveal the story and the accompanying marks to it.

Without a word, he tells you he'll take you to the inventory where they keep all their products, but turns out he takes you straight into Jimin's clinic.

He doesn't ask, doesn't even talk, as he cleans up your injuries. You didn't ask him to do that for you, but you don't want to tell him to stop either because for some reason, Jimin looks mad at you. The whole time that he aids you, his jaw is clenched and his grip on you is firm, not making eye contact with you once.

Jimin hates your affinity for taking ridiculous part-time jobs especially like that time when you part-timed as a diving guide. There was a special opportunity for clients in your program wherein an hour prior to their dive, you would hide special gold coins for them to hunt and later exchange for prizes.

You were doing just that in your full-body scuba suit, and Jimin just happened to meet you by chance because he didn't know you would be on the beach at the same time as him. What he didn't expect to happen was to see you and realize that you're wincing out of pain because a fucking jellyfish had stung the bare portion of your skin that was showing.

You were frantically asking him to pee on you because you've heard that it's effective in taking the sting out, and you haven't actually tried that for yourself, but Jimin is just so panicked that he actually considers doing it until your head instructor finally finds you.

No, the jellyfish sting on you isn't fatal.

No, the peeing-on-a-jellyfish-sting myth is pure bullshit.

Yes, Jimin actually feels like passing out from the whole ordeal.

Everything is just too ridiculous that Jimin can't handle seeing you in this state. You said explicitly to him that you were having fun but he isn't.

There's nothing fun seeing you go about your part-time jobs like they're children's cartoons who promoted nothing but risky behavior without a glimpse of dire consequences. There's nothing entertaining seeing you have fun despite knowing the risks.

It's like you weren't even concerned for your safety. All you're after is your enjoyment and the next big thing that would make your heart race.

Even now, Jimin feels like you can't take him seriously because the bruise on your elbow says so. A bruise you obtained from your part-time aquarium job because you tripped over a fucking penguin, from running away from another penguin who was trying to attack you.

“Get a grip, Y/N! Can’t you just for once in your life do something mundane? Something boring? Something that I don’t know, pays your bills without having to make a fool out of yourself?!”

“I like what I do, Jimin.”

You whisper in reply but you don't even know why you're whispering out of shame. No one had particularly called you out before, because everyone dear to you supports you — from your parents, to Hoseok, and to even previous co-workers who cheer you on.

Everyone dear to you loves seeing you do what you want to do — everyone except Jimin.

“For god’s sake, you were grooming sheep two months ago! Then a week after that, you were making soap and massaging people’s hands! Hell, even this month you’re working in that aquarium! You put on a scuba suit, wipe the glass, and for what? To swim with some fucking shrimp and shit like that?”

He's only been angry with you once, atleast what you know of, but it's now that you don't like Jimin the most. Perhaps you took his little smiles and breathless chuckles as affirmations that he loves what you do. Perhaps if you just looked a little closer without the blind expectation that everyone tolerates you because you could be a little too much for some, maybe you could've seen that the smiles were grimaces and the chuckles were groans.

“Y/N, I’m saying this because I care about you,” he runs his hand through his hair, exhaling deeply to look at you in the eye. “But please just grow up. You’re only a few years younger than me but just– look! Look! You graduated the top of your class for a real degree. Please do something useful.”

Please do something useful.

Do something useful.

Now do you realize that you can’t keep grazing your elbows on repainting daycares and have your pants frayed from volunteering at animal pounds. You can't keep doing spontaneous jobs for the sake of them because in simple terms, they're just not useful.

Jimin's perhaps the smartest guy you know and if it comes from him, you know to believe him. Perhaps he's the smartest guy you know amongst everyone dearest to you because from all of them, he's the only one that ever spoke to you this way.

In this brutally honest, albeit painful, way.

“Okay," you nod definitively, swallowing the lump the lump in your throat. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I should do something normal.”

Jimin purses his lips in regret because now that you put it that way, it sounds more cutthroat and unforgiving.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I think you should get going,” you squeak, humming to yourself as you turn away from him, vaguely pointing to the door so he could see himself out. “You made a good point. I just need to be alone right now, try to get my shit together, y’know?”

Jimin really should've kept his mouth shut.

He should've heeded Hoseok's advice to not ruin it for you. But judging by the way you avoid his eyes and walk away from him, he knows he's already done that and more. He doesn't want to leave but you want him to leave, and if it's any consolation for you to help ease the pain he's caused, he'll do it this time. “Okay.”

He doesn't know why he's still expecting at this point, but Jimin feels heavy getting out of your door — without a kiss on his cheek, and with the knowledge that he had hurt you.

( ♡ )

Unsurprisingly, Jimin hasn’t heard from you in awhile.

It's been almost a month that he hasn't seen you. He had apologized numerous times over text, to which you only reacted to with an emoticon but didn't reply to, and that was it. He felt uncomfortable to ask to see you in-person because even he is ashamed of himself, mad at himself if in case his presence reminds you of his words.

Yoongi's pissed at him because Jimin definitely does not have a say in what you do and what you love, especially considering that he isn't your boyfriend, regardless if your feelings for each other were requited.

Hoseok’s angry at him. Not you-just-hurt-my-best-friend angry, but "not only did you hurt my best friend but you also changed the trajectory of her life, possibly for the worst, even if she didn't ask you to" angry.

Jimin's also furious at himself for the most part. He was selfish and projected his own frustrations to you because perhaps there was a tiny little part of him that envied you.

The tiny little green part of him that envies just how much happy you are even if you earn much less than him. He likes his job and he likes his salary, don't get him wrong, but no matter how shallow he sounds when he admits it — doing the same stable thing felt like a routine more than it was a passion.

You're carefree and Jimin isn't and it's wrong for him to hate that. He loves his job and he hates that he just had to make you miserable by grounding you only to your degree. He hates himself for saying that neither of the things you've done are useful because he subjected you as comparison.

He risks it ultimately when one day he texts and asks to come over. He didn't know if you would be mad at him and terminate your communication completely because after all, he still has the gall to ask you that despite the things he did.

He didn't know what to feel when you reply in less than an hour and tell him to just let himself in with the keycard you’ve left at his place accidentally, because you’ll be running a little late.

It's all too familiar because this has already happened before.

He wishes that it's familiar.

When you come home and he's waiting for you on your couch, he didn't know how to react seeing you look so manufactured.

You're as beautiful as always even if you're in a corporate suit, from a pink button-up to a leather pencil skirt to a pair of high heels.

You're you and you recognize yourself more than he does, but to him, you look off. The version that stands in front of him is unlike you; you’re not wearing overalls or chicken shop uniforms or wearing anything that resembles you.

“What’s with the get-up?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to buffer in your brain, a genuine laugh leaving your lips as you shrug off your heels.

“I work in stocks now,” you clear your throat, adding to the silence when Jimin remains still. "I'm the top fund manager in my company. Yay."

Your anger for Jimin has already passed which is why you didn't hesitate letting him wait for you in your apartment. Sure, the anger did pass but the ghost of it remains.

You're thankful that he gave you a fresh new perspective, but you just wish he could've done it a little more gently. Delivered the take a little more coddling. You wish he gave you a little more time for you to come to your senses by yourself.

“I’m sorry for everything I said,” Jimin speaks thickly into the air, the gravity of his previous words now just singeing a little worse. “You shouldn’t have to change. You were happy doing what you love the most and I gave you shit for it.”

In your head you've already forgiven him. It was a new, brutal perspective he had given you out of sincere concern. Even if there's truth to his words and you've come to accept it, it didn't necessarily mean that he was solely on the right.

“I’m happy now,” you offer with a weak smile, shrugging your shoulders carelessly.

“I’m not as happy as I was, but I’m still happy now. Besides, I have like a ton of money now,” you add playfully, giggling to yourself. “I could pay my monthly rent and your clinic’s yearly lease and still have extra.”

Jimin tries to find it in him to laugh, the return of your giggles easing him a little, but it's just not the same.

He's not gonna try and take credit for your change, but he does know that he's a large variable. He's remorseful and the guilt still doesn't leave him even if you let him into your home, the thoughts playing out in his mind like clockwork.

He thought he hated your part-time jobs but now, he realizes that he remembers every single one. He remembers every single bit of them that you tell him, all from the quirks of your job to the flaws of it.

“But you’re not bottle-feeding baby goats," he murmurs, looking down on his lap. “You’re not in a ski resort wearing duck feet to make children look for you.”

Your resentment for Jimin for presenting you a realistic truth may have already passed, but he hasn't. He's still strongly, and irrevocably, angry at himself.

“Is this still you?”

You throw off Jimin in both the best and worst ways possible but nothing beats the relief you provide for him either, but he knows that for the time-being, he's not entirely deserving of the latter.

“Still me,” you nod, unable to keep the next words to yourself as it hits you once again. “Just a more rational, useful me.”

( ♡ )

You and Jimin don’t talk as much these days.

If you were to describe your current state, it would be steady. It’s not much, but it’s honest.

The two of you would be lying if you deny that your previous relationship was strictly in a friends with benefits state. You both knew and shown (he clearly did) just how concerned you are for each other, never skipping a beat.

It’s been weeks since he last dropped into your apartment to personally apologize and after a long, agonizing yet much-needed conversation, you weren’t even sure if the two of you would progress after basically calling off your previous status with each other.

Until Jimin shows at your doorstep at one in the morning, right before you go to sleep.

“Jimin? What are you doing here?”

He’s dressed up in formal wear, still complete with a boutonnière on the lapel of his suit jacket. His hair’s gelled back but it probably went through much action because now it looks a little unkempt, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol he had.

“I took home way too many brownies,” he blurts as if it would explain why he suddenly manifested at your front door at a godforsaken time, laughing at himself before clearing his throat. “I volunteered to be a wedding singer for my friend’s ceremony. He let me have the first pick at the reception buffet.”

“Cool. Thank you for these,” you chuckle at the suddenness of the situation, taking the silk-wrapped container from his hands. It’s heavy, really heavy, and it’s endearing to think how Jimin’s first thought was to give this much to you. “Huh. These are really... a lot, huh?”

“Yeah. I know you like experimenting,” he smiles, scratching behind his ear belatedly at the double meaning, “with flavors and things like that.”

He took atleast five of each flavor and the buffet table stretched long, ignoring the appalled looks from the servers behind the booths. He’s certain that he picked up enough food to last you for three meals a day, for atleast a week and a half.

Jimin looks at you while you look at him and he remembers, even if it’s never left his mind, that you’re his dreamboat. It’s not just the alcohol talking, but it’s his truth even before a single drop of liquor.

“I’m taking a one-month sabbatical.”

He pipes in, immediately getting a whistle from you because even at the dead of one in the morning, perhaps the two of you miss each other that you’re ready to talk about anything.

“One month? That’s huge.”

“Yup.”

The silence stretches and although it’s not comfortable, Jimin’s still thankful that he gets to spend it with you. The thing he wanted to talk to you about since this morning finally pops up, eyes widening in realization before he forgets.

“I’m part-timing as a water park attendant two days from now, by the way.”

You want to say you’re confused but the pieces fuse together before they even separate. Jimin takes a one-month sabbatical from his duties as a doctor and instead of resting, he’ll be using it to work.

He’ll be using it to work part-time jobs.

“Can I call you tomorrow for some advice?”

The smile appears in your face before you could even stop it. You’ve only tried part-timing as a diving instructor once, but atleast it’s in the aquatic industry somehow.

“I haven’t tried that job before.”

“We could try together,” Jimin offers, unable to resist a giddy smile that makes his eyes crescent. “Are you free tomorrow?”

Your mental calendar is long-checked by your mouth before you can even pretend to think about it, a chuckle leaving you in return. “I uh... I actually am.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you parrot, eyes unblinking while you stare at Jimin. The two of you must have been staring at each other for a minute until you’re interrupted by the sound of your floor’s elevator dinging, snapping you both out of your dazes. “Drive safe.”

You’re sheepish as you bid him goodbye, cutting the interaction short even if you think it’s the perfect end to your night, or rather the start of your morning.

Jimin hums in acknowledgment but just before he goes, even if it’s the first of many, and hopefully the rest in a greater and better context than this is.

He’ll make it up to you somehow.

He stays rooted in his position and you don’t make a move to close your door either. You’re about to ask him if he’s fit to drive himself home but just before you do, you tense in the same way as he did before.

Jimin kisses your cheek.

---

Joyride | KTH & JJK

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: smut, strangers to lovers, College!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking pot, kissing, grinding, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, masturbation (m), voyeurism, exhibitionism, public sex, sex on a beach (not the drink), unprotected sex (with bc), threesome, finger sucking, dick piercing, Taehyung has an oral fixation, grand theft auto, a bitch gets slapped, that bitch is Jimin

Word Count: 12.8K

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Senior year spring break sucks, thanks to the annoying spoiled little rich boy who won't stop trying to get your attention. When a scenic drive in his ridiculously expensive sports car goes wrong, you meet two sexy mechanics who decide to teach him a lesson - and show you the real meaning of "joyride."

Destination: Miami, FL

A/N: Written as part of the Spring Break-ing The Rules collab hosted by @btshoneyhive! For some reason, when I read the prompt "breaking the rules," Taehyung and Jungkook immediately jumped to mind as the likely rulebreakers. Who wouldn't want to go for a forbidden joyride with those two?

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

The wind whips around you as the bright red sports car speeds down the bridge. The scenery outside your open window steals your breath away–nothing but clear blue skies above and tranquil turquoise waters below. Resting your arm on the molding, feeling the sun’s brilliant rays gently kiss your skin, you wish for the hundredth time that you were somewhere, anywhere other than paradise right now. 

“Hey sweetie?”

Clenching your jaw, you turn away from the stunning view outside the Lamborghini and face the source of your desire to be elsewhere. Sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily resting on the wheel, sunglasses slightly lowered on his nose as he looks at you, Jimin flashes you a sickeningly sweet smile.  

“Can you close your window just a little? It’s starting to mess up my hair.” 

Oh, god forbid one strand of his luscious blonde locks should fall out of place. With a nod, you press the button to roll your window up, suppressing another sigh. 

When this trip ends and you get back to campus, you’re never letting your roommate make another decision for you, ever again.

Two months ago, you’d been standing in the tiny kitchen in your apartment, frowning at the hot plate that was taking way too long to heat up, when Jang-Mi had burst through the door. 

“Roooomieeee!” “In the kitchen!”

She’d bounded into the room, beaming from ear to ear, giggling like mad. You knew immediately the source of her elation. 

“What did Hoseok do today?” 

Hoseok was your roommate’s crush and the president of Beta Tau Sigma, the fraternity with the reputation for the wildest parties and the hottest members. Not to mention the richest - the entire frat seemed to consist of nothing but trust fund babies and the heirs to every mega-successful corporation in the country. Unfortunately, they always acted like they were entitled to whatever they wanted because of their wealth. 

As you loved to tell Jang-Mi, you can’t spell “spoiled brats” without BTS. 

For three years, you’d watched your friend moon over this (admittedly handsome, devilishly charming) man as he fucked his way around campus, before he finally shone his sunshiney smile her way. They’d been flirting up a storm in the last few weeks, and based on how she was practically dancing around the kitchen, you deduced that he must’ve finally made a move. 

“Pack your bags, roomie, we’re going to Miami!”

Once she was finished bouncing around the room, Jang-Mi explained that Beta Tau had reserved several floors of a swanky hotel in Miami for spring break, and one of the rooms was suddenly vacant thanks to a brother whose travel plans had already changed, so Hoseok had offered it to Jang-Mi. 

For free. 

Hoseok was your favorite of Beta Tau’s members, the only one who didn’t try to get by on his money and good looks alone, so if any of them were going to be generous, it’d be him. But still–without knowing the hotel, you could pretty much guarantee it was opulent and overpriced, so giving away a room to your roommate for an entire week was pretty incredible. He must’ve genuinely liked her.

“Are you serious? He’s offering you a spring break trip for free?”

Jang-Mi’s giddy effervescence was only slightly punctured by your incredulous tone. “Well, not the whole trip–we’d still have to find our way to Miami and back, but he’s giving us the room for free! He said the floors were paid for by one of the brothers’ dads, so there’s no need for me to give him any money for it. I’ve already been researching and there are some cheap flights and–you should really be more excited about this! Come on, senior year spring break! For cheeeeap!”

“You know, if you take the room, you’re probably going to have to fuck him,” you tease her. Jang-Mi rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up, you know it’s not like that. But let’s be real, I’m already planning to, anyway. Come onnnnn, roomie!”

It wasn’t as if you weren’t dying to get away, anyway. Four years of busting your ass to get into medical school were coming to a head, exams and applications and interviews finally about to pay off, and you needed a fucking break. A chance to relax, have some fun. Why not Miami? Sure, when you pictured yourself on spring break, you didn’t imagine it’d be with the Beta Tau brats, but whatever, you could probably sneak away and plant yourself on the beach for a week without seeing any of them. 

You definitely weren’t in any position to turn down a free room, and you certainly weren’t about to let Jang-Mi go alone. 

“Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go to Miami!”

Like you’d assumed, the hotel you were staying at was extravagant, a towering modern monolith of steel and glass glittering in the blinding Florida sun. The other hotel guests milling about at the entrance looked way posher than broke college students like you and your roommate, and a million miles (maybe a million dollars) away from the crowd at the motel you’d stayed at during last year’s spring break trip to Myrtle Beach. Somehow, you couldn’t picture these people setting up a slip-n-slide on the staircase between floors or drinking jungle juice out of a tub. 

Which was okay with you. All you wanted from this trip was the chance to relax, anyway. 

As you were dragging your suitcase off the airport shuttle, the sound of squealing tires caught your ear. A shiny red sports car zoomed into view, coming to a stop inches from where you and Jang-Mi stood, Lamborghini logo sparkling in the sun. An absolutely stunning blond man climbed out of the driver’s seat, clad in a green and white Gucci bomber jacket, and flipped his keys to the valet. He caught you looking and flashed you a charming smile and a wink. 

“Ooh, well, hello,” Jang-Mi muttered under her breath. “Looks like your ride is here, roomie.” 

You merely laughed as the two of you entered the lobby behind Mr. Gucci. Opulent didn’t even begin to describe the place–ornate chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, lighting the cavernous dark wood and chrome lobby. Fresh flowers decorated every surface, and a wall of windows behind the reception desk gave you a view of the dazzling courtyard, where three large pools laid separated by lounge chairs and palm trees. 

You could already see yourself lying on one of those chairs, all alone, sipping a cocktail from the cabana bar, enjoying the sun in silence.  Jang-Mi and Hoseok could have your room for the week, as far as you were concerned–you could just camp out by the pool 24/7. 

“Jimin!” At the sound of Hoseok’s voice, you and Jang-Mi turned towards the elevators. Hoseok emerged with a wide smile plastered across his handsome face, and strode across the lobby to hug Mr. Gucci. After a few seconds, Hoseok spotted Jang-Mi. “Mi-Mi! You’re here!” 

He quickly embraced your roommate, and you suddenly became interested in your luggage tags as the two of them greeted each other only using their tongues. Once they came up for air, introductions were made. 

“This is Jimin. We grew up together–our dads are business partners. He’s studying at the University of Florida.” Hoseok grins. “Actually, he’s not doing any studying this week. He’s blowing off his classes to join us for our spring break!” The two men then proceeded to perform a complicated handshake ending in both of them miming throwing back shots and slapping asses, making Jang-Mi giggle while you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

Must’ve been nice to be able to take two spring break trips in a year without worrying about classes or other responsibilities. If only you’d been born into a wealthy family, too. 

“Jimin, this is Jang-Mi, the girl I’ve been telling you about.” 

Jimin grabbed your roommate’s hand and pressed his plump lips to it as she giggled again. “Lovely to meet you. Hobi’s been talking my ear off about you.” 

“And this is Jang-Mi’s roommate, YN.” 

It was your turn to feel Jimin’s full attention, and holy hell, did you feel it. He lightly grasped your hand, fingers rubbing your knuckles as he brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently with his pillowy pink lips. His touch sent goosebumps rippling down your arms, and you couldn’t deny that he was hot as fuck as his gaze raked over you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he purred your name. 

“Likewise.” 

“Jimin was just about to show me his new toy,” Hoseok informed you and Jang-Mi. 

“Yeah, got my graduation gift a little early,” Jimin grinned. 

“I can’t believe your dad got you a Huracán EVO Spyder,” Hoseok shook his head. “Sick.” 

“He bought you a spider?” Jang-Mi blurted in horror. “Spiders are so creepy!”

Hoseok burst into laughter, pulling Jang-Mi into a hug. “You’re so cute! It’s a car, babe.”

Jimin sniffed imperiously. “Yeah, my dad had her specially made–most come with a double-clutch system but he had them put in a classic manual transmission for me. She’s my second Lambo. First one was okay, but this one–she’s got some wicked power under the hood. Maxes out at 200 mph.” He grinned, leaning towards you. “Are you the kind of girl who likes to go fast? Wanna go for a ride?” 

Just as quickly as your desire for this man had appeared, it suddenly evaporated. Jimin was just another spoiled little rich boy, with cheesy lines to boot. Why did they always seem to go hand-in-hand? Oh, right, they assumed you’d swoon over their money and didn’t expect to have to work for your attention, so why bother to come up with something clever?

Hoseok saved you from having to answer. “I’ll text you when we get back and we can maybe make some dinner plans?” he asked your roommate, who nodded enthusiastically. “Cool. See you ladies later!” 

“Come on, I wanna get checked in so I can start planning my outfit for dinner!” Jang-Mi squealed, and you shook your head at her adorable excitement as you followed her to the reception desk. She was really crazy about Hoseok.

Once in your room, the two of you prepared for your evening. You tried to freshen up enough to look like you weren’t currently experiencing wicked jet lag while Jang-Mi primped as if she were preparing for a runway show, full hair and makeup going once she’d finally settled on a dress to wear. 

She suddenly turned to you with a solemn look, putting her curling iron down. “Roomie, I’m nervous.”

Applying a coat of mascara to your lashes, you blinked in the mirror. “Nervous about what?”

“I mean, I really like Hoseok! More than I thought I did, you know? Like…”

“Like beyond just wanting to jump his bones?” 

She nodded so seriously that you couldn’t help but laugh. “Jang-Mi! That’s wonderful! So what do you have to be nervous about?”

“I’m just afraid I’ll mess it up somehow! Like I’ll get in my head and say something stupid or do something cringe or maybe I’ll accidentally tell him I like him and he won’t feel the same and then I’ll–”

You cut her off before she ran out of breath and collapsed into a pile of gasping anxiousness. “Okay, okay, I get it. I think you’re already psyching yourself out over nothing–the man obviously wants you here, he gave you a free room to come and hang out with him–but I get it.” 

Jang-Mi worriedly twisted the cord of her curler. “Will you make me a promise, roomie?”

“Anything.”

“Can you–can you just hang out with me this week and help keep me calm like you do? So I can be around Hoseok without making an idiot of myself?”

The image of you lying on one of those lounge chairs, soaking up the sun in blissful silence, vanished before your eyes as you smiled at your roommate. “I will stick by your side and give you all the support you need to finally get your man, okay? I promise.”

So that’s just what you did. Whatever Jang-Mi wanted to do, you also did. Sunbathing on the beach? Shopping at luxury boutiques? Visiting the hotel spa? If Jang-Mi went, so did you. And so did Hoseok, of course, which was fine.

But unfortunately, if Hoseok was there, that meant Jimin was, too.

It only took about five minutes of talking to Jimin to realize he was absolutely not your type. Your assumptions about him being the type of man to flaunt his wealth proved to be true as he bragged about his car and mentioned his family’s vacation homes in Rome, Tokyo, and the Hamptons all within the answer to your opening question, “So, what did you do on your other spring break?” 

You tried, you really did. Knowing that Jang-Mi was worried about things going smoothly with Hoseok meant that you had to watch your tongue around Jimin, fearing that upsetting him might upset Hoseok. So you kept trying to engage him in conversation in the hopes of finding something you might have in common. Not that he ever bothered to ask you anything about yourself, always steering the conversation back to himself any time you attempted to jump in with something remotely relevant from your own life. 

He was an absolutely shameless flirt, too. Unfortunately, his personality (or lack thereof) was too much of a turn-off for you, so you continuously avoided his advances, politely rebuffing him as best you could, hoping he’d eventually get tired and pursue any of the BTS groupies who had also flocked to Miami for spring break with the boys. 

But rejection appeared to be a foreign concept to Jimin, and instead of discouraging him, it simply made him try even harder. And he started using his considerable wealth to do it. He paid for all of your meals, bought you drinks at every bar and club that your group visited, even slapped down his black card when you pondered splurging on the best package at the spa. No matter how much you argued with him or attempted to slip your own (debit) card to the staff, Jimin managed to scoop up the bill every time. 

At first you’d felt guilty, but you quickly got over it the more you were subjected to his dull monologues (you can’t call it a conversation if one person does all the talking, can you?). Not to mention the incessant pick-up lines, each one worse than the last. By the time the week was half over, you’d stopped caring and simply accepted him buying everything as your payment for putting up with him. 

And now you’re here, stuck in a ridiculously expensive car zipping down US Highway 1 towards the Florida Keys, with the most noxious man–no, boy–you’ve ever met. Hoseok and Jang-Mi are in the car ahead of you, another fancy Lamborghini that Hoseok rented for the day, since there are no backseats in Jimin’s car. The plan is to go snorkeling, and you’re excited that you’ll get a little break from Jimin for once because he won’t be able to talk your ears off underwater. 

If you guys even make it to the Keys, that is. For all his talk about his beloved Lambo, Jimin’s clearly spent very little time behind the wheel and doesn’t appear to really understand how a clutch works. You, on the other hand, know how to drive stick, and you recognize that the constant grinding sound every time he shifts is most definitely not a good sign. 

He’s either playing it cool or legitimately doesn’t seem to see any reason for worry as he grins, fingers curling around the shifter again. “Traffic is thinning. Let’s open her up a little, shall we?” he asks rhetorically, and as he toggles the knob, stepping down on the clutch, the car lets out an ear-splitting shriek of metal-on-metal and begins to vibrate. “Uh. Fuck. Let me try…” He shifts again, and the squealing sound intensifies. “Fuck!” 

“Is everything okay?” you ask, knowing full well the answer is no. 

“Yeah, sweetie, no worries.” His smile is dazzling but his sunglasses are still lowered enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. He presses a few buttons on his console and Hoseok’s voice suddenly blares through the speakers.

“Jimin? What’s up?” 

“Hey, the Lambo’s kinda making this weird noise.” As if to corroborate his story, the car squeaks again. “I’m going to pull over for a second to try to figure it out.” 

“Do you want us to stop with you?” 

“Nah, keep going and we’ll catch up. I’m sure we’ll be back on the road in a few minutes.” 

But fifteen minutes later, you’re still sitting on the side of the road, sighing heavily as Jimin scrolls agitatedly through his phone. He’d lowered the roof, at least, so you’re getting a nice breeze as you wait impatiently for him to realize that he’s going to need a professional to fix whatever’s wrong with his car.

Finally, he lowers his phone. “Maybe something just got caught in the engine? Let’s head back out and see if we still hear it.” 

He flips the ignition, steps on the gas, then steps on the clutch. Nothing happens. He repeats the steps, to no avail. With an angry curse, he slams the shifter back into park and kills the engine again. 

“I think we’re going to need a tow truck,” you declare, pulling out your own phone. 

“No way. A tow truck driver will take one look at this car and charge me double what he’d charge anyone else.” 

You can’t help yourself. You laugh right in his handsome face. The man who has been throwing his credit card around all week is suddenly feeling frugal? “You’re seriously worried about paying too much?” 

“It all adds up,” he informs you sagely, and you roll your eyes. “Let me see if I can figure this out.” 

“Well, if you’re not going to call for a tow, what exactly is your plan?”

He shrugs. “You can find anything on the internet. There has to be some article somewhere that will tell me what to do.” 

“Ah, right. I forgot, mechanics don’t even undergo training anymore - they just sit in their shops and Google ‘how to make car go’ all day.”

Jimin’s smile disappears as he glowers a little. “Look, just give me a minute, okay?” His fingers fly over his phone again. 

“I’ll give you ten. And then I’m calling a tow.” 

Twenty minutes later, Jimin sulks quietly while you wait for the tow truck to arrive. You’d managed to find a shop that specializes in imports like his Lamborghini, but it’s back in Miami city limits. So much for Key Largo and snorkeling. 

You’re expecting panic from Jang-Mi when you tell her as much, figuring she’ll insist on making Hoseok double back for you, or even send you a rideshare, but to your surprise, she’s totally fine. 

“You know, this might be for the best!” she has the audacity to tell you when you slip out of the car to call her. “Things are going really well with Hoseok today. I think we’re okay on our own!”

Well then. “That’s great! But what the fuck am I supposed to do now instead?” 

“I don’t know, just keep Jimin company, I guess? He’s probably going to be upset if his car’s fucked up.” 

You haven’t told Jang-Mi how much Jimin repels you, not wanting to burst her happy little Hoseok bubble, so you bite your tongue again instead of stating your desire to ditch him as soon as possible. “Yeah. I guess. Hopefully the shop can fix whatever’s wrong quickly enough that the whole day isn’t shot.”

Jimin triggers the mechanism to close the roof as you climb back into the car. You’re contemplating telling Jimin you’re going to call a rideshare when a gigantic black truck slowly pulls over in front of you. The license plate reads “BEOM 1.” “This must be the guy from Tiger Motors,” you sigh thankfully. 

A tall, vibrantly purple-haired man dressed in a greasy pair of navy coveralls climbs out of the cab of the truck and ambles back towards Jimin’s car. He saunters, really, his walk a little bow-legged but confident. When he reaches the driver’s side, he slowly lowers himself until his face appears in the window. 

“Howdy. Y’all need a ride?” He grins at Jimin, and then his gaze shifts to you, and you literally feel your breath stick in your throat as his smile shifts into a smirk. The man is absolutely gorgeous, dark brows setting off deep brown eyes and a plump lower lip adorned with a spider bite piercing on the right adding to his beauty. Multiple other piercings dot his brow and nose, twinkling as they catch the sunlight reflecting off of the driver’s side mirror. 

“What do you think?” Jimin grumbles petulantly, and the man just laughs, thumbing towards the truck. 

“C’mon, go take a seat in the truck. I’ll be done here in a minute.” He strolls away to prepare the towing mechanism. 

Jimin reaches the cab first, and you wait for him to open the passenger’s door for you, but he just leans against the vehicle with his arms crossed, so you sigh and yank it open yourself. He really doesn’t seem to like that you took charge, and is choosing to act like a huffy baby about it. 

The tow truck only has a bench seat in it, so you slide into the middle of the cab to make room for Jimin beside you, carefully arranging the skirt of your short sundress so it covers your bare thighs. 

Jimin stares out the side window as you wait, arms still folded. Even when the driver joins the two of you, he doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. If you’d known all it would take to get Jimin to ignore you was taking charge, you would’ve done this day one. 

The three of you ride in absolute stillness for a few minutes before the tow truck driver clears his throat. “Spring break?” 

“Hmm?” You tear your eyes from the highway to glance at the driver. The light streaming through the window filters through his violet locks, giving him a soft glow. 

“You two on spring break?” 

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Mmm.” A hush falls over the cab after your short answer. You turn back to the windshield, the dotted white lines on the road lulling you into a hypnotic trance, only to startle slightly when something brushes your thigh. Glancing down, you see the driver’s hand on the stick shift, which is currently close enough to your leg that his hand rests against it. 

“Sorry, it gets a little crowded in here with three,” he apologizes, moving his hand. 

“No worries.” You’re transfixed by his arm. Tattoos cover nearly every inch of visible skin, flowing from his bicep all the way down onto the back of his hand, and you realize there’s another sleeve of ink on his other arm as well. And then he catches you staring, and you feel your face heating as he shoots you a quick wink. You snap your head back so quickly, your neck cracks. 

“It’ll be about another ten or fifteen minutes until we reach the shop,” he informs you. “I can turn the radio on, if you’d like?” 

Jimin seems content to continue ignoring the two of you, so you answer. “Sure, thank you, uh…” 

“Jungkook.” 

“Thanks, Jungkook.” 

With another smile, this one softer, his long fingers twist the knob on the console and music fills the air. Again, you find yourself watching his hands as he drives, and it quickly dawns on you just how ridiculously horny you are. 

It’s been weeks since you’ve had the time to go out and get laid. You’re always too busy for anything serious, but lately you’ve also been too occupied to find the time to scratch that particular itch with your usual no-strings hookups. And while your main plans for this week were originally to find some peace and quiet alone, part of you was also hoping to sneak in a few quick trysts in between naps by the pool.

And then Jang-Mi made her request and Jimin glued himself to your side and any hope of getting in even just one good quick fuck went right down the drain. 

So you find yourself gawping at the handsome man whose strong hand keeps flitting against your thigh, and you wonder if he can feel the goosebumps that arise there every time. 

Gnawing on your lip, you wait for the next brush, and when his hand skims against your leg again, you push back. Just a little. 

Jungkook’s eyebrow quirks, a silent confirmation that he felt your touch. His hand glides by again, and this time you watch the stick shift and realize he’s not even changing gears, and you wonder if he even has been this whole time. 

Jimin is still facing away from you, pretending neither of you exist. 

One more touch, and you raise your leg off the seat slightly, nudging harder. You glance at Jungkook’s profile and witness his tongue darting out to lick his lips, catching a brief glimpse of silver on the pink muscle. Another piercing. Your attention is suddenly drawn away by his pinky as it hooks itself under the hem of your skirt, pulling the cottony material up just an inch or so as he draws his hand back. It’s enough to make you nearly gasp as his finger dances up your thigh, tracing patterns into your skin. 

You can feel yourself starting to grow damp and shift slightly in your seat, clamping your legs together. Fuck, you must really be hard up if you’re getting wet from just this. 

Jungkook fiddles with the radio, turning the volume up. He glances at you. “Is this okay?” And then his hand lands on your thigh, bypassing the stick shift completely. To Jimin’s turned back, it would appear that he’s asking about the music. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes focused on the long fingers lightly gripping the soft flesh of your upper leg. His palm is warm, heating you despite the AC blasting throughout the cab, and the contrasting sensation makes you shiver. 

Jungkook slowly slides his hand underneath your skirt. You bite your lip as hard as you can, doing your best to keep your heavy breathing down enough that the music covers you. His gaze never leaves the road, but you glance at Jungkook’s face as his fingers slip between your thighs and graze your underwear, finding how drenched they are, and his eyes widen briefly before he smirks, spider bites glinting as his lips twitch.

“Are you getting close?” Jimin whines, his voice cutting through the air like the annoying squawk of an airhorn, making you jump. Jungkook’s hand is back on the steering wheel before Jimin finishes twisting in his seat. “Has it been fifteen minutes yet?” 

He’s wearing a ridiculously expensive Patek Philippe on his wrist, so there’s no reason he can’t answer that for himself, but you don’t point that out as Jungkook just grins. 

“Shop’s right there,” he indicates with a wave of his hand as the truck turns off the highway. 

The garage is quiet, a few other luxury vehicles scattered about in various states of repair. Once Jungkook finishes detaching the Lamborghini from the tow truck, Jimin immediately corners him. 

“Exactly how long is this going to take?”

Jungkook shrugs. “We gotta run diagnostics first, to see what the issue is. Once we know that, we’ll know how long it’ll take to fix her up.” He pats the hood of the car tenderly. 

Jimin frowns. “And once you know the problem, you’ll start working right away to fix it, right? Or do we have to wait for you to finish the other cars first?” He cranes his neck, scanning the garage’s waiting area. “I don’t see anyone here waiting, so we should get priority, right?” 

“You in a big hurry to get back to your kegger?” Jungkook leans his lanky frame against the Lamborghini’s hood, and Jimin’s eyes narrow.

“Can you please not sit on the car? I just had her waxed!” 

Jungkook raises his hands as he straightens up. “No problem, man. Let me grab my boss and we’ll get going on the diagnostics, okay? He can answer all the other questions you undoubtedly have.” He wanders off towards the garage’s little office as you give Jimin a look. 

“Is that how you usually talk to your mechanic?” 

Jimin squares his shoulders. “Look, sometimes you have to be firm with these people. Otherwise, they’ll walk all over you and charge you twice what they’re worth while they do it.”

Crossing your arms, you just sigh, hoping Jang-Mi is having the time of her life right now with Hoseok. 

When Jungkook returns, he has another unbelievably handsome man in tow, dressed in matching overalls covered in dirt and grease, with thick curls barely restrained by a bandana. As he peers at you with dark, alluring eyes, a thin white stick dangles between his full lips, and he tugs on it slightly, revealing a cherry red lollipop. 

“I’m Taehyung. Welcome to my shop. Jungkook said you had some questions for me,” he says in a calm, clear voice full of bass, and you realize you’re once again gawking as the man breaks eye contact with Jimin long enough to wink at you. It occurs to you that Jungkook might have told him about what the two of you were up to in the tow truck, and you glance away as your neck starts to heat.

Jungkook jerks his thumb towards the waiting area. “You can have a seat in there,” he murmurs to you as Jimin starts firing off questions at Taehyung. “They might be a while.” 

You nod gratefully, happy to slip away from Jimin for a few minutes.

Eventually, he comes to join you. “Well, that was a waste of time. They couldn’t tell me when we can expect to be out of here or what sort of cost I’m looking at or anything.” 

“Mmm,” you reply, not bothering to remind him that they have to run their tests to diagnose the problem first, knowing he won’t listen. “So, should we get a ride out of here…?” You hold up your phone, where you already have your rideshare app open. 

Jimin scoffs. “You want to pay for surge pricing right now? It’s spring break, those companies are all charging triple what they should!” He throws himself into one of the plastic chairs sitting against the wall. “Besides, I don’t want to leave my baby here alone with those two.” 

His baby? Blech. 

“Well, I don’t mind paying for a lift, so I’m just going to head back to the hotel, if that’s okay with you.” 

The pout leveled your way is quite powerful. If you were a weaker woman, you’d be on your knees right now, trying to console Jimin as he gazes at you pitifully. “You’re going to ditch me? First Hoseok, now you?” His lower lip is practically dragging on the ground. “Fine. Just go. You know what, maybe I’ll see if Hoseok and Jang-Mi are done snorkeling yet–maybe Hoseok will come keep me company.” 

As much as you might be annoyed with your roommate, you’re not about to let Jimin cockblock her. Jang-Mi is going to owe you big time when this trip is over. Like, firstborn-big. 

“No, don’t do that,” you sigh. As gracefully as you can, you flop into the seat next to him. “I’ll stay.” 

After thirty-or-so minutes of scrolling on your phone, Jungkook pops his head into the waiting area. “We’ve narrowed it down, if you want to come look.” He strolls away without waiting for an answer, and Jimin follows, and so do you, out of sheer boredom. 

As soon as you reach the car, Taehyung launches into an explanation of the issue. You’re only half-listening, too distracted by the way his rather plush lips form the words as he says them, but you catch that the issue has to do with the clutch. “It’s surprising,” he drawls in his deep voice, “given how few miles you have on her, the clutch mechanism shouldn’t be worn out already, but it’s definitely ground down.” 

“And what would cause that?” Jimin asks.

“Not knowing how the fuck to drive stick,” Jungkook mutters under his breath behind you. You tip your head to catch his eye, and smile at the way his nose wrinkles when he grins back. 

“Could just be that the part was defective to begin with,” Taehyung states, and you marvel at his diplomatic answer. “But the good news is, we have a replacement on hand, and we can definitely get you fixed up today.” 

“How long, and how much?” 

“About two to three hours. As for the cost, here is our estimate.” Taehyung holds out a piece of paper. Jimin snatches it up as his eyebrows disappear beneath his perfectly coiffed hair. 

“Uh. I need to make a phone call.” As he heads towards the shop’s entrance to step outside, you catch the beginning of his conversation. “Hey, Dad, remember when you said I couldn’t have the limit on my credit card raised any more? Well….” 

It’s just you and the two mechanics now. You shift from one foot to the other, hands in the pockets of your skirt, not quite knowing how to make small talk, when Jungkook gently pats the hood of the Lamborghini. 

“It’s a damn shame that this beauty is being wasted on that prick.” He runs a hand along the hood of the car, long fingers skimming lightly over the curve of the metal. “He clearly has no idea what he’s doing with her.”

“No kidding,” Taehyung pipes up. “That clutch is so worn down. I’m not sure how he did that. Ride it constantly, maybe?” 

You snort, unable to suppress a snipe. “With him, it’s more likely that he talked it to death.” 

Taehyung’s smile is slightly boxy and sends a wave of warmth flaring through your body as you share a laugh. Meanwhile, Jungkook giggles delightedly, and for the first time today you feel yourself relax a little, content to be in their company while Jimin is still outside, obviously begging daddy for more money. 

Taehyung wanders around the other side of Jimin’s car. “But you do have a point, Kook. She’s obviously way more than he can manage–I mean, just look at her. You can tell it’s been too long since she was last handled properly.” He sucks on his candy, eyes shining impishly as he peers at you and not the car. “Bet it’s been ages since anything got her motor revving.” 

“Maybe we should take her for a spin, hyung. Really open her up, get her purring.” Jungkook’s looking at you now, too, a knowing grin on his face.

The garage feels a bit stifling all of a sudden, and you wonder if you’re flushing as the two men smirk at you. 

“Do the two of you usually take your, uh, client’s cars out for a ride?”

“We’re professionals. We follow a strict code of conduct.” Taehyung assures you. “We’d never do anything to break our clients’ trust. But…” He caresses the roof of the car as he pops the lollipop out of his mouth. “Sometimes we bend the rules a little, don’t we, Kook?”

“That’s right. And I’m just suggesting we give her what she wants,” Jungkook replies, lowering his ear to the hood. “Can’t you hear that? She’s just dying for someone who knows what they’re doing to take her for a little joyride.” 

“Like I said, we’re professionals.” Taehyung leans over the car, tongue flicking out to recapture the lollipop. His eyes roam over you slowly, like he’s drinking you in inch by inch and savoring every sip. “And we’re not satisfied until everyone is satisfied. So we should give her whatever she wants. Whatever she needs.” 

There’s absolutely no question what they’re talking about now, and the implication has your clit throbbing with need, wetness growing between your thighs again.

Naturally, this is when Jimin reappears. 

“All right. Do what you have to do to get us back on the road.” He holds out his credit card to Taehyung, who nods. Then he pivots on his heel and heads for the waiting area, and once again you’re alone with the two mechanics, but the spell is broken now, and you slink back to the hard plastic chair by Jimin’s side to wait. No matter what you do to distract yourself and pass the time, though, all you can think about is how insanely jealous you are of the Lamborghini, with her hood propped open and two pairs of skillful hands buried deep inside her. 

Nearly three hours later, after you’ve scrolled so far on your phone that you’re sure you’ve hit the end of the internet, the Lamborghini is ready. Jimin is super cranky, so eager to get out of there that he has the car thrown into reverse before you’ve even stepped inside. 

“Thank you,” you say to the mechanics, thanking them for Jimin who barely grunted at them after getting his receipt, but also thanking them for yourself, for making your day a little less shitty than the rest of your week. Sure, it would’ve been even better if either of them had actually taken you for that “joyride” they’d mentioned, but the suggestion alone was enough to lift your spirits, just a bit. 

“You’re welcome,” Taehyung inclines his head. 

“Enjoy your evening,” Jungkook gives you a crooked grin. Both men wave as Jimin peels out of the parking lot, tires screeching loudly. Regret slices through you, a cut that feels like a missed opportunity, a connection denied, but you don’t dwell on it. It seems silly to think too much about what could’ve been. You don’t like to play the “if only” game. 

As you and Jimin rush back to the hotel, you decide you’re going to do something about your unrelenting horniness tonight. Even if you have to bang a server in the bathroom at dinner or fuck someone behind the dumpster at the club afterward, you are going to get laid if it’s the last thing you do. You just have to figure out how to get Jimin off your back for five minutes first. 

Jang-Mi practically floats into your room when she returns from her snorkeling date with Hoseok. She twirls around a few times, humming to herself, stopping when you step out of the bathroom. “Whoa, roomie!” She whistles as you model your dress for her, a short, backless satin halter dress that leaves very little to the imagination. It’s by far the skimpiest piece of clothing you brought with you, something you’d picked up on a whim while shopping for your trip. 

“Is it too much?” you inquire as you study yourself in the mirror on the closet door. 

“Depends. What look are you going for?” 

“I was thinking something along the lines of ‘extremely fuckable.’”

“Oh, you achieved that! I’ll be surprised if you make it to dinner–Jimin’s going to rip that off you the first chance he gets.” Jang-Mi combs through her suitcase, missing the rude face you make at Jimin’s name. 

“I’m not averse to this dress ending up in tatters if it nets me at least one good orgasm. I might explode without one soon.” 

“Says the future doctor.” 

“Shut up. You know what I mean. It’s just been too long since someone else got me off.” 

“Hmmm, can’t relate,” Jang-Mi singsongs as she waltzes into the bathroom. 

“Ohhhh, you mean you two finally…”

“Yep!” Jang-Mi sticks her tongue between her teeth, wiggling it lasciviously. “Hobi and I spent a little time in the shower together at the beach after we were done snorkeling. When I tell you that that man has a strong stroke game, roomie!” she squeals, and the two of you spend the rest of the hour giggling over the sordid details of Hoseok’s impressive skills. By the time you leave for dinner, you’re even more committed to getting your own happy ending, no matter what it takes. 

Of course, the universe does not make it easy for you.

Dinner is a total bust. Somehow the trauma of his poor baby’s breakdown (which he caused) makes Jimin even clingier than usual, and he parks himself at the table close enough to sling an arm over the back of your chair. One might think he’s doing it to seek comfort, but to you it just feels weirdly territorial. All of the waitstaff at the restaurant are too busy meeting the frat boys’ impatient demands for you to attempt to flirt with any of them. Jimin’s obviously not an option, and the only other BTS brothers you’d even consider–the quiet, pink-haired Yoongi or the hilarious, almost-too-handsome-to-be-real Seokjin–are both already sloshed, having pregamed in their hotel room, so they’re both no-gos. 

Somehow, this long fucking day just keeps getting longer, but you’re not giving up. 

After dinner, the party relocates to yet another club. This one blurs together with the others you’ve visited earlier in the week, another cramped room packed full of spring breakers closely gyrating  in the flashing lights. Shots are ordered and you quickly tip yours back before someone orders a second round. It’s when the server returns with the drinks that you glance around and realize you’re basically alone. 

Jimin sits at a table to your left, talking to one of the other BTS brothers–Namjoon, maybe? You’re not entirely certain of his name, since you mainly refer to him as “Sexy Hulk” when talking to Jang-Mi about him. To your right, Yoongi and Seokjin are playing some sort of drinking game that they both appear to be losing, based on how they can’t seem to stand up straight without starting to fall over. Behind you, Hoseok has Jang-Mi pinned to the wall with his tongue down her throat. 

Well, fuck all this. Snatching Hoseok and Jang-Mi’s untouched shots, you down them one-two in rapid succession, then stalk off towards the dance floor. 

As the music swirls around you, you tip your head back, running your fingers over your hair and down your neck. The bass thumps through you, driving all that irritation, all that endless frustration of your horrible trip far, far away. 

All week long, you’ve been holding yourself back, trying to be polite and not cause any trouble for Jang-Mi’s sake. This means you’ve been quieter. Smaller. Less than. But here now, under the strobe lights, surrounded by the crush of bodies losing themselves in the music, you let go. Break free. Arms raised, eyes closed, you give yourself over to the rhythm and surrender to the beat.

A hand brushes lightly over your hip.

Opening your eyes, you twirl in the direction of the glancing touch. A pair of dark eyes gleam at you from a face you never thought you’d see again.

The purple-haired mechanic’s lips twitch at your surprised expression. Gone are his greasy coveralls, replaced by unbelievably tight black jeans and a sheer black shirt, two nipple piercings peering at you through the flimsy material. His hand drops to your side again and this time he grips, bringing you towards him. 

It’s too loud to hear his words, but you know what he’s asking and simply slide your arms around his neck, letting him guide your hips to rock in time with his. He smells like jasmine, and also leather, an unusual combination, delicate and strong all at once, and you shift a little closer as his fingers curl into your dress, sliding it up a little. 

Rolling your body, you grin at the way his breath huffs when your breasts press into his chest. But before you can repeat the movement, he suddenly takes a step back and spins you, pulling you flush against him. As his arm snakes around your waist, his other hand tips your head up so you’re looking straight ahead.

To see the man standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching you both. Wearing a white blazer over a low-cut silk white top, several chains looped around his neck, Taehyung’s untamed dark curls hang in his eyes, but you can still feel the heat of his gaze as he observes you writhing against Jungkook. Another white stick hangs from his lips. 

“Is it okay if Taehyung joins us?” Jungkook breathes in your ear, and you nod emphatically. Oh yes. Please. “Let him know.” 

Raising your hand, you beckon to the other man with a single finger. Come. 

As Jungkook lets go, the older man takes you in his arms smoothly, without missing a beat. He slides a leg between yours and the two of you grind, moving together as one for a few bars before hands on your hips and a solid chest at your back let you know that Jungkook has joined the two of you. 

Hot breath glides down your neck, your cheek. Sweat drips on your arms, your back. Is it yours? Theirs? Who knows. You’re completely ensnared, caught between the two men as you sway to the throbbing beat. Your skin tingles where they touch you, aches where they don’t. You want so badly to stay here, in this song, this moment, for the rest of the night, the trip, your life. With the pulsating music and these two sexy men wrapped around you, you feel so alive.

“Uh, what the fuck?!”

Like a bucket of ice cold water, Jimin’s voice crashes over you, extinguishing the moment. Then his hand clamps around your upper arm, and Jungkook and Taehyung both jump aside as Jimin drags you away.  

“What are you doing?” you shout, yanking your arm out of his surprisingly strong grip once you reach the edge of the dance floor. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses back, glaring. “Out there slutting it up with those two?”

“Excuse me??’” Your jaw nearly scrapes the ground at his response.

“You heard me. All week long, I’ve been buying you dinner and paying for your drinks and dropping ridiculous amounts of money on your frigid little ass, and all I get is a goodnight kiss on the cheek? And then I turn around and see you sandwiched between the help, for God’s sake, just giving it all away for free?!”  

Several partygoers around you gasp as you slap Jimin soundly across the face. He reels, eyes opening wide in shock as his hand flies to his cheek, and you round on your heel and storm through the crowd towards the exit, not slowing when you hear Jimin yell your name. 

The air outside is unexpectedly chilly, and you rub your arms for warmth as you stomp towards the car. The nerve. The nerve of that fucking asshole. He really thought he could just buy you? Throw money at you all week and then, what, you’d fuck him? 

Reaching the Lamborghini, you pause. What exactly is your plan here? You don’t have the keys and even if you did, where would you go? You flick a hand out and touch the roof, expecting an alarm to sound, but nothing happens. Surprising. You’d think Jimin would put an alarm on his “baby.”

Leaning against the car, you drop your head onto your arms. What a fucking disaster of a trip. So much for rest and relaxation. Jang-Mi will be lucky if you ever speak to her again after this. Why didn’t she run out here after you? Oh, right, she probably couldn’t see you with her face suctioned to Hoseok’s. 

Deep breaths. As your heartbeat returns to normal, you hear a small cough, and glance in that direction, towards the back of the club. 

Jungkook lifts his hand in a small wave. He and Taehyung lean against the wall near the fire exit, smoking. Jungkook holds his cigarette out to you, inviting you to join them. 

“You look like you need this,” he says as you approach, and you realize it’s a joint, and yes, yes you do. Taking a hit, you hold it as long as you can, letting it swirl inside you, collecting all your anger, before tilting your face up to exhale it all into the night sky. 

“Thanks.” 

Jungkook nods. 

“Your boyfriend is a dick,” Taehyung announces. Orange embers flare in the shadows as he inhales. 

“Not my fucking boyfriend,” you snarl, taking the joint again. “But he is a dick. A fucking enormous one.” 

Jungkook holds out his hand as Taehyung reaches into his pocket and produces his wallet with a sigh. He slaps a bill into the younger man’s hand. 

“Uh…”

“I told Tae there was no way you were dating that asshole. He didn’t believe me.” 

Even though you don’t really know this man, you’re deeply insulted. “You honestly thought I’d date him?”

Taehyung shrugs. “He’s rich and handsome. That’s all some women want.” 

“Well, that’s not enough for me.” 

“Hmm.” Taehyung finishes the joint, stubbing the end on the brick wall. “What more do you need?” 

You snort. “Anything. Everything. What do you got?”

The flickering light hanging over the fire exit illuminates Taehyung’s face as his eyebrow quirks.

“You’re here on vacation, right?” You nod. “Have you gone for a ride through the city at night?”

“No, my nights have mostly consisted of avoiding Jimin at various dance clubs.” 

Jungkook laughs, the pleasantly high-pitched giggle tugging at the corners of your lips. “I bet that’s a full-time job.” 

“You have no idea.” 

“Well, then it sounds like you could use a break. We could show you around, if you’d like.” Taehyung gestures to himself and Jungkook. “Give you a tour.”

“A tour?” 

“Yeah. You know. Go for a ride.” 

If Jang-Mi were here, she’d tell you not to go. You can hear her now, grousing at you to wake up and snap out of it, insisting that you bid these men, these strangers, goodnight and walk right back into that club. But honestly? You’re tired of always doing what Jang-Mi would want. All week long, you’ve been so worried about making sure she’s having a great time that you’ve sacrificed your own happiness. 

Tonight is about what you want instead. And right now, more than anything, you want to have some fun. 

“Mmmm. That does sound… kinda nice, to be honest.”  Fuck it. “Okay. Let’s go. Which one is your car?”

“This one right here,” Jungkook replies, veering over to the Lamborghini and stroking the roof. 

“Uh.” Both men look at you expectantly. “Very funny. That’s Jimin’s?”

“It sure is. And I think she’s still waiting for that joyride.” Jungkook winks. 

“Riiiight. Are you suggesting we steal his car for this… tour?” you ask, fingers twisting nervously into your skirt. What had Taehyung said earlier, about bending the rules? This is not that. This is breaking them. You’re no saint, but for the most part you’re not a rulebreaker. Grand theft auto is way beyond anything ‘bad’ you’ve done before. 

“We’re just going to borrow her for a little. We’ll bring her back, in perfect condition. But don’t you want to see what she can do in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing?”

“And someone who ‘knows what they’re doing’ - that would be you two, I take it?”

Jungkook reaches forward and pinches your chin in his fingers. You go still at his touch, staring up into his warm doe eyes. “Yeah,” He lowers his face, brushing your mouth with his as he breathes the words, “Want me to show you?” 

Ams wind around your waist, tucking you against him as you kiss. You’re vaguely aware of Taehyung walking away, too focused on Jungkook’s tongue slipping into your mouth. His nipple rings brush against your chest as greedy hands slide down your bare back and grip your ass tightly, and he swallows the shocked yelp you utter. Strong fingers caress your flesh, holding you close, and you lose yourself in him, arousal pooling in your belly again. 

Until a strange jingling sound catches your attention. Taehyung slides a thin metal tool into the passenger’s side door of the Lamborghini. After jimmying the rod a few times, the locks spring open. 

Jungkook immediately opens the driver’s side door and jumps in while Taehyung leans over the roof. “You in?”

“Are you okay to drive?” you question Jungkook.  

“I don’t drink,” he answers. “Just had a few hits. I’m fine to drive.” 

“I promise you, he’s fine,” Taehyung adds. “I wouldn’t get into a car with him otherwise.”

Again, both men look at you, waiting. 

Nibbling on your lower lip, you contemplate for a minute what you’re doing. Stealing Jimin’s car and riding away with two near-strangers, slightly high and slightly drunk, to go god knows where and do god knows what. 

Finally, this vacation is looking up. 

“Fuck it, let’s go.” 

The smile on Jungkook’s face is electrifying, as he dips his head beneath the steering wheel, popping a panel open and hurriedly twisting a few wires together. The engine roars to life. 

Taehyung climbs into the passenger’s seat and spreads his long legs. He glances at you, patting his lap. “Come on.” 

Carefully, you fold yourself into the car. Your legs fit between his, back against his chest, ass firmly on his crotch. He wraps the seat belt around you both before his arms do the same.

“Safety first,” he chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through you. 

Jungkook flips on the headlights, and smoothly backs the car out of the parking space. Before he shifts into drive, he presses the button to lower the roof, opening the cab up to the heavens above. 

“Ready?” he asks.  

You nod.

He revs the engine once, twice, and then steps on the accelerator.

The air whips through the car as the three of you burn down the highway. Tilting your head back, you watch the stars zoom by, tiny specks of light blurring into streaks as Jungkook presses the pedal into the floor. He lets out a joyful whoop, and you can’t help but laugh, elation coursing through you. It’s exhilarating. 

The city is awash in neon lights as you race past soaring skyscrapers and imposing high rises. Jungkook is an amazing driver, handling the road so gracefully, one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick shift. This time, after he switches gears, he doesn’t lightly brush your leg, he firmly clutches it, giving your thigh a tight squeeze that has you yearning for more. 

Taehyung says something, but the wind carries his words away, so Jungkook flips the roof shut. 

“What was that?” 

“I was just asking if you were enjoying the ride.” 

You twist slightly, looking back and up at him. “This is easily the highlight of my day. My whole week, actually.” 

“Is that so? As happy as I am to hear that, I can’t help but feel it’s a fucking shame. And I’m guessing no one’s been taking care of you all week.” One of his arms is still wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against him, while the other has drifted down, resting on your knee. You can’t help but stare at his fingers like you did Jungkook’s. Taehyung’s are longer, you note, observing the way they tap on your skin like he’s drumming along to a song only he can hear.

“What makes you say that?”

“Kook told me how excited you were in the truck today. He said he barely touched you.” 

Shit, you knew he’d said something!

“He did, did he?” You cast a glance at the man driving the car, and he has the audacity to smile and nod. 

“I did, baby. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” Normally, having a man you barely know call you “baby” would set your teeth on edge, but the word drips so sweetly from Jungkook’s mouth that you don’t mind at all. “But to tell you the truth, what I’m really sorry about is that I didn’t get to slip my fingers in before that asshole interrupted us.” His eyes flit back to the road as he licks his lips. “I just wanted a little taste.” 

“Fuck,” you murmur quietly, rubbing your thighs together, suddenly in need of some friction. Wherever this ride is going, it needs to arrive soon or you might actually implode. A little louder, you proclaim, “Oh, god, please don’t mention that man. I don’t want to think about that jerk at all right now.” Both men snicker, simultaneously squeezing your knees. 

“How’d you end up with that guy, anyway?” Taehyung inquires. 

“Pretty sure I’m cursed,” you quip. “My roommate and I were given a free room for spring break, but it turned out to be some sort of monkey’s paw situation. The unspoken cost was having to put up with that fucker all week. But I’m the one left suffering while my roommate is having the time of her life with the guy she likes.” 

“Mmm, poor baby. You’re free of that douchebag now. We’ll do our best to make sure you have a good time tonight, okay?” Taehyung’s breath hits the back of your neck as he speaks. He’s so tantalizingly close, but not as close as you want him, so you decide to make it clear to him that you want more. That you’re here for that good time, nothing more, nothing less.

Rocking your hips slightly, you press your ass more firmly into Taehyung’s lap, smiling to yourself as you hear him hiss slightly. The fingers wrapped around your side grip you a little tighter.

Downtown shines in the rearview mirror as Jungkook takes the car out on the open road, away from the city. Here, he’s able to push the limits of the engine’s power, and you watch as the needle on the speedometer climbs and climbs as he deftly weaves the sports car down the highway, flying past tourists and townies alike out enjoying the gorgeous summer evening. 

“So… where are you taking me?” Your voice is casual, relaxed, belying the tension coiling in your belly as you shift in Taehyung’s grasp, still slowly grinding against him. 

Jungkook and Taehyung exchange a look. “Somewhere scenic, where you can really enjoy all the beauty tonight has to offer you,” Jungkook states, letting his hand drop to your thigh again.

“Somewhere private,” Taehyung adds. “So you can… indulge yourself in what we have to offer you.” Until now, your hands have been in your lap, clutching the hem of your skirt, but you’re struck by the urge to feel him, so you place one hand on his arm where he holds you, and let the other fall onto his thigh. His leg is so solid and strong underneath you. 

It’s been too long since you’ve touched and been touched like this, and you don’t want to wait to reach whatever destination you’re cruising towards to get more. 

“And what exactly are you offering me?” you ask, still shamelessly rubbing your ass into Taehyung’s crotch. 

His lips skim your ear. “Anything. Everything. What do you want?”

Turning your head, you demand, “Touch me,” before his mouth captures yours. He steals your breath away with his kiss, tongue poking and prodding at your lips before slipping inside to tangle with yours. Then he obeys your command, fingers disappearing beneath your skirt as you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Oh, naughty girl,” Taehyung groans as he traces along your sodden folds, “you forgot to wear panties tonight, huh?” 

“Didn’t forget,” you practically pant as he dips a finger into your slit, sliding all the way in. “Didn’t want to wear them.” 

“And why was that?” He crooks his finger just so, and you keen.

“Ahhh! So… so…” 

“So someone could do this?” 

Taehyung’s long fingers feel like they were made for your cunt, the perfect width to scissor you apart as he slides a second one inside, the perfect length to find that sweet spot on your inner wall that makes you see stars. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” you praise him, digging your fingers into the meat of his thighs, causing Taehyung to curse into the back of your head. 

“She’s so fucking wet, Kook. Like you said she was earlier. She’s gonna make such a mess all over this leather seat,” Taehyung tuts as he fucks you with his fingers, pumping them in and out rapidly. All you can do is take it, mouth falling open in ecstasy. 

“Is that so?” Jungkook’s hand suddenly lands on your inner thigh, tracing through the slickness there. “Ah, shit, you weren’t kidding, hyung.” His index finger circles your clit before withdrawing. You watch him suck the digit into his mouth. “Shit, she’s so sweet. Like honey.” 

“Oh fuck,” you shudder, watching as Jungkook palms himself through his pants. Then you gasp helplessly as Taehyung adds a third finger, stretching you even more. “Taehyung! Fuck!”

“You like that? Hmm? Poor baby, just needed someone to touch her like this.” His tongue snakes down the side of your neck, hot and wet. The sensation sends goosebumps rippling down your bare arms. “Am I making you feel good?”

“So good!” You’re rapidly falling apart, humping his hand, hips jerking forward to try to get him deeper. “Fuck, so good.” 

Taehyung is hard beneath you, his cock poking sharply into your ass, the sensation making you even wetter than his plunging fingers, so you slide forward a little and reach behind you to unzip him.

“Baby, what are you…?” he rasps brokenly into your ear as you quickly free him from his pants and wrap your fingers around his length, stroking without hesitation. His tip is slick already from his excitement. “Fuck!”

“Are you… do you have…” You can barely choke out the words as his hand withdraws from your core. 

“I’m clean. Are you…?”

“Clean. On… on pill…” With his hand no longer working its ministrations between your legs, you’re nearly out of your mind with need, so you roll your hips back and position his cock so it drags through your soaking folds. He hisses at the way you drench his length, his forehead pressing into the back of your head as he bucks against you. 

“Fuck, are you two about to–”

“Yes!” You and Taehyung shout in unison, cutting Jungkook off. He just huffs out a loud laugh and steps on the accelerator. As the car shoots forward again, easily zipping around the other vehicles on the bridge, you feel Taehyung’s head breach your lower lips. 

“Oh god damn,” you moan, sinking down onto him. He’s not the biggest man you’ve ever fucked, but he is the thickest, filling you in a way you’ve never been filled before. Your toes literally curl as he rubs against your walls. “Taehyung.” 

“That’s right, baby. Say my name.” His thighs slap against yours as he thrusts up into you, hands gripping your waist to hold you in place as he pounds away. “Fucking sing it, baby, such a pretty voice!”

The car fills with your wanton mewling as Taehyung fucks you. Jungkook has one hand on the wheel again as the other rubs at his crotch, and you can’t resist reaching out. His cry of surprise becomes a shaky groan as you pet him through his tight pants. You’d love to help him out, but given the crazy fast speed that you’re currently hurtling along at, that would probably be a really bad idea right now.  

Jungkook must have had a similar thought, because he turns off the highway and brings the car to a smooth stop in an empty lot. A sign enlightens you that you’re at a beach, and that’s as much as you’re able to comprehend in your current state, having your brains fucked out by the sexy man underneath you. 

As soon as the car is parked, Jungkook unzips his pants with trembling hands and pulls his cock out. A flash of silver catches your eye.

“What, ah, ah, is that?”

Jungkook’s tattooed hand is stroking his long shaft furiously, but he stops at your question, running his thumb over the engorged head. He flicks at the piercing, a barbell sticking out of the top and bottom sides of the head. “It’s called an apadravya piercing.” He reclines back against the seat as he watches you and Taehyung fucking, starting to jerk himself off again. The warmth in his eyes has flamed into full-blown lust. “I’m pierced for your pleasure, baby.” 

“Ah!” You squeal as Taehyung gives a particularly hard thrust. “I wanna know, ah, what it feels like!”

“Don’t worry.” His hand moves so swiftly as he concentrates on the way your tits jiggle under your dress. “You’ll find out.”  

“Ah!” you shout again, this time because Taehyung has pinched one of your nipples. 

“You can focus on him all you want later, baby. Right now, focus on me,” he rasps, pinching your other nipple. “I wanna feel this pussy choke my cock.”

“Fuck!”

Rolling your hips, you take him as deep as you can, and Taehyung growls, one hand digging into the flesh of your side as the other tugs at the knot of your halter. The silky fabric spills down your torso, exposing your breasts. Taehyung’s free hand gropes your right breast as Jungkook reaches across the console and kneads the left. Jungkook’s touch is tender, almost reverential, while Taehyung’s is rough and desperate, and somehow it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

Taehyung’s mouth latches onto your neck, sucking away, and you thread your fingers through his dark hair, holding him in place, urging him to nip harder, to bite and leave his mark. 

“Ah, Taehyung, ‘m so close! Harder, please, fuck, harder!”

With no hesitation, Taehyung’s hands fly to your hips again and he holds you as he pumps into you. Your cries of delight turn to pain as your head smacks into the ceiling of the cab. “Ow! Fuck!” 

The roof suddenly opens, and you shoot Jungkook a grateful smile before Taehyung resumes his thrusting, bouncing you freely now that there’s nothing hanging over you to stop him. As Jungkook’s free hand finds the sensitive nub between your legs, you let your head fall back onto Taehyung’s shoulder, staring into Jungkook’s hooded eyes as he cums, white lines crisscrossing the black ink on his hand. He doesn’t stop strumming your clit, and soon you’re wailing both their names as you’re swept away by your orgasm. 

A moment later, Taehyung clutches wildly at your breasts as he nears his peak. “I’m gonna cum, baby, can I fill you up?”

“God, yes,” you nearly beg, and he lets out a desperate cry as he climaxes, and then there’s nothing but panting and the scent of sex swirling around the tiny cabin of the Lamborghini and out into the starlight. 

“Goddamn,” Taehyung finally sighs, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Mmmhmm,” you hum, twisting to brush your lips along his jawline. He places a large palm on the side of your face and pulls you in for a proper kiss. 

“Me next,” Jungkook insists, a tiny whine in his voice, and you turn back to the purple-haired driver, smiling into his lips as he kisses you needily. 

The sound of waves crashing on the shore calls to you. 

“Can we go down there?” 

“Sure thing, baby.” 

After clumsily disentangling yourself from Taehyung, the three of you walk down to the beach together. You leave your heels in the car, letting your bare feet dig into the still warm sand as you cross the dunes to the ocean below. 

A cool breeze kicks up, sending your skirt fluttering as you walk along the edge of the water. You take a deep breath, listening to the swell of the waves as they break over and over, and for just a minute, your eyes slip shut as a surge of peaceful contentment ripples through you. 

Free. Standing on the shore, water swirling around your legs as you inhale the salty air, you feel so free. 

Then you turn and look at the two men next to you. 

“Come here.” You raise your hand and motion to Jungkook, who steps forward to embrace you ardently. His kiss hits like a tidal wave, slamming into you, knocking you off your feet. He catches you, arms slipping behind your knees, and you wrap your legs around him as he carries you towards a pavilion a few yards away. 

Taehyung follows, and as Jungkook lays you on your back on a table, the older man kneels on the bench beside it, stooping to kiss you as his hands find the new knot around your neck and loosen your dress again. His mouth trails hungrily down your neck and into the valley of your breasts, and as he flicks his tongue over a nipple, waking the bud, you feel another tongue lapping at your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his soft hair, holding it back from his face so you can watch him watching you as he works. He flattens his tongue against your clit, the small silver metal bead of his piercing pressing against you just right, and you feel like you’re being dragged in the undertow, losing all sense of self, only perceiving the wetness on your breasts and your cunt, the tongues and lips and fingers working together to pull you under again. 

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Jungkook asks, licking his lips as he slips a finger inside you, then a second one. You’re still soaking, or maybe you’re wet again, you’re not sure, but he meets no resistance as you roll your head back with a moan. “Yeah, I think you’re ready.” He stands and pulls his sheer shirt over his head before sliding his tight jeans off. Completely naked, completely shameless, he stands in front of your spread legs, stroking his hard cock as you admire his beautiful body, golden skin covered in ink and metal sparkling in the light of the moon. 

Taehyung climbs onto the table, motioning for you to sit up. He cradles you, one thigh on either side of yours, hands massaging your arms. You press your back into his chest and tilt your head up to kiss him as Jungkook rubs the head of his penis over your slit, coating himself in your arousal. 

“Will I feel that?” you ask him, nodding towards his piercing. 

Jungkook grins. “That’s kinda the whole point of it,” he informs you as he slides in. 

“Oh, fuck,” you groan happily as he enters you slowly, just the tip, then a little more, languidly plunging in and out. 

“Shit, you feel so good.” His head falls forward, mouth agape as he watches himself disappear into your welcoming heat. “So wet, so tight.” 

He suddenly grabs your thighs, pulling you down the metal table further, and thrusts until his pelvis is flush with yours. You wail in surprise and pleasure as his piercing hits your g-spot. 

“Oh, Jesus!” 

“No,” Jungkook says, thrusting again, and again, faster and faster, “Jungkook.” 

Taehyung’s tongue finds its way into your mouth as his fingers rove over your breasts, tweaking your nipples just as hard as he did in the car. His touch is harsh, callused hands rough on your smooth skin, and he holds you upright as Jungkook fucks you.

“Ah, ah, ah!” 

Jungkook’s fingernails dig in as he grasps your thighs, keeping your lower half in place while he ruts into you. Again and again he hits that spot inside you, an intense expression on his face, hell-bent on making sure you’re enjoying every move he makes. 

Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickles down your chest, and Taehyung collects it with his fingers, brings it to his lips. “Fuck, I just want to run my tongue all over you,” he declares, demonstrating by bringing one of your hands to his mouth and sucking your fingertips one-by-one as you nearly sob.

The nonstop jackhammering at your g-spot overwhelms you, leaves you endlessly moaning, and Taehyung drops a hand to your clit, rolling it between his fingers, and you know your end is coming. 

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook pants, “tell me, are you feeling it?”

“Fuck, oh god, I feel it, I feel it!” you babble, head nuzzling into Taehyung’s neck as you totally let go, every muscle in your body relaxing as you let him completely support you, every muscle except the ones in your core, which are so tight tight tight–

“Oh f-fuck!” Jungkook stammered, hips jerking erratically. “I feel you, holy shit, come on, baby, cum for me!”

Intense, white hot ecstasy rips through you with every stroke. Your orgasm floods your body, drowning your senses, driving everything out of your head except for the words you hear but don’t realize you’re chanting, two names, over and over. Jungkook continues to pump away, but his rhythm gets sloppier and sloppier as you clench around him, until he finally succumbs to his own end, cock spurting hot inside you. 

You melt into Taehyung, who brushes your face with soft kisses, a tender gesture that surprises you as much as it pleases you. Jungkook releases your legs, collapsing forward, and Taehyung scoots backwards, bringing you with him, making room for the younger man to join the two of you on the table. Sandwiched between them, you inhale deeply, breathing in their musly scents. 

Bliss. You feel absolute bliss at this moment. Nothing but pure joy. 

After a few minutes of lying this way, music drifts over the dunes, stirring you from your reverie. Faint, but familiar, the tune repeats itself, and you sit up with a jolt, disturbing both men, who grunt grumpily in tandem. 

“Fuck, that’s my phone!”

It was a random BTS groupie, wanting to know which club you were at, or were supposed to be at, anyway, and your panic subsides, but only slightly. Jang-Mi clearly hasn’t noticed you’re missing, and Jimin hasn’t realized his car is gone, but the longer you’re away, the greater the risk you’ll get caught. With a heavy sigh, you turn to the two mechanics. 

“Time to go.” 

A block away from the club, you suddenly grab Jungkook’s arm. “Don’t park at the club. Stop there.” You point to a restaurant. 

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, arms once again locked around your waist. 

You nod as Jungkook guides the car into the parking lot. “I’m fine. Listen.” Swiveling, you sit sideways in his lap so you can face them both while you speak. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble, in case someone sees us getting back. So you walk from here, and I’ll drive it back.” You don’t care if Jimin finds you driving his car–after the way he spoke to you tonight, you’re kind of itching for another confrontation. But you don’t want these two to get caught, knowing Jimin won’t hesitate to call the cops on them.  

“You can drive stick?” Jungkook asks.

You can’t help the grin that spreads over your face. “Of course I can.” 

As soon as he’s out of the car, Taehyung grabs your hip, tugging you to his chest. “Take care of yourself,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. 

“I will. And thank you, for tonight.” 

“You had a good time?” 

Nodding emphatically, you smile. “The best.” 

You feel Jungkook behind you, and as the older man releases you, you spin and fall into Jungkook’s embrace as his lips dance with yours. “Good night, baby.”

Jimin is not outside the club when you park the Lamborghini, and you huff a sigh of relief. Inside the club, Jang-Mi and Hoseok grind on the dance floor, still completely oblivious to the world around them, and you find Jimin slumped over a table, snoring obnoxiously.

“Some men just can’t hold their liquor,” Seokjin mutters disdainfully as he joins you. He’s tilting pretty severely to one side, but he’s still awake and coherent, so you give him that much credit. He catches your wide grin. “I don’t think I’ve seen you look this happy all week. What’s–what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, tapping on your phone to call a rideshare. In your hand is a business card that Taehyung slipped you when you said your goodbyes. You still have a few days of vacation left. It might come in handy. “Just found my joy.”

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist: @babycoffeefire @parkdatjimin @reliablemitten @yuugehn @ut-dixisti @hesperantha @seokjinger-ale @bangtanintotheroom @taeshuworld @nch327 @hannahbee12719ficrecs @7minsuga96 @dvalitaes @wonieclub @thatlongspringnight @miscelunaaa @acquiescence804 @itsirisz @velvetskize @starbtslove @ajw05

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