#bangtanheadquarters

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Lunar Violence (jjk)

Summary: You’re not a big fan of your best friend’s favorite band, Lunar Violence. Their werewolf gimmick makes you roll your eyes, even if the music isn’t too bad. When she drags you to a concert just as the blood moon rises, though, everything changes.

Warnings: werewolf sex, possessive behavior, choking, knotting, marking, heats and ruts so whatever consent issues you feel are within that realm, unrpotected sex, werewolf dick, abo dynamics

Word Count:7445

Rating: Explicit

You're not normally a fan of gimmicks, particularly with your music. So when your best friend begs you for a solid week to go with her to this concert, you're wary when you do a simple Google search.

Lunar Violence might be the dumbest fucking name for a band you've ever heard, but they certainly seem like they're going for a certain vibe. You'd definitely have been into it when you were a teen, the fake fangs, the facial piercings and torn leather pants, the howling they do at the ends of some of their songs.

The music itself isn't bad, the lead singer is stupid hot and has a smooth low tenor and bedroom eyes. 

You flip through only a few of the member pictures before making a decision based on the fact that they're good eye candy, at least.

Your friend Jia jumps up and down excitedly when you tell her and shows you the signs she's made. She's got a thing for the one they call Happy, a lean bassist who has a bright smile and a sexy glare.

"What are with these names? The seven dwarfs? I think they're mixing metaphors."

Jia snorts. "They call the drummer Baby because he's the youngest. It’s not that dumb and the music is really good, you’ll love it, I promise!"

"This is so dumb. You owe me."

"If I get close enough to Happy to make eye contact I'm gonna make him mine and then I'll give you anything you want." Jia says determinedly.

It’s a few weeks before the concert, so you find yourself listening to a few albums and actually getting pretty excited about it. It should be a fun time, get you away from the stress of your every day life, at the least.

You had no way of knowing that the night of the concert would complicate your life tenfold.

“Do we always have to schedule concerts around rutting season?” Namjoon whines after hitting yet another wrong chord on his guitar.

“It’s the best part about this job!” Hoseok grins.

“I can’t fucking concentrate being horny all the time, I agree with Joon,” Yoongi agrees, banging his forehead down on the keyboard.

“Should have called you Horny rather than Lucky,” Seokjin snorts, and Hoseok laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his bass guitar.

Jungkook watches them with a fond smile on his face, his brothers. Not by blood, of course but being the only werewolves in the city made them have an instant connection and camaraderie, and they’d created a pack pretty quickly. The music had come later, they’d all been interested in it, all had some talent and all been blessed with good looks, and after that it was only a matter of who did what and stage names.

Kim Seokjin, with his regal looks and sharp jaw: Prince.

Min Yoongi, with the scar over his left eye he’d gotten scrapping with a grey wolf in the woods behind his house in Daegu as a pup: Lucky.

Jung Hoseok with his easy smile and eager nature: Happy.

Kim Namjoon, always so serious and intelligent: Beethoven. 

Park Jimin, with his pretty face and sneaky smirk: Sly.

Kim Taehyung with his sweet nature and affectionate personality: Honey.

Finally, Jeon Jungkook, because he'd been barely old enough to breed when they'd met: Baby.

"Baby hasn't had his first rut yet, yeah?" It's Jimin, smirking, always giving Jungkook grief about something. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes and chucks a drumstick at him but it's no use, Jimin catching it in one band and twirling it like a goddamn baton. Jungkook would say Jimin was graceful if he hadn't seen him fall off about a dozen barstools and half a dozen stages, sober even for the latter.

“Kinda late, isn’t it?” Seokjin speaks up, and Jungkook knows he’s teasing but it stings a little, nonetheless. 

“He’s only just turned 23. You were two weeks from your 23rd before you ever popped a knot, hyung, or have you forgotten?” Namjoon snarks, and Jungkook snickers as Seokjin makes a face, that vein on his neck pulsing just a bit.

He shouldn’t laugh, they’re just as likely to come to blows during the beginning of a rut and in a full moon cycle, but he can’t help himself

Yoongi, as usual, manages to keep the peace by offering to order pizza and foot the bill, a truly saintlike act since they could go through a pizza each, as hot as their temperature would be running by now.

Jungkook doesn’t say that he’s had a knot for two years now, the very thought of his hyungs knowing that makes him blush so much he hides it by wiping his face with a towel, pretending to have been sweating. 

Truly, he should have had a rut by now, triggered by all the pheromones' from the shows they’d been doing, this tour had been particularly rough due to the upcoming blood moon, at least for all the other boys, and it isn’t as if Jungkook hasn’t mated, of course, but a full rut? Not even the hint of it. It worries him, but Namjoon keeps assuring him that everyone gets there in time, people are just different.

Taehyung had been a late bloomer himself, not starting his first rut until he met and fell in love with his girlfriend, a short feisty redhead he’d met after a hand injury from stringing his bass guitar and slicing his palm open. She’d been a nurse who scolded him for not coming in sooner and it’d been almost instant, her green eyes triggering every wolf thing about him, or at least that’s how he tells it, all wide eyed and dreamy.

She’s a near constant in Taehyung’s hotel rooms now, sometimes riding along on the tour bus, but he doesn’t let her into anymore of the concerts even when she pouts, because human mates around a group of wolves around rutting season can be a dangerous time.

Taehyung is one of the gentlest wolves Jungkook knows, but he’d seen him snarl when Yoongi so much as winked at the redhead near a rut, so it’s probably for the best.

Anyway, Jungkook wasn’t worried (much). He’d find his true mate eventually, but probably not at a concert. Maybe he’d start his rut there, at least, around the full moon. He’d never have imagined that he’d find both.

The crowd is nice enough, although they seem a little feral. Some of these girls have signs that should be x rated, but you're not one to judge, especially since you've never actually….done anything too x-rated. 

You feel a little strange when you enter the concert venue and you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shrug and blame it on the strong drink your friend had made you chug before you entered since she couldn’t finish it all herself.

It’s like there’s something living under your skin, some rush like heat, and it  makes you feel antsy, ready to dance along to the music or at least laugh at your friend losing her mind next to you.

There’s a lot of gimmick to the concert and it’s bright and dark at the same time near the stage. You’d swear you’d seen the guitarist strum with no pick, with a sharp claw instead, but you’re sure it’s makeup, part of the show. They’re wearing contacts, too, you’re pretty sure, and the music is good, your friend isn’t wrong.

The song you’d heard that you’d like is actually their encore song, heavy on the bass and drums, and the lead singer even makes your skin feel hot a little when he makes eye contact and winks at you. The last solo the lights come down on the drummer, he’s on the back stage so all you can see is his long hair bouncing, the flex of his admittedly impressive biceps as he finishes the song.

You’ve been jumping up and down and singing along so much that you’re sweating and feeling a bit dizzy, so you drag your friend out the back alley while she’s still swooning, having gotten a direct smile from her favorite bassist.

“Did you see him? He looked right at me! We’re in love, Y/n. Do you want to be my maid of honor?” She’s babbling when you hear the click of a lighter next to you.

There’s people milling about, it wasn’t exactly a sold out show but there was a decent crowd, and people are now piling into the bar next door.

“Did you like the show?” 

When you turn your head you’re shocked to see that it’s the lead singer, a couple strands of his silver hair falling over his eye as he smiles at you.

“Oh. Oh, yes, I liked it very...very much,” you stammer. He’s even more handsome up close. Those are some really good contacts, you can’t tell they aren’t real at all, even though surely no one’s eyes are a violet color like that.

“Sly!” Your friend screams, and you jolt forward, surprised.

The singer’s hand lights on your shoulder and you look down. You have time to think that they must make great money for these expensive special effects because they sure do look like claws before your friend rushes past you, yelling because Happy had come out the back with the rest of the band.

There’s no mob or anything, maybe a dozen people other than you and Jia, but it makes you a bit anxious nonetheless, especially since you’re still feeling just as antsy, hot and dizzy as you were before.

It might be worse, actually, as you stand outside in the moonlight.

“Sly’s just my stage name.” His voice sounds softer, closer to your ear as he leans in. “You can call me Jimin.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, unused to feeling this way. You’re usually more outgoing, talkative, but it feels so strange. You find yourself looking up at the sky as if looking for the moon.

It’s better, once you’re inside the bar, there’s not as much of a crowd and you’re sitting at a big table with Sly...Jimin, you remind yourself, and Jia and Happy, who seems to fit his name well, laughing open and loud with your best friend as if they’ve known each other forever.

After a few hours and a couple of drinks you’ve lost most of that antsy feeling since being indoors, and you and Jimin vibe well, becoming fast friends. You’re both flirty and talkative after getting to know each other, and your mood is lifted from the concert, the alcohol, and the socialization.

You even laugh about calling their gimmick dumb as they dodge questions about where they get their makeup and accessories. You assume it’s some kind of sponsorship situation or contract, not thinking much of it.

You manage to excuse yourself long enough to look for the bathroom, although Jia abandons you since she’s made her way into Happy’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and with a blissful smile you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on her.

There’s someone standing in the hall and it’s a narrow hallway and he’s pretty wide from the back so you stumble a little when you turn, placing a hand on the wall.

“Oh, excuse me!” You say, brightly, but when he turns you gasp, a little surprised by the bright red of his eyes before you realize it’s another member of Lunar Violence.

“Hello,” he says, quietly with a little smile and he has these prominent front teeth that are pretty cute, make him look a lot less intimidating, despite those contacts and an eyebrow piercing and his size.

“Oh, hello! You’re…”

“Baby,” he blurts, and it makes you giggle.

You feel a little tipsier than you’d realized, and you guess it must be since you’ve been sitting down for an hour or so and just gotten up.

He puts a hand over his face, embarrassed. “My name is Jungkook,” he explains. “I’m the drummer?”

It’s cute how his voice pitches up into a question, as if you wouldn’t recognize him. He’s definitely a bit more modest than the other two members you’d met, with Jimin and Happy (who you’d just learned also goes by Hoseoki), bragging about tours and performances. 

“Pretty big for a baby,” you tease, and he makes an embarrassed sound in the back of his throat.

“I keep trying to get them to let me change it,” he mutters.

You introduce yourself and he smiles again, and his eyes aren’t as red as you’d thought at first, anyway, maybe it’s just the light. You brush past him as you continue to the bathroom after excusing yourself, and it’s a little zing through you, like static electricity.

It takes you longer in the bathroom than it usually would, that last drink really must have packed a punch, and when you return to the table Jungkook is sitting there, too, next to your empty chair. Jimin looks a little sullen and pouty, but he smiles at you, those violet eyes crinkling up at the corners, and you give him a bright smile back.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is all energy, jiggling his leg and tapping his fingers on the table and Hoseok seems to be watching him intently.

The atmosphere in general seems to have changed, and after exchanging numbers with everyone with the urging of Jia, you two excuse yourself.

The three men walk you outside and Jimin is close while Jungkook hangs back. You imagine Jimin is so close since you mentioned feeling a bit dizzy and he asks you twice if he can call you a car but you tell him that the fresh air will do you good.

It’s funny, the moonlight seems to energize you a bit. When Jimin leans in to kiss you on the cheek, you jump a little at a sound behind you, something like a bark.

Jimin jolts back a little, eyes widening, and you both laugh at your nerves.

“Stray dog,” you remark, and Jimin snorts.

“Something like that.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “So what exactly the fuck happened after I left?”

Jimin is sullen on the couch, arms crossed over his chest with a busted lip and Jungkook is sitting next to Hoseok on the floor on the other side of the hotel room with tissue up his nose, Hoseok tilting his head back.

“Baby is about to go into rut,” Taehyung sings, laughing, his girlfriend draped over him on the bed drowsily, his teeth marks littering her neck and throat.

“Don’t,” Yoongi warns. “Everyone’s just wound up. Full moon is in two days, after all, cut him some slack.”

“Sees one girl he likes and suddenly no one else can talk to her,” Jimin complains, gingerly working his tongue across his lip ring to see if it’s torn.

“You tried to kiss her,” Jungkook growls, and Hoseok pushes on his chest to keep him from getting up.

Jungkook can’t explain why his wolf wanted to rip Jimin’s throat out when he leaned in to kiss you, he’d just met you, didn’t even know your last name, but it was visceral, sudden, something crawling up his throat. He’d almost moved forward to do it before Hoseok said his name, sharply.

“We all get a little possessive about potential mates around the full moon,” Namjoon reasons. “But that’s not the way to handle it, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hangs his head and removes the tissue from his nose with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looks over at Jimin but he means it for Namjoon. He’s still bitter, somehow, about Jimin’s hand on your lower back, his lips brushing your cheek. It makes his head feel fuzzy, his guts roll.

Namjoon, on the other hand, had been the one to “discover” Jungkook, back when he had no idea why his eyes were starting to change color with the moon cycles or why his nails grew out like claws. He’d started learning percussion just to get rid of some of the energy he had around those times, and he’d been 17 when Namjoon approached him in a music store when Jungkook was looking into buying cymbals. 

Jungkook had been abandoned when he was a baby, adopted at four years old and he had no idea about his wolf lineage, or even that they existed, until Namjoon explained it to him.

“Jungkook doesn’t know his lineage,” Namjoon reminds them all. “He might just be presenting as an alpha, that’s a lot around the full moon, Jimin, you remember.”

Jimin grumbles something under his breath and Jungkook has to take a deep breath through his nostrils, smelling iron from their scuffle earlier, in order not to lunge across the room and hit him again.

Eventually, Jungkook has to move to his own room despite usually bunking with Jimin, and he finds himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. He keeps seeing your bright smile, your curls bouncing around as you talked and laughed, mostly at Jimin, and it makes him stiffen to think of how Jimin had met you first.

Why did it matter, anyway? You’re just a person, just like he is, just a girl, and he doesn’t have the best track record with talking to girls, anyway. You’d been in the front row, with your friend who Hoseok had gotten so smiley about, he’d seen you just before he started his set, his vision clearer around the full moon.

The others laughed at him for how he talked about “the wolf,” as if it wasn’t a part of him, as if it wasn’t who he was, but that’s how it had always felt. He just hadn’t had a name for it until he’d met Namjoon. It was like this thing, inside him, this beast, something that clawed and scratched to get out.

Seokjin keeps telling him that he’s fighting the wolf, that’s why he hasn’t gone into rut or popped his knot, that’s why he feels so achy and fidgety around the moon cycles, that’s why he hasn’t shifted. Namjoon would always respond there was no way to know that but Seokjin just rolled his eyes.

“Aish, I’m your hyung, listen to me. I fought mine, too, when I was young, and when I shifted I broke a few bones. You should give in, let it ride in the front seat once in a while.”

Jungkook had nodded at the time but now, he doesn’t know how to do that. Drumming helped, it was a lot of work and energy expelled and it felt like he could let him out, the wolf, just a little. It’s why he’d gotten so big, staying active and lifting weights was something the wolf liked.

The wolf came sometimes when he masturbated, too, when he’d feel particularly worked up around the full moon, after a concert, sweaty and rolling his hips into his hand.

When he tries it after meeting you, he can’t even finish, ending up panting and sore, the wolf still snarling over the memory of Jimin’s lips barely brushing across your cheek.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Jungkook who texts you first. Wanna go for a drink?

You’re not sure whether to say yes at first, you’ve been feeling so strange. You can barely sleep, your skin feeling hot, as if you’d burned yourself with a too hot shower. You think about that night at the concert a lot, Jimin’s violet eyes, Jungkook’s almost red ones, how odd you’d felt.

You would have talked to Jia about it but she’s been abducted by the werewolf band, apparently, you’ve barely seen her in a week and when you had she’d been littered with hickeys and with a big goofy smile.

Part of you wonders if this is all some sex ring cult but she seems happy, jubilant even, so you agree, meeting Jungkook at a downtown bar.

He’s there before you arrive, you can see him through the window sitting at a table, looking wide and a bit intimidating until he lifts his head and smiles at you with a little wave.

His eyes are a warm brown now, pretty and wide, you’re able to notice the shape more without the contacts.

Jungkook is still all energy, maybe that’s just how he is, talking to you more and more as the nights go on and you two share a pitcher of beer, scooting his chair closer. You find he flushes a pretty rose when you flirt with him and can’t stop laughing when he nearly falls out of his chair when you prop your legs up in his lap.

By the end of the night he can’t stop smiling at you and you’re intrigued, moreso than you’d imagined you would be when you’d first met him, smiling shyly at you at the bar near the concert. You start to feel funny again, your head fuzzy, probably from the alcohol.

When you tell him, he’s all wide eyed concern.

You giggle. “Now I know why they call you Baby.” 

He huffs a little. 

He walks you outside just as he did before but this time he doesn’t hang back, and when you reach the alleyway, he places a hand on the swell of your hip as you take a few deep breaths of the night air.

You’re surprised, laugh a little until you look up into his eyes. You’d swear they looked red tinged again, but surely it’s just the beer.

“Not a baby,” he murmurs, moving closer, pressing you up against the brick with his body, and you hitch in a breath.

“No?” You ask, boldly trailing your finger along his collarbone through the black tshirt he’s wearing.

He shakes his head, leaned down close enough to your face that his nose brushes yours.

“Prove it,” you tease, and he makes this rumbling sound in the back of his throat that makes goosebumps break out across your flesh.

He leans down further, nips at your lower lip, and you moan, body surging forward toward his as if it was made to fit it. You’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but his tongue is in your mouth, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

You feel hot all over, dizzy in the most pleasant way, at least until he pulls away, gasping.

You whine, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever made before, when he’s not touching you anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

He’s gone before you can even gasp out another whine of his name, and the moonlight on your skin burns instead of cools.

Jungkook tells this story in a burst to his bandmates the next day, hungover with his head pounding.

“You just left her there?” Jimin says, his face shocked, and Jungkook feels the wolf make a growl start at the back of his throat.

Namjoon puts a hand on his shoulder and it turns into a whine instead. 

“I’ve never felt him that close, hyung. Right at the surface. I wanted to…”

Namjoon and Seokjin meet eyes above Jungkook’s lowered head.

Jimin catches it. Jimin catches everything, it’s one of the best and worst things about him.

“What? You think…” Jimin laughs. “No. She can’t be his.... She’s not a wolf, I would’ve smelled it when-”

Jungkook surges out of his seat, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. “When what, Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes glow a pale violet as he snarls back, uncaring that Jungkook towers over him.

In the end, Namjoon and Seokjin have to separate them physically as they bark and snarl at each other.

Hoseok and Taehyung are missing, having holed up to ride out their ruts with their human mates instead of the house the seven share.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. “He’s definitely presenting as an alpha.”

“No shit,” Namjoon barks, unusually on edge. 

Yoongi, Seokjin, and Taehyung are the betas of the group, and until now there had only been a slight difference among the bandmates despite their different rankings.

Alpha pheromones were stronger and their senses were more heightened around rutting season, particularly for other mates. 

In the end, they have to completely change how they house themselves, with Jimin sharing a room with Yoongi, and Jungkook sharing with Seokjin.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says miserably, his wolf finally calmed as he sits down on the bed.

“It’s not your fault,” Seokjin says, voice much less harsh than Namjoon’s had been earlier when he’d scolded him. “I saw Namjoon during this time, and it wasn’t easy.”

Jungkook looks up at the elder with wide eyes. “Really?”

Seokjin snorts and nods. “Yeah, around the full moon he was unbearable, snarling at everything.”

“I just didn’t want to scare her or...or hurt her...I wanted to put her against the wall and…” Jungkook trails off, embarrassed.

Seokjin only smiles and ruffles Jungkook’s hair. “That’s normal too, Baby. You wouldn’t have hurt her, especially if it’s what we think it is.”

“What...what does that mean?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Something you gotta work out on your own.”

Jungkook groans and flops down on the bed as Seokjin laughs, heading downstairs to make dinner while things are calm.

He has trouble sleeping again, but this time instead of wondering why, he knew, could almost feel the soft skin of your hip on his palm like it was still there, how you’d moaned into his mouth, whined for him.

Jungkook isn’t sure there’s a cold enough shower to help.

You can’t seem to sit still as the full moon nears, feeling like you might jump out of your skin. You can’t count the number of friends you’d called but no one seems up to going out. You bite your lip while looking at Jungkook’s contact on your phone screen.

If you think about it long enough, you can still feel the way he pressed against you, how the hair on the nape of your neck stood up when he nipped at your lip, how hot you’d felt, how wet…

You sigh and scroll up, seeing Jimin’s name instead. Jimin had been fun to be with the night you’d met, easy to talk to, less….intense. And he didn’t make you feel like you were about to crawl out of your skin, so you ask if he wants to meet up for a drink.

It’s late, by the time you decide, and the moon is out, waxing toward fullness. There’s only a tiny sliver remaining, big in the sky, and you can’t stop looking up at it as you walk to the bar near your house.

You’d chosen it because it’s close and not because it’s where hot drummer Jeon Jungkook, also known as Baby, had pressed you against an alley wall and made you almost…

Jimin jolts you out of your thoughts, calling your name and waving as you approach the door. He’s leaned against the doorjamb, giving you a smirk and you think now you understand why they call him Sly.

It makes you smile and again, you vibe well with him, you get along in the best way, conversation is easy and you don’t feel gooseflesh or your hair stand up when he brushes his fingers against yours.

Jimin knows he’s playing with fire when he replies to your text, but they don’t call him Sly for nothing, and you’re interesting, for a human. He’s only met one other female wolf, a tall and feisty woman with a sharp tongue and the most beautiful brown eyes, but she’d had a mate and well...things hadn’t ended well. 

Jungkook thinks of his wolf as this separate entity but Jimin disagrees, let’s his wolf do what it wants, so that all the bad things he feels have some kind of outlet. This was especially so after he’d lost his brown eyed wolf girl, so he invites you back to the house, knowing that Jungkook will be at the gym all night before the full moon tomorrow.

In fact, all of the others will be out, finding fun of their own, and why shouldn’t Jimin do the same? It isn’t as if Jungkook has marked you, or even can, since you’re human. 

Your eyes aren’t quite the same shade of hers, but he can pretend.

Jungkook works out until his muscles ache but nothing can shake this feeling he has, like something’s wrong. When he leaves the gym even the moon looks off, as if it’s dimmer than it should be, and something’s pulling him home, like this tug in his gut. It feels like it used to as a kid in his first foster home, when he’d get so anxious he’d climb onto the roof and stare up at it.

He’s almost running as he gets closer, feeling his skin prickle as he gets to the house, his wolf so close to the surface he can feel the fur that isn’t there yet standing up on the back of his neck.

He smells Jimin first, wrinkling his nose at the alpha pheromones, and when he walks upstairs it isn’t as if he decides to let the wolf take over, or struggles with it - it’s instant.

You’re standing in the hall, head tilted up, and Jimin is leaning against the wall, smiling down at you, and when you lean up to just softly brush your lips against Jimin’s, Jungkook’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, and the wolf barks, loud and warning.

You turn, surprised, and Jungkook doesn’t think, doesn’t act, it’s all wolf. He grabs you by your waist, hefts you up over your shoulder, and begins to walk you to his room.

Jimin protests and Jungkook growls over his shoulder, daring him to try something. Later, Jungkook is glad his friend didn’t follow, because he isn’t sure that he could have held the wolf back.

You kick and yell and beat on his back and Jungkook doesn’t realize what he’s done until he’s plopped you down on his bed, crawling toward you.

You kick him in the chest and it barely registers. You stand up and that’s when he snaps back to himself, at least to a degree.

"Don't leave. You can't leave." It's panicked, his voice, higher pitched almost like a whine.

"I can do whatever I want," you snap.

He makes this sound between a whine and a snarl and it's startling, strange, and you stop at the door.

"I know that! I know, but he doesn't!" 

"He..." you turn to look at him and he's trembling, head down, and you step closer, worried. "Baby, what do you mean?"

Jungkook just stands there, still trembling, until you reach out to touch his hair, gently. "He thinks he owns you, that you're his, that no one else can touch you." He explains, almost in a whisper.

"Who is he?" You ask slowly.

He raises his head slow and you gasp when you look into his eyes, instead of a warm brown this burnt amber, red hued.

"The wolf."

You stand there, blinking in surprise, for a long moment before actively telling your feet to move to the door. Unfortunately, your brain seems to have some kind of disconnect to your limbs, because you just step even closer, lean in and inhale along his neck, this scent of sweat and the iron of the weights he’d been lifting washing over you.

Rationally, you know that you should be shocked, horrified, even, that werewolves are real and you’re apparently standing in a house full of them but all you can do is run your tongue along the vein in his throat and Jungkook is trembling all over, whimpering like a puppy.

“Y/n, please, don’t-” he chokes out.

“Why not?” You murmur against his skin, the scent of him making your body react like you’ve never felt before. There’s this ache between your thighs that you’ve only felt a hint of before and you want more, nipping at his skin, unable to think clearly.

“He wants to...wants you,” Jungkook stutters, balling his hands into fists to keep from touching you.

“He does? Or you do?” You ask, lifting your head to pout at him, and Jungkook groans.

“Both,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“Then take me,” you say, and you don’t even know where the words came from. Your head feels light on your shoulders, dizzy with the scent of him, how his skin tastes under your tongue, and you do what he did to you the last night you’d seen him, nipping at his lower lip. Your canine pierces the skin and you taste iron on your tongue

Jungkook growls and lifts you again, this time with his hands under your ass and thighs and your legs wrap around him instantly. He all but throws you down on the bed, this time, and you whimper when he grips one of your thighs with his big hand, squeezing the flesh there.

“Mine,” he snarls, that high pitched whine at the end, and it makes you arch your back, claw your nails across his shoulders.

Jungkook leans down to sniff at your neck and growls again, wrinkling his nose and when you open your eyes he’s staring down at you with those red/amber eyes. 

You look back defiantly but you’re rolling your hips against his, you can feel him hard against your core and even though you’d never gone all the way with anyone before you want him inside you, can’t think of anything else.

“You smell like him,” he accuses, voice hoarse, and his wide eyes fade back to brown, just slightly, the color dilating around his pupils.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, feeling something like guilt, even though nothing had happened, really, and even it if it had…

He rubs his nose against your throat, covers you with his body like he’s replacing any of Jimin’s scent with his own. He licks against your neck, bites down on your skin, making you yelp.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whines. “I’m sorry, I have to. You’re mine, I have to mark you, have to scent you anywhere he touched you,” he tries to explain, his hands skating down your ample curves.

“It’s okay,” you say, and somehow you mean it, you understand, the very thought of Jungkook smelling like anyone else makes your heart jump into your throat, something primal rise in your gut. “I know, baby.”

“You’re mine?” He says again, voice pitching up into a question just like when he’d introduced himself and it scares you, the way it makes your heart ache.

Instead of speaking you kiss him again, hard, moving your hands to his hair to get him closer. You had worn a skirt and halter out, it’s so warm even though it’s close to winter, your skin feeling so hot under the moonlight that you couldn’t wear much else.

Even as you kiss him he’s tearing at your clothes and you lean up to help him until you’re bare beneath him and panting, this whining noise coming from your throat that you can’t explain.

“God,” Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I-”

“You haven’t...haven’t done this before?” Your eyes widen.

Jungkook realizes what you mean and he blushes a bit. “I’ve...yeah, I’ve done this before but not...not like this. I feel like...the wolf feels like...he’s been crazy. Since the first moment I saw you.”

“Like you’re gonna jump out of your skin? Always feeling...hot?” You ask.

Jungkook nods slowly, eyes widening.

“Me too,” you admit. “I don’t...I don’t know what it means. That’s why I came out with Jimin, I-”

Jungkook cuts you off with a choked whine. “It means you’re supposed to be mine.”

He snuffles against your neck again, hands at your hips, still holding back, trembling. “It means he never should have touched you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know you have nothing to apologize for. “I want you. I’ve never...I’ve never done this before but I want you so bad,” you admit, clutching at his tshirt, pulling it up until he gets on his knees and pulls it off, tossing it to the side. You spread your hands across his chest and he lets out a wrecked moan.

“You’re holding back,” you accuse.

He nods. “The wolf, he doesn’t….I don’t want to hurt you. Especially...fuck, no one’s touched you like this before?” His hands slide up and down your thighs as he stares down at your body, your breasts, the cleft of your cunt.

Jungkook knows that shouldn’t make him so hard, shouldn’t make his dick pulse in his sweats, shouldn’t make the wolf keen with pride. Mine mine mine, the first, the only is all his brain is chanting, he feels dizzy like he’s drank too much even though he hasn’t had a drop.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, but he can’t, can’t let the wolf out, he’s afraid he’ll rip you apart. You’re human and a virgin and he can’t risk hurting you.

The wolf won’t even let him say it, so he just shakes his head. 

You huff out a breath, your body aching all over, need making your arousal coat your thighs. You don’t know what you’re going to say until you say it.

“Should I ask Jimin to do it? I bet he can smell me,” you taunt, shocking yourself.

Jungkook freezes, his eyes bleeding to red again and one hand jolting out to wrap around your throat.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You know you should be cautious since you’re about to fuck an actual werewolf, but fuck, you’re so hot, you can’t think, you need something inside you and you drop your feet to the bed, spreading your legs wide.

“Jimin would mark me. He’d fuck me, fill me full like I want.” 

Jungkook feels something in him snap, and his heart hurts and his cock aches and the wolf is keening, clawing inside him and he can’t control it anymore, just like before.

“Never,” he growls, squeezes his fingers around your throat and you gasp, your stomach aching with need.

Finally, finally he slides his fingers along your pussy and you choke out a sob as his thumb slips across your clit but it’s not enough.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “Make me yours.”

“Already mine,” he murmurs, and finally slides two fingers inside you, making you cry out. “You’re already mine but I’m gonna give you what you want, mark you, fuck you, make sure Park fucking Jimin never so much as sniffs at you again.”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Yes, please, please.”

Jungkook still worries somewhere in the back of his mind that he’ll hurt you, that the wolf will, and by now he understands they’re one and the same but you’re rolling your hips up and his cock feels heavy and full like he’s about to burst, somehow wider at the base and he rips down his sweats, fucking you with three fingers now. 

When his cock bounces against his stomach you gasp, and if you’d been in your right mind you might worry he’s too big but something inside you is crying out in pleasure just at the sight of it. You spread your legs wider and he releases your throat, leaning over to kiss you instead, biting your lip as he slowly works himself inside you.

It’s a tight fit even after three fingers and you’re whining into his mouth, wanting more.

Jungkook isn’t a virgin, far from it although a little less experienced than some of his band members (Hoseok had once bragged about fucking a house of sorority sisters during a rut), but the way you clench around him has his hips twitching, wanting to buck into you even if it would split you open. 

Despite his worry, neither he or the wolf wants to hurt you, though, so he waits for you to adjust even as you beg, waits until you can take all of him.

He’s barely realized that he’s popped his knot until he looks down to see where you’ve joined and he groans. He knows how to do this, has been talked to (endlessly, by Taehyung, about his human girlfriend and how she desperately wants to take his knot and they’re working on it but it will take time and training), knows that you can’t take his knot but the wolf is howling for it, wants to fuck you hard and then pop it inside you, spill a littler into your womb.

You whine and pulse around him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Kookie,” you pout. “Baby. Want you inside me, fuck me harder, please-”

“I can’t-” he chokes out, but then you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper and the wolf growls, leans down, mine mine mine chanting in his head. My mate.

You felt a tiny pop when Jungkook first entered you, nothing painful and then just need, you want more and more and you don’t even know how to say it. You look up at him, near tears, needing something that you feel he won’t give you.

“I’m not yours yet,” you slur, and he looks pained, his eyes dilating from warm brown to amber red again and again.

He rocks his hips against you slow, and you’ve orgasmed twice already, once from his fingers and one from his cock but it’s not enough and you whine, it comes out almost inhuman, like his.

“Fill me up,” you urge, and Jungkook tries to hold the wolf back, he really does, but he’s too far gone, this close to the full moon and in the start of his first rut. 

Jungkook groans, fucks you harder and faster and when you cry out his name his balls draw up and he thrusts forward harder than he’d meant to, popping his knot inside you.

You make a surprised sound and his eyes pop open, his hands cupping your face even as his hips twitch as he cums, spills inside you.

“Y/n. I’m so sorry,” he mourns. “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry,” he babbles, kissing along your neck and throat, seeing that he’d already marked you twice, once on each side of your throat, and he barely remembers it.

You let out a happy sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, feeling finally sated, at least for the moment. “What are you sorry for, silly baby?”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He asks, and you look up into his eyes and they’re heterochromatic, now, red hued amber and brown both.

“You’d never hurt me,” you mumble against his throat.

“Never,” he promises. “Never, I love you so much.” 

You’re half asleep, sated with him still inside you, planting soft kisses on your lips and face. You don’t know where you’d learned the word, but it feels right when you say it, right before you drift to sleep.

“I love you too, Alpha.”

It takes a while to understand, especially between Jungkook being barely able to leave his room since he’s in rut and you’re in heat, but eventually, you figure it out.

Your great grandmother had been an omega werewolf, and it’s a recessive gene so you’d been the lucky one to receive it. Since you had never shifted because your gene wasn’t activated by male wolves, you had no smell.

At least, not until the full moon, when you shifted into what Jungkook says is the prettiest wolf he’d ever seen.

After, when you’d near your heat, Jungkook would snap and snarl at the boys so much just for talking to you that it made you roll your eyes, but eventually you got the dates right (for the most part, there’d been one instance in which Jimin had made a snarky comment and Jungkook had lunged at him and they’d gone rolling down the stairs), and you holed up in your apartment, instead.

Jungkook was working with Seokjin to understand that the wolf is him instead of some seperate entity. You tell him you’ve always known that. From what you know now, if the wolf wasn’t, he would have taken you the very first night. True mates are rare, and you’d both known it the whole time, even when you hadn’t.

You and Jia went to every concert, her always telling you her neverending sexcapades with Hoseok to be able to take his knot, front row, waiting for your Alpha’s set. It’s cute, you think, that they call him Baby on stage but he’s your Alpha, especially since he’s both, always, to you.

#jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #werewolf!jungkook #bts werewolf au #jungkook imagine #bangtanshadowfamily #bangtanheadquarters #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub

[ppersonna]

the sheriff - knj | m

↳ summary- you’ve always had a soft spot for Kim Namjoon, the local sheriff.  seems like he’s had one for you, too.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

↳ word count- 6.8k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE I...)

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), cowboy dirty talk, unprotected sex, aftercare, namjoon is a whole gentleman, we love to see it, period-typical gender roles, sex in a saloon, severe overuse of the word Darlin, artistic liberties on language used in the old west lol

↳ a/n- hello! welcome to my first (not so) drabble for Bangtan Rodeo!  this was requested by my angel dani @minloop​ who requested “ Howdy partner, Namjoon + saloon + sheriff 🤠” i hope you enjoy it love!  thank you to my soulmate @mindays​ for the amazing banner omg i c ry every time i look at it.  and thank you to @hobiance​ for making up this fun game, and for @mindays​ for beta-reading it!!  i also wanna shoutout my crew @ladyartemesia​ @xjoonchildx​ @taetaewonderland​ @kookiesjoonies​ who i would never write again if it werent for their constant hype.  I LOVE YOU ALLLLLL. 

What had started out as a pleasant ride through town on your father’s horse, Bang, turned into an absolute nightmare.

The horse had gotten spooked by some unknown creature, and reared up high, before taking off at a break-neck pace. Your screams were drowned out by the thunderous beat of the stallion’s hooves and the wind rushing by as the horse ran erratically out of the town and into the wilderness.

“Help!” You screamed, hoping someone would hear you. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you clung to the reins, skirt billowing behind you.

Bang the horse reared up again in a clearing, and this time it was no match for your delicate strength. You slid off the horse and landed hard on your back with an ‘oof’ before your vision went black.

“Hey, you hear me? Little lady?”

The voice wakes you, and you blink a few times. Sitting up, you wince at the stabbing pain that radiates through your body and hiss.

“Hey now, be careful,” the gentle voice speaks again. “Don’t get up too fast. Here, lay back down.”

Something soft touches the back of your head and you realize the kind stranger must have balled up some clothing for you to rest on.

The sun is still high in the sky and your vision is slowly coming back to normal, when you focus on the face of your savior—before nearly passing out again.

It’s the town Sheriff, Kim Namjoon. The very man you’ve harbored a secret crush on for years.  

You’ve watched him become a deputy and work his way up the ranks. He was a gentleman, and the bravest man in town. He battled some of the fiercest bank robbers and thieves in the county and always came back victorious. He was prime husband material.

That is, if you had ever spoken a more than a single word to him.

He’d work for your father on your ranch often, helping with mending fences or shoeing horses. He’d sit at your dinner table and graciously eat the soup, dumplings and pie you’d make special for him and thank you with a tip of his hat—then be off, back to saving the town, before you could even build up the courage to tell him ‘good evening’.

“How you feelin’?” He asks tenderly, cupping your cheek and pushing your mused hair behind your ear as best as he could.

It’s hard to speak—equal parts in pain from the fall and stunned from the beautiful man staring you down.

“H-hurts,” you whisper, licking your lips.

Namjoon’s eyes follow where your tongue trails over your chapped lips and swallows hard.

“I bet. You took quite the fall there.”

You close your eyes, remembering the terrifying moment you fell off. The horse had been so frightened, so ablaze...

Suddenly, you remember your father’s prize stallion. He had likely run off while you laid unconscious in the dirt.

“Oh, no!” Your eyes fly open. “Bang!”  You try to sit up, but Namjoon shushes you and gently guides you back down.

“He’s all right, miss.  He’s eating an apple, as happy as can be.”

“Oh, praise the lord,” you sigh. “Papa would tan my hide.”

Namjoon chuckles and nods.  

“Brave of you to take that beast out for a ride. You think you can sit up?”

You nod, and with his strong, gorgeous hands assisting you, you sit up straight.

He offers you the waterskin in his hands. “Here, have some water. You’ll need it for that headache.”  

“What headache—owww,” you groan as the sudden pounding in your head echoes the pounding of the horses’ hooves galloping out of town. Namjoon chuckles and pats down your hair—picking out dirt and leaves.

“Once you feel back to sorts, I’ll wrangle Bang up to my horse so you can ride with me, and I’ll take you home.”

The water from the skin is cool and you sigh as it coats your dry throat, eyes closing in bliss.  Namjoon keeps his eyes on you for a moment, watching the way you drink.  He nearly groans as a bit falls from your lips, trails your neck and down onto your pretty chest. It slips past your clothes, where his eyes can no longer follow it, and he shakes himself back to propriety.  

“Thank you,” you speak as you swallow the water and hand back the skin. “I needed that.”

Namjoon nods solemnly, tucking the skin back to his holster belt before standing up.

“You stay there and rest while I get Bang tied up, alright?”

You’re hopeless to deny any request from the handsome sheriff, and you’re nodding your assent before you try to fight back on feeling better.

Instead, you watch as the tall man stands and strides over to Bang, cooing gently at the enormous beast and patting his nose for a moment to calm any lingering nerves the horse may have.

Your mind wanders and you suddenly envision a future with the sheriff—watching him tend to your horses while you cook dinner and mind the children. You imagine him herding you into your bedroom and pushing you deep into your featherbed, dripping cock aching to slide into your warmth as he whispers how much he loves you into your ear.

You’re only snapped out of your fantasy when the man of your dreams approaches once more, a bridled horse at his side as he slips the reins through his own horse’s saddle to guide him back to town.

“You all right there, little lady? You looked a little dazed.”

Your cheeks heat and you nod, quickly trying to dispel the embarrassment.

He sticks his hand out and you watch as your small hand fits in perfectly to his grip, and he tugs you up with ease; the momentum of the pull has you being pulled directly into his chest.

“T-thank you,” you murmur breathlessly. The sheriff stares down at you, eyes fixed on your own before they glance at your lips as if it’s his last wish to press his own there.

He’s silent for a moment as he holds you against his chest, then rights himself and backs away.

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Glad to help.”

Namjoon lifts you onto his own horse and your heart stutters at the feel of his hands gripping your waist. It’s warm where he touches and you wonder what his hands would feel like touching you everywhere. You imagine his hands would feel like a dying campfire on your bare skin, deceivingly scorching hot.

He saddles up behind you and wraps his arms around you, gripping the reins as he clicks his tongue at his horse to start a slow trot back towards town.

The gentle trot of the horse makes your chest heave and fall, bouncing with each step the horse takes. Namjoon glances down and can see the way your breasts jiggle and bites his tongue.  You look enchanting—dirty skirt and ripped blouse from the fall. Namjoon only wishes he had been the one to dirty you and rip your clothes. His cock hardens against his will and he prays to god you don’t feel his arousal poking you in the back and prays he can get you to town before you realize and slap him into the next county.

And you definitely notice.

Your cheeks heat to hotter than the summer sun and you swallow hard to dispel some ache in your chest. Your core suddenly feels desperate for attention and you can almost imagine the way his hands would feel rubbing at your needy clit, whispering filth into your ear as he coaxed orgasm after sobbing orgasm from within you.

“Are you goin’ to the square dance tomorrow night?” Namjoon suddenly asks you, attempting to distract himself away from his rising cock.

In the chaos of your frightful ride out of town, and the bliss of being pressed up against the handsome sheriff, you had forgotten all about the annual square dance held at the town saloon.  Drinks, dancing, and fiddlin’ festivities were always bound to happen.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind,” you say. “But, I suppose I could get Papa out of the house.  He has an eye on that new schoolteacher.”

Namjoon laughs, and it warms your heart. He’s taken special care of your father as much as you have ever since your mother died years ago.

“I think she has her eye on him, too.”

You hum, deep in thought of your lonely father, and Namjoon squeezes your hip with his free hand.

“Well, I hope to see you there.”

The blush returns right as Namjoon’s horse strides up to your homestead. Your father must have seen you coming and runs out of the house and down the steps to collect you.

“Oh, thank the good lord!” He breathes as he pulls you into his chest. You smile and return your father's warm embrace, suddenly feeling comforted.

“Sheriff Kim, I owe you a lifetime for rescuing my little girl.”

Namjoon smiles at you and winks, before looking back at your father and pulling his hat off tenderly.

“Just doing my duty, sir.”

Something twinges in your heart, as you’re reminded Namjoon saved you out of dedication to the badge than any memorable feelings towards you.

“Plus,” he continues. “It’s already a reward when the little lady is as pretty as this one.”

There’s that stupid blush again. Your father claps Namjoon on the shoulder and then brings the sheriff in for a hug, with a cheerful laugh.

“Now, you best be careful how you speak, son. I can’t threaten the sheriff with my .22 when he’s courtin’ my daughter.”  His demeanor radiates his joking manner with Namjoon, but the sheriff’s eyes still widen like he’s a teenager again.

Your cheeks, already pink, flame red with embarrassment.  

“Papa!” You admonish. “Leave Namjoon alone! He didn’t mean nothin’ by it!”

Namjoon’s smile fades back to a solemn and stoic look as he unhooks the stallion still attached to his own.

“Here you go,” he murmurs as he hands the reins to your father. “He’s just fine, too.”

Papa nods, and Namjoon replaces his hat and bows his head in acknowledgment.

“Good evening, sir,” he motions to your father. “And to you, miss. I reckon I’ll see you at the dance tomorrow.”

You nod, licking your lips again without knowing it. Namjoon begs his cock to behave, especially in front of your father.

“Thank you, Sheriff. And I reckon you will.”

He saddles up, and rides off into the sunset. Your eyes remain on his disappearing silhouette and your father fondly flicks your ear.

“That fellow likes you,” he nods at the retreating man. “And you just had to hold a candle for the goddamn sheriff.”

He ‘tsks’ jokingly, before slinging his arm around your shoulder and guiding you up towards the house.

“How the hell am I supposed to scare a boy off my daughter when he’s got more guns than me!”

You snort under your breath and lean into your father's hold.  

“Oh, Papa.”

You can hear the music pouring from the saloon the moment you walk up. Papa stands next to you outside and anxiously fixes his hair.

“You think Ms. Lainey will be here tonight?” He asks.  He tries not to look worried, but you can read him like a book.

Your hands smooth out his crisp, dress shirt and adjust his handsome bowtie.

“Yes, Papa. I reckon she will, lookin’ prettier than a sunflower.”

His eyes lock on yours, full of gentle emotion that you haven’t seen since your mother passed.

“You think this is fine?”

He looks concerned—worries he’s perhaps moving on too soon from your mother when she’s been gone and buried for years now. You can’t help but feel a bullet through your heart for the older man. He raised you to an adult, tended to an entire ranch, and maintained his sanity in the depths of his depression.

“Yes, Papa,” you soothe. “Mama would want you to be happy. I think Ms. Lainey is the perfect person to help you with that. Plus, I hear she makes a killer cornbread.”

Papa smiles and pinches your cheek gently.

“You’re just like your Mama,” he muses with a fond smile. “A smart ass. But a beautiful one.”

“Papa!”

“Hey,” he grins as he holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not a liar. Now, let’s go in there and find that handsome sheriff, shall we?”

“Papa, please. Don’t embarrass me!”

“Well, too damn bad. That’s my job as your father.”

He pushes past you and through the swinging doors of the saloon.

Damn that old man.

Namjoon spies you the second you walk into the wooden saloon. You look like a princess, if he’s ever seen one.

Your blue dress hugs your curves just right and sweeps to the floor. It looks soft and Namjoon wonders what it would feel like under his fingertips. Tender, gentle, just like you.

He sets his bottle of beer down—he’s been nursing it for half an hour now, unwilling to get drunk or even tipsy tonight. Not out of some sense of duty—he had plenty of deputies around to keep the peace, but out of hope that you would come. He didn’t want to be drunk around you.  

He watches as you whisper into your father’s ear and gesture towards one corner of the room.  Namjoon tracks your gaze and sees you’re both looking at the new schoolteacher, Ms. Lainey who wears a pink blush that matches her pretty, pink dress. Your father kisses your cheek softly, before leaving your side and making his way towards the teacher.

Namjoon shoves the barely touched bottle of beer towards the barkeep, Jungkook.

“The hell you want me to do with it?” He asks incredulously to the sheriff.

Namjoon sends a look to his longtime friend.

“Fuck if I care, Kook. I’m busy!”

Jungkook grumbles under his breath as Namjoon turns away.

He weaves through the crowd towards you, keeping you locked in his vision. He hopes to keep you all to himself tonight, especially with you looking as ravaging as you do in that gown.

He nearly makes it to you when Jackson Wang slides in and wraps an arm around your waist.  He can see your face fall when you realize who it is. Jackson is your ex-boyfriend, and a shitty one at that.

“Come on, pretty baby,” he attempts to woo. “Let me have just one dance.”

“I said I’m not interested, Jackson.”

“Oh, I know you said that, but I don’t think you meant it.”

Namjoon clears his throat from where he stands behind you. You both turn in surprise towards the officer.

“I think the lady said what she meant.”

Jackson narrows his eyes at Namjoon and grips you tighter.

“And who the hell do you think you are!”

Namjoon opens the coat of his suit, giving Jackson an eye-full of the loaded revolver clipped to his side.

Jackson seems to get the picture and shoves you off him—Namjoon is quick to steady your uneven gait from the assault.

Namjoon whistles for Jimin, his deputy, and instructs the eager young officer to escort Jackson off the premises.

“You’re lucky I’m not having him take you to the Big House tonight.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and spits on the floor at your feet.

“Fuck you, Sheriff.”

Jimin shoves Jackson out the door and follows him out to ensure the man stays well-away from the dance tonight.

Your eyes are downcast when Namjoon returns his glance at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

The sheriff hushes you and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, just as he did before when he found you lying on the ground.

“Now, now,” he whispers as he steps closer. “I don’t want to hear none of that talk. You didn’t do nothin’.”

He slips a finger under your chin and brings your face to peer at his own. The violins change their tune from carefree to a soft ballad.

“Care to dance?” He offers.

You smile and nod after a beat of silence, taking his proffered hand and slipping your other to hold on to his firm shoulder. He looks handsome in his suit, much different from the Wranglers he wears to work. This suit is cream, and feels like fine silk under your fingertips. You wonder if he ordered it from the general store or if he rode his horse to the big city for it. It fits him like a glove and you silently thank the town tailor for his work, allowing you a tease of the man’s brilliant muscles and toned body under his clothing.

Namjoon’s hand slides around your waist—attempting to remain as proper as he can. He doesn’t want to give the town anything to gossip about, but the way your dress and waist feel underneath his palm make him nearly forget all his manners. His mother would kill him if she saw the way he continued to press in close to the woman, hoping to feel her bountiful chest press against his own.

“I’m glad you came,” Namjoon breathes as your feet move in time with his. “I was worried you weren’t gonna show.”

Your cheeks tickle a rosy hue, and Namjoon nearly melts.

“I’m sure you would have found another lucky lady to dance with.”

Namjoon hums as he spins you around, grip tightening on your waist.

“Maybe so,” he agrees. “But they wouldn’t be the girl I was hopin’ to dance with.”

Your throat feels tight.

“And who might that be?”

“The girl I’m dancing with right now.”

Something within you burns like a roaring flame, and you push forward to press your lips to his own. It stuns Namjoon; he doesn’t move until his brain finally catches up and he’s kissing you in return, deep and passionate. He pulls his hand out of yours to wrap around your waist completely, bringing you up to his chest as his tongue prods for entrance at your mouth.

You eagerly accept him, allowing his tongue purchase in the hot cavern of your lips, and you whine needily against him as you feel a bulge grow between his legs.

“Sheriff,” you whisper, pulling away from his lips.

“Namjoon,” he breathes desperately. “Please, call me Namjoon.”

“Okay, Namjoon.” He smiles and dives in to kiss you again when you pull away.

“Please, Namjoon, can we go somewhere else? Papa’s here…”

Your cheeks are red-hot and Namjoon chuckles, glancing around. Your father is busy enough as it is, dancing with the schoolteacher but he nods.

He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the bar, getting Jungkook’s attention.

“You back for that beer?” He asks with a grunt.

“Nah, gimme the key to a room upstairs.”

Jungkook eyes you standing behind the sheriff, bashful.

“Can’t even wait to get her home, now? Ain’t that the rancher’s daughter? He’s right over there! You’re really going to--”

“Jungkook!  The key, please!”

The barkeep rolls his eyes as he digs under the countertop for a large skeleton key and slides it to Namjoon.

“Down the hallway, first door on the left. The presidential suite.”

He winks at the sheriff who rolls his eyes and drags you up the stairs. You pray to any god listening that your father remains distracted with the schoolteacher.

Namjoon unlocks the door and allows you to enter first, giving you a chance to glance around the spacious room. There’s a copper bathtub, a fireplace, and a large feather-bed that looks divine.

“Wow,” you whisper. “Never been in a saloon bedroom before.”

Namjoon chuckles as he sets the heavy key on the dresser, loosening his tie.

Suddenly, you’re nervous. The implications of being here have your hands trembling and body feeling flustered. You’re not the kind of girl who fools around, nor are you the kind to simply open her legs for the first handsome officer who looks her way. You hadn’t even gone all the way with Jackson when you were with him. Now that it’s happening, you wonder if you’ve gotten far too ahead of yourself.

Namjoon notices the look on your face and crosses the floor easily to cup your face between his palms.

“Hey now, why the long face?”

Your eyes peer into his, shame washing over you. You want so badly to lie with the man in bed, in every sense, but you’re terrified.

“I’ve…” you swallow hard. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

The sheriff smiles and rubs under your eyes with the pad of his thumb. It’s comforting and having him this close to you makes your body feel like you’re close to the hearth of a fireplace.  Warm, soothed.

“And you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do, little lady. Thought we should just get out of the crowd.”

Your heart feels like it may just beat out of your chest completely. Namjoon is holding you, staring at you like you’re a treasure.  

“I want you, Namjoon. I’ve wanted you my whole damn life.”

Namjoon brings his face right up to yours, lips a mere breath away.

“And I want you.”

You close the space between your lips, finally re-acquainting yourself with his taste and the feel of his plushy mouth against yours. He tastes like hops and sweet mint. Your hands slide down to claw at his sides, gripping the fabric of his coat jacket in your balled-up hands.  

The kiss doesn’t remain chaste for long. You’re soon pushing off his coat, tugging down his suspenders and unbuckling his pants.

“Easy there,” he whispers as your hand tugs at his boxers. “We have all night.”

Inhaling through your nose, you nod. He’s right. There’s no reason to rush into this.  

“Plus,” he adds. “It’s not very fair that I’m nearly stark naked and you’re still in this pretty little number.”

Namjoon kneels down, thick fingers untying the laces of your heeled boot, and holding your ankles stable as he slips them off your feet.

He kisses your soft ankles, presses his lips to your shins and calves as if he’s worshiping you.  He thinks this is better than Sunday service, anyway.

The sheriff stands back up and his fingers move around to the back of your dress, easily finding the zipper and tugging down ever-so-softly. The fabric comes off your shoulders without issue, and soon pools at your bare feet. His eyes are soft as they travel over your body, left in only your silk panties and brassiere.

“There.” He whispers it like a prayer. “You’re so beautiful.”

The tone of his voice makes your body feel like it’s blazing—like the fire of whiskey as it pours down your throat. It burns, but it warms every single inch of you from the inside out.

“Namjoon, I don’t just want you for one night.”

Your anxieties pour out of your mouth with little thought. You wish you could hold back, just enjoy the moment. Your stomach twists and turns as he unbuttons the dress shirt and keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“That’s good,” he nods. “Because I don’t want you for one night, neither.”

Your hands slip onto his bare stomach, pushing the sleeves of his shirt off. His skin is hot, and firm. He feels like a dream. The shirt comes off easily and you gape at the artwork that is his chiseled chest.

“Oh my,” you gasp. Namjoon preens, enjoying your shameless gaze.

“All of this is for you,” he murmurs gently, watching the heated stare pull from his pecs to his eyes.

“M-me?”

He nods again and fingers the strap of your bra.

“I want you to be my girl,” he says. “I want to come home from a hard day and see my lovely little wife in our home. I’ll even get you a horse.”

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face.

“One that won’t buck me off in the middle of nowhere?”

He nods, slipping the strap down your shoulder.

“And if he does, your strong and handsome husband will be there to rescue you, every time.”

Your tongue soothes over your kiss-swollen lips as you listen to him and allow him to slowly remove your remaining articles of clothing. The bra straps fall off your arms easily and you let him work his hands around your back to undo the clasp.

“I want to make love to you every night,” he breathes. “Maybe get you nice and pregnant with my child.”

Your bra falls to the floor and his warm hands rub at your stomach, where a swell could be.

“Would you still help Papa?” You ask, hazy and dreamily.

“Every day, darlin’. I’d be the best son-in-law. Give him grandbabies to spoil rotten.”

He doesn’t say anymore—he couldn’t if he tried. Your lips are smashing against his and you’re pressing your soft, bare breasts to his firm chest and his mind is actively shutting down. All he can think of is you, your body, your hands, your mouth, and most of all, that sweet cunt. It’s still hidden behind a layer of silk, but he knows it will be the dreamiest place he’ll ever be, and one he doesn’t intend to leave often.

“Will you take me home tonight? To your home?” Your eyes are hopeful as you pull away to question him. Something about it all makes you want to make love to him all night long, in his bed. You want to wake up with him in the morning and cook together, only to get distracted and make love again on the kitchen table.

“I would love to.”

Your hands push down his pants and you’re gasping as his hard cock springs free from the slacks. It’s thick, and it slaps at his stomach once, leaving a smear of slick wetness where it hit.

“Lay down, princess,” he murmurs into your ear, tucking a piece of hair behind. It seems to be his trademark, and it sends shivers down your spine.

You obey wordlessly, laying back onto the bed and resting your head on the fluffy pillows.

Namjoon stands above you and gazes at your form, allows himself to breathe in the vision of you, nearly naked and waiting for him.

He crawls onto the bed and hovers over you, fingers trailing up your soft legs before rubbing at your clothed core. There's a patch of wetness there, and your trembling whimper tells Namjoon you’re just as eager as he is.

He settles himself in between your legs and inhales the scent of your pussy. It smells of fine silk, and of your arousal. You’re embarrassed, he can tell as your legs threaten to close, but he moves his hands to your thighs and holds them down as he licks a fat stripe up your soaked panties.

“Mmm,” he breathes. “Delicious.”

Your legs are trembling now and he flickers his eyes up to yours, gauging your reaction. Your head tips back in bliss, hands cupping your breasts.

“Do you like that, darlin’?” He asks.

Your head tips back down to stare at him, heat shining in your shimmery orbs.

“Is this okay?”  He wants to know you’re just as eager as he is and has no interest in taking advantage.

You nod pathetically, legs spreading open further for him.

“I want you.”

Namjoon lets his fingers run up to the top of your panties and keeps his gaze on yours as he peels them down and off your legs.  They’re drenched, and he whines when he uses two fingers to open your lips further and expose your soaked hole.

“Shit,” he grunts, tentatively kitten licking your sensitive clit.  

It sends radiating static and shock through you. No one’s ever touched you there—no one but yourself on lonely nights with dreams of the handsome sheriff.

Namjoon catches your hitched breath, your shuddering sighs, and continues gently.  His tongue licks tiny stripes up and down your quaking clit and enjoys the way your arousal seeps out of you.  He knows you’re a virgin, knows he needs to take his time to open you up for him.  And he plans on making it an experience you never forget.

“That’s right,” he breathes as he pulls away and licks his lips.  “My girl doing so well.  You like it when I lick your pretty clit?  Does it feel good?”

You nod your agreement and open your mouth to respond, but Namjoon quickly places his lips over the sensitive nub and suckles gently.  Your words turn into a throaty scream, back arching impossibly at the sensation.  

He brings a hand up and teases your slit with a finger as he introduces you to a new world of sexual awakening.  His tongue roves over your clit as he keeps a constant vacuum seal around it with his lips.   Ever so gently, his finger prods past your folds and slips inside the wet heat of your channel.

His cock leaps at the sensation on his finger.  You’re impossibly tight and drooling with juices and Namjoon’s tongue moves from your clit to lap at the slick.   You taste so sweet.   He can’t wait to acquaint himself with every inch of your body, especially the sweet spot here between your thighs.

“Oh! Oh, God!” You scream as your tug at your nipples.  Namjoon can tell by the tightening of your channel you’re near the edge.   He slides another finger in and fucks you gently with them, spreading open your heat ever so slightly so the stretch of his cock isn’t so hard to take.  

“Cum for me, baby,” he coaxes.  “Fall apart for your sheriff.”

Your eyes squeeze shut tight, stomach flexing hard as the band within you coils tighter and tighter until it blissfully snaps and your core is pulsating around his fingers like a grip.

Namjoon groans with your pretty cries of pleasure, watching the way your cunt milks his fingers and drools juice.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers as he gently pulls his fingers from within you.  “You did so well.”

Your blush on your cheeks matches the rosy hue on your chest as you pant—attempting to bring yourself back to earth and right your breathing.

“That—, that was amazing.”

Namjoon presses one solid kiss to your thigh.

“You, my love, are amazing.”

You’re lifting yourself up on your elbows to peer down at him, whining gently for his attention.

“Will you kiss me, Namjoon?”

“I’ve got you all over my lips,” he says but you shake your head.

“Kiss me.”

Namjoon nods and crawls up your body, eagerly pressing his mouth to yours in a heated kiss.  It’s intimate, and fiery as much as it is gentle and exploratory.  Namjoon kisses you like he found the girl of his dreams—because he has.

After long, blissful minutes of rolling around in the bed with his lips attached to yours, you pull away and glance at his hardened cock.

“I’ve never,” you swallow as you allow your fingertips to graze the tip.  “I’ve never put one in my mouth before.”

Namjoon’s sensitive glaze over his eyes returns.

“You don’t have to, darlin’.”

“But I want to.  Will you let me know if I do something wrong?”

He nods once, and you adjust him to sit at the head of the bed, back against the headboard while you crawl down between his legs.

You allow yourself a few, long moments to simply stare at his length.  It’s hard, flushed with excitement, and drooling a substance from his head that makes your mouth salivate.  It has a soft, gentle curve to it you can only imagine will feel like heaven inside of you.

“You like it?”  Namjoon asks gently, without pride.  He looks sincere, like your opinion on his cock matters to him.

“I love it.”

You mouth at it gently, before opening wide to accept him in.

“C-careful, darlin’,” Namjoon warns. “It’s big—might not fit in your throat.”

Your eyes simper up at him for a moment, before you continue your plight and accept his length into your mouth.

You take it slow, torturously slow to him.  You take your time to get acquainted with the feeling of his cock filling your mouth before you continue to take more and more until all at once he’s at the back of your throat and your nose is pressed to his toned abdomen.

Namjoon whines out loud, feels his brain turn to mush and his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

“Good lord,” he whispers.  Your eyes are watering with tears and your gag reflex protests against the intrusion, so you quickly pull back out.

“Did I do okay?” You ask.

Namjoon’s cock throbs where it sits, right at the tip of your lips.

“You did fucking perfect, baby.”

It’s easy to see the pride flash across your face and you move to accept him all at once but he stops you.

“Don’t hurt yourself, doll.   You can just move your mouth on it.”  He grips the back of your head ever so gently and helps you descend, taking just enough to fill your mouth before he assists you in pulling back out.  “Mmm, yeah, like that. Hollow those cheeks—shit, you’re a natural.”

You preen and bob on his length without the guidance of his hand.   He drops his hands to push the hair from your face and as you work his cock in your mouth with surprising finesse.   A groan builds deep in his chest and he can feel his balls tighten and threaten to empty onto your pretty lips.  But, he can’t have that.

He taps your cheeks gently, forcing you to look back at him.  He nearly cums from the sight alone.  Your big, beautiful eyes staring into his soul as if he’s lasso’d the stars just for you.   Your mouth is full of his cock like it’s your home and Namjoon knows that it’s everywhere he wants you to be.

“I wanna cum inside that sweet pussy of yours, darlin’.”

You pull off with a pop, eyes widening at the sound and Namjoon thinks you look prettiest with a dusty blush across your cheeks—a color that matches the pink of your perky nipples.

“Lay down for me, baby,” he encourages, moving from the spot on the bed and allowing you to rest your pretty head on the down pillow.

He kisses over your neck and breasts sweetly, imprinting his adoration for you with each press of his lips.  He laves over your nipples gently as he situates himself between your thighs.  His hand grasps his cock and lines it up at your entrance, but doesn’t push in yet.  He allows your dripping slick to coat the head of his cock as he warms your body up with his lips.

“You’re the prettiest girl in town.  Hell, even the whole county.”

You whimper gently as he takes a nipple into his mouth and grazes it with his teeth.  

“You wanna be my girl?  You wanna be the Sheriff’s little wife?”

You nod and Namjoon peers up at you, eyes expectant for a verbal answer.

"Please” you whisper.  “I’ve been sweet on you since I first met you, years ago.”

The sheriff licks your nipples gently.

“My pretty wife,” he coos.  “You ready?”

Your legs tremble—a mixture of nerves and excitement as the man lifts himself up and kneels between your parted folds.   His cock feels thick and hot at the entrance of your heated core and you’re gasping for more.

Namjoon presses forward and takes his time as he enters you, knowing the stretch will be new for you.  He leans down to kiss your lips gently as he moves in, hoping the sweetness of the embrace will soften the sting of his cock.

It feels like heaven and hell.  The sting burns you, but it easily simmers down to a low flame of desire, of pleasure.  Namjoon licks into your mouth and you eagerly accept him, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer.   His tongue explores and seeks purchase—you’re loath to deny the handsome officer as you return the actions easily.

He pulls his lips away as he bottoms out inside you, panting.  He needs the stillness, himself.  Your cunt is so tight, so hot and accepting of his hard cock that he feels near the edge of his sanity already.  

“You all right, love?” He asks, eyes checking yours for any signs of trouble.  

The burn quickly ebbs away to nothing more than a slight smolder.  He fills you completely, and it feels like he’s making a home for himself within you—one you’re welcome to him constructing again and again.

“Yes,” your voice is deep and husky.  Your eyes are ablaze with a sudden passionate need for more.  “Please, show me how it’s done, cowboy.”

Namjoon needs no more—he pulls his hips back gently and thrusts back into you with ease.  You’re soaked, and the slide is tight, but slick.  He moans gently as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin there and to whisper his sweet nothings as he sets a pace.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers.  “God, I’ve dreamed of the way you would feel underneath me.”

Your legs open even further to allow more of him and his pace eagerly picks up speed. The sound of skin slapping on skin soon fills the room and Namjoon continues his litany of love.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby, so fuckin’ good. You’re the perfect little wife for me. This cunt was meant for me, wasn’t it, my sweet?”

Speaking coherently is not a task you can handle now.  Namjoon’s cock is fucking into you with a depth and speed that feels like fucking paradise and all your brain can comprehend are his sweet epithets he whispers to you and the way your core burns and sizzles with need.  You can feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tight, tight, tighter.  You’re nearly at the end.

“I wanna fill you up, my love.” His pace is becoming erratic, with less finesse as he charges towards his own finish line.  “Going to fuck a baby into you, darlin’.  Get you nice and full—fuuuuck, cum for me, please.  Let me feel that hot cunt cum around my cock.”

His words burn your ears with depravity, but it only forces that tight coil even further.  It pulls until it nearly steals all the breath in your lungs as it throws you over the edge.   Your walls pulse and constrict around him, making him whine out loud to match the crying whimpers of your climax.

“That’s my girl, oh god, I’m gonna cum.”

It’s all the warning you get before the hot stripes of his seed plaster your walls, coating each inch of you with a warmth that pools deep inside you.  Your whines silence as he presses his lips to yours while his cock continues to shudder within you.   He kisses you hard, deeper than you’ve ever been kissed before and you hold him so close to you, you fear you may never separate again.  Not that it would be a bad thing.

“Shit,” Namjoon sighs as he finally feels his climax subside.   His cock finishes its weak pulses, and he gently pulls out of your spent hole, watching his seed drool out of you.  

“Mm, I think your little pussy needs to look like this every single night, don’t you?”

You peer down, leaning up on your elbows to watch as his white cum dribbles out of you and onto the feather bed.

“Yes, Sheriff.”  Your smile is coy and sweet, a hint of humor in your worn out voice.

He scurries to the bathroom to get a warm, wet flannel and returns to your legs to clean you carefully.  Your heart feels like it may burst. He cares for you so sweetly, wants you comfortable—wants you to feel loved.

“Take me home, cowboy,” you whisper as he presses his lips to your legs after he finishes cleaning you.  

Namjoon assists you in dressing, kisses all over your bare skin as he laces you back into your dress. You both can’t stop staring at each other, eyes filled with promise and a future full of each other and no one else.

He guides you down the stairs, back towards the dance and you try to fight the blush that blooms on your cheeks.  You’re sure your mused hair tells everyone in the room what you got up to upstairs, and you pray your father has left early.

Namjoon slides the key back to Jungkook once they reach the bar, his other hand tightly laced with your own.  Jungkook gives you both a look, then smirks.

“Your Papa asked your whereabouts,” he muses as he dries a glass with a rag.

His smirk grows wider.

“Told him you were shining the Sheriff's gun. Looks like I was right.”

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

#bts smut #bts namjoon #namjoon smut #bts fic #kim namjoon #rm #rapmonster #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon au #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts cowboy #bangtan #bhqdrabbles #bangtanheadquarters #ficswithluv #heartsforbts #hyungsmutclub #ksmutclub #lainey is a teacher in this one #we'll see what she is in the next one

[chemicalpink]

Astrology Series ♡ BTS’ Ascendant Sign

Pairing: none, this is a chart reading for each of the BTS members

Genre: Astrology Birth Chart Reading

Warnings: none

A/N: I love you all, thank you for sticking with my writing even when I don’t post as regularly as I wish I did. Please stay safe. Remember that this is just a Birth Chart reading and is in no way 100% accurate to the way that BTS are as humans.

So I thought that this would be fun, our Ascendant is meant to represent our path when we were children, but also! how people perceive us on a first impression, which is what I’m focusing on today. Take this as a what is BTS’ first impression irl

(if any of you have met them irl I’m lowkey so jealous but also let me know if it resonates!)

KIM SEOKJIN ♡

Pisces Rising

Seokjinnie is one mellow person, someone that finds it easy to go with the flow, he is also a very creative and imaginative person; definitely talented af although he has a hard time being objective and from time to time can be hard on himself because of past experiences.

Now, cultural evidence says that people with this ascendant possess an ethereal beauty that is internationally admired. WWH indeed.

MIN YOONGI ♡

Aries Rising

This man is always portrayed as a tough cookie to swallow and may we blame it on his ascendant. When first encountered, Yoongi can seem impulsive, overly direct and quick to anger, even quicker to forget about things. Although we know he’s all mushy inside.

On a related note, Aries Rising people often have prominent brows that make them stand out. 

JUNG HOSEOK ♡

Aries Rising

SOPE WORLD DOMINATION. Sorry. I think it’s been said and done, Hoseokie, when on his element, can come off as a very strict and intimidating person, I do believe that from all the things his ascendant shares with Yoongi’s, quick to anger comes up first, this may also look like a leader type of characteristic that is hard to miss.

KIM NAMJOON ♡

Scorpio Rising

THIS IS ONE SCORPIO RISING IF I’VE EVER SEEN ONE. 

Listen, Scorpio Rising people hold this very strong silent alluring presence to them that is just *chef’s kiss* and I think that pretty much sums up Joonie. At first you might as well find a “don’t mess with me” sign on his forehead by which people judge him prematurely and makes them either love him or hate him. 

He also comes off as a very VERY private person.

PARK JIMIN ♡

Cancer Rising

Park Jimin is a shy one at first. He really is. But once the small talk and introductions are out of the way? you will feel like you’ve known him your whole life. He is a very VERY gentle and overly empathetic person.

The personification of soft.

KIM TAEHYUNG ♡

Sagittarius Rising

Inner child Taehyung? Yes. that’s basically it.

The first thing you’ll notice about Tae is that he is extremely playful and childlike, his care-free personality really comes thru; as you come to talk to him you’ll most likely see that he is extremely opinionated, adventurous and even wanderlust.

JEON JUNGKOOK ♡

Libra Rising

If I’d have to use a word to describe Jungkook via his ascendant, it’s most likely that he’s a chameleon, this man can easily appeal to ANYONE, he also comes off as a very polite and pleasant person HOWEVER his vibe is really one of a cynical, sarcastic and a tiny bit rude at times. That’s until he really lets you in his life.

#hyunglinenetwork #bangtanheadquarters #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #bts imagines #bts astrology #bts drabble #bts birth chart

[vynusx]

holiday treats

Merry christmas to @apotatomashedbybts, my partner for the holiday treats event, hosted by @kafenetwork

#gallery #bangtanheadquarters #bangtanhq #armysource #bts #kafenetwork #heartsforbts #btsgfx #hopenet #vantaenet #clubjimin #icon #icons #bts icons

[gguksgalaxy]

Too Soon? | KSJ

Seokjin  |  Fluff  |  Kiss Drabbles 500w  |  No warnings | PG

"A kiss that tastes of the food that they are eating."

“Seokjin?” You ask, walking into the kitchen, drawn in by the delicious smell of whatever he’s making.

He’s cleaning up the counter, looking up at the sound of your voice. Eyes roaming your body that’s hidden by what’s undeniably his clothing. His stare makes you blush.

“Jin?” You ask again.

Shaking himself, he finally looks up. “Yeah?”

“What are you making?” You ask while walking closer to him.

Curiosity gets the better of you, especially since he’s too busy staring at your freshly showered form to answer. So you lift the lid off the pot. It looks like curry, a Japanese one with potatoes and carrots and it smells divine. Taking the wooden spoon out to taste you—

“Lick that spoon and I will whoop your ass,” Jin threatens, catching you red handed with the utensil halfway to your mouth. 

You grin sheepishly, knowing that he hates it when you do that. 

He shakes his head at the sight, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and coming up to you. “You’re insufferable,” he jokes, one hand pulling you closer by the waist and the other scooping up a piece of potato from the pot. “Here.”  He holds it out for you. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You take a bite. The potato is soft, the flavour of the spices complementing its taste well. It’s delicious, and you let out an exaggerated moan. Dating a guy who’s getting a culinary degree truly is the best decision you’ve ever made.

Jin laughs at the sight of you making excited little movements with your body upon the taste. He eats the rest of what’s on the spoon himself. Then, he drops the spoon on the counter and pulls you in. 

The kiss is brief, a gentle brush of lips paired with a smile and a hitched breath. He tastes of curry, as do you. Warm, spicy and so good. Yet there’s the undeniable taste of him that you know so well. 

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around his neck. 

He gives you another peck. “Sometimes I think you just love me for my food.”

With your body still pressed to his, smile on your lips, you gaze up into his eyes. “What do you mean? I love you for you, you silly goose.” 

Jin’s face changes, eyes widening as he realises what you’d just said. 

Realisation dawns on you too. “Oh God,” you whisper, anxiety shooting through your veins like wildfire. “Too soon?” Had you really just told your boyfriend of three months that you love him? Had you messed up? “Jin, I—“

“Did you just call me a goose?” 

You gasp, slapping his chest. “Stop it! That’s not funny!” Your voice pitches in a whine as he burst into laughter in your embrace. He doesn’t let you go though, holding you close as he shakes. Eyes turning into crescents, cheeks becoming red. A happy sight. “Jin!” You whine again. 

Then, he leans in to press his forehead against yours, still giggling. “I love you too.”

All rights reserved © GguksGalaxy 2020

[ edited by @dee-ehn​ & @yoongs-jeontae​ ]

#magicshopnet #ficswithluv #bangtanscenery #bangtanheadquarters #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts x reader #mywriting #kissdrabbles #seokjin fluff #bts fluff #seokjin scenario #bts scenario #jin scenario #jin fluff #bts smut #jin smut #seokjin smut #bts fic #jin fic #seokjin fic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfic #bts fanfiction #jin fanfiction #seokjin fanfiction #jin drabble #bts drabble #seokjin drabble

[flurrys-creativity]

Happy Anniversary! 😍 You were one of the first Blogs I stumbled upon when I fell into the black hole that is the realm of "I just wanted to know their names" and I was so happily surprised that you write for Day6 and BTS, because I love your writing.���

For the drabble:

Namjoon - established relationship/angst (but not to much angst, I'm a fluff person at heart - the situation: a rainy day (because I just listened to mono and have "forever rain" on repeat)

🧡

Oooh! Wow! I never expected that! Still huge thank you 🥰 

But yeah.. that hole.. it all started with just one group and now look at us.. waaayyy too deep to ever come back 😅

I do hope to write more for Day6 in the future but sometimes it’s quite hard to juggle with more than one group..

Anyway! Here is your well.. technically not a drabble but drabble:

Rainy Days

Pairing: Kim Namjoon (BTS) x Reader; Genre: Established Relationship, Angst, a little fluff; Rating: sfw, PG-13; Warnings: A curse word, angsty, slightly violent behaviour; Wordcount: 940

Summary: Sometimes your patience is just non-existant and when Namjoon breaks something you just explode. But after he leaves your shared apartment you start to worry - especially because it’s raining.

You can't even remember how it all started. Something minor, stupid even and definitely not worth fighting over.

Still you did. You fought with Namjoon because he did something that was the little drop to overfill your bottle of patience. And it didn't just overflow. No, it exploded.

Anger had filled your mind and blinded you to your actions. You had screamed and shouted at him, if your sore throat was any indicator. Maybe even cursed. 

Sure you had been in a few quarrels and arguments with Namjoon and occasionally a small fight but it never had been this intense before.

You had grabbed a box and threw all his belongings inside of it, not paying any attention to his words.

He had stopped arguing with you the second you threw a picture of the both of you into the box and the glass broke loudly.

You remember his empty gaze staring at the box, his shoulders dropping more and more with every passing second. Still you were fuming, breathing heavily and ready to throw something new into the box. 

That was until Namjoon turned around and left. The shutting of the door, even though it wasn’t loud in any means, brought you out of your blinded rage. Your anger vanished and left a huge hole inside of your chest. A hole that got filled with fear and worry as time passed.

You sat on the couch, knees clutched tightly to your chest while your eyes kept staring at the box in the middle of the room, that obnoxiously reminded you of the fucked up situation you were in.

When the first raindrops hit the windows, the first tears escaped your eyes. With a blurred sight you stared out of the window, the worry inside your mind growing even more. You scrambled for your phone, sniffing slightly.

“I’m sorry.” You typed but stopped again, wiping over your eyes to have a clear view. Reading over the two words again, you shook your head and deleted them quickly. This didn’t feel right and absolutely not sincere.

You bit down on your lower lip and pressed the call button on your phone. You anxiously waited for Namjoon to pick up but after the ringing just continued you cut the call again.

Restlessness took over your mind. At first you just wandered around your shared apartment, stopping in front of the window and staring outside, hoping to see Namjoon coming back home. You even ran to the front door every time you heard something, opening it hastily and staring outside into an empty hall. When the mindless wandering didn’t satisfy your mind anymore you started to get everything out of the box again, placing it with utmost care where it belonged.

Hours passed, the rain turned into a heavy downpour and Namjoon still didn’t come home.

You tried calling him. Over and over again. He never picked up. You even called his friends, desperate to find him but he wasn’t with them.

As a last measure you decided to search for him. You grabbed a raincoat, wellingtons and an umbrella, stuffing your keys in a pocket and holding your phone close to your chest. You knew a few of his favourite places in parks and along the river. You simply hoped to find him there.

Checking once again, if you hadn’t forgotten anything, you stopped shortly, staring at the broken picture of you two. You had to buy a new frame after you found Namjoon.

Determined, you turned around, ready to storm out of your apartment. You opened the door and ran straight into someone. Blinking rapidly, you looked up, seeing Namjoon standing in front of you. Immediately you dropped everything and hugged him tightly, sobbing into his chest. You ignored the cold wetness seeping from his clothes to you. 

When you calmed down you leaned back and cupped his face, your eyes skipping over his features quickly. Tears welled up in your eyes, when you saw the red rim underneath his eyes. “I’m so sorry”, you whispered, wiping over his cheeks with your thumbs. “I’m so stupid.” You tried to explain yourself but couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

“I accept your apology. You had a rough day, it happens. I understand.” Namjoon smiled gently, leaning into your touch.

Once again you hugged him tightly, sobbing and crying again. Relief spread through your body and you couldn’t hold your emotions back anymore. Thankful Namjoon came back to you and accepted your apology. Relieved to feel and hold him again. As soon as you calmed down enough, still refusing to let go of him, the both of you walked back into the living room of your apartment. You only let go of him for the split second you had to get rid of your rainwear and Namjoon of his wet clothes, immediately clinging onto him right after it again.

“Where were you? I tried to call you but couldn’t reach you”, you asked once the both of you were snuggled on the couch underneath a warm blanket.

“I bought a new frame for the picture.”

You smiled gently, kissing his cheek quickly. “I should have done that since I destroyed it.”

“It’s alright. Normally you buy or repair the stuff I destroy. It’s a nice change.” Namjoon grinned at you, pulling you closer against him. 

You nodded shortly, your gaze wandering to the window, where the raindrops still hit the glass. “Want to make hot cocoa and read a book together?”

Namjoon followed your gaze, watching the raindrops running down the window for a while. “Sounds like a perfect thing to do right now.”

© all rights reserved

#btswritersguild #btsgoldnet #bangtanheadquarters #bangtanarmynet #magicshopnet #btscreatorscorner #kwritersworldnet #starryktown #Requested #Ask #anniversary requests #kim namjoon #bts namjoon #bts rm #bts #thank you for the ask! #ask me anything! #request anything #call from the unknown #flurry answers

[here4theheartbreak]

Tasting Starlight Ch.7 (V3Min)

AO3 Link Here

Relationships: Lee Taemin x Park Jimin, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung x Lee Taemin x Park Jimin (V3Min) Rating: Explicit

Genres: angst, smut Tags: smut, angst, fake dating, jealousy, pining, friends with benefits, getting together, bottom Taemin, switch Jimin, top Taehyung, top Minho

Summary: Minho has been in love with his best friend since forever. But Taemin was determined to be unattached… Until suddenly he wasn’t. Taehyung spent his entire life pining after happiness with his best friend, only to have it ripped away when Jimin finds someone else. The rational response? Hatch a plan to make their respective crushes jealous. The part where they fell in love with each other, however, wasn’t part of the plan.

Chapter Word Count: ~3.9k

Minho paced back and forth, staring at himself in the mirror and flattening his shirt down over his chest. He shouldn’t be nervous. It wasn’t like he’d never met these guys before, they were his friends. Hell, he spent a good portion of the previous five days making out with one or more of them. But this felt far more intimate and a hundred times more important. He was the eldest, and he felt like he had a responsibility more than the others to make sure things went smoothly. He took a deep breath and nodded. Nothing more he could do but continue to fret, so he may as well head to the restaurant.

On his way, his phone buzzed.

‘Getting ready for tonight… Do you think I should wear that button down you bought me for Christmas last year? The striped one?’

Minho smiled a little. ‘It looks good on you, I think so’

‘Are you nervous?’

‘Unbearably. I’ve been fidgeting since noon’

‘Are you home?’

‘On the bus to the restaurant. I’m early but I figure I’ll wander around the park and try to calm my nerves’

‘Give me twenty minutes to get ready and I’ll head there too, we can walk until closer to time to meet?’

‘Sounds good’

Minho tucked his phone away. It would be fine. It was just the guys. They’d hung out plenty of times prior to this. Nothing new. Except that it was a date. A date with the three men he’d fallen so head over heels for. He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to pull it off, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would do all he could to make sure his boyfriends were happy with him.

The air was cool when he got off the bus. He texted the others to remember a light jacket, and headed to the park. Much to his surprise, a very familiar face was sitting on a bench near the entrance, flipping through a book.

“Taehyungie?”

Taehyung’s head snapped up. He was wearing a beautiful blue turtleneck and a light denim jacket, as well as a pair of neat black jeans. He looked confused for a moment and then checked his watch.

“Don’t worry, I’m like an hour early,” Minho said, hurrying over to him. “Taemin’s on his way too. How long have you been here?”

Taehyung smiled sheepishly, tucking the book into his jacket. “Since two. I was really nervous so I thought being outside would help me relax a little. Reading in the park helps me sometimes.”

Minho sat beside him. “I was freaking out too, that’s why I came. Are you warm enough?”

Taehyung nodded. “Jimin texted, said he’d be by a little early to keep me company, he’s gonna cut out of his dance practice a bit early.”

Minho clicked his tongue. “Shouldn’t do that.”

“No, but he’s excited. He told me last night he’s re-picked his outfit four times.”

“I know the feeling,” Minho muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Same. Jimin said he dyed his hair too.”

“What color?”

“He won’t say. Said it’s a surprise. Should I dye my hair?” Taehyung grabbed his bangs, crossing his eyes to look at it. Minho chuckled.

“You’d look cute with dyed hair, if you wanted. But you’d have to be careful for film roles.”

“Right, that’s why I haven’t. But maybe just the tips? I could cut them. Or dye it back.”

“You should talk to Taemin. I bet he’d know exactly what would look amazing on you. He works wonder on hair.”

Taehyung nodded, smiling and letting go of his hair. “Would you ever dye your hair?”

“He did it white once for me for a film. I liked it okay, but… I’m kinda boring. Taemin’s the fancy one.”

“Not true.” Taehyung poked him playfully. Minho laughed a bit, then sighed.

“I’m so nervous. I shouldn’t be nervous, should I?”

“No, but I get it. This feels big.”

Minho nodded. Taehyung squeezed his wrist. “Let’s go deeper into the park. There’s a place that’s kind of out of the view of people.”

“That sounds dirty.” Minho teased.

“I wanna kiss you and hold your hand without someone seeing,” Taehyung pouted.

Minho nodded, rising. “Lead the way, we’ll guide Taemin there once he arrives.”

Taehyung rose and began trotting down the path, moving quick enough that Minho had to hurry to keep up. He turned a few angles on the gravel and then stepped off it onto a dirt path, looking back at Minho with a grin. A few more feet and they were effectively hidden from the view of the main path, trees on all sides of them.

“See? Secret spot.”

Minho smiled softly. He pulled Taehyung close, grabbing his hand. He pressed their palms together and then twined their fingers, squeezing before closing the gap between their mouths. Their kisses deepened slowly, tongues brushing over one another’s lips, sharing quick breaths of air as they shifted. Taehyung kept a tight grip on his hand, squeezing gently when Minho nipped his bottom lip.

Minho pulled back and smiled. He glanced down. “Oh, Taemin’s here.”

“I’ll step out, tell him to follow the path back.”

Minho nodded, letting go of Taehyung’s hand to respond to Taemin.

The two returned shortly. “Having fun without me?” Taemin pouted.

“Just a little. Come here.” Minho opened his arms, and both stepped toward him. He hooked an arm around each, pressing a gentle kiss to Taemin’s mouth first. It deepened just as naturally as it did prior with Taehyung. Minho felt Taehyung shift, and his soft lips pressed against his neck. He moved back, allowing Taemin to move enough to catch Taehyung’s mouth in a kiss.

Minho sighed contentedly, watching the two kiss. There was no feeling of jealousy or distrust, he realized, as he watched the two. There was a contentment. He stepped back and grabbed his phone, snapping a photo as sneakily as he could to send to Jimin.

‘Hurry along  We miss you’

Jimin’s response came quickly. ‘I’m hurrying! I’ll be there soon. Are you guys in the little wooded spot in the park?’

‘Taehyung took us here. You know it?’

‘I’ll be there in 10’

“Texting your other boyfriend?” Taemin teased.

“I am, actually, how did you know?”

They laughed a little. “Is he almost here?” Taehyung asked.

“Yeah, be here in ten. Come here.” He pulled Taehyung forward and kissed him, reaching out for Taemin’s hand as he did. Their fingers twined and Minho dragged him forward, shifting to kiss his mouth again with the same intensity.

The three continued to share gentle touches and kisses until Jimin’s gentle laugh broke the quiet. “Naughty,” he whispered as he came around the corner. “What if someone catches you?”

“Would they even begin to know what to make of us?” Taemin asked. He gasped. “Your hair!”

Jimin grinned, running his fingers through his hair. Previously a pale pinkish blonde, it was a vibrant peachy pink-orange now.

“It is amazing,” Minho praised, reaching out and running his fingers through it. “It’s so bright,” Taehyung agreed, beaming. He hurried up to Jimin, running his fingers through it. “So cool.”

“Thank you. I wanted a change for our first… Date.”

Taehyung went forward, kissing Jimin. “I love it,” he whispered.

“It’s perfect,” Taemin agreed. “But don’t ever do it again.” He pouted. “You’re dating a stylist. Let me dye your hair next time, okay?”

Jimin laughed and nodded. “Okay.”

“Speaking of which,” Taehyung said. “What do you think about doing just a little of my hair a color? I can’t do too much because of auditions, but I really wanna try a fun color.”

Taemin tilted his head, tapping his finger on his chin. “Hmm, I bet I could do something fun for you.”

As the two talked, Minho slipped between them, wrapping Jimin in his arms. “How was practice?” He asked.

“Exhausting… But knowing I was doing this after kept me going. No cold feet from anyone?”

“Well, we all came early because we were panicking,” Minho admitted.

“Not in a bad way, right? I was nervous but…”

“I just really want it to go well.”

“It will.” Jimin grabbed his hands. “I know it will.” He rose onto his toes and kissed Minho’s mouth, grinning when he went back down. “How close is it to dinner?”

“Hm, about ten minutes. We should head there.” He turned. “Guys, come on, let’s head to the restaurant.”

The walk to the restaurant was quiet, but not entirely uncomfortable. They walked in a loose group, side-by-sides shifting as one sped up or slowed down, shifted to the side for another passerby.

Once at the restaurant, they sat at a circular table, Minho between Taemin and Taehyung, and Jimin almost directly across from him. They ordered with ease, each deciding what to share and what they wanted to try. Despite the nerves that they all seemed to have leading up to the date, things began to flow without a problem. The conversation came easy and the laughter was as plentiful as the food, feeding one another and teasing in the way that would have almost any passerby thinking they were the best of friends, or more.

As dinner shifted into dessert, so did the atmosphere of their table. They became quieter, looks a bit more heated. Though this was their first date, they’d spent the week prior sharing kisses and heavy petting, and the end of a date meant two possibilities for any of them.

Minho sensed the want first with Taemin, having seen the look a hundred times before as he fed him a bite of the cake they’d ordered. Minho reached over under the table, squeezing his thigh. Taemin smirked, bottom lip slipping between his teeth.

“We’re in public,” Jimin scolded without venom. Minho felt his foot slide over his ankle, and smirked. He took his fork and cut off a bit of cake, offering it to Taehyung. Moments before Taehyung took it, Minho leaned forward, snagging it off his own fork and nearly pressing their lips together. Taehyung gasped a little, and their proximity allowed Minho to watch his pupils dilate… The point had been made to him as well.

“We should get the check,” Jimin whispered. Taemin nodded. Minho leaned back. He called for the check, not missing the heavy silence around the table. They were all thinking it.

“Should we get a car back?” Taemin asked as they gathered their jackets to leave.

“Whose house are we going to?” Taehyung wondered. They held their conversation until they reached the street, walking toward the bus stop even as they discussed.

“I think we should go to Minho-hyung’s,” Jimin said. “He’s got the largest space, I think, and one of the more private homes. Taemin-hyung has his parents, my place is small, and you live in a really crowded complex.”

“I agree. And Minho-hyung has the biggest bed, let’s be very serious,” Taemin said. Taehyung choked on air, and Minho chuckled.

“I think we were avoiding the elephant in the room there, Tae.”

“Well I’m not. First date or not, I’ve been itching to make love to all three of you for a solid week or more. And I intend to… If you guys want to.”

“Oh we do.”

“Of course, don’t be silly.”

“Yeah, of course,” the chorus of the others rose up.

“I think a car is fine, we can split it,” Minho said. “And it’ll be a bit faster than the bus route.”

“And more private,” Jimin agreed.

Minho stepped to the street side to hail a car, his heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest.  

Heavy, but comfortable silence seemed to be the theme of the night for the quad as they made their way from location to location. The car ride was cramped and silent, each clearly in their own heads. The elevator up to Minho’s apartment, even as they removed their coats and shoes, silence save for their breathing.

They stood in the living room in a loose circle, each staring at one another. Taemin chuckled. “Aren’t we a bunch?”

“Acting like a bunch of virgins is more like,” Jimin grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “As if we haven’t been itching for this.” He stepped forward and grabbed Jimin’s hand, dragging him toward the bedroom. Jimin made a surprised noise, and the other two followed.

Once there, the tension from the living room slipped away. Taehyung shoved Jimin against the wall, kissing him hard and possessively. At the same time, Taemin began to tug at the buttons on Minho’s shirt, alternating between kissing his neck and mouth. Minho reached for Jimin, catching his hand and giving it a squeeze. Minho made a small noise of protest when he felt one of his buttons rip, but Taemin giggled.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against his mouth.

“No need to rush,” Taehyung scolded. He backed away from Jimin to shove Taemin away from Minho, pushing him back until his knees hit the bed. They collapsed onto it hard enough that the springs squeaked.

Minho turned to Jimin, tossing his shirt aside before sliding his hands under Jimin’s shirt. “You already look absolutely taken apart,” he mumbled, noticing the flush of Jimin’s cheeks.

“I’m in heaven,” he mumbled.

“Well don’t fly away at this moment. You’ve seen nothing yet.” Minho brushed his thumbs over Jimin’s toned belly before lifting his shirt and yanking it off. He sank to his knees, undoing Jimin’s belt.

“Oh—” Jimin placed his hands on Minho’s shoulders, mouth falling open in surprise.

Minho tugged his jeans down, nuzzling against the hardening bulge in his boxers. He pulled back and winked.

“Get on the bed.” He rose, stripping out of his own jeans.

On the bed, Taehyung had stripped Taemin down to his boxers, and was in just his jeans as he kissed over his bare chest, making a point to bite and suck his nipples as he moved down. Taemin moaned helplessly, fingers buried in Taehyung’s hair. Minho crawled into bed with them, Jimin on the other side, and silenced Taemin with a kiss.

Jimin moved down, working Taehyung’s pants off before moving up to tug at Taemin’s boxers.

“First one naked,” Minho teased Taemin when his boxers were tossed aside.

“Better catch up then,” Taemin panted. His back arched when Taehyung took his cock into his mouth, sucking gently. At the same time, Jimin pushed Taemin’s legs open, lapping at his hole.

Minho passed a bottle of lube down to him and moved down, shedding his own boxers. He adjusted Jimin until he was on his knees, still able to reach Taemin, and shoved Jimin’s boxers down as well as he could. He spread Jimin open, running his thumb over his tight hole. Jimin whined softly.

“He’s sensitive,” Taemin rasped, one hand buried in Taehyung’s hair, the other in Jimin’s.

“Good.” Minho leaned forward, setting to work licking and sucking and biting at Jimin’s hole. Jimin shouted against Taemin, his hips jerking back.

Taehyung shifted, kissing Jimin’s parted lips. “Lay up with him. Enjoy it, I’ll handle this.”

Jimin nodded. Minho let him go to kick off his boxers and lay next to Taemin. The two immediately leaned together, sharing a deep kiss and swallowing one another’s moans as Minho and Taehyung shifted and set to work loosening and opening their lovers. They passed the lube back and forth, working them open gently as they sucked their cocks, keeping the focus on the pleasure and trying to avoid discomfort. Taehyung reached over, sliding his long fingers into Jimin’s fluttering ass to help Minho stretch him open, pulling off Taemin’s cock long enough to press a messy kiss to Minho’s mouth.

When the two were relaxed enough, Minho shifted, pulling Taehyung’s boxers off and tossing them aside. Jimin moved over immediately, pushing Taemin’s legs up and lining his cock up.

“Ready?” He asked.

Taemin nodded. Taehyung reached over, grabbing Jimin’s cock and adding more lube to it as they kissed. Jimin pressed slow and steady into Taemin, both of them moaning loudly. Minho pushed Taehyung onto the bed, swallowing his cock down even as the two fucked next to them. Taehyung buried his fingers in Minho’s hair, pumping his hips up hard enough to gag him every few thrusts.

Taemin swore, reaching down to fist Minho’s hair as well. He kissed Taehyung messily as Jimin pumped into him, his legs resting on Jimin’s shoulders.

Minho moved back, watching the two fuck for a moment. He reached out, slipping two fingers into Jimin’s loosened hole and chuckling when Jimin’s hips stuttered.

“Wanna?” He asked Taehyung.

“Share?” Taehyung suggested. Minho nodded. The two climbed behind Jimin, pushing Taemin’s legs open before shoving Jimin into a lying position over him. Minho went first, slicking his cock and driving it into Jimin’s hole. The three moaned, each thrust from Minho causing Jimin to drive deeper into Taemin. Just when the three build a comfortable rhythm, Minho pulled out, allowing Taehyung to drive his cock home. Jimin shouted, his hips jerking back in surprise. Taehyung was thicker, upsetting the previous balance he’d gotten. Taehyung’s thrusts were far sharper, forcing Jimin’s hips forward into the writhing Taemin over and over.

Back and forth, Minho and Taehyung switched until Jimin was pleading to come, each switch edging him forward and dragging him back despite Taemin’s ass squeezing his cock.

“Our turn with Tae,” Taehyung said, slapping his ass.

Jimin obeyed with a pitiful whine, pulling out. He shifted over, keeping his ass in the air in a silent plea.

“Go ahead,” Minho said, motioning to Taemin. “I’ll take care of our pretty dancer first.”

He drove back into Jimin, reaching forward and yanking his head up by his hair. “Watch,” he whispered.

Jimin looked over, watching Taehyung slick his cock and drive into Taemin.

Taemin’s back arched beautifully off the bed, his head thrown back in pleasure. Taehyung fucked into him hard and fast, his teeth gritted. Jimin whined, his ass clenching around Minho’s thrusting cock.

“Wanna help them?” Minho suggested, his breathing coming in sharp pants. He hated how close he already was, but if the cries of his boyfriends were any indication – he wasn’t the only one.

Jimin nodded. Minho pulled out, letting him turn and lie on his side. He went forward, wrapping his lips around Taemin’s cock and beginning to suck and bob his head even as Taehyung fucked him. Taemin groaned, his hands fisting the sheet under him.

“Don’t be rude,” Minho teased, sliding his cock back into Jimin’s used ass. He angled Jimin’s cock down, brushing it against Taemin’s bite swollen bottom lip.

Taemin opened his mouth immediately, moans stifled as Jimin’s cock slid in and bumped the back of his throat. He bobbed his head quickly, reaching up to play with Jimin’s balls as he did.

When Minho was nearly there, Taehyung cried his name.

“Switch?” He suggested. Minho nodded, pulling out of Jimin and standing up for a moment to let his orgasm fade. He wasn’t one for edging, normally, but this was too good to let end this quickly. Jimin and Taemin shifted on the bed so they were both on their sides, legs kicked up as they sucked one another’s cocks. Taehyung caught Minho as they switched sides, their hard, wet cocks bumping as they kissed one another deeply.

Minho slid into Taemin’s ass as nice and slow as he could, focusing on the squeeze of the muscles and the way Taemin whined around the cock in his mouth. He’d fucked him plenty of times before, sure. But this felt different. It felt intimate.

Taehyung pushed into Jimin, gasping. They both remained on their knees as they fucked into their chosen partner, looking down at the scene below them. Their eyes met, and Minho smiled, open mouthed. It had all started with a dumb idea. Pretending to date… And here they were. Absolutely head over heels for one another.

They went forward, kissing over Jimin and Taemin’s forms. They separated and Minho reached across, holding Jimin’s ass as Taehyung groaned. Taehyung did the same for Taemin, a small connection, a reminder that they were all together in this, and in everything else.

Minho saw stars when he finally came, his hips stuttering before going still, buried deep inside Taemin. He could hear Jimin screaming their names, his eyes barely focusing enough to watch as he shuddered, cock throbbing in Taemin’s mouth.

Taehyung came next, as Minho felt the trailing wisps of his orgasm fading. He was much softer, grunting each of his boyfriend’s names. He reached down, stroking Taemin as he did. Minho continued to thrust tiredly, his cock softening inside Taemin. Their attempts were enough; Taemin hissed their names, spilling into Jimin’s open mouth.

The four worked their way into a semi-comfortable laying position, Jimin’s head on Taemin’s chest, Taehyung pressed against Jimin’s back, and Minho on the other side, his arm slung across the four. He was sweating, as were the others, their pants still cutting through the air, hot and humid from their activities.

“Are we gonna try to sleep like this?” Taehyung finally grumbled. Minho chuckled.

“As nice as sleeping together would be, I don’t see it being possible. The bed is soaked with sweat.”

Taemin cuddled a little closer to him, a quiet plea for attention. He kissed along his jaw gently.

“Why don’t you take Jimin to shower, Tae? Me and Taemin will change the sheets and get it cooled off in here, then we can switch. That way we can try to sleep together.”

Taehyung nodded. He rose, helping Jimin to his feet. He leaned over and kissed Taemin and Minho both, smiling softly before guiding Jimin out and toward the bathroom.

Taemin cuddled against Minho.

“That was unbelievable.”

“It was. It felt different, even you and me.”

Taemin nodded. He sat up, stretching, and chuckling when his back popped in a few places. “It was more emotional with all of us,” he agreed.

“How are you feeling?” Minho asked, rubbing his lower back. “Floaty, or here?”

“Bit of both. But I won’t drop.”

“Here’s where you used to dress and move us along like nothing happened,” Minho whispered.

Taemin looked back at him and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry I hurt you like that, hyung. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You already have,” Minho promised. “Let’s get the bed re-made so the boys have a cool place to lie out of the shower.”

“If we hurry, I bet we can join them.”

Minho grinned, sitting up. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

The two worked to make the bed and join the others, catching them right before they finished in the shower. A handful more heated kisses, and a quick shower of their own, Minho and Taemin crawled into bed with Jimin and Taehyung. A tangle of arms and legs, folding and shifting to fit all four, each seemed determined to touch some part of everyone else. Night had fallen completely by the time the four settled down.

Despite his exhaustion, Minho found himself remaining awake, watching as each of his boyfriends drifted to sleep. Jimin had said earlier he was in heaven, and Minho had to agree with that assessment. There in that moment, with the light of the stars shimmering on the faces of the men sleeping in his arms, Minho had found his heaven.

#v3min #kwritersworldnet #bangtanidx #bangtanheadquarters #thebtsbookclub #boymeetsmxm #mywriting

[guksweet]

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[ppersonna]

agent of love - jjk | mlist

➸  as the FBI agent assigned to your phone, Jungkook keeps a diligent watch.  he takes a special interest when you try your hand in online dating AND online sexting. desperate to keep you from bombing yet another potential date, Jungkook breaks his vow of silence to assist you in your plight to get laid.

a social media au

pairing- jeon jungkook x reader

rating- explict/nsfw/18+

warnings- smut, cursing, sexting, pining, more will be added as chapters are released!

00 - profiles

01 - don’t freak out 

02 - i saw that

03 - just regular jungkook

04 - nail on the head

05 - sexless losers

to be added to the taglist, please send an ask!

#bts sm au #bts social media au #bts jungkook #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bhq #bangtanheadquarters #heartsforbtsnet

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Break My Heart (myg)

Summary: It’s over, and both you and Yoongi think about the past.

A/N: Thanks to @taegularities and @casuallyimagining​ for betaing this for me!

Warnings: angst, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, some making out and nipple play but this is mostly sad

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 5221

You try to push past him, but he throws you over his shoulder and you don’t even fight him, let him take you to the bed. His eyes are wet and his hands are soft on your skin.

“Don’t,” he starts, but you’re not listening. You’ve listened too much over the last year.

“Yoongi.”

He makes a whine in the back of his throat, hides his face in your neck. Your hands come up to rub his back - it’s like a reflex - before you push him off, head toward the door.

He won’t follow you. He never does.

You’re wrong, though. You’re wrong about so many things. He follows you into the hallway, into the elevator, keeps the door open with one foot while you try to shove him back out into the hallway. Finally, you end up fuming at the back of the elevator, arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him.

Yoongi’s trembling, you can see his hand shaking as he holds it out to you. He says your name, his voice hoarse and quiet.

“You wanna break my heart?

Your breath hitches in your chest as you’re catapulted back a year, two years, 5 years. You can see yourself then, your hair shorter and blonder, his hair darker. He was skinnier, then. Hell, so were you.

You were sitting on a curb, half crying and all drunk after a night out, trying to forget a recent breakup, when Yoongi sat down next to you, offered you what at first you thought was a handkerchief, but what ended up being a simple bar napkin.

“Hey,” he said softly, giving you a crooked smile and a tilt of his head. “Don’t cry. You wanna break my heart?”

It started so innocently, you and Yoongi. You were friends first, best friends even. He sat next to you on that curb, rubbed your back until you stopped crying, and you explained the whole situation to him, barely registering that he’d draped his jacket over your shoulders. He didn’t speak, just listened and nodded in the right moments, and when you were done, your cheeks hot from embarrassment of spilling out everything in your mind, he made this little hum in the back of his throat.

“So you need something to get him off your back,” he said thoughtfully.

You looked at him for a moment, stunned. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Your ex had been relentless in his pursuit to get you to talk to him after he’d cheated on you, and you were well and truly not interested. That night, you’d been sure you’d be free of him because he’d always been the type to go away for spring break, but he’d been there after all, chasing you around the clubs downtown. 

Yoongi (you remembered his name, he’d told you as soon as he’d sat down and introduced himself while you were crying), hummed again.

“I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” he said, and gave you this open, gummy smile.

You did trust him, somehow, even though you didn’t know why. He leaned in close, whispered his plan in your ear, and even though it sent a shock down your spine, you nodded. Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were just being curious. Either way, it started this thing. Started this slide, like a mudslide down the longest mountain.

You jumped in, with your eyes wide open, trusted him from the jump, and maybe you’d been wrong. Maybe you’d been wrong about a lot of things.

You were 20 when Yoongi had leaned in closer, just below your dangling earring, and planted the softest, most open kiss on your neck. Goosebumps pimpled your flesh, but you didn’t move, in fact, tilted your head to give him better access.

Seconds passed before he swept your hair from your shoulder, his fingertips brushing your skin, and you let out a breath with a little whine. He murmured something when he kissed you there again, this time sucking at your skin, almost roughly.

“Pretty,” you think it was what he said, but as important as that moment was, with all the things it started, that part was fuzzy because your head spun at the softness of his lips on your skin, the sting when he’d marked you there.

“There,” Yoongi said, still half mumbling, and you wondered how much he’d drunk.

His eyes were clear and warm when you looked at him, though, although his cheeks were dusted rose. 

“Uh, th-thank you,” you muttered, feeling small and embarrassed now after it was over.

Yoongi gave you that gummy smile again, and you felt better almost instantly. 

You didn’t know it then, but Yoongi always had that effect on you...until he didn’t. Until he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. Until you stopped counting the hours he spent away from the bed you shared. Until it was over.

Yoongi stands next to your car, hands on your hood, tears streaming down his face and his eyes pleading with you. But you block it out, look straight ahead, start the car and rev the engine until he moves.

At first, you’re not quite sure he will, but finally he steps back, shoulders slumped, defeated. You manage not to cry, at least not until you’ve pulled over on the interstate, cars whooshing by you as you cover your face.

It isn’t as if you hadn’t tried.

You know how important Yoongi’s music is to him, you know he’s been working on getting an album produced and you’re proud of him, you really are, but...

But: you have barely seen his face in three months. But: you keep sleeping on one side of the bed because it’s cold on his side. But: you fucking miss him. 

You want to talk to him about it, but how can you? How can you when you know this is everything to him? Even when you’d been kids in college, he’d dreamed of producing an album and this opportunity hadn’t just dropped in his lap, he’d worked for it. You’re supposed to be supportive, but all you can do is wonder how long it will be before you see his gummy smile again.

But: when he is home, he’s barely there, drinking too much coffee or scotch, depending on the time of day, barely looking at you, barely talking to you, grunting at you in response, mechanically eating the dinner you’d prepare.

One night, you’d push back from the table, frustrated, and it’d hit the counter with a thud.

Yoongi had looked up from his food, blinked at you as if he was waking from a dream.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“No,” you’d answered. “I’m not.”

You’d stormed off to the bedroom, and he hadn’t followed you. Hours later, he’d slid into bed next to you, his lips on your neck, the same spot he’d kissed that first night. 

“I’m sorry,” he’d mumbled against your skin, words slurred around the edges just like the night you'd met.

You could smell the red wine he liked at dinner on his breath when you turned, and they’d been on the tip of your tongue, the words. 

"What's wrong?" you’d wanted to ask. "Is it me?" 

That las thought had kept you from speaking, allowed those words to die in your throat as you’d looped your arms around his neck, tasted the red wine on his tongue.

Because: what if it was something big, something you couldn’t fix? Because: what if it was you? What would you’ve done, then? 

After the night outside the club, after Yoongi's mouth on your throat, you woke up the next morning and thumbed the mark he'd left while looking in the mirror.

Thinking about it  made your face heat and it got worse when you saw him on campus, big gummy smile and looking a lot less hungover than you, his bleached bangs in his face. 

"Hey, you," he said in this low voice, and you couldn’t help smiling back.

It went on like that, you and Yoongi, for months, and then a year, and then eighteen months. He walked you to most of your classes, bought you lunch, once or twice made you laugh so hard you'd snorted banana milk out of your nose. Things became easy with him, and it was so much like a friendship that you barely noticed when you began to fall in love with him.

Falling was easy, but gradual. By the time you realized it, he was graduating and you were a junior and you had no fucking idea what to do about it. You stood at the corner of his best friend's apartment, where there was booze and balloons and about 20 people, and sipped some foul smelling punch that someone had handed you, and looked for him.

You wondered how often you'd done this, looked for him in a crowd, felt your heart swell inside your chest when you found him, when he broke into that familiar gummy smile. You wondered how long you'd been in love and not known it, when he suddenly slid up behind you, his fingers light on your hip.

"Hey, you," he murmured, and you tilted your head back to look at him.

You smiled, just a bit, and he took this comical hitched breath.

"Y/n," he said, as if scolding you. "Don't look at me like that. You wanna break my heart?"

To this day, you aren’t sure if it was that he might’ve been leaving the country or that awful hunch punch, but your heart pounded against your chest too hard, and all you could think to do was to kiss him.

Quickly, without much thought, your lips pressed against his. It had been almost chaste, really, but Yoongi made this low, surprised sound in the back of his throat, his arms going around you and cinching at your waist, tightly, in this near possessive gesture that made your stomach tighten. 

And that was it, at least for you. He’d kissed you back, and you’d been all but lost.

Yoongi didn’t leave the country, despite his plans. Later you wondered if that’d been your first mistake: not being strong enough to let him go.

It’s raining now, the sound of it thudding on the roof of your car louder than your heartbeat, and you can’t stop crying, gasping in these hitching breaths every few minutes, your stomach clenching from the force of your sobs. You know it’s dangerous here, on the side of the road and you can’t even remember if you’ve turned on your flashers but that doesn’t seem to matter, all that matters is that you can’t breathe, something viscous and rotten in your chest and stomach, something like all the mistakes you’ve made and all the regrets you have, maybe all those words, those questions you should have asked but didn’t. They’re choking you, poisoning you from the inside out and it’s flooding, but you fumble with the door handle, push the door open and swing your legs out, putting your head between your knees.

When you lift your head, finally able to breathe again, wanting to feel the rain on your face, there’s the bright glow of headlights, and then a blissful black fades over your eyes. You’re almost grateful.

Your dreams are almost all memories.

It’s disjointed, at first, but then you know where you are. Yoongi’s loft apartment back in college, and you know you’re dreaming but you can feel his hands on you nevertheless. You remember them being cold, clammy almost, and he was trembling as if he was nervous.

You laughed at him when he fumbled with your bra strap and he made this grumble in the back of his throat that made you laugh harder.

The laughter died in your throat when he pulled your breasts out of your bra impatiently, dragged his thumbs across your nipples. Your skin felt hot, like you were fevered, when he leaned forward and marked that spot below your ear again, harder, his teeth grazing against your skin.

When you were bare and arching your back beneath him, he sat up on his knees, his eyes dark and hungry looking down at you. 

“God,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. “You are gonna break my heart.”

It’s starts to rain when Yoongi watches you drive away, and he looks down at the pavement and thinks about the first time he saw you, head in your hands, sitting on the curb with your legs crossed like a child.

Something about the way your shoulders had slumped tugged at his heartstrings, drew him to you, and when you looked at him, eyes big and wet, it had been alarming how much it made his heart ache.

He always hated to see you cry.

You weren’t even crying much when he’d pinned you to the bed, hoped he could make it okay with kisses on your throat and chin, make you smile again. Not even when he begged you to stay in the elevator, in the parking lot, banging his hands uselessly on the hood of your car.

“You’re a million miles away, Yoongi,” you’d said, drying your hands after loading the dishwasher, throwing the cloth with more aggression than he’d expected.

“I’m right here,” he’d said easily, and you let out a long breath and he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Knew it was wrong because it was a lie and you fucking knew it. You knew him, better than maybe anyone else in the world.

“You act as if I don’t fucking know you, Yoongi,” you’d said, something vicious in your voice and he stayed seated at the table as you glared at him, stunned that you’d said almost exactly what he’d been thinking.

He doesn’t know why he’d been surprised. You’d always seen right through him, from the first night.

Yoongi remembers the night he’d finally confessed, after two years of watching the line of your neck, wishing he could kiss it again, leave his mark there, after two years of watching other guys flirt with you and pretending it didn’t make his skin heat up, something buzzing under his skin like a beehive. 

He remembers, suddenly and painfully, the way you’d tilted your chin up, turned your head to face him at his graduation party, remembers how full his heart had been, how joy had shot through him like lightning when he’d put his arms around you and you didn’t pull away, how just one corner of your mouth turned up.

He remembers wanting to tell you, wanting to tell you just how much he felt, how he felt full to bursting with you, like you’d burrowed under his skin. He remembers wanting to tell you how he planed every day around you, how the things he’d do almost scared him, the things he’d sacrifice, to keep seeing you smile every day.

Yoongi hadn’t known how to explain it so that you’d understand, so instead he’d done his best to press it into you with his hands and his mouth, like you’d somehow be able to feel it through osmosis, and maybe you had, because after that first night, things had caught on like wildfire.

He’d never told you, really, never actually confessed, and maybe that had been his first mistake.

Yoongi knows that you’ve been drifting apart for weeks. Months. He knows that he’s been absent, not you, knows how hard you’ve been trying but he can’t bring himself to talk to you about it.

What would he say? That he has this opportunity, that he has this once in a lifetime thing and he has to move thousands of miles away for it? That he can’t bring you with him, that they’ve made that crystal clear? 

Yoongi is still just as afraid as he was all those years ago, about what he’d sacrifice for you, because half of him wants to give it all up, tell them to fuck off, he’ll make music in a den in your little one bedroom apartment just so that he can be with you every day. Nothing has ever meant more to him than music, but you. You.

Yoongi can’t tell you that he has this choice to make, this fucking impossible choice but instead of making it, all he can do is try to push it away, ignore it, put it off another week and keep drinking too much when he’s home because he can’t bear the way your eyes plead with him to be with you, to be present and in the moment like the two of you always had been. He can’t bear to think of what it’d be like to not see your purple coffee mug on the counter in the mornings, to not be able to roll over and kiss that hallowed spot below your ear that he’d first marked all those years ago.

Yoongi hadn’t responded, looked down at the table until you’d slammed your hands down on it, angry, your eyes bright.

“Are you fucking someone else?” you’d asked, your voice eerily calm despite how angry you looked, and it was like a spear through his gut.

He’d scoffed, because that was ridiculous. I It wasn’t even worth a response but you stormed towards the door and his breath caught in his throat like a wriggling fish and he tried to stop you but you were absolutely fuming now, angry in a way he’d rarely seen you.

He braced his back against the door, thought that at least he could stop this, at least he could calm you down but he couldn’t get the words to come out.

Yoongi had ended up here, head spinning with the three glasses of wine he’d had at dinner and chest feeling , like you’d ripped his heart out when you’d gone away.

He stands there as it starts to rain, breathing hard, half dressed, and wonders where you’ll go. To your best friend’s apartment? Your mother’s? They’ve both always hated him, anyway.

Maybe all the time he’d spent away at the studio, those nights you’d come home late, maybe...maybe there was someone else. The thought makes his breath hitch in his chest, makes him stumble backwards as if someone has punched him in the stomach, before he turns to go back inside.

The thought sticks in his brain like a fishhook. You’d ask if he was fucking someone else. Is that because you were? At the very least, maybe you’d met someone. Someone who was attentive, someone who listened to you. Someone who was there.

Yoongi isn’t used to this feeling. He’s never been the possessive type, always had an amount of confidence that kept him from ever feeling too jealous. He remembers clearly the last time he’d felt this way, and of course, it was you. Wasn’t it always?

You’d never dated much, always been focused on your studies. Yoongi never even thought about  what would’ve happened when you’d start seeing someone.

He’d been your best friend for six months when you started dating a lacrosse player, a big guy (bigger than Yoongi), and even then, Yoongi shrugged off the slight irritation he felt when you canceled a dinner with him.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on a bench under a tree, studying before an exam, that he saw you with your new beau. You were laughing, piggybacking, your arms braced on his considerable shoulders. 

Yoongi’s skin prickled, like he had a chill or a fever. He felt angry, suddenly, and couldn’t put his finger on why. He sat there, fuming, unable to take his eyes off you, until your boyfriend slid you down, turned to lean down and kiss you, and then Yoongi couldn’t look anymore.

The anger roiling in his gut  turned to something else, something worse, something that dug in and festered over the next few days. He saw your laughing mouth behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes, the way you were still smiling when your boyfriend kissed you.

He wondered late at night when he couldn’t sleep, if you were being held or, even worse, being fucked. It made something vile rise in his throat, like he’d had too much to drink and needed to purge it. It was another agonizing month before he realized he was in love with you, and another month after that before you and your boyfriend broke up.

He curses himself for drinking so much, wishing he could just get in his car and come after you. He fumbles with his phone, the screen swimming in his vision, and he wipes at his eyes angrily. You don’t answer, and he isn’t surprised, leaves a voicemail in a broken voice that he’d be embarrassed about if he had any dignity left. He hates feeling like this, out of control, as if there’s nothing he can do to quiet the madness in his head and his heart.

Yoongi presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing in until he sees spots dance under his eyelids, breathing in deep to try and control his emotions. His mind is racing, thinking of what happens now, all the possibilities of the coming days and weeks and months and years.

You move out, he supposes. Come and get your things, take away all the pieces of you that have accumulated in the apartment over the years. He wonders if you’ll leave something behind, a piece of clothing, maybe that purple mug you like so much. Something he can keep, look at later and remember you.

What happens to all the pictures of you, online? Would you delete them? Block him on everything so that he can’t see your face even on a screen? Panic rises in his throat when he realizes you were always the one taking the pictures, posting them on social media, and he isn’t sure he has many saved.

Yoongi feels like he’ll surely go crazy if he doesn’t have some part of this relationship, something he can look back on that isn’t just memories, because it’ll feel like he made it up, like it was always one sided, from the moment he’d sat next to you on that curb.

Without something, how does he convince himself it was real, that you’d loved him?

On the other hand, what if you didn’t get your things? What if you left everything behind, kept being active on social media, moved on? Started living your life without him, moving on with a new apartment, a new partner?

Yoongi chokes back a sob, alone in the apartment but still holding back, still hiding, and he hates himself for it. When you don’t answer the second, third, fourth time he calls, he curls up on the couch, hoping that he’ll pass out, stop thinking, because it’s like his brain is vibrating in his skull with all the racing thoughts he has, a headache forming between his eyebrows. 

After some time and a few deep breaths, he fights the urge to upturn the second bottle of wine in the cabinet and thinks that there’s a possibility, however slim, that you might be back when he wakes up, tear streaked and soaked from the rain but still his, and the thought comforts him enough that he’s able to fall asleep.

He has these dreams, vivid and disjointed, where he’s reaching out to you and he keeps getting further and further away. Another, where you won’t even look at him, no matter what he says, no matter how much he begs.

When he wakes, it’s cold in the apartment. You are, were, always the one who’d turn on the heat, and he knows you’re still not home the second he opens his eyes.

Yoongi feels antsy all day, full of nervous energy, and he can’t stop himself from calling you every couple of hours, leaving text messages and begging you just to answer once, to let him hear your voice.

The second day is when he starts to panic in earnest, and he’s about to bite the bullet and call your mother when his phone rings.

The oxygen filters out of the air as he listens, and his heart starts pounding in his ears as soon as he hangs up the phone. He’s out the door wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and a tshirt, cursing and returning for his jacket when he realizes it’s still raining.

The hospital hadn’t said much, just that you were there, that he was your emergency contact, and he breaks all manner of traffic laws to get to you, trying not to think of what might have happened, of how it might be his fault.

When he arrives, it’s both better and worse than he’d thought - you’d been found on the highway, unconscious, and god knows how long you’d lain there in the mud before a passerby had stopped and taken you to the hospital.

Pneumonia, they say, telling him that you’ve been in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Yoongi had been your emergency contact. You hadn’t been taking care of yourself, and a night in the rain and in the elements hadn’t helped. Of course he hadn’t noticed. Of course he hadn’t seen how pale you were, how gaunt your cheeks were.

Yoongi stands there, wondering if the doctor can tell that all the blood has drained from his face, his heart thudding hard and useless against his chest plate.

He nods where he’s supposed to and when the doctor leaves the room, Yoongi sits down hard on a nearby chair in the waiting area. He can go in now, they’d said, but how could he? How could he go in there, see you hooked up to IV antibiotics, know that it’s his fault? People die from pneumonia, don’t they? His throat closes up with panic and he has to draw in a long breath through his nostrils to calm himself.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped together. There’s this series of memories rushing through his mind, like snapshots.

Your mouth pressed against his, soft and almost chaste, his arms locked around your waist. He wanted to twirl you around to face him, kiss you hard and dirty in front of all his friends, mark that spot just under your ear again. Not to show them that he possesses you, not to show them that he can kiss such a beautiful woman, but to show everyone how much he loved you, how his every thought was tinged with you.

Instead, he kissed you back just as chastely, stuck to you like glue all night despite it being his party with many trying to come and congratulate them. He had his hands on you all night, at your lower back, sometimes just lightly on your hip, sometimes intertwining his fingers with yours.

And when he walked you back to your dorm, he shuffled his feet at the door, puffed out his cheeks and blown out a breath and looked up at you.

“Yoongi,” you said, and God, he loved how his name sounded on your lips, this lilt like you were always teasing him. “You wanna come in for a drink?”

His cheeks were already flushed from alcohol and he probably shouldn’t have, but you took his hand and he would’ve followed you anywhere, to hell if you’d asked him.

Yoongi had so many plans on how to confess to you before he’d leave the country to go back home, to try and work on music like he’d always planned, most of them some grand romantic gestures, but instead, he stood with his hands shoved in his pockets just inside your door, and called your name.

You turned, standing in the kitchen, and his eyes followed the line of your throat, the curve of your cheek.

“I’m gonna stay,” he blurted out, and he already had a very expensive plane ticket in his wallet but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Yoongi stands up, heads toward your hospital room but he stops at the doorway, hears the beep of the machines and it makes his heart stutter.

He stands outside the door, unable to look inside. More snapshots float through his mind as he leans back against the wall, breathing hard.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, right into the shell of his ear and it made him shiver. He was standing so close to you, one hand on your hip, the other braced on the counter as if he’d fall against you, fall into you.

“Mmm,” he managed, leaning forward, as if you’d beckoned him, and every inch of his skin that touched yours felt heated.

“What’s happening right now?” you asked, and he wanted to laugh but he couldn’t, looking into your wide eyes. You’d been best friends for two years, seen each other at your worst. Now all he could do was think about how much he loved every part of you, good and bad, inside and out.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and leaned down to kiss you, his hand moving to your lower back seemingly of its own volition, pulling you closer so that your breasts pressed against his chest.

His tongue slid against yours and his heart seemed like it might thud out of his chest.

When he pulled away from you, breathless, you let out a whine from the back of your throat, just like that first night when he’d marked you, and he couldn't stand it, the way it felt, how much he felt.

He wanted to run but something was pulling him toward you instead of away and instead, he kissed you again.

You pulled away this time, trembling in his arms.

“Yoongi,” you said again. “Are we doing this? Are you-”

“Am I in love with you?” he asked, chest heaving, it was as if he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried.

You nodded, slowly, your cheeks flushed.

Instead of speaking, Yoongi nodded back, slowly, and a small smile spread across your lips.

“Yoongi,” you repeated, his name from your lips his favorite sound. “Kiss me again.”

That memory forces Yoongi to enter the room, sit by your bed. You look sick and gray and he wants to take your hand but something stops him.

He thinks now that it’s settled, that he’ll talk to you, that he’ll rework his contract, do anything to make things better. Maybe it won’t work, maybe you’re done, but he can try. He has to try.

Your eyes are closed, lashes fanning across your cheekbones and when Yoongi reaches out to touch your face, he sees that his hands are trembling.

When you do wake, a few moments later, Yoongi wants to crawl under the bed and hide, knows that he’s probably the last person you want to see.

“Yoongi,” you call, and your voice is hoarse and confused but tears stream down Yoongi’s face because it’s still his favorite melody.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and that little smile spreads across your lips again.

“Baby,” you say, and his heart clenches in his chest as you take his hand. “You wanna break my heart?”

#min yoongi x reader #btscreatorscorner #bangtanheadquarters #noonasinnetwork #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts imagine

[ppersonna]

flat tire - kth | m

↳ summary- how do you pass the time when you’re stuck on the side of the road with your boyfriend, with a flat tire?

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- kim taehyung x reader

↳ word count- 2.2k

↳ genre- smut, light fluff lol

↳ warnings- oral sex (m receiving), nipple play, dirty talk

↳ a/n-  a small little drabble that @taetaewonderland​ suggested i try my hand at!  i was originally gonna use yoongi but i thought tae would be a great fit ha ha no pun intended.  enjoy!! send in your requests! message, dm, comment, i love all forms of communication!

“Fuck,” Taehyung curses as the car bumps violently.  You clutch at the seat belt across your chest as your boyfriend navigates the car off the road and onto the side, allowing it to come to a stop with the awful thumping sound slowing with it.

“What happened?” You asked, slightly dazed. “Did we lose a tire?”

Tae chuckles despite his frustration.  “Honey, if we lost a tire, we would be way more fucked than we already are.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape as the brunette boy unbuckles and exits the car.  You hear him grumble as he walks around the perimeter, kneeling down in the back to check out the damage.

He returns momentarily and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Left rear tire is blown out,” he sighs as he scrolls through his phone. “I asked Jungkook to fix it a week ago.  Dumbass…”

You sniffle and rub at your arms. Without the heater in the car, the chill of the night is creeping up your skin.

Tae’s fingers tap away a message, pause, then continue for a moment.  He’s clearly involved in a conversation with someone, and you hope he gets help soon.

“Jimin and Jungkook are on their way with the spare,” he notes as he sets his phone down in his lap.  He finally peers over and looks at you attempting to warm yourself and smirks. “Are you cold?”

“A little, yeah,” you sigh as you look at the strapless dress on you that you chose for your date night out.

“Awww, poor baby,” he pouts playfully.  He’s making fun of you, you can tell, and you stick your tongue out at him.

You cross your arms tighter around your body and puff out a distressed breath of air.

“Don’t be mean. I wore it for you!”

Taehyung’s pout curls into a smirk.

“You did?  All cute for our date tonight?”

You nod, eyes big.  “I wanted it to be special since you’ve been gone so much and we haven’t seen each other.”

Tae’s eyes fill with an unnamed emotion that shoots straight through your heart. He places a hand on your cheek, caressing the gentle skin there before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

Kissing Tae never gets old.  If you were a religious person, you’d say it’s like seeing the face of god.  The sky opens, the heavens sing.  He tastes like strawberries and cream.  He makes you feel like all your problems didn’t just melt away, but that they never existed in the first place.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight when we get home,” he murmurs after he pulls away.  “We’ll order pizza.  You can do a striptease for me.  We’ll watch a Disney movie and fuck.”

You can’t help but laugh at the smile he has on his face—the one that says he thinks he’s truly thought of the best date ever.  

“But,” his finger trails down your neck as he continues. “We have a bit before the guys get here.  We could have some fun while we wait.”

His deep voice goes even lower, hitting an octave that strums your core and plays just the right note.  It generates heat within you.

“Here in the dark?” You ask timidly as his hands caress your shoulders.  

“Would you rather it be light outside?” He jokes.

A blush blooms on your cheeks.  You’ve never done anything in public with your boyfriend before.  Your timid nature dictates you keep that for the confines of your locked bedroom.  It was even hard to do anything with Yeontan, your shared pet, in the room.

But you couldn’t deny the idea sounded thrilling.  Invigorating even.  It lit a match inside you and the look on Tae’s face was the gasoline to make it erupt into an inferno.

“I’ve always wanted to try, erm,” you fumble for the right words. “... road head?”

Tae grins even bigger, his boxy smile on display.

“Look at you,” he beams. “My naughty little kitten.”

While you’re adventurous as the next person in the bedroom, you’re a timid one in public.  But you’d risk it all for the man next to you.

“I guess it’s not technically road head if you’re not driving,” you sigh as Tae sits back in his seat.

“Oh darn,” he tsks.  “Guess it’s just regular head then.  On the road.”

Tae makes you laugh and the knot of anxiety loosens inside you.  He’s your boyfriend, your protector and your safe place.  There’s no reason to be anxious.

A coy smile grows on you as you tug your dress down to expose your bare breasts.  You can tell it throws Tae off by the double take he has to do.

“Shit!” He gasps as he moves towards you.  His mouth is pulled to a nipple like there’s a gravitational pull.   The second his mouth latches onto a hardened nub, you’re gasping for air and tugging your fingers through his clean, long hair.  You used to ask him to get a haircut, but now you’re not so sure.  It makes for an excellent grip.

“Baby,” you whine as he nibbles gently.  His hands cup both breasts and massage them gently.  He sucks, tugs, pulls, and swirls his tongue around the nipple and it makes your gasps echo around the car.  Your silk panties are nearing water-logged, and your legs press together to sate the burning you feel.

Tae switches to the other nipple and presses the flat of his tongue against it.  It’s lewd, the way he wantonly stares at you while he licks at your nipple like it’s a melting ice cream cone.  He does the same to your cunt, when he spends hours devouring you whole.  The thought has you aching for more.

“Please, Tae,” you whine. “Let me take care of you.  I need you.”

Tae chuckles with his mouth still eagerly wrapped around a tit, but he pops off easily and licks his lips.

“You can’t just whip your titties out and not expect me to suck them,” he shrugs.  

He moves to unbutton his slacks but your hand stills him.  He looks at you for a moment in confusion, but the smirk on your face says it all.  You want to be the one to undress him.

“Be my guest.”  He leans back in the chair and pushes it away from the steering wheel, giving you ample space to get down to business.

You’re nearly salivating as you can see the straining of your boyfriend’s hard cock against the expensive slacks.  His eyes are tracking you, you can feel them burning into your skull, as your delicate hands rubs the length of him.  His gentle intake of breath is the only way you know he’s affected.  He’s trying to keep himself cool, not lose control too soon.

The button and fly are easy to do, but you take your time doing them. Tae’s mouth falls open with each brush against him.  It’s nearly torture, and he’s so turned on by this behavior of yours that he can’t find it in himself to care about the way you’re teasing him.

He hisses as his cock springs free with one hard tug down.  The cool air of night feels like December on his hot, aching cock but he knows soon he’ll be enveloped in your humid mouth.  

“So pretty,” you coo as you lean down close.  A finger trails up and down the vein running underneath it and Tae shivers.

“Yeah, you are,” he sighs as he presses his head back against the headrest, eyes falling closed at the gentle sensation.  “Fuck, even your teasing feels good.”

Pride swells in your heart as you rub a finger around the thick head, smearing a trail of his pre-cum with it.  Tae can’t hold back the soft groan and gasp at the feeling.

“Is this teasing?” You ask coyly, knowing the answer already.

“Mm,” he sighs.  “I dunno.  You’re the expert.”

It makes you giggle softly, and you gently allow your tongue to fall out of your mouth and lick coquettishly at the tip and smeared pre-cum your finger recently vacated.

“Shit!” Tae’s legs jerk a little at the feeling of your fiery tongue.  His hand grips the side of the car door as his eyes squeeze closed, tight.

Your smirk is nearly exploding off your face, and you finally find it in your heart to grant the man mercy.   You suck the tip of his cock into your mouth, allowing your tongue to lick and swirl around the head.  You’ve sucked your boyfriend’s cock—in the privacy of your own bedroom, that is—so many times that you can unlock him like a code. He’s weak for the attention to the tip.  Couple it with wet strokes of his shaft and the man is rewarding you with a hot load of cum.

“Oh, baby,” he whines. “Baby, baby.”

He loses ability to say anything intelligent—moaning your name and the various pet names he deems appropriate for the night.  Tonight’s name is ‘baby’.  Sometimes it's ‘kitten’.  Sometimes it’s 'dirty bitch’.  He must be in an affectionate mood.

His hand falls to the back of your head, gripping lightly at your hair to form a ponytail in his grasp.  He gently guides your head down, encourages you to begin the descent further to take him in.  You allow the direction and steel yourself as your throat expands to take him all the way in.  It’s slow enough that you don’t gag—you and Tae have trained your throat now to take him deep.  

You come to a rest as you bottom out, nose pressed against the skin of his thigh.  You swallow gently, allow his cock to feel the wave of muscle work its way down his cock.  Taehyung nearly jumps out of his seat at the feeling.

“Holy fuck,” he puffs an exasperated breath out. “You’re gonna make me cum so fucking fast.”

You swallow again, as if to say ‘that’s the fucking point’, and Tae whines loudly.  He grips at your hair tighter and pulls gently, begging you to begin a pace on his cock.  

You can’t find it in you to fight it.  You want to give in to him, want to make him cum so hard and good for you that you’re drinking it.  

It doesn’t take long to set a pace, a hand moving in to assist your plight as you grip at the length you cannot fully suck into your mouth.  Your lips suction and tongue continues its swirling barrage on any square inch of your cock it can find.  

Tae moans loudly, head falling back against the headrest again with a much louder ‘thunk’ than the one previous.   His hand massages at the roots of your hair, a gentle touch that thanks you for your current service.

“So g-good,” he gasps. “Love that hot little mouth, shit.”

Tae’s always vocal in bed, and it’s one of the things you love about him most.  You love that he’s incapable of shutting up, ever.  He talks in his sleep, in the shower, and when your mouth or cunt are shoved full of his cock.  It’s so Tae that it reverberates a feeling of love and affection for the man in your heart, despite the lewdness of the act you’re currently engaged in.

Your free hand moves to draw circles and lightly hold his balls, rolling them gently in his hands.  This is the secret combination in the key to cracking Taehyung’s code.  He thrills for stimulation everywhere, anywhere.  Scratching your nails down his chest as he fucks you, gripping his thighs, cupping his balls.  It sends him reeling.

“Oh, my god!”

You’re correct, yet again.  His cock hardens even more in your mouth, the tip straining against your tongue as it fights against the urge to cum.  He’s close.

“I’m close!  B-baby! Ohhh, fuck.  You wanna swallow me, baby?”

When has that ever been a question he needed to ask?  You nod, cock still deep inside your throat, and the motion makes him keen.

“O-oh, god.”

His legs are tensing, you can feel the way his thighs steel against themselves to prepare for the oncoming storm of his orgasm.  You increase your speed, hand working furiously in time with the rhythm of your mouth.  Tae’s singing your name like it’s a prayer, like you’re a god who just saved his crops from famine and drought.  Maybe you are.

“I’m cumming! Fuuuck, baby! ‘M gonna cum!”

You already know it’s coming before he announces—you can tell by the way his cock head pulses and thickens in your mouth.  Hot stripes of cum pool on your tongue and down your throat as Tae’s deep voice groans loudly throughout the car.  His hand grips your hair tightly, near the verge of pain, but you don’t care.  All you care about is sucking him until you’ve cleaned up every last drop.  

Your tongue laves around the surface of his head still lodged in your mouth and Tae hisses at the overstimulation.  You pull off his length languidly, smirking as you visibly swallow and open your mouth for the boy.  He grins through his heavy panting.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by a knock at the now steamy window and the shine of a phone flashlight.  Tae scurries to do up his pants and you’re squeaking in fright as you tug your dress back over your exposed breasts.

Tae rolls the window down and Jungkook’s pink face is at the other side, with Jimin behind him—arms crossed.

“You guys are fucking gross,” Jimin grumbles.  “I told you we wouldn’t take that long.”

Taehyung grins as he lets a hand fall onto your soft thigh.

“Had to pass the time somehow.”

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

#bts smut #bts taehyung #bts v #taehyung smut #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #taehyung #kim taehyung #v #bangtan bts #bts bangtan #bts fic #bts fluff #heartsforbts #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #kwritersworldnet #bangtanheadquarters

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

hungry eyes (pjm)

Summary: Jimin's summer job is more often than not a pain in the ass, but you seem different than the other girls who need dance instruction at the resort.

A/n: A commission for @kpopnoobsstuff​! 

Warnings: dirty dancing au, some prejudice given race relations for Asian Americans in the 60′s but not a lot of detail, unprotected sex, public vaginal fingering, praise, dirty talk, Jimin is a jackass like over half this fic, a serious ankle injury, angst, mention of sex work (with an age gap), alcohol, smoking

Word Count: 8767 (i have a lot of feelings about this movie)

Rating: Mature

hey, hey hey baby

Of all the things Jimin had dreamed he'd end up doing, working as a dance instructor/gigolo at an expensive resort wasn't one of them.

Julliard wasn't cheap, though, and so every summer he ended up here at Sanders resort, teaching salsa and letting old ladies put hundred dollar bills into the back pocket of his slacks as tips.

Jimin fucking hated the crowd at the resort, hated the way they smelled like new money and champagne, how they looked at him like either a side of meat (the women) or like something that they needed to scrape off the bottom of their shoe (most of the men).

It's better than before, digging ditches during the summer and shoveling snow during the winter because no one is going to hire a Korean boy for an office no matter how good his English.

His hands had cracked and bled, forming callouses where they'd been smooth before and he finds himself running his thumbs over the ones on his palms while waiting for his cue in rehearsal.

When his coworker tells him of a gig he'd done, Jimin's eyebrow raised at his friend's paycheck.

Having to go by "Jimmy" instead of Jimin because the supervisors think his given name is too hard to pronounce puts a bad taste in his mouth, but he needs the money. It isn't as if he can tell his parents he's decided to be a professional dancer instead of a doctor or lawyer like they'd dreamed, and they didn't have the funds to help with tuition anyway.

So he spends every summer rolling his hips for the hungry eyes in the crowd, smiling and pretending that them purring, "Jimmy" in his ear doesn't make him shudder. It's the third summer before anything truly interesting happens.

Jimin didn't even like salsa or ballroom dancing or the mamba or any of the stupid easily learned dances he was forced to perform. He was a classical dancer, ballet being his forte, but this pays the bills and it's a way to keep his father off his back about his choice in colleges.

The older women weren't so bad, they'd give him anything if he whispered "noona," in their diamond decorated ears, but the younger girls, the ones who came there with daddy's money, those are the ones he doesn't fuck with.

The only woman he'd fucked with outside of work, in fact, had been Sunmi, his best friend since childhood, and even that not for years. Sunmi had followed him to Julliard and to the resort but they'd gone their own way after that and it wasn't as if they were ever in love, after all.

Despite the rumors among the staff, Jimin hasn't touched Sunmi outside of dancing in going on three years. He knew they looked like a couple, moved in tune with each other's bodies, and that's why they got paid the big bonuses.

Maybe he still got a little worked up after performances, liked to work up a sweat after at the dancer's barracks, and who could blame him when he sees you slumming it, tapping your toe to the music with your nose wrinkled and a little smile on your face.

He doesn't even have to say anything, just smiles at you, quirks his finger and you bounce forward ungracefully enough to make him laugh.

Sunmi snickers at him but he waves her off, knows she makes her rounds among the male staff that work in catering so she can't judge.

 You know of Jimmy before you ever see him, having several members of the staff tell you in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, that he's trouble. You're surprised by how good he is, you can't take your eyes off him during the first dance performance of the summer. Jimmy Park certainly looks like trouble, with his sly smirk and the way he’d effortlessly flipped up his partner, Sunny, her skirt flipping up to reveal a pair of boyshorts stretched across her perfect bottom, and you’d swear he’d winked at you after.

You don’t think about the dancers for a while, busy touring the resort with your sister, who’d dragged you to the resort in the first place. You’d wanted to stay home and study, but your father had insisted that you join the family for the summer.

It’s boring, more for the older crowd than someone like you, a junior in college. You’re studying business because that’s what your father wants, but you like to write poetry, and you’re usually content to stay in your room and scribble.

It’s hot, though, the air conditioning not doing much to help the humidity, so you go for a walk, hoping there’s a bit of a breeze.

While you’re out, you run into a staff member, a dancer you think, but you aren’t sure, you’d been so busy watching the instructor. 

“Girl shouldn’t be out this late at night alone. Might get in trouble,” he teases.

He’s cradling bottles of alcohol and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for stealing those?”

He laughs, loud and open. He’s cute, dressed down in a white tshirt and jeans, not like the stuck up staff members that do catering and management in the resort.

“Not if you don’t tell, baby.”

You bristle, but only a little. That’s what everyone calls you, after all, Baby might as well be your name. You’re the youngest and you’ll admit you’ve always been spoiled.

He shuffles the liquor bottles around to stick out his hand. “I’m BamBam.”

You shake his hand, a bit awkwardly because of all that he’s holding. “Interesting name.”

His face falls, just a bit, but then he smiles again. “You don’t know the half of it.” 

Bambam pauses for a moment, and then cocks his head. “You wanna help me with all this? I’ll show you something.”

You’d been warned about being alone with men, you’d had some experiences in college that you’d never tell your family about, it’s not as if you’re a prude, but especially here, so many staff members whispered about how “dangerous” the dance crew was, but you’ve been bored out of your mind, and Bambam seems sweet, if a little flirty.

You shrug and take a couple of bottles, giggling when he sighs dramatically in relief.

It’s such a long walk that you start to get worried, but eventually you start to hear the music, a surprising amount of bass given the attitude of the resort in general, juggling two half liters of expensive vodka likely pilfered from the resort bar.

BamBam kicks the door open, nearly dropping the liquor, and you manage not to laugh but it’s a near thing. The heat almost hits you in the face, the music louder than you’d imagined, and you find your mouth dropping open, looking around at the dancers.

You recognize a few members of the dance team, but none more than Jimmy, the dancer you’d been unable to keep your eyes from earlier that week.

His partner, she’d introduced herself as Sunny and you’d noticed she was nearly as beautiful as him, is practically riding his thigh, her head thrown back as he moves to the music, and you turn your eyes away, embarrassed.

It seems intimate in a way that makes you feel a pang of envy. You’d had flirtations here and there, even a few flings at college (which you pray your father would never catch wind of), but here? In public, in front of everyone?

You try to tell yourself the heat in your stomach is from embarrassment instead of arousal.

When you look over, Bambam is looking over at you with a sly grin. He juggles the liquor bottles.

“You wanna try it?”

You gasp out loud and hope he can’t hear you over the music.

“The dancing,” he explains, all but yelling over the beat.

“Oh!” You exclaim, and his sly grin widens.

“What did you think I meant?” 

“Nothing! Nothing!” You insist, and finally find somewhere to put down your cargo on a large table next to the wall, just to have something to do rather than be embarrassed.

Bambam shrugs and moves to do the same, and you’re just standing there, looking around at everyone and how free and happy they look, so different than the way they look during performances and during instructions.

Bambam is about to say something to you, leaned in toward your ear, when Jimmy walks up to the table, and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“Hey baby,” he says in this low but melodic tone, and you have this weird sense like you always do when someone calls you that, as if they know you somehow, know you’re the baby and daddy’s little girl and are somehow judging you for it.

To be fair, Jimmy looks like he’s judging everyone, even when he’s pasted on a smile during a rumba class or smirking during a resort wide performance. You’re not sure if it’s confidence, arrogance, or anger, but you have to admit it’s a little attractive, the way his dark eyes flash when you put out your hand for him to take.

He doesn’t just lead you out onto the dance floor, he tugs at your arm, pulls you close to his chest, looks down at you as if you’re lovers and you suppose the way the others dance, that’s just how this goes, that’s how the dance goes, but when he slides his thigh between yours you can’t help but gasp.

He laughs right at the shell of your ear and it makes goosebumps pop up on the flesh between your neck and shoulder.

“You gotta move your hips, baby. Nobody likes a dead fish.”

It takes a few moments and more of your face feeling hot but you manage to get a rhythm and it’s hotter in here than you’d expected, sweat rolling from the fine hairs at your temples to your neck, his hands on your hips and his eyes on yours and it’s intense, makes you wonder if this is what you’ve been missing out on when you refuse to go with your sister to the staff parties that she’s been trying to drag you to the whole resort stay.

His face is so close you can see the sweat on his brow, the way his full lips are parted, leaning closer and closer in and you could swear he is going to kiss you, you even tilt your chin up, part your own lips, close your eyes.

Then he spins you, instead, and you feel dizzy, open your eyes, and see him striding off toward the back of the building.

You huff out a long breath, torn between storming out into the cool night air or following him, deeper into the humid building, like descending into hell if you were to believe the way your father’s pastor preaches at your hometown church.

You look back at the open door, the breeze cooling the sweat on your body and making you shiver, before you follow him, weaving between the people on the crowded dance floor with murmured apologies.

You follow him all the way out into the night, just on the other side, and you feel a little stupid for your dramatic thinking earlier, watching him exhale smoke from his nose, leaned against he back of the barn.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make any indication that he knows you’re there.

“Jimmy?” You call, and you’d meant to be flirty, aggressive even, but it comes out small in the cold air.

He scoffs, takes another drag from his cigarette, glances over at you.

“What, you gonna pay for a lesson? Bet you didn’t bring daddy’s wallet with you when you followed Bam.”

“I-I didn’t-I don’t,”

He smiles then, not as much of a smirk, and it softens his face.

“Don’t worry,  baby. I'm only teasing. I’m not gonna tell your daddy you’re out here slumming it.”

“I’m not-” your voice raises and he turns his head to face you, one eyebrow raised, and you lower your tone. “I’m not slumming it.”

He shrugs lazily, offers you a drag of his cigarette and you don’t smoke but you place your lips around the end anyway, wonder if you can taste his mouth on it, inhale and manage not to cough.

“Jimmy-” you continue, and he rolls his eyes and your heart races, feeling like you’d said something stupid, and maybe you have because he flicks his cigarette into the night, turns, bracing himself against the wall and when he’s closer you wonder if he’s drunk, you can smell some type of acrid liquor and the leather of his jacket.

“My name is Jimin,” he says, and there’s no slur at all around his words so maybe you’re wrong about that last part.

“Jimin,” you repeat, the name rolling around your mouth, feeling thick on your tongue like the red wine you sip at your father’s dinner parties. You find yourself tilting your chin up again as he nods sharply and your eyes keep flickering between the sharp line of his jaw and his full mouth.

“I know your kind,” he continues, and you haven’t even partaken in any of the liberally spiked punch at the party but you’re the one who feels drunk, your head light on your shoulders.

“My...kind?”

Jimin does that sharp nod again, shifts his body so that he’s standing in front of you now and your shoulders brush the back wall of the barn.

“Mmhm. Come out here on Saturday nights to see what all the fuss is about, you college girls with fur lining your purses, I swear to God I could taste the silver spoon in your mouth if I kissed you,” he breathes, his words rude and harsh but you don’t move, don’t push him away, can’t stop staring up at the flash in his eyes.

That’s what they’ve been missing, you think. That’s what all those college boys you’ve let put their hands up your skirt, grab your tit too hard in the backseat of their muscle cars, even let them fuck you over the hood of said muscle cars, hoping for some kind of thrill because it’s wrong and dirty but all you got was their cum seeping down your inner thigh and their murmured apologies and this ache between your legs. Because they didn’t have this, this energy you can feel in the air, the light in his eyes, something like anger and lust and yearning all wrapped into one.

It isn’t even for you, not really, you’re not dumb enough to believe that, but god, is it something.

“You could test that theory,” you mumble, sure that your words sound slurred, leaning into him, and his chuckle is bitter but it still sends a hint of a shiver down your spine. He traces his finger under your chin, the corners of that full mouth turning up.

“What makes you think I want to, baby?”

You’re cute, he supposes, in that way that all little rich girls are cute, with your bouncy ponytail that you almost always wear, your conservative dresses. After he’d left you outside with just the smoke from his rolled cigarette hanging in the air, he prided himself in not giving in.

He’s positive he could have fucked you, could have coaxed you to his room with a few short words, but he knows from the rest of the dance team (especially from Bambam, who’d bagged his fair share of the rich daughters of CEOs, bank owners, lawyers, doctors, and the like from the resort, considered himself a bit of an expert in the matter), that taking one of those types to your bed leads to nothing but drama. 

Drama wasn’t something Jimin needed, especially since all the odds were already stacked against him in this job (in life, really, but who’s counting?) Jimin wouldn’t consider himself a bitter person, in fact throughout his childhood and most of his adolescence, he’d been positive, optimistic, always smiling. He’d gotten stellar grades, always did what his parents wanted, had even planned to work on law school after graduation. The one class he took was mind numbingly boring, and he had no aptitude for debating. He’d been naïve, foolishly thought that his father would support whatever he wanted to do, and since he felt most alive when he was with his friends, dancing, making their own choreography, he’d approached his father with an application to Julliard.

Needless to say, Jimin became less naïve day by day, after that. It was gradual, his fall from grace, as some people might say. He thought of it more as growing up, as becoming more who he should be - and if that was a bitter asshole who manipulated rich older women into his bed for extra funds, so be it.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t feel shame about it sometimes, or even guilt, especially like with Mrs. Jensen, nearing fifty but with the most beautiful  green eyes and the way she called him “Jiminie,” had insisted on learning his real name, traced the line of his spine in bed before he got up to dress and murmured how he was the most beautiful boy.

“If I were twenty years younger, Jiminie. Hell, I were only ten years younger,” she’d mourn, those green eyes almost liquid, and he’d smile and tell her she didn’t look a day over thirty and she’d scoff but she’d also smile, and when she smiles sometimes Jimin thinks that if he isn’t careful, age gap or no, he might just fall in love.

In the end, though, he felt okay about what he did, it was a means to an end, and if he judged the denizens of the resort too harshly, that’s because they could take it, no skin off their teeth with their millions of dollars in the bank. They could dry their tears with hundred dollar bills.

It isn’t until daylight the next morning, when Jimin wakes up slightly hungover and chugs a glass of water, when there’s this flash of your face in his head, tilted up to his, this almost hungry look in your eyes.

He’d like to say he’d seen that look before, but he hasn’t. Not quite in the same way.

Jimin doesn’t want to think about it long, and for a while he’s able to distract himself with his morning workout and then rehearsal, but for the first time in several summers, he misses a couple of steps and Sunmi looks at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and she laughs and does a little piourette.

Jimin thinks later maybe she was hungover too, or had taken too many of those codeine pills she claimed were for her periods, but she loses her balance and goes down, too quick for Jimin to catch her, off the stage, her foot caught under her body.

She cries out but then bites her lip, hard, knowing that the supervisor was just around the corner, gorging himself on snacks and champagne while they all worked for hours to get the steps just right.

Jimin tries not to show it, but he knows as soon as he hops off the stage that Sunmi’s ankle is broken, and badly. It’s already swollen, already turning a bit purple, a bit of bone poking through, a streak of blood down her foot.

“Fuck,” Sunmi says in a pained whisper, eyes liquid when she looks up at him. “Jiminie, what am I gonna do?”

Jimin knows she doesn’t mean the ankle. He knows she means the next rehearsal and the next, the big dance they’ll be doing at a nearby resort, representing the dance troupe and the hotel. He knows she means her whole fucking life because if she loses this she can’t pay for Julliard.

“We’ll figure it out, jagiya,” he says softly, lifting her into his arms. Sunmi buries her face in his chest and Jimin makes hand signals at a wide eyed Bambam to distract the supervisor while Jimin carries her back to the barracks.

There’s nothing but nervous energy throughout your body the rest of the week, as you sit through your father gorging himself on shrimp, your mother chugging champagne, your sister flirting with the staff members at the buffet. You’re barely able to make conversation, not that anyone notices. You’re used to being ignored, as the baby of the family. All you can think of is the dance instructor’s full lips inches from yours, his finger trailing up your throat before he’s just gone and you’re all but swooning with the smell of him around you like a haze.

You’d seen him a few times that week, watching from far away as he twirled a few women around the dance floor, once at a resort performance, right in front and center, seen the way his nose wrinkled when they introduced him as “Jimmy Park.” He hadn’t given you a second glance, and while it stung, you weren’t one to give up easily, not after how you’d felt when he’d looked at you, really seen you.

You’re sneaking out of the resort room when it’s barely ten pm on the last Sunday, unable to wait any longer and shimmying out the back window just as you had the other night. You manage to remember the way to the barn, and even if you didn’t you can practically feel the music booming under your feet, the faint sound drawing you closer.

Your heart rate increases as you get closer and you stand near the edge of the building, a wallflower as always, but your eyes are searching the floor. You don’t see him anywhere, and after a few moments you’re sure your lip is turning into a pout. You do spot Bambam, your ambassador from the other night, and you figure he might know something about Jimin’s whereabouts.

Bambam goes uncharacteristically quiet when you bring up Jimin’s name, though, face blanching slightly.

You look at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No. Fine, everything’s fine.”

“Bambam?”

He won’t look at you, rocking back and forth on his heels, and then he freezes. “Hey. Baby.”

“Hmm?” You’re distracted, looking around at the crowd in hopes that Jimin will show.

“Didn’t you say your father was a doctor?”

It’s a whirlwind after that, your brief panic wondering what might be wrong, the internal struggle to know if you should wake up your father or not, knowing he’ll ask what you’ve been doing out and about, waking your father and having Bambam lead you both to the dancer’s barracks, where you see Jimin sitting on the coffee table, getting up when Bambam bursts in with your father, who is carrying his doctor’s bag.

“What the fuck-” he hisses in a low voice, looking right at Bambam and not even acknowledging you.

Your father, for his part, rushes to the couch, where Sunmi is bundled in blankets but still shivering, sweat on her brow, and when your father yanks back the blanket you gasp because her right foot is dark purple and swollen.

For the first time, Jimin looks at you, and there’s nothing but dark fury in her eyes. “Get her out of here,” he demands, and Bambam’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Jimin-” you start, and he scoffs, turns away from you, toward your father, thanking him for coming and explaining what happened, ignoring you as if you were never there at all.

You wait anxiously in the living quarters, and you wince when you hear Sunmi cry out as your father works on her ankle. It takes hours, and while you wait, Bambam explains what happened and you just cock your head, confused.

“Why didn’t she just see a doctor?”

Bambam frowns, but before he can answer Jimin is stalking into the room.

“Yeah, why didn’t she just see a doctor?” Jimin mocks, staring at you with glittering eyes. “It’s that easy, princess?”

You don’t know how to answer, your face feeling hot, and you want to look away but you can’t. “Explain it to me.”

Jimin laughs, bitter and low. “You’d never understand, Baby. We can’t all call daddy and have him throw money at the situation.”

“Jimin, she brought him here to help us, we should be kind-” Bambam protests, and Jimin waves a hand at him.

Jimin turns to you, takes your hand and even though his eyes are still glittering with anger, your breath catches in your throat at his touch.

You’re perched on the arm of a chair and he leans down slightly, brushes his lips just barely over the back of your hand, all the while looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, princess, for deigning to help us peasants,” he says, voice low and charming and absolutely dripping with venom.

Anger rises in your chest, tightening in your throat but you stay quiet, jerking your hand from his and looking away.

Your father tersely gives instructions to Jimin after both Sunmi and Jimin refuse a hospital, and Jimin nods, but you see his face fall when he says something about how she is not to bear weight on her ankle for six weeks at least.

Your father is escorting you out with a blank expression but you’re looking back at Jimin and he’s watching you with those dark, glittering eyes.

It’s only a few days before your father has to go back and visit Sunmi, and he’s barely spoken a word to you, angry that you hadn’t told him about your friendships with the staff, you suppose. You can’t bring yourself to care, you’re an adult and even if he’s paying your tuition, he doesn’t have the right to tell you with whom to spend your time.

You insist on going with him to check on Sunmi, and you do sit with her for a few moments before you hear Jimin and Bambam arguing.

“Can’t someone else do it?”

You know Jimin’s scoff well by now, it seems like that’s what he’d been doing most of the few weeks you’d known him.

“No, Bam, someone else can’t do it! No one else knows the routine, it’s a special stage for Sunmi and me. Maria’s on maternity leave and Sooyoung can’t learn it in two weeks on top of the final rehearsals for the final show.”

“Do what?” You ask softly, standing in the doorway and shutting Sunmi’s door behind you.

“Can’t go a week without princess butting her head in,” Jimin mutters, and you huff out a breath.

“It’s a special dance stage,” Bambam explains. “Sunmi is expected there and so far she’s been able to get out of rehearsals but if the performance doesn’t happen, the supervisor…” he trails off, and you fill in the gaps.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Can’t fix this with daddy’s money,” Jimin snaps.

“I wasn’t trying to-” you cry out, and then lower your voice. “I wasn’t trying to fix it, I just...I wanted to help.”

Jimin laughs. “Help? How? You shivered when I so much as brushed my hand across your hip when we danced.”

Bambam raises an eyebrow at that and you keep trying to fight down anger.

“I could...I could learn,” you insist.

“You are a dance instructor,” Bambam reminds him helpfully, and although Jimin is still incredulous, that's how it happens.

That’s how you start to spend three days a week at Jimin’s small bedroom, learning the steps to the most complicated dance you’d ever heard of. That’s how you start to fall in love with him.

I wanna know, oh

This is stupid, he thinks, over and over. This is so fucking stupid and it isn’t going to work and I’ll fail and Sunmi will be fired. Hell, I might be fired.

You keep stumbling in the heels you’d be required to wear for the dance and you’re taller than Sunmi so that throws off the whole performance and you only have just a touch of rhythm and you have an attitude and the list goes on and on.

The two of you are two weeks into rehearsals when it all comes to a head. You’d huffed out a long breath or given him a withering stare before, when he’d snapped at you or corrected your steps roughly, but usually you let it go.

There’s not enough room in his tiny space, and it’s not like the two of you were exactly friends, so it’s tense, for the most part.

One day, at the last rehearsal of the week, he spins you and you miss a step, stomp down on the top of his foot with your heel and he cries out and curses.

“This is never going to work,” he mutters when you try to help and you let out an annoyed almost growl that, in other circumstances, he might find kind of cute.

“You could give me a little goddamn credit, you know!” You yell, and he stops rubbing his foot and looks up at you.

Maybe he’d been a little dramatic, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d put on, but if that happened during the performance….

“Credit for what?” He bursts out.

You put your hands on your hips and you’re wearing this barely there white croptop and a flowing skirt and (not for the first time), he notices the swell of your hip, the outline of your breast.

“For one, bringing my father to help Sunmi-”

Jimin barks out a laugh at this, his eyes returning to your face. “Takes a real saint to call daddy-”

“Second,” you continue firmly, voice raising over his, “for working three days a week for hours to try and help you and your girlfriend keep your jobs!”

He opens his mouth to correct you but your voice keeps rising, your eyes full of fury.

“And last of all but most importantly, putting up with your constant bullshit! I can’t do anything good enough for you and I really just want to punch you and leave.”

Jimin pauses, stands up straight and looks at you for a moment. As much as he hates this situation he can’t let you quit. He needs you, more importantly Sunmi needs you, and he’ll never forgive himself if he fucks things up for his best friend because he can’t control his temper.

“Do it, then.”

Your eyes widen. “Do what?”

Jimin pats the middle of his chest. “Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You look at him incredulously.

He smirks at you, makes a little come hither gesture with his hands. “C’mon, princess. You scared?”

There it is, that flash in your eyes that he’s come to know well even during such a short time, and it makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.

You punch him, just at his diaphragm, weakly, and he laughs.

“C’mon, Baby. You can do better than that.” 

He takes a step closer and you just keep looking at him, your canine piercing your bottom lip, still breathing hard from the rehearsal.

He can’t deny it makes his dick twitch in his sweats, the fire in your eyes, the way he can see the outline of your erect nipples through that croptop.

He leans down closer to your face. “Still wonder if I could taste that silver spoon on your tongue,” he whispers, and then you slap him across the face, hard, making him stumble back with a laugh.

He nods, and you start to gasp out apologies but he holds up a hand. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

It’s been hot all week, and there’s on and off summer showers that come from nowhere. The thunder rumbles as you reach the parking lot and Jimin’s car, a clean but beat up Mustang. 

You dance around a bit as Jimin reaches into the pocket of his sweats for his keys but he curses instead. When you look in the window, cupping your hands, you see the keys in the ignition.

You sigh and stand up to tell Jimin but he’s removing his leather jacket and wrapping it around his fist as you watch, open mouthed.

He busts the back quarter window as if he’s reading the newspaper and unlocks the door, leaning over to pop your lock before cranking it up.

You stand there for a moment, shocked and oddly aroused.

“You coming?” He asks, looking up at you from the driver’s seat, and you scramble inside.

“You’re crazy,” you mumble as he pulls off at a speed that should have scared you but instead filled you with exhilaration. 

He looks over at you, as if confused. “What?”

“I said you’re fucking crazy!” You yell, laughing, and he starts to laugh too and you’ve never heard him like that, open and loud instead of derisive and bitter and there’s rain pouring into the back window but he doesn’t care and you can’t imagine ever feeling that free.

You have that feeling again, the one you’d had standing outside the barn with him, that energy like he’s wanting and hungry all the time and just like then, you want more.

You push that out of your head, though, he’s made it clear where his thoughts lie, and that’s with Sunmi. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this, to help her, help them. It’s certainly not because you just want to be near him, because even when he’s angry at you the way you feel with him makes you feel like you never have before, not because you want to memorize the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, how his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles.

“Where are we?” You finally ask when he’s pulled off into a clearing in the woods.

“You’ll see.” He grabs your hand and tugs you behind him and your heart skips a beat.

You end up practicing at the river for hours, and you ask questions and he answers them, about his family, how he started dancing, Juilliard and why he’s doing this job.

You’re not surprised that he wants more, he’s too good for this place and you can see it, even though you’re no expert.

He talks a lot more than he ever has, tells you so much about himself and you have fun, laughing and talking with him, he’s barely teaching you anything at all.

Finally, he’s sitting on a high log, swinging his legs and looking down at you as you sit on the shore.

“We haven’t practiced the lift because it’s best to practice in the water,” he says, and that’s how you end up waist deep with his eyes on yours and his hands on your hips.

“Ready?” He asks, quietly, as if there isn’t only the woods and the river and the birds to hear him.

You nod, your mouth dry, but then his hands slip up to your waist and you’re not sure you’re ready at all. Of course he’s touched you during rehearsals, here and there, but not like this, not this close.

“Jump,” he commands, and you do, think you’d have done anything he told you, but he lifts you up effortlessly and you try not to stare down at him as your heels lift off the riverbed, try to look ahead like he’s taught you but it’s impossible and when he lifts you over his head, telling you to hold the position, you go straight into the water, coming up sputtering.

He laughs, pulls you close, and does it again, and this time it works, this time you hold it and he slowly lowers you back down.

Your body slides down his, your nipples brushing his chest, his breath on your throat, and surely this is too close, surely you won’t be doing this on stage in front of people.

“Baby,” he murmurs, close to your ear, like it’s your name, and you shake your head.

“Call me Y/n.”

He says your name and you watch how his lips shape it before you tilt your chin to kiss him, pressing your mouth to his without thought, your lips parted.

His tongue in your mouth is hot, hungry just like you knew it would be, and your arms tighten around his neck. You hear the water moving and gasp into his mouth when you feel his hand slide up your thigh, under your skirt, sliding along the river water soaked crotch of your panties.

“Jimin,” you moan into his mouth, and he just kisses you harder, presses his hand harder against your cunt and you want more more more.

You’d imagined it, late at night, sore and exhausted from rehearsing and you could feel his hand on your hip as he’d turned you, slid your hands down your body imagining they were his, but this is so different, so much better than you’d ever dared to dream.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you, and you whine. 

“We should...we should get back,” he says, voice slightly hoarse, and he wades back to shore while you’re left wanting and aching.

would you be my girl?

You’re quiet in the car, your head spinning, and he doesn’t say a single word until he pulls back up.

“Want me to walk you back to the resort?” He asks quietly as he turns off the car.

You blink at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He doesn’t  look at you, his eyes down in his lap, and you open the door and slam it when you get out.

Jimin knows he should stay put. He should stay put for so many reasons. It’s too much drama, you’re a guest of the resort, you’re a little rich girl with daddy’s money, you deserve better.

But he sees your shoulders shaking and he can’t help himself from getting out, rubbing your shoulders as he leads you inside. You’re shivering now, it’s after sundown and you’re soaking wet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll get you some tea and some warm clothes.”

He turns to go and heat the kettle but you grab his wrist, tug him back.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do,” you say in a quiet and shaking voice. “Even when we argue I-”

“Baby. Y/n. Don’t,” he pleads. He feels like he’s right on the edge of something, like he’d fall over with just a single push from you.

All these things are flashing through his head, moments where he’d let himself notice how he felt when you’d do this little growl in frustration when you missed a step, the way your mouth turned down at the corners when you were focused, how you set your jaw when he said something to make you angry. After just a few weeks he’s all but memorized the lines of your body and he’d blamed it on being focused on the performance but he knows somewhere that it’s something else, that you mean something else to him.

“Why?” You ask, sounding almost pained and he can’t stop looking into your eyes and he can’t speak either so he kisses you first this time, one hand at the nape of your neck to pull you close.

We aren’t from the same world, he should say. It won’t work and I’ll break your heart or you’ll break mine and I don’t know if I can take it.

He should say so many things but instead he says nothing at all, just kisses you and kisses you until you jump just like you did in the water, wrap your legs around his waist this time instead and he carries you to his bed, peels off your soaked clothes while you keep kissing him in between, his mouth, his throat, his chin, and it makes him laugh.

You’re bare beneath him and he doesn’t even realize that he still has his wet clothes on until he slides over you to kiss you again and you hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and smiles at you and you blink, have this expression he can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m usually better at this,” he finishes after pulling off his tshirt, and you open your thighs with this slow smile.

“We’ve got time.”

His breath hitches in his throat because that’s probably not true, after tonight you’ll probably avert your eyes when he looks at you in public, come to him late at night like all the others.

Instead of saying that, he curses under his breath and looks down at you, slips his fingers through your slick, sliding two fingers inside you as you arch your back.

You’re so wet already and he’s barely touched you and it makes him groan.

“Look at you. Such a pretty baby,” he praises, moving his fingers because he loves the way your face goes slack, your mouth parted as you writhe against his hand.

“God,” you whimper, voice a little slurred. “Please.”

Jimin feels like he might burst before he even gets out of his sweats, wants to make you come before he does but you lock your legs around his waist, surprising him and he falls forward, catching himself on his palms.

Before he can catch his bearings you drag your tongue along his throat and he groans.

“Baby, you’re full of surprises.”

You smile against his mouth and push down his sweats with your feet and it makes him laugh again, he’s found himself biting back smiles so often with you that it feels good to let it out.

Then his cock is sliding against you and you’re so hot and wet that he bites down on your lip. You cry out softly and rock your hips against his, panting out his name and then he can’t do anything else but slide inside you, burying his face against your throat.

He thinks, too late, that he should have flipped you over, focused on your ass and the line of you spine instead of like this, looking down into your face and the way your eyes focus on his. He knows better, but you’re rolling your hips up to meet his and biting your lip and you keep moaning his name and he can’t stop now.

Your nails rake down his back and he leans up to fuck you harder, hoping to focus on your breasts bouncing instead of how pretty you look beneath him. 

“Baby,” he breathes. “I’m gonna-” 

He doesn’t get to finish because you’re making the prettiest sounds, moving your head from side to side and your cunt clenches around him like a vice.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It’s been fast and sloppy and he’s almost embarrassed when he comes inside you, but you lock your ankles around the small of his back and pull him down again.

After he’s made that tea he promised earlier and you’re sitting crosslegged on his twin bed, facing him, you call his name softly.

“Hmm?” He asks, distracted by how you look now, your hair mussed, skin slightly flushed.

“Does my mouth taste like silver?”

He frowns until it hits him, what he’d said to you that first night, and then he’s laughing again and tackling you to plant kisses along the side of your face.

Jimin is gone when you wake up, leaving you a note to lock up. No heart drawn there, not even his full name, just a -J at the end. You assume he must feel guilty about Sunmi, assume maybe he never meant for things to go too far and now here you are, heartbroken, and you still have to keep your promises and finish rehearsals and this dance with him.

You stay in your room at the resort for two days, until your scheduled next rehearsal with Jimin, and you feel like you’ve cried enough that when you see him, it’ll be easier.

You walk into the studio already dressed in your leotard and shorts, and he’s standing at the record player and even the set of his shoulders looks stiff, and it makes your heart ache.

You don’t speak, just start taking off your sneakers to put on the heels that you have to practice in, and it’s Jimin who says your name, softly. 

Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and it seems like all the tears you’ve cried the last two days are stuck in your throat.

You take a deep breath before looking up and the words come out before you know what you’re saying.

“I know you’re going to tell me that it was a mistake. I know you’re going to tell me you love Sunmi and I understand. Let’s just not, okay? Let’s just not talk about it because I’m embarrassed and I’m sad and I feel stupid-”

Jimin sits on the floor with you, moves close and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t love Sunmi. I mean...I’m not in love with her.”

Your heart does a backflip. “But I’m a mistake.”

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head softly, looking into your eyes.

“Jimin,” you whisper, and then he kisses you and you forgot what you were going to say.

There’s two weeks until the performance and you spend all of those days irrevocably in love with Park Jimin.

“Why do you stay?” You ask him one night while you’re lying with your head on his chest after he’d bent you over the arm of the recliner in his room, rough, and you love it but you  know he’s angry because they wouldn’t let him change the choreography of the final dance, wouldn’t let him do anything but teach old ladies the foxtrot.

He’s been stroking his fingers along your spine and you wonder if that was a stupid question when he freezes just for a moment.

“It’s not like it’s easy, Baby,” he says, simply.

“It should be,” you insist, and you press a kiss between his pecs, knowing it isn’t something you can understand.

You know you’re privileged, know that your father would flip his lid if he knew you were getting  fucked by the dance instructor four nights a week and most days too, because your father didn’t think he could provide for you. You’re sure that if he found out, your father would disown you and you’d lose your tuition money and your apartment back home.

So when you and Jimin are walking back to the resort from the studio, holding hands and laughing and you catch sight of your father in a golf cart, you gasp, tug Jimin’s hand to hide behind a nearby building.

Jimin lets you lead him there, doesn’t protest, but his face is like stone when your father passes and you can relax.

“Jimin-” you start.

“Tell me again how it should be easy, Baby,” he says, his voice like ice, and when you try to take his hand he pulls away. 

You make up, eventually, it only takes a day before Jimin gives in to your apologies, the kisses you plant along his shoulders while he’s trying to stretch before practice, but in the end, he’s right.

It’s not easy at all.

just a fool to believe

Jimin knew this thing with you wouldn’t last forever. In fact, he’d been preparing for the performance to be the last night, the last time he’d see you look at him like that. He starts to dread it, starts to stay awake later at night to watch you sleep so that he’d have more memories of your face pressed against his pillow.

He’s always known you’ll leave him, whether it’s in the middle of the night because you realize you can’t let your father find out, after the performance when you’ve done what you’ve said you would, or at the end of the summer, when you’d return home to your college and your friends. Hell, maybe even a boyfriend. He tried not to entertain that, it made his throat feel tight to wonder if you have some Ivy League jerk with a letter jacket waiting for you, but it’s crossed his mind.

He knows he’s not good enough for you, knows that if his own bosses can’t even use his real name to introduce him he’ll never have someone like you, not long term, anyway. He’s used to being someone’s dirty little secret, with this job.

He’s always thought that you’d leave him, but in the end he has to leave you.

You’re full of nerves, counting down the days to the performance, and it’s only three days away when Sunmi comes up to you, sweating on her crutches, and your eyes widen. She’d barely left her room, knows that if the supervisors find out it’s her foot instead of an illness like your father had told them, she’ll be cut from the team.

“Sumni, what-”

“Jimin’s gone,” she bursts out.

“No. No he’s not gone,” you say confidently, but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Sunmi is near tears and she nods her head sadly. “He’s gone, they fucking fired him!” Her voice breaks and you put out a hand to steady her. It feels like you’re moving underwater.

“He wouldn’t leave without...without telling me,” you say, less confident with every word.

Why wouldn’t he? Why would he come to you, a summer fling, someone he doesn’t even know that well?

Because he loves me, you think. But does he? He hasn’t said it. He hasn’t made you any promises.

“What about the performance?” You ask, feeling like you’re floating farther away from her as you speak.

“They replaced him,” she chokes out, crying openly now, and you hug her, comfort her so that you don’t break down yourself.

You find out from Bambam why, and it’s all your fault. Apparently one of Jimin’s so called students had caught you and Jimin in the studio, seen you through the window and in a bout of jealousy reported him for “cavorting with a guest.” It was against the resort’s rules, even though Bambam says all of them had done it, at least once and usually more.

It doesn’t matter. Jimin had been caught and he’d lost his job and probably his tuition and it was all your fault. You’re like a zombie the last three days, your mother asks if you’re okay and your father keeps ignoring you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can’t care about anything. You don’t have any idea where he lives, you can’t even write to him, and you lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about how he joked that your mouth must taste like the silver spoon you were born with and how it used to make you laugh.

The night of the performance, your mother demands that you go, dresses you in this stupid pink dress you’ve never liked and rolls your hair, and you’re picking at your food when they announce that the performance is about to start. You’re sitting in the corner, against the wall, hanging your head.

Tears are welling in your eyes as you hear the familiar opening bars, but then there’s a loud feedback sound as someone kills the microphone and you look up, startled.

Jimin is standing at your family’s table, wearing a white tshirt and jeans, a leather jacket, similar to the outfit you’d first seen him in, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming.

Then he says your name. Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and you blink up at him, shocked.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he says with a smirk, and takes your hand to pull you up.

this could be love

You don’t leave him after the final dance, like he’d thought, but he was right that it wasn’t easy. Nothing worth it ever was, he supposes. You run away with him, live in his tiny college dorm on his twin bed, and he still doesn’t think he deserves you. 

You still apologize for getting him fired from that shitty job and he still cops an attitude and tells you that you’re spoiled sometimes but it ends in hot and hungry kisses or an impromptu dance session around his record player.

It isn’t easy but he wants it, and so do you, and he hopes that in the end, that’s all you need.

#park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #bts imagine #pjm x reader #bangtanheadquarters #btscreatorsclub #noonasinnetwork #bts commissions

[ppersonna]

agent of love - jjk | 00

➸  as the FBI agent assigned to your phone, Jungkook keeps a diligent watch.  he takes a special interest when you try your hand in online dating AND online sexting. desperate to keep you from bombing yet another potential date, Jungkook breaks his vow of silence to assist you in your plight to get laid.

masterlist

00 - profiles 

a/n - hello!! here we are again! back at it with a new SM AU! i hope you enjoy these!! just for reference, JIN TAE HOBI KOOK are one squad, and YOONG, YN, JOON, JIMIN are another.  pls feel free to message me abt this!! and send a DM if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

#bts sm au #bts social media au #bts smut #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook social media au #bts fake texts #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts fake chats #bangtanheadquarters #heartsforbtsnet

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

wild things (ot7)

Summary: You’re a free spirit, and your father doesn’t seem to understand that. So he gets seven predator hybrids to keep an eye on you.

Rating: Explicit Warnings: angsty backstories, oral (f. receiving), mention of rough sex, marking, bruising, lion!Yoongi has a rough tongue, Hawk!Hoseok is just rough, this is just an intro and a first part so there’s a lot more warnings coming like knotting, breeding, etc, eventual poly

Word Count: 3374

This is ridiculous, you think as you scale down the tree at the side of your house. Sneaking out like a teenager when you're 23 years old, all because your parents think it's too dangerous for an heiress to go out alone and they couldn't find a bodyguard to indulge your restless whim to go out for wine and dinner at 10pm.

What good was being an heiress anyway if you didn't get to do what you wanted?

You can see the neon lights of your favorite restaurant when you're blocked by a large shadow, a sudden strong, musky smell invading your nostrils.

You look up into a pair of eyes black as coal, a big man with a set of bull horns, and alarms go off in your head.

He's not wearing a collar, which you know means he's unowned, probably a stray, and while you know generally non-predator hybrids are harmless, there's something...off.

It's the smell, the way his pupils are blown, arms straining in his black t-shirt.

"You smell nice," he mutters, and moves toward you, too suddenly for you to start away.

You brace yourself for impact, sure he's going to throw you into the brick behind you, but the only thing that happens is a huge whooshing sound, almost like a boom of thunder.

When you open your eyes the bull hybrid is holding his face, two wide and bloody scratches from his nose to his chin.

"Fuck," he mutters thickly, something like apology in his eyes as he walks away.

Your heart is thudding in your chest and you startle when you hear a low voice.

"You okay?"

You turn to see a man standing there, looking at you with sharp, amber colored eyes. He must be a hybrid, a predator according to those eyes, and you shrink into yourself.

"You're okay," he says, and his tone is low and calming.

He's wearing a big trenchcoat, shoulders almost unimaginably wide. You can't tell by his features what kind of hybrid he is, and you just blink at him.

"Ah, th-thank you," you stutter, and he nods, looking away.

"Be careful," he warns, and then he's gone, through a back alley, and you unlock your phone with shaking hands to call your father.

There's a big argument when you get home, but this time you don't fight back, just nod and apologize and crawl into bed and when you sleep you dream of running from the bull hybrid, and then later, of sharp amber eyes.

The next week, your father calls you into his office, tells you that he's hired a security team, and you don't protest this time.

Hired turns out to be not quite the right word, since there are seven hybrids sitting in various places in your living room.

You recognize one instantly, the amber eyed hybrid that had helped you before. He's leaned against the doorjamb, scanning the rest of the hybrids.

When you offer your hand for him to shake he looks surprised but stands up straight, looks you in the face.

"Y/n," you offer.

"Hoseok," he replies, voice softer than you'd remembered. 

You want to ask questions, thank him for what he'd done but there's a big dog hybrid bouncing around to introduce himself. You can't help but smile at his eager nature, and there's another couple hybrids who are just as gregarious.

Jungkook, a mastiff hybrid not much older than a puppy, tail wagging, tells you he'd only been a protection hybrid for a week when your father hired him.

Taehyung, a cougar born in a rescue facility, had been put into a protection program after the facility shut down. He's bright eyed and looking over you curiously when he introduced himself.

The wolf hybrid, Namjoon, doesn't say much, but you see his ear is tattered, wondering if he'd been on the streets.

There's a hybrid lounging on your couch as if he owns the place already but before you can be mad he turns and gives you a gummy smile which is made no less cute by his sharp canines. Judging from the tail that flicks around the arm of the couch and his long, honey colored hair, you'd guess a lion hybrid. 

"Yoongi," he says, and bows his head to you in an almost regal way, as if you're a queen.

There's an unmistakable fennec fox hybrid, ears down, staring at you from the corner of the room, leaned against the wall. He's pretty in an almost intimidating way. 

"Jimin," he barks, voice lower than you'd assumed.

Seokjin is another talker, standing near the other two felines. His tail and ears are a beautiful cream color with leopard spots so you assume your father found him in captivity, as well.

Seven of them, waiting around for your instruction, for you to need them. You were determined not to.

That lasted all of a few weeks, and it starts to spiral with one Jung Hoseok, mystery hybrid.

It happens quick, your fling with Hoseok. So quick that when you think back, it seems surreal how it all started.

He’s the most strict with you, out of the seven hybrids sworn to be your protectors, and it pisses you off at first, his sharp eyes, the way he would speak to you in this commanding voice, as if you had no choice but to listen.

You’d drawn back to your hand to slap him once, when he’d said something particularly snarky, and he’d caught your wrist.

“It’s illegal to abuse your hybrids, princess.”

There’s just this hint of a smirk at the edge of his lips, and it makes you even angrier when you wiggle to get out of his grip and you can’t.

“Let me go.”

“Gladly. As soon as you agree to sit down and stop trying to climb out the window.”

“I wasn’t-” 

Hoseok holds up a piece of the sheet you’d been working out the window, and you huff out a breath.

The first time you kiss him, he seems surprised for only a moment, eyes widening before he takes your wrists in his hands and pins you against the wall to kiss you back, hard and hungry.

“This is illegal,” he moans when you kiss his throat.

“Lots of things are illegal,” you reply, and it’s like that from then on. 

You never know when it will happen, when he’ll catch your eye, jerk his head toward the hallway and then when you make it there pin you against the wall, or sometimes you pin him, him making these sounds in the back of his throat that would give him away as a hawk hybrid if you didn’t already know.

It’s a bit hard to miss, since you’ve seen him naked, his wings spread, all the black and brown feathers he leaves in your bed.

You wonder if it’s on purpose, especially when there’s three on your pillow the night Yoongi has guard and the lion hybrid picks one up, raises an eyebrow at you, and you just shrug.

“Leaving feathers for the others to find? Are you jealous, Hoseok?” You tease the next time you have him in your bed.

He looks up at you as you clench your thighs around his waist. 

“Wouldn’t dream of being more than your dirty little secret, princess.”

He flips you over then, kisses you until you can’t keep talking, can barely breathe.

The others don’t know, even though you suspect that Namjoon has an idea, you’d seen him wrinkle his nose after you’d come out of your room, Hoseok leaving through your bedroom window. 

Namjoon suspects a lot of things he doesn’t say, you think, keeps his mouth shut, rubbing at his tattered ear and biting the insides of his cheeks when something happens and he needs to bite his tongue. It makes you wonder if he’d been unable to speak freely with his last owners, and you’d like to change that, but you also can’t risk your parents finding out that you have any relationship other than professional with a hybrid.

After one particularly rough session in which Hoseok had pinned you against the wall of your bedroom, fucking up into you with his mouth just below your collarbone, leaving marks where no one would see, you head back out into the living room and Namjoon does that nose wrinkle again. He rubs at his tattered ear and looks away from you.

Jungkook wrinkles his nose, too, but instead of asking questions just rubs his nose up your neck and makes you giggle, pulls you into his lap for skinship while Yoongi huffs and pouts, perched on the couch next to Taehyung.

“Hyung,” Taehyung purrs, brushing his cheek against the older cat. “Don’t be jealous.”

Yoongi growls at him but there’s no bite to it, and you ruffle his long, blond hair as you pass by. He smiles his gummy smile at you, has never so much as sneered at you, and Taehyung pouts and slinks to the other end of the couch.

He wraps his arms around Jimin, instead, and the fennec fox hybrid twitches his long ears, but you know secretly he loves the skinship, no matter how he grumbles.

Seokjin is lying on the floor, in the sun, his white hair seeming to gleam in the sunlight. He looks lazy and effortlessly beautiful, but his leopard’s eyes are sharp, watching you snuggle in between Yoongi and Jungkook.

Hoseok trails an appropriate amount of time later, standing near the doorway as if on guard.

“Are you ever going to tell us what kind of hybrid you are, Hobi?” Seokjin drawls, looking at you instead of over at Hoseok.

Hoseok lifts his chin up. “Does it matter?”

Seokjin shrugs lazily. “I’m curious. We’re all pretty obvious, especially Ears over there.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out at him, rocking back a bit as Taehyung nuzzles against the top of his head.

It’s Yoongi who surprises you, standing up to look at Hoseok, his eyes going across the breadth of his shoulder. 

“Something with wings, I bet.”

“A bird hybrid?” Namjoon sits up in the recliner, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve only read about them, never met one. They’re so rare-”

Hoseok sighs as Yoongi walks around him, looking him up and down.

“A crane, maybe? He’s all tall and gangly.” Yoongi smirks up at him. 

You roll your eyes. “Now boys. Hoseok doesn’t have to-”

Hoseok shakes his head. “It’s okay. Might as well. I don’t want them thinking I’m a fucking flamingo.” Taehyung snorts at this, making Jimin’s mouth turn up at the corner, as well.

Jimin had been the slowest to acclimate to living among six other hybrids. Namjoon and Jungkook, both canine, had bunked up immediately, Jungkook whining at Namjoon’s bedroom door until he let him in, on the second night. He’d moved in right after.

Seokjin, Taehyung, and Yoongi were all feline, so they’d been content to curl up together on the couch and nap, draped around each other.

Jimin on the other hand, adorable with his long ears and cute face, was harsher with you. Despite his small figure, he could be intimidating, he’s broad and a lot stronger than he looks. He’d thrown you over his shoulder like a sack of flour to keep you from leaving, and he has this hard look in his eyes when he’s serious and a lower growl than you’d imagined when he’s mad.

 Like Hoseok, he took his job as your protector more seriously than the others seemed to, and at first, he’d ignored the others (Jungkook particularly).

Jungkook would try to play with him, growl at him and nip at his heels until Jimin yipped back at him, and Namjoon or Hoseok had even had to break up a few fights that way while the cats looked on, bemused. Eventually, Jimin realized that he could trick Jungkook easily, and he’d let him play, run from him until Jungkook went headfirst into the glass door or skidded into the kitchen and knocked over the chairs.

During the first winter, you’d gone into Namjoon and Jungkook’s room to wake them up and found Jimin sleeping at the end of the bed, draped across their legs.

When he’d woken he’d grumbled and slipped past you as if nothing happened, but now he was just as likely to sleep there when he wasn’t on guard or nap draped among the cats like he was one of them.

Jimin scoffs, jolting you out of your memories. “He’s not a crane. Something that hunts them, maybe.”

Namjoon is on the edge of his seat. “Like a predatory bird? That’s so interesting.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “I’m a hawk hybrid. It’s not that special.”

There’s a chorus of oohs around the room that make you giggle a little.

Hoseok shuffles on his feet, looking as if his feathers are quite literally ruffled.

All the boys are interested now, even Taehyung, usually unbothered, slinking down to the floor to crawl toward him and marvel when Hoseok removes his trenchcoat to reveal his wings.

Yoongi, however, stays on the couch, looking at you from the corner of one scarred eye. You’d never asked him, where it came from, nor asked Namjoon about his tattered ear or Taehyung about the marks on his back you’d seen when he’d started changing that first day in front of all of you, completely unashamed.

You know that all of your hybrids were adopted for the purpose of protecting you, from others and from yourself, and that they had scattered and possibly dangerous backgrounds. 

Yoongi has never looked at you quite like this though, something hard in his gaze, like when Jimin or Hoseok are scolding you.

None of the others have ever been able to scold you or actually stop you from leaving. Namjoon let you talk him out of it, Seokjin and Taehyung would just go with you if given the chance and get into their own mischief, and Jungkook and Yoongi were too fond of you to stand it when you pouted. 

With Yoongi, whenever you wanted something you’d just thread your fingers through his hair and he’d purr and let you do whatever you wanted, but there’s something almost feral in his gaze now.

It’s kind of...hot.

You’d be lying if you said that Hoseok was the only hybrid you were attracted to in the bunch. In fact, they were all gorgeous in their own right, but you figure it's enough trouble to have let one of them in your bed.

While the others are distracted by Hoseok you slip toward your bedroom, meaning to wash your sheets as you always do after you and Hoseok hook up.

You don't hear him walk up behind you, which is odd since he has this particular walk, somehow confident and lazy at the same time, almost shuffling his feet.

“Yoongi, what are you-” you start, and Yoongi puts a finger up to his lips, takes your hand and tugs you into your bedroom, closing the door softly.

You stare at him, wide eyed. “Why-”

“You’re fucking the bird, right?” Yoongi says, his tone nonchalant, but his stance isn’t. His shoulders seem wider, and he’s still glaring at you, his yellow eyes seeming to glow.

“I...what…” you sputter, not sure how to lie or what to say.

He takes a few steps closer to you and you back up but then the backs of your knees hit your mattress and you sit down with a squeak.

He’s more intimidating like this, looking down at you, and it makes you press your thighs together. 

He leans down and you wonder for a hot moment if he’s going to kiss you but instead he brushes past you, plucks a feather off your pillow.

He holds it up. 

“You’re fucking the bird,” he says again, and there’s nothing you can say to deny it.

“Um,” you begin. “It’s none of your business.” Your voice comes out small and bratty.

Yoongi rolls his head on his shoulders, neck cracking and it makes you twitch.

“Maybe not,” he admits slowly, voice low, always low in this rumbling that’s between a purr and a growl. “I’m used to being the only male in a pride.”

You barely want to blink, looking up at him. “What does that mean?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Guess I’m a bit competitive.”

“What do you mean by competitive?”

Yoongi scoffs. “Don’t play dumb, Y/n.” He kneels between your thighs, placing his hands on your knees lightly. You look down in shock, think that you’d never noticed how big they are. His tail wraps around his knees, twitching just slightly as he looks up at you.

You’re wearing a maxi dress and he starts to bunch it around your hips slowly, keeping eye contact with you the whole time and your breath catches in your throat but you don’t want to stop him.

He thumbs across a fingerprint bruise on your thigh with a sigh that rumbles in his chest.

“Birds mate for life but they don’t know how to treat their mates,” he mumbles, as if to himself, planting a kiss there, open mouthed, that makes your thighs tremble. “All rough, marking, making themselves known.” He scoffs again, and lifts his head to look at you with those yellow eyes. “I knew the moment he first touched you.”

He slides his fingers higher up your thigh, hooks his thumb under the lace edge of your panties and you gasp.

“Can’t just treat a mate like you so roughly,” Yoongi continues as he slides your panties slowly down your thighs and ankles, slipping them off you and kissing the side of your knee as he does so. “You don’t like being owned, being obvious.”

“I-I don’t?” You stutter, mouth dry.

Yoongi shakes his head, smiling against your skin. It’s almost a snarl and it sends heat through your belly. 

“You like it secret, don’t you, Y/n? Mate like you, deserves to have a secret lover to worship her.”

You can’t help the low moan that slips past your lips.

His fingers slip into you like they belong there, and he curls his fingers in just the right way, a way that has you idly wondering how much practice he must have had at this back at the compound your father found him at.

When his tongue scrapes across your clit you nearly come off the bed. You had never thought about lion hybrids having a rough tongue but it’s textured, almost painful but in the most pleasurable way.

“Oh, God,” you whimper.

Yoongi lifts his head, a slight pout on his full lips. “Yoongi.”

You blink. “Yoongi,” you repeat, and he presses his face back into you, moaning against you and using that rough tongue against your clit and you’re pretty sure you’ve never cum that fast from oral.

There’s a crash from outside the door and Yoongi groans against you, still lapping at your cunt even after you’ve clenched your thighs around his head.

He’s pouting, mouth shiny with your slick, when you stand up, kicking your panties under the bed.

“My father might come,” You say, breathless, and Yoongi takes his time licking his lips and around his canines, standing up and adjusting himself in the sweats he’s wearing.

The smirk he has on his face makes you kinda want to punch him, but instead you dart out of the door after smoothing down your hair.

“Stay here for a bit before you come out,” you hiss.

Yoongi bows to you, that regal bow he’d done when you’d first met, and sits down on the bed, still smirking at you.

When you make it into the living room it’s chaos, Jungkook bleeding from the forehead and Jimin chortling, glass all over the carpet where Jungkook had run head first into it.

“Park Jimin!” You yell, and Jimin shrugs.

“The dog started it,” he says simply.

Your father does come, and in all the chaos and the glass door being replaced, you’re surprised when Hoseok slips behind you, puts a hand on your lower back, whispers in your ear.

“Got another dirty little secret, princess?”

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