the dream ends, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary:What happens when a dream ends? You awake.

act one, dancing on dreams>>act two: dreaming in reality>>act three: was it a dream>>act four: lucid dreams>>act five: dreams are made of this>>act six: dream sirens>>act seven: wildest dreams>>act eight: nightmare>>the dream ends

warnings:rated M (18+) for language; depression; alcohol consumption; self-destructive behavior; mention of experiencing a panic attack; reader is pansexual; angst / fluff / feels; mentions of and alludes to smut; non-idol!AU - friends with benefits / lovers with Yoongi and JK; switches between JK, Yoongi, reader, and omnipresent POV

a–dick–ted au. It is recommended to read all other parts before this one, as it alludes to many moments in all the previous parts.

–

“Why didn’t she want me?”

Day in, day out, skirting responsibilities, making excuses, his life and heart falling apart, promises broken, nothing mattering, friends trying to step in and him pushing them away, everything balancing on a thin, thin line, slowly, gradually, crumbling.

“What did I do wrong?”

Most nights, lost in a haze, playing the game of will he wake up tomorrow or not.

“Jungkook, get up.”

That tired voice, raspy with strain and pain, drifting down. Hands reaching under his armpits and hoisting him up with a grunt of effort, because he was bigger, younger, and stronger than the body trying to carry him, but he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t believe it, couldn’t standit.

He reached out for another beer, but a pale hand covered his, gently pulling his hand away, squeezing his fingers.

“You’ve had enough.”

The thinner body was holding up his fragile self, struggling. He clung onto it, clutching onto the leather and burying his face into the collar. Black hair. Pine, leather, whiskey.

“Hyung…”

That small, weak voice wasn’t his. It wasn’t. In his head, he was confident, happy, playful, holding her hand and dragging her to him, on top of his body once more, rough, wild, passionate kisses, warmth and desire, his forever dream, his never-ending moment.

“I’m here with you.”

He hadn’t even realized how loud the house was, bumping into people and stumbling as Min Yoongi dragged him along, holding him protectively, blurred faces and strange shadows all around, and he couldn’t look at the people around them, judging and scrutinizing, shaking their heads. He chose to stare into black hair instead. The stench of alcohol was so strong. It was disgusting, but he couldn’t avoid it. In his stomach, his mouth, his lungs, threatening him, drowning him from the inside out.

“I still…” he slurred, voice cracking, unable to finish.

“I know,” Yoongi said gruffly, but it was consoling somehow, the way he said it. “I’m right here with you.”

Yoongididknow.

When he closed his eyes, he could see it, her profile, the shape of her eyes, the tilt of her head and her cascading hair. The way she looked at his room, inspecting the music memorabilia, knowing they were all parts of him. The interest, the awe, the…

He would call her name and she would face him, those plush lips parting, looking right at him.

And he could feel it. He swore he could, and he said so that fateful day, slamming his fist to his wall, sliding down, the tears stinging his eyes, he swore that it was real, that look in her eyes.

Like she wanted him.

Like she needed him.

Jungkook swore to Yoongi he saw it in her eyes.

No.

That day didn’t happen.

It wasn’t real.

In his head, Jungkook was still there, in his apartment, clutching the photo behind his back, looking into her eyes and her looking back.

Like she loved him.

-

He had to close his eyes to see her, because she wasn’t there when he opened them.

She would knock on his door and he would open it and pull her in, her voice saying his name, a mixture of indignance and fondness, clutching his shirt, his hands flipping up her skirt, revealing her black panties at his front door before he closed it, pressing her body against it, deep, hungry kisses, her hands holding his face.

“Jungkook… I could have walked in on my own, you psycho.”

Her chastising him, but, somehow, she didn’t seem to mean it at all.

“Sorry, noona. I don’t care.”

And she would click her tongue, but she would pull him closer, his smirk against her inviting lips, already pulling her into the apartment, her hastily kicking off her black boots, him pulling off her jacket, sliding his hands up her thighs, moaning into her mouth at the softness of her ass, the way she filled his hands, perfect, always perfect, lifting her so she had to hold onto him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands tangling in his silver hair.

“Jungkook…”

Every second, every moment, so real he could almost taste it, taste the desire in her kiss, taste the lingering artificial sweetness of the gummy bears from her tongue, taste her skin on his lips and the way it vibrated with her moan, her thighs squeezing him, making him hard with that action alone.

His name, floating down to his ears.

“J-Jungkook…”

He couldn’t get enough, never.

He didn’t want anyone else, never.

He would whisper her name against her skin and she would shudder at the feeling of his tongue travelling across her throat, her moan filling his ears, his head, his heart.

“No one else but you.”

Jungkook would dump her on his bed where a large lump would grunt in annoyance, pulling down the blanket, small smile on that disgruntled face once he realized who it was, Jungkook pushing her up against Min Yoongi and her squeak of surprise.

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?”

His hyung pulling up her shirt, humming in response.

“Can’t stand being at mine sometimes.”

Unhooking her bra, tossing it aside, so Jungkook could lean down and scoop her breasts to his face, flickering his tongue over them as Yoongi tipped her head back to look into her eyes.

“More fun for you, right?” that raspy voice would taunt, deft tongue flicking between pink lips.

And he would watch, watch his hyung kiss her and feel her body strain under his teasing touch, her back arching, shoving her tits into his face, his lips closing around one of her hard nipples, so good, so delicious, Yoongi’s tongue playing with her mouth, whines buried in her chest.

The world could tell him no.

The world could tell him to wake up.

The world could tell him right from wrong.

But Jungkook would never believe it. He would never believe this was wrong, her in his hands and in Yoongi’s hands, her pressed up against them at the end of the night, her quiet breathing its own rhythm and song, the dreamlike melody of his days and nights and Jungkook would never want anything else like he wanted these moments.

Never.

In his world, it was just him, his hyung, and his noona.

Then, he would open his eyes and she wasn’t there.

It was him, his hyung, and the alcohol.

Staring into nothing, emptiness in his soul.

“I still want you…” Jungkook mumbled, crumpled in the hallway of some random house, the world around him alive, but he saw none of it, lost in the world in his head.

“Jungkook, get up.”

-

He thought he knew what the worst feeling in the world was.

He really did.

What a joke.

He had seen a lot of shit. He grew up yelling and fighting to create his music, straining relationships, severing ties. He met terrible people, got screwed out of time and money, went to bed hungry, heard of his friends’ arrests or, worse, their deaths. It tore him up, it crippled him from the inside, and it manifested as his darkness, the depths inside him that threatened to swallow him up when there were too many people, too many pressures, too many fears. All these, and he thought he had experienced the worst feeling in the world.

But he was wrong.

The worst feeling in the world was watching Jeon Jungkook throw up on the fucking grass, rubbing his back as he retched out the contents of his stomach, most of it being alcohol tainted with bile.

It was disgusting, pitiful, and it hurt him so, so very much to watch.

“H… Hyung…”

Fuck, his broken, weak voice hurt him even more.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out some paper napkins, handing them to the younger man to wipe his mouth as he looked around. He let Jungkook be for a quick moment as he rushed back into the house, pushing drunk people aside to find a cooler, snatching a water bottle from half-melted ice. The change in temperature shocked him for a moment before he gritted his teeth and strode back out, finding Jungkook walking alone, swaying and stumbling, bumping into cars, his silver hair matted and stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“Yoongi-hyung…?”

He sounded so lost.

Me too.

“Jungkook.”

He had to shake his shoulder for Jungkook to turn around. He had to unscrew the cap and bring the water to the shaking lips, tipping it slowly, letting the younger man drink. He had to tell him to swallow, otherwise it seemed like he wouldn’t.

It hurt him.

It was the worst feeling in the world, shoving Jungkook into a taxi, avoiding the disapproving look of the driver as he handed him the crumpled bills, dragging him back to the apartment building, going to the third floor and Jungkook furiously shaking his head, tears streaming down, please hyung, no,not back there, please, and him agreeing, walking past, up to the fourth floor, his chest tight as he opened his apartment, the corner unit, seeing his still-open bathroom door.

Mocking him.

The flash of memory, absolute panic and yanking the bathroom door closed, locking it, tearing at his skin, his clothes, sinking down into the tile, terror and loathing rolled into one, tormenting his mind and his soul, inner voices telling him he couldn’t do it, couldn’t perform on a stage with that many people and seeing so many eyes on him, telling him that he wasn’t good enough, that he deserved nothing good in this world.

It didn’t matter if they were lies because, in that moment, he couldn’t tell the truth from the lies anyway.

A tentative tap on the door, soft silvery voice cutting through the thoughts.

“Hyung? Are you okay?” Jungkook had asked. The doorknob rattled. “Do you need help?”

“Don’tcome in here,” he had growled, animalistic and in pain.

The rattling stopped.

He heard movement, as if someone had gotten to their knees. He heard weight; palms pressed to the wood. And then, gentleness, like a small light in his darkness.

“It’s okay, hyung. I’ll help you.”

Help? No one could help him. No one. No one did this to him. It was all him. It was all in his head.

“What do you need?” Jungkook had murmured quietly. “You can ask for anything. Anything. I’ll do my best to make it happen. I promise.”

He hadn’t replied.

Athunk, like a forehead to wood.

“Yoongi-hyung. Please. Let me help you.”

Despair.

Silence.

His mouth had opened and her name had drifted out like smoke.

“Okay, hyung. Okay. I’ll get her. I promise.”

We’re not a moment, right?

Now, the heavy weight on his shoulder slid down, almost falling to the floor, but Yoongi caught him, caught Jeon Jungkook’s drunken state and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him inside, leaning him against the wall and taking off his shoes, helping Jungkook out of his, his own self broken inside, but hauling the larger, younger man down the hallway to his bedroom, settling him on the bed and adjusting his head, Jungkook losing consciousness, lost in his dreams once more.

And no matter how much Min Yoongi wanted to fall apart, no matter how much he wanted to drink all of the whiskey inside this apartment and pass out along with Jungkook, hoping and praying that he never woke up, Yoongi did none of that.

He sat and stayed with his dreamer, brushing the silver strands out of his face, not falling asleep so he could be there for him in case anything happened. Because when he was at his lowest point, there were only two people that stuck by him and one of them was gone now.

Yoongi did not want to lose the other.

He reached over and placed his hand on Jungkook’s chest, feeling the firm thud-thud of his heart.

“We’re not a moment, right?” he whispered to the air, pain slicing into his frail voice.

Only now, when Jungkook couldn’t see him, did Yoongi cry.

-

He knew he should give up.

She was just like him, running from the nameless demons in her head. Misery loved company and all that shit. Sure, whatever. He thought she would be upset when he told her he had no interest in relationships, that he didn’t want to be her boyfriend, that he didn’t believe in love.

That was the first sign.

The little sting when he saw her expression after saying that. She seemed relieved. He brushed it off, as he always did. Only playing around, treating it like a high-stakes gamble instead of what it was. He knew he would get tired and give up, eventually. He always did, before her.

He didn’t give up.

Yoongi knew he couldn’t.

The second sign was how easily he remembered her favorite things.

The kiss that made her wet, the moments of daring ‘what-ifs’, the way he held her in his lap and made her grind on him in public, not letting her focus on anything else. People? Yoongi didn’t give a shit about people. It was only him and his girl.

The third sign.

His.

Girl.

The fourth sign.

Jeon Jungkook confronting him, admitting his dream girl he wanted to lose his virginity with. Consequences? Yoongi didn’t care about consequences. He only cared about how aroused he knew this was going to make his naughty girl. He lived his life without thinking about the future. He always had.

The fifth sign.

He liked it. Liked watching Jungkook do things to her, suggesting crazy shit, liked feeling her shiver after Jungkook wrecked her and then doing the wrecking himself, her fingers clutching his shoulders, her desperate kiss, asking for more in breathless whispers. It probably wasn’t right, but Yoongi didn’t give a shit, because when he was with her, it was paradise. When he was with her, there were no nameless demons to run away from.

And when she wasn’t there, when the demons came back, there was Jungkook.

Jungkook pulled him from his nightmares with his dreams, his plans, his ideas. Compelling him, distracting him, redirecting his energy.

The sixth sign.

Yoongi knew, this time, this time was different.

He was the one who took the first picture. He took it himself, on his phone when she wasn’t looking. He stared at that photo for hours, studying that profile, that face, those eyes, and he made a choice.

He told Jungkook.

And Jungkook to his own photo, as Yoongi knew he would, because Jungkook had never hid his desire in the first place. They printed them together. Wrote on the backs of them together. Held them nervously, together, looking into each other’s eyes.

Afraid.

The seventh sign.

The way she said his name.

Her eyes, his paradise, their never-ending moment and their forever dream.

And the shattering of his heart when she dropped the photos and ran. She was just like him. He would have run too. But it was different this time. This time, Yoongi was on the receiving end and he knew how much it hurt.

-

He knew the way people talked about him. That he was a bad boy, A playboy. That he didn’t care about anything. That he was a puny, good-for-nothing, shitty rapper. But he sold out venues, even if they were small.

That was him, Min Yoongi.

He could have walked away. Fuck it. This whole thing was crazy anyway. Didn’t make any fucking sense. It shouldn’t work and he shouldn’t try to make it work.

We’re not a moment, right?

He could have told Jeon Jungkook to get a fucking grip and stop moping, because fuck, he wasn’t moping like him, right?

Right?

Yoongi would tell himself that as he held fistfuls of sheets, soaking them with his eyes, stifling any sound he made, Jungkook snoring loudly above him. He would stop before the sun rose, getting up to wash his face and throw himself onto the bed, the stinging pain of keeping his eyes open finally too much.

Was it always going to be like this? Forever like this, this pain?

He hated it.

Therefore, Yoongi made a choice.

He chose to care.

Yoongi was not going to give up and he was not going to let Jungkook give up either.

-

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hey, hyung.”

It was a quiet exchange. Jeon Jungkook straightened out the collar of his black dress shirt and stood up, brushing off his slacks. He paused before unbuttoning the first three, then frowned, and rebuttoned one.

“Need you to come with me.”

“For what, hyung?” He tried to sound as bright as he could, but it was all play-pretend.

“I made a hair appointment for you,” Yoongi replied, sliding his hand under the neckline of his white t-shirt and rubbing his collarbone. He didn’t look at him directly. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t need a hair appointment,” Jungkook chuckled, running a hand through his silvery-blond locks, slightly brassy now from the lack of care, but nothing some water couldn’t fix. No one would notice if he simply pushed it back and away from his face.

“I already paid for it.”

“W… what?”

Yoongi clicked his tongue, shrugging on his black hoodie. “Come on. My friend needed the cash. You like coloring your hair.”

“I only colored it because…” The sentence trailed off and Jungkook gave Yoongi a pained look.

The older male reached over and grabbed his wrist.

“You have to break the cycle,” Yoongi said softly, staring into his eyes. “I really need you with me. Please.”

Jungkook gazed at him helplessly, all dressed up and nowhere to go, because the places he wanted to go were destinations in his dreams, with her.

“Please, Jungkook.”

The grip on his wrist tightened, Yoongi’s dark brown eyes glistening. He turned his head away, but forced himself to look back, holding Jungkook in his resolute stare.

A stare full of thinly veiled pain.

“I can’t do this alone.”

And how, Jungkook remembered. All of his dreams had Yoongi in them too.

For a moment, he had forgotten that. For many nights and many days, he had forgotten Yoongi was always there, holding him up when he was falling down, being his eyes when the world was blurry, hiding his sadness so Jungkook could wallow in his.

He lifted his other hand and placed it over the pale one.

“Okay, hyung. Okay.”

-

“How you seen someone who looks like this?”

The kid took the picture from him, big eyes looking bigger in his round, bug-eyed lenses.

“Yeah. It’s the pretty noona.”

The kid handed it back.

“But I haven’t seen her in a while. I’m sorry.”

Jeon Jungkook smiled soothingly and patted the kid on the head. “It’s okay. I haven’t seen her in a while either. That’s why I’m asking.”

He stood up, tucking his now purple hair behind his ear. The kid looked up at him, mouth slightly open, in awe of Jungkook’s height. The kid was sporting a t-shirt with a cartoon character on it and blue pants that were a little too short for him, a colorful patch on the shin. Jungkook bowed pointedly to him even though he was only a young child. The kid continued to stare. He was about to turn around before the kid spoke up again.

“She seemed really sad.”

Jungkook paused.

“I used my allowance to buy her gummy bears. Did you know? She always buys gummy bears when she comes here.” The kid sniffed, rubbing the back of his nose as Jungkook looked down at him, the words stinging his heart. “But she seemed so sad. Like she was hurting deep inside, but trying to hide it.” He lifted his head, blunt bowl cut bouncing, dashing over to Jungkook and tugging on his jeans.

“Is she okay, hyung?”

The worst part was, Jungkook didn’t know.

The kid bit his lip, shaking the leg of his jeans, his mother behind the counter chastising him, saying not to touch the customers, but Jungkook held his hand up, crouching down. The kid looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He did not feel brave inside, but he tried to show that he was brave on the outside, smiling warmly, placing a reassuring hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay. I promise.”

Was he promising this random kid whose mom worked at the gas station?

Or was he promising himself?

-

“Hey, young man.”

Yoongi stopped at the stairs, keys between his knuckles.

He turned around.

A guy in a dirty khaki jacket and torn jeans with a swollen purple eye and a bruised cut on his lip. He was holding an empty bottle of soju and something else. A small, plastic package.

Yoongi’s eyes widened.

“I heard, uh… I heard you were asking around for someone,” the guy mumbled, looking sheepish and out-of-sorts. “I think… I think I’ve seen her so I wanted to catch you and let you know.” He swallowed, sniffing hard and shaking his head, the flaps of his coat opening, revealing the Doraemon tattoo on his chest and many more. All cartoon characters.

The guy held out the gummy bears.

Yoongi lifted his own, speechless as the package fell into his palm.

“She was here… last night? Or the day before.” The guy scooted around, rambling on despite Yoongi not replying, standing at a random spot halfway to the stairs and the parking lot. “Just standing here. Holding the candy and this soju here.” He raised the empty bottle, pointing at the windows of the apartment complex. “Think she wanted to… But she didn’t. She handed these to me and drove away. Asked me to keep them.”

The guy scratched his head. Then he pointed at Yoongi, nodding, more to himself than to him.

“I think she’s a little like me…” the guy was saying, slightly incoherent. “Said… said her and her momma don’t talk anymore. Me neither, you know… she gave me up as a baby before I could even say ‘go ahead, bitch’… heh… hehehe… man… sucks…” He rubbed his lips and sucked in a tight breath, flinching in pain as he touched his bruised lip. “Anyway, I put some feelers out for you.”

Yoongi swallowed, clutching the gummy bears tightly, the crinkle of plastic cutting into his skin.

“W… why?”

The guy looked awkward, shifting his eyes.

“Dunno… I just… people are important, you know?” He winced, jerking his head away. “No… no one wants to look for me, heh. Only for the drugs.”

He shoved his hand into his dirty tan coat and wrenched out a handful of tiny bags, all with colorful pills in them. After a brief moment, he jammed them back into his coat, frowning.

“Don’t want her to end up like me.”

The guy with the Doraemon tattoo raised his head, looking at Yoongi. Underneath his coat, ribs poked out straining against colorful, inked skin. His teeth were crooked, a little yellow, but he smiled anyway, shrugging. A small light inside him, despite his appearance.

“Not when someone’s looking out for her, you know?”

-

You ran.

Ran through the cars, stumbling, searching for yours, chest tight, black hood falling off, black hair suddenly free, wild and tangled around you, dark waves shimmering in the moonlight and streetlight, the only lights you saw these days.

“Noona…?”

A broken voice, once silvery and mischievous.

You turned, seeing violet.

-

“Um…”

You looked up from your head hanging between your legs. The girl beside you smiled, moving the red lollipop between her teeth. You were sitting on the stone steps of the porch. The party inside was dying, everyone falling asleep or falling unconsciousness.

“I don’t want to admit this, but… thanks.”

You wiped her lipstick off your mouth with the back of your head. “What?”

“Well, uh,” she continued sheepishly, her voice flitting between raspy and silvery, a strange mix. “I broke up with my boyfriend earlier this week. Not because he did anything… but I did.” She rubbed the back of her head, white lollipop stick moving between her now pink lips, the red having been kissed off. “And I was gonna get wasted and fuck some dude, but I found you instead.”

You gave her a weird look.

She nervously laughed. “I didn’t bring protection. On purpose.”

You blinked, slowly.

She popped the lollipop out of her lips, tapping it in the air. It glistened with saliva.

“I thought maybe if I had a kid, I’d have some purpose.” She breathed out, heavy. “Stupid, right? Fuck, that’s so fucking stupid.” She scoffed, shaking her head before raising it to look at you. “But I found you and I realized how stupid I almost was. And you’re a better kisser too. You actually paid attention to me when I said it was too rough or that I wanted more. People who come to these parties, they’re not like that normally, you know? Nobody cares here. Everybody seems to forget people are still people when they’re drunk or being stupid.”

Your lips parted.

“So… thanks. You helped me realize that. I could have made a really dumb mistake.”

She scooted closer to you, laying her head on your shoulder.

“I’m gonna sit with you a little longer, okay?”

You looked down at her and she smiled back at you, gently.

-

“Hey, hyung, Jungkook.”

Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, standing in the gas station Jimin worked at, waving the two over.

“Are you two supposed to be hanging out while working?” Min Yoongi muttered, raising an eyebrow at Jimin. Taehyung slid off the stool behind the counter and walked around it, adjusting his olive-green beanie, wispy brown locks sticking out of the bottom.

The blond man shrugged. “Eh, the manager isn’t gonna know. I’m off in an hour anyway.”

Jeon Jungkook ignored the exchange, heading straight for Taehyung, his long, tied-back purple hair giving him a fierce look. “You said you heard something,” he said impatiently.

“Mhm, I asked some old friends, and, mind you, I haven’t talked to these dudes in ages because they’re kinda shitty. But it turns out some people are already keeping an eye out for her, so I guess everyone in the scene was on the lookout. She’s been, er… hanging out on the far, far side of the city.”

Taehyung grimaced, holding up his phone. Blurry pictures, but there was no mistaking who and doing what. Right out in the open, familiar positions. Jungkook grabbed Taehyung’s phone, flipping through them, brows furrowed, intently focused on the screen.

“She has an MO. No dudes. But… yeah.”

Jungkook handed him his phone back, lips pursed.

“You said you might know where she’s going to be next. Where.”

Not a question. A statement.

Taehyung exchanged a look with Jimin. Jimin’s eyes flitted to Yoongi, who gave him an unreadable expression, but there was an intensity there, as if he too was demanding an answer.

“Are you sure, guys?” Jimin asked, his light voice laced with worry. “You might get hurt.”

“Been there, done that.” Yoongi brushed off the comment dismissively, still pointedly staring at Taehyung.

“You sure she’s worth all this?” The concern obvious in the baritone, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure,” Jungkook snapped. “Now tell me.”

Taehyung frowned. “Neither of you have ever been able to commit to people before. She’s clearly moving on. And besides… two of you and one of her… that’s just–”

Jungkook’s hands flew out, grabbing the front of Taehyung’s shirt, shaking him furiously.

“Tell me where.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to protest, but then he caught the emotion trapped in his dark chocolate eyes, the barely-there waver in his silvery voice.

At any moment, it seemed like Jungkook was going to break down.

Taehyung’s gaze flickered to Yoongi, but the older man simply ticked his chin to Jungkook. Yoongi was better at hiding it or perhaps it was because he wasn’t as close. But there was something in the older man’s stance, heavily guarding the delicate heart inside, invisible strings holding him up, so thin they seemed ready to snap, but Yoongi was holding on, obviously seeing something Taehyung couldn’t.

“Alright,” Taehyung finally said. “Alright, I’ll give you guys the address. It’s at the far side of the city.”

-

Purple hair, flushed cheeks, a lost look in chocolate eyes that were fixed on you, pink lips parted, mole underneath trembling with unease. White t-shirt, black cargo pants, and thick-soled black boots. His tattooed right arm made him stand out, along with his violet-colored hair. He took a hesitant step forward.

Fingers outstretched, trying to touch you.

Your eyes widened and you turned to run, but a firm hand closed around your wrist, yanking you to a mop of black hair and a pale face.

“We didn’t come all the way over here to have you run from us again.”

The anger in his dark brown eyes made you freeze, accusing you.

“Y… Yoongi…”

His name felt foreign to your lips, not having said it in weeks. You tried to pull away but Min Yoongi held on, gritting his teeth. Black and navy bomber jacket, white shirt, and distressed black jeans. How could you have known then – that thisoutfit would be the one that started it all?

“Who… how…?”

Yoongi scoffed, clicking his tongue. “A kid and a dirty guy with a Doraemon tattoo. Jimin, Taehyung. And even then, it took forever to find you.” He shifted, sighing heavily, eyes flickering to the moon, still clutching your wrist, almost painfully. And you saw it.

Pain, glistening behind the gates of his cold demeanor.

All of a sudden, a hard body collided into you, Yoongi letting go, strong hands spinning you around, grip on your upper arms so tight it felt like your flesh was bruising, your head jerking up, eyes wide, looking up to purple hair.

And tears.

Streaming down those high cheekbones, tan skin and quivering lips.

“Why?”

His silvery voice cracked as Jeon Jungkook shook you, harsh sobs racking his chest, drowning in his tears, your name on his lips, still so sweet in his pain, heavy, wheezing breaths as he struggled to speak, barely croaking out the words.

“Why didn’t you want me?”

-

Why didn’t they want me?

A question you asked all the time. To the busy, overworked adults preparing your meals and scolding you to follow their routines, dividing their attention among the unwanted. Then to the others, the same as you, the tossed aside, the other mistakes and secrets, just as lost and confused. No one could ever answer you, because there was no answer other than, they just didn’t.

And then.

Him.

Everybody said, Min Yoongi was a bad boy. Min Yoongi was a playboy. Min Yoongi didn’t care about anything. And neither did you.

There was no.

Reason to take anything seriously.

You couldn’t. And neither could he.

It took a dreamer to pull you and Yoongi out of the endless night.

-

Jungkook pitched forward, crying into your chest, smelling like laundry, the sea, and bitterness, large, hiccupping sniffles, wiping his tears and snot on your hoodie, and, as if by robotic knowledge of proper social etiquette, your arms raised, about to encircle him, but Yoongi slapped your hands down.

“Don’t you daretry to comfort him if you don’t mean it,” he snarled, glaring at you from behind Jungkook’s hunched-over form. “You hurt him enough.”

You froze at his hostile tone, his slap stinging your skin and your heart.

Yoongi clicked his tongue, jaw clenched. “Me, fuck, I don’t fucking matter. But Jungkook? Shit. He’s a fucking mess without you, drinking every night, blacking out sometimes, throwing up liquor and barely eating.” His pale hand came up and ran through his black hair tensely, anger streaked in his expression, tainting his handsome face. He sucked in a deep breath before facing you again.

“I thought you and I weren’t a moment.”

Jungkook’s tears were soaking through the fabric of the hoodie, drenching the space above your left breast.

“I told you I only felt right when I was with you or him.”

The harshness in dark brown eyes faltered, his deep, raspy voice softening, laced with hurt.

“I still feel that way.”

He closed his eyes, pale cheeks coated in moonlight and streetlights.

“Even if I shouldn’t,” Yoongi whispered, almost inaudible.

-

You scoffed.

“I don’t need anything. Or anyone.”

The girl with the lollipop chuckled, nodding lightly. “Yeah, well, maybe someone needs you.”

You said nothing, looking out to the lawn where some idiot yanked open a car door and vomited on the grass. Another guy was leaning against a lamppost, looking out onto the road, staring at his phone, seemingly waiting to be picked up.

“Hard to know, though. You can’t tell you need someone until they’re gone.”

For a long, long moment, you listened to the sounds. The party, the loud music, the lively yelling, the muddled conversations, glass shattering, vicious swearing, messy kisses. The sound of breathing at your shoulder, steady, rhythmic, beside you.

At this moment, it occurred to you.

This was wrong.

And you remembered a sunset, sitting on the roof of an apartment building, looking over the urban jungle, two heads on your shoulders, a different world.

The right ones.

You lowered your head. All the other times, you were always silent. Alone, staring at the Han River.

But not this time.

“Don’t… don’t know what to do…” you shuddered, collecting your knees in your arms, shoving your face in between your limbs, wetness sliding down your cheeks. “I’m such… a fuckup… so… stupid…”

A stranger’s hand rubbing your back soothingly, her voice a mix of raspy and silvery.

“Don’t cry…”

-

You placed your hands on Jungkook’s arms.

Pulled him towards you.

“Don’t cry,” you murmured softly. “Please don’t cry, Jungkook.”

He pressed his face into your breasts, shoulders shaking, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you so tight that it seemed like he never wanted to let go, wet sobs trapped against your chest. You placed your lips to the top of his purple hair.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” you said softly, lifting your head, seeing Yoongi standing behind Jungkook, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, I… I couldn’t believe it. I was scared. Really scared of those words. And I didn’t know what they really meant, not until…”

You can’t tell you need someone until they’re gone.

“I didn’t understand what it meant to love.”

You looked down, seeing that beautiful face stained with tears, his skin blotchy and flushed. You reached between you and Jungkook to wipe his tears, your fingertips becoming soaked with the river of despair inside him.

“I couldn’t believe that you two were okay with it, this crazy arrangement.”

“I said I wanted it,” Yoongi muttered.

“That’s not the same, Yoongi,” you chuckled wryly, raising your head to look at him, holding Jungkook’s cheek, feeling his larger hand coming up to press your palm against his skin. Your gaze faltered, not really looking at the destroyed lawn of this party house, but somewhere else, in the depths, into the past that haunted you, the only world you thought existed, the one that constantly betrayed you and didn’t want you. “Like how I thought I grew up and changed, but I didn’t change at all.”

Silence except for Jungkook’s sniffling.

“Neither did we,” Yoongi snorted. “He’s went back to being a drunkard and I went back to sulking in the corners of these shitty parties, skirting free alcohol.”

You frowned, clutching the white t-shirt. “He’s not a drunkard.”

Jungkook laughed, moist and hoarse, wiping his nose on your hoodie. You made a face at him, slightly disgusted. Maybe you deserved it. He looked up, chocolate eyes glistening. Your breath caught in your throat, confused how someone like you could make someone like him feel this way. You carefully patted his eyes dry with your sleeve, dabbing at his wet lashes. His lower lip trembled and he leaned in, stopping just above your lips.

Fear.

Him and you.

“I want to know you want it too,” Jungkook shuddered, clearing his throat.

You looked back at him, lips parting, heart thudding in your chest, uncomfortable, oppressive, but this time, this time you didn’t run away.

Because this time, you knew how much it hurt.

You closed the distance.

“I want it. All of it.”

You kissed him, long and deep, your euphoria, your forever dream, and Jungkook kissed you back, desperate, hungry, grabbing your shoulders and kissing you again and again, wet, sloppy kisses, taking your breath away. Every kiss, every touch, familiar, right. Emotion flooded your ribcage, threatening to burst, but you had something to do, someone equally as important, so you placed your hand on his chest, stopping him, exhaling one word in his mouth.

“Yoongi.”

And Jungkook backed off, still sniffing, chewing on his lip and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, nodding in agreement, giving you the space. You faced him now, so used to running away that this felt strange, but you did it anyway, looking into his sharp, cat-like eyes.

Min Yoongi.

Stolen touches, mere moments, becoming bolder and bolder, until the ante was so high it was impossible to cross, and yet Yoongi had crossed it that fateful night when he asked you to take Jungkook’s virginity, and, without you knowing, without him knowing…

This, whatever thiswas between you and him, was no longer a moment.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m still pissed at you.”

You sucked in a breath. “Yeah, well, I do bad things.”

Yoongi curled his lip, narrowing his eyes. “You’re supposed to do them with me. You said you would. Or did you forget?”

You glanced down at the ground, then back up. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi clicked his tongue and exhaled hard. He looked away from you, but then abruptly jerked his head back, stepping forward, closing the distance, his hand coming up to circle around your head, long fingers burying themselves in your hair, glaring disapprovingly. He held you in place, forcing you to look into his dark brown orbs shadowed by black hair.

“Ah, shut up.”

And then he kissed you hard, brows furrowed, whispering into your lips, I’m sorry too, and you smiled helplessly, one of your hands resting on his waist, pulling him closer, your song, your never-ending moment, pine and leather and Yoongi, him saving you and you saving him, protecting each other from the nameless demons in your respective heads, although neither of you wanted to admit it. He ran his fingers through your hair, familiarity and comfort, letting out a puff of breath. He looked embarrassed, dark eyes shifting brusquely. His other hand touched your right, wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Let’s go home.”

Another took your left, squeezing it tightly. You looked up to see Jungkook’s still-red cheeks and sheepish smile. “You want to come home with us, noona?” he tried to tease, but it sounded more endearing than playful.

You raised an eyebrow, locking your fingers with theirs.

“Is it still called going home with you if I’m the one taking you there?”

-

epilogue:awake

You awoke to soft lips on yours. Tattooed fingers stroked your cheek, long strands brushing your forehead, silvery voice murmuring your name. You opened your eyes to black hair, cat-like, dark brown orbs looking at you under lowered lashes. His lips on yours, the scent of pine, his soft exhale of your name on your skin, making you shudder. Another pair of your lips pressed against your ear, his body hovering over yours and his.

“Yoongi.”

He smiled against your lips.

The bad boy that changed everything.

Your never-ending moment.

Four, eight, six.

“I love you,” you whispered softly, shivers running through you, the words foreign and alien, but you said them anyway, because they were the most special words in the world and you wanted to give them to Min Yoongi.

He chuckled, ears flushing pink, eyes shifting before focusing back on you, repeating it just as quietly, because he, too, wanted to give them to you, not written down, but from his mouth, giving voice to his heart.

“I love you.”

Why did it feel so nice, hearing those words in that raspy, deep voice? Why did it make your heart beat so fast? Why did it hold you and trap you, and why did you want to be trapped, trapped in this melody, these lyrics, this song, this never-ending moment?

Yoongi nudged you, indicating you to look to your left. You turned your head, looking up, seeing dark brown eyes, his purple locks brushing against your cheeks, the mole underneath his lower lip quivering. You reached up and touched his cheek gently, fitting your palm along his chiseled jaw, his own hand still cupping your cheek, naked body on top of yours.

“Jungkook.”

He leaned into your hand, smiling.

The wrong guy who turned out to be the right guy to pick up all along.

Your forever dream.

Four, eight, six.

“I love you,” you breathed, looking into those chocolate orbs, reminded of how much Jeon Jungkook liked you and how he always showed it. For him, you were always his dream and everyone knows that in your dreams, you don’t have to lie or hide. All this time, letting you see him like you, adore you, love you, avoiding the words because he didn’t want to hurt Yoongi, because he wanted his hyung to decide how this was going to go.

Jungkook always knew that Yoongi loved you, maybe even before Yoongi knew it himself.

Now, you finally said the words, giving him what he so very badly wanted to say, and now he could finally, finally say them back to you.

“I love you.”

He leaned down, a delicate kiss on your lips, smelling of laundry and the sea.

For a long, long time, you had wandered, small hands that became big ones, never having another to hold, living on artificial sweetness, missing a safe place, the place to go back to. But Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook changed that.

For you, they were what love really meant in this world.

Home.

-

fin.

-

the three before the dream
before bed

–

masterpost

before bed, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook, mentions of namjoon x reader

Do not read this before reading the full a–dick–ted au. Although these events occur before the entirety of the a–dick–ted au, the significance will be lost unless the rest is read first.

act one, dancing on dreams>>act two: dreaming in reality>>act three: was it a dream>>act four: lucid dreams>>act five: dreams are made of this>>act six: dream sirens>>act seven: wildest dreams>>act eight: nightmare>>the dream ends

summary:The three before the dream begins.

warnings:rated M (18+) for language, mentions of alcohol consumption; everyone is fucking around (literally); dreams of smut (fem reader, nipple play, fingering, f-receiving oral, penetrative sex, doggy, spanking, choking, scratching / marking); non-idol!AU

inspired by TXT’s new album, The Chaos Chapter: FREEZE
based on this

–

now playing – anti-romantic by TOMORROW X TOGETHER

He didn’t know it then.

He couldn’t dream of what was to come.

He didn’t know this moment would change him forever.

“This is my friend, Min Yoongi.”

“Hello.”

She didn’t pay very much attention to him and he didn’t pay much attention to her. They merely exchanged names, waved in greeting, and went back to their respective moments. She stood next to Kim Namjoon, hands in her pockets, not really looking at the people he was introducing her to. An awkward air, yet Namjoon stood beside her protectively. She chewed on her lip, nodding as another member of the friend group acknowledged her. Yoongi didn’t think much of her. She wasn’t his type. Baggy black cargo pants, loose black t-shirt, black cap.

His type was short skirts and easy.

Min Yoongi was a bad boy.

He smirked and pressed the girl beside him to his chest. She giggled and smacked him, playfully pretending to push him away. He wouldn’t call her in the morning and she would probably barely remember him, seeing how drunk she was.

Min Yoongi was a playboy.

He didn’t know.

Later, he was kissing his fuck of the night and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her and Namjoon in a corner. She was in Namjoon’s lap, her cap on the seat beside him, Namjoon’s hands all over her waist and ass. Yoongi pushed the girl down to his neck, letting her sloppily make out with his skin, watching Namjoon’s kind-of, sort-of girlfriend.

He didn’t know why.

Something about the way she was kissing his friend.

She wasn’t dressed sexy, but she moved like it, sensual, deep kisses, grinding in Namjoon’s lap, her hands sliding up into his dark hair. Words exchanged. Her eyes opening slightly, half-lidded and looking around them. For a split second, her gaze and Yoongi’s gaze connected, drawn to each other like a moth to flame. Yoongi only had a fragment of an instant to see those blown-out pupils and then Namjoon’s hand was creeping up the front of her shirt, kneading her breasts through the fabric.

Her attention was gone from him.

And his from her.

Min Yoongi didn’t care about anything.

Weird that when he fucked that girl in her apartment that night, he thought about those eyes.

Orgasmed thinking about them.

Those eyes had been searching for something. Yoongi wasn’t sure if she was looking at the actual people around her or something else. But it felt like something else. He didn’t know why.

He simply felt that way.

-

Yoongi closed his eyes and dreamed.

In his dream, her. Namjoon’s kind-of, sort-of girlfriend.

Except she wasn’t with Namjoon. She was wearing a sinfully short red satin dress, tight in all the right places, molded to every curve, his leather jacket over his shoulders. She looked sexy as fuck in red. Just so fucking beautiful on her own, standing there, surrounded by his black leather.

She turned her head and looked at him.

He couldn’t breathe.

Down, like he was falling, falling, and then his head collided with pillows, gasping, and she was on top of him, hungry kisses, tumbling, him grabbing her shoulders and pushing her down, so hot, her sounds filling his ears, his name a wanton moan, and he couldn’t stop, sliding between her legs, instant bliss, fucking her into the bed, surrounded by soft navy sheets, that mouth calling his name, those eyes looking into his soul, and the sound, fuck, her sound, music to his ears, the wet slap of their bodies, her whimpers, the way she said his name.

She had never said his name in real life, but in this dream, she said it like she had been saying it all her life.

And he could feelit, feel the way her pussy wrapped around his hard length, squeezing him, sucking him in, wanting him, and he was hazy, intoxicated, drunk.

Addicted.

It shot through him, the pleasure invasive and unavoidable, clawing through his veins, setting them all on fire, and he wanted it, those blown-out pupils and that fucked-out expression, he wanted it, that open mouth, pretty pink hole just begging to have his cock shoved into it, he wanted it, that body squirming under him, thighs and ass and tits and back, he wanted to watch cum drip down all over this body and spread it around with his hands, coating her with the thick scent of his orgasm, capturing her lips and thrusting his tongue into that mouth, her whines shoved back into her lungs.

Yoongi wanted it.

In this dream, he shoved her against the wall, pressed her down onto the kitchen counter, dragged her into his lap, put her on her knees on the floor, and fucked her, fucked her, and fucked her, and it was never enough, it never seemed to be enough, and he couldn’t stop, he just couldn’t stop wanting to fuck her so, so bad.

He wanted it so bad.

Wanted her to say his name, to grip onto his shoulders, to tip her head back as his hand wrapped around her neck and his cock assaulted her pussy, legs and arms and voice wrapped all around him, begging for more, here, there, everywhere, somewhere, nowhere.

Darkness.

Swallowing him up.

And then he was alone.

No, not alone.

But not with her.

Yoongi felt himself running, running, the world in darkness. A hand in his hand, holding tight, stumbling, looking for the black light that was her, chasing the moment. The never-ending moment of his lips on her lips, in the safety of the impossible.

-

The funny thing about dreams is, they’re too easy to forget.

Yoongi awoke with a start, tangled in unknown sheets, in a stranger’s bed. It was early morning. The sun hadn’t even rose yet. He was naked. The girl he fucked last night was naked and passed out. The details slipped away from him rapidly, all of it, but he remembered the sex the night before was nothing like his dream.

The sex last night before was fucking trash.

He got up quietly and yanked on his clothes, taking all his belongings, not giving a single shit, not bothering being nice about it. It didn’t mean anything, and it never did.

His head hurt a little, but not that bad. He picked up his phone, deleting the girl’s number right there in her own bedroom before shoving it in his pocket. He stepped outside the unknown apartment and started walking, hands in his pockets, looking for where he was, forgetting all about the dream and last night’s fuck.

Deep down, Yoongi felt an ache.

A want.

He couldn’t place it though. Didn’t know why.

Something brushed past his ear and it almost sounded like his name, breathless and full of lust.

Yoongi turned his head, his short black hair fluffing in the wind, but there was nothing but the stale air of dawn. He frowned, turning back forward, a sudden thought intruding his mind.

The best sex is still…

Who?

Yoongi looked up into the sky that was beginning to break into light, but, inside him, he was trapped in what seemed like endless darkness.

The funny thing about dreams is, even if you forget them, they don’t forget you.

—

now playing – ‘0X1=LOVESONG (i know i love you) ft. seori’ by TOMORROW X TOGETHER

He couldn’t do anything to stop himself.

When he was awake, he did whatever. He messed around, he drank, he fooled around with feelings and bodies, but never too much, never too far. He dressed nice to attract the sweet compliments, showering himself with praise and validation from others to feed his insecurities, but his heart belonged to that soulmate he would find one day, so he couldn’t get careless and give away his first experience to anyone.

It had to be that one, that person, all or nothing.

Jeon Jungkook believed that.

He believed that when he met this person, he would know instantly. That was how it was in movies and shows, right? The chance meeting, eyes to eyes, and the two main characters just knew, life giving them every chance to fall in love, the perfect moment of falling flower petals and birds singing in the background as they kissed for the first time.

So, why?

Why couldn’t his brain stop?

He didn’t even remember how they met. Not at all. He was probably drunk, and it was only an introduction anyway. Kim Namjoon introduced her as his friend, even though it was obvious they were sex friends. That wasn’t his person. The person for Jungkook would be like him. Waiting for the one. The moment of falling flower petals and birds singing in the background.

He hadn’t waited for his first kiss, but he had decided that wasn’t as important as his first time. He had been young then. He didn’t know the magic, the power, the importance of love. He knew that now, so he simply always stopped before the final moment. He would do everything else but that.

He had to wait and look for it.

Where was his moment?

Where was his euphoria?

Where was his forever dream?

Slowly, Jungkook was losing.

He would throw himself onto his bed of soft navy sheets and fall asleep, alone, the frustration festering inside his heart, infested and infected.

-

In his dreams.

Her.

It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know her. He had only seen her a handful of times and they barely spoke. He didn’t even ask questions when Namjoon and her parted ways. He didn’t care. She wasn’t the one. She didn’t give him that feeling, so unless she wanted to be a side mission to his quest, he didn’t pay any attention to her.

And yet.

In his dreams, her.

Crawling onto his bed, shedding her clothes, delicate hand sliding up his abs, smelling like whiskey, pine, and leather even though that wasn’t what she smelled like whenever she hung out with him and his friends. Jungkook didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why he could feel this touch, he didn’t understand why it made him hot, he didn’t understand why his hand always reached down and pulled her to him, his lips crashing to those malleable lips, her mewls vibrating in his mouth, soft body flush against his hard one. His hands slid between her legs, forcing them apart, kissing down that body line, the smooth texture of her skin on his lips and tongue, fuck, breasts so soft and the taste of her nipples in his mouth, swelling a little as he sucked, lapping at it with the tip of his wet muscle and hearing her moan his name, a moan he had never, ever heard in his whole life, but she said it like she had been saying it forever and ever.

Jungkook didn’t understand why he could feel everything.

He could feel it, his mouth on that heat, guttural moan emitting from his throat as he tasted it, sweet like candy, his fingers digging into soft thighs, spreading them open as his tongue traced circles around that opening that he had never sampled before, thrusting his tongue in and groaning, getting hard because he could feel her muscles close around his tongue, his nose rubbing the sensitive nub covered in slick juices, sliding the wet muscle back out and encompassing her clit with his lips, licking at it and it swelled, engorged with pleasure, listening to her soft cries, his cock getting harder and harder, looking up at that face and seeing her head tipped back, mouth open, sucking on her clit more harshly, her trembling body shaking his own, surrounded by delightful sin as her juices flooded his mouth and her lustful voice whimpering his name flooded his ears, so turned on that he had to clamp his thighs around his cock to get it to calm down.

The dreams got worse.

His fingers shoved inside her, feeling her pussy walls wrapped around them, her hands gripping his shirt and her gasps in his ear as he thrust his fingers into her roughly, her softness to his hardness, wetter, louder, something between his teeth that tasted artificially sweet, and she leaned in and sucked it into her mouth, swallowing it before kissing him, ravenous, needy, whimpering his name, his fingers soaked to the knuckles.

And then.

In between her legs, his thick, hard length pushing into that tightness, oh, fuck, and it was perfect, wonderful, so tight, so wet, so soft. His hips rocking, plunging into that heat over and over, and she was breathless from his power, wrists pinned down by his hands as he fucked her into his bed, rough massage of her orgasm up and down his hardness, oh, so good, so hot, so sexy, so real, he could feel it like she was right there, wailing his name as he pumped his cock into her forcefully and came, shooting his cum inside that perfect pussy wrapped around him, fitted to every contour of his jerking length, made just for him.

Jungkook didn’t understand.

He dreamt these dreams all the time. Whenever his eyes closed and he slipped into darkness, she came to him, and he rushed to her, hungry to feel it again, the lust the seemed never-ending, the way she said his name, the way her nails dug into his skin and scratched him up, the way her breath caught when his hand was around her neck, ecstasy painted on her beautiful features as he thrust up into her, smacking hips to hips, so hard he could feel it bruise, and he loved it, he loved the feeling that seemed so real, so fucking real that it was starting to be better than his actual flings.

But Jungkook could do nothing.

She didn’t look at him.

To be honest, she expressed nothing but annoyance with his presence.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

It was supposed to be a perfect moment.

It couldn’t be her.

Her fingers would be twisted in a leather coat, her lips parting as Min Yoongi filled her ears with words Jungkook couldn’t hear, watching his hyung’s fingertips graze her thigh. And just as soon as they touched, they would break apart.

Jungkook was confused.

Like ships in the night, Namjoon’s past lover, his kind-of, sort-of ex-girlfriend would walk by Min Yoongi and something would be exchanged, something Jungkook couldn’t quite tell or see, until it was obvious, short skirts and cropped tops, Yoongi dragging her into hallways, into bathrooms, into dark corners, doing things to her, things Jungkook dreamed about every night now, things that he had never considered or didn’t even know he could do.

The more of her body was revealed to him, the more Jungkook wanted it.

But he couldn’t.

But he wantedit, wanted her under him moaning his name, wanted her hands on his body, wanted his cock to be the one to make her feel good. Jungkook wanted it and he didn’t understand why, because love was falling flower petals and birds singing in the background, not him dragging her on hands and knees and pounding her from behind, groaning as he savored the feeling of his crotch harshly smacking into her plump ass, his open palm slapping the softness and making it jiggle for him, leaving red marks and crescents of his nails because he was grabbing her hips so tightly while shooting his load into that warm, wet tightness, listening to her wanton moan of his name.

Jungkook could think about nothing else.

Addicted.

He would lay in bed and close his eyes, remembering his dreams, stroking his hard length with his hand and imagining it was hers, fucking his own hand and imagining her holding his cock, not even needing her to do the moving because just her presence was enough, just knowing that she was there, waiting to be used by him, and that thought alone was enough to make him orgasm with an aching gasp, pressing his head back into the pillows and shooting thick spurts of cum all over his hand and thighs, globs of whiteness dripping down and covering him with his scent, imagining it was her he was painting with his cum, smearing it onto her tits, her face, her stomach, her ass, her legs, everything, everywhere, all over.

He couldn’t make it stop.

He wanted it.

Needed it.

Needed her.

Jungkook just knew.

There was no way he could make it stop.

No, there was.

One way.

Could he?

“Hyung?”

Min Yoongi looked up from his glass of whiskey, leather jacket creaking, smelling like pine. His black hair over dark brown eyes, cat-like and indifferent to the world around him.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

—

now playing – frost by TOMORROW X TOGETHER

Silence.

A silent night for the first time in a long time.

For the past couple months, your nights had been filled with heavy breaths, the slap of skin to skin, deep whispers of your name. Strong hands wrapped around you, full lips capturing yours, pressed cheek to dimpled cheek, his large frame towering over you, full of warmth and lust.

And now.

Nothing.

Because you had asked it to stop.

You shifted in your pillows, turning your phone over in your hand.

“I appreciate you being upfront about it. To be honest, I wasn’t really getting the vibes from you either.”

That’s what Kim Namjoon said to you.

“I’d like to still be friends though. Would you?”

You didn’t need to hesitate.

“I’d like that, Namjoon.”

He had smiled at you, wide and full, dimples on full display.

You turned your phone over in your hand.

You thought you would regret it. At least feel disappointed. Sad. Something. Anything.

Nothing.

It wasn’t that serious. It was just sex. You weren’t his girlfriend. You didn’t want it to be more than that. He did. It was better this way, for you and Namjoon. He could find what he needed, because it wasn’t you.

You stopped turning your phone in your hand.

Remembering black hair and dark, cat-like eyes.

Remembering the closeness.

Remembering his words.

“Are you wet?”

Your words.

“Are you hard?”

The shiver you felt at his response.

“Yeah.”

He told the truth, so you did too.

“Yes.”

You looked up at the ceiling, remembering the way his deft fingers danced in the air. Teasing you. Making you wonder what he could do with them.

Min Yoongi.

You closed your eyes and dreamt about nothing.

–

masterpost

wicked, m | jjk, myg

full title: wicked (good boy gone bad)
part of the seriesinspired by TXT’s album minisode 2: thursday’s child

pairing(s): jungkook x reader (plus a lil) x yoongi

summary: He used to be a good boy, but now he knew what that really meant – being an obedient, dumb, naïve dog to a liar. Thanks to a combination of sex, chains, and rock-n-roll, that wasn’t who he was anymore. Jeon Jungkook has gone bad. Just watch him.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you dislike overabundant swearing, maybe skip this one; D/s threesome smut (fem reader, black leather collars and chain leashes, bondage, hair pulling, cowgirl, choking [note: Yoongi chokes JK and yoonkook choke each other], so much saliva /spitting kink, scratching, m-receiving oral, handjob, doggy); non-idol!AU - sub!Jungkook x goth, dom!reader x sub!Yoongi; Jungkook’s POV to Yoongi’s POV

When I heard TXT’s ‘Good Boy Gone Bad’, it immediately reminded me of collared!JK, who suffered a bad breakup, went to a party to snort cocaine, but instead he got fucked by a chick with a single white contact and daddy issues… oop. Yoongi’s involved (of course). And they have choked each other before.

–

anger. the second stage of grief

-

A hand gripped his chin and shoved it up. Long callused fingers dug into his cheeks as his eyes rolled back, seeing only a blur of black and white. His chest felt like it was clawed open. His skin was covered with layer upon layer of red-hot lines, and those fingernails were digging in again, adding more, more fire, more marks, more pain.

It was too much.

It was just right.

This broken feeling is not too bad.

He tried to move his head and found the other hand grip the back of his skull, clutching a handful of his thick hair. Fingers twisting in between the strands, then curling in and grasping, pulling, ensnaring him with hurt.

“Stay still,” was growled above him, heavy and raspy. Familiar.

I like it.

He gasped and let his tongue hang, moaning as he felt wet muscle stroke his throat, hot lips pressing into his shaking Adam’s apple.

I want this.

“Do you miss the collar, my pet?” the voice in front of him purred, wicked and sweet. The owner of that voice was the cause of the marks he bore now. They were temporary, but the raw feeling was seared into his memory, a feeling for him to savor forever.

Watch me.

Jeon Jungkook opened his eyes, looking up to Min Yoongi, the one whose hands were gripping his head and locking it in place. Those narrowed dark-brown orbs glanced down at him. Cold and cat-like. Around older male’s pale neck was a thick, black leather collar that held a metal silver ring in the center, dangling above the Jungkook’s head. Jungkook’s eyes went to it, staring at the swaying silver catching the light of the bedroom.

Yoongi leaned down.

Let the cold metal touch Jungkook’s sweaty forehead, sending icy shock followed by surging jealousy through his burning veins. The collar ring lightly bounced against his brows in the steady rhythm that was the brutal force of hips smacking into his crotch, slick walls constricting around his rock-hard cock while his arms were bound, his clenched fists pressing to the small of his own back.

Jungkook tried to speak but he couldn’t.

His words were being snuffed out by his own moans.

Yoongi clicked his tongue and lifted his head. He seemed disappointed. Annoyed. The long-sleeved white shirt his hyung was wearing was ripped down the center, the edges jagged and torn, revealing his collarbones and part of the pale chest underneath.

“What good is givin’ you a chance to talk if you don’t take it?” Yoongi scoffed, his Daegu satoori adding a rough depth to his dangerous tone.

The hand on Jungkook’s chin slid down.

Break me more.

Those rough fingertips pressed down on the sides of his neck the same time Yoongi yanked Jungkook’s head up by his hair, forcing him to look forward as his blood began to thin out.

Just break me.

Yoongi choked him as Jungkook stared into the eyes of his favorite kind of pain, the eyes of the woman in black, the eyes that glittered with devious intent, the eyes that didn’t match. One real iris, one fake white iris. A contact lens. She cocked her head. Her clothes were still mostly on while she rolled her hips, thrusting his stiff length inside her tight heat. Nimble pink tongue flickering out, dancing against the side of her lips. Her hands splayed out over his inflamed chest, her pointed black fingernails digging into his pecs.

Fucking him on the black leather bench at the base of her bed like he was a piece of meat, not bothering to give him the grace of expensive sheets and soft mattress under his rigid, straining thighs.

She was grinning.

A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy.

She slashed down his sides, tearing airless gasp leaking out of his throat that morphed into an obscene moan as her hands hit the bench, the forward position allowing her to put more force in her fucking. Her torn-up band tee hanging down, breasts still covered in a black satin bra underneath, not even giving him a view for his unfocused eyes to lock on, the chain on her skirt jangling, smacking him and her, her juicy thighs squeezing his hard ones.

“Choke him harder, Yoongi,” she hissed, licking her teeth, open-mouthed smirk right in his face.

The pale hand around his neck took more blood away.

He craved the taste of pain and he knew it.

I like this altered face of mine.

Lightheaded and suspended in air, pleasure and pain flaring up his stomach, into his burning lungs, snaking around what was left of his heart that was full of scars from someone else, from another time where Jungkook believed in love, but love only gave him stress and pain, so now he gouged it out with blackout lust.

I like this me.

Higher and higher, less and less air, seconds like hours, ropes cutting into his skin, her slick, sweet-smelling cum dripping down between his tense legs, staring into Yoongi’s dark eyes that only grew darker in the shadows, his hyung bringing his face close to Jungkook’s panting-open mouth, that low whisper a command not to be defied.

“Cum.”

I like being bad.

Yoongi dug his fingers into Jungkook’s hair and pulled back hard.

It all crashed down, choked wail tearing out of him, his back arching to the extreme, stinging hurt from his head shooting down to meet pain crisscrossed over his chest, down to meet searing throbs of ecstasy and tense, straining legs, his hips jerking up strongly and pumping his orgasm out in short fierce jolts, spilling into the condom and deep inside the woman in black.

Airless, bloodless, suspended in pleasure.

For a singular, isolated millisecond, Jeon Jungkook was in heaven.

Kill me, just kill me.

Yoongi released him.

Air punched into his lungs and Jungkook’s head snapped back, pathetic whine mixing with coughing, held up by Yoongi’s hand behind his head, the other now between his shoulder blades, the powerful pulsing of her pussy forcing blinding bliss to interrupt his pain, helplessly falling apart to her grinding hips, her satisfied sigh drifting over him, hot breath against his burning, clawed-up skin. Yoongi pushed Jungkook’s lolling head up since unable to do it himself, panting, struggling to breathe, his limbs like lead from the high of his orgasm, his vision focusing, finding what he was looking for.

Those eyes.

Right iris real, left iris fake white.

She leaned down and licked his heaving chest, leaking saliva all over his marked skin.

Jungkook moaned, leaning into it as Yoongi’s hand moved from his hair and onto his collarbone, sliding down, graceful fingers following the dripping spit, spreading the slippery saliva all over, tongue and touch tracing the red lines and circling his nipples, and Jungkook’s hips thrust up into her even though the condom needed to be replaced, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care anymore, he just didn’t care.

His hyung snickered at his reaction.

“So needy.”

That’s right. I need this.

Up his trembling neck, and then she grabbed his chin and spat into his mouth, slick liquid sliding down his tongue and into his throat, and he greedily swallowed it all with a wanton moan. This was not the future his naïve past self had dreamed of back then. He couldn’t even remember what he wanted. Now? Now he was tattooed, pierced, chained. Tied up, scratched up, all kinds of fucked-up and Jungkook never wanted it to stop, never wanted to be let go, never wanted it to end, his kind of forever now was this kind of never.

He killed him.

The old, good Jungkook killed, replaced by this new, bad him.

-

“You really have changed, Jeon Jungkook.”

He almost didn’t recognize that voice. That voice used to mean everything to him. Everything. Nervousness and tenderness, heart on his sleeve, precious smiles and laughs, then creeping doubts, uncertain nights, staring at himself, picking at his face, swallowing his heart and wagging his tail for something that was all shattering slowly before him, all make-believe, all in the name of love.

But love was a lie.

Jungkook turned his head slowly, his black hair shrouding part of his vision in this dim nightclub, staring down at the one he used to call love, darling, one and only.

How stupid he was.

I loved that lie.

He tilted his head.

“Who are you?” he said to his ex-girlfriend, hollow and dead.

But not anymore.

She scowled, clad in a tight rose-colored chiffon minidress and dainty nude stilettos, jerking her head up and down at his appearance. Turning up her nose at him. Disapproval all over her delicate, pretty features, tossing her long, curled hair over her shoulder as she took in his distressed black and white wide-striped sweater with zippers at the shoulders, tight black leather pants, and thick-soled, silver-studded boots.

His neck clinked, heavy and weighted by a black leather collar and silver chain leash.

“You look like a dirty, mangy dog,” she spat.

Those words used to hurt him. She would say that when his shirt was untucked or if his jeans were ripped. Little things that did not match up with the heavy disdain in her voice, sending him into a wave of rocketing panic as he immediately tried to correct himself, trying to be the person she wanted instead of himself.

Was I ever myself?

Now, Jungkook found that those words barely stung.

He didn’t have a heart to feel them anymore.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, the chain leash dangling in front of him, leather handle hitting his thigh.

“And you look like the fuckin’ whore you always were,” Jungkook replied, slow and bored.

The old him wouldn’t have said something so cruel. The old him would have cared about her feelings, even though she hurt him countless times, knowing how fragile he was and dropping him over and over, leaving him to pick up the pieces, blaming himself every single time, believing it was him that lacked the understanding, believing that she must be right because she loved him, believing in the lie that was I love you, but there was a lieinbelieve, and Jungkook knew that now.

Her face contorted, painting dishonest injury over her scorning expression.

“How could you say something like that, Jungkook?” she pleaded, wretched with crocodile tears. “I came all the way to the city to find you and tell you I still love you.”

He had believed it every single time, back then, but that was the past.

“Come home.”

Her pretty hand outstretched, pampered and polished.

“I love you. We can make it right.”

Honeyed words that reeked of sewage.

He raised an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes.

I’m free now.

“Find another dirty, mangy dog to wag their tail at you,” Jungkook growled, the expansion of his neck from his deepening voice hitting the sides of the collar, causing the attached chain to clink and sway by his hips. “You’re uglier than I remember.”

The façade dissipated and she stared at him, enthralled, glassy eyes glittering with grotesque lust.

“I would have kept you if I knew you were going to get hot and sexy,” she breathed. She chuckled, a hideous smirk eating at her face, looking him up and down, unabashed, an object in her eyes. “Who paid for your body tonight? I’ll double it.”

She winked.

“For old time’s sake and charity.”

He let himself feel the anger. Relish in it. Become it. Harness it.

“Even if I was a prostitute,” he snarled, raising his chin. “No amount of money could convince me to touch your parasitic, STI-infested, flat ass.”

He could see the anger was rising now, but she was pushing it down, plastering a fake, sick smile to her face as her shoulders tensed, taking a step towards him, pulling herself to her full height, forcing out pitched laughing to mask her rage at his dismissal. Hilariously, it seemed to be the last adjective that pissed her off the most.

“Come on now, Jungkook,” she cooed, disgusting, prancing her fingers in the air. “Of course, we’re just joking.”

“I’m not joking,” he retorted. “I mean every word.”

Her expression cracked, fury leaking through.

“Tch, I don’t even know why I bother talking to you,” she snapped, clenching her jaw. “You’re thick-skulled and useless. There was never anything good about you except using your dick, and even that I found better replacements. But since you’re so pathetic,” she chuckled darkly, eyeing the hanging leash by his hips. “I don’t need your permission to remind you I’m the best pussy you’ll ever have.”

Her hand shot out.

Jungkook yanked his hands out of his pockets, but he was too late.

Another hand shot between them, snatching the handle of the chain leash next to Jungkook’s crotch. It twisted and slapped the back of his ex’s hand with the leather strap, so hard that the sound cracked through the loud music and drunken conversation.

“Ow!”

The screech of pain was so loud that the club fell silent.

“Get your dirty, mangy hands off my precious pet.”

A gruff growl, the sharpened tone of a predator.

The woman in black.

Leather jacket, too many zippers. Underneath, a bra with a mesh shirt over it. Shockingly short skirt adorned with hanging silver chains. Shredded tights and knee-high boots with a tall platform and high heel, causing her to tower over the other woman. Usually, she had a smirk or a grin. Demonic, but pleasing in its own way.

Not now.

His ex-girlfriend clutched her hand, gawking at the ice-cold gaze of one real iris, one white contact.

“You– You bitch!”

All of a sudden, Jungkook felt his contained irritation morph and burst into white-hot wrath. He did not care much about himself, but to say something so careless… he didn’t care if she was a girl. He didn’t care if he used to say I love you to her. He didn’t care that being the bigger person meant that he should back up and walk away.

Jungkook wanted to ram his knee into his ex-girlfriend’s face until she was completely unrecognizable.

Before he could do so, the woman in black sucked in her cheek with a loud popping sound, head cocked as she scrutinized the other woman. “Yeah, so? I’m a bitch. Congratulations, you got eyes,” she sneered, her voice getting deeper, slipping into her satoori.

His ex-girlfriend snapped her head at him, glaring, but Jungkook could see it in her wide eyes.

Fear.

He felt the anger bleed down, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction at seeing that fear.

“Yah, Jeon Jungkook! What’s this? You need a girl to protect you now because you’re so weak and pathetic? You’re even more pitiful than I thou–”

Anothercrack blasted through the stilled air of the nightclub.

His ex-girlfriend screamed, cowering back.

The woman in black rolled her eyes. “Wow, what a damn baby. All I did was hit my own hand and you’re the one cryin’ over nothin’,” she mocked, lightly tapping the leather handle in her palm. “Look here, you’re noisy and frankly quite hideous even though your parents worked so hard to make you pretty on the outside,” she grunted, shaking her head. “Guess if you’re full of shit, it comes outta your ass and mouth, huh?”

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t be amused at the dumbstruck look on his ex’s face, but he was already smirking.

“Get out. Your spoiled ass doesn’t belong here,” the woman in black hissed.

Strangely, his ex-girlfriend seemed to compose herself, gritting her teeth and backing up. Straightened her skirt and put on her crocodile sniffles, glaring accusingly, pointing to her now reddened hand. “I’ll have you arrested for assault, you slut!”

With a barking laugh, the woman in black doubled over. “Hahahaha, yeah?” Hands on her chest, pushing the mesh shirt into her cleavage. “But if I’m such a slut, I’ve probably slurped every policeman’s dick in this city. The handcuffs are just a kinky touch now,” she snickered, ticking her head like a curious weasel, vicious grin widening. “Come on, if you have a plan, you have to do better than that.”

But there was something wrong, because the woman in the rose-pink dress was not backing down, deadly glee overtaking her expression.

“Watch–” Jungkook started, but the leash was suddenly dropped.

“You thought I came alone, didn’t you?” his ex-girlfriend sniggered. She waved her hand and several men slipped out of the crowd to stand behind her. Chiseled jaws, one-size-too-small polo shirts, pressed khakis. “As if.”

Man, this girl is fuckin’ stupid.

Jungkook glanced at the woman in black.

She was not afraid.

“Ho.” A low chuckle, looking at each of those pampered faces. “You that good?”

He could see the slow, demonic grin forming on her lips now.

A little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy.

Jungkook didn’t bother to move. There were five guys and his one pathetic ex-girlfriend that was moving behind them, all versus the woman in black who was removing her leather jacket, tossing it behind her. He caught it, carefully folding it in his hands.

One real iris, one white iris, all danger.

Raised her hand, beckoning them forward.

“Come at me,” she growled, low and treacherous. “Bring it on.”

His ex-girlfriend glared at him, grisly triumph twisting her facial features. “Last chance to save your monster girlfriend,” she jeered.

He shrugged, the chain leash swinging. Then he raised his chin, bouncing it once, ticking his head from side to side.

“Hm, maybe look around you first before you do something stupid.”

And now, now they finally looked around, finally realizing the club was dead silent, because every single face was turned towards the outsiders. Leather, vinyl, mesh, too much makeup and too many tattoos, pale faces edged in black, watching, even the bartender clutching a beer bottle and the band on tables, holding their instruments, squinting down at these idiots that thought it was a good idea to harass the Boss, not only the owner of the music studio the band rented, but also a constant financial supporter of the night club they were standing in.

The woman in black looked exasperated, rolling her eyes.

“Youserious? Are you gonna let me beat up at least one of them?” She pointed at one of the primly dressed men, waving her finger around. “Come on, his nose already looks broken. If I break it again, insurance will cover it instead of him paying out-of-pocket!”

“Come on, Boss. Your dad is gonna be sad if you get hurt,” the bassist of the band chuckled, jumping down.

“Papa can go cry into his gambling money and nurse his sugar babies,” she growled irritably, taking a step forward. “Fuck ya’ll. Imma get at least one punch in for fun.”

Shing!

She jerked back, the gleam of a silver sword reflecting off her eyes.

“Can’t let you do that,” said a deep, raspy voice.

Her head turned, facing cold, cat-like eyes.

“Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi smirked, open-mouthed and pleased. Tongue between his teeth. Long black hair framing his cheekbones, pale skin glowing in the overhead lights. He purred her name back, tilting the traditional sword to reflect off her full lips.

“Lookin’ kissable tonight, Boss.”

The tips of her cheekbones flushed pink at his hyung’s comment.

There was a flurry of noise and the six outsides took that awkward moment to vacate, pushing through the crowd and out the door. Of course, they did. The whole club was grabbing every blunt weapon available and then some crazy guy shows up with a sword out of all things? Jungkook would have bounced the second they were distracted too.

“I always wanted to do that,” Yoongi chuckled, sheathing the sword.

“Whatare you?” she cackled, shoving him in the chest playfully, making everyone laugh. “Some kinda historical drama protagonist? You nicked the damn sword behind the bar and started waving it around left and right! What if you lopped off someone’s head?”

Yoongi scoffed, placing the black traditional sword gently onto the bar top where the bartender sighed in relief, shaking his head at them. “Come on. I told you I did some sword dancing at university. I know how to handle a sword. It’s not even sharp.”

She slapped her hand down on Yoongi’s shoulder, turning him around.

“Come here.”

Angling her head, pushing Yoongi against the bar, lips to lips in a fiery kiss, raspy chuckle between them, her body fitting against his, practically bending his back over the bar.

“Aw, Boss, not on the bar! Get outta here with that shit!”

The bartender was shooing them away and she detached from Yoongi’s face, grinning, a little psychotic, a little mischievous, a lot sexy, grabbing Yoongi by the collar of his shirt and slipping her hand in the leather strap that Jungkook held out, tightly grasping it, dragging them both along, insane laughter tumbling from her lips.

He thought it would bother him, seeing the one he used to call love.

Strangely, it didn’t.

Probably because he killed that good boy wagging his tail, ditching those hopes that his love could change unfaithful hearts, because the only thing worse than a dumb bitch was the one that believed in her lies.

Jungkook felt the leather collar snap into the sides of his neck and felt himself smile, following the call of the chain.

-

It felt so good.

It felt so good being bad.

“Tighter.”

Min Yoongi stared into those large, dark brown orbs, glassy and fucked out. Tattooed arm extended, hand turning at his command, winding the silver chain around the leather strap and pulling hard, the sides of the thick black leather collar pressing into Yoongi’s neck.

He mirrored Jeon Jungkook’s movement.

Yoongi watched the younger man’s face shadow with pleasure, the slurping sound under them getting louder, messier. He let his hips roll forward, fuck, the tight wet heat all around him, looking down to watch Jungkook’s cock getting swallowed with some effort. Her hand around the base, rubbing the balls with her slippery palm. Yoongi thrust harder, slightly bent forward from Jungkook’s strong grip, feeling the tendrils of lightheadedness creep up his head, his cock getting even harder, twitching inside her at the anticipation.

Guess there as a reason for the length of these chain leashes after all.

Yoongi lifted his head again, licking his lips, watching Jungkook.

It was such a beautiful, exquisite descent into madness.

He snapped his hand up and Jungkook’s head tipped back, leather collar squeezing the sides of the younger male’s neck, his sweaty black hair flying, wanton moan dripping from his shapely lips, the tiny mole exposed under a trembling mouth. The silver lip ring glinted in the bedroom lights, wayward pink tongue caressing it.

He knows how to look pretty.

Yoongi smirked as Jungkook noticed him watching.

The eye contact was held for way too long but they were also choking each other and fucking the same woman between them, so it was hard to tell how much was too much.

There was a loud slurp and lips smacking against sensitive skin, visible shiver overtaking Jungkook’s broad frame, gasping as she lifted herself, string of spit snapping, halfway crawling up the younger man’s chest, laughing hoarsely.

“You’re gonna make me choke on his dick, Yoongi.”

“Good,” he hissed out, snapping his hips into her soft ass and making it bounce.

He could hear the rapid sound of hand on wet cock, could see it all over Jungkook’s face, overcome by pleasure and pressurized by speed, his head falling back, choking himself more, shoulders and chest flexed from tenseness, struggling to hold his torso up, and it must have been difficult, the pace of that tight and unforgiving hand matching the tight and unforgiving walls that wrapped around him, squeezing his stiff, throbbing length, harder, trying to make her lose grip, but she planted her hand onto that muscular chest and pushed back against Yoongi, forcing him deeper inside.

Fuck.

Jungkook pulled harder.

Fuck!

The younger man’s lips curved into a roguish smirk.

What happened to the good boy?

Yoongi clenched his teeth and yanked hard.

He must have gone bad.

“Cum for me, Jungkook,” Yoongi heard himself whisper, smokey and thin in his ears, using the last of his breath. Those brown eyes widened, surprised to hear it from him and not, well, the one furiously jacking his dick.

Closer.

Yoongi grinned, maybe a little psychotic.

Closer.

There.

“Fuck!”

And he had no idea who said it, him, Jungkook, her, maybe all three, but then it was a mess, white dripping down the back of her hand and splattering onto Jungkook’s lower belly, her pitching forward and clutching the younger man’s shoulder, wildly moaning into his flexed, hard chest, then the sudden clenching pulse around his twitching cock, and he was gone too, strong jolts filling up the condom, bent over her back, the sudden rush of oxygen knocking the wind out of him, his arm going slack, his hand letting go of leather and metal.

He heard Jungkook gasp, his arms giving out and falling onto the bed with a hard fwump!

Her hand on Jungkook’s shoulder immediately slid down onto the bed, her elbow locking, and she held herself up, anchoring Yoongi in place. His chain leash draped over her shoulder, hanging in the air, already released in Jungkook’s euphoria. She laughed huskily, just a touch of deviousness, slowly rubbing her cum-covered hand all over Jungkook’s spent cock.

Whines and whimpers echoed in the room, the younger man squirming under them, but there were no weak pleas, no refusal, no desire to stop, only those glassy brown orbs opening, begging to be broken, more, just break me.

She leaned down, hot breath against Jungkook’s shaking lips.

“Good boy.”

Snickered, sweetly sinister.

“Just kidding.”

Her agile tongue slid out and licked Jungkook’s cheek, making him break out into a mischievous grin.

“You’re not a good boy anymore, thanks to me.”

-

far to go. drabble series

01 opening sequence — myg
03 trust fund baby — ksj
04 lonely boy (the tattoo on my ring finger) — kth, ft pjm
05 thursday’s child has far to go — knj, ft jhs
02 good boy gone bad — jjk, ft myg (collar!AU)

–

masterpost

magic-8, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader, yoongi x reader
mentions of seokjin x reader, jimin x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook wants to have sex. No one is surprised. But he has… reasons. Are they good reasons? Debatable. However, there’s something in his way. A Magic-8 ball that seems to relish in cock-blocking him. Nah, it says. Hmph, well, guess what, ball? Like a criminal undercover, Jeon Jungkook is going to steal you and then there’s no one and nothing to stop him from getting what he needs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; tbh, slightcrack; JK talks to the Magic-8 ball and himself way too much; somehow Park Jimin is involved; Min Yoongi is confirmed to be sex on legs; smut (fem reader, very minor D/s dynamics, m-masturbation while watching sex in the kitchen, edging / orgasm denial, m and f-receiving oral, vibrator use, multiple orgasms, nipple play, forearm kink, sucking on both balls at the same time, hair-pulling kink, penetrative sex); noona!reader; Jungkook’s POV

no, I don’t know how this got to 14k+ words, this was just supposed to be a funny idea and now we’re here, I am excessive, I know

–

“Um…”

“Same question?”

He almost flinched at the succinct, matter-of-fact quip. “Y… Yeah.”

The door closed right in his face.

Jeon Jungkook shoved his hands into his sleeves and sucked on the inside of his cheek, aimlessly occupying himself in the seconds he waited. He stopped sucking on his cheek the moment the door opened again. Same woman, rumpled and perfectly messy hair, big black t-shirt dress with a black and white striped long-sleeve under it, bare legs, feet tucked into furry brown slippers with a small embordered cookie motif on them.

In her hands, a black plastic sphere.

Inwardly, Jungkook groaned.

She shook it.

Frowned, and turned the screen around for him to look.

Nah, said the white text on the triangle trapped in hazy blue liquid.

Inwardly, Jungkook screamed in frustration, wanting to snatch the Magic-8 ball and chuck it out the window.

“Sorry,” she said, shrugging casually.

“Oh… Okay.”

She bowed lightly and closed the door, but not as sharply this time. Gentler and turning away from him slowly. Her eyes didn’t linger too long. It was probably for the best, because Jungkook would feel even worse.

The door closed in his face and Jungkook wrung his sleeves, flinging the ends of his black, oversized shirt into the air in silent rage. He balled the fabric up in his fists and jammed them into his closed eyes, forcing the angry tears back, never hating a hunk of plastic so much in his entire life. The twenty-sixth time he had asked this question.

Every single time, this stupid fucking piece-of-shit 8-ball gave him a different quirky variation of refutation.

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, backed away from the bedroom door.

-

“W-Will you have s-s-sex with me?”

That was the question. Stutters and all.

She had blinked slowly, staring at him for a full ten seconds. Then she asked, “I’m sorry, but will you please explain again why you are asking me to have sex with you?”

Yes, why was Jungkook asking the hot girl that lived in Kim Seokjin’s house to fuck him?

Although it sounded complicated, it wasn’t really. Kim Seokjin was one of his hyungs who lived in a massive house. His parents were loaded, but traveled a lot due to their work. Now that Seokjin was older, well, naturally, it would be socially and financially beneficial to rent out this home with too many bedrooms to his friends if they needed a place to stay. Firstly, it meant the introverted hyung never had to leave his home if he actually wanted company. Secondly, it meant chores could be divided among the tenants, meaning Seokjin never ever had to clean a toilet again as long as he cooked and occasionally did the grocery shop. Thirdly, it meant that if Seokjin wanted to avoid interaction, he could lock himself in the master bedroom on the top floor and tell everyone to go away or he would kick them out.

Work smarter, not harder, Seokjin-hyung liked to say.

Now, why did this particular woman who owned the cursed Magic-8 ball live here?

Park Jimin, one of the temporary tenants, had the answers for Jungkook.

“Oh,her? Haha, get this. Once time, hyung came back with her and another girl with huge tits. Massive. I’m talking melons. I can say that because she literally called them melons. Multiple times. Anyway, Melon girl was kinda drunk, hyung was a lil tipsy, but she was totally sober. And…”

Jimin nudged Jungkook, cradling his hand over his mouth, whispering with glee.

“I’m one-hundred percent sure a threesome happened that night and I’m a thousand-percent sure that noona was the one who was directing everything.”

Jungkook blinked at that angelic face describing a less-than-holy act.

“… Were you trying to eavesdrop outside hyung’s bedroom?”

Jimin snorted. “No. No, of course not. Psh, no. What do you think I am, Jungkook? A heathen?” Those full lips twisted into an affronted pout. “That stupid door is so damn thick. Real wood, for sure. Hmph. Rich-ass prince.”

It didn’t really explain why the woman with the cursed Magic-8 ball was here, but also, it did.

“Anyway, she moved in a week later. Better rent, she said. Melon lady went to school in New York though. How depressing for all of us,” Jimin sighed. “She was only on break for a short while.”

Little did Jungkook know that this noona would become rather important because, some weeks later, he was standing in front of her bedroom door asking the question. Jungkook did not live in this big house, but at this point he might as well have been. He was here far too often these days, asking Jimin questions. Er. Something very upsetting had happened to him. He had needed answers.

Jimin provided him with, well, something.

Jungkook coughed, trying to collect his thoughts. “Erm… well.”

She blinked slowly, waiting for his answer on why he wanted to have sex with her.

“J-Jimin said it might be a good idea…”

She stared at him. “What does Park Jimin have to do with anything?”

Yes, that would be the natural question, wouldn’t it?

“Ah, h-he said… that you helped him at one point. With sex… stuff.”

This was getting super awkward, not because she was awkward, but because Jungkook was trying to avoid being too specific. He didn’t want her to feel like he was talking behind her back. However, she surprised him completely by saying, “Yeah, he was trying to figure out what sex toys to introduce into the bedroom and how to feel like they were not his enemy, so we experimented a bit to find toys and a headspace he enjoyed.”

Jungkook tried to not shrink into the sofa at the explanation. “Y… Yeah….”

She tilted her head at him. “That doesn’t explain your interest in me though.”

“W-Well, I…. I need h-help.”

He flinched as if physically slapped.

Saying it out loud made it real.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

He bit his lip and looked back up at her, seeing the way she gazed back at him. Not judging, simply genuinely curious and confused. She was sitting on the armchair in the living room, holding a soft plush of a pink bunny and her phone in the other, previously poking around on it before he had sat down and interrupted, taking this chance of Seokjin being upstairs playing video games and the other tenants being out of the house to ask this question. She was wearing a big white hoodie, her bare legs tucked under a thick black blanket with a pattern of miniature red devils cheekily doing various innocently evil things.

“Um… my last girlfriend broke up with me because I fuck like a robot.” He swallowed, feeling the hard lump forming in his throat, unease and bitterness. “Not just once apparently. All the time. And…” He winced, balling his hands into fists on his thighs. “The one before that said something similar.”

“And the one before that?”

He wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.

“We didn’t… fuck. But she said I was a bad kisser.”

“Everyone is aa bad kiss and a bad fuck the first time. Hell, the first couple years. I wouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”

He frowned and searched her face for the lie, but she simply smiled calmly back, gently rubbing the head of the pink bunny in her lap. For some reason, Jungkook wanted to fling the bunny aside and put his head there instead.

Huh?

That was a weird thought.

“But you’re not bad.”

She laughed. “Years of practice, young apprentice.” Her lips curved into a playful smirk, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I might actually be awful. You never know.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, frown becoming into a pout. “You have to be good. Yoongi-hyung and you fuck all the time.”

She blinked twice, swiveling her head sharply.

“Pardon? What does Min Yoongi have to do with this?”

He scratched the back of his head. Didn’t she know? “Yoongi-hyung never, ever has sex with someone more than once. That’s his rule.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Jungkook shrugged. “That’s what he said.” He mimicked his hyung’s deep, generally impassive voice. “You only need to fuck once. Every time afterword is the same or worse. What’s the point of fucking more than once? It’s a waste of time. But Jimin says you go to Yoongi-hyung’s room or vice-versa at least every week. You have to be crazy good if that’s the case.”

She suddenly jerked her head and stared in the direction of the back of the house where the spare bedrooms were. He saw a myriad of emotions play over her expressive features before she scrunched up her face and mumbled under her breath. Jungkook caught, I do have a certain philosophy, but I didn’t realize… Really? He thinks that, huh? I should ask…

“N-Noona…?”

She jumped a little, blinking at him. “Oh. Right. Well, it would be really arrogant of me if I sat here and said, yeah, I’m fucking fantastic at fucking.”

That’s true, Jungkook thought.

She shrugged.

“I am, though.”

Those sinful lips framed the tip of a devious tongue, playful smirk taunting him.

“I’m an excellent, passionate, wild, rough fuck. Complete opposite of a robot, honestly.”

Jungkook pulled an even bigger pout, furrowing his brows, determination flaring.

“Teach me.”

She let out a big exhale, suddenly standing up.

“Wait here.”

He gawked at those bare legs, shapely and swift, juicy thighs disappearing into the hem of the hoodie. She disappeared for less than a minute, anxious moments of him shoving his hands into his sleeves and tapping his foot, eagerly awaiting her return.

Then she came back with the cursed hunk of plastic.

Oh, innocent him back then, not knowing how fucking horrible that piece-of-shit Magic-8 ball was.

“I’m going to shake this. If it says yes, we fuck. If it says no, you have to wait at least three days before you can ask me to shake the ball again. Deal?”

Why did you nod, Jeon Jungkook? You stupid dumbass.

He grinned.

“Deal.”

She shook it and it said, Nope, not today.

“Hm. Sorry. Next time.”

Yeah.

Next time.

More like, twenty-sixth time and he was still reading, Nah.

-

“I hate that stupid ball. I want to smash it with a baseball bat, run it over, throw it into the abyss, go down into the abyss, and then hurl it to the moon.”

“Shit, bro, it’s a children’s toy,” Jimin laughed.

Jungkook grunted and threw Jimin’s pillow over his face, yelling incoherently into it.

“Oi, stop that,” Jimin sighed, yanking the pillow away. “What’s this business about the Magic-8 ball anyway? Can’t you just stand there and give her puppy eyes until she submits to your will?”

“No.”

“Huh?”

Jungkook pulled a face and let out a big sigh. “She never treats me any differently. I act tough, she’s the same polite noona. I act cute, she’s the same polite noona. I act pathetic, she’s the same fucking polite-as-fuck noona.” He groaned and smacked his fist into Jimin’s bed, not thinking about what else – or who else – had been smacked into this bed. That was too harrowing of a thought. “Yoongi-hyung’s dick must have her under some kinda spell, because I’m literally right here ready to drop my pants and she’s absolutely not budging on this Magic-8 ball agreement.”

“Damn, maybe you’re right. Hyung’s magic wand-dick must be the reason why everyone thinks he’s sex on legs, because it’s certainly not because of his resting bitch face.”

Jungkook didn’t have the energy to even chortle at Jimin’s joke. “I can’t believe my luck is so fucking bad. This has to be a world record.”

“Why don’t you steal it?”

Jungkook stared at the ceiling.

“What?”

“Steal the Magic-8 ball and yeet that bitch,” Jimin chirped.

Jungkook bolted up from the bed.

“Wuh… Steal it?”

Jimin put his hands up, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean… If you take it and it’s gone, then what?”

Jungkook blinked quickly, glancing at his shortest hyung with the full lips and fluffy black hair. “I… I dunno. I never thought about it.”

“So, let’s say you take the ball. She goes to look for it like usual, can’t find it, and then…?”

He followed the circling of Jimin’s small hands, moving from one side to another. “… And then?”

Jimin clapped his hands together. “Nakey time!”

He furrowed his brows, now hesitant and unsure. “Hm… can it be that easy?”

Jimin laughed, shrugging. “I dunno, but the Magic-8 ball is cockblocking you, so you if you forcibly remove it from the equation, you have already improved your chances of banging the pussy seduced by the magic-wand-dick.”

On one hand, Jungkook doubted she would simply give up on the game.

On the other hand, that hunk of plastic was a cursed object.

“Alright. I’m going to steal it.”

-

“Secret-agent-mission-impossible Jeon Jungkook about to embark on his most difficult self-assignment yet. Actually, you’re less of a secret agent and more like a criminal undercover. No different from a common burglar, really.”

“Shut up, Jimin.”

Yes, well, saying something and actually doing it were two different things.

The plan was pretty simple, which was about as much as Jungkook could handle. He was a liberal arts guy (at least that’s what his university degree said). Following instructions was not his vibe. He was better at this off-the-cuff kind of stuff. Also, his (unwelcome but necessary) partner-in-crime was none other than Park Jimin, and Park Jimin didn’t read instructions ninety-percent of the time, thus explaining why he didn’t cook.

“You can’t search the house when everyone is at work,” Jimin scolded him.

“Why?”

“Because you also have a job, Jungkook.”

“Eh, I can take a day off.”

“You cannot take a day off to increase your potential of getting laid. Not even actually getting laid. Just increasing your chances.”

Jungkook grumbled but accepted that it might not be the best use of his sick time.

“Also, Seokjin-hyung has an alarm system. He arms it when we’re at work. If you’re not a resident, you’ll trip it.”

“So give me your key.”

“He has cameras, dummy,” Jimin sighed as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Funnily enough, you don’t exactly look like me.”

Jungkook snickered. “Is it the tattoos or the obvious difference in height?”

A brief intermission was taken as Jimin attempted to commit homicide right in Kim Seokjin’s home. Bickering ensued. Hands were thrown. Unfortunately for Jimin, Jungkook was trained in self-defense and pinned him down pretty quickly.

“Anyway,” Jimin growled as he detached his teeth from Jungkook’s forearm to force the younger man to release him, completely ignoring Jungkook’s what-the-fuck-you-freaky-little-imp expression. “There’s four of us who live here right now. Seokjin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung, Magic-8 ball noona, and, the most well-behaved and polite of them all, me.”

“Don’t associate that plastic hunk of evil with her.”

Jimin gave him an offended look at the lack of acknowledgment to his own title but gave up, moving along. “Why you so hung up about this, huh? It’s not like you can’t fuck some other hottie. You just have to shift in age range. The older they are, the more likely they have more experience. Easy.”

Jungkook grunted.

Jimin raised his eyebrows.

He stuck his tongue out and messed with his lip ring. “This is a lot easier. I don’t need to worry about her being some kinda serial killer or some shit. And.”

A beat of silence.

Jimin appeared under Jungkook’s chin, grinning like a madman. “Annnnnnnd?”

Jungkook grimaced. “You said…” He looked away quickly, sucking the inside of his cheek.

He shouldn’t say anything more.

Jimin prodded him insistently, poking at Jungkook’s temple.

The younger man clenched his jaw, speaking between gritted teeth. “You said she put both of your nuts in her mouth and sucked on them at the same time.”

“Aha! You’re a pervert!”

“What?!” Jungkook roared, throwing himself back. “I’m a pervert? I am?! You suggested it! You’re a pervert!”

Jimin grinned.

“Of course, I suggested it. She’s got that cool and calm vibe, plus she’s basically a porn star in bed. You’re way too scared to go for sexy on your own, even though that’s way more your type than those other girls you dated.”

Jungkook found his jaw flapping uselessly. “W-What the fuck are you talking about, I’m not scared–”

“Oh, yeah, you are. You literally ran in the other direction when she came out her room in that slinky black dress and leather trench coat when she was going to that concert with Yoongi-hyung last week. Probably had a giant boner too.”

His ears were on fire. “B-B-Bullshit!”

“Oh, you want to get me started on the literal obsessive way you stare at her hands when they’re resting on the kitchen countertop, with your mouth kinda open and your round peepers all big, waiting for her to move so you can put your hand in the same place hers was seconds before–”

Jungkook slapped his hand over Jimin’s mouth.

A bird cawed outside.

“Anyway,” Jungkook hissed, pointedly glaring to indicate that particular discussion was over. “So, I can’t search during work. Why don’t you look for it? You live here.”

Jimin peeled the tattooed hand off his mouth to speak. With much effort, because Jungkook was wary of the definitely, absolutely, totally untrue nonsense that could come out of those full lips. It happened just now… obviously.

“Uh, no, this is your problem. I’m not getting involved in yourproblem.”

Jungkook stared at him.

Jimin fluttered his eyelashes.

Jungkook thinned his eyes and mouth into lines.

“Here, so tomorrow Seokjin-hyung is leaving for a production for a couple weeks,” Jimin barreled on, launching into the (very basic) plan. “He’s going to stay on site because of rehearsals and stuff. We won’t have to worry about his comings and goings. Yoongi-hyung and noona basically have the same schedule. They go to work and come back to do nothing. But, when Seokjin-hyung isn’t here, Yoongi-hyung and her cook together.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows.

Jimin wiggled his. “It’s good for us.”

“Is it?” Jungkook grunted.

“It’s not like hyung doesn’t know you’re on your… twenty-sixth try. He’s cool with it.”

He felt a muscle in his upper eyelid twitch. “Did hyung have to ask twenty-six times?”

Jimin shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s sex on legs, remember?”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“It was something Taehyung said ages ago because some girl called Yoongi-hyung that and he thought it was hilarious.”

Jungkook gave Jimin a questioning look. Jimin patted his arm.

“You had to be there, dude.” He rubbed his chin, shifting focus as Jungkook sat with question marks over his head. “If we’re here, they’ll cook for us, but noona’s room is basically right next to the kitchen. If we try to go in her bedroom, she’ll definitely see. It would be better if we leave while they’re cooking.”

“If we leave, we can’t search.”

“No, no. I’llleave.You stay in my room and wait.”

Jungkook frowned. “Huh?”

Jimin looked exasperated.

The lightbulb suddenly sprung up over Jungkook’s head. “Oh! Oh, I see, I’ll come over in the evening, and we say we’re going out to eat or something, but you’ll be the only one actually leaving, and I’ll stay and look for it.” Then he scrunched up his face, lightbulb flickering slightly. “But that doesn’t change that fact that they’ll be in the kitchen. Hyung and noona can still see the entrance of her room.”

“Yeah, if they’re looking. They’re not gonna be looking.”

“Why not?”

Frustrated, Jimin sliced the air with his hands. “Hello? Nobody home for at least a couple hours? Magic-wand-dick with magic-wand-dick seductress in the same place at the same time? What do you think they’re going to do?”

Jungkook blinked slowly.

“Cook food?”

-

After some self-reflection and inner soul-searching, Jungkook did eventually come to the conclusion that two hot, horny people left alone would most likely not be cooking.

At least for some of the time.

-

Now he was paralyzed.

Because it was one thing to know, but whole other thing to be there.

“Yoongi…”

His back against the wall, staring at the bedroom door that closed in his face so many times, and, right around the corner, he could hear a breathless moan and a deep chuckle. His one-track mind suddenly off the rails the second he heard their kiss. Mischievous murmurs, mixed breath and dancing tongue. His heart thudded against his chest as he heard the sound of moving fabric and satisfied sighs, and Jeon Jungkook finally asked himself – what am I doing?

And then he heard his name.

“When are you going to give Jungkook what he wants?”

A low hum, shadowed by kisses on skin.

“When the ball says yes.”

They… talk about me?

“So cruel. Just give it to him. He’s a good kid.”

“You know that’s not how I do things, Yoongi.”

Jungkook felt his breath catch in his throat. Sparks all over his skin, abruptly too hot under his baggy charcoal shirt and black pants, suddenly realizing he was moving closer to the corner instead of closer to the door, his breath stilling, soundless steps to the sinful sound, his fingers spreading out over the wall, the words on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t say them so instead he whispered to the corners of his mind.

How do you do things, then?

“How do you do things, then?” the raspy, lustful voice of Min Yoongi purred.

Jungkook turned his head, pressing his hot cheek against the wall.

“Like this.”

Jungkook peeked over the corner.

He heard the groan and then he saw it. The closed eyes of his hyung, his head tipped back, layers of black hair spilling in the air, her left hand poised on Yoongi’s throat. Index fingernail digging into his chin, thumb next to his Adam’s apple, the rest spread out over his neck, caressing the fair skin as her head moved down, the sound of kisses and tongue over Yoongi’s bare chest, leaving glistening lines of saliva visible in the kitchen’s overhead lighting. Yoongi’s back arched over the counter, his exhale deepening, arms and fingers spreading out over the granite, gasping as her tongue flickered over his dark nipple.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, heartbeat accelerating.

Her fingers curved, wrapping around his hyung’s throat.

Yoongi’s lips parted, breathing out her name in a low hiss.

Jungkook felt his cock twitch, immediately occupying all that loose space in the crotch of his pants.

Her tongue shifted to her own forearm, tracing a line of saliva up, up, Yoongi’s head falling back, constricted breath drifting out in heavy pants, and then their lips connected in a heated kiss, her hair curling against her bare back, the kitchen island blocking Jungkook’s view of the lower half of their bodies.

Her body shifted and Jungkook spied the top half of her juicy, full, naked ass.

He snapped back over the corner, sliding his right hand over his mouth so he didn’t make a goddamn peep. The threatening moan bubbling in his chest could have been both embarrassing and revealing of his position. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have looked. That was a private moment between two people and he shouldn’t have–

Jungkook clenched his jaw and soundlessly whimpered behind his fingers as he pressed his left hand onto his hard-on, trying to get it to calm the fuck down.

He heard Yoongi pant, “Fuck, already going that deep, hah?”

Jungkook clutched his erection and squeezed it harshly, telling it to shut up, it’s not you, stop getting excited over nothing, you delusional idiot, but he could hear the sounds of tongue and lips, of wetness and desire, of Yoongi’s moans and hers getting stuffed back into her throat, and he was rolling his hips into his own hand, his cheeks burning as he felt the pre-cum dripping into his underwear, slick against the sensitive head, his eyes squeezing shut, and he could see her face, maybe even feel her tongue, this is so wrong but I can’t stop, throbs of pleasure racing up his torso and down his legs, running his hand up and down on his pulsing length, I’m so fucking hard, holyfuck, the sounds getting louder, messier, imagining her tongue flickering out and ghosting his balls mid-thrust and Jungkook suddenly tensed his shoulders, gripping his cock viciously hard and locking his hips.

He heard Yoongi hiss her name and her loud, audible swallowing.

Jungkook screamed in his head as he cut off his own orgasm and tried not to make a noise, his whimper thrashing against his ribcage next to his pounding heart.

A mischievous, deep chuckle and Jungkook could imagine the way Yoongi ran his fingers through his long messy black hair, pushing it away from his smirking face to look downwards.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth.”

There was a flurry of noise, probably changing positions, and Jungkook threw himself off the wall and turned the handle of her bedroom door as silently as he could, slipping into the room and pressing his body flat against the wall, closing the door just as quietly.

He winced, feeling his boxer briefs soaked in pre-cum.

Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen.

He heard a smokey, drawn-out moan of Yoongi’s name.

Jungkook jerked his body away from the wall, shuddering. He was not about to jack off in her bedroom. That was much too cliché to be doing, even for him. He forced himself to look up.

“H… Holy shit…”

It was a neat room, but it was strangely crammed with a ton of colorful things. Soft plushies with cute faces from various franchises, colorful albums stacked side by side between them, hanging keychains on clear hooks on the wall. She seemed to have a thing for plush sheep in pastel colors. The fluffy little guys were placed all over the room. Lilac, plush pink, mint, sky blue, cute little smiles and soft-looking horns, perched on shelves and on top of a huge yellow sheep Pokémon with a blue face. That one had to be at least a meter long.

There was also a big Snorlax sitting on the floor. Jungkook knew the name of that Pokémon.

“Uh…”

There was a myriad of knickknacks too. On the desk, a light purple standing CD player, rolls of washi tape, memo pads, and colorful brush markers. He noticed that the colors were muted, either desaturated darker shades or light pastel. He didn’t expect her to have so many cute things. She primarily wore black with only a handful of other colors, but, upon closer inspection, he could see the reflection of her in select, careful choices scattered about. Black leather notebooks, a hanging keychain of a black skull with a blank white tag, a strange velvet box shaped like a coffin. Curious, Jungkook opened it, seeing a collection of silver rings with ram skull motifs on them.

He recognized them because he stared at her hands a lot.

“No, I don’t,” Jungkook whispered under his breath to absolutely no one.

He closed the box and carefully put it back.

There were small memo sheets taped onto the shelf above the desk. They had small cats drawn onto them, doing things that corresponded to what was scrawled onto them. Do laundry on Friday. Pick up package from post office. In-office work next Tuesday. One of them had a cat struggling to carry a huge hunk of cartoon meat with the bone in it. Grocery shop tomorrow – ask if JK is spending the weekend, will need extra meat. Underneath the initials of JK was a bunny head drawn in pink pen with stars as eyes.

“Why am I pink?” he asked to absolutely no one.

Jungkook suddenly heard a very loud, “Mmm, fuck, Yoongi!”

He jumped and scurried about, scanning the room quickly. Better hurry. He had no idea how long they were going to, uh, fuck on the counter, wait where they actually, maybe I should go see, no, no, Jungkook, focus, find the ball, looking about the room, find the ball, seeing the unmade bed with the thick black velvet duvet, isn’t that sweaty or does she sleep naked, stop right there, think about that later tonight, to the tuxedo cat plush next to the pillows. It was strangely sitting up even though the covers were thrown back, clearly carefully placed before leaving the bed. Weird. Sateen black sheets and pillowcases. And then his eyes fell onto the dark wood nightstand with a hanging black sconce.

Most people had books, a cup for water, perhaps lip balm.

She had a plush Grim Reaper with a fluffy white sheep beside it, a pile of condoms, and a Magic-8 ball right next to her bed.

“What.”

Again, no one was there to respond to Jungkook’s confusion.

Upon seeing the black plastic ball, however, his eyes narrowed. He scowled at it. Raised his hand and mimed shooting it. Why not? It wasn’t bulletproof or anything.

You stupid piece of shit.Time to get your just deserts.

Then he heard the doorknob turn.

He threw himself to the hardwood floor and immediately slid his entire body into the closest hiding spot. Never had he moved so fast. Must have been a damn record. Too bad no one but an army of plushies was here to witness his amazing disappearing act.

“You don’t want to fuck on the bed?” she was saying as the door opened.

On the bed? Jungkook screamed in his head, clutching the sparse dust bunnies under the bed. You can’t be serious, I’m gonna have to lay here and listen to you guys fuck right above my head? There isn’t even space to jack off down here!

“We can fuck on your bed when they get back. No, I want to get something. Stay here.”

When they get back, Jungkook scowled as he saw Yoongi’s pale feet walk past. Rub it into my face some more why don’t you, hyung, stupid sex on legs–

“The Magic-8 ball?” she asked.

Jungkook felt cold sweat break out on his back.

“You never use this thing on me.”

“That’s because I shake your balls and they always say yes to me even if your mouth is saying no.”

Jungkook’s cheeks heated, cooking his face against the hardwood. His hard dick was mashed between his body and the floor. Great. Awesome. Not now, bro. This was too much. He was getting sweaty in the tight space and his dick was refusing to listen to reason. What else is new?

“We’ll see how cocky you remain after I’m done with you.”

Jungkook heard the drawer of the nightstand open, some rustling, and then.

A humming sound.

“Oh?” A devious snicker. “Here?”

Please not here, I will literally cum on your floor under your bed.

“Nah. Get on the kitchen counter. I have to prepare my meal.”

“So dirty, Yoongi.”

Jungkook faceplanted into the wood as he heard them leave.

His hyung had definitely been carrying a vibrator.

He stayed there for a full minute before yanking his body out from under the bed, face on fire, snatching the Magic-8 ball from the nightstand and slinking along to the floor, reaching for the door handle.

Don’t look, Jungkook.

He opened the door and slunk into the hallway, closing it silently behind him. They weren’t going to hear him. She was moaning in the kitchen, a coaxing hum getting loud. There was a sucking sound of wetness accompanying it.

Jungkook made it halfway down to Jimin’s room before he and the cursed hunk of plastic slithered back to the corner closest to the kitchen.

He peered over the edge.

Saw her head thrown back, hair messy and shoulders tense, sitting on the kitchen counter with her legs spread wide open. Yoongi between them, pressing a mint-colored silicone device against her pussy, his pushed-back black hair against her plush thigh, his smirk visible in his profile.

“Don’t close your legs.”

“Not a fucking chance,” she gasped, her muscles flexing, nipples hard and perky breasts pointing upwards as she slid back a little in ecstasy, crying out, the loud squelch indicating her release, and Jungkook held his breath as he witnessed the shiny, glossy splatter against mint silicone and the inside of her thighs.

Yoongi’s hand shifted, revealing the puffy slick lips of her pussy, throbbing with the force of orgasm. He leaned in and Jungkook listened to her breathless moan as his hyung licked it all up, messy and loud, the sound echoing throughout the kitchen. A shudder flickered throughout her body, her fingers tensing on the countertop, dragging along the granite.

“Give in?” Yoongi drawled, deeper in his Daegu satoori.

“No,” she growled down at his hyung.

“Again then.”

Jungkook sank to the floor, gripping the Magic-8 ball and thrusting his hips into the floor in silent frustration, knowing he couldn’t take much more of this, but he was doing it to himself, and he had no idea why. Ugh, there was just something so good and so bad about it, rolling over and running his fingers over his rock-hard, ignored length trapped under layers of fabric, his dreams and his reality mixing together, so close yet so far, just wait a couple more days, you can wait a couple more days, the weekend is right around the corner…

He crawled back to Jimin’s room, clutching the Magic-8 ball and the last shreds of his dignity.

-

“How was the mission?”

Jungkook held up the Magic-8 ball.

“Nice!”

He grunted and shoved the plastic sphere back under him, remaining face-down in Jimin’s bed.

“Uh… You okay, bro?”

Jungkook remained unmoving.

“… Bro?”

-

“I hate you.”

The Magic-8 ball, understandably, said nothing.

Jungkook glared at it. It remained innocently sitting in the middle of his bed, in his apartment with no working air-conditioning unit, which was not a problem right now, but, come summertime, he was going to be complaining every night and escaping to Seokjin-hyung’s house for a sweat-free sleep. The offensive hunk of plastic was completely still, the little circular window revealing the triangular thingy inside it that currently read, I don’t think so.

He squinted angrily at it. “You caused me a lot of trouble. I should throw you away. I could do it right now,” he threatened to absolutely no one because the Magic-8 ball was not sentient. It was just a plastic children’s toy. Jungkook just needed it to know it was hated. “Everyone knows about you, everyone knows it’s all your fault, everyone knows you’re the one that stopped me from–”

His breath suddenly caught in his throat.

From?

Her moan echoed throughout his thoughts, invading everything.

Having sex with her.

That could have been him, in the kitchen. Not Yoongi. Him. That could have been him, leaning back with her hand around his neck, him shuddering as her tongue and lips claimed his chest, him moaning as her mouth covered his cock and slid down her throat, him, it could have been all him, but instead it was his hyung, all because of this dumb black sphere.

It was sexy though.

Watching.

“N-No, it wasn’t,” Jungkook snapped at the Magic-8 ball.

Unsurprisingly, it did not reply.

His heart raced in his chest, remembering every detail. He saw it all. He didn’t look away until he knew he couldn’t hold back his noise any longer. He didn’t want to look away. He didn’t want to back away. He had focused on every detail. Because Jungkook knew he could watch all the porn in the world, but nothing was like the real thing, something he had never experienced himself. Thundering heartbeat, irresistible attraction, need so strong that he almost abandoned the plan and announced his presence, all because…

Because.

“You could feel it,” Jungkook breathed to the air, staring into space. “Passion.”

He wouldn’t say that he hadn’t loved, but there was certainly something he had missed along the way, something he hadn’t thought about, well, how could he yearn for something never knew? He did things because he thought it was right, a good way to express love, and it was, there was no lie there. But it was never like this. Like he was ready to take risks, ready to put his neck on the line, ready to run recklessly into her arms, ready to…

Steal.

Like a robber.

Jungkook turned and stared at the top of his blankets were the Magic-8 ball sat innocently.

It had rolled and hit him in the arm.

The message had changed.

Ask again later.

“I will,” he murmured, picking it up and setting it, circular window down, onto his nightstand, next to his star projector, turning it on and staring at the colorful, artificial, rippling lights as he slipped down into his duvet, landing on his pillows with a flump.

It was quiet, all alone.

Jungkook scoffed.

“I’m crazy, huh.”

The Magic-8 ball was face down, so it was even more unresponsive than usual.

-

Okay. There’s no need to overthink anything.

Jungkook thought to himself as he tugged on the sleeves of his black bomber, revealing the silver chain bracelets on each wrist. Sniffed his black shirt, checking if it was clean for the eighth time. Tucked his black hair behind his ears. Felt it was awkward and flung the ends back out, covering the tops of his ears and brushing against his cheekbones. Then it pushed his hair to the right. Then the left.

Yeah.

It was going great.

Hadn’t even knocked on the door yet. Didn’t even know if she was in her room, although it was very likely. According to Jimin before he left, I saw her come out to brush her teeth and then she wandered back into her room so… unless she jumped out the window, she’s still there.

“Asking the big question?”

Jungkook jumped and his fist flew up.

Min Yoongi raised his eyebrows.

Jungkook immediately put his fist down. “H… Hey, hyung.”

The other male tilted his head, peering curiously at him with a sharp-cat-like gaze. Yoongi was wearing a black bomber jacket as well, although his had white trim and embroidered dragons in silver thread. White shirt with a small logo on the chest, loose black pants with his keys on a chain, hooked to a belt loop.

He ticked his chin to the door. “Feeling lucky?”

Jungkook scratched the back of his head. “Um…”

In his mind, the kiss between his hyung and noona came up in striking detail.

Jungkook felt his cheeks heat and a small tent pitch in his pants.

“You’re pretty persistent, hm?” Yoongi was saying, running a hand through his long black hair. “Lesser men would have given up by now.” He patted Jungkook on the arm. “That’s a good trait to have.”

There was a certain kind of terror as Jungkook glanced at Yoongi’s hand on his arm and Yoongi continued looking at the bedroom door, as if he too had a question to ask the one behind it. Then Yoongi dropped his hand, tucking it in his pocket and turning his head to face him.

Jungkook did his best to swallow his fear as those piercing dark brown eyes landed on him.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asked in that smokey, raspy Daegu satoori of his.

No. No, not at all.

Jungkook opened his mouth and nothing came out.

Yoongi tilted his head.

He attempted to speak once more. “Where are you going today, h-hyung?”

“Me?” The older man blinked slowly. “Dunno. Wander about I guess.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows, puzzlement eating away at his nervousness. “Why?”

Yoongi gave him a pointed stare.

Then he smiled.

Actually, it was more of a smirk.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s unease came torrenting back.

“See you, Jungkook.”

“W-Wait, hyung–”

But Yoongi was already turning his back on him and the bedroom door was opening.

“Who is having a conversation out here – Jungkook?”

“N-Noona!”

She blinked at him, holding her phone in one hand and the door handle in the other. Wearing black silk pajama shorts and a big black sweater with a white cat face that had angry eyebrows on a rather neutral expression. “Uh, yeah. This is my room. Thought you knew that. This is the twenty-sixth time you’ve been standing here and the twenty-seventh that you’ll ask the question.”

He stared at her; eyes wide.

“You’ve been counting?”

She stared back with an ambiguous, vague expression.

A bird cawed outside.

The front door closed and locked, indicating Min Yoongi was gone, leaving Jeon Jungkook and his noona all alone in a big, empty house in the middle of the day during the weekend.

“… Same question?” she asked plainly.

Wait. She’s been counting. She’s aware. She knows. Of course, she knows. She literally talked about you with Yoongi. What… What’s going on? She… And then the memory of her moan, her head tipped back, her breasts and hard nipples, the ripple of orgasm visibly traveling through her body, down, down to pale hands and black hair, to Yoongi and that could be you, Jungkook. You.

“U-Um.”

She didn’t move, waiting patiently in front of him.

Jungkook reached out.

His fingers brushed her sweater, just under her shoulder. She turned her head, looking down at his tattooed fingers against black knit fabric. Warmth and softness at his fingertips. So close. All this time, so close.

Almost.

His.

“Uh…”

She raised her eyebrows, understandably looking confused as fuck.

Jungkook withdrew his hand quickly. “Erm. Sorry. Sorry, ah.” He shook his head roughly, wincing. “Look, um, I…” He stumbled once more, tongue-tied. “Ah…” Lifted his head, finding he inquisitive gaze, his heart galloping in his chest, absolutely rampant in his ribcage. “It’s rigged, isn’t it? You’re playing around with me and my feelings, aren’t you? You never intended to have sex with me, did you?”

She held his gaze. “What makes you say that?”

He scoffed, feeling something fall down and crush his heart, biting back the sting of pain. “Well, I mean–the ball, Yoongi-hyung and you… anyone can… can tell…” Why? Why is it so hard to breathe? “And… the way… you touch him…”

His words died in the sudden helpless feeling that ate him inside out.

“I touch everyone like that when we’re fucking,” she said gently.

“Hah…” He wanted to believe it, but, no, there was no way that could be possible.

“I’ll touch you like that if we fuck, Jungkook.”

Her face remained calm and collected, and Jungkook felt himself fall apart little by little, crumbling in the eye of the storm, he had come so far, number twenty-seven, come on, if the answer is no, the answer is no, just give it up, I can’t do this anymore, because I…

Her eyes flickered downwards but quickly returned, a sterling resilience in them.

“You didn’t tell me you have those feelings.”

Jungkook felt a shudder shimmer through him.

“You got me feeling like a psycho, noona,” he breathed.

She smiled.

His heart did am uncomfortable flutter and faceplant.

“Ask me the question,” she purred.

Smooth like butter.

What a dainty smile with the perfect hint of naughtiness. He wanted to scream in frustration and triumph, but that would be alarming, so instead Jungkook screamed in his head and asked the question at a normal volume.

“Will you have sex with me?”

He knew what was going to happen next. The door was going to close in his face and she was going to go looking for the Magic-8 ball that wasn’t there. Then he would have to play it cool and–

“I will.”

What.

Jungkook blinked. “W-Wait, don’t you have to get the thing?” he sputtered.

Her head cocked, strands of hair falling down her shoulder. “The thing?”

He made a spherical shape with his hands, wringing them in mild panic. “The cursed ball thingy.” Shook his hands in the air, miming the familiar action. “Then it says no, and you…”  Trembling breath, twenty-six memories playing back-to-back on warp speed, making him nauseous in his head. “Y-You walk away from me.”

She raised her eyebrows.

Tipped her head to one side, whispering under her breath. Jungkook caught – I seem to have scarred him, I didn’t think he cared that much, I should have been more attentive, you fool, get it together… Then she jerked her head, startling him and forcing him to snap to attention at her direct gaze.

“I don’t have it.”

“E… Eh?”

She clicked her tongue, twisting her lips to one side. “I don’t have the Magic-8 ball. Dunno where it went. I thought I knocked it over, but I checked under the bed and everything. I don’t know where it rolled off to.” She shrugged. “I’m not one to lose things, especially stuff people gave me.”

He frowned, confused.

“It was a gift?”

Oh, shit.I stole a gift?!

“Yeah, Jimin gave it to me,” she sighed, shaking her head.

Jungkook’s frown instantly evaporated.

There was a silence so barren that it was completely possible for a tumbleweed to blow past.

Jungkook placed his knuckle on his forehead and rubbed a slow circle.

“Jimin-ssi, huh?” he squeezed out between clenched teeth.

“Yup.”

He let out a pressurized exhale equivalent to a small volcanic eruption. “So… if you never had the Magic-8 ball, you wouldn’t…. You wouldn’t have denied me all this time?”

“Mmm, I think I would have changed it to flipping a coin or something.”

He raised his head. A coin? A fifty-fifty chance rather than whatever-the-fuck chance he had going on before? What the fuck?! He was going to murderJimin!

She leaned against the doorframe, looking thoughtful. “I think I would have always added some small element of chance to it, considering, well.” She chuckled softly, smiling up at him.

Thought of homicide slipped away, replaced by that endearing smile with sparkling playfulness, an almost smirk that filled his heart with a weird kind of warmth.

“C… Considering what?”

She gave him a rueful pout. “Considering it’s a little suspicious, isn’t it? Someone as attractive and hot as you, claiming some silly girls said you fucked like a robot? First,” she continued, raising her fist with her pinky outstretched. “You don’t seem like the type to care about what others think about you.”

“I-I-It’s sex! How am I supposed to feel when someone says something like that?” he sputtered, ears burning at her compliment. She said I’m hot! And then, what the, am I a teenager, why am I getting worked up over something like that? Yet his blood pumped harder anyway, excitement and anticipation spurred on by the praise.

She shrugged, ghost of a smirk on her lips. “Okay. Two,” she added, ring finger popping up. Her expression sharpened. “It feels like you only picked me for easy access. Because I live here.”

“B-But Jimin said–”

Her eyes narrowed, piercing.

Jungkook shut up.

Don’t tell her about the nuts thing.

The silence was too long. She scrutinized him silently but then continued, seemingly letting it slide. Her middle finger raised with the other two.

“Three. Seems like you have a noona kink.”

His cheeks felt like they had been thrown into right into a volcano.

“I-I-I don’t – you fuck Yoongi!”

She blinked.

Veeery slowly.

Now Jungkook wanted to throw himself into a volcano.

“… Hyung. Y-Yoongi-hyung,” he squeaked.

Mmm, mmm, mmm. Yes, adding the honorific here will save you.

Her expression contorted a little and her index finger half-raised before Jungkook’s hand shot out and grabbed hers, cramming all the fingers back down to her palm, panic coursing through him, oh my God, this is all going to shit, “Ah, j-just, no more fingers, I’m sorry, yes, I have a noona kink, whatever it takes, I don’t fucking know, okay, it’s not because you’re easy access, it’s because I really, truly, never felt so much desire for a person in my life and you haven’t even touched me, but y-you’re the only one that has never made me want and I don’t know how it happened, it drives me crazy, your…”

His breath caught in his throat.

His fingertips caressed the back of her knuckles.

“Hands.”

His eyes slowly, slowly shifted up, to hers, to a smile with a shadow of deviousness that made his heart race.

“Your hands.”

He held on, maybe the only time he would ever touch her hand after this disaster of a moment. “They must…” he said shakily, squeezing her hand under his. “They must make him feel so good and it’ll never…” He didn’t want to let go, but he had to.

Had to.

“It’ll never be me,” he breathed, voice breaking.

Let go.

Jungkook let go.

Her hand opened and captured his wrist.

His eyes widened.

She yanked him forward, making him stumble and collide, the soft scent of brown sugar and sweet coffee drifting up from the collar of her sweater, his lips parting and her closing the distance, pressing her thumb against his wrist, tracing the silver chain bracelet, her mouth centimeters from his.

“He likes the hands,” she chuckled, seductive and intoxicating. “But mostly Yoongi likes the kiss.”

She pressed her lips to the underside of his lower lip, right at the center.

Jungkook shivered, stunned and jumbled, almost thinking she had missed somehow, accidentally kissing the mole under his lower lip, but there was clear intention, a delicate press of such subtle sweetness that all nervousness inside him crumbled, tumbling onto the contented sigh that escaped from her lips, lost in her touch, the light presses up the side of his mouth, right to his lip ring, her breath shallowing, hitched with threads of arousal that seeped into him too, a puppet to her taste, his inhale extracting from her exhale and then her lips touched his.

She tilted her head and kissed him fully.

It was the varying pressure of tenderness and insistence, as if she was holding back, as if she was so close to breaking and smothering him with desire but she was feeding it to the slowly, building it layer by layer, flickers of tongue and whispers of moans slipping between their lips, her thumb rubbing his palm, her other fingers caressing the back of his hand, multiple sensations like sparks catching fire. Her other hand slipped under his bomber jacket, ghosting over the fabric, the oversized fit keeping air between his shirt and his body, and then she pressed down onto the small of his back, coaxing his body to hers, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Her tongue traced the entrance of his mouth, stroking his lip ring, sliding back, breathing in, humming in approval at his scent. Pressing deeply, swallowing his shivering cry. A pleased murmur and she drew back, her eyes slowly opening, smug smirk dancing on her lips.

Jungkook panted, slack-jawed.

No fucking wonder Yoongi broke his own rule. I would murder to be kissed like that again.

“What… What the hell was that?” he breathed, voice slurred and deep, suddenly aware that his Busan satoori was drawn out in as his mind swirled.

“A kiss,” she quipped playfully.

“That,” he rasped, shooting her an indignant look. “Is complete and utter bullshit. Who the fuck kisses like that?”

She smiled, enigmatic and sly. “Me.”

He narrowed his eyes, turning his hand in hers, intending to grab it tightly, but then her fingers slipped between his, intertwining and locking, palm to palm, and he held on tight, forgetting what he was going to say. She filled the silence for him, speaking softly between them.

“You have a nice kiss.”

“I… I do?”

She nodded, leisurely smile and stroking his back. “It’s earnest. Simple. No frills or tricks. Just you.”

He frowned slightly, knitting his brows together. “That… That doesn’t sound very exciting though. It’s nothing like yours, so…” He struggled, finding no word concise enough. “Dynamic. Intoxicating. Addictive.”

The side of her lips quirked up. “No one ever kiss you like that?”

He stared into her eyes, full of mirth and reflecting his wonder. Shook his head.

“Hm. No one ever wanted to fuck you like an animal, then.”

She held his hand, her other on his waist, two dancers attuned to the symphony of passion, her lashes lowering, leaning in again, murmuring his name and he found his lips breathing hers, reaching out himself, hesitant, is this my place, and her lips pressed just under his again, smile to his skin.

“Do you think I was meant to fuck you?” she mumbled.

“The Magic-8 ball didn’t think so,” Jungkook spat bitterly.

She chuckled, her laughter feathering against his chin.

“I really hate that thing,” he muttered. “It was so mean to me.”

“Mmm…” She dotted light kisses on his lips, each one a lingering wish for more, more. “There’s something about the anticipation though, isn’t there? The uncertainty, the wait, the denial, the almost and then the yes.”

Kissing him again and he was lost in it once more, more intense this time, her tongue darting into his mouth, quick and teasing, tugging on his hand in hers, rolling her body into his, layers of fabric preventing the full sensation, but there it was, the anticipation, the uncertainty, the wait, his gasp trapped in her mouth and then the sharp break of the kiss, her tightly sucking on his lower lip and immediately releasing him, sending a ripple of want through his veins, the whine tumbling out of him, the denial, the almost, and her smile, tugging him in her bedroom.

“You’ve never been in here, huh?”

His eyes shifted, seeing the familiar plushies and pastel colors mixed with flourishes of black and strangely cute occult.

“Erm…”

“You think I have too much stuff, huh?” she chuckled, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out her phone, and he started slightly, he must have been too focused on the kiss to even notice she had slipped it in there to hold him by the waist. “When I like something, I get a lot of it.” She placed her phone on her desk, gliding back to him on light steps, standing in front of him once more.

“Ah… yeah, me too, the hyungs make fun of me because I have a lot of Bluetooth speakers,” Jungkook said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s a lot of choice out there.”

She ticked her head, smiling, a little death that tumbled his consciousness into a worrying mix of lust and desperation now that he had a hint of what those lips could do.

Her hand lifted.

Fingertips grazing his jaw.

He almost moaned, but bit it back, keeping eye contact.

“Sometimes there’s only one choice. One-of-a-kind.”

She smirked.

Fuck, I can’t take much more of this, I think I’m gonna cream in my pants if she keeps talking like that.

Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, her smile creeping into her eyes, glittering orbs of sweetness mixed with wickedness, like brown sugar and strong coffee, the perfume drifting off her wrist to his nose. Her middle finger toyed his earrings, the fingernail dragging down the curve of his ear.

“I don’t like half-assing anything,” she admitted, apologies in her expression. “I don’t like giving up, I don’t like giving in, and I don’t like not giving my all.”

Small snicker.

She’s so fucking pretty when she looks a little evil.

“What about you?”

Jungkook smirked back, the thrill of excitement burning strong within his core.

“Me neither.”

She grinned. “That’s good. I promise to listen to you tell me it’s too much.”

“Okay–”

Her hand glided down his jaw and outlined his neck, following the tendons and muscle. He cut himself off, eyes widening, his heart leaping into his throat, transfixed on her exploring expression. The way she looked at him, like he was tactile art, caressing his skin with her fingertips.

Her fingers wrapped around his neck.

He held his breath.

But she didn’t tighten her grip, only loosely holding, her lashes slowly lifting, seconds ticking past and then she made eye contact. Something hazy and dark in those eyes. Her lips parted, lightly licking the side of her lip.

“Sorry,” she breathed out, strangely shallow, and Jungkook found himself hanging onto every word, fascinated by the way she formed them, collected but barely so, keeping him at arm’s length. “I’m not going to choke you. I… wanted to see you like this. For myself.”

That smile, honest with a flair of mischief.

“I know it’s selfish.”

He remembered her hand around Yoongi’s throat, her fingers splayed, her nails digging into that handsome pale neck, owning it, you could own me too, his blood burning hotter, remembering her touch on someone else, and Jungkook looked down at her clothed arm extended towards him, their bodies separated by too much space. His whisper was heavy and laced with lust.

“Does it…”

Looked up, tilting his head, letting his black hair fall over one eye.

“Turn you on, noona?”

So close.

“I want to please you too,” Jungkook murmured.

She caressed his neck, nicking her fingernails against the sides of his neck, making him gasp.

“When did I please you?” she purred, dream-like, her touch, her voice, her gaze, bringing him somewhere else, her other hand dancing up his chest, rippling the fabric against his skin. “Tell me.”

“All the time.” Shivering, watching her free hand pause and rest on his chest, outlining his pecs through the jersey fabric. “Especially when I’m alone.” Her moan ringing in his ears, right there in the kitchen counter, meters away from him. “It’s so sexy, the way you move and sound, like you feel pleasure everywhere and it makes me want to feel it too, makes me want to touch myself and pretend that it’s you taking my clothes off…”

Her hand on his neck tugged and he looked up, blinking slowly, somewhere between memory and reality, but she only pushed him down slightly and tipped his chin up, forcing him in an awkward crouching position to kiss him. Slow, sensual, flicking tongue and plush lips, mumbling against his open mouth.

“Mmm, you’re such a fucking dream, a pretty face thinking such dirty things,” she purred, removing her hand from his neck and he whimpered, feeling lost, but she kissed the side of his mouth, chuckling softly. “Is there more? Tell me there’s more. Make me want you, Jungkook.”

Her hands on his shoulders, pushing down his jacket.

“I…”

She tossed it into her desk chair, taking his forearm and straightening him, running her fingers against the colorful tattoos of his inner arm.

“I see your hands,” he breathed, watching and feeling her fingertips graze the black on his inner elbow. “A-And I imagine them touching my cock. Your fingers wrapping around me and, f-fuck,” he gasped, his face burning, seeing her hand drift, skimming over his black shirt, lower. “I get so hard, it’s so w-wrong, but sometimes…”

She hovered her palm over his erection, so close, her lips against his ear because his head had fallen maybe shame, maybe need to watch, maybe both, he was going crazy, feeling like a psycho, recalling how it felt in the hallway just outside this door, stroking his leaking cock through his pants and edging himself while watching their sex in the kitchen, he was a bad boy, I shouldn’t have done that, but it had just felt so good, so fucking good that he went home and got himself off for real, thinking about it again, dragging down his cum-soaked underwear and pumping his throbbing length punishingly tight, imagining it was her hand and her voice in his ear.

“It’s okay. You can’t help it.”

Her hand pressed into his crotch and he moaned at the feeling of her fingers encircling his stiff length trapped under layers of fabric, his forehead hitting her shoulder, feeling the wet, slick spot already forming underneath the tip.

“Roll your hips. Let me feel you.”

Mirroring himself days before, but instead of his own hand, it was hers. “F-Fuck…” So much better, rubbing him with each rock of his hips, hooking her fingers under the head and squishing the pre-cum against the sensitive skin. He whined and looked up. Instantly, her free hand rose, grasping his chin firmly and gently, and he saw her smirk, white teeth catching the edge of her lower lip.

“Don’t be afraid,” she nudged, sliding a finger over his chin and tugging down. “Make your noises. Talk to me.”

He was going to say something stupid, he knew it, so he simply moaned instead, humping her hand in the middle of her bedroom, with force and with speed, too impatient to wait any longer, not enough friction so he begged for more in small whines, hoping his pleas reached his teary eyes.

“Just like this?” she hummed, twisting her palm from side to side, alternating the pressure and the tightness, keeping him on the edge. “You fuck your hand like this and think about me?”

Think about you?

Jungkook bit his lower lip, feeling the ripple of desire flow through him.

I watched you and him.

He winced, f

not allowed, interlude | 20220615

drabble: ‘not allowed’ series; fluff
pairing(s): est. poly relationship yoongi x reader x jungkook

You can’t plan everything in life, but there are some things, surely, that stay consistent - people that will always help face what comes. That’s what you are to Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook.

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii

–

“Are you afraid?”

He smiled wryly. “I feel like I should be.”

You smiled back.

“But it’s hard to be when I see you.”

“Why’s that?” you asked him, tilting your head.

He did that thing with his expression, the playful narrowing of his eyes and the spark to his smile, the thing that was so subtle and yet so very him. For a moment, it was quiet, staring into those dark brown orbs and him into yours, a sudden reflection of all the time between you and him, all the different personas you had seen grow and change, SUGA of BTS, Agust D, Min Yoongi. He used to say he was envious of you for living a ‘normal’ life, but you reminded him that sometimes you had to hide in bushes or pretend you were HYBE staff, acting like a criminal undercover is not very normal, Yoongi, to which he responded with an annoyed squint, but that was life. There were all these normal things and then there were the abnormal, unique things that made each person an individual.

Yoongi happened to have a lot of abnormal, unique things that made him a very strong individual.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so ready to do so many reckless things,” he chuckled.

You waved a finger. “That’s not true. You’ve met Jeon Jungkook.”

He laughed then, a familiar, lovely sound.

Time had moved fast and slow all at once. It felt as if you had only just met Yoongi and simultaneously known him all your life, so ingrained in your lifeline that it was hard to imagine not knowing him.

“You are the perfect companion to have a journey with,” he said softly.

You could see he meant it, and it was strange, the sheepishness you felt and slight awkwardness, all of it mirrored in his expression as well, because neither of you were very good at that kind of talk, maybe after a few drinks or over text or in the middle of the night when the edges of the world seemed a little hazy, during the darkest time right before the dawn where all possibilities were born. Most of the time you and him relied on gaze, on simply reading him and him reading you.

But sometimes.

Sometimes you needed to say it, because that made it all the more real.

“I’m been on this journey with you for a long time,” you said to him. “Would be a real shame if I chickened out now when we were just getting to another very good part.”

“Aren’t you mad at me for packing my schedule now?” he joked, tapping his glass.

“Not at all. Your English sucks,” you teased, even though secretly you thought his pronunciation was very impressive… and attractive. How could someone who claimed to not know English very well annunciate so beautifully? Surely, suspicious.

Surely, not allowed.

“Besides,” you exhaled, pouring him a little more despite his raised eyebrows. “I think it’s good. It reminds me of back then, when you worked so hard to be seen and now you’re working hard to see yourself. That’s important and I never want you to feel like you are being held down by me.” You nodded to yourself, thinking deeply about it. “Even I, too… there are many things I’m interested in, although not nearly as cool as your things.”

“You could join Pilates with me.”

“That’s true, your ass is definitely pop like trouble,” you replied. Respectfully.

“On second thought, I practice in the HYBE building, I don’t think we can.”

“Ah, that’s too bad.”

A silence like a comforting melody. You watched him and he noticed mid-sip, looking back.

“You guys are so cool. I’m glad to know you and the rest of the members.”

The edges of his jaw were getting flushed. You wondered if it was the alcohol or the flash of embarrassment. Stop that, those eyes said. You read him easily. There was magic in that, not being able to hide from each other, handing him the proverbial pen to write your story and him handing it back, an adventure among ink, a book in memories.

You grinned at Min Yoongi.

“Books are always more fun when there are twists and turns in different parts.”

-

“How many mattresses is too many mattresses?”

“One more than your heart desires.”

He grinned, the flash of white teeth and amusement etched around his bright eyes, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out to play. “The hyungs say you’re a bad influence on me, noona. You always tell me to do whatever I want.”

You snickered. “Good thing you’re the idol, because I would probably drive HYBE bonkers.”

Jeon Jungkook tilted his head at you, playful and with all the mischief of the Golden Maknae. Shirtless and laying on his stomach, looking up at you curiously. There was a time where you thought he was very different from you, but lately you had been feeling it was the opposite, that actually there were all these qualities that you shared, consciously or unconsciously, and it was a desired problem to have, loving Jeon Jungkook too much.

“Why do you say that?” he questioned.

“Well, firstly I don’t think the company would enjoy my excessive swearing–”

Jungkook laughed. “We can edit that out!”

“Secondly, I don’t think HYBE would enjoy all the sneaky, half-nakey pictures I would want to take of you.”

His round, big peepers went wide. “You would do what?” he gasped dramatically, acting as if he couldn’t believe it even though you were prettysure there was a very interested sparkle dancing behind those shaking dark brown irises

You waved a hand, playing along. “I’m just sayingI could take some very artful photos for your IG, that’s all. We don’t have to expose any bits.” You bounced your eyebrows. “You seem to want to do that on your own.”

“Itold you, that was an accident!”

You placed your hands together in mock prayer and looked up to the ceiling. “Thank you for your hard work, button-nim.”

Jungkook shoved you lightheartedly and you laughed, rolling about in a ball for a moment. This. It was these moments, this time in a bottle, not the same as the years with Yoongi, but just as meaningful. A different kind of depth, a breathlessness that you savored, tipping your head and finding his lips, stopping time with softness and a hint of silver ring, and you realized that you, too, had changed, somehow an impossible to a possible, somehow a hope in a different universe becoming reality in this one, and that was so weird to think about that, years ago, young you would have never thought that you would taste the magic of Jeon Jungkook’s kiss.

There’s nothing like us.

Also, young you would be gagging at the thought of being this mushy but Jungkook did that to you, this was all his fault for being so earnest and wonderful to love. Surely, he must be stopped.

Surely, not allowed.

He grinned against your smile, unstoppable.

“I always feel better when I see your face.”

“Kind of hard to see it when you’re all up in my business.”

Jungkook closed one eye and brought the open one very close to yours, brushing your eyebrow with his eyelashes to be both annoying and cute. You licked his underlip mole and he backed up, laughing. It was short-lived though, his expression softening, looking down at you.

“I… I just always feel like I can do anything when I know you’re by my side,” he breathed, soft and light.

“That’s because you can do anything,” you chuckled, reaching up to tuck part of his black hair behind his ear. “You’re just a little lazy sometimes. I understand.”

Jungkook leaned against your palm and you stilled.

“I always think I can be better,” he sighed ruefully.

“Everyone can,” you murmured softly. “But imperfection is also perfection in its own way. Without it, you wouldn’t have the guts to run forward, right?”

That little roguish spark danced in his eyes. “You sound just like him.”

“You mean he sounds like me.” You stuck your tongue out, bantering with the absent Yoongi.

“Maybe you should write lyrics.”

“Definitely not.”

“Could be fun,” he nudged. “You have lots of cool things to say.”

“I have a whole lotta nonsense to say. That can be your job to make sense of it.”

“That’s plagiarism.”

“I’m not looking for royalties, I’m only looking for–” You abruptly cut yourself off.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. A very Kim Seokjin-esque face. He did learn from his hyungs after all. You remained tight lipped. He wiggled his eyebrows, making them laugh at you.

“For?” He dragged out the word, reaching out and dragging you to him.

“Yah, Jeon Jung–!”

–

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