Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ladies and gentlemen, please a round of applause for the beautiful Vminie_Cie7, creator of this stunning moodboard ❤️‍🔥

Jimin rolls his eyes as cum splats over his ass.

If he had a thousand won for every guy who’d finished like that, he’d be rolling in it. Pun very much intended.

“Ugh, fuck!” his newest conquest grunts. Predictable.

“Yeah?” Jimin says, tone flat. Not the fun kind of teasing.

The guy flops onto the bed beside him, panting. “That was amazing,” he mumbles.

Jimin resists the urge to roll his eyes again. It was mediocre at best. He slides off the bed without a word, heading to the bathroom to clean up.

“Hey, where are you going?” the guy calls after him.

“Home,” Jimin replies flatly.

He wipes himself off with a damp washcloth, efficient and unimpressed. When he comes back, the guy is still sprawled on the bed, blinking like he’s lost something.

“So… I’ll call you?”

Jimin arches a brow. Ugh. Mr. Snorefuck feels the need to drag it out with the most overused line in one-night stand history.

“Yeah, you do that.”

He pulls on his clothes without subtlety. He’s out. The guy...Minho? Minseok? Something with an M, just sits there, watching him like he’s the one being ditched.

“You’re really leaving? I thought maybe we could grab some food or something…”

Jimin snorts. “Look, this was fun and all, but let’s not pretend it was anything else.”

He grabs his phone and wallet from the nightstand. The guy sits up, the sheet sliding down around his waist.

“Wait, can I at least get your number?”

Jimin pauses at the door, turns back with a sweet smile. “Babe, if I wanted you to have my number, you’d have had it an hour ago.”

He's out the door before the guy can fumble through another attempt at conversation.

The cool night air hits his face as he steps onto the street. Jimin breathes deep, trying to shake off the stale disappointment. He checks his phone. Barely past midnight. The night is still young.

Me: Any of you gays out?

The response pings almost immediately:

Yoongi-hyung: Cypher

A small smile tugs at his lips. Cypher. Their favourite underground club. Sweaty, dark, always crawling with beautiful people. Exactly what he needs to rinse away the bland aftertaste of his last hookup.

The taxi ride is short. Just enough time to decompress.

Under his tight jeans, he’s still damp at the tip. A frustrating little souvenir from earlier.

It’s been so long since someone actually fucked him. Not this nonsense where guys paint his ass like they’re trying to make modern art out of it. 

Just impale him and stay there. It’s not that hard.

He sighs. Maybe he’s just touch-starved. Or manic. Hard to tell.

The cab stops. Jimin steps out, shakes off the irritation, and struts straight past the long line at the curb.

His cousin, manning the door, offers him a knowing nod.

“God, you’re smug,” Jungkook groans as Jimin passes. “Yoongi-hyung’s in the lounge.”

Jimin flashes him a finger gun without missing a step. “Thanks, Kookie!”

The club is busier than usual. Smells like tequila and testosterone.

People swarm the bar. No thank you. Jimin veers off, slipping up the stairs to the private lounge.

On the landing, he pauses, peering down at the dance floor. Bodies undulate to the beat, wild and sweaty.

His eyes catch on one particular set of flailing limbs. Seokjin. No one else dances like a squid on acid...having a seizure.

Jimin smirks. Silly fool has no shame. He loves him.

He stops by the bathroom before heading in.

It’s your typical club restroom. Dim. Music thumping through the walls. Guys loitering, fixing hair, checking teeth.

Jimin slides in between two of them and washes his hands at the nearest sink. His reflection looks gorgeous, as usual. Smudged eyeliner, messy blonde hair, and a gold chain stuck to his skin where his shirt is scandalously unbuttoned.

To his right, a guy with soft chocolate curls is scrubbing his hands like they’re coated in radioactive slime. He keeps his head down like the sink holds state secrets.

To his left, someone zips up, skips the sink altogether, and strides out without even glancing at the taps.

Jimin gapes at the mirror. Really? That blatant?

He glances sideways. Curls is watching him, just barely, with a twitch of a smile.

“Do guys really think handwashing’s optional?” Jimin mutters.

Curls says, soft but clear, “Maybe he’s trying to test his immune system.”

The quiet joke catches Jimin off guard. He lets out a small laugh. “Bold move for someone touching door handles.”

Curls smiles faintly. Looks down again, dries his hands like he’s got nowhere else to be.

Jimin watches him in the mirror. He’s tall. Pretty. Shy. Carries himself like someone who’d say sorry if you bumped into him.

Yeah. Adorable.

Curls finishes up, bows slightly in goodbye, and slips out.

Jimin follows a moment later, still thinking about that tiny smile.

Outside the lounge, the music dims. Warm wood and leather, soft lighting. A break from the chaos.

Yoongi is tucked in the corner, headphones on, laptop open, radiating that productive-don’t-fuck-with-me energy.

When he sees Jimin, he pulls off the headphones.

“Finally.”

Jimin flops into the seat beside him. “Don’t ask.”

Yoongi raises a brow but doesn’t press. Jimin steals a sip of his whiskey and lets himself settle.

That peace lasts all of five minutes.

Seokjin bounds in with his usual flair, Hobi behind him and— Oh.

Cutie Pie.

Eyes down, awkward. Trails behind them like someone who wandered in by accident. The VIP lounge isn’t the kind of place you expect to find someone that soft around the edges.

“Jimin-ah! You made it!” Seokjin beams. “We picked up a stray. Adopted him for the night.”

Hobi grins. “Some guy wouldn’t take a hint. Jin-hyung swooped in like a gay eagle.”

“Guy was barking up the wrong tree,” Seokjin adds. “I had to fetch him out of there.”

Jimin laughs despite himself.

Yoongi, without even looking up: “Blink twice if it’s him you need rescuing from.”

The guy smiles, shy again, faintly pink.

“Taehyung-ah, don’t mind him,” 

Jimin chuckles. Seokjin’s already acting like they’ve been best friends for years. 

"He’s just some grump we keep around for aesthetic balance.” He adds, "Just ignore him.. and his grumpy face." 

Taehyung...so that's his name... glances between them all, uncertain but amused. “I, uh, appreciate the rescue,” he says softly. His voice is low and warm, and Jimin’s stomach does something it really shouldn’t.

“Anytime,” Seokjin grins, slinging an arm around him. “Now. What’s your poison? First round’s on me.”

Taehyung's gaze sweeps the loung. His eyes linger a beat too long on a loud guy near the bar before returning.

“Virgin strawberry daiquiri,” he says. Voice still soft, but clear.

Jimin blinks. Virgin? Seokjin stares like he’s been personally insulted but nods and heads to the bar.

“Come, meet Jimin,” Hobi says, patting Taehyung’s shoulder and steering him toward the couch. Taehyung settles beside Jimin, and just like that, the space between them disappears.

That’s when it hits Jimin how ridiculously good this boy smells. Warm and earthy, with something soft underneath. Honey and oakmoss, maybe. He tries not to be obvious about inhaling, but it’s pointless. The scent is addictive, and it scrambles his brain.

From up close, Taehyung’s features are even worse. Like they were carved by some meticulous artist with an appreciation for beauty. And there’s that freckle again, perched at the tip of his nose like it’s daring Jimin to make a fool of himself.

“You’re staring,” Taehyung murmurs, not looking up. His lips curl into a quiet smile.

Jimin coughs, caught off guard. “Sorry. Just… uh, I like your shirt.”

Taehyung lifts his brows, amused, but doesn’t tease. Just gives a soft little laugh that makes Jimin’s chest feel stupidly warm.

“Thanks,” he says, brushing the tip of his nose, right over the freckle.

Jimin leans back, grinning. Maybe fate knew what it was doing when Seokjin decided to “adopt” this one.

“Jimin,” he offers, holding out a hand.

Taehyung takes it in his own, large and warm, and smiles up at him through his lashes.

“Taehyung.”

Seokjin returns like a huracane, handing out drinks like an overly dramatic waiter.

“You do know Namjoon-hyung pays people to do that, right?” Yoongi mutters, still glued to his laptop.

“I do know that,” Seokjin replies, deadpan. “I also know I can do it faster and with more flair.” He strikes a ridiculous pose as he sets the last drink down.

Taehyung chuckles softly, and Jimin watches the way his eyes crinkle. It’s unfairly cute.

Near the bar, Minsoo: the club’s unofficial mascot, lifts his glass in a vague salute to no one. He’s perched on the same stool he always claims, alone, as usual. His smile isn’t quite friendly, but not unfriendly either. Just… off.

Jimin clocks him like always. One shoulder higher than the other. Walks with a stiff gait that makes one shoe drag, toe worn down to the sole. Nobody ever asks why. He’s just part of the scenery.

As Hobi flops into the seat across from them with another round, Taehyung leans in close. “That guy talking to himself?”

Minsoo mutters something and snorts, like he’s just delivered a private punchline.

Hobi laughs. “Oh, that’s Minsoo. Club weirdo. Been here longer than the furniture.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow.

Jimin shrugs. “Seokjin says he’s a retired magician. Hobi swears he’s ex-CIA. Mostly, he drinks overpriced whiskey and minds his business.”

Taehyung hums, disinterested, and sips his daiquiri.

“So,” Hobi leans in, perking up. “What brings you to Cypher tonight?”

Taehyung swirls his drink before answering. “My roommate dragged me. Said I needed to ‘live a little.’” He makes air quotes with his fingers, his voice tinged with shy sarcasm.

“And where’s this roommate now?” Jimin asks, a touch sharper than intended. The idea of someone leaving this boy alone in a club like this pisses him off more than it should.

Taehyung stares down at his nails. “Not sure. Think he left with someone.”

Jimin’s brows lift. Sass practically radiates off him.

Yoongi glances up with a withering look.

“Ugh, bro-code obliterated,” Seokjin says, horrified. “Thank god we found you, Tae-ah.”

Taehyung smiles. His cheeks pinken so sweetly it almost hurts. Cutie Pie.

The night carries on the way they always do. Seokjin and Hobi wreak havoc, Yoongi stoically tunes them out, and signals for more whisky with casual flicks of his fingers.

Jimin sticks close to Taehyung, curiosity curling tighter around his chest.

“So,” Jimin says, soft enough not to interrupt the pasta debate going on across the table, “who are you, Taehyung?”

Taehyung’s phone buzzes on the low table. He doesn’t look. Just flips it face-down. His smile falters for a fraction of a second, then returns like nothing happened.

“I’m… not sure how to answer that,” he says. “I guess I’m just me. A guy who spends too much time at work and not enough time...well, here.” He gestures vaguely at the room.

Jimin leans in, intrigued. “And what does ‘just you’ like to do?”

Taehyung smiles, small but sincere. “Read. Paint, sometimes. Nothing serious. Just when I need to get out of my head.”

“An artist,” Jimin murmurs, watching the way Taehyung’s fingers cradle his glass. Elegant. Capable. Dangerous.

His brain briefly conjures an image of those fingers wrapped around something else —

Jimin blinks. Focus.

Taehyung laughs, low and breathy. “I wouldn’t go that far. It’s just a secret hobby.”

Jimin tilts his head. “Why tell me, then?”

Taehyung copies the motion, mirroring him. “You seem like someone who could say, ‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ and mean it.”

Jimin blinks, caught completely off guard.

Cutie Pie is deep.

“Do you have any secrets?” Taehyung asks, the question so quiet it barely reaches Jimin over the bass.

Jimin’s throat goes tight. There’s a pause, not long, but loud in his chest.

“Everyone has secrets,” he says finally, taking a sip to buy time.

“But what about you?”

Jimin could dodge. He wants to. But something about the way Taehyung’s looking at him makes lying feel like cheating.

He opens his mouth —

“Jimin-ah!” Seokjin’s voice explodes through the conversation. “Stop hogging our new friend and come settle this debate!”

Jimin groans. “What now, hyung?”

“Hobi thinks pesto is French!”

Jimin bursts into laughter. “Hobi-hyung, please. You know it’s not. For fuck's sake, we literally had it in Venice together.”

“Venice?” Taehyung perks up, eyes lighting.

“Oh yeah,” Seokjin says, already gearing up. “And get this! Hobi tried to order pineapple on pizza. In Rome. The chef came out and lectured us personally for a whole five minutes before realising we had no idea what he was even saying.”

Seokjin plops down next to Taehyung, nearly landing in his lap. Jimin would usually be annoyed, Seokjin never respects personal space, but tonight it has the nice side effect of pushing Taehyung closer.

Their thighs touch. Jimin could move. He doesn’t.

Taehyung doesn’t either.

Jimin leans forward, elbows on the table, sipping Yoongi’s whisky. He can’t help watching the way Taehyung responds to Seokjin’s ridiculous stories. His wide eyes, the breathy laugh, the way his shoulders shake with amusement.

It’s… enchanting.

“And then,” Seokjin continues, barely stopping to breathe, “Jimin challenged a gondolier to a race. On am abandoned paddleboard. In the Grand Canal.”

Taehyung gasps, delighted. “No way. That didn’t happen.”

“Oh, it did,” Seokjin grins. “He lost miserably. Looked like a drowning cat while the gondolier sailed past in hysterics.”

Jimin groans. “It wasn’t that bad. And I didn’t fall. I just had… minor balance issues.”

Taehyung bites his lip to hide his grin. “Sounds memorable.”

“Embarrassing is the word you’re looking for,” Jimin mutters, though his lips betray him, curling into a pouty smile. "Jin-hyung loves telling that story."

Laughter bubbles up around the table. Even Jimin lets it escape.

He glances sideways. Taehyung’s laughing, low and warm, and Jimin feels it where their bodies touch. In his bones. In his chest.

A loud crash obliterates the light-hearted banter.

Jimin’s head snaps toward the source. A fight. The usual suspects: big guys with more ego than alcohol tolerance. Nothing new at Cypher.

Yoongi’s already on his feet, calm and efficient, phone to his ear, no doubt calling Jungkook. Hobi sinks halfway under the table, wide-eyed. Seokjin, ever dramatic, grabs a tray and holds it up like a medieval knight shielding himself from arrows.

Then a table flips.

Glass explodes across the floor, shards glittering like jagged ice. Bottles crash, tumbling against concrete. The air thickens, the tension blooming into chaos.

Jimin barely has time to flinch before something sharp, maybe a bottle fragment or the leg of a broken chair, slices through the air, heading straight for him.

Taehyung moves.

There’s no hesitation. Just instinct. His muscles tighten a split second before he acts, like a reflex buried deep.

Time slows.

Taehyung’s body blocks Jimin from the splintered object just inches from his face. 

Before Jimin can react, Taehyung shifts, bracing himself between Jimin and the fight. One hand planted on the wall behind them, the other near Jimin’s shoulder. Protective. Steady. His body forms a wall around him.

His touch is firm but careful. Not just protective but practised. Like he’s done this before.

The shouting, the broken glass, even Seokjin’s shriek fade into the background. The world narrows to the space between them. Jimin can’t hear anything but the bass of the club and the pounding of his own heart.

“Don’t move,” Taehyung says softly, his voice low and calm, slicing through the noise like a blade.

Jimin's heart hammers in his chest, and for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

Taehyung’s scent is everywhere. Warm and woodsy, wrapped around him in the middle of this surreal moment.

“You okay?” Taehyung murmurs, his face close enough to kiss.

Jimin nods, mute. His throat is tight. His chest feels bare.

“I’ve got you.”

Jimin believes him. His tone demands so. 

The shy, soft-spoken boy from earlier is gone. In his place is someone else entirely. Someone impossibly calm, commanding and sharp. Taehyung’s eyes burn with something unspoken. His jaw is set. A muscle ticks under smooth skin.

“Stay still,” Taehyung says again, his voice a low rumble that Jimin feels more than hears.

Jimin doesn’t move. His body obeying instinctively to the authority in Taehyung's tone. 

Taehyung’s hand, the one not braced behind him, rises to cup the back of Jimin’s neck. Fingertips soft as they tease the hair there.

Jungkook barrels into the scene like a wrecking ball of muscle and intent, locking one of the aggressors in a chokehold. Namjoon’s security team follows, descending like a wave. Efficient. Unbothered.

In seconds, the elegant lounge looks like a crime scene. Blood smeared across polished floors. Glass everywhere. Patrons frozen in place, still stunned. Club weirdo still sat at the bar looking puzzled.

Jimin barely registers any of it. His senses are attuned solely to Taehyung, who still cages him protectively, calm and immovable, as if chaos itself bends around him.

“You okay?” he asks again, softer this time.

Jimin nods, but his voice is nowhere to be found. He drops his gaze, only to find it again in Taehyung’s eyes, deep, unreadable and warm. Heat rushes to his cheeks.

Jungkook pauses as he passes their table, nodding toward Jimin. “He good?” he asks Taehyung, looking a little concerned.

“All good here,” Taehyung replies, voice steady.

Jungkook gives a short nod and moves on.

The chaos ebbs, leaving behind only the heavy smell of alcohol and the soft crunch of glass under boots. Taehyung straightens slightly, no longer blocking Jimin from the room, but he doesn’t step away.

His hand lingers, brushing a stray shard of glass off Jimin’s shoulder. The gesture is casual, but the warmth of his fingers burns straight through Jimin’s shirt.

“You sure you’re not hurt?” Taehyung asks, his voice low and impossibly gentle now.

Jimin swallows, nods again. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Taehyung’s lips twitch into the barest smile, satisfied.

The air between them is thick with something Jimin doesn’t have a name for. Tension, yes, but more than that. Something that crackles.

“Wow!” Seokjin exclaims, holding up his tray like a war trophy. “I just saved everyone’s lives. Again. Do you know how exhausting it is being the hero of this friend group?”

Jimin groans, the spell broken. “You literally hid behind a tray, hyung.”

“I was strategically repositioning,” Seokjin insists, pressing a hand to his chest like a wounded soldier.

“Uh-huh,” Hobi mutters, crawling out from under the table. “Sure, Captain Courage.”

Laughter rolls around the table, shaky but genuine. The group leans into it, grateful for the distraction. But Jimin feels detached, still focused on Taehyung.

Yoongi pats his knee. “Min-ah. You good?”

“Mhm,” Jimin hums, distracted.

Then Hobi’s eyes go wide. “Taehyung! You’re bleeding.”

Jimin turns. A dark stain blooms under the white of Taehyung’s shirt. The realisation hits Jimin like a punch.

He got hurt. For him.

“Oh my god,” Jimin whispers, leaning in. “I’m so, so sorry—”

“No,” Taehyung interrupts softly, a smile barely tugging at the corners of his lips, as if the attention bothers him more than the injury. The attention clearly bothers him more than the wound.

Yoongi, ever the pragmatic one, crouches between them, eyes flicking over the injury. “Hobi, go grab the first aid kit,” he says, voice calm, like Yoongi’s always got everything under control.

Taehyung’s gaze shifts down to the shard of glass still embedded in his shoulder. His expression flickers for just a moment, an almost imperceptible frown crossing his face as he assesses the injury. And then, in one smooth motion, he pulls the shard out with a wince, his face never betraying more than a faint flicker of annoyance. It’s not fear. It’s not panic. It’s a quiet, almost professional detachment, like he’s done this before, like this is just another moment he can get through with little more than a sigh.

Jimin’s heart stutters.

Yoongi notices too. “Shit,” he mutters. “You sure you’re okay?”

Taehyung presses his hand to the wound and nods. “It’s not deep.”

Hobi returns, thrusting the kit into Yoongi’s hands. Yoongi begins cleaning the cut like it’s routine.

Jimin can’t stop staring. The soft-spoken boy from the bathroom is still there. But now he’s something else too. Someone else. Controlled. Capable. Quietly powerful.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimin says again.

Taehyung looks up. His gaze is calm. Warm. Protective.

And Jimin feels it again, that strange safety, that sense of being looked after without being coddled.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Taehyung beats him to it. His hand settles on Jimin’s thigh. Not teasing. Not sexual. Grounding.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, voice low. Steady.

He means it.

Jimin swallows hard, caught in the weight of it. The feeling Taehyung stirs in him is impossible to ignore.

Taehyung’s eyes stay on his, unflinching. Waiting.

“Jungkook’s handling it,” Yoongi mutters, pocketing his phone. “Cleanup’s underway.”

Sure enough, the chaos is clearing. The worst offenders have been escorted out. Staff mop up spilled drinks and glass. A few patrons hover awkwardly by the bar, unsure whether to leave or order another round.

Taehyung brushes glass from Jimin’s knees. Slow. Thoughtful.

Jimin doesn’t stop him. He just watches.

Watches the guy he’d dubbed Cutie Pie with growing disbelief.

Taehyung is beautiful. That’s easy. But it’s more than that now. He’s steady. Kind. Mysterious. Strong.

The others start talking again, drifting back into harmless chatter. Jimin nods along, barely listening.

He’s still replaying the moment Taehyung covered him with his body.

“Jimin-ah!” Seokjin calls. “It’s your round.”

Jimin stands, dazed, and heads to the bar. Orders another round. His is a double.

The next hour blurs by. Taehyung becomes the centre of attention, his quiet charm drawing questions from every direction. But he never says much. Every answer is...polite. Carefully offered.

It only makes Jimin more curious.

Eventually, the night winds down. Coats are pulled on. Goodbyes echo across the room.

Jimin doesn’t want to go.

Something about Taehyung’s presence makes him want to stay. To hear more, to understand him, to keep that thread between them from slipping loose.

As the others start filing out, Jimin notices Taehyung’s eyes flicking to the corners of the room. Watching shadows. Scanning the people still there.

It’s subtle. But Jimin sees it.

“Well,” Seokjin stretches with a groan. “Same time next week?”

“Let’s skip the bar fight next time,” Hobi adds, already at the door.

“Tae-ah!” Seokjin calls. “You’ll come again, right?”

Yoongi claps Taehyung on the back. “We’d get it if you didn’t.”

Taehyung smiles, bashful again, but that quiet confidence still simmers underneath.

“Thanks, Seokjin.”

He doesn’t say yes or no.

As the group begins to disperse, Jimin finds himself lingering, looking in the direction of home but reluctant to let the night end just yet. His eyes keep drifting back to Taehyung, drawn by an inexplicable pull he can't quite name.

Taehyung catches his gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Walking in the same direction?"

Jimin’s heart stumbles. He should say no. 

Instead, he hears himself say, “Yeah.”

Seokjin sends them a knowing wink.

Jimin pretends not to see it.

As they step out into the cool night air, Jimin feels a strange mix of jitters and unexpected optimism bubbling in his chest. The streets are quieter now, the late-night crowd thinning. Streetlights cast long shadows, and the distant thump of bass from nearby clubs fades behind them.

Taehyung walks beside him, measured and unhurried. There’s a grace to his movements Jimin hadn’t noticed before. A kind of controlled fluidity that speaks of strength and agility.

“So,” Jimin starts, breaking the comfortable silence, “you never really told me what you do.”

Taehyung glances at him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I didn’t, did I?”

Jimin gives a small laugh. “You didn’t even come close.”

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stays forward, fixed on some distant point. For a second, Jimin thinks he's not going to answer at all.

“I used to just say ‘public sector,’” Taehyung says eventually, voice casual in a way that feels practiced. “It keeps people from asking too many questions.”

Jimin lifts an eyebrow. “Mysterious. So… what does that actually mean?”

Taehyung exhales through his nose, slowing his steps a little. He seems to weigh something invisible, like he’s standing at a threshold only he can see.

“I talk to people,” he says finally, choosing each word carefully. “Usually when they’re in some kind of crisis.”

“Like a therapist?”

A faint smile. “No. Not quite.”

He falls quiet again, and Jimin lets the silence stretch. They pass under a flickering streetlight. For a moment, Taehyung’s face is lit in pieces; jaw set, brows drawn, like he’s still thinking it over.

“Hostage negotiations,” Taehyung says eventually, almost like he didn’t decide to speak until the words were already out. “Suicides. Threats. Accidents. I’m usually called when things are at a tipping point.”

Jimin stops for a beat, turning to look at him. “Shit.”

Taehyung keeps walking, slower now. “It’s not as dramatic as it sounds.”

“Doesn’t sound casual either.”

A small shrug. “Most of it’s just listening. Staying calm. Giving people something solid to hold on to.” His tone carries a quiet weight, even if his words don’t.

Jimin’s silent now. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he’s never met someone who carries something like that.

“You must’ve seen some stuff,” he says softly.

“I try not to remember most of it.” Taehyung’s voice stays calm, and Jimin doesn’t press.

After a moment, Taehyung looks at him, eyes softer. “What about you?”

“Me? Nothing impressive,” Jimin says with a short laugh. “Still chipping away at an architecture degree. I make coffees or cocktails on the side. Help Yoongi at his studio. Juggle a few other things when rent’s around the corner. Just trying not to mess anything up.”

Taehyung studies him. “That sounds like a lot.”

“It’s not saving lives.”

“Maybe not,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “But you’d be surprised how often people choose not to do something terrible… just because a cute bartender showed them a little kindness.”

He smiles sideways, and Jimin’s heart skips a beat. Fuck, he’s gorgeous up close.

“You never really know the kind of difference you’re making in someone else’s life.”

Jimin furrows his brow, stealing another glance at him.

How is this the same guy he had that ridiculously cute moment with just a few hours ago in a club bathroom?

None of it adds up. Jimin keeps turning it over in his head, and doesn’t notice they’ve walked past his building.

“Shit,” he mutters, stopping. “I walked right past my place.”

He looks at Taehyung, expecting a smirk or a tease. But Taehyung just watches him, amused. Quiet. Like he sees more than he lets on.

Or… sees him. Really sees him.

Not the confident, sassy version Jimin usually leads with. Not the persona that keeps people at a safe distance.

Taehyung sees past all of it, and doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t chase. Doesn’t run.

He just sees.

It’s disarming. Frustrating. And somehow, exhilarating.

Jimin doesn’t know how to play this version of the game. He’s used to being the one who walks away.

But Taehyung? He’s nothing like anyone Jimin’s ever met.

The way he stands there, calm and unfazed, with that little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, makes Jimin want to forget every rule he’s spent years perfecting. Taehyung is an enigma, and for the first time in a long time, Jimin actually wants to figure someone out.

Heat creeps up Jimin’s neck. His face warms. He turns quickly and heads back, the few steps toward his building suddenly feeling like the longest walk of his life.

Taehyung stays beside him. Unhurried. Unbothered. Like he’s not in any rush to make something happen.

At the first step of his building, Jimin pauses. He’s not usually bothered by his height, but tonight, he feels a little vulnerable. So he steps up, giving himself just a touch of space, a little distance he can control.

He doesn’t know why it feels so different tonight. He’s faced worse. But Taehyung?

Taehyung looks up at him, that same quiet smile still in place. Like Jimin’s walls don’t even register.

“Nice to meet you, Jimin,” he says. “I had a wonderful time with you and your friends. I hope to bump into you again sometime.”

Jimin blinks. Caught off guard. No self-invite upstairs. No casual number exchange. Just that easy smile and a perfectly polite goodbye.

What the hell?

He stares at Taehyung’s hand for a beat too long, like he’s missed a cue. This guy doesn’t play by the usual rules of bar hookups or club flirting, and Jimin… Jimin has no idea what to do with that.

Chapter Text

This beautiful moodboard was, as always, created by the lovely Vminie_Cie7 🥰

For the next few days, Jimin can’t stop thinking about Taehyung. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. He has no reason to be this fixated. He’s had flirtations, one-night stands, casual flings. None of them ever lingered. So why is this one different?

He catches himself wondering how Taehyung spends his days. What he does, exactly. And why it was so easy for him to walk away. The whole thing stays with Jimin longer than it should.

He tries to shake it off. Focuses on work, spends time with friends, goes on a date with someone nice enough. Good-looking enough. But even during the conversation, Jimin finds himself thinking about Taehyung. He feels unsettled. Wired. Too much energy in the wrong places.

Even when he’s out with friends, he’s scanning the room like a glitching security cam. For what? For someone who probably isn’t here. Or maybe he is. Or maybe Jimin’s just losing it.

Obsessing isn’t exactly new for Jimin.

Bipolar’s a bitch, and by now, he knows it. Feelings and instincts aren’t reliable. Not really. He’s come to terms with that, more or less, and tries to take his thoughts with a pinch of salt. But this one is harder to ignore.

Another week passes.

Jimin is sitting in the corner of the café where he works. It’s not fancy, but he gets free coffee and a quiet place to study. It’s quieter than usual today, the soft clink of mugs and low music filling the background. He’s half-focused on his laptop, trying to concentrate on the project at hand. 

Until the bell above the door rings, and someone steps inside.

He doesn’t look up right away. But something about the shift in the room makes him glance over.

It’s Taehyung.

Jimin blinks. He’s not imagining it. There’s no mistaking the quiet confidence in the way he walks, the way his eyes scan the café until they land on Jimin.

Taehyung heads to the counter, places an order, then turns and walks over with his coffee in hand.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice smooth and easy.

Jimin nods, “Uh, sure,” before he can even think, “Of course.”

Taehyung takes the seat across from him. For a moment, they just sit there. Just two people in a café. Taehyung doesn’t rush to end the silence. He seems to wait, giving Jimin space to speak first.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jimin says, trying to sound casual.

Taehyung’s gaze drifts over the room. “Funny how people just bump into each other like this, isn’t it?”

There’s a small charge in the air between them, like static under the skin. Jimin feels it spark somewhere near his collarbone. Warm and crackly and… wait, is it obvious? Can Taehyung feel it too? Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe not. Maybe he’s overthinking again, spiraling into something that isn’t even real. Or maybe it is real and he’s going to ruin it by being weird. Shit, is he–

“You seem a bit distracted,” Taehyung says, almost teasing. “Something on your mind?” He leans back in his chair, relaxed. Effortless.

Jimin flushes. Shit. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Nah,” he says with a wave of his hand.

Taehyung smiles, slow and knowing. “You’re a terrible liar, Jimin.”

Jimin bites back a grin, looking down into his coffee. “Am I?”

“You are,” Taehyung says, still smiling. “But I don’t mind. I like watching you think.”

Jimin’s fingers tighten slightly around his cup. His heart’s doing that thing again. That fluttery, offbeat thing. He looks up through his lashes. “So,” he says, trying for playful, “do you come here often?”

Taehyung tilts his head, eyes catching the light. There’s something unreadable in his expression.

“No,” he says simply. “Can’t say I do.”

Jimin lifts an eyebrow. “Funny. Just a coincidence, huh?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Guess I got lucky.”

Jimin huffs a soft laugh, warmth creeping up his neck. Taehyung makes everything feel easy. Like they’ve done this a hundred times before.

“You’re smooth,” Jimin mutters.

“Maybe I just know how to talk to people,” Taehyung says. Then he glances around the café, casual but pointed. “However, I’m not really here for the coffee.”

Jimin raises a brow.

Taehyung doesn’t elaborate. He just leans back, eyes still on Jimin.

Eventually, he stands, brushing invisible lint off his coat. “I’ll let you get back to work. Your break must be almost over.”

Jimin narrows his eyes, suspicious. “How’d you know I work here?”

Taehyung gives him a wink. “See you around.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Slipping out as effortlessly as he came in.

Jimin stares after him, then down into his cup, his thoughts spinning. That flutter in his chest still hasn’t settled. And somehow, even though nothing really happened, it feels like the beginning of something.

The days that follow are quiet, but Jimin isn’t. Not inside. His mind runs loops. He keeps catching himself scanning rooms, checking faces, hoping to see those soft brown curls and that quiet kind of confidence. The club, the café, even just walking down the street. His senses are on high alert.

“Are you really gonna wear that?” Jimin asks, eyeing Seokjin up and down. The chaotic mix of colors and clashing styles looks like it could give someone a migraine. Jimin almost regrets letting him come over to get ready at his apartment. 

“What?” Seokjin frowns, genuinely confused. “Is it the belt?”

Jimin presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.

Seokjin rolls his eyes with dramatic flair. “I know it doesn’t go now , but it ties in with my hat,” he adds, a little flabbergasted.

 Jimin groans. “What hat?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls out the most obnoxiously pink cowboy hat known to mankind and perches it on his head with a level of confidence only he could get away with.

Jimin giggles despite himself. Outraged, yet inexplicably endeared.

It’s Seokjin’s birthday, and in the name of tradition, they’ve planned a night out: bar-hopping first, then Cypher. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, except Jin gets to call the shots tonight. And apparently, that includes trying to seduce the bouncer.

Said bouncer being Jungkook. Jimin’s cousin. But that’s a whole other story.

By the time they’re ready to leave the apartment, Seokjin’s outfit has somehow gotten worse. He’s added a leopard print scarf and a fake fur jacket that looks like it escaped from a low-budget 80s music video.

“You look like a disco ball mated with a rodeo clown,” Jimin mutters as they head down the stairs.

“And you look like a moody art student with commitment issues,” Seokjin shoots back, swinging his ridiculous pink cowboy hat with flair. “This is called fashion, Jimin. Try and keep up.”

The bus ride to Hobi and Yoongi’s is filled with Jin giving unsolicited commentary on everyone else’s outfits…“That jacket’s a war crime,”... “Ma’am, your dog is dressed better than your boyfriend”... and Jimin half-praying no one tries to beat them up.

When they finally reach the apartment, Hobi opens the door mid-laugh, shirt half-buttoned and glitter on his collarbone. “You two look unhinged, I love it,” he says, dragging them both into a cloud of cologne.

Yoongi appears behind him in a black turtleneck and silver chain, sipping something suspicious from a mug. “Is that a horse on your shirt?” he asks Seokjin, entirely deadpan.

“It’s a stallion, Yoongi,” Jin says with attitude to spare. “Learn the difference.”

Yoongi sips again. “God help the city tonight.”

Somehow, they manage to herd themselves into a rideshare. Jimin ends up squished between Yoongi and Seokjin, who has already started pre-gaming with a flask he pulled from somewhere. Hobi’s in the front, flirting shamelessly with the driver, who seems either deeply amused or just playing along out of fear.

The first bar is a neon-lit dive called The Velvet Clam. No one knows why it’s called that. 

They tumble inside, laughing too loudly, looking like a queer remake of Ocean’s Eleven. The bartender winces when he sees them.

Namjoon’s already there, parked at the bar with his tablet in one hand and a drink in the other. His glasses are fogged from the warmth, and even in a place like this, he looks intellectual, which is harder than one might think when the music is thumping and there’s a disco ball spinning overhead.

“There he is,” Hobi beams, throwing an arm around Namjoon. “Our favorite nerd.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You’re late.”

“Not easy to travel fast with chaos and glitter,” Jimin says, jerking a thumb toward Seokjin, who is now trying to convince the bartender to make him a drink called The Pink Rodeo.

“You all look like you escaped a gay-themed Wes Anderson film,” Namjoon mutters, but he’s smiling as he slides his device into the satchel hanging from his chair.

The drinks start flowing fast. Yoongi’s already at a table, drink in hand, nodding along to the music like he’s pretending he doesn’t care, even though Jimin knows he’ll be on the dance floor in twenty minutes max.

“Okay, birthday bitch,” Hobi yells over the music, dragging Jin to the center of the room, “time to make some regrettable choices!”

“I live for regret!” Seokjin cackles.

Jimin just watches them all for a second…his ridiculous, lovable friends. 

By the second bar, the group is loud. Like, banned-from-ever-coming-back loud.

Yoongi’s been roped into a drinking game by a group of strangers who clearly have no idea what they’re in for. Jimin is clutching a drink that tastes like watermelon lip gloss. Hobi is arm-wrestling a man twice his size with enough confidence to almost make it look like a good idea.

“Is this bar made entirely of glitter?” Namjoon asks, shielding his drink from a confetti cannon that goes off next to him.

“Yes,” Jimin replies, eyes wide. 

Seokjin, meanwhile, is holding court at the corner of the bar, reciting terrible pickup lines to a pair of tourists who are laughing so hard they can barely stand.

“Are you French?” he asks them with a straight face. “Because Eiffel for you.”

Someone groans audibly. Someone else claps. Seokjin bows.

Eventually, Hobi declares it’s time. “Cypher or bust, sluts!” he shouts, already halfway out the door. Yoongi follows with the tired shuffle of someone who has seen this all before and still loves it, secretly.

They stumble through the streets like a fabulous parade of sin, Jimin laughing so hard at one of Namjoon’s dry one-liners that he nearly walks into a streetlamp. Seokjin’s hat is now tilted sideways and has somehow gained a feather. 

And then, Cypher .

The line is long. The bass from inside is thudding so hard it rattles Jimin’s ribs. Lights pulse behind tinted glass. The air smells like anticipation and someone’s strong aftershave.

On the door, arms crossed, wearing a tight black tee that does nothing to hide the muscle underneath is Jungkook. His expression is carved from granite, jaw set, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s searching for a fight or a tax fraud suspect.

Seokjin gasps like he’s seen God.

“Oh my god,” he whispers dramatically, clutching Jimin’s arm. “There he is. The love of my life. My reason. My muse.”

“He doesn’t even like people,” Jimin warns, already anticipating disaster.

“Are you calling me ‘people’?”

Before anyone can stop him, Seokjin struts forward, pink cowboy hat tilted like a threat, shoulders back, confidence radiating off him like main character energy.

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Why are you like this,” he says, deadpan, as if this is a conversation they’ve had before. Many times.

Seokjin places a dramatic hand over his heart. “Because someone has to bring a little joy to your cold, dead soul.”

“You cried the last time someone bumped into you,” Jungkook says flatly.

“They spilled my drink,” Seokjin sniffs. “A drink you bought me, might I add.”

“Only because you wouldn’t stop whining,” Jungkook deadpans. “You begged for it, then traumatized me by saying, and I quote, ‘this is the moment we’ll tell our grandkids we fell in love.’”

Seokjin winks. “See? Romantic.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose but steps aside anyway. “Just go in before I have to explain to my boss why I gave a free pass to a walking disco ball.”

“You’re lucky I’m with the boss,” Seokjin sing-songs, tossing his hair and blowing a kiss as he struts past.

Namjoon follows, looking sheepish as he passes the bouncer of his own club.

Hobi winks as he passes, and Yoongi gives Jungkook a look that might be fond or just mildly exhausted. Jungkook returns it with the smallest inclination of his head, like two people who have survived the same war.

Jimin steps up last, eyebrows raised.

“Please,” Jungkook mutters without looking at him, “tell your friend to stop looking at me like he’s about to carve our initials into a tree.”

Jimin snorts. “You’ve got until midnight before he proposes. Better start planning the wedding.”

“I’m not wearing pink,” Jungkook says, deadpan.

“You will if it’s his wedding,” Jimin fires back, grinning as he ducks inside.

Inside, Cypher is already vibrating with energy. Lights dance on the walls. The DJ is in the zone. People are everywhere. Dancing, laughing, shouting over the music. And Jin, pink hat glowing under the strobes, turns to the group with a triumphant smile.

And so the night continues. Wild. Loud. A little messy. But theirs.

This is their playfield, their home ground. Quite literally Namjoon’s property.

Not that anyone would know. He doesn’t act like an owner, doesn’t lord it over anyone. He just moves through the space like someone who’s always belonged. Someone who rebuilt something broken and gave it a heartbeat.

It was left to him by a distant relative. Namjoon isn’t really the club type, but he’s also not the kind of person to do anything halfway. So, he puts his soul into this place. 

They immediately get a round of usuals and Cypher chaos commences. The music is already thumping, deep and dirty, the kind of bass that settles in your chest and takes control of your limbs. Bodies press close. Lights strobe. Someone’s already dropped a drink.

Jimin sits at the bar for a moment, trying to rearrange his overstimulated mind. He can’t help but scan the room, mindlessly checking for that mop of brown curly hair. Nothing.

After getting practically assaulted by Hobi, who throws his whole body into a hug like Jimin’s been gone for a year instead of thirty seconds, he joins the others on the dance floor. It’s like a big bubble of heat and movement, people quite literally bumping into one another, and Seokjin is already three moves away from committing a public indecency offense.

Jimin isn’t in the mood to really dance. He’s the designated sober one tonight. Which doesn’t mean he has to drive, per se, it’s just their rule to have at least one of them sober enough to make sure the others don’t end up getting arrested or waking up in a random province. It’s a plan they’ve always had and it works.

Thank god, because Seokjin is practically giving a couple a lap dance while wearing that damn pink cowboy hat, and Hobi is probably in the bathroom puking while Yoongi holds his…well, he’s like Hobi’s shadow, so that’s exactly where he’ll be. Namjoon, who wouldn’t be able to take a day off if he was paid to, is now deep in conversation with the manager by the back exit, hands gesturing in wide, purposeful arcs.

So that leaves Jimin. Bopping along on his own, sipping a lime soda and trying not to get into his head too much.

He glances around again. Sees a few faces he might’ve considered, once. Guys with strong jaws and confident stances. Nothing catches. Nothing sticks.

It’s all Taehyung’s fault, he huffs to himself.

Anyway, he tells himself, most guys don’t know how to fuck him properly, and who says Taehyung would be any different? He’d probably just be disappointed.

Jimin clenches his jaw. Takes another sip of soda. Lets the bubbles sting his tongue.

The thing is, Taehyung isn’t even here. He probably won’t ever be here again. But Jimin looks anyway. Checks every curly-haired stranger. Waits for a ghost that never materializes.

A few songs later, some random guy starts dancing too close to Jimin. One of those guys: overconfident and clingy. The kind who treats dancing like a contact sport and thinks grinding on someone’s leg is a good opener. He’s sloppy, reeking of vodka and something sharp, arms flopping around like a particularly aggressive octopus.

Jimin tries to sidestep, once, twice. Gives the universal sign for not interested: a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. But the guy doesn’t get it. Or doesn’t care. He laughs, leans in closer, puts his sweaty hands around Jimin’s waist like they know each other.

Jimin’s face turns stone cold. He’s never had the ability to mask what he feels. Disgust twists across his features like a slap, but his body freezes.

The guy’s hand slides lower.

Jimin drops his drink. It shatters. The sound cuts clean through the music.

He plants both hands on the guy’s chest, stopping him from leaning in to kiss his cheek. His heart’s pounding now, not from fear, but from fury. From sheer exhaustion of this kind of shit happening all the time.

Then, suddenly, the guy’s hand is gone.

No, not gone. Gripped.

Wrenched backward in one fluid movement that doesn’t look violent, not really, but the look on the guy’s face says otherwise. Pure pain.

The air shifts.

Warm cologne. Chocolate. Rum. Earth after rain.

Taehyung.

He stands behind the guy, arm extended, twisting the man’s wrist back just far enough that he’s standing on tiptoe. Just far enough that his jaw is clenched and he’s gasping through his teeth.

Taehyung’s gaze slides to him like he’s something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “When someone doesn’t want you,” he says, voice low and terrifyingly calm, “you walk away. You don’t get to make their body yours just because you think you’re having fun.”

Then, with no shift in tone, he adds:

“Next time, I’ll push just a little harder. And we’ll both hear the snap.”

He lets go.

The guy stumbles, clutching his wrist, blinking like he doesn’t quite know how he ended up on the receiving end of a lesson in manners. He mutters something and disappears into the crowd.

Jimin is frozen. Mouth slightly open. Not in shock, not really, just trying to process that it’s him. That he’s here. That he smells the same. That his voice still sounds like gravel dipped in honey.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at him. 

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, his voice gentler now. The crowd still pulses around them, music thudding through the floorboards, but somehow it all feels quiet. Like they’re in a snow globe.

Jimin nods. “Yeah,” he says slowly, like he’s still catching up. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Taehyung’s hand hovers for a second, then settles lightly on Jimin’s elbow. His touch is careful, like Jimin’s made of something more delicate than he looks. His thumb brushes over the inside of Jimin’s arm, barely there, but grounding.

Jimin looks up at him and chuckles. “You always show up when I need saving.” His voice is quiet but not shy. Taehyung’s eyes, warm and deep, seem to melt into his. There’s the ghost of a smile tugging at Jimin’s lips. “Are you, like, my guardian angel or something?”

Taehyung huffs a breath of laughter. It softens him, melts a bit of that sharp, cold exterior. “If I am, someone really messed up the dress code.” He tugs at the collar of his black button-down. “Shouldn’t I have wings or something?”

“Maybe you do,” Jimin murmurs, almost to himself. “Just invisible. Silently threatening.”

That gets a real laugh out of Taehyung…soft, low, warm. His eyes crease at the corners.

“Threatening?” he echoes with a laugh.

Jimin arches a brow, playful now. “You just threatened to snap a guy’s wrist.”

“Yeah, well.” Taehyung glances toward the spot where the guy had vanished. “He was asking for it.”

He looks back at Jimin, expression folding into something quieter. There’s a weight behind his eyes that’s only visible when you know where to look. “I’m just tired of people.”

Jimin’s breath catches. Just a little. 

But then he laughs, light and wry. “Maybe you just have a hero complex.”

Taehyung hums pensively. “Maybe… Seems to be worse when you’re around.”

Disarmed once again, Jimin is determined to have the last word, he starts to mumble something. Taehyung smiles at him, adoringly, obviously seeing right through his charade as usual. But before Jimin can finish, Seokjin yells something from the bar about body shots and “somebody better hold my hat!”

Just like that, the moment bubbles and pops, and Jimin turns, sighing through a smile, already making his way over to where he’s clearly needed as the safety net for his very drunk friend.

Back at the bar, Seokjin has lost his hat, and most of his dignity, but gained a lime wedge behind each ear and what looks like an autograph on the side of his neck.

He squints when he sees Jimin returning, Taehyung not far behind. “Oh look,” he slurs dramatically, flinging an arm out like he’s presenting a game show prize. “It’s Jimin! Jimin-ah, I missed you! Ooh, hey! You brought cheekbones!”

Yoongi, leaning against the bar with a fresh drink, deadpans, “Jimin’s been here all night, Jin.”

“No he wasn’t, he was brooding off in a far far land! Anyhoo, now his sexy boyfriend is here, he’s emotionally present,” Seokjin argues, poking the air in Taehyung’s direction. “Look at that soulful expression. I bet his blood type is dramatic.”

“B-positive,” Taehyung says without missing a beat, pushing a glass of water in Seokjin’s direction, eyes twinkling just slightly. “Stay hydrated.”

Namjoon snorts into his beer at Seokjin’s disgusted expression. “It’s like watching a nature documentary where everyone’s wrecked and wearing mesh.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hobi groans, clutching Yoongi like a lifeline. “I’ve thrown up three times and I’m still prettier than all of you.”

“Debatable,” Yoongi says, but his hand is rubbing circles on Hobi’s back.

They linger for a little while longer, but the energy’s shifting now, softer around the edges, hazy with the warmth of alcohol and laughter and the kind of comfort that only old friends can pull off.

Eventually, someone (probably Namjoon, forever the reluctant adult even when it’s not his turn to be the sober one) suggests calling it a night. They pile out into the early morning air, the city buzzing around them, damp and cool against their skin.

Their walk home is slow, meandering. Taehyung’s hands are in his pockets, Jimin’s are cradling Seokjin’s shoes because Seokjin insisted his feet needed to “feel the Earth’s vibe.” Yoongi and Hobi trail behind them, bumping shoulders, whispering something in a language only they understand.

Their little pack peels away in waves.

Yoongi and Hobi are the first to vanish, slipping down a side street toward Hobi’s place, arms slung around each other, laughing low like the night belongs only to them.

Seokjin dramatically announces, “This is where I die,” and plops himself down on the curb, cradling his bare feet like they’ve just walked across fire.

Namjoon sighs so deeply it sounds like he’s aging in real time. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m an experience,” Seokjin corrects with a grin, clearly pleased with himself.

Namjoon bends down with practiced resignation and hoists him up piggyback style. “You’re a tax on my soul.”

“You love me,” Seokjin hums against his shoulder, clinging on like a koala.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, but he adjusts his grip gently before trudging off in the direction of Jin’s place. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Goodnight, you two.”

And just like that, it’s Jimin and Taehyung on the quiet street, well into the night.

“Ok, let’s play a game,” Taehyung says, nudging him gently with his shoulder as they walk side by side down the quiet street.

Jimin turns to look at him, amused. “A game?”

“Mm-hmm.” Taehyung’s eyes flick up toward the trees swaying gently in the breeze, then back to him with a small smile. “I spy.”

Jimin gives him a look. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Taehyung says, already scanning their surroundings with exaggerated seriousness. “I spy with my little eye… something beginning with ‘T’.”

Jimin snorts. “What are we, five?”

“Maybe,” Taehyung shrugs, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “But you’re playing, aren’t you?”

Jimin lets out a dramatic sigh like he’s being put out, but he can already feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine. Something that starts with T… Trees?”

“Nope.”

“Traffic light?”

“Mm-mm.”

Jimin glances sideways at him, deadpan. “Taehyung?”

Taehyung looks mock-shocked. “Wow. Someone thinks highly of me.”

Jimin laughs, the sound escaping before he can stop it. It feels easy. Real. “Was I right though?”

Taehyung glances over at him with that soft, unreadable smile he does sometimes, like he’s always holding onto some quiet secret. “Maybe.”

The streetlights flicker gently above them as they walk, casting golden puddles of light on the damp pavement. Their shoulders brush now and then, but neither of them pulls away. Somehow, it feels familiar, as if they’ve done this a hundred times before.

“I can’t believe you like I spy,” Jimin murmurs, not really meaning it.

“Yeah,” Taehyung replies, his voice quiet. “You’re still smiling.”

They walk a little farther in silence, the kind that’s easy and warm. Jimin’s heart still feels a little fizzy from laughing, and the soft glow of the streetlamps paints everything in a gentle haze. His hands swing at his sides, brushing against Taehyung’s every so often, and he doesn’t pull away.

“Alright,” Jimin says suddenly, glancing over at him with a spark in his eyes. “Your game was dumb, so now it’s my turn.”

Taehyung hums, curious. “Oh?”

“Truth or dare.”

That earns him a real smile. “Seriously?”

Jimin shrugs, biting back a grin. “Unless you’re scared.”

Taehyung gives a soft chuckle and shakes his head, gaze flickering toward the sky like he’s indulging a child. “Fine. Truth.”

Jimin grins, thinking for a moment. “Have you ever eaten anything off the floor?”

Taehyung side-eyes him. “You’re starting with war crimes, I see.”

“Answer the question!”

Taehyung pauses. “Yes. It was a gummy bear. I stand by it.”

Jimin cackles, stumbling a little as he walks. 

“Your turn,” Taehyung says, his voice low and amused. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Taehyung thinks for a beat. “If you had to survive the apocalypse with just one person, who would it be?”

Jimin narrows his eyes. “That’s a trap.”

“It’s a question.”

Jimin hesitates for a second before answering honestly, “Yoongi.”

He sees the smile pull at Taehyung’s lips; soft and maybe just a little impressed. “Seems like a solid choice.”

They keep going, volleying questions back and forth. Taehyung admits he cried during Finding Nemo , Jimin confesses to a childhood phase where he was convinced he’d grow up to be a professional magician. They laugh, tease, bump shoulders.

Jimin’s still grinning when it’s his turn again. “Okay,” he says boldly, “dare.”

That’s when Taehyung stops walking.

Jimin blinks, caught off guard. He turns to face him and Taehyung is just standing there, calm and quiet, his eyes reflecting the gold of the streetlight.

“I dare you,” he says softly, “to tell me you haven’t been thinking about me.”

Jimin’s breath catches. The playfulness disappears all at once, replaced by something weightless and electric. 

“What if I lie?” 

Without missing a beat. “You won’t.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

Taehyung doesn’t look smug. Just warm. Unshaken. Like he already knows.

Jimin lowers his gaze, suddenly aware of the way his pulse is fluttering in his throat. “I…”

He trails off.

Taehyung’s voice is even gentler now. “Alright. Let’s try a truth instead.”

He steps closer, not too close, just enough that Jimin feels the space shift between them.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

Jimin looks up, eyes wide, heart in his mouth.

And he doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to.

But he still doesn’t say anything.

His cheeks are flushed, lips parted like he might try, might find the words, but nothing comes out. There’s a flicker of something shy inside of him, not hesitation exactly, but awe. Like he can’t believe Taehyung’s really standing here, asking him something so honest, so simply. No one-liners or innuendos. 

Taehyung doesn’t rush him. He waits a beat, then takes one small step forward, close enough now that Jimin can see the flecks of amber in his eyes.

He gently reaches out, thumb and forefinger brushing the hem of Jimin’s jacket, tugging at it playfully, not pulling him closer, just touching, grounding.

His voice is soft as a wish.

“I really want you… to want me… to kiss you.”

Jimin swallows.

Taehyung’s smile is tender. “But I need you to say it.”

Jimin’s lips part again, but he doesn’t speak right away. He can’t. There’s something fluttering in his chest that makes words feel clumsy, too loud, too important.

He lets out a quiet breath, the tiniest, nervous laugh escaping him. He shakes his head, not a no, but like he can’t believe this is real. Like he’s teasing himself for being this gone.

And Taehyung, patient and quiet, doesn’t push.

He just stays there, gently holding the hem of Jimin’s jacket, looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world worth waiting for.

So Jimin does the only thing he can.

He whispers, barely audible, eyes locked on Taehyung’s.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Taehyung’s smile breaks slowly, blooming like warmth spreading through every inch of Jimin’s body.

Not smug. Not triumphant. Just so… unbelievably fond.

“Okay,” he says, as if he’s promising something.

Then he leans in.

Slow, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

And when his lips finally touch Jimin’s, it’s just like Taehyung. Soft, warm, like a cuddle. 

A secret they both already knew.

Taehyung places his hands gently on Jimin’s jaw, cupping his face as if it’s something fragile and precious. He doesn’t rush. His thumbs brush lightly over Jimin’s skin, tracing the shape of his jaw as if memorizing it, before pulling him closer. The kiss deepens just a fraction, but Taehyung’s hands stay soft, steady, and secure.

Then his hands wander, sliding to the back of Jimin’s head, fingers threading through the strands of his hair. The motion is tender, almost possessive in the best way, making Jimin feel like his world is narrowing to just this.

Every strand of hair under Taehyung’s fingertips sends an electric jolt through Jimin’s body, leaving him shivering. He can’t help the soft whine that escapes him. It’s unintentional, and it makes him feel exposed, but Taehyung doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. He only tightens his grip just a little, pulling Jimin even closer, holding him in the moment.

Jimin leans into the warmth, letting Taehyung’s touch ground him, as the kiss continues. Taehyung kisses him slowly, like he has all the time in the world. From one corner of Jimin’s mouth to the other, Taehyung’s lips press softly, lingering for just a moment, as though he’s ensuring he kisses every single millimeter. Every soft press of his lips feels deliberate.

There’s no rush, no urgency, just a quiet strength that hums beneath the surface of each kiss, and Jimin is lost in it. No tongue, just the warmth, the softness, just indulgent lips making a home on his. The feeling of Taehyung’s hands as they hold him steady, his lips claiming him in the gentlest way possible.

Jimin could stay like this forever, his entire world contained in this quiet, tender moment. He loves it. Loves the feeling of being held, of being taken like this. It’s new…it’s wonderful. 

Jimin’s heart is racing, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. He doesn’t want to.

Instead, he clutches lightly at Taehyung’s jacket, grounding himself in the feeling of being kissed so thoroughly, so tenderly, like he’s something precious.

Taehyung’s hands wander again, tracing from Jimin’s jaw down to his throat, then lower, until they settle at his waist. His grip firms just slightly, as if reminding Jimin that he’s here, that he’s holding him, that he’s not going anywhere .

Jimin shivers under the touch, overwhelmed by how secure it makes him feel.

He’s not used to this. Not used to being touched like he’s wanted .

Not used to someone handling him so carefully yet possessively , as if he’s something worth keeping .

Taehyung pulls back just enough to look at him, their foreheads brushing, their breaths mingling.

Jimin tries to say something, anything , but the words catch in his throat.

All he can do is look up at Taehyung with wide, wondering eyes.

“You’re so quiet,” Taehyung whispers, his voice low and affectionate. He smiles, a little crooked, a little knowing. His thumb strokes Jimin’s hip, slow and deliberate. “Do you know how good you are like this?”

Jimin flushes hotly, biting his lip, but he doesn’t look away.

Taehyung’s eyes soften even more and he leans in again, brushing his nose along Jimin’s cheek in a slow, almost nuzzling motion.

“I want to take care of you,” he murmurs against Jimin’s skin.

Not a question.

Jimin exhales shakily, feeling his knees weaken a little, and Taehyung immediately pulls him closer, steadying him without a word.

Holding him firm. Holding him safe .

It hits Jimin then, how different this feels.

He’s used to people not knowing how to handle him.

Used to eager hands and careless mouths, people trying too hard, being too loud, pushing and pulling like if they just did more , he might feel something.

But this…

This quiet storm that is Taehyung, the calm beat of his drum, folds around Jimin like a secret. Like something inevitable.

Taehyung doesn’t have to try . He just is .

And Jimin, caught up in the soft strength of it, realises: this is exactly how he wants to be touched. How he wants to be wanted. 

Worshipped, not in noise or chaos, but in steadiness.

In the gentle, unhurried way, Taehyung holds him close, like he’s already his.

The cool night air finally brushes against the flushed skin of Jimin’s cheeks, making him shiver.

Taehyung notices immediately. Of course he does.

He pulls back just enough to meet Jimin’s eyes, his hands still cupping Jimin’s jaw like he’s reluctant to let go.

“You’re cold,” Taehyung says, quiet and full of something unspoken.

Jimin opens his mouth to deny it, out of habit or pride, but the words die when Taehyung’s thumb brushes tenderly across his cheekbone.

“Come on,” Taehyung says instead, voice low and sure. “Let’s get you inside.”

Chapter Text

Moodboard is as always created by the fabulous Vminie_Cie7 ❤️‍🔥

Jimin lets himself be guided as they walk side by side down the empty street. He feels Taehyung’s hand brush against his own, not holding yet, just there, offering.

They don’t speak. They don’t need to.

Every step toward Jimin’s apartment hums with quiet anticipation, like the whole world is holding its breath. When they reach his building, Jimin fiddles a little with his keys, nerves and excitement tangling in his chest.

Taehyung waits patiently behind him. Never rushing nor expecting.

As soon as the door swings open, Jimin steps inside and turns to face him. Taehyung is right there, one hand braced on the doorframe, looking at him like he’s already home.

Jimin’s voice is barely a whisper. “Do you… want to come in?”

Taehyung’s smile is soft, almost shy, but there’s no hesitation. “I was hoping you’d ask,” he murmurs.

Jimin steps aside to let him in, heart hammering so loudly he’s sure Taehyung can hear it.

In the lift, Taehyung stands close. Close enough for Jimin to feel the heat of his body. They don’t speak. Taehyung just reaches for his hand and holds it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jimin’s mind is buzzing. He’s thinking about the state of the apartment. Whether he left dishes in the sink. Whether his sheets are still tangled from the morning. Whether Taehyung will care.

Probably not.

But still.

He wants it to be nice. Wants it to be easy. Wants to not want so much.

He punches in the code to his door, and as soon as they step inside, everything changes. All the bravado from the club disappears, replaced by something jittery. Butterflies let loose in his chest, almost enough to make him dizzy.

Jimin toes off his shoes clumsily by the door, trying not to look as flustered as he feels, but Taehyung just watches him with that same calm gaze, hands tucked loosely into his jacket pockets like he has all the time in the world.

He closes behind them with a soft click, and the world seems to shrink down to just the two of them.

Jimin hovers, unsure of what to do with his hands; his fingers tug at the hem of his shirt.

Taehyung just steps in a little closer, close enough that Jimin can feel the softness radiating from him.

He reaches out, his hand brushing lightly over Jimin’s forearm. “Still cold?” he asks, voice low, almost a whisper.

“A little,” Jimin admits, voice just as soft.

Taehyung’s lips curl into the gentlest smile. “Want to sit down?” He asks, tilting his head slightly toward the living room, but there’s something in his voice, one that silently says, "it's okay."

Jimin lifts his eyes, pulling up the mask he knows best. A little shy, a little brave, reaching for the familiar comfort of boldness even though it feels shaky in his hands.

“My room’s warmer,” he says, managing a smile that almost holds.

For a beat, Taehyung just looks at him. Through him.

And then with a soft smile he nods, slow, easy, no pressure at all. “Okay,” he says simply, letting Jimin lead the way.

The hallway feels shorter than it should, the atmosphere alive and humming, and when they finally reach Jimin’s bedroom.

Jimin’s fingers slip on the door handle, suddenly all thumbs, clumsy with the nerves rushing through him. The weight of it all lands heavy and sudden, stealing the air from his chest.

Taehyung steps in behind him, close. His hand comes to rest over Jimin’s chest, fingers splayed gently, anchoring him there. The warmth of it is soothing.

“Slowly, baby,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice low and calm against Jimin’s ear. Not coaxing, just present.

Jimin exhales shakily and leans back a little, letting his weight tip into the solid shape of Taehyung behind him. His chest rises and falls beneath Taehyung’s palm. He closes his eyes for a second and just breathes.

Then, quieter: “Hey,” Taehyung says, his lips barely brushing his skin. “Only if you want to.”

He waits. Really waits.

Jimin doesn’t answer right away. Lets the moment hold him.

And then, with the smallest tilt of his head, he nods. “I do..want to.”

Taehyung shifts just slightly, never rushing. He leans in to press a gentle kiss to Jimin's jaw and reaches down, guiding Jimin’s hand to the doorknob with his own, slow and sure.

The door opens with a soft creak. The air inside is cooler, touched with night. The bed’s unmade, clothes thrown over the chair in the corner, the outfits Seokijn deemed unworthy of his birthday hanging off the end of the bed.

But the silence is gentle. And nothing about it asks for more than Jimin is ready to give.

Taehyung steps inside after him and closes the door behind them with a soft click, sealing them into a small world that ironically seems a little less chaotic. Like his mind can stop racing.

Jimin stands awkwardly near the bed, twisting the fabric of his shirt between his fingers, nerves lighting up every inch of him. Before he can overthink it, before he can drown in the heavy quiet, he blurts out, laughing a little breathlessly, “Ugh, I’m nervous.”

It spills out so honestly that even Jimin surprises himself. But Taehyung only smiles, soft and understanding, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He crosses the room in slow, easy steps and stops in front of him, close but not crowding.

He raises one hand and lightly tugs at the fabric Jimin is worrying between his fingers and smiles. He moves carefully, like he’s got all night. He brushes Jimin’s hair back from his forehead, trailing soft fingers along his jaw.

“You don’t have to be,” he says gently, voice a melody in the quiet. 

Jimin shivers again, but it’s not from the cold.

He’s not trying to impress Jimin. He’s just being Taehyung, steady, sure, and devastatingly gentle and it’s the most intoxicating thing Jimin’s ever felt

Jimin gives a softer laugh this time, the tension bleeding out of him under Taehyung’s steady hands.

Taehyung brushes Jimin’s stubborn hair back from his forehead again, thumb trailing lightly along his temple this time before kissing him there. Soft and sweet. “Maybe you can just let me take care of you,” he murmurs, voice low and so gentle it feels like a secret.

The words hit Jimin like a slow wave… warm, aching, and disarming in their quiet sincerity.

He smiles up at him, feeling almost like a younger version of himself. A more innocent version of himself, who would’ve loved nothing more than to have someone say, 'Let me take care of you,' in the past.

Taehyung’s hands rise to cradle his jaw, thumbs sweeping in slow, grounding circles against the soft skin beneath his cheeks. It makes Jimin’s knees go weak, makes his chest flutter with something he can’t quite understand. He doesn’t pull away. He wants to fall forward into this, let himself be caught. Be held. Be wanted like this.

Taehyung leans in, resting his forehead gently against Jimin’s, their noses brushing. “Just you and me. Nothing to worry about,” he says, a low promise. His voice is so close that it grazes Jimin’s lips like a breeze. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Jimin’s heart clenches, tender and alive.

He shakes his head, feeling small and breathless.

Taehyung’s smile deepens, soft and satisfied. “Good,” he whispers, and kisses him again.

It’s slow. The kind of kiss that nourishes you, that fills the space inside your chest you didn’t even know was empty. Gentle presses of lips, no tongue, no urgency, just the certainty of being wanted, kissed like Taehyung was waiting for this as much as him. Jimin melts into it, eyes fluttering closed, fingers curling into the fabric of Taehyung’s jacket.

They linger like that, suspended in the hush between heartbeats, until Taehyung finally draws back, just enough to meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are deep, dark with something quiet but unmistakably intense.

He brushes his thumb along the corner of Jimin’s mouth, like he’s memorising the shape of it. The night seems darker now, like a shield of some kind from the rest of the world. 

Taehyung's hands come to rest at Jimin’s hips. He leans in, nudging their noses together in a barely-there touch before kissing him once more, slow and sure. Jimin’s hands find the lapels of Taehyung’s jacket, and he takes them between his fingers, not to pull him closer yet, just to feel him in his hands.

And then Taehyung murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, “Lay down, baby.”

It’s not a command, but it settles over Jimin like gravity.

He obeys without thinking, heart fluttering wildly as he sinks back onto the bed. The sheets are cool against his back, but the way Taehyung follows makes warmth bloom beneath his skin.

Taehyung climbs over him, bracing himself on his elbows, one knee slipping between Jimin’s legs as he settles. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grab. He just… moves like he belongs there.

And Jimin lets him. Wants him.

Wants this.

Taehyung is a welcome weight on top of him. The feeling of being caged under him is unexpectedly good.

He surrounds Jimin in the best way; arms braced on either side of his head, his body warm and solid above him. Jimin lets his legs fall open, a quiet offering, and Taehyung accepts it without hesitation, slipping between them like he was always meant to be there.

No scrambling hands, no tugging clothes, just Taehyung, composed and unhurried, kissing the curve of Jimin’s neck, the slope of his collarbone. He shifts Jimin’s shirt off one shoulder with the care of someone opening a gift, pressing a kiss there, too.

He’s still in his leather jacket, which should feel out of place, but it doesn’t. There’s something unbearably hot about the contrast, rough and cool against Jimin’s skin, while Taehyung’s mouth is so warm, so soft. Jimin already feels completely undone.

“I wanted to kiss you so much,” Taehyung murmurs between soft presses of his lips. He trails one hand up Jimin’s side, thumb brushing over the fabric of his shirt, like he’s mapping him slowly. “That night,” he adds, voice low, “the night we met, I wanted to wrap you up and take you home.”

A sound slips from Jimin’s throat, half a laugh, half a whimper, the image hitting him like a warm jolt straight to the chest.

“I’m pretty sure I would’ve come with you,” Jimin blurts, breath hitching as Taehyung’s fingers begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. “You were so quiet and…mysterious.” He exhales a sigh, gaze fixed on Taehyung’s lashes as they lower over his beautiful eyes.

Taehyung pauses, his hands resting lightly on Jimin’s chest. “This still okay?”

Jimin doesn’t even need to think. He nods, slow, certain. “Yeah,” he breathes.

And with that gentle confirmation, Taehyung continues, slowly parting the shirt to reveal Jimin’s bare chest. His expression changes then…deepens, something hungry and reverent in his eyes. His hands press against Jimin’s sides, fingers spreading wide, dipping into the subtle ridges between his ribs like he wants to memorise him by touch alone.

He leans down and kisses along Jimin’s right collarbone, slower this time, more purposeful. Jimin sighs, the sound light and breathy, like he’s trying not to crumble under it.

“That’s nice,” he murmurs.

Taehyung hums, a low, throaty sound that vibrates against Jimin’s skin.

“Yeah?” he says softly. “You like being taken care of?”

Jimin doesn’t answer right away. He just lets himself feel, lets the moment wrap around him like a blanket. The softness. The steadiness. The way Taehyung handles him, like something precious, not fragile. He lets his mind rest. For once. 

He nods, eyes fluttering closed, maybe a little embarrassed, and whispers, “Mmm, feels good.”

Taehyung chuckles, soft and light, like a feather swirling in the air as it floats down, refusing to let gravity rush it. He continues to paint Jimin’s chest with kisses and caresses, and Jimin can’t help but picture him in front of a canvas, creating art the same way he’s smothering him now. It’s intoxicating. Every movement is deliberate, each touch a brushstroke that leaves heat bleeding in its wake.

The sheer size of Taehyung’s hands makes a moan scratch at Jimin’s throat from within. They span the width of his waist easily, holding him in place without force.

Taehyung kisses down his sides, a place not many ever take the time for, or maybe don’t even think about, but fuck, it feels so good.

He’s so engrossed in the feeling of Taehyung’s long fingers spread over him, of lips trailing places no one’s kissed before, that he almost misses it when Taehyung noses against the jut of his hipbone. It sticks out a little; Jimin’s always been petite, and Taehyung sighs like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen before pressing his lips there.

“You have the most perfect body, you know?” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, like budding thorns catching against silk. Like he’s losing himself a little too, and it makes Jimin smile.

“I mean…” Jimin mumbles, trying to play it off. “I haven’t measured myself since I was about seventeen, but last time I checked I was still kinda short.”

Taehyung lifts his head, leaning over Jimin again, surrounding him like a gentle predator. He smiles down at him, slow, deliberate. “To me, you are perfect.”

Oh fuck.

That goes straight to Jimin’s dick. Fuck.

Taehyung must know exactly what he’s doing, because he grins, full and knowing, and Jimin swears he can feel the smirk radiating off of him.

“Your body is soft…” Taehyung murmurs and presses a kiss to that soft part of Jimin’s stomach.

“Warm.” Another kiss, this time over his chest.

“Responsive.” He hooks his fingers into Jimin’s waistband, tugging slowly, teasing.

Jimin gasps, a soft, involuntary sound, as Taehyung’s mouth brushes just beneath the waistband of his briefs. The contact is maddeningly light, and it makes something flutter in Jimin’s stomach, something hot and helpless. His hips twitch before he can stop them.

Taehyung hums against his skin, obviously pleased with the reaction he's getting. His lips curve into the faintest smile as he kisses the same spot again. Then another, just to the left. He lifts his head, eyes dragging up Jimin’s body as he settles fully between his thighs, one large hand smoothing slowly along his side, fingers spread wide still.

“You’re playing right into my hands,” Taehyung murmurs, like he’s stating a fact rather than teasing.

Jimin doesn’t say anything; he can’t, really. His mouth is parted, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, heart thrumming somewhere in his throat. He swallows and presses his head back against the pillow, hands twitching, not knowing what to do with themselves.

Taehyung shifts, nudging Jimin’s thighs open just a little wider with his own. His movements are unhurried, his gaze patient, watchful, like he’s listening without sound, reading Jimin’s body with every quiet motion.

He dips again, warm mouth trailing lower, and this time Jimin’s fingers twitch like he wants to reach for him, and maybe he would, if his whole body weren’t already buzzing, suspended in the heat that’s rising between them.

“Breathe,” Taehyung says gently, the word brushing Jimin’s belly as he speaks. “You’re doing so well, baby.”

Jimin exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut as heat spreads under his skin.

Taehyung trails his hand down Jimin’s chest, over the soft of his tummy, thumb brushing lazily under the band of his briefs. He doesn’t pull yet, just touches. Just holds. Like he’s making sure Jimin stays present with him, right there.

“You’re tense,” Taehyung murmurs, voice low and fond. “You're not trying to be quiet, are you?”

Jimin lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “No?”

Taehyung’s smile is audible in his voice. “Sweetheart, that won't do,” he says. “Tell me, baby. Let me hear everything.”

And then, he takes a step back and pushes Jimin’s legs closed again. Jimin’s eyebrows pull together; he’s about to whine in protest when Taehyung peels back Jimin’s briefs, just enough to free his weeping cock. He’s slow and careful, exposing him to the cool air of the room. The elastic of Jimin’s pants holds his thighs together, and for some reason that’s hot as fuck. 

Taehyung glances at him once, checking, and when Jimin nods, eyes glassy and dark, he kneels either side of Jimin’s legs and leans down again.

For a moment, he just breathes there, nosing at the crease of his thigh, close enough for Jimin to feel the ghost of warm air over his skin. His hands rest firm against Jimin’s thighs, holding him exactly where he wants him. The anticipation curls low and tight in his belly and Jimin can't help but throw his head back, eyes shut tight.

Then all of a sudden, Taehyung’s mouth is around him, and it's indescribable. His mouth is warm, God, so warm, and gentle in a way that makes Jimin’s spine arch before he can stop it. There’s no theatrics, no rush. Just slow, steady devotion. He licks, sucks, pauses to breathe against sensitive skin, as though it’s all part of the rhythm he’s creating.

Jimin makes a soft, fractured sound, one hand finally reaching down to grip at the sleeve of Taehyung’s jacket, not pulling, just holding.

Taehyung hums in approval and presses his palm flat against Jimin’s hip to steady him, fingers flexing just slightly.

“Perfect,” he says again, voice low and velvety, like he’s slipping it under Jimin’s skin.

Jimin’s unravelling slowly, like thread pulled from a reel. It’s not just arousal; it’s something more than that. More personal, more intimate.

“Taehyung,” he breathes, unsure if it’s a plea or a prayer.

Taehyung lifts his head, lips kiss-swollen and slick, eyes dark but still gentle. “Yeah, baby?”

Jimin’s hand trembles slightly against his arm. “I don’t want to… not yet.”

Taehyung doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t question. He just nods, as if that was the answer he hoped for.

He leans up, slow and calm, until they’re chest to chest again, until the warmth of his body wraps around Jimin like a shield. He cups Jimin’s face in both hands, presses a kiss to his forehead, soft and still and safe.

“You won’t,” he says quietly, with a certainty that makes Jimin’s heart stutter. “Not even if you try.”

Taehyung’s lips are still slick when he kisses Jimin’s chest, as if he's silently trying to learn him by heart by mouthing at his skin. And Jimin can only tremble beneath him, breath shallow, knees soft and falling further apart without even thinking about it.

The only thing Jimin can feel is Taehyung. His mouth, his hands, the firm weight of his body, pressing just enough to keep him steady, but never too much. Never taking more than Jimin gives. 

Taehyung lifts his head and hovers over him. “Still with me?” he asks, voice low, velvet-dipped.

Jimin nods. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first, only the soft exhale of air that sounds vaguely like 'yes'.

“I want to see all of you,” he says quietly.

It’s not a demand, and that’s what makes it so effective. Jimin doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his hips, lets Taehyung pull everything down in one slow drag that leaves him bare and shivering under the weight of Taehyung’s gaze.

And God, the way he looks at him.

Not like a prize. Not like a conquest. Like something he’s been searching for.

His hand gently grazes Jimin’s thighs. He strokes the outside of them before curling around to lift his leg slightly, to open him further. Jimin lets himself be handled. 

A soft moan leaves his lips, unbidden, as Taehyung looks at him. All of him. 

He’s still fully clothed, the leather of his jacket creaking softly every time he moves. It shouldn’t be sexy. It really shouldn’t. But it is. Everything about him is.

“Okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, a little hoarse now, like the restraint is starting to show.

Jimin nods, cheeks flushed, thighs trembling slightly. “Yeah,” he breathes. “More than.”

Taehyung smiles, barely, just the smallest curve of his lips, but it’s devastating. He leans back in to kiss Jimin again, slower this time. The slide of his hand down Jimin’s bare thigh, this time with real intention.

“You’re still trembling,” Taehyung murmurs.

“I’m not cold,” Jimin whispers back.

“I know.” Taehyung presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “You’re excited.”

The words shoot straight through him. It’s not dirty the way he says it; it’s not cocky, either. It’s just… fact. Like he’s reading Jimin’s body as a blind man would braille, tracing every curve and reaction and understanding him.

And he is.

Taehyung kneels back, between Jimin’s thighs, shrugging off his jacket finally, revealing the cling of his shirt underneath, the lines of him sharp and soft all at once. The inside of the jacket is lined with something heavy. A flash of black. Something almost tactical. But Jimin is too gone to care. He looks down at Jimin like something he plans to savour.

His hands come to Jimin’s knees, easing them apart with a gentle pressure, and takes a moment just to look, curiosity dancing in his eyes. It makes Jimin blush. Then he settles between them again, fully clothed, so composed. His hand strokes slowly up Jimin’s thigh, fingertips feather-light, circling higher and higher until Jimin’s chest is rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.

Taehyung leans down again, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to Jimin’s inner thighs, pausing to suck a mark just above his knee, then another farther up, just because he can. Jimin gasps when he gets close, his breath stutters, his fingers clutch the sheets.

“You’re doing so good,” Taehyung says against his skin. “Just let go, yeah?”

Jimin whimpers, nods, barely able to form a thought.

Then Taehyung pulls back just long enough to retrieve something from his jacket pocket: a small bottle of lube.

He holds it up, wordless, brows slightly raised, still checking in, even now.

“Yes,” Jimin says before the question fully lands. “God, yes.”

Taehyung gives a soft chuckle, quiet approval rumbling in his chest. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, slicking his fingers with a slow, deliberate movement. “Just breathe, baby.”

And then he’s touching him again… slow circles, teasing but not cruel. Taehyung watches his face the entire time, reading every twitch of muscle, every change in breath.

“Deep breath,” he says softly, and Jimin does.

The first finger slides in with aching slowness, and Jimin lets out a trembling sigh, back arching just slightly.

“There you go,” Taehyung praises, kissing the inside of his thigh again. “Just like that.”

He works Jimin open with patience and care, whispering soft things the whole time… how good he is, how warm and perfect he feels, how beautiful he looks like this.

By the time Taehyung presses a second finger inside, Jimin’s practically floating. His head is tipped back, his cheeks pink, his body boneless under the careful, thorough way Taehyung touches him. It’s not just preparation; it’s worship, plain and simple. Like he’s showing Jimin with every stroke that he has no intention of being like anyone else.

And Jimin? Jimin’s falling, hard.

When Taehyung leans up again, hovering over him, chest brushing Jimin’s with every breath, he nudges their foreheads together and asks in that low, delicious voice, “Still with me, baby?”

Jimin nods, panting softly. “Please.”

Taehyung hums again. “We’re getting there. Just want you ready. Want you to feel everything.” He says, gently arching his fingers to accentuate his words. 

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, heart thudding. He can't help but hope that Taehyung might be the one to finally give him what he wants. The thing burning at the back of his throat, the thing he’s too embarrassed to ask for. 

It’s there, coiled up inside him, waiting. Longing.

He clings to the sheets again, jaw slack with the soft, unfiltered sounds spilling from his mouth. There’s no pressure to be quiet. No need to hold anything in. Taehyung had made that clear. 

‘Tell me, baby. Let me hear everything.’

So he does.

Tiny gasps and breathy moans and those little bitten-off cries that Taehyung seems to love, if the way he croons soft praises is anything to go by.

“That’s it,” he murmurs now, pressing in a third finger with aching care, and Jimin lets out a full-bodied whimper, hips rocking helplessly.

“So beautiful,” Taehyung whispers. 

Jimin lets his head loll to the side, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. He feels raw in the best way. Stripped bare and wanted. Handled, but never pushed.

Still, the thing inside him grows.

That heat. That ache. That desperate want to ask.

But the words feel enormous. Too vulnerable. Too greedy, maybe.

He almost lets it go, almost decides to just ride the high of this perfect, perfect moment. But then Taehyung leans down again, mouthing at his jawline, nuzzling the space just below his ear as his fingers move a little deeper, a little firmer.

“I’ve got you,” he says so quietly, like a vow.

Taehyung’s voice curls around him like smoke. Steady. Low. Full of quiet praise.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, and it’s not just comfort; it’s a promise. Like nothing Jimin does could ever scare him off.

The fingers slide out slowly, deliberately, and Jimin whines at the loss, his body already aching for more. Before he can fully come down from it, Taehyung is there, lining himself up, one hand splayed wide over Jimin’s thigh, holding him steady.

Jimin’s heart skips as he hears the crinkle of a wrapper, quick, practiced. He watches, dazed, as Taehyung rolls the condom on, slow and methodical. 

“Look at me,” Taehyung says softly, and Jimin does.

“Breathe,” 

And then… he presses in. Careful. Like always.

It’s slow. Torturously slow. Jimin gasps, fingers scrabbling at the sheets again, but Taehyung just cups his face, grounding him with his palm as his hips sink forward, inch by inch.

“You’re so good,” he murmurs, and Jimin feels his chest swell with something sharp and sweet. “Let me in, sweetheart. Just like that.”

By the time Taehyung bottoms out, Jimin’s head is thrown back, lips parted around a soft moan.

Taehyung stays still for a moment, letting Jimin adjust, stroking his hip gently, thumb brushing circles into his skin.

Then he begins to move.

Rhythmic. Deep. Measured. Like he’s building something special between them.

And it’s too much. It’s not enough. Jimin doesn’t know how to hold it in.

His legs tremble where they’re wrapped around Taehyung’s hips, and his hands reach up, not knowing what they want until Taehyung’s fingers tangle with his, holding them tight above his head.

The words start building again, raw and unspoken. That one request he so desperately wants to ask for.

But then, just when Taehyung hits that one spot just right, again and again, Jimin breaks. A cry falls from his lips, raw and desperate.

Taehyung stills for half a second, his breath hitching. “Aww, sweetheart, is that it? ’S that your spot?” He leans down, kisses Jimin’s jaw, then murmurs low against his skin, “Tell me, baby, is this how you like it?”

Jimin’s eyes flutter open, dazed and glassy. “Yes,” he whispers, voice trembling. “Just like that."

Taehyung groans soft and deep, like the sound is being pulled straight from his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You like my dick, baby?”

Jimin nods, fast, desperate. “Yes.”

And just like that, the rhythm changes.

Not rough, not wild… just deeper. Tighter. Purposeful.

Taehyung says, kissing his temple. “You didn’t even look, angel.” He murmurs in his ear, “You should see how good we look like this.” He leans back and looks down at where he disappears inside of Jimin.

Jimin can’t even form words anymore. Just nods, breathless, holding on tight as he cranes his neck to look down. He gasps at the sight. Taehyung’s big, really big. Long and thick and the most beautiful caramel colour. Jimin whines pitifully as he falls back into the mattress.

Taehyung chuckles, never missing a beat. “You see why I wanted you nice and prepped?” he asks, gently massaging Jimin’s rim where it stretches around his cock.

His breath comes out in little gasps now, hips rocking to meet each deep, smooth stroke. Taehyung shifts just a fraction, driving in with perfect, devastating precision.

Jimin cries out, a high, broken sound that punches straight from his chest.

“There,” he gasps, thighs shaking. "Keep doing that."

Taehyung groans above him, low and dark, and does it again. Harder. Slower. Deliberate.

“You like that?” he murmurs, hips grinding deep, cock dragging along that same spot until Jimin’s whole body trembles. “I know you do. You clenched so tight, baby.”

Jimin tries to answer, but all that comes out is a choked sob. He arches beneath him, the pleasure blooming too sharp, too much.

But Taehyung just shushes him gently, presses a warm, steady hand to his lower belly, holding him down like a paperweight, grounding him.

“Don’t run,” he says, gentle but firm. “You can take it, baby. I know you can.”

Jimin nods frantically, eyes wet, heart pounding. “I—I can. Please don’t stop.”

“That’s it.” Taehyung’s smile is quiet, reverent. His hand slides lower, slow and sure, until it settles over Jimin’s cock: flushed and leaking where it lies against his stomach.

He doesn’t jerk him. Doesn’t grip. Just cups him. Holds him down.

“You’re so sensitive,” he breathes, pressing his palm down just enough to make Jimin twitch.

Jimin chokes on a whine, back arching into the touch. Taehyung doesn’t stroke him, doesn’t even grip him. Just holds him down, wide palm warm and heavy, with just enough pressure to make Jimin squirm helplessly.

“You like this?” he asks, voice velvet-soft. “My cock buried in you, my hand right here, holding you?”

Jimin nods desperately, a long, shivering moan breaking free from his very soul.

Taehyung hums. Pleased and confident, he leans forward to mouth at Jimin’s chest, teeth catching just lightly on a nipple before soothing the bite with his tongue.

“You’re doing so good,” Taehyung whispers, grinding in deeper again, then holding there. “So pretty.”

His thumb drags lazily through the slick precum gathered on Jimin’s belly, then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on Jimin’s face.

"All Mine."

Jimin groans, more of a cry than a sound, overwhelmed and unravelling.

“Stay with me,” Taehyung whispers, brushing a knuckle under Jimin’s chin, tilting his face up. “I want you right here.”

Then, like he’s rewarding him for his obedience, he finally, finally, starts to stroke him. Slow, lazy pulls, thumb catching on the head every time it drags up. The contrast is dizzying. Taehyung’s cock buried deep, that steady rhythm inside, slow and smooth, the pressure perfect, in sync with the deep roll of his hips.

Jimin keens.

He’s trembling now, breathless and soaked in sweat, caught between pleasure and the unbearable ache of being held on the edge.

“Too much?” Taehyung asks, soft and teasing.

Jimin shakes his head violently. “No! God no, please, just…please.”

Taehyung smiles again, all soft affection and dark promise. “You’re so close, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” Jimin chokes. “So close, please–”

Taehyung leans down again, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You gonna cum like this?” he murmurs. “From my cock inside you and my hand on you?”

Jimin moans, helpless, high-pitched and needy.

But then, Taehyung slows again. He holds steady. He waits.

Jimin cries out, body straining, but Taehyung just holds him loose, stroking light and maddening, thrusts going deeper instead of faster, measured, controlled, relentless.

He sobs, frustrated, but the ache just coils tighter. He’s burning from the inside out, undone by every word, every touch.

Jimin’s whole body is shaking now, stretched taut like wire, the pleasure too much, not enough, circling just out of reach. And Taehyung, infuriating, devastating Taehyung, is calm as ever. Focused. His strokes never sloppy, his thrusts never rushed.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently, lips brushing along Jimin’s cheek, “you’re holding back; I can feel you.”

“I’m—” Jimin gasps, back arching, eyes wide and wet. 

“Don’t,” Taehyung murmurs. “Not with me.”

He fucks in deep again, dragging a sound from Jimin that’s part moan, part cry.

“I want everything,” he whispers. “I don’t want to guess, baby. Tell me what you want.”

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. His body knows, God, it knows. But saying it? It’s too much. Too vulnerable. Too filthy. Too…

He bites his lip. Whimpers.

Taehyung slows even more, pulling out until just the head remains, circling his hips in shallow, maddening rolls.

“It’s okay,” he coaxes, with a kiss to Jimin’s lips, unfairly tender. “I won’t stop. I won’t judge. Just tell me.”

Jimin’s heart pounds so hard it shakes his chest.

“I…” He swallows. His fingers twitch where they grip the sheets, shame and need tangling in his throat.

Taehyung doesn’t move. Doesn’t push. Just waits… cock heavy and hot inside him, one hand still pressed down on Jimin’s cock, the other grounding him steady at the hip.

Jimin finally looks up. Forces his voice through the thickness in his throat.

“I want you to stay…”

A pause.

“I want to feel it. When you… inside.”

It lands soft, shaky, full of ache. A secret dragged out of him.

For a moment, Taehyung doesn’t breathe. Just looks down at him, head gently tilting to the side with a look of awe in his soft eyes.

Then he groans, a sound pulled straight from his chest, and presses their foreheads together, eyes dark and stunned and wrecked.

Jimin’s face flushes hard. He wants to hide but can’t.

“You want me to pump you full?” Taehyung whispers, voice rough now, deep in a way that makes Jimin clench around him.

A choked whine answers him.

“Oh, angel. You're so sweet,” Taehyung says, hips rolling. “Didn’t even ask for more than I was already giving you. Just waited so patiently. Let me take care of you.”

He smiles, soft and wild. “And it’s funny," he laughs, "you ask like you don’t already own me.”

The control is still there, darker now, more intimate. Possessive, in the way devotion sometimes is.

He leans to Jimin’s ear, kisses trailing heat along his throat.

“You want me to cum inside you?”

Jimin nods, whimpering, like the words hit somewhere deep and tender.

Taehyung growls, hand tightening, rhythm shifting, deeper, hungrier, hips pushing into him slow and hard.

“I’m going to fill you so good, baby, you’ll feel me for days.”

Jimin’s holding on by a thread. Just the thought of Taehyung, gorgeous Taehyung, fucking his orgasm into him, twitching, gasping, coming undone inside him.

It’s too much.

Taehyung kisses him again, deep and brief, then pulls back, slipping out slow. 

Jimin makes a soft, involuntary sound, body twitching at the loss.

Taehyung laughs under his breath, affectionate and fond, then rolls the condom off with a practised snap.

Jimin watches him. Watches the way Taehyung strokes himself once, twice, then lines up again, bare this time, raw, perfect.

And for the first time since they began, Taehyung’s control slips.

His eyes roll back slightly, breath catching as he sinks back in, thick and hot and so fucking bare.

They both moan.

Together. Ragged. Overwhelmed.

And Jimin fucking loves it.

Taehyung moves like the moment demands it: slow, heavy, deep. Like it's somehow more special now.

Jimin can’t stop trembling. Every breath is a gasp; every touch leaves him raw. He’s never felt anything like this. Not just the stretch, the heat, the slick press of Taehyung moving inside him, but the knowing. 

“Still with me, baby?” Taehyung whispers, voice frayed at the edges.

Jimin nods, barely. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Not going anywhere,” Taehyung murmurs. “Not till you fall apart for me.”

And God. He does.

He feels the climb before he even realises it’s happening. That low, helpless pull in his gut. The kind that builds slow and unbearable. His cock leaks into the space between them, untouched now, and it doesn’t matter. He’s going to cum. Just like this. From this.

Taehyung knows. Of course he knows. He watches him like the whole world exists in the flush of his cheeks and the twitch of his thighs.

“That’s it,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Let me feel you cum around me. Wanna feel you clench.”

And Jimin cums.

It takes him apart, whole and shaking, a cry tearing from his throat as he cums with his whole body, wrecked and wide open, Taehyung buried deep inside him.

Taehyung moans low and broken, hands tightening where they hold him.

“Fuck! Jimin, baby,” he gasps, and it happens.

Jimin feels it, the thick, hot warmth spilling inside him, pulsing through every inch of where they’re joined. It’s not just the physical rush. It’s the way Taehyung shudders against him, the way his breath stutters, the way he groans like Jimin’s name is the only thing that holds him to the earth.

There’s so much of it. Jimin swears he can feel it drip, slow and hot, deep inside. It makes him tighten again, involuntarily, and Taehyung curses under his breath, pressing their foreheads together like he might fall apart.

Taehyung’s hips stutter once, twice, as he rides it out, lips parting around a breathless sound that’s so incredibly beautiful.

Jimin’s eyes flutter closed. His limbs are boneless, trembling. And still, he doesn’t want Taehyung to move. Not yet.

Taehyung doesn’t. He stays right there, panting, rooted to him, one hand stroking Jimin’s side in slow, reverent lines.

They breathe together for a long time. Quiet and wrecked. The air is thick with sweat and something else, something tender.

Finally, Taehyung lifts his head. Brushes the damp hair from Jimin’s forehead.

“You okay?” he whispers.

Jimin blinks up at him. Blushes. Nods. “Yeah. I… yeah.”

Taehyung smiles, soft and kind. Then he leans down and kisses him. Not deep, not hungry, just him.

Jimin swallows. His voice is small. “Can you stay… like this? Just for a minute.”

Taehyung’s hand lifts, brushing the backs of his fingers across Jimin’s cheek.

“As long as you want,” he murmurs.

Chapter Text

Moodboard creator and the best, most wonderful beta is none other than the beautiful Vminie_Cie7

- Taehyung - 

Jimin’s room is warm in a way Taehyung didn’t expect. Not just the temperature, that too, but the little details: clothes draped over the back of the chair, jewellery hung neatly beside the mirror, a half-burnt candle on the windowsill. It’s intimate. Uncurated. And Taehyung likes that more than he should. This could still just be a one-night thing. 

God, he hopes not. 

Especially now, with Jimin sleeping deeply, wrapped around his chest, breathing slow and sweet against his skin.

It’s stupid how much this already means to him. But Jimin pulled him in like gravity, soft and sexy all at once. And now that he’s here, now that he’s had him, he knows there’s no going back.

He’s completely wrecked. Mentally, emotionally, physically.

Taehyung thinks about the way Jimin asked for it. The way his voice had broken. I want to feel it. When you… inside.

He nearly lost it then. Just the memory makes his cock twitch pathetically against the soft press of Jimin’s thigh.

If they were together, really together, he wouldn’t be able to help himself. He’d wake Jimin with his fingers, coaxing any leftover cum from his hole, rubbing it back in slow, filthy circles until he was whining and desperate and begging to be filled again.

Taehyung exhales through his nose. Tries to rein it in.

Unsuccessfully, his dick is intent on ignoring his brain entirely, thickening against the bare skin of Jimin’s leg like it has its own agenda.

He lets his fingers trail lazily up and down Jimin’s arm, featherlight, barely-there touches. He wishes he could stay awake just to memorise the weight of Jimin’s body against him, the quiet of the room, the warmth of being wanted. But he’s been running on fumes for days, and no matter how unfamiliar someone else’s bed usually feels, this one feels right.

Here, with Jimin, it feels like his body finally understands rest.

And sleep comes for him slowly. Soft. Certain. And when it takes him under, it’s a gift.

The smell of coffee nudges him back first. It's dark and bitter, filling the room with something rich and familiar. Taehyung inhales before he’s even fully awake, frowning at how much he craves it and hates it at the same time.

And then he registers the bed.

Still warm.

Still not his.

Taehyung pushes himself up, sheets rustling, and it all rushes back… the night, the heat, Jimin beneath him and around him and everywhere in between. He can still feel the slick drag of their bodies, the weight of Jimin’s cock in his mouth, the way he squirmed and gasped when Taehyung pressed deep and teased that sweet spot just right.

It was…

Incredible doesn’t even cover it.

And now it’s morning. The world outside is already turning again.

And Taehyung wishes it wouldn’t.

Just a little longer, in the quiet darkness of night, to hold and be held, to whisper soft things into the space between them.

He slowly manoeuvres himself out of bed, searching for his underwear. When he finds them, he nearly topples over trying to pull them back on; the rest of his clothes follow, feeling a little bit like a punishment. The hallway is quiet as he steps out, retracing the path he distinctly remembers following Jimin down last night.

The kitchen opens directly into the living room. It's modest, warm, and charming in that way everything about Jimin seems to be.

“Morning,” Jimin says without turning around, gently pressing down the plunger of a French press. He chews softly at the inside of his cheek. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I just made coffee and grabbed a croissant from the bakery downstairs.”

Taehyung blinks.

He actually left and came back without Taehyung even stirring?

That bed must be magic. Or Jimin is.

Jimin’s standing by the counter now, small and soft in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Taehyung smiles; he can’t help it.

“Believe me,” he says, voice still hoarse with sleep, “this is a serious upgrade from my usual coffee-to-go that I forget on the counter and drink cold three hours later.”

“You really didn’t wake up?” Jimin asks, handing him a mug.

The coffee is hot, rich. Jimin’s standing barefoot in front of him, sleeves tugged over his hands like he has no idea how utterly disarming he looks.

“Not even a little,” Taehyung says, stretching as he takes it. “That bed of yours should be studied. Or worshipped.”

Jimin snorts. “You’re welcome to come back and worship it anytime.”

Taehyung raises an eyebrow in response.

Jimin only shrugs, hiding his smile behind the edge of his cup.

Taehyung sips his coffee. It’s strong. Dark. Not the kind he usually drinks, but somehow exactly what he needs. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing it in.

So much about Jimin is soft. The way he moves, the way he speaks. Even the sass he gives off is cute.

Taehyung’s phone buzzes from the counter, where he left it the night before. He glances at it. ‘Unknown caller’ flashes across the screen.

He doesn’t move to answer.

“This croissant,” he says instead, holding it up like it’s sacred, “is a religious experience.”

Jimin looks at him, deadpan. “Good to know all it takes to seduce you is laminated pastry.”

Taehyung grins. “Well, it might have been better if you had served it naked, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Jimin nearly chokes on his coffee, cheeks flushing as he coughs into his sleeve. “Shut up and eat your pastry.”

Taehyung laughs, but the phone keeps buzzing in the back of his mind. He doesn’t look again. Not yet.

Jimin is smiling. The sunlight creeps slowly across the floor.

And for now, just for a few more precious moments, he’ll stay right here.

They finish their coffee slowly, the conversation drifting easily...maybe a little teasing, a little quiet. And when it’s finally time to go, neither of them moves right away.

Jimin walks him to the door, sleeves too long, eyes still a little sleepy. Taehyung’s shoes are back on, coat draped over one arm, but it feels… wrong. Like putting the night away in a box before he’s ready.

Jimin leans against the doorframe, biting back a smile. “So…how’d I do as a host? Do I get a rating?”

Taehyung tilts his head, feeling a little playful, pretending to think. “Coffee, ten. Pastry, eleven. Company…” he hesitates, eyes flicking to Jimin’s mouth, then away again, “kind of… dangerously addictive.”

Jimin laughs but looks away quickly, cheeks flushing. 

Taehyung smiles too, smaller now, a little bashful. A little too transparent. 

A beat of silence stretches between them. Not uncomfortable, just full.

Then Jimin lifts his eyes, gaze open and quiet. “So… what do we say now?”

Taehyung takes a deep breath and answers. “I'll see you soon.”

And just before he steps back, just before he leaves, he leans in again, close enough to brush their noses, but not quite. Jimin closes his eyes anyway.

Taehyung kisses his cheek instead. Slow. Purposeful. A promise he doesn’t say out loud.

“Lock the door behind me,” he whispers.

And when he walks away, he can feel Jimin watching him go.

The burner buzzes once in his coat pocket. Then again.

Unknown number.

Taehyung’s fingers brush the worn fabric of his coat as he answers, voice steady despite the quickening pulse beneath.

“Talk.”

“Don’t speak. Just listen. It’s clean. The SIM’s already been bounced and burned."

Agent Jeon’s voice is flat but familiar, layered with that same dry edge he always wore better than his leather jacket. Taehyung scans the street, eyes catching the sheen of his own reflection in a convenience store window before another shadow shifts two panes down. Jungkook’s there, just long enough to confirm, then gone again. He keeps walking like it’s just another call.

“You look like someone who stayed the night and forgot to tell his mum he was crashing at a friend’s.”

Taehyung huffs. “You sound like someone who shouldn’t be talking to me at all.”

“Relax. No one’s listening. And if they are, they’re hearing about my grandma’s gallstones.”

A pause. Then quieter:

“If it gets back to Chief Han that we even breathed the same air…” Taehyung mutters, jaw clenching just slightly, but his colleague cuts in, bored.

“I’ve been on this case longer than you’ve been falling for my cousin. Don’t even try to play the big guy with me.”

The words land with a quiet weight. Taehyung’s steps falter for a heartbeat, caught between wanting to stop and the instinct to keep moving. Jimin’s name isn’t spoken, but it thrums under his skin all the same, dangerous and electric. The mask settles quickly back into place.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taehyung says.

“Sure I don’t,” Jungkook replies. “You keep telling yourself that. Just remember, he’s the only reason I haven’t told HQ you’re compromised."

"How am I compromised? He’s a guy I met in a bar whose only crime is sharing DNA with you."

Jungkook lets out a dry laugh. “Right. Just some guy. That’s why you keep finding excuses to show up wherever he is and somehow end up in his bed. Tell me, detective, when was the last time you worked a case like that?”

Taehyung exhales through his nose, silent.

“Exactly,” Jungkook says, the grin audible in his voice. “I rest my case.”

Taehyung exhales slowly, measured. “You like to test boundaries, don’t you?”

“And you like to pretend you don’t have any,” Jungkook fires back. “Guess that makes us even."

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken truths. A bus sighs to a halt at the kerb, brakes squealing, headlights sweeping over his coat. He tucks his chin lower, disappearing into the crowd’s shuffle.

A siren pulses faintly in the distance, the city’s soundtrack to their quiet exchange.

“HQ wants new intel on the op,” Jungkook says eventually. “Bambi’s live again.”

Taehyung’s gaze hardens, muscles coiling beneath the fabric of his coat.

“Received,” Taehyung says.

The line goes dead, and Jungkook turns down a side alley before disappearing into the labyrinth of the city.

Later that afternoon, Taehyung’s feeling the emotional hangover while stuck at his desk. He can still feel Jimin’s essence all over him. It kind of makes him not want to shower it away just yet. Yeah, fine. It’s gross. He doesn’t care.

After hours of watching CCTV footage of Cypher, trying to put pieces together, Jimin appears on the screen. And Taehyung immediately knows he’s going to have to rewatch this bit over and over, because the beautiful man he slept with last night is far too distracting for him to actually do his job.

After the third watch, he loses his patience and shuts it off. There’s nothing to see. The place is impeccable. Nothing indicates any unlawful conduct.

But the intel says otherwise.

Someone dangerous is running operations from inside those walls.

No name. No face. Just a ghost in the system. Untraceable. Untouchable. Terrifyingly precise. He’s been active for months, pulling strings and moving product, people, money. It's still unclear what his game actually is.

Jungkook has been on the inside for months, passing intel through encrypted channels, but even he doesn’t know who’s really on the other end. Just a code name: Bul; fire.

The word carries weight in the Korean language. Destruction, cleansing, rebirth. A symbol too big for some asshole hiding behind a keyboard. Taehyung wonders if he gave himself the title. Of course he did, he thinks. Stupid fuck.

Bambi fits better anyway. Something that would piss the fucker off. Which makes it perfect.

Still, the missing person file continues to grow.

That’s why they called Taehyung in from Daegu. He’s one of the best. He knows why, too. He's calm. Careful. Reserved. But under the quiet is something else. Something harder. Something tragic.

Taehyung chose this life solely to bring some sort of peace to the suffering of what happened. What he did.

He told someone it was safe once. Assured them it would be okay. Told them to just hold tight, promised he’d get them out. The voice still lives in his head sometimes, breaking on the other end of the line before the gunshot. He carries it like a scar he can’t show.

Grief lives in him now. A low simmer behind his ribs. It sharpens his focus. Never lets him forget.

Taehyung, for all intents and purposes, is still a hostage negotiator. And Jungkook, who’s only ever worked undercover, is just the bouncer at his cousin’s friend’s club.

No one. Absolutely no one. Can know anything.

Four measly days go by without caving to the desire to contact Jimin, but the moment he types Jimin’s name into the secure personnel database, he knows he’s a goner.

It’s actually illegal.

Taehyung couldn’t care less.

- How about that bed-worshipping? He types, then cringes and deletes it.

- Breakfast at mine tomorrow? Delete. Again.

- If someone was, hypothetically, trying to bribe someone else into going out with them… would you, uh, be open to sharing your croissant supplier?

His thumb pad wavers over send. He's been mulling over how to see Jimin again ever since he left his apartment that morning. He stopped himself from going to the café where Jimin works, and Cypher is out of the question for the moment, as he can't be around long enough for anyone to notice him.

After another pathetic moment of overthinking, Taehyung shuts his eyes and presses send.

…A moment goes by, and Taehyung only just refrains from smacking himself in the head. Just as he's about to overthink himself into deleting the message and pretending to be a stranger who got the wrong number, the ticks turn blue and 'online' appears next to his name.

Taehyung's natural reaction is panic.

- You break federal law to ask about pastries? Damn. Must be someone special. 

Sighs of relief

- Also… trying to get someone's attention with carbs is diabolical.

Taehyung smiles.

Special.

After a deep breath, he starts to type a response.

- Okay, maybe I’m a little reckless… but only when it comes to food. And maybe you.

- Kinky

Taehyung half rolls his eyes, imagining Jimin's sneaky little grin.

- When do you need them for?

- Tonight

- I thought they were for breakfast

- They are.

A few hours later, Taehyung stands outside Jimin’s apartment building, wearing a creamy silk shirt that fits him perfectly, tucked into black trousers with a long off-white coat. He likes to dress a little differently than most. Always has. And for some reason today is giving him 70s vibes.

Cars pass by, their hum a steady white noise that’s oddly calming. It’s mid-April, and the evening still calls for a jacket, so Taehyung has chosen his favourite long beige coat. Light, it complements the soft nude tones of his outfit. The only thing that stands out is his dark brown boots. He left his hair loose, messy curls falling just slightly over his brows. Should probably get it cut soon.

“Hi.” Jimin’s voice comes from the opposite side, catching him off guard. Very few people can startle Taehyung, but Jimin seems to be the exception to most things.

Taehyung spins to face him and barely has time to react before Jimin is there, grinning like it’s the easiest thing in the world to sneak up on him. In one hand, Jimin is holding a small paper bag. He nods toward the bakery a few steps away, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Got the goods.”

Taehyung smiles, the moment is warm and full of something so bright, so…Jimin. All at once, everything heavy inside Taehyung evaporates. A smile spreads across his face, warm and real, reaching his eyes.

Jimin takes the last few steps to stand in front of him, and in the dusky light of the evening, Taehyung can’t help but stare in awe. He is stunning. Handsome and boyish in his all-black ensemble: black skinny jeans with a belt and a simple black jacket, showing his form beautifully. He’s wearing vintage Ray-Bans that give him a look of casual rebellion, like he didn’t try at all and somehow still looks criminally good.

“Thought I was gonna bribe you with the croissants?” Taehyung asks with a side smirk.

“Yeah, well, Gustave would never sell you the good ones. I’ve got connections on the inside.” Jimin winks.

Taehyung pulls his lips between his teeth, failing to hide the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” Jimin says, “what’s the plan?”

Taehyung takes a breath, the flutter in his chest impossible to ignore. “I don’t really have one. I just thought we could walk… see where the night takes us?” It comes out a little too earnest, a little too hopeful, and he immediately feels silly for how it sounds out loud.

But Jimin just beams, like it’s exactly the right answer.

“Okay,” he says, bright and decisive, like it’s an adventure he's secretly been waiting for.

Then he hands over the paper bag and tugs Taehyung down the street.

They make their way downtown, one of Taehyung’s favourite parts of the city. There’s always a busker playing something soulful, the kind that fills the space between people. The streets rattle with the energy of office workers spilling out of buildings and the young, already dressed for the night ahead.

Taehyung gives him a side-glance as they walk. “Were you this… charming last time we met? Or is this just a first-date special?”

“Wait, is this a date?”

Taehyung gives him a look of incredulity. “I was handed food. That’s a contract where I’m from.”

Jimin gifts him the most beautiful smile before grinning cheekily. “So, do you always dress like you’re about to seduce a jazz pianist?”

Taehyung snorts. “Only on Thursdays.”

Jimin hums thoughtfully. “Now I’m wondering what Friday’s outfit looks like.”

“Ahhh, you’re gonna have to wait for tomorrow’s episode for that, my sweet Jimin,” he says with a little nudge to Jimin’s shoulder and a teasing smile.

Jimin’s eyes narrow as a giggle slips out of his pretty lips. Fuck. Jimin’s lips. Taehyung is so caught up in how breathtakingly gorgeous he is that he almost forgets how much he wants to kiss him.

The stroll naturally leads them down to the river. It’s always lovely this time of day, somewhere between afternoon and evening. It’s rarely busy, and as expected, it’s just them, aside from a couple on the far bank taking selfies.

Taehyung watches them with a soft glint in his eye. He’s such a fucking sap, and he knows it.

“Third date?” Jimin asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Taehyung pretends to consider it. “Maybe dating a month?”

“Yeah? A whole month before couple selfies?” Jimin looks impressed.

“I think a month is fair before eternal evidence is created in the cloud.”

Jimin hums thoughtfully, then leans a little closer and lowers his voice like he’s sharing something private. “So what are your rules about sex on the first date?”

Taehyung actually blushes.

“Well, depends what you classify as a first date,” he says, suddenly unsure of his own logic. “First date is before… you know. Kissing and such.”

“And such?”

“Yeah, you know. Cuddling… among other things.”

Jimin bursts out laughing. In fact, he laughs so hard he has to steady himself on Taehyung to keep from doubling over.

“What’s so funny?” Taehyung asks, laughing with him, even if he’s not quite sure why.

Jimin exhales the last of his laughter. “Cuddling.”

“What’s wrong with cuddling?”

Jimin pouts at him like he’s adorable, the way someone might look at a puppy. “Nothing’s wrong with cuddling,” he says, brushing a stray curl away from Taehyung’s forehead. “I was just remembering that you’re a cuddly sleeper.”

Taehyung’s jaw drops in horror. “Wha-? I am no-” He deflates mid-protest, already resigned to the truth.

Yeah. He probably koala-beared the fuck out of the most handsome guy he’s ever slept with.

Jimin just stands there, smiling at him like he’s never been more delighted by anyone. And honestly, Taehyung would give anything to sleep with him again. Wrapped around each other like that night. Post-sex bliss. Soft kisses in the morning. Maybe more sex in the morning.

The thought is dangerous, and it spirals fast: Jimin in his bed, Jimin wearing his clothes, Jimin waiting for him when he gets home. Agh. Shit.

They settle onto the edge of the river, shoulder to shoulder, and Jimin takes the bag back, pulling out its contents.

Two red glazed croissants. And a punnet of strawberries.

That’s it. He’s doomed.

“I didn’t know what you liked, but Gustave makes his own jam, and strawberries are in season, so…”

He sounds a little nervous. A part of Taehyung is relieved. If Jimin’s nervous too, then maybe, just maybe, he’s doing something right.

“I, um… actually love strawberries. My grandparents have a strawberry farm. I used to stay with them every summer and help with the harvest.” He chuckles softly. “This is probably the highlight of my week.”

“Really?” Jimin quirks an eyebrow, sass already loading. “Highlight of the week?”

Something in Taehyung shifts. A flicker of heat beneath the softness. A little reminder of who he is in private, when he's... in charge.

He leans in close to Jimin’s ear. “Yes, baby. You happened on Sunday.”

And immediately, Jimin melts. Just folds right back into that soft little thing he was when they were together.

He practically purrs.

And Taehyung is suddenly, seriously concerned that he’s about to get hard right there next to the fucking river.

They eat quietly. It’s nice. There’s no pressure to fill every silence, just them and the night.

Eventually, Jimin leans back on his hands and glances sideways. “You up for something stupidly fun?”

Taehyung glances over, intrigued. “Define stupid.”

Jimin just grins. “You’ll see.”

A few minutes later, they’re walking a little further out of the city centre, where the sound of distant laughter and music carries on the breeze. They round a corner, and there it is. A small funfair lit up like a constellation, wedged into an empty lot like it sprouted overnight. The Ferris wheel turns lazily, neon lights flicker against the deepening sky, and the scent of popcorn and fried dough sits thick in the air.

Taehyung stares for a beat. “This wasn’t here last week.”

“It pops up every spring. Like magic,” Jimin says, tugging at his sleeve. “Come on.”

It’s quiet; must be a school night, Taehyung thinks. They step through the inflatable archway just as someone slams a hammer down on a strength game. Jimin jumps slightly, and Taehyung instinctively pulls him a little closer as they move deeper into the fair.

“When I was a kid, me and my brother were allowed down here on Saturday nights,” Jimin says with a soft smile, his voice tinted with that particular kind of nostalgia that only belongs to happy childhood memories. “I tried every week to win one of those stupid teddy bears.” He chuckles, self-deprecating, shaking his head.

Taehyung really shouldn’t, but with Jimin looking like that, with the possibility of slipping something new into one of his core memories, he doesn’t even hesitate.

He glances up at the oversized teddy bear perched at the very top of the shooting stall and asks, casually, “You like that one?”

Jimin’s eyes widen, his smile blooming so bright Taehyung wants to bottle it.

“Taehyung. Honestly. These places are built to rob you blind. It’s basically impossible to win something that big.”

Taehyung smirks. “How many points for the bear?” he asks, taking a few steps closer to the guy behind the counter.

“Thousand,” the guy replies, amused by his confidence.

Taehyung scans the board. Tens at the bottom. Twenties above that. Fifties a little higher, a little smaller. Hundreds, tiny and way up near the top.

“I’ll take ten shots,” he says, not even pretending this will be difficult.

The guy actually laughs. Taehyung grins back, letting him. Letting Jimin smirk too. Then he takes the plastic rifle, watches the guy load the shots, and glances back at Jimin with a slow, easy smile.

This is his playing field. He hardly even needs to aim, but just for show, he closes one eye and looks down the rifle’s sights. He waits a beat or two, more to build hype than necessity. Then he pulls the trigger and watches the first hundred-point target topple. The silence that follows is exactly what he was hoping for. He chuckles quietly to himself as he gets ready for the next shot.

One after another, Taehyung knocks down every single hundred-point target with ease. He casually passes the rifle back to the now slightly pale worker. “Thanks,” he says with a smile that practically laughs in the guy’s face for doubting him.

The worker hands over the ginormous cuddly toy to Jimin, still looking a little unsure, like he might’ve just witnessed something he shouldn’t have. Taehyung steps forward, offering his hand like the true gentleman he is. “Thanks, man.”

Taehyung can’t help but burst into laughter as he turns back to watch Jimin, jaw practically on the floor, marvelling at the ‘impossible’ bear.

Taehyung lugs the massive teddy bear between them as they wander toward the Ferris wheel, its colourful lights blinking like distant stars. Jimin’s fingers find Taehyung’s, their grip firm but easy as they climb into one of the swaying cabins. The world shrinks around them as the ride creaks softly, turning slowly against the night sky.

There's something a little magical about a Ferris wheel; just the two of them suspended above the funfair, the bustle softened to a distant hum. Taehyung looks over at Jimin, who’s watching the city lights flicker below with a quiet smile, then at the oversized teddy bear sitting on a separate carriage beneath them like a trophy.

“So… do you always let your ‘hero’ win all the impossible prizes? Or are you just encouraging my complex?”

Jimin turns fully to face him, one arm resting casually on the back of the carriage, stars reflecting in his eyes. He lets his head fall to the side slightly.

“Not sure I’ve been on many dates with heroes.” He looks pensive. “A daredevil, maybe, but that just ended with him throwing up on the people behind us.”

Taehyung laughs out loud, and Jimin does too. Their laughter lingers for a moment before fading, softening into something quieter. Then it’s just them, sitting in the stillness. Neither of them speaks. It turns into one of those pauses that feels like it's supposed to mean something, like the air between them has shifted.

Taehyung’s hand glides slowly to cup Jimin’s face, his thumb tracing slow circles along the edge of his jaw, holding them both right there. Then he leans in, rubs his nose gently against Jimin’s. His mouth barely brushes against Jimin’s lips as he speaks. The softness of the contact makes him inhale deeply, holding back everything he wants.

Jimin’s breath catches too, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief, vulnerable moment.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Taehyung whispers, his voice low and rough, like gravel.

Jimin lets out a soft, breathy whimper, and Taehyung is painfully reminded of those beautiful, desperate sounds Jimin made when he was buried inside him just nights before. A low growl rises in Taehyung’s throat, barely audible but meant to be felt, vibrating through the space between them.

Slowly, deliberately, he takes Jimin’s hand and presses it against his chest beneath his coat, letting him feel the rapid beat of his own heart. Jimin’s fingers curl instinctively, tangling in the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt like it’s the only anchor he trusts.

“I…” Jimin’s voice is barely more than a whisper, breathy and unsure. “Taehyung,” he murmurs, trembling on the edge of a plea. “Kiss me.”

Taehyung’s other arm wraps around his waist, pulling him in. Their chests almost touch now, close enough to feel the heat radiating between them, but not quite touching.

He slides his hand slowly up Jimin’s outer thigh and lifts it, guiding Jimin’s leg to rest on his hip. The position pulls them closer, more open, more vulnerable. He hovers again, ghosting over Jimin’s mouth with infuriating precision, before leaning down and kissing his throat instead.

Jimin exhales a moan; soft, beautiful, and innocent. Something Taehyung is, as predicted, becoming dangerously addicted to.

He presses kisses along the line of Jimin’s jaw, slow and languid. Not even trying to drive him crazy, just savouring him. He breathes into his skin, rubs his nose along the curve of his neck, his grip firm around Jimin’s thigh. Another growl rumbles from deep in his chest as he holds him close, like he has no intention of letting go.

The ride jolts softly as it begins to move back down, and Taehyung finally pulls back just enough to meet Jimin’s eyes.

“We stopped?” he asks, grinning at how lost he’d gotten.

Jimin giggles, sweet and musical. And fuck. Taehyung just wants to keep him.

They hop off, Taehyung doing his best to hide his very obvious boner. Jimin grabs the giant teddy bear, and Taehyung swears it’s one of the cutest things he’s ever seen, mostly because the stupid thing is almost as big as Jimin himself.

“Here,” he says with a fond chuckle, reaching out. “Let me.”

Jimin gives an exaggerated “oof” as he passes it over, and Taehyung hoists it onto his shoulders like he’s carrying a child.

They wander out of the fair, retracing their steps beneath the scattered glow of streetlights. Conversation flows so easily with Jimin. They drift from one topic to the next: Taehyung’s hometown, childhood games, strange habits. Nothing important, but it all feels intimate. As though each word is another thread pulling them tighter together.

At the edge of a zebra crossing, they pause.

The night is quiet, the street empty. A single streetlight flickers above them. And in the lull, Taehyung steps closer.

Without a word, he slides a hand around Jimin’s waist from behind. Slow. Intentional. His palm settles low, fingers brushing under the hem of his shirt, knuckles grazing the waistband of his jeans. His chest presses lightly to Jimin’s back, and Jimin melts into it without hesitation. He exhales, soft and shivery, like a breath he’d been holding.

Taehyung leans in, voice warm at his ear. “Cold?”

Jimin shakes his head, but he doesn’t move away.

They stay like that until the light changes.

And then Taehyung walks with him, one hand still resting low on his waist as they cross together. Not guiding exactly, but holding. Steady. Certain. Claimed.

When they reach a quiet crossroads, Taehyung slows to a stop. His hand still perched on Jimin's hip, his thumb gently teasing the soft skin beneath his shirt there.

In front of them, one path leads toward his place, not that Jimin knows it. The other is Jimin’s.

He doesn’t want to let him go.

There’s a tension under his skin now, tight and coiled. Every laugh, every glance, every breath from Jimin has fed something deeper. Not just want, but hunger. Not just sex, but possession.

He wants Jimin spread out beneath him, skin flushed and breathless, pliant and perfect. He wants to lure those soft sounds from him, slow and controlled, until Jimin forgets everything but the way Taehyung moves inside him.

But he wants more than that too.

He wants the quiet parts. The mornings. The softness. Jimin in his bed, drowning in one of his shirts, sleepy and warm and smelling like him. He wants to feed him. He wants to see him with messy hair and swollen lips and the imprint of his own hands still marked into his skin.

He wants to keep him.

“You okay over there?” Jimin asks.

Taehyung exhales slowly, the kind of breath that seems to stretch the moment out.

“Come home with me.”

Chapter Text

“Come home with me.” 

It’s not a question, but it’s not a demand either. Never a demand.

Taehyung turns to face him, not caring in the slightest about the ridiculous teddy bear still perched on his shoulders, Velcroed around his neck to stop it from falling.

His hands find Jimin’s belt loops. Fingers curl in. He tugs, just a little, enough to make Jimin stumble forward half a step, close enough to feel the warmth of him.

It’s intimate. Easy. The kind of touch that says, 'I already know you. I’ve already touched you. I want you again.'

And something in Taehyung’s chest pulls tight at the thought.

He’s had Jimin. He's the one who ruined him with pleasure. The one who held him tight and fucked his orgasm deep inside him.

And God, he wants it again. Wants more.

Jimin gazes up at him, doe-eyed and impossibly beautiful like this, soft and fragile in a way that makes something deep in Taehyung surge. He nods, slow and subtle, but Taehyung catches it. Of course he does. He notices everything Jimin does.

Then Jimin places both hands on his chest, closes his eyes, and exhales, a little surrender tucked into the movement.

“Hm,” he hums, content. “Yeah. Okay.”

Taehyung smiles, warm and satisfied, something possessive blooming behind his ribs. He doesn’t rush. Just steps in close, letting Jimin feel the full heat of his body, the steady weight of his gaze. His hands slide down to Jimin’s hips, anchoring him gently, then lower still, palms flattening over the curve of his ass, pulling him in just enough to feel what’s waiting for him.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quiet but firm. Not teasing. Not uncertain. Just confirming.

Jimin nods again, eyes fluttering open. “I'm sure." 

Taehyung leans down and gently nips at his lip. Intimate. Jimin moans into it, and Taehyung tugs gently before letting go and pressing a sweet kiss to his lower lip.

“Good,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice a low hum of satisfaction. “Because I’m going to make you feel it.”

He slides one hand back up, fingers brushing the small of Jimin’s back, then higher, into his hair, cradling the nape of his neck. His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make Jimin inhale sharply and tip his chin up.

Taehyung smiles, slow and dangerous, eyes heavy.

“Come.”

He doesn’t pull. Just turns, his hand falling to resume its place on Jimin's hip, holding him closer than before. 

As they walk, his thumb continues to brush slow, lazy circles into the strip of skin just above Jimin’s waistband; not enough to distract, just enough to remind. Mine.

By the time they reach Taehyung’s door, the air feels different. Warmer. Denser. Like they’ve crossed into something sacred.

Taehyung unlocks it slowly, then steps aside, gesturing for Jimin to enter first. His hand never leaves him.

The apartment is warm and quiet, dimly lit. Stacks of vinyl rest beside the player. A coat hangs off the back of a chair. There are half-finished sketches taped to the walls and a lingering scent of his cologne in the air.

Jimin steps in slowly, eyes taking it in. Taehyung watches the way he shifts; alert, but not nervous. Curious. Open.

He turns just as the door clicks shut behind them.

And Taehyung is already there.

Silent. Intent.

He steps in close again, guiding Jimin back with nothing but presence until his shoulders press lightly to the wall. There’s no rush. No urgency. Just a steady, deliberate pressure.

“You still sure?” he asks, low.

Jimin looks up, swallowing. “Yes.”

Taehyung’s gaze drops to his mouth before his hand finds his jaw, thumb brushing softly over his lower lip. He watches it bounce back, soft and pink.

“Take off your shoes.”

Jimin toes them off without breaking eye contact.

“Coat.”

Taehyung doesn’t move to help him.

He wants to watch.

Wants to see Jimin shed each layer willingly, standing there smaller without it, softer, sweeter…his.

Taehyung leans into him, pressing their chests together, crowding Jimin even more. He nudges Jimin’s legs apart and slides his thigh between them, guiding his hips down until the pressure is just right. Until the thick line of Taehyung’s cock is pressing up against him through his slacks.

Jimin gasps, body jolting slightly at the contact, and Taehyung doesn’t move. Just lets him feel it. Lets him know.

“Feel that?” he whispers against Jimin’s ear, his voice a low hum that curls around the edges of a smile. “That’s what you do to me.”

He noses along the shell of Jimin’s ear, breath warm and slow.

“Now,” he murmurs, coaxing, coaxing, as he shifts his thigh just enough to make Jimin’s hips twitch. “Push down on me. I want to feel how hard you are.” 

Jimin hesitates briefly, then his hips tilt forward, grinding slowly against Taehyung’s leg. Taehyung’s fingers press into the small of Jimin’s back, steadying him. His voice drops deeper, soft but commanding.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let yourself feel good.”

Jimin’s hands slide up Taehyung’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his movements grow more confident.

Taehyung’s lips brush Jimin’s neck, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head, pulling him in just a little closer.

“We’re hardly even past the door, and you’re already making those sounds I like," he chuckles. “You’re perfect, baby.”

The pet name strikes a nerve, and a low moan slips from deep inside Jimin, audible and raw.

“Oooh,” Taehyung coos, nearly losing control himself. “You like that, don’t you?” It’s not a question. “My baby.” Another whimper. “My pretty boy.”

Taehyung’s fingers curl a little tighter around Jimin’s waist, then he breaks the heated stare with a slow, mischievous smile.

“Ready for bed, baby?” he murmurs into Jimin’s ear.

Without warning, he bends and scoops Jimin up over his shoulder.

Jimin lets out a startled laugh, half-protesting, half-pleased.

“Wha—Taehyung!” he half-shrieks.

Taehyung gives a firm, playful smack to Jimin’s ass as he crosses the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom. He pushes the door open with his foot and plonks a giggly Jimin onto the bed with a soft oomph.

They both laugh for a moment, breaking the sultry energy just for a second.

Then Taehyung leans in and presses a kiss to Jimin's lips before stepping back and just looking. Jimin sunken into the covers, hair framing his face, eyes heavy and vulnerable. Taehyung wishes he could immortalise this moment in his memory.

He lets the moment stretch. Just long enough for Jimin to squirm.

He stands at the edge of the bed, eyes trailing slowly over the body he’s already known but can’t get enough of. Jimin’s cheeks are pink, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast, his thighs slightly parted like he’s already waiting.

Jimin bites his lip, eyes flickering up at him through his lashes. “You gonna just stare at me all night?”

Taehyung lets out a low chuckle and crawls back onto the bed, slow and intentional. He plants a hand on either side of Jimin, caging him in again. Same steady pressure. Same sense of control.

“You like it when I look, I know you do,” he says, voice low. “You like being wanted like this.”

Jimin swallows but doesn’t deny it.

Taehyung leans in, lips brushing over his cheekbone, then lower, to the edge of his jaw.

Jimin shivers beneath him.

“Off,” Taehyung says, tugging gently at his shirt. His voice is calm. Almost sweet.

Jimin's hands move quickly; he's a little clumsy and maybe nervous again.

Taehyung sits back on his feet, eyes locked on Jimin’s as he hooks his fingers under the fabric of his shirt, slowly and carefully lifting it over his head and tossing it aside. Taehyung places a hand on Jimin’s chest, warm and steady, tracing over his ribs, his sides, down his stomach.

Then, with a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he leans in and murmurs against Jimin’s collarbone, “You’re so hard, aren’t you, baby?”

Jimin exhales, shaky and small. “Kind of your fault.”

“Mmh.” Taehyung hums, pleased.

He shifts down the bed and kisses his way over Jimin’s stomach, slow and teasing, his hands slipping under the waistband of his jeans. He doesn’t tug them off yet. Just palms Jimin over his underwear, watching the way his hips twitch.

“Feel nice?” he asks, voice like warm velvet. “Can I keep going?”

Jimin’s fingers thread into his hair, trembling slightly. “Yes.”

“Hmm.” Taehyung kisses the tip of his cock through the fabric. “Then be good.”

Jimin covers his face with his arms, a flustered little whimper slipping out between his elbows. Taehyung chuckles, low and teasing.

“Love watching you like this,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. His voice is thick with something dangerous and sweet, like caramel left too long in the sun.

After another cheeky nip to Jimin’s poor, neglected cock, he shuffles back on his knees. Then, without a word, he stands.

Jimin peeks out from under his arms, confused.

“Everything off now, sweetheart,” Taehyung says, voice warm. Almost too warm, given the tension humming between them. “Can’t touch you properly with all these clothes, can I?”

Jimin pouts. It’s unfair, that pout. It’s soft and bratty and pleading, and Taehyung wants to weep with how much he wants to ruin it.

But he waits.

And after a throaty little whine, Jimin moves. He wiggles out of his jeans first, slow and awkward, and Taehyung doesn’t lift a finger to help him. He’s enjoying this too much. The sight of him stripping down, the flush rising high on his cheeks, the way he tries not to squirm under the attention.

Socks next.

Then, finally, he slips his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. Slowly, maybe a little self-consciously, but not enough to stop, he slides them down his thighs, revealing pale, flawless skin that Taehyung already knows but wants to learn all over again.

He’s bare.

He’s exquisite.

And when he looks back up at Taehyung, his eyes are shimmering with something unguarded. Not just want, but something deeper. Something vulnerable. Trusting.

Taehyung steps forward again, knees parting Jimin’s thighs and pressing them wide. He leans in until Jimin is fully under him again, caged beneath his body like he belongs there.

Then he begins his worship.

Soft kisses. Slow. Everywhere. His shoulder. His chest. The dip of his stomach. The inside of his thigh. Gentle touches, unhurried and deliberate, each one a secret between them.

This is the kind of sex Taehyung craves. Not control, but meaning. He could take whatever he wants. He could bend Jimin to his will and devour him whole. But he doesn’t. He chooses this.

To make him feel beautiful.

To make him feel wanted.

To make him feel good, better than anyone ever has done. Better than anyone ever will.

Because no one will have this.

No one but him. That’s what he’s telling himself, wanting so badly for it to be true. 

“Turn over, baby,” Taehyung hums close to his ear.

Jimin obeys immediately, rolling onto his stomach without hesitation. The way he follows so easily, so naturally, makes Taehyung smile. He takes a second just to look at him: bare and obedient, arms tucked beneath the pillow, cheeks flushed. Precious.

Taehyung slides his hands over Jimin’s hips and gently pulls, positioning him exactly how he wants. He shifts his thighs farther apart, watching the way Jimin melts into it. His ass rises just enough, offering Taehyung the perfect view of his pretty hole… pink, fluttering already, begging to be touched.

Taehyung licks his finger and strokes across it, slow and calculated. Testing. Teasing.

Jimin jolts with a sharp intake of breath, the reaction instant.

Taehyung chuckles under his breath. “Does my baby boy like having his hole teased? Is it sensitive?”

He knows exactly what he’s doing. The voice, the question, the touch. All of it designed to unravel him.

Jimin lets out a muffled whimper into the mattress, the sound soft and miserable.

Taehyung leans over him, voice just a breath above a whisper. “I’m going to need an answer, sweetheart. I want to know exactly what it is you like.”

Another groan. Embarrassed. Wrecked. Still obedient.

“Like it,” Jimin finally breathes, the words sticky with need.

“Oh, good,” Taehyung says brightly, the sarcasm dripping like syrup. He grins, wide and wolfish, and drags his finger over him again just to watch him twitch.

Taehyung’s been desperate for this. He leans down and drags his tongue over Jimin’s soft, pink hole, slow and deliberate.

The reaction is immediate. And more than he could’ve hoped for.

Jimin gasps, high and startled, bucking his hips off the bed like he’s been shocked. His thighs tremble.

“Fuck!” he growls, breathless and indignant, like a chihuahua trying to scare off a wolf. “Tae, give a guy a warning!”

Taehyung just smirks, wicked and proud.

Then he does it again. Slower this time, more pressure, the very tip of his tongue teasing the sensitive ring of muscle. Jimin moans, loud, unguarded, utterly untamed.

“And miss this?” Taehyung murmurs, lips brushing the slick heat, voice thick with adoration.

He continues his little assault.

Licking broad and flat, tongue dragging over sensitive skin. Then again, this time with the pointed tip, teasing and precise. He pries Jimin’s cheeks open wider, expanding his area of attack with slow, greedy intention.

He devours him.

He nibbles gently at his balls, then licks up the seam between them, tracing all the way to the small of his back, where he leaves an unfairly sweet kiss, before making his way back down again.

Then he takes Jimin’s smooth balls into his mouth, warm and wet. He sucks, tugs, massages with his tongue, slow and thorough. Jimin writhes beneath him, overwhelmed.

Finally, Taehyung reaches under him, slides his hand between Jimin’s thighs and gently pulls his cock back. Just enough. Just so he can mouth at the tip from behind, suckling soft and obscene.

It’s one of Taehyung’s favourite positions. Something about the angle, the view, the way Jimin melts. It makes him feel feral.

Jimin can do nothing but whimper and whine into the cushion his face is pressed into. The sounds are muffled, pitiful, helpless. He’s trembling now, thighs twitching with every lick, every suck, every wicked little drag of Taehyung’s tongue over his hole.

And Taehyung is relentless.

Unhurried and focused. Possessed.

He licks like it’s his purpose. Like destiny brought them together just so Taehyung could have him like this. Spread open, shaking, squirming under his mouth.

There’s a kind of selfishness to it. Taehyung doesn’t speak. Doesn’t coax. Doesn’t ask. He doesn’t soothe.

He just devours.

As if Jimin’s pleasure isn’t something to gently give, but something to claim.

And Jimin? Jimin takes it. His fingers clutch the sheets. His legs tremble. His hips try to run but have nowhere to go.

Taehyung holds him open with both hands now, thumbs spreading him wider, tongue pressing deeper. When Jimin sobs into the mattress, high and wrecked and utterly overwhelmed, Taehyung only groans in response and doubles down.

Like he’s starving.

Like he won’t stop until Jimin is dripping and thoroughly ruined.

And he is.

His cock leaks steadily onto the sheets, and when Taehyung finally lifts his head to swipe his finger through the mess and rub it back into the weeping slit, he groans at the sight of it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, rubbing the precum between his fingers like he wants to savour it.

“Taehyung, please,” Jimin sobs, voice wrecked and breathless. “Please.”

He sounds so desperate. A little too desperate.

Taehyung softens immediately.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He murmurs, curling around his body and gently lifting him to bring him closer. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Jimin pants, head falling back against Taehyung’s chest in exhaustion. “Yes, I just… I just need—”

A tender kiss to his cheek. “Need what, angel?”

“Want you… inside.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut, something tight in his chest finally uncoiling. He’s replayed those words over and over in his mind.

Hearing them again? Bliss.

“Yeah?” he whispers. “You want me to hold you down on my cock and fuck my cum into you? Right here?” He adds, placing his large hand on Jimin's lower tummy.

The sound that rips from Jimin is almost inhuman.

“You want to be nice and full? Wanna feel it for days? Is that what you like, baby boy?”

“Yes,” Jimin breathes, his voice barely a whisper now. His cheeks are wet. “Yes.”

“Okay, angel.” Taehyung kisses him again, slower this time. “I’ve got you.”

He lays Jimin gently back down and slowly presses a finger inside him. Jimin gasps and rocks his hips instinctively, grinding down on the intrusion, already moving for more.

“Good boy,” Taehyung exhales, without even thinking. “That’s it. Move how it feels good.”

Jimin keeps going, fucking himself steadily on Taehyung’s finger, needy and unashamed. Taehyung watches him, entranced, other hand rubbing lazy circles on his thigh.

He’s never seen anything so fucking beautiful in his life.

“Ready for another?” he asks. He always asks.

Jimin hums, somewhere between a moan and a grunt. 

So Taehyung adds another finger, slow and careful, curling them slightly as he begins to move.

“Need you to be nice and ready,” he murmurs. “You remember how big I am, don't you, sweetheart?”

Jimin groans again, wrecked and breathless, but the answer’s obvious in the way he pushes down, in the way he grips.

Taehyung laughs softly.

“You remember how good we looked together? How much your little hole had to stretch for me?”

Jimin nods into the pillow, his whole body buzzing with anticipation. He’s open now, soft and ready, and the stretch of Taehyung’s fingers is just perfect. 

“Please,” he whispers again, hips rolling back. “'M ready.”

Taehyung groans, low and ragged, as he slowly pulls his fingers free and sits back on his knees to strip. The sound of his belt undoing makes Jimin twitch.

He tosses his clothes aside without ceremony, eyes never leaving the man laid out before him like an offering. And when he finally fists his cock, already heavy and leaking, he has to pause and breathe through it. Because this? This is everything.

He reaches for the lube, warms it in his palm, strokes himself once, twice, before shuffling closer again. Jimin is kneeling, thighs parted, and Taehyung shifts in behind him, drawing him back until he’s pressed flush against him.

He nudges the head of his cock against Jimin’s entrance but doesn’t push in, not yet. Just enough to make him feel it.

Then he leans in close, chest pressed to Jimin’s back, mouth brushing his ear. “Look at me.”

Jimin’s eyes flutter open just as Taehyung lifts him, guiding him carefully into his lap. Jimin’s knees land on either side of Taehyung’s, thighs wide and trembling, legs held open by the firm line of Taehyung’s own.

He looks back at Taehyung, eyes so heavy, so gone. So obedient it makes Taehyung's chest ache. 

“Good,” Taehyung murmurs, voice low and steady as his hands slide along Jimin’s hips. “Stay just like that.”

He teases Jimin’s hole with the blunt head of his cock. A quiet growl climbs up his throat, vibrating against Jimin. 

“Deep breath, angel. I want you to feel every second of this,” Taehyung murmurs. “I want you to remember this. How good you feel when your hole opens up nice and slow, just for me.”

A quiet sob comes from the beautiful boy in his lap. 

Then he pushes in, slow and steady, breath caught in his throat as Jimin stretches around him.

Jimin gasps, his fingers claw at Taehyung's as they hold him up right. His legs tremble. His mouth falls open on a wordless sound that might be Taehyung’s name.

Taehyung stills once he’s fully in, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to Jimin’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel… fuck.”

Jimin nods again, frantic, broken. “Move. Please.”

So Taehyung does.

Slow at first, grinding deep, barely pulling out before pushing back in. Just letting Jimin feel the weight of it. The stretch. The possessive drag of every inch.

Jimin shudders. “More.”

Taehyung’s grip on his torso tightens. One arm bands across Jimin’s stomach, the other hooks over his shoulder, fingers splayed wide as he holds him in place, locked down, owned. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice rough at the edges.

He starts to thrust. Slow at first. Measured. Each roll of his hips presses deep, dragging out of Jimin with deliberate intensity, like he’s trying to brand the feeling into him.

Jimin lets out a sound, broken and beautiful, hips twitching with every push in.

Taehyung groans low in his throat. “That’s it. Just like that.”

He adjusts the angle slightly, shifting Jimin higher in his lap, until the next thrust has Jimin gasping, body clenching tight around him.

“F-fuck,” Jimin whimpers, bracing against Taehyung's arms.

Taehyung mouths at Jimin’s ear again, breath warm and wrecked. “You’re so full, baby. Can you take a little more?”

Jimin nods, frantic. "Yes—yes."

So Taehyung gives it to him. Just a little harder. Just a little deeper. The wet slide of it obscene now, echoing in the room along with Jimin’s soft cries.

“You’re doing so good,” he pants, pressing kisses to the side of Jimin’s neck. “My - kiss - pretty - kiss - baby boy.”

Jimin shudders all over, sob catching in his throat.

Taehyung presses his palm to Jimin’s chest, right over his heart. Feels it racing. Feels everything.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers, voice barely holding together. “Tell me how to make you cum.”

Jimin whimpers, high-pitched and desperate. “Not yet.”

“Yes, angel,” Taehyung says, firm. “It's okay, you can cum now.”

He thrusts again, smooth, even, deep, until Jimin keens, body shuddering.

“Don’t hold it in. You can cum again later, I promise,” he murmurs, lips brushing Jimin’s ear. “As many times as you want.”

Then, teeth grazing his neck, voice wrecked but steady, he adds,

“And I’ll keep you filled up with my cum the whole night.”

Jimin lets out a loud, broken whine at that, high and helpless, like the words hit him right in the gut.

Taehyung groans, hips twitching up involuntarily. Fuck, he thinks, breath catching at the sound. The way Jimin melts for it, tight around him, so needy he can barely stay still.

He thrusts up once, deep and slow, just to feel Jimin squeeze around him.

“God, you love that, don’t you?” He breathes, lips dragging along Jimin’s jaw.

Jimin whimpers again, even louder this time.

Taehyung chuckles low against his skin. “Fuck, angel. Make that noise again. Please.”

Jimin chokes on a moan and tries to lift his head, barely managing a smirk. “Make me.”

Taehyung groans again, burying his face in Jimin’s neck. 

He won’t last. Neither of them will. It’s too much. Too full. Too intense. But he wants to draw it out just a little longer.

He shifts his grip, one arm around Jimin’s chest to hold him close, the other sliding down, down, until his fingers wrap around Jimin’s aching cock. Just the tip.

Jimin gasps. His hips stutter. “Tae—”

“Shhh… I’m going to make you cum now,” Taehyung whispers. “You deserve it, angel, for being so good. I want to feel you break around me. I want you to cum on my dick. I want to watch you cum.”

He strokes him, slow and gentle, perfectly in time with the rhythm of his hips. His thrusts stay deep, rolling, dragging against that perfect spot inside that makes Jimin sob.

“Fuck. Fuck, please.” Jimin shakes his head like he can’t take it, like it’s too much, but his body says otherwise. His thighs are trembling. His cock twitches in Taehyung’s hand.

“Yes, baby. Go on,” Taehyung murmurs, voice impossibly tender. “Nice and loud, just how I like it.” 

And Jimin does.

He cries out, whole body seizing as pleasure crashes through him in violent, helpless waves. His come paints Taehyung’s hand and the bed, pulse after pulse until he’s boneless in Taehyung’s lap, trembling and wrecked and perfect.

Taehyung holds him through it, fucking him slow through every twitch, every aftershock, every broken sound.

“Good boy.” Then he kisses the top of his spine and whispers, “Ready to feel me now?”

Jimin slumps back against him, spent and high on pleasure. “Yes,” he still manages to answer.

Taehyung breathes through it, grounding himself in the warmth of Jimin’s body, in the way he melts into his arms like he belongs there.

He knows he’s close. He’s been holding back so long, it’ll only take a few deep thrusts. He pulls out just enough so that the sensitive ridge of his cockhead rests inside the tightest part of him. Then he starts to move. Shallow, deliberate strokes at first, just to prolong his own pleasure for a moment. In and out. In and out. Teasing that sweet spot every time.

The pressure builds fast. A deep thrum rising in his tummy, tingling at the base of his spine. His balls draw tight, and he exhales, long and low, trying to stay present. He pushes into the hilt, trying to feel everything.

He wants to come like this. Slow. Deep inside Jimin. Wants to fill him and stay there, nestled in the warmth of him.

And when the release hits, it’s perfect.

Taehyung groans, low and guttural, as his cock beats deep inside. Hot and steady. He holds Jimin still as he spills into him, hips pressed tight, breath catching on a broken moan against his shoulder.

“Feel that, sweetheart?” He pants, voice trembling at the edges.

Jimin’s breath hitches. His back arches slightly, and a soft, broken whimper escapes him. Overwhelmed. Undone.

“Fuck…Yes,” he whispers, voice shaking. His spent cock bobs up pathetically. 

Taehyung kisses his shoulder. “Good. Take all of it, baby. Every drop.”

Jimin’s eyes flutter shut as his hand drifts to his belly, like he wants to hold the warmth there. His smile is dazed. Wrecked.

They stay like that. Still and full. Nothing between them but skin and something special. Quiet moments pass. Jimin’s head rests on Taehyung’s shoulder, his body limp in his arms.

“S’that nice?” Taehyung murmurs, grazing his fingertips over Jimin’s chest. “D’you feel good?”

His hand trails lower, down to the soft curve of Jimin’s tummy, where the remnants of his orgasm cling warm and sticky to his skin. Taehyung dips his fingers into the mess and rubs it thoughtfully between his finger and thumb.

Then he peers over Jimin’s shoulder and reaches down to gently take his soft, messy cock in hand, smearing the remaining cum around the sensitive head. Jimin jolts at the touch, oversensitive and raw.

Taehyung smiles, presses a tender kiss to the curve of his neck.

“You okay, baby?” he asks softly.

Jimin hums, too spent for words.

Taehyung strokes his side with one hand, the other still playing idly with the mess.

“Can I rub some of your cum onto your hole?” he whispers. “Mix it with mine?”

Jimin whines, a helpless, pitiful sound that barely counts as a yes, but Taehyung hears what he needs to.

He cups the warm release from Jimin’s stomach and reaches down between them. His own orgasm is already oozing out, slick and hot, where he’s still buried inside. He presses the mess back in gently, adding Jimin’s, rubbing it all around the swollen rim, slow and careful.

“Mmmm,” he breathes, more to himself. “So full of me.”

Jimin just whines in response. Then, voice barely above a whisper, he stutters, “You’re not gonna… pull out, right?”

Taehyung groans softly, heart splitting open. “No, angel. Gonna keep you full. Just like this.”

Jimin’s breath slows gradually, his lashes fluttering as the tension in his body melts into something weightless. He’s still full. Still seated snugly in Taehyung’s lap, his legs limp, back pressed into Taehyung's chest, skin sticky with the aftermath of too much pleasure.

Taehyung strokes his side lazily, thumb brushing the underside of his ribcage, anchoring them in the silence. Jimin makes a soft, broken sound, not quite a moan, not quite a sigh. Just a sound that means he’s still here, still trembling, still real.

And then, barely audible, like he’s talking in his sleep:

“I didn’t think anyone would ever… like this.”

Taehyung stills, heart cracking open in his chest. He leans in and presses a long kiss to Jimin’s damp shoulder.

Jimin’s head lolls to the side, temple brushing Taehyung’s cheek. His fingers twitch weakly on his own knees, like he’s trying to hold onto something he doesn’t know how to keep.

“You sleepy, baby?” Taehyung murmurs, another kiss to his shoulder.

“’M not,” Jimin mumbles, right in the middle of a yawn.

Taehyung chuckles softly.

“Okay, fine. I’m sleepy, but… can you keep…just… like this?” he asks, voice small and painfully vulnerable. He backs his ass onto Taehyung’s cock just a little more, a shy little push, like punctuation to the request.

Taehyung exhales through his nose, hand smoothing down Jimin’s side. “Yeah, angel. Just like this.”

He moves slowly. His hand slips down, cupping Jimin’s soft cock, smearing the lingering mess lazily over his skin again.

“I want you,” he whispers. “So fucking much, Jimin. You don’t even know.”

He rocks his hips once… shallow. Barely enough to count. But Jimin flinches and lets out a sound so broken and raw Taehyung nearly stops.

But then he does it again. Another slow grind. Another deep press of cum-slick heat inside him.

“Full,” Taehyung murmurs, voice like syrup.

Jimin keens. Soft and wrecked.

His body’s so relaxed he couldn’t stop this if he wanted to. And he doesn’t. There’s a glimmer of something in his voice when he finally gasps:

“You c-can… keep going. Just… slow.”

Taehyung exhales against his neck, relief and awe mingling in the sound. He kisses behind Jimin’s ear and lets his hips fall into an impossibly slow rhythm. Just the drag of fullness. The gentle motion of staying connected.

Not about chasing pleasure now.

Just about staying inside him.

About letting Jimin feel what it means to be wanted. Claimed. Kept.

Chapter Text

Vminie_Cie7 created this beautiful mood board, go check her out! ❤️‍🔥

The room is dark, quiet in that particular way it is only in the silent hours of night. The street outside fast asleep. The radiator ticks softly, trying to warm the chill. The bed is warm, though. The bed is Jimin.

Taehyung must’ve softened at some point and slipped out. Jimin is now wrapped around him. Still bare. One leg slung loosely over Taehyung’s thigh, one hand curled near his face on the pillow. His chest is pressed to Taehyung’s side, and he’s so warm it makes Taehyung ache.

'And he's the cuddly sleeper,' Taehyung scoffs mentally. 

He should move. Clean them up. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he just breathes.

He watches Jimin sleep. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The faint red bite marks on his shoulder. Lashes fluttering with each breath. He looks peaceful. Spent. Adored.

Taehyung’s fingers drift over his waist, ghosting down to where their bodies had been joined. The mess dried and tacky where it's leaked. The faint swell where they’d been connected. Somehow, it makes it all feel more real.

Jimin shifts, making a soft sound. Somewhere between a wince and a whimper.

Taehyung kisses his forehead. The silence wraps around them, and Taehyung lets his eyes close. Just for a second. One hand finds the back of Jimin’s neck; the other settles low on his spine. Warm. Anchoring.

Jimin exhales. A quiet, instinctive sound. The kind you make when your body knows it’s safe. His breathing evens again. His brow smooths.

Taehyung stays still. Just holds him. Feels the weight of him. Trusting and loose.

For once, the ache in his chest doesn’t feel like something’s breaking.

He keeps his eyes closed.

Lets the middle-of-the-night quiet stretch around them, slow and golden.

Until the sharp buzz of his phone slices through the dark.

Jimin doesn’t stir, still curled against the pillows, bare and boneless in the warm nest of sheets, his breathing soft and even. Taehyung glances at the screen but doesn’t check the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?” he whispers. 

“Kim,” Chief Han snaps. “I need you and Agent Lee in Danggam-Dong. A hardware store’s been lighting up our flagged database all night. Something’s off. Grab Lee; I want eyes on it now.”

Taehyung carefully untangles himself from Jimin’s hold. He sits up slowly, head heavy. He presses a palm to his eyes, elbow digging into his thigh.

“Yes, Chief.”

He gets to his feet and pulls on the pants he yanked off just hours ago. The room is still soaked in the scent of them.

He finds an old receipt on the dresser and scrawls a quick note in messy handwriting:

Got called in. I didn’t want to wake you. Stay as long as you want. Sleep, eat, shower, steal my clothes if you need them. I kissed you goodbye. I hope you don't mind.

He glances back at the bed. Jimin is still tucked into the pillows, hair a mess, mouth parted slightly. Boneless and warm in the sheets they ruined together.

He leans down and presses a long kiss to Jimin’s forehead. A kiss full of unspoken things.

Thank you.

Please come back.

This mattered.

When he pulls away, he lingers. Just for a second. Just to take in the sight of Jimin here in his apartment, in his bed, in his space.

Jimin doesn’t stir.

He leaves the note beside him and shuffles out of the room as quietly as possible.

At the bathroom sink, he wipes the tacky cum from his skin with a damp cloth but leaves everything else untouched. The scent. The warmth. The memory of Jimin’s body on his.

He wants to carry it with him. Just a little longer.

That, if nothing else.

“Junkie or tech guy?” Chang Lee asks Taheyung mid-yawn.

“Don’t care, as long as I don’t have to stab myself with a needle again.”

“Flip for it?”

“You got a coin?”

Lee shakes his head once, like a child refusing to brush their teeth. “Nope."

Taehyung opens the car door and sighs as he climbs out. “Guess I’m the junkie then.”

The clinic is bright, yet nothing about it seems sanitary. 

Taehyung walks in hunched over, hoodie pulled low over his face. He stumbles on purpose. After months of undercover work now, pulling this off takes no effort at all.

He catches himself on the counter, hands trembling just enough.

“I think—” he gasps, voice rasped and sluggish. “I think someone put something in my drink.”

The nurse looks up from her chair, unimpressed. Not alarmed. She’s seen worse. Probably tonight.

“Name?”

Taehyung dry heaves. He might be overdoing it, but these little skits bore him now.

Agent Lee slides in behind him, calm as anything. He nods a weak smile at the nurse. “He’s my cousin. He called me rambling. I mean, he could just be wrecked, to be fair, but..." he shrugs, "Couldn't just leave him, you know, family and shit." 

The nurse sighs. “We’ll take him back to have a look. You can wait there.”

She points to a battered row of plastic chairs.

“Sure,” Lee says, sitting. She leads Taehyung down a side corridor, not even looking back.

Taehyung lets his knees buckle a little as he lowers onto the exam table in a room that smells of disinfectant and rust.

“We’ll need to run a tox screen,” the nurse says, already reaching for a clipboard. “Another one!" She shouts to no one in particular. She frowns at him as if she's seen one too many. “I’ll grab the kit. Sit tight.”

The second the door shuts, he sits up straight. He scrambles to open all the drawers and skims over any papers lying around. Nothing. The trash bin in the corner is half full. He leans over, sifts through it fast.

Bandages. Gauze. An empty pill blister pack.

And then... a drink card. It’s crumpled, but the ink’s still there, smudged and unmistakable.

Cypher.

He stares at it for half a second too long. Footsteps echo back down the corridor.

Shit.

He rushes to the window, stuffing the screwed-up card into his pocket.

Fucking window is stuck. He jams the latch hard with his shoulder, winces when it finally gives as metal bites deep into his thigh as he clambers over.

Pain flares, hot and wet. Doesn’t matter.

He drops down into the alley behind the clinic just as the nurse opens the door.

“Sir?”

He’s already gone.

Agent Lee is waiting around the corner, dressed differently to before. New hoodie, denim jacket on top. He hands Taehyung a baseball cap and leather jacket.

“Anything?” Taehyung asks, slipping into the disguise. His curls sticking out from under the cap.

“Intake log.”

“Good.”

“You?”

Taehyung holds up the card.

“Recognise the logo?”

Lee exhales. “Shit.”

They walk back to the car. Taehyung drops the drink card into a plastic evidence bag and seals it tight. Neither of them say anything as they pull away.

The sun is rising, trying its best to show itself through the clouds. Taehyung glances out the window and wonders if Jimin’s awake. What he thought when he found the empty bed. The note.

“Diner’s a few minutes away. Please. I need coffee,” Lee mutters.

Taehyung just nods.

They pull up outside a run-down café. Paint peeling. Sign flickering 'Open 24h'.

Taehyung scans the street without thinking. It’s pure habit. Part of the job. Across the road, a hardware store. A bus stop a hundred yards down. A shelter hidden just beyond it.

They step inside. The air is thick with the smell of coffee and stale grease. Familiar. Comforting in its own grimy way.

Taehyung drags a hand down his face. Two hours of sleep. 

Sleep with Jimin.

His chest tightens a little at the memory. He swallows it down.

The coffee is burnt, and the seats are sticky; the old plastic covering crackles under him. Lee downs his first cup like it’s holy.

Taehyung sips slower, nursing the heat. The mug is chipped and warm in his palms. He’s still got the taste of Jimin on his tongue, the ache of him in his chest. It’s a weight in the back of his mind that he doesn’t want to put down just yet.

They sit in a booth near the window, backs pressed into the old, baby blue sofa, eyes on the street.

“You ever think we’re in over our heads?” Lee asks, tapping his spoon on the rim of the cup.

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. He rubs a knuckle under his eye, trying to chase the sleep from his bones, and watches a bus groan to a stop down the street.

“People vanish every day,” he says finally. “But this… this is different.”

Lee nods. “Four disappearances just this month. All young. No records, no phone pings, no sightings. All from different neighbourhoods, but every trail runs cold in the same place.”

“Cypher,” Taehyung says, voice low, thumb brushing the rim of his cup.

Lee glances over his shoulder. “You think the clinic’s part of it?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a funnel. Somewhere they pass through. That card though? That’s Bambi.”

Lee’s expression sharpens.

“They’re using the bar to make contact. Recruiters? Spotters?”

Taehyung shakes his head.

“Whatever it is, no one’s talking. That’s the part I can’t get my head around. It’s like Bambi is invisible to everyone, not just us. Jeon's been on the inside for months. No one knows him. No one is talking. No one knows anything.”

They both fall quiet for a moment. Stumped.

Lee leans forward, lowering his voice. “You think it’s trafficking?”

“I think it’s worse.”

The image of the drink card still swirls in Taehyung's mind. The logo half-smeared. A stamp from the bar. Something no one should have brought into a clinic in a completely different part of town.

Taehyung finishes his coffee and tosses a few bills on the table. The leather of his wallet creaks softly in his hand. “Let’s walk.”

Outside, the air hits cool against his face. A few cars rumble past. The sun is starting to rise, trying its best to shine through the stubborn clouds. Steam lifts from the gutters. The smell of old oil and something metallic lingers.

They pass a shuttered print shop. An old payphone missing its receiver. A cracked mailbox filled with flyers, ruined by the rain.

They pass a boarded-up laundromat. A crooked bulletin board outside catches Lee’s attention.

He stops. Stares.

Taehyung follows his gaze.

A dozen missing posters. Different ages, different weeks. Some have names. Others just blurry photos and “Last seen near—” scrawled under local street names. 

Taehyung shifts his weight. The gravel crunches beneath his boot.

Before either of them can speak, a voice calls out behind them.

“You here for Jon Choo?”

They both turn.

A woman stands a few feet away, arms crossed over a patchwork cardigan. She’s in her late sixties, maybe older. Her gaze is steady, sharp despite the exhaustion in her face.

“Excuse me?” Taehyung says.

“Jon Choo,” she repeats. "Latest runaway. He used to sleep at the shelter. Sweet kid. Always shared his food. Been gone a week now.”

Taehyung straightens. His shoulder aches where he’d hit the window frame earlier, but he ignores it. “I’m sorry. I haven’t heard that name.”

She nods, not surprised. “Your lot always comes around. Cops. NGOs. News reporters. Whatever you are. Ask questions. Then nothing happens.”

“We’re not here to waste your time,” Lee says gently. Not lingering on why people are hanging around, asking about the missing.

The woman studies them both, lips pressed thin. Then gestures behind her toward the shelter’s back door.

“Come in. I’ll show you his bunk. You can see for yourself.”

Taehyung hesitates for half a second, then nods. “We appreciate it.”

He touches the back of his neck, feeling the grit from the alley still stuck to his skin.

They follow her inside.

The dark hallway smells like bleach and leftover soup. Somewhere deeper in the building, a radio plays faintly, the warbled sound of a radio host's voice layered over soft static.

The woman leads them past a rec room where a few men are sleeping upright in cracked armchairs. Her footsteps are slow, like she’s suddenly unsure of the whole thing.

“He didn’t talk much,” she says over her shoulder. “Always polite, though. Said thank you when we handed out coats. Helped sweep the stairs.”

They reach a small side room. It's barely wide enough for a cot and a locker.

She stops at the door. “This was his.”

The cot is neatly made. Thin wool blanket folded neatly at the corners. A paperback sits on the pillow, dog-eared, spine cracked. On the floor beside it, a pair of worn sneakers tucked in with quiet care.

Lee steps in first, scanning the room without touching anything.

Taehyung lingers by the door. His fingers trail the edge of the locker, then the corner of the bedframe. He sits carefully on the edge of the cot, hand brushing the blanket, feeling for the irregularities that don’t show.

There. A ridge. Something stitched in. His thumb hooks under the seam.

He pulls gently, not enough to damage the fabric, just enough to find what's not meant to be there. 

A corner of plastified paper peeks out.

He slides it free.

It’s a torn piece of SIM card packaging. It's worn and folded flat, the barcode smudged, the logo half-visible. No number, no paperwork. Just the cardboard insert and a bit of static cling from where the card had been.

Taehyung turns it in his hands. “Burner SIM.” Taehyung’s voice is low.

Lee exhales through his nose. “So he had a phone.”

Taehyung mutters. “And probably told not to leave this lying around.”

The woman steps closer, peering over his shoulder.

“He never talked on the phone. Not here.”

“Did he mention anyone? A job offer, maybe? Someone he was meeting?”

She shakes her head. “Like I said, he was quiet. But he started looking…” She trails off. “Better, I guess. Shaved. Started brushing his hair. I thought maybe he got a girlfriend or something."

Taehyung turns the cardboard over. There’s a partial distributor stamp on the bottom. Local. He reads the faded type aloud.

“That’s two blocks from here. Could be the seller.”

Lee is already dialling. “Chief? We need a check on burner SIM receipts from a hardware store on Crenshaw. Yeah. We’ve got a lead.”

Taehyung sends a msg to Jungkook asking if he knows Jon Choo from the club.

***

The bell above the door gives a tired chime when Taehyung pushes it open.

The place smells like dust and metal and something vaguely chemical-like. Shelves are stacked with tools, paint cans, plumbing parts. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.

A man in his fifties looks up from behind the counter, glasses slipping down his nose.

“Help you?”

Taehyung flashes a faint smile and a laminated fake telecom ID, clipped to his jacket. “Network security. We’re tracing a spike in fraudulent SIM activity. Just need a quick look at your security footage from last night.”

The man frowns. “Fraudulent SIMs? This is a hardware store.”

“You sell prepaid SIMs and burners?” Agent Lee asks, stepping closer and scanning the racks behind the counter.

The man shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Cheap stuff. Pay cash, walk out. That’s legal, right?”

“No one’s saying otherwise,” Taehyung says easily. “We’re just tracking anomalies in tower pings. Some flagged numbers lit up near here last night. Probably nothing.”

The owner studies them for a beat, then sighs and waves them toward the back. “Footage is back here. Knock yourselves out.”

The back office is small and dim, walls stained, electronics humming faintly. A bulky monitor sits on a cluttered desk, fan whirring overhead. The shop owner grumbles as he boots up the playback system.

“Front camera’s good,” he says. “Back one cuts out sometimes.”

He clicks through a few menus with two fingers and a frown. Eventually, the feed flickers to life.

“Here,” he says, stepping aside.

The screen fast-forwards through hours of grainy footage. Empty aisles. The occasional customer buying batteries or a wrench. Then—

“There,” Lee says suddenly. “Pause that.”

A young man walks in. Hoodie up. Keeps his head down. Walks straight to the counter, pays cash, and leaves without a word.

Lee checks the time stamp. “That’s 10:47 p.m.”

Taehyung leans closer. “Rewind. Let’s play it slower.”

They watch the man exit. A few minutes later, someone else walks in.

Same height. Same build. Different hoodie. Same walk. Same behaviour. Cash on the counter. No conversation.

Then again.

And again.

Lee frowns. “That’s the same guy.”

“Or not,” Taehyung mutters. “Look—nose ring here, gone in the next one. Hair tucked up, then loose. Glasses one time, not the next.”

Lee exhales. “Whoever it is, they’re disguising themselves… or copying someone. Even their mannerisms…they're identical.”

“Too identical,” Taehyung says quietly. “Rehearsed.”

He scans the screen again, eyes narrowing. The final visitor is clearer than the rest...slightly taller, younger, awkward. His posture too still, his movements too careful.

“Pull the footage,” Taehyung says. “And we need SIM sale logs. Times, receipts, whatever he’s got. Cross them.”

The shop owner eyes them both. “You said this was just a network check?”

“Just making sure no one’s spoofing IDs,” Taehyung replies smoothly with a rehearsed smile, already pulling a USB from his coat. “We’ll log the serial numbers remotely. Nothing for you to worry about.”

They leave with the footage, stepping back into the brittle morning light.

The street outside is still grey with early morning. A few people shuffle past, eyes low, shoulders hunched as they start their days.

Taehyung and Agent Lee say nothing at first. Just walk. Heads down, eyes up.

"I don't like this," Taehyung squints. “Same pattern,” he mutters. “No trace.”

Lee’s jaw tightens. “It’s too clean.” He immediately starts making calls. Pulling ID requests, flagging the timestamps.

Taehyung doesn’t speak. Just stands on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets.

He checks the time. It’s barely 7 a.m.

He thinks of Jimin. Still in bed, maybe. Curled into the pillow Taehyung left warm.

Lee glances over. “Go home. I’ll loop you in once we have facial matches.”

Taehyung nods. And walks away from reality. 

Chapter Text

No need for introductions, but all credit for the beautiful moodboards go to Vminie_Cie7 ❤️

The deep desire that beats inside Taehyung's chest at the thought of Jimin still being there is almost painful. If he believed in a higher power, he’d say a little prayer.

The apartment is still when he opens the door; the door to his bedroom is still closed, just as he left it, and Jimin’s shoes are still by the door, slightly off-kilter where he kicked them off the night before.

Something inside Taehyung sings. Quietly, but no less real for its lack of noise. Like something fragile in him was bracing for absence.

The coffee pot is still half-full from yesterday. He clicks it on to reheat and sets his keys on the island. His body instinctively leans against the counter, shoulders slouched, eyes distant. Tired. So tired.

Moments later, Jimin appears.

He’s barefoot, bare-legged, wearing nothing but Taehyung’s shirt from the night before and presumably a pair of briefs; Taehyung secretly hopes they’re his. His Guns & Roses tee hangs loose off one shoulder, brushing the tops of his thighs. He rubs at one eye, hair soft and a little unruly, lips still a little swollen from sleep.

Taehyung wasn’t prepared for how adorable he looks in the morning.

“Hi,” he says, voice rougher than intended, like he’s been holding it in. The smile tugging at his lips gives him away completely.

“Hi,” Jimin echoes, blinking slowly. He stands there like he’s not sure he’s allowed to move closer.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Taehyung says, gently pouring a cup of coffee and sliding it across the counter. “I uhm…wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

But Jimin just nods, eyes dropping to the coffee. “I didn’t hear you leave.”

Not suspicious. Not hurt. Just soft and sleepy. Strangely trusting.

Taehyung hardly even realises he’s moving, slowly circling the kitchen island, still drinking in the sight of Jimin in his shirt. Must be a kink.

Jimin elegantly takes a seat on one of the bar stools. “What are you staring at, weirdo?” he snorts, teasing.

Taehyung squints at him, playful, but doesn’t stop watching.

“You have no idea how good you look in this,” he says, gently tugging the hem of the shirt. His fingers graze Jimin’s bare thigh on purpose.

Jimin looks up from beneath his lashes, effortlessly sultry.

“You should let me keep it then,” he says, playful and a little smug.

Taehyung laughs. He doesn’t think Jimin understands that he’d give him everything he owns.

“It’s yours,” he says softly before pressing his hands into Jimin's hips, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

It's too domestic, and Taehyung fucking knows it, but it's stronger than him. It's who he is, and usually people leave. Think he's too much. He stopped trying to change a long time ago, though.

All he can do is hope Jimin will stay. 

“So,” Taehyung says, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, "if you don’t have plans or anything… d’you wanna stay for a bit? I’ll cook breakfast; we can put something useless on TV… I mean—only if you want to.”

Jimin cocks his head to the side, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you say… cook breakfast?”

Taehyung’s slightly shy demeanour vanishes on the spot. He narrows his eyes in mock offence.

“Right. Go fetch my cooking apron. The ridiculous one. Pretty sure it’s in the back of my closet next to the Batman onesie."

Jimin snorts, already sliding off the stool, giggling to himself as he pads toward the hallway, legs bare and shirt swishing at his thighs.

“And don’t you dare get dressed!” Taehyung calls after him.

All of Taehyung’s tiredness evaporates. He starts pulling out everything he’ll need to make his pancakes: almond milk, eggs, flour… the fancy whisk with the electric frother he bought back home a few years ago.

Jimin returns with his apron and an incredibly puzzled, possibly concerned, look on his face.

“Is this what you meant?”

Taehyung grins wide. “Ah yes! Thanks, Jimin-ah! Pancakes wouldn’t be pancakes without the Pancake Picasso.”

Jimin holds up the apron, eyes wide: the Mona Lisa splattered with batter, holding a giant spatula like a paintbrush, batter dripping all over her face like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Jimin passes it to him with the most incredulous look. Surprised? Charmed maybe? Taehyung can only hope.

He empties a punnet of strawberries on the counter next to a stainless steel chopping board. Jimin moves to cut them, but Taehyung swats his hand away.

“You do not have cooking rights in this house yet. You’re still merely a guest and shall be waited on. So go sit. I'll allow you control over the television; choose something to watch.”

Jimin’s confused look deepens. “What does one have to do to get promoted?”

Taehyung shoots him a dangerous glint, but Jimin just smirks cheekily as he walks away.

A few moments later, two towering stacks of pancakes sit on mismatched plates. Fresh strawberries fill a pretty ceramic bowl Taehyung loves and subconsciously keeps for special occasions. Two glasses of orange juice and a pot of coffee to complete the tray, crowned by the signature flower in an old empty bottle.

“Here,” Taehyung says, approaching the sofa, trying not to be too obvious about how fucking incredible Jimin looks there, in his shirt. He could go on about it forever. Write books about it. Create art of just Jimin wearing his clothes.

Jimin sits up, knees just peeking out from the hem. “Well, this is…” He sounds impressed.

“You sound too surprised,” Taehyung pries. “I can’t be the only one making you breakfast in… well, the living room.”

Jimin laughs, sweet and musical. “You’d be surprised.”

Taehyung hums, trying to hide joy with disapproval. 

“So, what are we watching?” Taehyung asks, passing Jimin a knife and fork.

“Fifty First Dates"

“Is that a hint?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow.

Jimin giggles and bumps him with his shoulder. “Well, if last night was a date, then this is still part of that date… But was it really a first date? What counts as a first date anyway?”

Taehyung smirks. “Personally, I’d say saving your life was a pretty big milestone.”

Jimin shoots him a sideways smile, then digs into his pancakes. “Smooth.”

Taehyung grins. “Hey, I’m just setting the bar high.”

Jimin stops to look at him again with that adoring smile, cheeks full of pancake. 

“So, hypothetically… if the first time we met hadn’t involved flying glass, would you still have walked me home?”

Taehyung finishes chewing and pretends to think, his fork hovering mid-air. “I think I’d already decided I was gonna walk you home when we were still standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom.”

Jimin’s face lights up. It’s not dramatic, just this subtle softening that makes Taehyung’s stomach swoop. He stays quiet for a beat, then tilts his head, playful again.

“Okay, but how would you have convinced me?”

Taehyung sighs theatrically. “Probably less trauma. More good old charm.”

Jimin laughs, really laughs, head thrown back. “But you looked so shy that night.”

“I am shy,” Taehyung insists, trying not to smile.

“Please. You’re calculated and sexy and you know it.”

Ah, music to his ears. Taehyung places a hand on his chest. “Excuse me for having manners. Next time I’ll just throw my drink in your face.” He says with a little extra flair.

"I'd still sleep with you.”

Taehyung raises a brow. “Even if it’s a virgin daiquiri?”

“Oh, right! Seokjin wants me to ask you… what is with that?”

Taehyung laughs out loud. Everyone gives him shit about the strawberry thing. And the zero alcohol tolerance, not that he’d drink on the job anyway.

“I like strawberries,” he says pointedly, teeth on show as he bites into one like it proves something.

Jimin doesn’t miss a beat. “Not a virgin, though.”

Taehyung pinches the side of his butt and Jimin squeaks, batting him away with his fork.

Then there’s a moment. The energy softens.

Jimin sets his empty plate on the coffee table and stretches with a groan, flopping back dramatically onto the cushions.

“I’ve got half a model due next week,” he says, like it just occurred to him.

Taehyung glances over. “And yet here you are. Horizontal.”

Jimin sighs. “Tragic, isn’t it?” He doesn’t move. “They should revoke my scholarship.”

“You have a scholarship?”

“Had. Have. Maybe. Depends how my project goes.”

Taehyung laughs. 

“Can I ask you something?” Jimin says.

“You just witnessed me wear an apron with the Mona Lisa, looking like she got a pornographic facial on it, to cook breakfast. You can ask me anything.”

Jimin giggles, but there’s something quieter underneath now. “Do you… do this often? Like, wake up and make pancakes for people wearing your shirts?” He asks, but his eyes are focused on his plate. 

Taehyung lifts his chin and doesn’t look away. “No. You?”

“No.”

Taehyung smiles. It starts in his mouth and spreads to his eyes. 

Taehyung leans in, mock serious. “Be honest. Life-changing?”

“Depends. You mean the breakfast or the chef?”

Taehyung grins.

Jimin licks syrup off his thumb. “Devastatingly good.” He glances up with a grin, “And the pancakes weren’t bad either.”

Two whole hours and four episodes of something forgettable later, they’re stretched out along the sofa. Taehyung’s feet propped on the armrest, Jimin curled into his side, one bare leg draped over his.

“Do you think it’s weird that some people just don’t like theme parks?” Taehyung asks, genuinely troubled by the concept.

Jimin snorts into his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my cousin married this guy, and we were planning a trip, and he doesn’t like theme parks. How can you not like a theme park? It’s literally a giant place full of fun.” His logic, as far as he’s concerned, is flawless.

Smiling up at him, Jimin says, “Don’t you think they’re kind of expensive?”

“Well, yeah,” Taehyung shrugs, “but hello? Can you really put a price on happiness?”

Jimin laughs again. It’s cute. A small, happy sound that makes something flutter in Taehyung’s chest.

“I suppose you can’t.”

Taehyung tucks a stray hair behind Jimin’s ear, and the gesture makes Jimin close his eyes. He leans into the touch. Taehyung knows that look. The quiet one. The look of a boy who wants to be kissed. He cups Jimin’s cheek and grants the silent request with a soft press of his lips.

Taehyung could compose music about Jimin’s mouth.

Jimin exhales into the kiss, like something has settled. Like everything is briefly, impossibly right.

They don’t move for a while. Just soft, lingering kisses, slow and unhurried. No tongues, no urgency. Just mouths getting to know each other, like they’re in no rush to speak the same language. Nothing but lovers, pressing kiss after kiss for no reason at all.

Eventually, Jimin pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against Taehyung’s.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

Taehyung inhales slowly. The mention of sleep makes him aware of how much his eyes ache.

“Are you going to leave if I say no?”

It’s an honest question, low and uncertain. He’s scared of being too much. Of scaring him off.

Jimin blinks slowly. “I’m technically supposed to cover a shift at the café later,” he murmurs, voice already softer. “Might just text someone and fake a tragic blender accident.” Then, softer still, “not unless you want me to,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Taehyung doesn’t answer, just wraps his arms around Jimin and pulls him tighter.

His hand slips beneath the hem of Jimin’s T-shirt, fingers resting on the warm skin of his hip. Jimin nuzzles into his neck, his bare leg tightening around Taehyung’s waist, grinding himself closer.

“I just have one question: how the fuck do you expect me to sleep with you half-naked, pressing your cock into me?”

Jimin giggles. An actual giggle.

Taehyung’s jaw clenches. His muscles tense. His cock starts to harden, fast and stupid.

“D’you know what helps you relax?” Jimin murmurs, lips brushing Taehyung’s jaw between kisses.

Taehyung growls low in his throat as Jimin shifts again, rolling his hips just enough to make him feel it.

“Enlighten me.”

“Orgasms,” Jimin whispers, voice pure sugar. “Orgasms help you relax.”

The groan that rumbles out of Taehyung’s chest is raw.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well then," Taehyung breathes, voice low and warm against his ear, “how about I get you nice and relaxed?" He slides his hand under Jimin’s briefs, gently spreading his cheeks, “and then you can sleep with my big dick inside you? That sound good?”

Jimin looks broken.

“Yeah,” Taehyung adds with a chuckle, grinding into him with slow, obscene pressure, their cocks pressed tight together. “It’d be so nice to fall asleep with you impaled on me again. But this time, baby, you gotta keep me inside, okay?”

Jimin's brows tug together. He resembles a small puppy.

“But are you gonna cum?” Jimin breathes, clutching at him. "I want you to—"

Taehyung gives a soft, mocking pout.

"You gonna clench on me till I cum in my sleep?" He asks, teasing lightly. “That’s okay, sweetheart. You can hold it all in ‘til I wake up and fill you again.”

He shifts Jimin’s hips just enough to glance down between them, then hooks a finger under the waistband of his briefs and pulls, just enough to peek.

“Oh, baby,” he coos. “You’re already wet. Look at you.” His voice is teasing as he swipes a finger over the leaky slit of Jimin’s cock.

Jimin yelps, quiet and sharp.

“Aww,” Taehyung murmurs, dark and sweet, “you sensitive, angel?” He presses another sweet kiss to Jimin's lips. "Have you been thinking about this while we've been lying here talking? Hmm?"

Jimin blushes. Caught.

Taehyung smiles down at him, adoring the flush on his cheeks.

"Tell me, what were you thinking about?"

Jimin whimpers, embarrassed. Taehyung loves it. "It's okay, sweetheart. I love listening to you."

"I was…thinking about how last night you kept going after you came."

Ugh. Another rumbling groan. Taehyung hums loudly, dragging his fingernails up over Jimin's scalp.

"I loved it." He adds with a whisper.

Taehyung is now momentarily broken. Shit.

"Yeah?" He asks, voice trembling.

Jimin nods, eyes wide, lips parted. “It felt so…” He swallows. “So full. So warm. You didn’t pull out, you just—” His voice falters.

Taehyung strokes his cheek with his thumb, slow and grounding. “Just what, baby?”

Jimin hesitates. His lashes flutter like he’s trying not to cry, and it hits Taehyung like a fucking truck.

“You kept it in me,” Jimin whispers. “Even after. And I… I’ve never really had that before.”

Taehyung blinks, his heart suddenly hammering under the weight of Jimin’s quiet confession. So vulnerable, a little too raw, as if he’d been waiting for someone, anyone, to finally listen.

“Guys don’t usually want to,” Jimin adds quickly, almost apologetic. “I mean, they all just wanna shoot it all over me.”

He trails off. His voice is small, fragile. “I think about it all the time.”

There’s a sheen in his eyes now, barely held tears, not from sadness but from something else. The ache of being seen, maybe.

Taehyung exhales shakily, then presses their foreheads together. “You like being filled, angel?” He adds a sweet kiss to Jimin's bottom lip, just because he can.

Jimin nods.

“Like feeling it leak out after?”

His breath catches. “Yeah."

Taehyung kisses him, slow and deep, then murmurs, “You don’t have to pretend with me. If you want my cum dripping out of you every fucking night, you’ll get it. As much as you want.”

Jimin shudders. 

Taehyung brushes their noses together. “Yeah, baby? You want that? Want me to fuck you full every night?”

Jimin closes his eyes like it’s too much. Too much tenderness, too much want. But he nods, his voice a whisper. “Yes.”

Taehyung groans, low and dark. “You don’t ever have to beg for that. You want my cum inside you? I’ll give it to you. Every fucking time.”

He shifts just enough to press his hips forward, his hard cock sliding up against Jimin’s.

“I’ll fill you before bed. Lazy fucks until I’m oozing deep inside you. I’ll fuck you slow in the morning until you’re dripping. After a long day, when you walk through the door. In the shower. On this couch. Anywhere you want it, baby.”

Jimin lets out a wrecked little sound, eyes fluttering open...glassier than before.

“I’ll stay inside until you’re leaking. I’ll fuck it deeper when it tries to drip out. I’ll make it so you’re messy for me all day.”

Jimin exhales shakily, his fingers digging into Taehyung’s back like he doesn’t know what to do with the intensity of it.

“I want you so much, Jimin. I love it when you’re mine. And I’m gonna cum in you, for you. Every single time.”

And Jimin. God, Jimin looks like he’s about to fall apart just from the words.

Taehyung reaches inside his pants just to tease the tip. Sticky. Delicious. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks off the precum. Then, without even savouring the taste, he leans in and licks Jimin’s lips, coating his mouth with it.

Jimin whines something helpless.

“Turn around, baby.”

Obedient and good, Jimin shuffles to face the other way, his ass politely poking out, offered up for Taehyung to play with.

“You’re such a good boy. Do you know that?” Taehyung asks, lightly tracing patterns along his back beneath the T-shirt (which, by the way, he has no intention of taking off).

“I… I want to be.”

“My angel is obedient.” kiss. “Patient.” kiss. “And so, so beautiful.”

Painfully slowly, Taehyung slides Jimin’s briefs over the magnificent swell of his ass, and the tiny wiggle he gets in return is unbearably cute.

“I haven’t got lube here, sweetheart,” he says, placing his fingers in front of Jimin’s mouth.

Jimin dribbles a big glob of saliva onto them without even responding. It makes Taehyung chuckle.

When he pulls his hand back, he’s honestly impressed by the amount.

“Hmm, my angel likes it wet.”

Jimin moans.

“Nice and messy for a messy baby.”

Jimin whimpers.

“Here,” he says, finally giving Jimin the contact he’s been silently begging for. He rubs his sloppy wet fingers into Jimin’s hole. Jimin clenches down on nothing. Cute.

“Still a little loose from last night, sweetheart?”

Jimin whines pitifully and nods. “You’re s… so big.”

Taehyung’s chest swells.

“Yeah?”

Jimin hums in agreement. “Could feel you all the next day last time.”

Taehyung groans, deep and primal.

“Did you like it, angel?” he asks, lightly tapping his fingers on Jimin’s clenching hole.

Jimin gasps, leaning into it a little.

“Loved it. Made me feel all funny.”

Taehyung adores this Jimin. This innocent, submissive Jimin.

“Tell me more,” he says, trying to keep the plea out of his voice.

In between soft gasps and whimpers while Taehyung prods and teases him, Jimin breathes, “Made me feel… used. But like, in a good way. I couldn’t think about anything else. Just wanted more. Wanted you.”

“Hmmm,” Taehyung can’t help but hum at the image. Jimin walking around all day, hole a little sore but loving it. Feeling claimed. Maybe wishing he could come home and find Taehyung there, ready to start all over again.

The thought sinks into his chest, warm like syrup.

Curiosity gets the better of him.

“Did you wish I’d be there waiting for you at the end of the day?”

Jimin hums sweetly.

“Just for you to come in and want me to fill you up again. You’d still be loose. Could lube yourself up and just sink down on me without even asking. Use my dick to feel good and make me cum right there, just as you like it.”

Jimin practically vibrates in response, and Taehyung takes advantage of the moment to slip a finger inside. Jimin lets out a punched moan, like he wasn’t expecting it but desperately wanted it.

“That’s it,” Taehyung murmurs, twitching his fingers around the tight ring of muscle. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“So nice.”

“I love it when you talk to me like this. Tell me what you like,” he says, kissing Jimin’s shoulder softly. “That first time, when you asked me to cum inside you…” He inhales, deep and steady, trying to hold himself together.

The cutest little whine spills from Jimin’s lips. “I was so nervous,” he admits, voice trembling.

“I know,” Taehyung whispers, pulling Jimin’s body a little closer, just for a moment. “And I’m so proud of you for being brave and asking me. You were so sweet to ask like that.”

Taehyung slides in the second finger, slow and deep, curling them just right. Jimin jerks softly in his arms, a shaky exhale breaking past his lips. Hands clutching the cushion curled into his chest.

Behind him, Taehyung stays close, breath warm against his neck.

“Aww angel...Hips already moving," he teases. "I’ve barely touched you.”

Jimin shifts again, subtle but unmistakable. A quiet little roll of his hips, chasing the stretch.

Taehyung kisses his shoulder, then murmurs, “You trying to fuck yourself on my fingers, baby?”

Jimin doesn’t speak. He just breathes hard through his nose and tilts his head back into the curve of Taehyung’s neck. The tiniest, needy sound escapes him.

“I can feel it, you know?” Taehyung says, voice low and rough now. “Your body wants it so bad.”

He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, then slides them back in, slow and slick.

“Tell me,” he whispers, nudging Jimin’s temple with his nose. “Tell me what you need.”

For a moment, Jimin doesn’t say anything. Just breathes hard and shaky, trying to hold himself together.

Then finally, his voice breaks, quiet and low. “I want you,” he says. “Not your fingers. You.”

Taehyung groans quietly, the sound pressed into Jimin’s skin as he pulls his fingers out slowly, careful not to lose the slickness they’ve built.

“You can have me,” he murmurs, kissing the back of Jimin’s neck, lips warm and heavy. “I’m all for you, angel.” He noses along the shell of Jimin’s ear.

“I just need to get the lube, okay, baby?”

Jimin whimpers softly, sounding small and needy. Already deep in that state of submission. Taehyung isn’t sure if he even realises.

“I know, angel. I should’ve got it before,” he says, holding him a little closer. “I’ll be less than thirty seconds. Then I’ll be right here. All for you.”

Jimin lets out another soft whine of protest but releases him without a word.

“Good boy,” Taehyung praises, brushing a kiss to his cheek.

He’s up in a flash, practically sprinting to his room to grab the strawberry-flavoured lube. On the way back, he stubs his toe against the doorframe and barely refrains from cursing everything holy.

His cock is painfully hard, tucked away and pulsing, red and furious. The thought of sinking into Jimin’s warmth nearly derails him. It takes every ounce of control not to wrap a hand around himself and give it just a little tug.

When he returns, he finds Jimin exactly where he left him. On his side, clutching the cushion to his chest, underwear still tugged down over his ass. Taehyung stops for a second just to look.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re going to ruin me.”

This is what he loves about being ‘dominant’. People think it means power and control, but the truth is much more simple. He just wants to serve. To please the sweet boy in front of him. To keep him sated, full of cum and happy.

Jimin mewls at him from the sofa, a pouty little frown tugging at his features.

Taehyung gives him a matching look, part teasing, part adoring.

“Feeling needy, baby?” he asks, taking the last few steps to return to him. He kneels down and gently manoeuvres Jimin’s legs so he can settle between them.

Jimin shifts instinctively, arching his back and lifting his ass, offering himself without even thinking. A perfect little show.

Taehyung squirts lube onto his fingers and lets it warm just slightly before pressing it into Jimin’s pretty hole. Jimin gasps, body going tense, hole clenching tight around his finger. The way it grips makes Taehyung’s cock dribble.

He pulls back and adds more. If Jimin likes it wet, he’s going to make it soaking.

He rubs an obscene amount of lube all over him. Around the rim, inside, slow and deep. He even strokes some over Jimin’s balls since they’re just there, full and flushed and too sensitive to neglect.

Jimin is a mess. He’s mewling, panting, and whining. His body is pink and trembling and open.

Taehyung is losing his fucking mind. And then he hears it. A quiet plea, barely there.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, kissing the swell of Jimin’s ass.

“Please,” Jimin breathes. It’s a whisper, a sob, something too soft and vulnerable to ignore.

Taehyung closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. His heart aches. His cock aches worse.

“Oh, angel,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Lie back down for me.”

He reaches for the lube again, then settles behind him, just as they were before, pressed between Jimin and the back of the sofa. He slicks himself generously and lines up. One hand spreads Jimin open, the other cradles his body, grounding him.

“Breathe for me.”

And then he pushes in.

Slow. Careful. Sinking inch by inch into the tight heat, leaning back to watch Jimin’s body take him, stretch for him, welcome him back inside.

“That’s it,” he whispers, voice trembling. “Oooh, baby, just like that.”

Jimin seems to have stopped breathing. Suspended in the agony of sweet pleasure.

“You have to breathe, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung says, soft and coaxing, hoping to call him back to life.

Jimin chokes out a groan. His hole clenches down on Taehyung, unforgiving and relentless.

"Bu– But you’re pressing… right there…”

Shit. This just keeps getting better.

“Yeah?” Taehyung breathes, hips shifting in a way that’s barely a thrust but will be felt deep inside. “Right there? Where it feels good?”

Jimin answers with a slow roll of his hips, trying to fuck back onto his cock.

Taehyung grips his hips and holds him still. He leans in close, lips brushing his ear, and whispers, “Not yet.”

The whimper that follows is something Taehyung wishes he could bottle up and keep forever.

He reaches back and grabs the lube. “Here,” he murmurs, handing it to Jimin. “You can tease the tip of your messy cock, but no fucking back on me. You stay right there. Keep me pressed against that spot.”

Another pained little whine.

“I know, angel. I know. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“You said you were going to cum inside,” Jimin whimpers, voice catching like he’s close to tears.

Taehyung places a steady hand on his lower tummy. “If you keep clenching like that, I will.”

He nudges the bottle of lube still resting in Jimin’s hands.

“Go on, baby. Touch it. Just the tip.”

“Why can't I…just a little?” Jimin asks, trying to swallow Taehyung's cock a little deeper.

Taehyung grabs his hips and chuckles. It’s mean, and he knows it, but he can’t help himself.

“Because, angel. I want to see how sensitive you are.”

Jimin hesitates, then obeys. Taehyung knew he would. 

His fingers slick with lube, Jimin strokes the head of his cock with a careful touch. One soft drag over the tip makes him flinch, a broken little gasp slipping out.

Taehyung watches him, gaze heavy with heat.

“Good,” he says, low against Jimin’s ear. “Just like that. Let's see how much you can take.”

Jimin’s hips twitch, his body caught between too full and too desperate. Each pass of his fingers makes him whimper, thighs trembling with the effort to stay still.

Taehyung continues to hold Jimin’s hips steady, cock buried deep to the hilt. Every time Jimin clenches, it makes him wince in torturous pleasure.

Every now and then, he shifts just slightly. A slow, deliberate press deeper. Heavier. Right into Jimin’s prostate.

Jimin pants himself into a frenzy, gasping and yelping, helpless.

“Please,” he begs, shameless and wrecked. “Please fuck me… just a little.”

“No, baby. Not yet.” Taehyung murmurs. “I want to watch you cum. I want to see your face screw up when you lose control. When you explode all over yourself and flutter around me.”

Sweat begins to glisten on Jimin's neck. Taehyung wants to lick it. He wants to taste every single part of Jimin. Wants to consume him until there's nothing left.

“You can touch yourself as much as you want,” Taehyung adds, voice soft but firm. “Keep that pleasure building. But I want you to wait for me.”

Jimin’s hand is shaking as he strokes himself, slow and slick, his thighs twitching with restraint. Taehyung stays still behind him, still nestled deep within, holding him in place like he belongs there.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, kissing the side of Jimin’s neck. “Trying so hard.”

Jimin breathes through his nose, the smallest nod betraying how close he is.

"Close, sweetheart?"

Jimin nods pitifully. "So close." It's hardly even a sound.

"Clench a little more, baby." He answers with the sweetest of kisses to Jimin's neck. "Feels so good when you do."

A quiet sob escapes Jimin’s throat. His whole body trembles, his breath hitching with every slow circle of his fingers. His thighs are taut, stomach trembling, hole clenching around Taehyung’s cock with every desperate twitch.

Taehyung moans. Loud and desperate. He doesn't care if the neighbours can hear. His dick is stuffed into Jimin's tight, warm hole and it feels unreal.

Jimin in return lets out a loud noise of his own, loud and primal, before attempting (possibly subconsciously) to fuck himself back on Taehyung's cock again.

Taehyung growls, "You want my cum so bad, don’t you?" His grip tightens on Jimin's hips, and he holds him right there, putting more pressure on that spot that makes him whine like an animal in heat.

Jimin’s body is trembling now, caught in the tension between surrender and desperation. Every shift, every breath, every flutter of muscle draws Taehyung closer to the edge.

“Don’t move,” he warns, voice like velvet, hot against the shell of Jimin’s ear. “I’m going to fill you. I want you to feel it when it happens.”

Jimin’s hand falters on his cock, but he keeps touching. Barely. Just enough to stay teetering.

Taehyung’s hips grind forward, slow and heavy. No rhythm, just weight, just pressure. His cock pulses deep inside, and Jimin whines like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Almost there,” Taehyung breathes. “Stay right here with me.”

Taehyung’s voice drops. Gentle but commanding.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

Jimin blinks, dazed, trying to twist just enough to see him.

“That’s it,” Taehyung coos, cradling his cheek. “Look at me while I fill you up. I want to see your face when you feel it.”

He thrusts once, slow and deep, and that’s all it takes. Taehyung groans, heat flooding into Jimin’s body, and the exact moment Jimin feels it, he breaks, spilling across his stomach, body shaking, lips parted in a silent gasp as Taehyung watches it all.

“Just like that,” Taehyung whispers, breathless. “Perfect.”

They stay still after that, chests heaving, sweat cooling on their skin. Taehyung doesn’t pull out. He just wraps himself around Jimin, cock still buried deep, grinding lazily into the aftershocks.

One hand drifts down, fingertips collecting the sticky warmth of Jimin’s orgasm. He slides it up under the shirt, his shirt, spreading the mess across Jimin’s tummy, his chest, all the way up to his nipples. Smearing it in, just because he can. Because he did this.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice reverent. “Wearing my shirt, pumped full of my cum, covered in yours.”

He rolls his hips once, slow and deep. Not to start anything. Just to feel it. To keep it all inside.

“Perfect little mess.” He presses a kiss to the space behind Jimin’s ear. “Sleep now, angel. We’ll make a mess of you again later."

Chapter Text

Beautiful moodboard by a beautiful friend: Vminie_Cie7 ♥️

He wakes up full.

Not just snug and tangled in limbs, but truly, intimately full. Taehyung’s cock still nestled deep inside him, their bodies flush from shoulder to thigh, his own heartbeat slow and syrupy.

He doesn’t open his eyes.

He doesn’t move.

It's late afternoon. The sun is low, softer now, amber slipping through the window like the day’s winding down without them.

The room smells like sweat and sex and a little of strawberries, and his legs ache in a way he already knows he’ll crave again by tonight. Taehyung’s arm is resting inside his shirt, heavy and anchoring on his chest, and the steady breath against the back of his neck tells him he’s still asleep.

Jimin clenches, just a little.

Just to feel him.

Something inside of Jimin, the part of him that ordinarily keeps himself at a safe distance from people, feels hacked. Like Taehyung just showed up in his life and derailed his entire safety system in the best way.

Taehyung. Soft and strong and too good to be real.

He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. As though his body truly belonged somewhere. Not needing to laugh too loud, flirt too hard, or prove anything to anyone. He’s never been held like this before. Not just arms wrapped around his body, but wrapped around everything that ever hurt. It's like his body knows how to be still in Taehyung’s arms.

He doesn’t have to ask. Taehyung simply knows. Holds him quiet and steady.

And it undoes him. Quietly. Every moment they spend together.

He doesn’t want to move.

Not even when his back twinges or his thigh protests with a dull ache from being curled up so long. He just sinks deeper into the warmth behind him. The rhythmic rise and fall of Taehyung’s chest against his spine. The weight of Taehyung’s arm under his shirt. The familiar girth still tucked inside him. It’s overwhelming. And perfect.

A lazy shift behind him makes his heart stutter. Then a soft hum, low in Taehyung’s throat, and a slow press of lips to the back of his shoulder.

“You awake?” Taehyung murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

Jimin hums, nodding without opening his eyes.

Taehyung’s fingers twitch on his chest, then start to stroke lightly, absent-minded and tender. “Still full?”

Jimin makes a content little sound of joy.

A pause. Then a smile against his skin.

“I like that sound,” Taehyung whispers. “You feel too good to pull out. Might just stay here forever.”

Jimin laughs, breathy and small, and so fond it startles him. He burrows deeper into Taehyung’s hold trying not to overthink.

“You always this clingy after sex?” He asks cheekily. 

Taehyung nuzzles into the back of his neck. “No.”

No, as in he's only this cuddly with him? These little answers continue to catch Jimin off guard. 

He turns just a little, rubbing his cheek over Taehyung’s nose in lazy circles. Listening intently for every small sound. Every breath. Every shift. He wants to know Taehyung. Really know him.

“You’ve ruined this shirt, by the way,” he mumbles, sass starting to sneak back in.

“I profoundly disagree. Now it smells like you, me, and cum. It’s perfect.”

Jimin barks out a laugh. His hole instinctively tightens, making them both wince.

“You’re so gross,” he laughs, threading his fingers through Taehyung’s without thinking.

Taehyung laces them eagerly. “What’s gross about it? You? Good. Me?” He hums thoughtfully. “Cum… your cum?” He sighs, playfully. “Magical.”

Jimin laughs again, loud and unfiltered.

“Hey, stop laughing. You’re gonna tear my dick off.” And of course Jimin barks out another laugh.

A quiet moment follows. Taehyung keeps rubbing little circles into Jimin’s chest with his thumb, absent-minded and gentle. His face is still tucked into Jimin’s shoulder like he’s not ready to come back into the world yet.

Jimin rests his head further back slightly, pressing in deeper, like he still can’t get close enough.

Taehyung sighs after a long stretch of silence. “You’re gonna leave soon, aren’t you?”

Something tugs at Jimin’s heart. The smallness of Taehyung’s voice when he says it.

Jimin nods, just once. Barely.

“I have to,” he whispers. It’s a reflex, and a big part of him aches to stay.

Taehyung hums again, low and reluctant. “What if I don’t let you?”

“You gonna hold me hostage?” Jimin smiles, eyes still closed. “Isn’t that the opposite of what you’re trained for?”

Taehyung’s nose nudges along his neck. “S’why I’d be so good at it.”

That earns him a soft snort, but it fades just as fast. Jimin shifts to turn slightly in his arms, not enough to pull them apart, only enough to see him.

“I don’t want to go,” he says honestly.

Taehyung brushes the backs of his fingers along Jimin’s cheek, his gaze soft and quiet.

“Then don’t,” he murmurs. “Stay with me another night.”

For a moment, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Jimin surrenders. He lets go of that knee-jerk instinct to pull away, to vanish the second someone tries to get too close.

He stays. Wrapped up in Taehyung. Letting himself be wanted.

It feels a little reckless. But warm and so so right.

“Okay,” he whispers, silently wondering if Taehyung can feel how much that one word means.

Taehyung presses slow, gentle kisses to his shoulder. Through the shirt, gentle and innocent. Which in a way makes them even more special.

“I’m gonna run you a bath,” he says quietly, lips close to Jimin’s ear.

“Wait.” Jimin’s voice is small, hesitant. A flicker of something deeper catching light.

“Can we just stay… like this a little longer?”

Taehyung stills, his mouth paused at the curve of Jimin’s neck.

“Of course, baby,” he says gently, wrapping his arm a little tighter around him.

Jimin melts into him at the words. At how Taehyung gives him exactly what he needs without making him ask twice. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Feels good,” he murmurs, voice small. “This.” He means the way they’re lying…close and quiet, safe in each other.

Taehyung hums against his skin, lips brushing just behind his ear. “I like holding you.” A pause, then softer, “I like when you ask me for things.”

Jimin’s breath hitches. He doesn’t respond right away, a quiet moment lingers. “I don’t usually,” he whispers, finally. “Ask, I mean. Not like this.”

“I know,” Taehyung says, calm and sure. “You ask quietly. But… I like hearing it.”

That unravels Jimin. A tender and sore part deep inside. Something he didn’t realise he’d been holding onto for years.

He pulls Taehyung’s hand tighter to his chest. Hides his face deeper in the pillow.

Jimin sits on the edge of the tub as the water runs, one foot curled beneath him, watching the steam cloud in the air. His thighs ache in a way that feels like evidence.

Taehyung is quiet as he adjusts the temperature, sleeves rolled up, hair ruffled and unfairly soft-looking.

“So, are you into the whole monk-in-the-mountains ice-bath routine or more five-star-hotel-steam-room?” he asks, eyes twinkling beneath his curls.

Jimin chuckles. “I prefer soft sheets and slow mornings. Make of that what you will.”

Taehyung huffs a quiet laugh and reaches for a tall bottle on the edge of the tub. He pours a generous line of it into the water. The scent rises instantly…jasmine and something expensive. Clean. Like hotel sheets and immaculacy.

Jimin inhales deeply, chasing the memory it almost gives him. “What is that?”

“Jasmine. I love it." Taehyung answers. "Reminds me of when I was a kid.”

“Why’s that?”

“In summer, I’d stay with my grandmother, and the whole place was covered in jasmine vines. Up the walls, over the fences.” He smiles faintly. “The smell always takes me back.”

Jimin hums, watching the water swirl.

“She raised me really,” Taehyung says, quieter now. “More than my parents did.”

A beat.

Then he dips his fingers into the water, testing the heat. “Perfect,” he murmurs.

And it is. Almost too much.

Jimin stands and pulls Taehyung’s oversized tee over his head. Taehyung strips too, moving unhurriedly. They step into the water, easing down together, one in front of the other. The tub is just big enough for them to fit, but only if they stay close.

Jimin folds his knees, planting his feet on either side of Taehyung’s hips. Taehyung’s legs bracket him in return, long limbs stretching out with nowhere else to go.

The moment Jimin lowers himself fully, warm water laps against his skin.

He winces slightly when it touches his hole. He’s sore...good sore.

It feels nice.

Taehyung gives him a slightly sheepish smirk, like he knows it’s his fault Jimin’s hole is swollen and sensitive.

“Don’t look like you’re sorry,” Jimin says, eyes narrowed. “We both know you’re not.”

Taehyung laughs out loud, head tipping back against the porcelain.

“Well, then don’t look like you didn’t like it,” he says after a moment.

Jimin squints playful daggers at him, then turns away, muttering under his breath, “You and your giant dick.”

Taehyung bursts into laughter again, deep and unfiltered, and Jimin loves the sound. Loves that it’s because of him.

Then Taehyung sits up and scoops a generous amount of jasmine-scented lotion into his palms. He lathers it slowly before placing his hands on Jimin’s chest. The contact is warm and careful, the bubbles gliding gently over his skin.

Jimin lets his eyes fall shut. Taehyung keeps going, massaging his chest, his stomach, all the places that had been sticky with cum. He doesn’t rush. He moves like it matters. Like there’s nothing gross about it. Like he’s tending to something precious.

His hands disappear under the water and glide down Jimin’s thighs.

“Can I?” he asks quietly, pausing near his hips.

Jimin nods. It isn’t sexual. It’s just Taehyung, taking care of him. Again.

Taehyung shifts closer, the water swishes softly around them, jasmine rising in lazy curls of steam.

He cups Jimin’s balls first, rolls them lightly with his thumbs, then moves lower. His fingers slide carefully along Jimin’s crease, tender and methodical. He finds his hole, still loose and flushed, and rubs over it with the soft pads of his fingers.

Still, it’s not about getting off. It’s not even teasing. It’s just soft and patient.

He dips one finger inside, slow and deliberate, and Jimin lets out a breath and allows himself to relax into it. Taehyung cleans him like it’s an act of devotion. Like there’s nothing shameful about it, nothing messy. He draws the soap around his rim, rubbing in slow circles, easing his finger in and out with careful precision, like he’s rinsing something sacred.

Jimin’s head tips back. It’s overwhelming. Not arousing, not exactly, but deeply intimate. Like Taehyung is saying without words, I was here. I did this. I’m still taking care of you.

Like washing paint from your hands after making something beautiful.

Taehyung flits around the kitchen, it seems like he does this more than the average single man. In fact, Jimin can’t see a takeaway menu anywhere.

“A homage to your gondolier racing days,” Taehyung announces, placing a plate of pasta in front of him.

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You know Seokjin-hyung is a menace, right? You can’t believe everything he says.”

“Yeah, he does seem a tad dramatic. I like him.”

Jimin smiles. “He’s fun, yeah. But you’ve never had to bail him out of jail for intentionally breaking the law just so, and I quote, ‘the cute police officer would arrest him.’”

Taehyung almost chokes on his beer.

“This was before Jungkookie, of course.”

Taehyung tilts his head. “Jungkookie… which one is he again?”

“Oh, right. You haven’t met him yet. He’s my little cousin. Well… ‘little’…”

Taehyung presses his lips together, clearly biting back a short joke.

“He’s tall,” Jimin says, dry. “He’s just… tall. A huge mass of muscle. He works security at the club.”

Taehyung nods, accepting his answer. Until he doesn’t. “Balance, I guess. He’s the height, you’re the handful.”

Jimin gasps, clutching his chest. “How very dare you?”

Taehyung just chuckles and leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t get too het up. You know I think you’re pretty perfect.”

Dinner is nice.

Warm, comforting pasta.

Warm, comforting Taehyung.

The kitchen is dim, quiet except for the low hum of the extractor fan and the occasional clink of silverware. A pool of golden light spills over the island where they sit opposite each other. Taehyung’s knee brushes his under the table and stays there. 

Halfway through the meal, Taehyung reaches out and slides Jimin’s bare leg into his lap, resting it there like it’s second nature. One hand settles just above his ankle, fingers curling idly against his skin. Jimin doesn’t flinch. He loves it. How Taehyung touches him without needing to ask. Like it’s a given.

They talk. Nothing heavy at first. Taehyung tells him more about his strawberry farm summers, about his grandmother and how hilariously sharp her tongue can be. It’s easy to see how much he loves her. The way his voice softens. 

Jimin opens up too. He tells him why he wants to be an architect. Not something he usually shares.

“It started when I saw this place in Daejeon,” he says, fork turning slowly in his hand. “A youth center. Really simple, kind of old school. No VR rooms, no fancy tech. Just pool tables, board games, a dartboard. Even this tiny cinema room. The kids loved it.”

He smiles faintly, the memory still bright. “It was the first time I ever felt impressed by a building. Not because it was pretty or clever, but because of what it gave people.”

Taehyung hums low in his throat, rubbing his thumb in slow circles against Jimin’s shin. His attention doesn’t drift for a second.

“It was far from glamorous,” Jimin continues, “but the energy in there… it just felt good, you know? But there was this one boy. Must have been fifteen, maybe sixteen. Severely autistic.” He shifts in his seat, chest tightening. “He was outside the building. Just standing there, watching the lights. You could see it in him, how much he wanted to go in.”

He frowns slightly. “His mum wouldn’t let him. His brother was inside with friends, laughing and playing, and she stayed out front with him. I get it. A lot of the stuff inside probably wasn’t right for him. Too noisy. Too chaotic. But it still broke my heart.”

He looks down at his plate, turning his fork slowly. “He was just there. On the other side of the glass. Watching everyone else have fun. Excluded.”

Jimin glances up. Taehyung doesn’t speak. He just watches him, eyes warm, hand steady on his leg.

“I remember thinking… What if there was a place built for kids like him? A center where the games were different. Where sound and light were adjustable. Where a mum like that wouldn’t have to think twice about bringing her son. Somewhere that felt safe, but not small. Inclusive, without asking anyone to change.”

A breath escapes him. He hadn’t meant to say all that, but it doesn’t feel heavy now that it’s out.

Taehyung leans forward slightly, curling his fingers a little tighter around Jimin’s leg. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

“That’s when I changed my major to architecture. I was doing art before. I’ve always liked to draw, so it made sense at the time. But I remember thinking… I want to design. I want to create places.”

He trails off, only half-aware that he’s been speaking from a different part of himself; the part that usually stays quiet.

When he looks up, Taehyung is watching him. Head tilted slightly, elbow resting on the counter, the pads of his fingers still brushing circles into Jimin’s shin. His eyes are soft. Focused. Like Jimin’s words weren’t just heard but absorbed.

Taehyung doesn’t say ‘That’s amazing.’

Doesn’t nod or smile or offer any of the usual things people say when they don’t know what else to do.

He just looks at him for a moment longer, thoughtful.

“I bet the places you design will feel like you,” he says finally.

Jimin stills. Not sure what that even means. Taehyung said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And then, quietly, like it isn’t a compliment at all, just something true, Taehyung adds, “Something people don’t realise they need until they’re already inside.”

And Jimin… once again, Jimin doesn’t know what to do with that. So he just swallows and looks down, hiding the tremble of a smile behind his glass.

Jimin glances at the time on his phone. His stomach dips.

He hasn’t taken his meds today.

He chews the inside of his cheek, thumb hovering over the screen like that might magically fix it. It’s not the end of the world. Missing one day won’t mess him up. Not really. 

Still, it tugs at him. That familiar prickle of guilt.

“I should…” he starts, but doesn’t finish.

Taehyung is rinsing the dishes, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair fluffed like he’s run his hands through it too many times. He looks over his shoulder, half a smile on his lips.

“Should what?”

Jimin swallows, the sight disarming him immediately. “Nothing.”

He lets the thought sit. He’ll go in the morning. He can sleep here one more night. Get up early, go home, take his meds. Just… not tonight.

Tonight, he wants this. Whatever this is.

Taehyung turns off the tap and dries his hands on a towel. Then he walks over and tugs Jimin by the hand toward the couch.

“Come on. Movie or no movie?”

Jimin lets himself be pulled. “Only if I get to veto your taste.”

Taehyung scoffs. “You wound me.”

They settle onto the sofa like they’ve done it a hundred times. Jimin curls up to him, Taehyung drapes an arm around the back like it belongs there. The TV hums softly in the background, but they don’t really watch.

Jimin’s body is warm. His thoughts are quiet for once. No racing thoughts, or restless limbs. He feels content like this. Just this.

They settle on some random movie neither of them pays much attention to. Taehyung’s thumb traces slow, lazy circles into the crook of Jimin’s elbow. At some point, the news cuts in, just a brief segment. Jimin barely registers it until he hears a name that sticks.

“…local man reported missing, last seen in the early hours of Sunday morning…”

Jimin frowns, sitting up a little.

A blurry CCTV image flashes on the screen. The angle’s bad and the lighting’s worse, but Jimin knows that guy. That outfit. That half-smile. He’s served him drinks before, back when he was helping out at the club. Saw him around often. Quiet type. Usually alone. Never tipped.

He blinks. 

“Something wrong?” Taehyung asks beside him, voice low.

Jimin doesn’t answer right away. The report ends before he can process more.

“I just… I think I know him,” he says eventually, quieter now. “From the club. Not well or anything, but…”

He trails off.

Taehyung shifts a little, his arm solid and steady against Jimin’s back. His thumb resumes its slow path over Jimin’s skin. “When did you see him last?” he asks gently. 

Jimin shakes his head. “Not sure.”

The moment lingers. Not quite heavy, but enough to leave a chill behind.

The movie picks up again and Jimin burrows into Taehyung’s warmth, trying not to dwell.

They fall asleep on the couch first. Jimin curls up like a cat, tucking himself into Taehyung’s body. He loves sleeping like this. Arms folded close to his chest, legs tangled with Taehyung’s, one of Taehyung’s arms under his head, the other resting on his hip, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of his briefs like they belong there.

Taehyung must be exhausted. He didn’t sleep at all last night, made Jimin breakfast, fucked him into oblivion, and then rested maybe an hour before taking care of him all over again.

He tilts his head to look at Taehyung’s sleeping face. So handsome.

Freckles dusted delicately across his cheeks. Freckles Jimin would give anything to learn by heart.

Maybe tomorrow.

Can he?

They’ve had sex three times now. This will be their third night falling asleep together.

Are they going to be together?

God, Jimin would love to be Taehyung’s.

But Taehyung deserves the truth. He deserves to know that Jimin can’t keep up this easy, flirty version of himself for long. It’s real, but it’s not the whole story.

His demons are cruel. They creep in without warning. Some days, they swallow everything.

Again, it’s not the time for dwelling. He snuggles back down, face nuzzled into Taehyung’s neck and closes his eyes. 

Taehyung stirs sometime later, half-awake, his breath slow and warm against Jimin’s hair.

“Come on,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with sleep. “Bed.”

Jimin hums in response, eyes still closed.

Taehyung shifts carefully, untangling their limbs just enough to stand. He reaches for Jimin, and Jimin lets himself be pulled upright, pliant and groggy.

Neither of them says much. The apartment is dim and quiet. They make it to the bedroom. Jimin peels off his shirt. Taehyung helps. Not rushed. Not needy. Just a soft exchange of care.

When they settle under the sheets, Taehyung pulls Jimin close again, like they never moved. Jimin sighs, warm and full, and presses a kiss to Taehyung’s chest without thinking. Taehyung kisses his forehead in return.

He wakes slowly, the soft hush of the morning pressing around him like a second blanket.

For a second, he thinks he’s home.

It’s the light that tricks him. That hazy grey-gold spill through unfamiliar curtains. The way the sheet’s tangled around his waist. The quiet. No sounds of traffic or neighbors stomping around upstairs. No hum from his fridge.

Just stillness. Softness. Warmth.

But then his hand reaches out, instinctively, to the other side of the bed and finds it empty.

No Taehyung.

He turns to find another note on the pillow next to him. 

Got called into work.

Stay as long as you like. There’s food in the fridge, and my shirts look better on you anyway.

Last night was perfect.

P.S. You are, without a doubt, the cuddliest sleeper.

Jimin chuckles to himself, still sprawled in Taehyung’s bed, swimming in an unfairly soft shirt that absolutely shouldn’t smell that good.

It’s definitely a kink.

Eventually, he drags himself up, pulling on his trousers with a fond smirk when he spots them exactly where he flung them two nights ago, still draped over the chair like they, too, got laid.

He grabs his stuff and heads out, only to find his phone lighting up like it’s trying to set itself on fire. A billion missed calls. More messages than anyone should wake up to. Most from his hyungs. And one very aggressive Jungkook.

He opens a few.

- WWH: Jimin-ah! Have you seen my hat?

- Hobi-hyung: Hey sweetie, just checking in 💕 You alive? Coffee later?

- Jungkookie: THE ACTUAL FUCK, PARK JIMIN.

He sighs and opens the group chat, already bracing for impact.

- Me: Guys. Calm down. I’m fine. On my way home now. I’ll be at the café later.

- Me: Also, no, Jin-hyung, I haven’t seen your hat.

- Jungkookie: ARE YOU KIDDING ME.

- Me: What?

- Hobi-hyung: You disappeared for TWO DAYS and expect us to just DRINK COFFEE like everything’s fine??

- WWH: Was it at the park? Did I wear it at the park??

- Jungkookie: WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD.

- Yoongi: We have the hat.

- WWH: WHERE??

- Yoongi: In the microwave. 

- WWH: 😱

- Namjoonie-hyung: Guys, I’m trying to sleep over here.

- Hobi-hyung: On a more serious note… Did you guys see about the missing guy?

- Me: The one from Cypher?

- Hobi-hyung: Yeah. But it’s not just him. Someone else went missing last month too. No news coverage that time, but Namjoon mentioned it.

- Yoongi: Two guys. Same club.

- WWH: If Minsoo goes missing I’m done.

- Hobi-hyung: 😂 He was talking to a mirror in the bathroom last week.

- Namjoonie-hyung: Leave him be. He’s harmless. And honestly, half the unpaid tabs you lot ring up get covered by his whiskey bills anyway, so be grateful for him.

- Jungkookie: …Still. That’s two regulars gone. And both fit the type.

- Namjoonie-hyung: What kind of type?

- Jungkookie: Young. Quiet. Keeps to themselves. Regulars, but not loud about it. Easy to miss until someone goes looking.

- Hobi-hyung: Jesus, that’s dark.

- Jungkookie: Just saying what people at the door are whispering.

- Namjoonie-hyung: I actually got a call from the police this week.

- Me: What? Seriously?

- Namjoonie-hyung: Yeah. I offered to shut the club down for a while, thought it might help.

- Hobi-hyung: That sounds like the right call…

- Namjoonie-hyung: But they told me not to. Said they’ve got people on it and it’s better if the club stays open. They said there’s probably nothing to worry about. 

- Yoongi: Huh. That’s… kind of creepy.

- Jungkookie: Standard protocol. If someone’s watching, closing up tips them off.

- WWH: What kind of psycho goes clubbing again after making people disappear??

- Jungkookie: You’d be surprised. Some of them like to hang around. Watch the fallout.

- Jungkookie: Just saying… maybe steer clear for a bit.

- Hobi-hyung: …You okay, Kookie?

- Jungkookie: I’m good. Just… be smart, yeah?

- WWH: Yoongi, you owe me a new hat. 

Jimin snorts at the ridiculousness that is Seokjin. 

He climbs the stairs to his apartment two at a time, letters flapping in one hand. Junk mail. A bank statement he’ll pretend he didn’t see. A flyer for hot yoga.

The hallway smells like Mrs. Kim’s fabric softener again, that over-the-top lavender that makes him sneeze. He punches in the code by habit, door clicking open before he even glances up.

The curtains are closed. Just how he left them.

He steps inside and lets his keys fall into the little ceramic bowl by the door, a soft clink, followed by his phone thunking down beside them. Charger cable snakes out, already waiting. He plugs it in without looking.

He stretches, spine cracking gently, and flips through the mail on his way to the kitchen. A couple of flyers slide to the floor. He lets them.

Then he sees them.

The envelopes.

Plain white, windowed, stern-looking.

He exhales through his nose.

Electric. Gas. Water. And one from his landlord, annoyingly pink at the corner. He peels it open and skims it… late again. A friendly but very clear warning about fees.

Jimin tosses it onto the counter, rubbing a hand down his face. That low throb of stress that’s been waiting patiently at the back of his brain finally steps forward.

Right. Time to adult.

He opens the fridge, stares blankly inside, then shuts it again. Too quiet. Too still.

Without really thinking, he picks up his phone and taps open a message to Namjoon.

- Me: Hey hyung. Any chance you need someone behind the bar tonight?

The reply doesn’t come right away. He scrolls aimlessly for a minute, thumb hovering over apps he doesn’t really feel like opening. Then:

- Namjoonie-hyung: Honestly? Yeah. We’re short. But only if you’re sure. You don’t have to, Jimin-ah. I’ll understand if you’d rather not. Things feel… off lately.

Jimin bites the inside of his cheek.

- Me: I’ll be careful. Just need a little extra cash.

Another pause.

- Namjoonie-hyung: Okay. Be here by 8? And don’t walk home alone, alright?

- Me: Got it.

He drops the phone on the counter and sighs again. A little deeper this time. Then pushes off toward the bathroom. Quick shower. Clean shirt.

Back to Cypher.

Chapter Text

Perfect mood board from my beautiful friend Vminie_Cie7 ♥️

Minsoo’s already in his usual seat when Jimin walks in. Same crooked lean, same glass of whiskey, same threadbare blazer that smells faintly of cloves and mothballs.

“Early tonight,” Jimin says, tossing his bag behind the bar.

Minsoo doesn’t look up right away. Just murmurs something under his breath, something Jimin doesn’t quite catch, before turning toward him with a slightly confused expression.

“Are you new? Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Jimin pauses, then snorts. “Okay, Yoda. Want the usual?”

Minsoo hums, eyes drifting toward the mirror behind the bar. For a second, Jimin swears he’s not looking at his own reflection but past it.

“Do you work here?” Minsoo asks eventually.

Right. Okay. Jimin’s had countless encounters with Minsoo, but lately he really seems like he’s losing the plot. There’s something a little sad about it.

“Yeah,” he decides to humour him. “Just started tonight. So… is that a yes for the usual?”

A slow nod. Minsoo taps the bar twice with one long finger, then straightens his napkin with almost surgical precision. His slightly crippled body slows him down in the most mundane movements.

“Rocks or neat?” Jimin asks, squinting.

“Rocks!” Minsoo squeaks. “But, no ice.”

Jimin hesitates just long enough for it to be awkward, then laughs it off. “…That makes zero sense, but okay.”

Minsoo nods, but his gaze drifts again.

Jimin follows his eyeline absently, but he doesn’t clock anything weird. Just a quiet night. Regulars. A couple of strangers. Nothing new.

The crowd at Cypher thickens with every passing hour. Bodies press against the bar, the lights get lower, the music louder. Jimin moves on autopilot. Smile, pour, swipe, repeat. Until someone finally taps him on the shoulder and tells him to take his break.

It’s just gone 11 when he slips out the back, phone already buzzing in his hand.

Taehyung: Hey

Me: hey to you

Taehyung: Just got home.

Taehyung: Wish you were still here.

Me: aish

Me: long day

Taehyung: You have no idea.

Me: out saving lives again?

Taehyung: I wish

Me: you okay?

Taehyung: Just tired.

Taehyung is typing…

Taehyung: What are you doing tonight?

Me: working

Me: took a shift at Cypher

Me: on break now

Taehyung is typing…

Taehyung is typing…

A long pause. Then:

Taehyung: Is your cousin working too?

Jimin frowns, thumb pausing over the keyboard.

Me: kook?

Me: yeah, he’s here. scaring people at the door as per usual.

Me: why?

Taehyung: Just wondering.

Another pause.

Taehyung: Anyone else there to keep you company?

Me: Yoongi’s around and Namjoon’s in the office

Taehyung: Good.

Me: How d’you feel about sleeping in your boring apartment without me tonight?

Taehyung: Not great if I’m honest

Jimin aches. There’s nothing he’d like more than to crawl into Taehyung’s bed instead of his own in his sorry little apartment tonight.

Taehyung: Jimin-ah

Taehyung: Be careful there, ok?

Me: 👀

Taehyung: You know.. stranger danger and all that.

Taehyung: Just…don’t talk to strangers

Me: define “strangers”

Taehyung: You know what I mean.

Taehyung: Anyone new. Anyone weird.

Me: this is cypher

Me: everyone’s weird

Taehyung: Exactly.

He smirks at the screen and tucks the phone into his back pocket.

Jimin finishes wiping down the bar and waves goodbye to Namjoon, who gives him a sleepy thumbs-up from the front door. Yoongi’s already vanished somewhere, probably out back for a smoke.

He steps into the break room, changes into his hoodie, and just as he’s about to step out something in the silence makes him hesitate.

But then his phone buzzes again

Taehyung: Come outside

And he goes.

No reply, just grabs his bag and heads for the door.

The road is quiet at this time. Dimly lit. A gust of cool night air slips past his collar. And then he sees him.

Taehyung, leaning casually against a streetlamp like he walked out of a noir film. Hands in his coat pockets, one foot crossed over the other, chin tilted just slightly up like he knows how good he looks in low light.

Jimin actually laughs.

“You’re kidding,” he says, stepping forward. “What is this, a perfume ad?”

Taehyung grins. “Would you buy it?”

“Depends. What does it smell like?”

Taehyung straightens, closing the distance in a few slow steps. “Pancakes.”

Jimin hums, eyes soft now. “You really came all this way just to walk me home?”

“Of course,” Taehyung says. Then adds, with a cheeky grin, “Actually I came all this way hoping to take you home.”

Jimin feels the blush rise to his cheeks. He’s not even gonna try to hide it anymore.

He fucking adores this. This… being taken.

Not in some dramatic, swept-off-his-feet rom-com way per se, though honestly, the streetlamp lighting is doing Taehyung all kinds of favors. But in the quiet, effortless way Taehyung just shows up. No fuss. No games. No questions asked.

Taehyung doesn’t ask if he wants company. He just comes.

And Jimin? He lets himself be taken.

God, he thinks, I’m so fucked.

He lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. “Why are you like this?” he mumbles, eyes flicking up to meet Taehyung’s. “What do you gain by being…” He gestures vaguely at him, up and down… the jacket, the cheekbones, the stupidly calm presence. “Like this?”

It’s the impulsivity in him that makes him blurt it out. His menace of a mind has a lot to answer for.

It’s supposed to sound teasing. Maybe even flirty. But it doesn’t. It sounds wrecked. Grateful. Like he’s already halfway ruined.

He totally is, by the way.

Taehyung laughs, a low, warm sound from deep in his chest. Jimin feels it all the way down to his toes.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung asks, a smile tugging at his mouth like he already knows, but wants to hear it anyway.

“This,” Jimin says, pointing at him helplessly. “You. You’re just— You show up out of nowhere, all tall and gorgeous, saying shit like pancakes, looking like a fucking movie star.”

Taehyung looks confused…endeared, even.

He glances down at himself. He’s in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a black jacket shrugged on top. Nothing special.

His gaze returns to Jimin and he opens his mouth to defend himself, but Jimin cuts him off before he even tries.

“I mean, I just finished a shift in a sticky bar where someone spilled a vodka Red Bull down my leg, and you’re out here looking like the goddamn ending to a movie.”

Taehyung steps closer, voice low and serious now. “What movie?”

Jimin squints up at him. Full pout on show.

Taehyung asks again, even softer, stepping closer still. Invading Jimin’s space like he owns it. “What movie is it, baby?”

Jimin swallows. Hopes his knees will keep doing their job. Then, helpless, he gestures again. “You know what I mean. The movie where the guy shows up in the rain just to walk someone home. The nice guy who’s somehow also ridiculously hot.”

Taehyung’s smile deepens. He’s close now. His gaze flickers to Jimin’s mouth.

The moment stretches between them.

And then Jimin snorts, half embarrassed by himself.

Taehyung leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“It’s not raining,” he says into the kiss.

“Shut up.”

Taehyung giggles.

“Home?”

Jimin hums quietly into his lips in agreement.

“Come,” Taehyung says, and with that, he takes Jimin’s hand and tucks it into his pocket alongside his own, holding it there as he starts to walk.

They walk and talk just like the first night they did this, and Jimin feels floaty at the fact that now he can keep his fingers intertwined with Taehyung’s and rest his head on his shoulder if he gets a little tired.

A few blocks away from Cypher, Taehyung stalls. Jimin follows his line of sight to a guy slumped on a bench. He doesn’t look too good. Head in his hands, clearly been sick.

Taehyung slows. Studies the scene. Says nothing. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, save for the flick of his hand to his hip, casual but practiced. His eyes scan the shadows.

Then he squeezes Jimin’s hand tighter and starts walking toward the bench. His other hand hovers near his pocket again, steady and prepared.

The guy is really just a boy. Late teens, maybe early twenties. Dressed too light for the weather, hoodie sleeves pushed up despite the cold.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, voice low and calm.

The boy squints up at him, pale and dazed. “Yeah… yeah, just hit me all of a sudden. I don’t really drink but… fuck. It’s okay, the guy.. he said he knew a clinic. They’d give me something to make it pass.”

Taehyung stills. “Who said that?”

“The guy I was with. He went in there.”

He gestures toward a darkened shopfront across the street. Taehyung’s posture shifts again, not aggressive, but alert. Instinct humming just beneath the surface.

“What shop?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“That one. The place with the red blinds.”

Taehyung’s tone dips further, clipped and precise. “Did you see him go in?”

The boy shakes his head. “No… he was just there. Then I felt weird. He said he’d be right back.”

Taehyung crouches slightly, getting on eye level. “What was he wearing?”

“Uhh… I dunno. Dark jacket? Baseball cap? He had a scarf on. I wasn’t really looking.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“Just said to call him J.”

Taehyung stands again slowly, glances at Jimin without saying anything, then turns and crosses the street. He pulls out his phone and makes a call.

“It’s me,” Jimin hears him say before he’s out of earshot.

He’s not smiling anymore. He paces slightly, expression unreadable in the glow of the streetlamp.

Taehyung returns a few moments later, tone softer now. “I called you a cab,” he tells the boy. “Shouldn’t be long. Just stay here, alright?”

Just then, Jungkook appears, as if out of nowhere.

“Hey,” he says casually. “Weird night?”

Jimin raises a brow. “Didn’t you finish half an hour ago?”

“Yeah. Just… heard there were some issues near the alley.” He nods toward the boy, then crouches beside him.

“You okay, man? You drink anything you didn’t pour yourself?”

The boy shrugs. “I dunno. It was fine at first. Then I started feeling… off.”

Jungkook nods like he’s heard it before. “You get his name?”

“He said J.” Taehyung answers.

Jungkook’s eyes flick up, meeting Taehyung’s for the briefest second.

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Jimin asks.

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. Jungkook glances up from where he’s crouched, shrugs one shoulder, tone dry.

“Yeah, cops’ll rush right over for generous guys handing out roofies in clubs.”

Jimin frowns at the sarcasm, something about it landing weird, but he lets it go. Jungkook’s always been sharp. A little cagey.

Taehyung gently places a hand on his back, urging him forward.

“Let’s go,” he says, quiet but steady. “He’s in good hands. Cab’ll be here in two minutes.” He raises his voice just slightly, like it’s meant for Jungkook, too.

Jimin hesitates just a second longer, feeling a little weird about the whole thing. He lets it go.

As they walk away, he looks back one last time.

The boy on the bench is talking quietly to Jungkook now.

And the alley beyond the shop?

Still empty.

There are no questions. They walk straight to Taehyung’s apartment.

It’s nice not having to think for once.

Jimin loves the familiarity of it. How he knows which is Taehyung’s building. What number his floor is, though he doesn’t press it. The soft hush of the elevator. The walk from the lift to the door. It’s all fresh in his mind, warm and solid in his chest.

Taehyung is quiet. Thoughtful.

“You okay?” Jimin asks gently, as they slip off their jackets and kick off their shoes.

Taehyung exhales slowly and heads into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and grabs a cold bottle of water, then he leans his hip against the counter, silent for a moment.

Jimin follows him in and perches on the nearest stool, elbows resting on the counter.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…” Taehyung’s voice is calm but tight around the edges. “Situations like that–” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Jimin nods, understanding but not pressing. “Yeah.”

“If we hadn’t seen him…” Taehyung trails off. He stares at the floor for a beat, then takes a sip of water. Without thinking, he passes the bottle to Jimin.

The same bottle. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. There’s something oddly intimate about it. Their mouths touching the same thing, like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

He takes a sip. Maybe savours it a little more than he usually would.

“We did, though,” he says quietly. “He’s fine now.”

Taehyung looks up at him. Takes another breath. And finally offers a soft smile. A little weary. A little cracked around the edges.

But still beautiful.

Taehyung makes his way around the kitchen island and leans back against the counter in front of Jimin. He reaches out, gently combing his fingers through Jimin’s hair, watching the strands fall back into place like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“You hungry? Want something else to drink? I don’t have anything fancy, but—”

“A shower,” Jimin cuts in with a soft chuckle. “Just a shower. I hate the way I feel after working there.”

Taehyung frowns a little, like anything Jimin doesn’t like is a personal enemy.

“Not a fan of Eau de Cypher?” he says softly, the corner of his mouth lifting. Then, quieter, almost reverent, “Come. I’ll get you a towel.”

The hot water hits Jimin like it’s holy. His skin prickles with goosebumps and he sighs, eyes fluttering shut as the grime of the night melts away. Showering isn’t just hygiene. It’s a reset. A ritual.

It’s shedding the weight of everything sticky and loud. Scrubbing off what the world left on him. Starting again.

You know. Therapy, and stuff.

When he steps out, skin warm and soft and smelling like Taehyung’s shower gel, he can’t help but breathe it in… and love it. He towels off, wraps the one Taehyung left folded on the toilet seat around his waist, and catches his reflection in the mirror.

There are bags under his eyes and now that he sees it, he can feel how tired he is. How much his body aches for rest. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to rest with Taehyung there, looking like a Greek god?

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“Get it together, Park.”

He doesn’t even know what that means. But it feels like the kind of thing someone would say in a movie.

What is it with him and movies tonight? Ugh.

He steps into the hallway, half-damp and wrapped in steam, and there’s Taehyung; sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at his phone.

But the moment he hears Jimin, he lifts his head, and his whole face shifts. Eyes relaxing instantly, mouth softening into something Jimin doesn’t have a name for yet.

He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head a little.

Jimin’s heart flips. He crosses his arms, as if that’ll protect him from the weight of being wanted like this.

“What?” he asks, a quiet edge of déjà vu curling in his chest.

“Just you,” Taehyung says, voice low and unguarded.

So simple. So earnest.

Taehyung’s voice dips lower, like the air between them deserves softness.

“Come here.”

Taehyung places his big hands on Jimin’s hips and gently pulls him forward, until Jimin is standing between his legs. Instinctively, Jimin threads his fingers into Taehyung’s curls, tugging just a little. Taehyung groans low in his throat and melts into the touch, resting his head against Jimin’s stomach. His whole body goes soft in his hold.

It’s nice.

“You smell like me,” Taehyung murmurs, voice muffled against his skin.

Jimin sighs, quiet and content.

“I like it,” Taehyung adds. “You smelling like me.”

When he tilts his head back to look up at him, those lashes and those eyes… deep, brown, too much, Jimin doesn’t even think. He just leans down and kisses him. He can’t imagine being this close and not kissing Taehyung now.

“Mmm,” Taehyung hums, “baby, I need to shower too.”

Jimin pouts into the kiss, then shakes his head with exaggerated drama, like a kid on the edge of a tantrum.

Taehyung laughs and tugs him down beside him on the bed. He props himself up on one elbow, one long leg bent casually like he’s posing for a magazine shoot. It’s unbearable.

“I need you to know something,” he says, his voice quieter now, more deliberate.

Uh oh.

Jimin blinks at him, wide-eyed.

Taehyung hesitates, visibly sorting through his thoughts.

“I didn’t bring you home with me just to have sex.”

Silence.

Jimin’s mouth opens, then closes again. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I mean, I do want to have sex with you. God, do I want to have sex with you,” Taehyung adds, flopping back and staring at the ceiling like it might save him. “Like, I think about it… a lot. But that’s not why I asked you to come here.”

He glances over, expression open and real.

“If you just want to sleep, or watch something dumb together, or lie here in silence, that’s more than enough for me. You look tired, sweetheart.”

Jimin swallows. Still a little dazed.

Vulnerability sneaks up on him, quiet and insistent, and the familiar tenderness in his chest begins to re-emerge.

He lays his head on his stretched up arm. “I am tired, but…” He trails off without finishing.

“Tell me,” Taehyung whispers, facing him again, mirroring his position. One long, dainty finger traces the line of his jaw. “Don’t think too much. Just tell me.”

Jimin almost snorts. Don’t think too much. Right.

But he tries.

“I like it when you…” His throat tightens. Anxiety is a bitch. “I like it when you take me. Like you did the other times.”

Taehyung smiles, soft and slow, and it’s almost too sweet for a moment like this. Any other guy would have taken that sentence and run with it, turned it into a show, tried to seduce him with gratuitous vulgarity and noise.

Not Taehyung, though.

“Yeah?"

Jimin nods, eyes lowered. Embarrassed, but not pulling away.

“You wanna know what I like?”

Jimin glances up, nods again.

Taehyung leans in, voice dipping lower.

“I like that you go all soft for me, like you can’t help it. You just melt into a little kitten, and I get to completely devour you.”

Jimin’s gaze stays locked on him, blinking slowly, lips parted.

Taehyung leans in, lips barely brushing his cheek.

“I like that you give yourself to me,” he murmurs. “That you let me take my time with you. And, just like now, you want it so bad you forget how to speak.”

Jimin makes a quiet sound in his throat.

“Can I, angel?” he asks, nipping carefully at Jimin’s lower lip. “If you want me to, I can worship you till you drift off. Keep going until you cum in your sleep.”

Jimin lets out a broken little sound, breath catching on the edge of it. His fingers curl in the sheets like he’s trying to ground himself, but it’s no use. Not with Taehyung looking at him like that. Speaking to him like that.

He nods. Once. Sharp and desperate.

“Yes,” he whispers, wrecked already.

Taehyung kisses the corner of his mouth, then lower, down his jaw, slow and devoted.

“Take off your towel, baby,” he murmurs, sitting back just enough to watch. “Lie down for me.”

Jimin obeys without thinking. His towel slips away, and he lies back against the pillows, already breathless with anticipation. He watches Taehyung stand and peel his shirt off with the kind of ease that makes Jimin ache.

Taehyung crawls back over him, caging him in between his arms, and presses one last kiss to Jimin’s mouth, then lingers close enough that their foreheads almost touch.

“I still need to shower, sweetheart,” he says quietly.

Jimin blinks at him, a faint pout already in place. Any other given day, he’d protest out loud, but he’s so dazed and pink and warm all over.

Taehyung smiles, brushing a thumb over his cheek.

“Wait here for me, yeah? If you’re tired, you can sleep. I’ll be back in a few minutes to keep my promise.”

Jimin nods slowly, already half melted into the sheets.

“My good boy,” Taehyung murmurs.

He disappears into the bathroom, and Jimin exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

Jimin lies back, tugging the sheet halfway up, still flushed and strung out in the best way. He closes his eyes just for a minute, heart full, body warm and loose.

His cock is half-hard already, resting there needy and pitiful.

He wasn’t lying about being tired, and Taehyung’s promise to return and take care of him is the only reason he lets himself rest instead of forcing his eyes open.

The apartment is quiet. Safe.

And the bed feels like Taehyung.

The air is cooler against his bare skin, every inch still sensitised, waiting, longing. The sheet is too light, doing nothing to hide how exposed he feels without Taehyung’s hands on him. He shifts faintly, thighs brushing together, but it only reminds him of the absence. He wants the heat back. The press of Taehyung’s body, the weight of him above, his cock heavy and nudged between Jimin’s thigh and crotch. Being naked and tucked under Taehyung’s body is fast becoming Jimin’s idea of a safe place.

He must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he feels is… heat.

Fingertips, slow and gentle, brushing down his side. A palm pressed low on his tummy. Warm breath against his skin.

For a second, he’s not sure if he’s dreaming. His body feels heavy and floaty, brain fuzzy with sleep. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. Doesn’t want to break the spell.

The touches don’t stop. They get a little bolder. A thumb sweeping lazy circles into his hip. Knuckles brushing the inside of his thigh.

He shivers.

Then a voice, soft and low and so familiar it makes his stomach curl.

“Still want me to take you like this, baby?” Taehyung whispers. “Even if you’re already half asleep?”

Jimin swallows. His mouth moves before his eyes do.

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna make you feel good,” Taehyung says, voice like velvet. “Just rest and let me.”

Jimin lets his heavy eyelids fall shut again, his body pliant and boneless.

“You’re already so warm,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So easy like this.”

Jimin hums faintly, a sound caught between a sigh and a moan. His limbs feel disconnected from his brain, every nerve tuned to Taehyung’s hands.

“Just stay still for me,” Taehyung whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

And Jimin does.

Taehyung shifts, and Jimin feels the slow drag of fingers down the backs of his thighs, parting him gently.

A sharp exhale escapes him. His breath catches.

“So beautiful like this,” Taehyung murmurs, more to himself than anything, and presses a kiss to the inside of Jimin’s knee. Then another, higher.

Jimin’s hips twitch, the cool air hitting him as he’s spread open, every nerve suddenly hyperaware.

Then…warmth.

Taehyung’s tongue, soft and slow, lapping at him like he’s something to be savoured.

Jimin lets out a quiet gasp, body jerking, but Taehyung’s hands are already there, holding him steady. Firm, but never rough.

“Shh,” he soothes, voice low against his skin. “Let me.”

And Jimin does. Eyes closed, lips parted, body limp and wanting.

Taehyung eats him out like he has all night. Like this is the only thing he wants. Slow strokes, deep licks, each one sending a ripple through Jimin’s core. He whines softly, barely able to hold onto the feeling, already melting all over again.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Tae…”

Taehyung hums against him, the vibration making Jimin tingle.

And god, he’s not even inside him.

Taehyung keeps at it, slow and deliberate. Licking in deep, then softer, more shallow. Teasing. Jimin’s breath starts to hitch. His thighs twitch like he wants to close them, but Taehyung’s palms stay firm, coaxing him open again.

He whines. It’s small, choked. Barely even a sound. But it slices right through the cloud of sleep and settles low in his belly. He feels fussy. Wants to squirm. But he loves this too much.

It feels different. It’s not the sharp tingle at the tip of his cock like usual, but deep, heavy, pulling low in his stomach. Like he’s about to burst without being touched where he desperately needs it.

He breathes out a moan, laced with something a lot less elegant.

Taehyung doesn’t respond, just presses closer. Tongue dragging over him again, deeper this time, until Jimin’s hips jerk.

His body curls on instinct, tension winding tight as the pleasure blooms slow and heavy. Sleep still clings to his limbs, but he’s helpless against it.

It builds. It burns.

Every drag of Taehyung’s tongue presses against that spot inside him that makes his vision flicker. His cock twitches untouched and pitiful, leaking onto his stomach, but the pressure doesn’t feel like the typical crash of pleasure; it’s molten, radiating gradually through him from the inside out.

His whole body buzzes in arousal. His cock lies sticky against his stomach. He can feel it.

Then it breaks over him, slow, spilling out in long, shuddering waves. His thighs begin to shake around Taehyung’s head, his mouth falls open on a soundless cry, a broken gasp, something totally uncontrolled, and it just keeps coming.

Taehyung presses closer, tongue still slow and steady, refusing to let him fall too fast. “‘Good, angel,’ he murmurs—so deep and low it’s almost a groan. “You’re so good. That’s it… ride it out, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Jimin whimpers, the sound cracked and broken, his body still jolting with aftershocks as Taehyung coaxes him through every last ripple.

Warmth spreads through every nerve as if Taehyung is licking the orgasm out of him, coaxing it from deep inside. His cock dribbles weakly, still neglected, while the pleasure drains through him, lethargic and unrelenting, pulling soft whimpers from his throat until he’s boneless.

It feels endless; wave after wave, so much deeper, so much more intense than he’s ever known. He can’t even control his breathing, every gasp breaking free on its own, until he finally falls apart, wrecked and trembling.

He’s still catching his breath when he feels movement. A shift between his legs. The quiet sound of fabric. A hitch of breath that doesn’t belong to him.

Taehyung is stroking himself.

Jimin doesn’t open his eyes. He just melts deeper into the sheets, boneless. Offered. He hears the change in Taehyung’s breathing. The soft groan that means he’s close.

Then he feels it.

The heat of Taehyung’s cock nudging gently at his hole. Not pushing in. Just resting there. Just touching.

Jimin shivers, his legs falling further apart without meaning to.

And then it happens. The warmth. A slow, steady spill. Taehyung’s cum, hot and thick, dribbling across his rim. Painting him in lazy spurts.

It coats his balls. Trails down the crack of his ass. Splatters his softening, drained cock.

Taehyung dips his fingers into the mess and swirls it around. He rubs some onto Jimin’s softening length, and Jimin jolts in oversensitivity. Then Taehyung gathers more and massages it gently into his hole. Slow. Messy. Intimate.

Another quiet groan slips from Taehyung’s lips as he spreads it in soft, steady circles. A little deeper now.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, still catching his breath. “Had to put it here. You’re just so perfect like this.”

Jimin hums, overwhelmed and fucked-out.

“M’love your cum,” he mumbles, barely audible.

He doesn’t have the energy to speak properly. But he means it.

“I know you do, angel.” Taehyung’s voice is warm. He rubs more of it in, then chuckles, fond and slow. “I know you love it. All our warm cum inside your pretty hole.”

Jimin lets out a shaky breath. Floating, somewhere between overstimulated and blissed out.

“Was that nice, baby?” Taehyung asks as he settles beside him. His fingers are gentle as they graze Jimin’s chest, rubbing the last remnants into his nipples again. Must be a thing.

Jimin gasps softly. “So nice.”

“Yeah? Nice and slow.” Taehyung kisses his shoulder. “You were so good… whining like that and cumming without me even touching you.”

“We’re messy again,” Jimin mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Taehyung chuckles softly beside him. “Yeah. Lovely, isn’t it?”

Jimin hums a little laugh. It sounds like a yes.

Taehyung shifts beside him, chest rising and falling slow and even. He brushes his fingers lightly over Jimin’s tummy, down to where the mess still lingers between his thighs.

“I can clean you up,” he offers gently, voice low like he doesn’t want to disrupt the moment.

Jimin just hums and curls closer. “No. Want to stay like this.”

There’s a smile in Taehyung’s exhale. He leans over, switches off the lamp on the bedside table, and the room slips into a soft, shadowy hush.

He melts into Jimin like it’s the easiest thing in the world. One arm draped over his waist, the other sliding under his neck. He runs his fingers through Jimin’s hair, slow and soothing. Presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. Then one between his eyebrows.

Jimin sighs like he could fall asleep just from that.

For a few silent moments, it’s just them. Wrapped into each other, sharing the air between them. Every now and then, Taehyung nudges their noses together and Jimin smiles. Taehyung’s touch is always gentle and meant to comfort. Jimin can’t stop the quiet sigh that escapes his lips.

“Is this too fast?” he whispers, unable to keep the thought from slipping out, even in a moment this perfect.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung replies, honest and warm.

Then softer, lips brushing against his, “It’s just…it feels so good to be with you.”

Jimin’s breath catches. It aches, a slow throb in his chest.

He pulls Taehyung in closer, their lips meeting again. It’s dark, and something almost magical seems to settle between them, quiet and golden, and Jimin just lets go. He kisses Taehyung slowly, sweetly. Little pecks, gentle nibbles, deeper pulls that say everything he can’t.

And Taehyung, for once, lets himself be taken care of. Just lies there and receives it. Lets himself be kissed and touched and adored. And Jimin gets to give it all. Every ache. Every ounce of longing. With his mouth, his hands, his whole chest cracked wide open.

They don’t speak again. They just breathe, slower and closer. Tangled together in the dark, wrapped in warmth, in cum, in whatever this is between them.

Chapter Text

Taehyung wakes in the dark.

Not to sound or movement, but to the absence of both. The silence is too thick.

His heart is already pounding. He already knows why.

It’s cold. He’s sweating. His throat is tight. There’s a weight pressing against his chest like someone’s holding a gun to it again.

He doesn’t remember the dream. Not all of it. Just—

A voice.

No. Not a voice. 

The girl’s voice, too calm for what she was about to do.

And the click. That tiny, fragile click that still echoes in his ribs when he’s not prepared.

Oxygen rushes to his lungs as he bolts up. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to unsee. It never works though.

The bedsheets rustle as he sits up, slow and careful, like the floor might explode if he moves too fast. He runs a hand through his hair and realises he’s shaking. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to feel like his body isn’t quite his.

He looks to his side.

Jimin is curled under the blanket, one arm folded beneath his cheek. Lips parted. Completely still.

Safe.

Taehyung exhales like it might calm the storm inside his ribs. It doesn’t.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and leans forward, elbows on his knees, breathing deep through his nose. He’s done this before. He knows the drill.

Inhale. Count. Exhale. Count. 

You’re not there.

You’re here.

He has no idea how much time he sits like that, hovering on the edge of a breakdown. 

He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, when he hears soft stirring behind him.

Then a voice. Sleep rough and small.

“Tae?”

Taehyung swallows. Tries to smooth the edges of his voice.

“Sorry,” he says, not turning around yet. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Jimin shifts under the covers. “You okay?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t want to lie, and the truth feels like too much.

“Just a dream,” he says finally. “Old shit.”

The mattress dips a moment later, Jimin crawling closer behind him. Bare knees bump against his back. Then gentle hands slide over his arms, slow and comforting.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Taehyung shakes his head. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it’s just that the words get lost.

But he leans back. Just a little. Just enough that Jimin can wrap himself around him, chest pressed to his spine, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Okay,” Jimin murmurs. 

Taehyung exhales like his lungs finally remember how. His fingers find Jimin’s where they’re folded across his stomach, and he laces them together.

For a long time, they stay like that.

No noise. No pressure. Just Jimin’s breath on his neck and the thud of his own heartbeat slowly finding its rhythm again.

Eventually, Taehyung whispers, “I’m just gonna get some water. Stay here, okay? Rest.”

Jimin frowns, soft and stubborn, like a kid being told no.

Taehyung turns slightly, enough to catch the look on his face. It tugs at something in his chest.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says gently. “This is just… how it goes sometimes. I’ll be alright.”

The frown deepens, more pout than protest now.

“But I want to sit with you,” Jimin says, quiet but sure.

Taehyung’s breath catches. Of course he does.

He lifts Jimin’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his palm. Holds it there for a moment.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, and he means precious.

Then softer still, “Come on then. We’ll sit for a bit.”

They pad into the kitchen, bare feet on the cold floor. Taehyung clicks on the lamp by his record player in the living room, then the hood light above the stove. Nothing else.

It’s the death of night. And 'death' feels like the right word in this moment.

The dream was the same. Or close enough.

He closes his eyes tight, pressing his breath into his chest, trying not to see it.

“Let me make some tea,” Jimin says softly, brushing his fingers along Taehyung’s arm.

Taehyung doesn’t answer with words. Just gives a quiet nod, a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jimin moves gently through the kitchen, like he’s been here a hundred times. He doesn’t ask where things are. Just opens cupboards one by one until he finds the mugs. Fills the kettle. Sets everything down with care.

Taehyung sinks onto the sofa. Elbows digging into his knees, heels of his hands pressed hard into his eyes. As if he can scrub the images away if he pushes deep enough.

But they’re still there.

Still always there.

“Please, don’t feel like you have to say anything. I just want to take care of you, if that’s okay.

But really… If you’d rather be alone, don’t feel bad. I can call a cab. It’s okay.”

Taehyung shakes his head, slow and sure. “No. I don't want you to go.”

His voice is low but steady now. Like the worst of the wave has passed, even if the water’s still rising somewhere inside him. "And I don't want you to feel like you have to leave."

Jimin gives a tiny nod and pours the tea without another word.

They sit in silence for a while. Not the heavy kind. The kind that feels like breathing space.

Taehyung watches the steam rise from his mug, his fingers curled loosely around it, not drinking yet.

“I don’t always know how to come back,” he says after a while, barely more than a whisper.

Jimin doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence that follows.

Taehyung stares into his coffee, lost in the aftershocks of the dream. He can feel himself drifting too far inward, circling the drain of it all, and he doesn’t want that. He refuses to.

So he reaches for Jimin’s hand.

Jimin is sitting a foot away, deliberate and careful, giving him space. Taehyung knows that, and he appreciates it. But right now, he just wants to feel him.

He gently tugs at Jimin’s fingers. “Can’t believe you’re making me work this hard for a cuddle.”

Jimin looks up from where their hands are intertwined and gives him the most beautiful smile. One that could make even the darkest moments feel more bearable.

Without a word, Taehyung scoots over, pressing himself to Jimin's side, for once, making himself smaller. He curls up to him, knees pressed into his chest, and Jimin wraps an arm around his shoulders to hold him close.

He gently brushes Taehyung’s hair from his face in a steady rhythm. It feels nice to be cared for. Not something he’s really experienced before; at least not with anyone he’s dated, or even with Jimin, but somehow it feels like they've done this a thousand times.

“Better?” Jimin asks softly after a while, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Taehyung closes his eyes under the blissful feeling of Jimin’s care.

Taehyung answers with a hum. He’s not ready for words yet. Just this. And Jimin seems to understand without needing anything more. He holds him close, arms wrapped around him, fingers combing gently through his hair.

Jimin shifts just slightly to get more comfortable but keeps Taehyung close, his fingers never still. Running through curls, tracing gentle shapes on the back of his neck, resting lightly on his arm.

The silence isn’t heavy anymore.

Taehyung lets his eyes fall closed. The rhythm of Jimin’s touch and the steady warmth of his body start to pull him back down to earth.

Eventually, his voice comes, rough but steady.

“Sorry for the free trauma show.”

Jimin kisses his temple. “You never have to say sorry for that.”

A soft sound escapes Taehyung. A faint laugh.

“I’m sorry you had to go through whatever it was,” Jimin adds, pressing another kiss to his skin. “I wish there was something I could say to make it better.”

Taehyung snuggles closer still. “This helps.”

“Do you want to stay out here or go back to bed?”

He’s reluctant to move, but his neck will thank him for it in the morning. “Yeah, we should go back to bed.”

The 'we' is a hit of something sweet and lethal. The kind of drug you don’t want to quit.

They get back into bed. Taehyung turns away and scoots back until he’s pressed against Jimin’s chest. It feels nice that way tonight.

"You rail me into the mattress, and now I’m the big spoon? I can hardly reach around you, you big giant."

Taehyung laughs, full and unrestrained. It’s liberating. Jimin giggles too, snaking his arm under Taehyung's and holding him just a little tighter.

"Night, baby." Taehyung whispers, wriggling in Jimin's arms.

"Goodnight, Taetae."

Taehyung lets out the softest exhale. The little name makes his tummy flutter, but he doesn’t say anything. Just reaches back, finds Jimin’s thigh under the blanket, and pulls it around himself.

Jimin presses a kiss behind his ear.

And that’s enough for tonight.

Hours later, Taehyung doesn’t feel soft at all.

His fingertips tap once, twice, against the metal table. The fluorescent light overhead hums like static in his skull.

“I hate this.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. Jungkook is always so dramatic.

“I just want to talk to the guy,” Jungkook mutters. “Look him in the eye when he tries to lie. Can’t we do good cop, bad cop?”

Taehyung glances up, exasperated.

“No. You’d knock him out before he even opens his mouth. We need patience.”

Jungkook hisses, low and defiant, but doesn’t argue further.

Moments later, Taehyung is stone-faced in the chair across from a young man with darting eyes and dried blood under his fingernails. Agent Lee is sitting next to Taehyung, playing the stern, so-called bad cop. The room smells like sweat and stale coffee. Taehyung can almost feel Jungkook behind the one-way glass, standing with his arms folded tight, grumbling under his breath.

“Talk,” Taehyung says, voice low and even.

The boy doesn’t answer. Just stares down at his hands, fingers twitching.

“You’re not under arrest, Sungho. We’re not here to punish you. We need to understand.”

Still nothing.

Agent Lee exhales sharply and glances at Taehyung, a silent confirmation that this is going to be tough.

“Do you know who this is?” Taehyung asks, sliding a photo across the table: one of the missing boys from Cypher.

Sungho flinches. He turns away from the picture and shuts his eyes like he can’t bear to look. His jaw tightens.

Taehyung sighs with a slow shake of the head. “You need to toughen up, kid,” he says, his voice harder now. “I’ve got about ten more of these.”

He’s always been good at getting people to talk. That’s why he was the best.

Until he wasn't.

Taehyung lays down another photo. Then another. Then another.

“Look,” Agent Lee says, firm and clear. Tone impossible to ignore.

Sungho glances at the pictures, but it’s only a flicker. It’s clear he’s not cold or cruel. Just scared. And Taehyung’s been doing this long enough to know the difference. He suspects the silence isn’t hiding lies; it's fear of telling the truth. It’s protecting something.

Or someone.

He lets the moment stretch, lets the pressure build just enough.

“Sungho,” he says, lowering his gaze to the boy’s level. “This is a safe house. No registered location. No one knows you’re here. Not the cops. Not Cypher. Just me and Agent Lee.”

Of course it’s not entirely true. But the job comes with its own moral compass, and this one barely registers.

Sungho swallows. Shakes his head. “I can’t.”

A flicker. Finally. Words. 

Taehyung notes it. Logs the shift. He’s done this too long to miss the cues. 

Tears slip down the boy's cheeks. He doesn’t even try to wipe them away. Just sits there, eyes squeezed shut, as the agony pours out in quiet, stifled sobs.

Taehyung doesn’t rush him. He lets the silence hold.

Then gently gestures toward Agent Lee.

"Water," he says quietly. 

Good cop, this time. A moment alone can change everything.

Agent Lee nods, sets his glasses down on the table, and rises with a sigh. The chair scrapes against the floor; the door clicks shut behind him.

Taehyung leans forward again, meeting Sungho’s gaze head-on.

“I know you’re scared,” he says softly. “But I promise, I’ll keep you safe.”

Very tough promise to make, but it’s protocol. Taehyung always means it. 

Still, Sungho doesn’t speak. His mouth moves, but no words come. Just more tears.

Taehyung lowers his voice, coaxing now.

“Who is it?” he asks. “Who’s doing this?”

Sungho squeezes his eyes shut, harder than before. But finally, he whispers:

“I don’t know.”

“Then tell me what you do know.”

"I—I can't," Sungho replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ugh! Taehyung wants to scream.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Taehyung says, more gently now. “You're safe now.”

Sungho shakes his head, hard. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it.” Taehyung leans in slightly, voice quiet but firm. “You think I haven’t seen what fear does to people? What being cornered can make you do? Whatever it is, I'll understand.”

Sungho’s hands curl into fists. His mouth opens and closes again.

“Sungho…” Taehyung says carefully. “You said, 'You can’t.’ Does that mean someone told you what would happen if you talked?”

No answer. But that twitch, the flick of his eyes, is everything.

“Did they threaten you?”

A pause. Then a tiny nod.

“What did they say?”

Sungho swallows. His voice breaks.

“They… they said if I didn’t help, they’d take me too.”

Taehyung’s breath catches. He keeps his expression still.

“Take you where?” he asks gently.

Sungho’s lips tremble. “They showed me.”

Taehyung doesn’t move. “What did they show you?”

A long silence. And then, finally, broken and low:

“The place. The one they keep them in. It looked like a hospital. But it wasn’t.”

Taehyung is on the edge of something important. He knows it. He’s so close.

His voice stays low. Controlled.

“What was it? Some kind of clinic?”

Sungho nods. Barely. But it’s a yes.

Bingo.

Taehyung waits. Quiet works better than pressure now. The boy’s on the edge.

Finally, Sungho speaks, voice paper-thin.

“Not a clinic. They called it that, but it wasn’t.”

His eyes are somewhere far away. Not in the room anymore.

“It was underground. Concrete walls, no windows. Cold. Bright lights that never turned off. And the smell—”

He breaks off, swallows hard.

Taehyung doesn’t interrupt.

“There were rows of bodies.” His voice cracks. “Some covered. Some not. Everyone hooked up to machines. Drips, monitors, and tubes going in and out of them. They were alive, just… waiting.”

His hands curl into fists.

“They were marked. Not like patients. More like… livestock. Tags on their toes. Letters and numbers written on their arms in permanent marker.

Taehyung’s chest feels tight. He’s not breathing properly. “Were they sedated?”

“I think so. Most of them didn’t move. But one guy… he looked at me.” Sungho’s voice goes flat. “Just stared. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t blink. Just stared. Like he was trapped in his own skin.”

There’s silence for a moment, then:

“I recognised someone,” Sungho whispers, his voice drenched in shame. “He used to go to Cypher too. I said his name, and he—he didn’t even flinch. Just kept staring at the ceiling.”

“They showed you this to threaten you?”

Sungho nods. “They said if I didn’t bring in new goods, that would be me next. Just a body in a row.”

His face crumples. “So I did it. I fucking did it. I handed people over. And I hate myself for it, but I couldn’t—” He chokes. “I couldn’t go there. I don't know what they do to them, but it was just too horrible.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters under his breath.

Sungho looks up at him, eyes glassy, cheeks wet.

“Do you think they knew what was happening?” he asks, voice barely there. “The ones on the tables.”

Taehyung swallows. The naivety is devastating.

“I dream about them. The one looking right at me… I left him there.”

He wipes his face with a trembling hand. Snot trails to his lip. He doesn’t notice. Doesn’t care. He just looks crushed by trauma, guilt, or both, probably.

“I wish I could go back. I’ve thought about it so many times.” His voice cracks. “I did what they said because I was scared to die, but…”

He draws in a breath that shudders right through him.

"Who were they, Sung-ho?"

He still shakes his head. "I don't know. The ones who took me wore masks, and then it was just messages on burners. They watch though. They know everything."

Taehyung inhales deeply through his nose before slowly exhaling. Another moment passes in silence. "I'll go get you that water."

He leaves the young man alone in the room. He'll need a minute to process.

Jungkook is still standing in the same spot, staring at the glass partition with a blank expression.

Taehyung exhales again, this time through his mouth, trying to steady something in his chest that’s already fraying at the edges. He doesn’t look at Jungkook right away. Just walks over to the side table, picks up a paper cup, and fills it from the water cooler.

His hands are trembling.

Not visibly. Not enough to alarm anyone. But enough that he feels it in the flex of his knuckles, in the way the cup nearly crumples between his fingers.

He stares down at the water.

Clinic. Tables. Still looking at me.

His pulse spikes.

No. Not just trafficking. Not just temporary holding.

Something worse. Something surgical. Something permanent.

He finally turns to Jungkook.

“This is—” he begins, voice full of utter dread.

Jungkook doesn’t answer. His jaw is tight. His arms were crossed like a barricade. A muscle twitches near his eye.

That’s answer enough.

Taehyung swallows hard. The water in the cup ripples slightly with the shake in his hand. He sets it down.

“Shit.” His voice breaks on the word. “They’re not just moving people. They’re… harvesting them.”

Jungkook nods once, stiffly. Doesn’t say a word.

It’s finally clicked. All the fragments sliding into place like glass breaking in reverse.

Taehyung drags his hands down over his face, eyes shut tight. “It all makes sense now,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “But who? Even he doesn’t know.”

“Has to be someone close,” Jungkook says, voice low. “They watch. That’s what he said.”

The door creaks open behind them. They’ve already stepped into the corridor, a few feet down from the glass, voices kept low. Agent Lee returns with Chief Han at his side.

“So?” the chief asks, brisk but not cold.

Jungkook turns, his expression grim. “Organ harvesting.”

“Shit,” Chief Han gasps.

“Yeah,” Taehyung echoes, voice flat.

The hallway stills. No one moves for a long moment. It’s like the words have sucked the air out of the space, like they’ve all stepped through some invisible threshold they can’t go back from.

Chief Han crosses his arms. Lee shifts his weight from foot to foot. No one quite knows what to say.

The fluorescent light hums overhead, steady and cold. Taehyung can still hear Sungho’s voice, quiet and cracking—“He was looking right at me, and I left him there.”

Something itches in the back of his mind, an edge he can’t smooth over.

“Lee, look at this,” the chief finally says, breaking the silence. He pulls a folded sheet from his inside pocket and hands it over. “It’s a log of all the calls that pinged the tower near Cypher. Every burner, every unregistered SIM. We need to trace them all.”

Agent Lee squints at the list, blinking. “Hang on. Can’t see shit without my glasses.”

Taehyung barely hears him. There’s a buzz in his ears now, low and rising.

Lee starts patting himself down. Jacket. Pockets. Pants. Frowns.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I must’ve left them…”

Taehyung’s eyes snap open.

He remembers—the exact spot on the table, the crooked angle of the frames beside the stack of evidence photos. Clear as if he never left the room. Glass catching the light. Forgotten.

The table.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t hesitate.

He bolts.

The hallway blurs around him.

He slams the interrogation room door open—

—and stops cold.

The world narrows. Sound drops out.

Sungho is slumped forward, body still. Blood spills from his wrists, a blade glinting dully on the floor. Agent Lee’s glasses lie broken beside the slumped boy, the jagged edge of glass dripping with blood.

Taehyung moves fast.

He’s at Sungho’s side in seconds, checking for a pulse he already knows he won’t find. Blood is still warm. Too much of it. 

He's dead.

“Shit,” Taehyung breathes, hand clenching at the boy’s shoulder. His jaw tightens. Behind him, the others arrive.

Agent Lee stumbles through the doorway and freezes. His eyes fix on the broken glasses, then the blood. He looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him.

“I—” he tries, but can’t finish. Just grips the doorframe like it might keep him from collapsing.

Chief Han storms in next. “What the fuck happened?”

Taehyung stands slowly. His hands are stained red.

“Christ,” Han spits, pacing back a step. “We had him. We were this close.”

“We still have what he gave us,” Taehyung says, trying to stay level. “It wasn’t nothing.”

“Don’t justify it,” Han snaps. “You think this doesn’t fall on us?”

Taehyung says nothing. He knows what happened. Knows who left the glasses. Knows they were all too slow.

Jungkook is the last to enter, leaning against the far wall with arms folded tight. His eyes flick once to the body, then away. Detached. Cold.

“I told you we should’ve locked the room down,” he mutters. “Should’ve cuffed him.”

Taehyung rounds on him. “He was practically a kid. A terrified kid.”

Jungkook’s expression hardens. “You could show a little professionalism.”

“And you could show some fucking compassion!”

The room goes still.

Jungkook steps forward. “Compassion?” he says, voice low but razor-sharp. “I don’t feel compassion for him. I don’t care that he was scared. He assisted. Are you forgetting that?”

Taehyung’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t respond.

“Do you remember what he said he saw?” Jungkook continues. “The people he helped send there? He let it happen. Taehyung, you need to fucking grow a pair.”

Agent Lee winces but doesn’t step in.

"This better not leak," Han mutters under his breath and stalks out.

Taehyung swallows back everything rising in his throat. His hands are still shaking. He looks back at the boy who should have still been here.

“He didn’t belong there,” he says quietly.

“None of them do.” Jungkook scoffs. "He made a choice; don't you dare forget that."

Then he’s gone too.

Only Taehyung and Agent Lee remain.

Taehyung's partner finally speaks, voice hoarse. “This is all my fault.”

Taehyung shakes his head once. “It’s on all of us.”

He walks out before the silence can bury him.

Out in the hall, Chief Han pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is a fucking disaster.”

No one disagrees.

He straightens. “We’ve got burner SIMs to trace, a dead witness, and a facility we need eyes on yesterday. Which means it’s time to talk to the club.”

Taehyung stiffens. “Cypher?”

Han doesn’t miss the edge in his voice. “It’s the only consistent link. And we can’t keep circling it without putting pressure on the inside. I want the owner brought in.”

Taehyung’s mouth opens, then closes.

Jungkook beats him to it. “Namjoon?”

Han looks up at them with an impatient glare. “I don't know his fucking name! Just get him in. Quietly. No press. I want him here by tomorrow morning.”

Jungkook is already pulling out his phone.

Taehyung doesn’t move. “Sir, that’s—”

“It’s not a request, Kim,” Han cuts in. “We’ve got bodies piling up, and he’s our link.”

“But he’s—” Taehyung catches himself. Doesn’t finish the sentence.

Han’s eyes narrow. “He’s what?”

Taehyung shakes his head, jaw tight. “Nothing.”

Han eyes him for a beat, then looks away. “No more delays. We bring him in. You brief him personally.”

Taehyung swallows hard. “Understood.”

Jungkook’s already on the phone.

“Hi, Namjoon-ssi. I was hoping we could meet tomorrow. Just to go over a few ideas I’ve had for tightening security at the club. You know, given the situation.”

His tone is light. Casual. Professional.

Jungkook’s always been good at thinking on his feet.

“Great,” he continues. “I’ll swing by your place around nine.” He ends the call and turns back to Taehyung. “I’ll pick him up and bring him in myself.”

“Sounds good,” Taehyung says, though part of him burns with quiet envy. Jungkook never stumbles. Never hesitates. He’s always ten steps ahead, even now.

Jungkook steps closer, his voice dropping low. “One more thing.”

Taehyung braces.

“My cousin stays out of this,” Jungkook says. “He doesn’t hear a word. Understood?”

Taehyung opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off.

“I’ve been undercover too long for my family to find out now, especially not because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

Taehyung exhales slowly, trying not to rise to it.

Jungkook leans in just enough to make it sting. “You never should’ve got involved with him. And if he ends up dragged into this mess because of you?” His eyes flash. “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The words land like a slap.

Agent Lee’s still standing in the hallway, white as a sheet, eyes locked on the floor like he can’t quite look up.

“Go home,” Taehyung says gently. “We’ve got it.”

Lee opens his mouth to argue, then just nods. Shoulders sagging, he walks out without another word.

An hour later, the air is thick with blood and bleach and something worse.

Taehyung and Jungkook work in silence for a while. Gloves on, careful, methodical. A bucket fills red. Photos go into a bag. Lee’s broken glasses get wrapped in a towel and dropped in after.

Then, as he’s crouched scrubbing a dark smear off the floor, Taehyung speaks.

“You know we’re not just sleeping together.”

Jungkook doesn’t even look up. “You think I give a shit?”

“You should.”

That earns him a cool and unimpressed glance. “Don’t tell me you’re fishing for my approval.”

Taehyung exhales through his nose. Keeps his voice steady. “I’m telling you because I care about him. This isn’t casual. It never was.”

Jungkook tosses the cloth aside and straightens with a grunt. “So what, you want a medal for catching feelings?”

“No. I want you to understand I’m not gonna fuck this up.”

Jungkook folds his arms. “Your little love story or the case?”

Taehyung meets his eyes, something simmering behind his own. “I'm allowed to have a personal life, you know? And I work my fucking ass off!”

“I'm just saying…If Jimin gets caught in the fallout—”

“He won’t.”

Quieter now: “He’s my family, Taehyung.”

“I know.”

“I don’t care who you fall in love with—”

“I’m not—” Taehyung starts but can’t finish.

A pause.

Jungkook snorts, breaking the tension. “You're literally a teenager with a heart boner.”

Taehyung huffs a laugh. “Better than a bot with a bad attitude.”

That gets him a glance. Jungkook’s mouth twitches, balancing between annoyance and reluctant amusement.

“Touché,” he mutters.

Then, flicking his gloves into the bin, calm as a Tibetan monk, he says, “Let’s go. We’ve got a body bag to get rid of. I’ll drive. You bring the lighter fluid.”

In the car, Taehyung finally checks his phone.

One new message.

Jimin: Just thinking about you. Hope you’re okay. Pancakes tomorrow?

If only, Taehyung thinks.

Chapter Text

- Unknown: On our way

Taehyung takes a deep breath and downs his fourth coffee of the morning.

He hates the stuff. Always has. But needs must, and today is definitely one of those days.

He moves the chairs around at the kitchen table, trying not to scrape them as he does. It's too early for noise.

Safe houses are surreal places. They’re regular homes with all the amenities, just with added extras like interrogation rooms with bolts in the floor. That particular room is locked. The last thing Namjoon needs is to be hit in the face with that reality.

Taehyung tries to picture him…what his reaction will be. He doesn’t know Namjoon well. Not really.

Of course, he got the background file. He knows the guy inherited the club from a distant relative. And judging by how he acts around Jimin and the rest of the group, it’s obvious the club was never something he actually wanted. He's a genuinely nice guy.

The kettle pings just as the front door opens.

Muffled voices drift in from the hallway. Namjoon is asking about the neighbourhood.

It’s not surprising. It is weird that someone would actually live out here in the middle of nowhere.

Jungkook dodges the question by offering tea.

When the door opens, Namjoon clocks Taehyung. His face shifts.

Taehyung gives him one of those tight smiles. There’s a little guilt behind it.

“Hi, uhm… Taehyung, isn’t it?”

Taehyung nods, stepping forward to shake his hand. “Yeah. Nice to see you again.”

“Okay, cut the crap now.” Jungkook. Always the diplomat.

“Wha—” Namjoon looks totally confused. “I don’t get it.”

“Mister Kim, we need to talk to you about your establishment.” Taehyung keeps it formal. Neutral. Just like any other case.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” Jungkook mutters behind him, clearly unimpressed by his approach.

Namjoon blinks, glancing between the two of them.

“Wait—I thought this was just a security briefing.”

“It is,” Jungkook says.

"Please," Taehyung gestures toward the table. “Sit down.”

Namjoon doesn’t move. “Why are you here? I thought you—I mean, you and Jimin…”

Taehyung’s jaw flexes. “I’m here in a professional capacity.”

Jungkook sighs. “Come on, Joon-ah. Sit.”

Namjoon finally does. His hands fidget on the table.

“This is about the disappearances, right? I’ve been cooperating. I told the police everything I know.” The word “cooperating” lands heavy, like a shield held up in panic.

“And we’re grateful,” Taehyung says. His voice is calm, but his fingers press too hard into the ceramic of his mug. The heat seeps into his skin, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Some part of him needs the bite.

“But we think the club is still being used. Actively. To target people.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows lift. “Target—? You think I’m involved?”

“No,” Jungkook says flatly. “But someone's running this shit. And they’re using the club to do it.”

A long pause. Namjoon looks down at the table. Then back up.

His head shakes like he's arguing with himself. Like an internal 'I told you so' moment.

“But—they told me to stay open.”

“And we’re telling you the same,” Taehyung says.

Namjoon stares at him. “Why? I don’t want to!” It breaks out of him like a child’s protest, raw and unfiltered.

“Because if you shut it down, all our leads disappear.” Taehyung answers, trying his best to be professional, yet somehow still make a good impression on one of Jimin's best friends.

“I didn’t even want the damn place.” He looks on the verge of tears. His throat bobs like he’s trying to swallow them back down. His foot starts bouncing under the table.

“Namjoon-ah,” Jungkook says, softer now. “It’s gonna be okay, but we need your help now.”

The club owner cocks his head to the side as his glance dances from one to the other, like the penny just dropped. “Hang on,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Are you both—?”

The air shifts, tension pulled tight like elastic.

A little bit of shame rushes down Taehyung’s spine. It trickles straight into his chest and makes a home there. Excellent.

He hates that this is the moment it all comes out. That he'll never get the chance to do this over and just be the guy who Jimin's dating. In another circumstance he'd be able to make a good impression, show the best version of himself to Jimin's friends. Not anymore.

“We’re undercover,” Jungkook answers for him while finally taking the seat next to him.

Namjoon looks as if someone just told him the moon landing was a hoax. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

His whole face folds in on itself, a slow collapse of trust and certainty. He looks more at Jungkook now, and you can almost see it in his eyes: the thinking about all the time that has passed and all the shared time together. Jungkook was always there as someone else.

Betrayal? Maybe a little.

Taehyung takes a deep breath and slides his mug across the table so he can perch his elbows there and says, “Namjoon-ssi, from this point we will have eyes on the entire venue. This is now a full sting operation, and your club is vital for us to figure out who's running this thing.”

“Do you have any ideas on who it could be? Could it be someone I know?”

Poor Namjoon looks more and more outraged by the minute. Every new realisation causes a new level of distress.

Taehyung offers a small sympathetic smile. “All we know is that even the people working for Bambi don’t know who he is. He’s just an unknown contact and communicates via text. But…he’s watching. All the time.”

“I can’t believe this." Namjoon hides his face in his hands and groans. "I take it 'Bambi' is some kind of code name.”

Jungkook grins. “Yeah, it'll fit him when he's in jail on all fours.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. Fucking Jungkook.

"And…Jimin… Does he know?”

Aish. There it is.

Like a bruise pressed without warning.

“No.” Taehyung responds as neutrally as he can. “He knows as much as you did until ten minutes ago.”

Jungkook side-eyes him.

“Okay, but…” He gestures in Taehyung’s direction. “You’re not using him as a way of—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Hyung!” Jungkook blurts out. “Do you think I’d let this bozo live if I thought that was what he was doing?”

Taehyung can’t help but smirk. Inside him a feeling of recognition arises. It's odd. Nice. Maybe he did want Jungkook’s approval after all.

It hits somewhere deep and unexpected.

“Fine. I’ll keep it open. But I hate this!” Namjoon exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm counting on this being over soon."

“That’s the plan,” Taehyung says with a sympathetic smile.

Jungkook stands, smoothing his jacket. “We’ll be in touch, Joon-ah. Act normal. Don’t change anything.”

Namjoon gives a dry laugh with no humour in it. “Yeah. Sure. Normal.”

Taehyung watches him leave, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the club is physically on his back.

The door shuts behind Namjoon, and the house feels quieter. Too quiet.

Jungkook’s phone buzzes. He glances at it and smiles to himself.

The rest of the day is boring. Agent Lee comes in to give him files upon files of follow-up paperwork to go through.

The kind of mind-numbing admin work that feels like time actually moves slower.

Jungkook goes to the club to brief the security team about new measures being taken. None of them know why, and Taehyung admires Jungkook’s ability to carry all of this on his shoulders and never feel overwhelmed.

There’s a solidity to Jungkook, like a river that never floods no matter how much rain falls. Maybe it’s his age, Taehyung thinks. Though he never had that strength even when he was Jungkook's age.

Chief Han turns up with microwaveable ramen. The salty broth burns his tongue, but he doesn’t care. It’s the first real comfort he’s had all day.

But by the time late afternoon comes around, he can’t help but grab his phone and open his chat with Jimin. The need to hear from him outweighs everything else.

It’s a pull in his chest, insistent and comforting all at once.

- Me: How’s my baby boy today?

“Lee?” He calls over to his colleague. “I was gonna shoot off soon, that okay? D’you need me for anything?”

“No, you’re fine.”

Agent Lee is still struggling from yesterday’s incident. Understandably so. The weight in Lee’s shoulders is obvious, a kind of slump that no posture correction could fix. It’s a posture Taehyung recognises. The kind you carry long after the moment is over.

“Hey,” Taehyung approaches him, puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He means it, but he knows from experience how hollow those words can feel in the moment. Sometimes, they’re more for the speaker than the one hearing them.

Lee nods, only a little, his eyes still boring into the paperwork in front of him.

“Don’t hold it all in. Go to the specialist. That’s what they’re there for.” Taehyung squeezes his shoulder once before letting go, a silent promise that he’s not alone in this.

He returns to his desk and picks up his phone.

Jimin’s typing…

Warmth spreads in Taehyung’s chest. It unfurls slowly, easing muscles he hadn’t realised were stiff and tight. It’s the kind of warmth that makes the air feel softer somehow, even in a safe house that smells like bleach and cigarettes.

- Jimin: Hey… I’m ok.

- Jimin: You? Out saving the world again?

Taehyung chuckles. He kinda loves the way Jimin sees him. A superhero out doing good. It reminds him of why he got into the police force in the first place. That passionate spark, which he thought he’d lost, still flickers when Jimin talks like that.

- Me: Something like that

- Jimin: I’m just finishing my project for tomorrow’s exam.

- Me: Oh, that’s great! Are you happy with it?

Jimin’s typing…

- Jimin: Meh

Taehyung can just imagine his cute little face making that sound.

That soft pout, his nose scrunched up a little.

- Me: I’m sure it’s way better than meh

- Jimin: Wanna come and see?

Yessss! Taehyung’s mind hisses in victory.

- Me: Absolutely

- Jimin: ok, code is 134340

- Jimin: let yourself in

Ooooh. That’s…something.

That’s trust. Real, dangerous trust.

- Me: Do I have to teach you about stranger danger?

- Jimin: You could… or you could just come over and fuck my brains out. Up to you.

- Me: You’re trouble

- Jimin: 😉

And just like that, the rest of the day suddenly feels a lot shorter.

By the time he finishes and gets back to the city, it’s gone 10pm. He stopped to get hot chocolates, and now his phone is dead, it’s pouring with rain, and he’s exhausted. He parks across the street from Jimin’s building and grabs an old broken umbrella.

The rain comes down in sheets, loud enough on the car roof to make him hesitate before stepping out. His jeans cling heavy against his legs the moment he hits the street, water running cold into his shoes. The umbrella is half-useless, ribs bent, doing little more than guiding the rain down his sleeve.

Even after sprinting, by the time he gets inside the building, he’s soaked. He hopes Jimin still likes the idea of the movie guy turning up in the rain; if not, he probably just looks like a wet rat. His shoes squeak as he trudges in.

He climbs the stairs and remembers the first time he came here. It was the first night they were together. Taehyung’s tummy flutters at the memory. How nervous Jimin was and how incredible it was to hold him and take care of him. Even now he swears he can still feel the faint tremor in Jimin’s hand when it rested in his.

He makes it to Jimin’s door and takes out his phone to look at the code again. He punches it in and gently pushes the door open. It’s dark save for a little lamp that lights the room just enough for Taehyung to know that he left it on on purpose for him. The glow is warm, amber-soft, pooling across the floorboards like a quiet welcome. His heart aches a little at the idea of Jimin thinking of him and deliberately leaving the light on for him.

“Tae?” Jimin’s musical voice comes from his bedroom down the hall. The sound threads through the hush of the apartment, warm and familiar, cutting through the rain still hammering faintly outside.

Taehyung slips off his shoes and jacket and pads his way over to the bedroom door.

“Tae?” Jimin repeats.

Taehyung pushes the door open just a little. “Hey,” he says, softly, trying to preserve the quiet. It’s brighter, but not much. The only sound is the rustle of paper as Jimin unfolds his legs to crane over the bed to look up at him.

His eyes light up a little when he sees Taehyung, and Taehyung thinks he might cry. He’s sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed cross-legged, his design model on the floor in front of him. Paper scattered around the room in what he can only describe as a Jimin shape. Drawing pencils and large rulers also embellish the charming chaos. The air layered with the soft, clean scent of Jimin’s shampoo.

“Hey,” Jimin answers, looking up at him with the most beautiful smile.

Taehyung takes the necessary steps to join him and crouches down next to him. He looks at the model; he’s honestly impressed. It’s stunning.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Did you really do all of this?”

It’s an actual structure made with real material, and it’s fantastic. The sides are almost all made from what looks like glass, or whatever represents it. The roof is layered with solar panels, and the whole thing sits beside a stretch of river worked into the model.

“You’re biassed. I thought we already talked about this.”

Taehyung turns to face him, mere inches from his face. “I am, you’re right. But that just means I think that you look gorgeous while sitting here making it. This is…” he chuckles, a little incredulous, “incredible in its own right. What is it?”

A slight blush rises over Jimin’s beautiful face. “It’s a riverside community library and art space.”

He’s got pencil smudged under his right eye, and Taehyung can’t stop himself from wiping it away with his thumb. The smudge smears faintly across his skin, warm beneath Taehyung’s touch, softer than it has any right to be.

Jimin lets him, smirks, eyes flickering to Taehyung’s lips, before closing the gap and pecking at his mouth. Once… twice… “You’re all wet.” Jimin mumbles into his lips on the third kiss.

Taehyung smiles against his mouth, “Mmm… you love it. Handsome guy turns up in the rain, just for you.” he says before kissing him again, slower this time.

Jimin sighs into his lips, soft and almost like a ‘finally’, his whole body melting against Taehyung’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment all day. Taehyung feels the surrender in every inch of him, like tension unwinding thread by thread.

Taehyung reluctantly pulls away from his lips, pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose and one more between his brows. Jimin lets out a breathy little giggle, and Taehyung feels as if he can finally breathe.

“So, show me your project,” he says, seating himself beside Jimin, crossing his legs too.

“Well, like I said, it’s a community library and art space. I wanted it to feel like it’s part of the river, not just a building next to it,” he says, pointing to the blue resin that runs next to the model. “The project is modern architecture, so of course I had to put solar panels, a fuckload of glass…” He ends the phrase with a little eye roll.

“You don’t like it?”

“Oh, no—of course I do. It’s just… libraries, you know? I’ve always thought that old books belong in big old buildings, with history in the walls. I’d have loved to restore something like that. But this is the project I got, so…”

Taehyung nods, “Yeah, that does seem like a good observation, but this is still phenomenal.”

Jimin smiles. “Thank you.”

“Do you want a tea or something?” Taehyung asks. Maybe it’s a little too domestic, but hey, Jimin practically gave him an extra key to his apartment.

“No, I’m good. I’ve finished here now so…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and Taehyung watches as he lowers his gaze. A little self-conscious? The shift is subtle, but Taehyung catches it, the way Jimin’s fingers fidget against his knee.

“So?” Taehyung can’t help but tease; the way Jimin’s face reddens is too tempting to pass up. He eases onto his side, leaning into one hand so their eyes are level, close enough to catch the faint rise of colour in Jimin’s cheeks.

“So…” He still can’t say what he really wants. “Do you want to have a shower or something?”

Taehyung hums low. The sound makes Jimin’s blush deepen.

“Is that what you really want, baby?”

Jimin hides his face for a minute and laughs into the inside of his elbows. “Oh come on! Do we have to do this every time?”

“You love it.”

Jimin groans. Guilty.

Taehyung leans closer. “Prove me wrong.”

Taehyung grins, leaning in to kiss him again. Once, twice ... slow, coaxing kisses that make Jimin melt under his mouth. His lips linger, sliding to the corner of Jimin’s mouth, then down to the soft curve of his jaw.

“Prove me wrong, baby,” he repeats, trailing lower, mouthing along Jimin’s throat until Jimin tips his head back with a sigh. His pulse flutters under Taehyung’s lips, quick and delicate, and Taehyung licks over it just to feel the way Jimin shivers. 

Jimin’s hands sneak up into his hair, tugging lightly, not to pull him away but to keep him closer. “Tae…” he whispers, already sounding wrecked, and Taehyung smiles against his skin.

“Mm?” he hums, kissing up to his ear, letting his breath spill hot against his skin. “You love when I make you admit how much you want it.”

They’re still tangled on the rug, sitting close: Jimin cross-legged, Taehyung leaned in on one hand, his thigh slotted firmly between Jimin’s legs. Jimin whines softly, hiding his face again, but his hips give the truth away with a subtle, restless push against Taehyung’s knee.

Taehyung pulls back just far enough to meet his eyes, his thumb brushing over Jimin’s flushed cheek. The mix of bashfulness and want there makes him want to growl.

 “Show me.” He says finally, nodding toward Jimin’s crotch.

There’s a beat of stillness, the kind that stretches until Jimin shifts under the weight of his gaze. Embarrassed and already submitting without even realising it, Jimin hooks his thumb under the elastic of his trousers and underwear and gently tugs. His ears turn red when he sees inside.

Taehyung leans in a little more and pokes his finger under the elastic and pulls a bit more; he peeks down to see Jimin’s dick, hard, red and cramped inside the small space with a shiny coat of moisture.

“Awww, sweetheart,” he coos, before swiping the tip with his finger, checking how wet it is. Then he presses his fingertip to Jimin’s lips and smears the wetness over his mouth before leaning in to kiss him again. He licks and sucks the precum from Jimin’s plump lips and moans deeply every time he tastes the distinct taste of arousal.

“Tell me, angel,” he coaxes again.

Jimin’s lips part like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out. Taehyung can feel the heat radiating off him from this close. He strokes a thumb over Jimin’s hip, slow and deliberate. “Go on,” he murmurs, eyes locked on his. “I’m listening.”

“You already know.”

He sounds so small.

Taehyung leans in to kiss him again, holding him in the moment. Earning the trust by showing his adoration. “I do, baby. I do know what you want,” he adds. “I know what you want and exactly how you like it too.”

Jimin just whimpers softly in response.

“You are so beautiful,” Taehyung whispers into the kiss. He just wants to say it, wants Jimin to know how he sees him.

“Lay down, angel.”

He carefully moves the papers and rulers into a haphazard pile at the side of the rug, the model safely out of reach.

Jimin lies back, flushed and pliant. Taehyung climbs between his legs, caging him in with his arms. Jimin gazes up at him, eyes already half-lidded, lips parted, looking blissed out before Taehyung’s even touched him properly.

“I love the way you look at me,” he says without thinking too much.

Jimin smiles that slow, lazy smile. “How do I look at you?” He asks, lifting his legs and anchoring them loosely around Taehyung’s hips.

“Like you already know how good I’m about to make you feel.”

“I do know that,” Jimin answers with a small, breathless laugh. He reaches up, links his hands together behind Taehyung’s neck, and pulls him down for a kiss.

It’s slow, deep, and unhurried, but Taehyung doesn’t miss the heat building in the shift of Jimin’s hips beneath him.

He slides his hands down Jimin’s sides, then hooks his thumbs under his briefs again and begins pulling them down. Jimin’s breath hitches, a delicious little sound Taehyung swears he’ll think about later.

He removes himself just for a second so he can pull Jimin’s clothes off. Then he gently grips Jimin’s thighs, just above the back of his knees, and pushes his legs up against his chest, exposing him entirely. He’s so desperate to get inside him that he wants to prep Jimin as soon as possible.

But—

He looks up at Jimin, and the poor thing is as red as a lobster from Hell’s Kitchen.

A sparkly gemstone sits against his hole.

“Don’t laugh,” Jimin murmurs, covering his face with his arms.

Taehyung looks at him with incredulous eyes. “How could I ever laugh at you?” He presses a soft kiss to the inside of his knee.

Taehyung moves a little closer, wanting a better look at the plug. Jimin’s pink hole looks a little sore, so Taehyung gives his rim a tender kiss. Jimin lets out a soft moan of pleasure. Taehyung continues to kiss and soothe Jimin’s sore hole with gentle licks around where he’s stretched around the plug, making sure to be gentle and attentive to all his cues.

“Baby, you were so thoughtful to do this,” he says. Babbling a little now. “So sweet to prep and keep yourself nice and stretched for me.”

Jimin whimpers quietly as Taehyung speaks, mouth still attached to his asshole.

“Can you please fuck me now?” He whines. “Please.”

“You sure you’re ready?” Taehyung asks, gently wiggling the plug.

Jimin lets out a louder moan.

“Aww, baby, is it pressing there?”

“No,” Jimin answers, eyes closed. “Only you do that.”

Ugh. Taehyung lets out an almost pained groan and wiggles it again.

“Taehyung, please, I want you so much.”

Those words hit him right in the chest.

“Just take it out and fuck me,” he pleads. “I know you want to too.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung breathes, still gently playing with the plug and lapping at Jimin’s rim. “Okay.”

“Here,” Jimin says, reaching up under the bed and grabbing the little bottle of lube.

“Menace,” Taehyung growls before taking the bottle and rubbing some over Jimin’s hole. He gently rotates the plug to create a bit more give, then slowly slides it out. Jimin gasps, so he presses another kiss to his rim.

“Am I ready?” He asks, looking a little puppy-like. Like he’s silently praying for a yes.

Taehyung pushes two fingers inside to see if he’s nice and relaxed, then a third, and all he gets in return is a whine of pleasure from Jimin.

“Yeah, you’re perfect.”

Jimin sighs again in pure relief, and, fuck, if that noise isn’t going to completely destroy Taehyung.

He rubs a bit of extra lube into Jimin, just to be on the safe side, then gets to his feet and unbuckles his jeans. He pulls everything down in one swift motion, while Jimin looks up at him adoringly.

He lowers himself back down to the floor and kneels between Jimin’s bare legs again.

Jimin tugs at the hem on his t-shirt, his little pouty face displeased that he’s not naked. And Taehyung just smiles down at him and pulls his shirt off, Jimin’s too.

He takes the lube one last time and squirts some all along his length; Jimin perches himself up on his elbows to watch as Taehyung coats himself till he’s slick and smooth.

“I love it so much that you fuck me bare.” He whispers, almost to himself.

Taehyung huffs a chuckle, “You have no idea.”

“Have you ever bottomed?”

The question takes him a little off guard.

“Uh, yeah. I have,” he answers, pausing as his cockhead is pressed against Jimin’s hole. “Do you want to—”

Jimin doesn’t let him finish. He wraps his ankles around his waist and impales himself on Taehyung’s dick.

“No,” he practically purrs as he pulls Taehyung all the way in.

“Fuck, Jim’n!” Taehyung grunts. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Uh uh,” Jimin answers a little dreamily. “Trying to get closer to you, and you were taking too long.”

Taehyung laughs between grunts of exquisite pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Jimin’s head sinks back into the rug, and his eyes fall shut. “I was so desperate.”

Taehyung combs his hair back off of his face. “Yeah, baby?”

Jimin sighs again. “I’ve been thinking about us all day.”

Us.

That little word makes Taehyung’s heart sing.

Jimin doesn’t seem to notice; he just pulls Taehyung’s face down to kiss him. And Taehyung complies without a second thought. If Jimin wants to be kissed, god, he’ll kiss him. The softness of his lips is something Taehyung wants to treasure anyway.

Taehyung continues to push in and out, slowly and deeply. Jimin said only he could touch that place, so that’s what Taehyung is pushing for.

“Give me your hands,” he growls in Jimin’s ear.

Jimin, obedient as always, pulls his hands in to offer up to Taehyung.

Taehyung smiles at him. “You’re so good.” Then he takes hold of Jimin’s wrists in his hand and pulls them up above his head. Jimin whines; of course, Taehyung is still drilling into him with skilled precision.

He places Jimin’s hands on the leg of the bed. “Hold on to this, ok? I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

The wood creaks faintly under Jimin’s grip, knuckles blanching as he obeys, chest lifting with shallow, desperate breaths.

“You always do,” Jimin answers without missing a beat. And it makes Taehyung pine.

He straightens up and takes in the sight. Jimin on the floor, legs wide and wrapped about him, his pretty cock angry and weeping onto his tummy, and his arms stretched up as he holds himself still.

Taehyung gently removes his legs from around him and pushes his knees so he’s folded in on himself and Taehyung can fuck into him just right. He knows that this position gives him the perfect angle to run his length over Jimin’s prostate. And when he does, he watches intently as Jimin gasps and writhes beneath him.

“Just like that, hmm, angel.” Taehyung says softly before pulling back and pushing back in again. Constant pressure where it feels good.

Jimin’s eyes are shut tight, and he can’t stop himself from trying to fuck back, but Taehyung holds him still. He fucks into him with devotion. With a type of fervour he’s never felt before. For the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go. Just fucks steady and deep. Sweat beads gather and trail down his chest; his thighs burn from the strain, but none of it matters next to the sounds Jimin makes beneath him.

A few moments later, Taehyung gives up trying to hold him still and collapses on him, chest to chest, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together with every shift. He drags his fingernails up under Jimin’s neck and into his scalp, tugging gently, earning a broken gasp. His mouth never rests. He kisses him all over: shoulders, neck, jaw, chest, anywhere he can reach.

Jimin is divine under him: gasping, whimpering, clinging. His legs tremble around Taehyung’s waist, heels digging in as if to push him deeper. His hands wander restlessly, dragging down Taehyung’s back, gripping his shoulders, tangling in his hair.

And through it all, he keeps mumbling, breathless and broken. ‘It’s so good; there, there; fuck, I love your cock.' His voice cracks on the last, the sound searing straight through Taehyung’s chest.

Taehyung is so distracted by the taste of his skin, the heat of his body, the rawness of his moans that he almost misses when Jimin calls his name, actually needing his attention.

“Sorry, baby,” Taehyung says quickly, lifting his head, pressing a soft kiss to Jimin’s lips to make room for whatever he needs. “What was that?”

Jimin frowns, eyes dropping at once. He can’t look at him. His lips part but no sound comes out, only a small, shaky whine that dies in his throat. His hands clutch at Taehyung’s shoulders like he’s bracing himself.

“Hey…” Taehyung’s thumb strokes over his cheek, gentling him. “You can tell me…anything. You know that, sweetheart, right?”

Jimin nods, tiny, brows drawn tight together. His lashes flutter as he stares at the space between them, chest rising fast.

“I—” he whispers finally, voice so small it barely makes it past his lips. “I want you to be mine.”

The words hang there, trembling in the air, more naked than either of them. Taehyung feels the weight of them settle into his chest, blazing and unbearably tender.

For a heartbeat, his body forgets what it’s doing. His hips stutter, breath shattering out of him in something closer to a sob than a groan.

“Fuck,” he whispers, forehead pressing against Jimin’s. His throat feels raw, too small for everything surging up. He wants to laugh, to cry, to kiss Jimin until his lips bruise, all at once. It feels too big for him, like his chest can’t hold it, this impossible, reckless rush.

“Baby…” The word breaks halfway out of him. He cups Jimin’s face like it’s holy, like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Jimin looks up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I need it,” he whispers, so soft it’s practically silent.

Taehyung leans down to kiss him, just once, soft and slow. A kiss to mark this very moment before moving on to the next. A kiss he knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life.

“I am yours,” he answers, lips still touching. And it’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

Jimin blinks up at him, needy and uncertain. “Just mine?" His voice catches, and Taehyung wants to cry. Again. "You promise?”

The sound shatters something tender in Taehyung. His lips curve into a soft smile, equal parts fond and wrecked. He noses gently against Jimin’s cheek, his words a vow.

“Only yours,” he says. “I didn’t stand a chance, angel. Since the very night I first saw you. Only yours.”

Jimin lets out a sound that’s half a laugh, half a sob, his legs tightening around Taehyung’s waist. “Show me.”

Taehyung kisses him again, deeper this time, as he starts moving once more. Slow at first, each push and pull carrying the weight of the words he just spoke. “Yours,” he murmurs against Jimin’s lips with every thrust. “Just you and me, okay, sweetheart?”

Jimin clings to him like he’s drowning, arms wound tight around his shoulders. “Don’t stop saying it,” he begs.

“I won't, angel,” Taehyung promises, hips grinding deeper, angling to press right where Jimin needs it most. “I’ll never stop telling you. I’ll never stop being yours.”

The rhythm builds, steadier, harder, every stroke wringing little gasps and broken moans from Jimin. His cock leaks against his stomach, untouched, his body trembling with how close he is.

Taehyung watches him like he’s watching something sacred unravel. “Look at you,” he groans, voice shaking in awe. “You’re mine, baby. All mine.”

“Say it again,” Jimin pleads, eyes glassy, hips bucking up into the pace.

“Mine,” Taehyung growls, low and rough, thrusting harder now. “Just mine. Always mine.”

That does it. Jimin cries out, clamping down tight, spilling across his stomach with desperate, shuddering moans, still clutching Taehyung like he’ll never let go.

The way his body grips him, wet and trembling and impossibly hot, undoes Taehyung completely. His rhythm falters, breaking apart as he fucks through the aftershocks, groaning Jimin’s name like a mantra. He buries himself deep, giving Jimin exactly what he loves, every pulse of release inside him.

When it’s over, they’re both shaking, breath tangled, lips still brushing as if neither dares to move too far away.

Taehyung noses at Jimin’s cheek, murmuring into the damp warmth of his skin. “You destroy me.”

Jimin hums a soft laugh, still breathless, and presses a lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Another kiss, softer.

“I don’t deserve you,” Taehyung whispers.

Jimin catches his bottom lip gently between his teeth, tugging just enough before letting go. “Shut up. Too late now. You promised.”

Taehyung smiles, dazed, brushing their lips together again. “Yeah," he breathes with a smile. "I did, didn't I?"

Jimin smiles back up at him with tired eyes and tilts up for another kiss, sighing into it. “Stay with me tonight.”

"I had no intention of leaving,” Taehyung promises, kissing him again and again until Jimin lets out a muffled laugh against his mouth.

“What?” Taehyung asks, lips still chasing his.

“You’re greedy,” Jimin teases, cheeks pink. “Can’t even stop kissing me for two seconds.”

“Uh, hello?" Taehyung says without hesitation, grinning against his lips. “It’s like my second favourite thing to do.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, still flushed. “Second?”

Taehyung smirks, voice dropping lower, brushing his lips over Jimin’s. “Yeah. First is watching you when I nourish you with my cum.”

Jimin groans, burying his face in Taehyung’s neck, pretending to sulk. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it,” Taehyung murmurs, tilting his head to kiss Jimin’s hair.

Jimin’s laugh is muffled against his skin, warm and fond. “Fine. But you’re making me pancakes in the morning.”

Taehyung huffs a laugh, kissing his temple. “Baby, I’ll make you pancakes every single morning if that's what you want.”

Chapter Text

The next morning comes fast. It’s merely the crack of dawn, and Taehyung is already in the kitchen wearing nothing but his underwear. Jimin’s presentation is this morning, and he wants to make him breakfast. He’s on the last pancake, and just as he’s about to flip it, warm arms snake around him from behind.

“That smells nice,” Jimin mumbles, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, voice still full of sleep.

“I only found honey; is that okay?”

Jimin snorts, “Of course it’s okay, but let me run down to Gustave’s. I’ll grab some fresh strawberries.”

Taehyung turns to him and wraps him up in his arms. He’s wearing Taehyung’s shirt. “Baby, it’s six-thirty. Not sure Gustave is open.”

Jimin wrinkles his nose but leans into him anyway, looking like he’d happily go barefoot down the street if Taehyung let him.

Taehyung can’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss his forehead.

“Why are you making pancakes at six-thirty?”

“Because you have your presentation this morning, and I wasn’t sure what time you had to leave.”

Jimin’s astonished expression only intensifies. “Are you really like this?”

Taehyung’s brows lift and his eyes soften. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just…perfect.”

The feeling is indescribable. For everyone who’s ever told him he was too nice or that he was too intense, Jimin likes him like this. It rattles something loose in Taehyung’s chest, like every part of him that was ever doubted is suddenly worth something, just because Jimin says so.

“You’re fuelling my ego, you know?” He jokes while trailing his fingers up under his shirt and over Jimin’s bare back.

“Don’t care.”

They kiss. Soft morning kisses. Heavenly kisses.

“Do you have to leave too?” Jimin asks, nosing at his jaw.

Taehyung inhales through his nose, his reality sinking back in.

“Unfortunately.” He answers, knowing Agent Lee is waiting for him at the diner as they speak.

“Are you not staying for pancakes?”

Taehyung pulls him in a little tighter and says, “There’s absolutely nothing I’d like more, but I really have to go.”

Jimin pouts against his shoulder but nods. “Okay.”

Taehyung takes his head in his hands and holds him still so he can cover his face in kisses. Jimin giggles. Then he blows a big raspberry into his neck, making him squirm and laugh louder. His new life mission might become making Jimin laugh. No feeling can compare.

“Also,” he sighs, “unfortunately, I’m gonna need my shirt.”

That really makes him pout. A childish frown tugs at his features. “But I want to keep it.”

“I’ll bring you another one, I promise.”

“Tonight?”

Taehyung smiles. His day just got infinitely better.

“Tonight.”

Jimin’s frown doesn’t let up, but he does unbutton the shirt and slide it off him. Then a little smirk appears.

“Leave me these then.” He says, pulling on Taehyung’s underpants.

Oooh. Interesting.

“Yeah?”

Jimin nods, eyes a little darker now.

“You gonna wear them?”

Jimin smiles something mischievous, then pulls them all the way down.

“What am I gonna wear?”

“Mine.” Jimin giggles and pulls his own, letting them pool around his bare feet before stepping out of them and handing them to Taehyung.

“Don’t worry, they should fit you. My ass is bigger than yours; that should compensate for your monster dick.”

Taehyung growls, reaching behind him to grasp his butt. His hands fit perfectly over his cheeks, and he squeezes, opening a little before letting them snap back together.

“Stop that! I’m getting hard again.” Jimin scolds.

Too late for Taehyung. His cock is already poking at Jimin’s hip.

Jimin stalls for a moment, looks down at his cock with a wondrous look in his eye. Like he’s concentrating on something.

“What is it, baby?”

Jimin blushes a little. Sweetness immediately taking over.

“It’s just…” He pauses, just as he does every time he wants something he’s almost too embarrassed to ask for. Taehyung waits patiently, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ears.

“It’s just, I haven’t kissed you yet.”

Fuck.

Taheyung can’t help himself.

“Yes, you have.” He says, kissing his lips. “You kiss me all the time.”

Jimin groans quietly.

“I mean…” He gently places his small hand under Taehyung’s dick, holding it up a little. “Here.”

“Oh,” he pretends to be surprised. “You want to kiss me here?”

Pretty pout back in place. Jimin nods a little frantically. Eager and shy all at once.

“Aww, sweetheart,” he kisses him again. “You can kiss me anywhere you wa—”

“Now?” He answers before Taehyung even gets to finish his sentence.

Taehyung briefly thinks about his partner waiting for him. Ah, fuck it.

“Of course, angel, anything you want.”

The way Jimin lights up at the permission almost knocks the air out of him. Like Taehyung just gave him the world.

Instead of dropping straight to his knees, Jimin tugs Taehyung with him, slow but insistent, until his own back bumps the edge of the counter. He settles there deliberately, his beautiful round bottom pressed to the wood, eyes flicking up at Taehyung as if to say ‘right here’. Only then does he sink down, sliding to his knees in front of him, perfectly placed with the counter at his back and Taehyung looming above.

He looks at Taehyung’s cock, not fully hard yet, still hanging between his legs. His gaze is somewhat adoring. Taehyung combs his hair back, making sure Jimin feels cherished and adored.

The beautiful boy before him ducks just enough to catch the tip in his mouth. Fuck, his lips. His pretty plump lips are exquisite around his cockhead. His tongue is soft on his frenulum as he rubs the flat of it over him back and forth.

Taehyung groans, throwing his head back.

“Oh fuck,” he sighs.

Jimin closes his eyes and takes him in as far as he can. Jimin always jokes about it, but Taehyung really does have a giant cock.

Jimin sighs, lips stretched around him. He looks so…content with Taehyung’s cock in his mouth.

“Is it good, baby boy?” Taehyung can’t stop himself from asking.

Jimin doesn’t answer verbally. He just hums, eyes still closed, mouth still full of dick. He sits back on his heels, pulling Taehyung with him by the hips, then he takes Taehyung’s hands and places them on the countertop just above his head. 

The position calls for Taehyung to open his legs and bend his knees a little. It’s filthy and gorgeous and everything Taehyung shouldn’t have time for, but he already knows he’s ruined, because there’s no universe where he could ever say no to Jimin.

“You are going to fucking kill me one day, you know.”

Jimin’s eyes lift, sharp and glinting, a smile perfectly ruined by Taehyung’s cock between his lips.

And then, as if all this wasn’t already too much, his small hands slide lower, gripping Taehyung’s ass and urging him forward, feeding himself Taehyung’s cock before steering him back just a little, only to repeat it again. And again.

“Jesus, baby…” Taehyung grunts as his dick twitches against Jimin’s tongue. “Do you want me to move?” He asks gently, hoping to god he hasn’t read it wrong.

Jimin hums around him, the vibration making Taehyung’s thighs tense. His eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling, like he’s savouring every inch. He looks wrecked and content all at once, almost as if here, like this, he's at peace. He moans, like this is pleasure for him too.

“Oh, angel,” Taehyung coos, softly caressing his jaw, hoping it aches just enough for Jimin to be reminded of this moment all day. “Didn’t know how much you wanted this. Does it make you happy, having my cock in your mouth?”

Jimin answers without words, simply curling his tongue in a way that makes Taehyung huff a broken laugh, brushing his thumb over Jimin’s damp lower lip. Then he tugs at him again, a little rougher now, as if to make a point, and Taehyung chokes on a moan.

“Okay, okay,” he says, chuckling low to himself, breath unsteady.

He braces his palms against the countertop on either side of Jimin’s head and bends his knees to find the perfect angle before sliding his cock all the way back into Jimin’s mouth. Jimin moans around him, the sound vibrating through Taehyung and making his hips stutter.

“Fuck, baby.” He shudders, setting a slow rhythm, taking his time to feel the drag of Jimin’s tongue and the soft squeeze of his lips over every sensitive part of him. He lingers, pausing to rub his frenulum against Jimin’s tongue again and again, groaning and gasping when the pleasure spikes.

“Baby, are you still loose?” he asks, voice rough.

Jimin nods, cheeks hollow, mouth stretched sweet and obscene. Adorable.

“Here.” Taehyung grabs his hand and lifts it to his mouth. He lets a string of spit fall from his lips into Jimin’s palm, hot and messy. “Tease your hole for me. And when I’m about to cum, you’re gonna stand up and turn around. Okay, angel?”

Jimin groans, eyes fluttering shut as he obeys, hand sliding between his legs to do exactly what he’s told. So good. Always so good.

Taehyung grips the counter tighter and fucks into his mouth, never cruel, never careless, always cautious not to push too far but reckless enough to let go and give in just enough.

Jimin starts to whine around him, fingers working himself open.

“Yes, baby,” Taehyung mumbles, voice thick, hips trembling. “Make yourself feel good. Be good and moan while you do it.”

And moan he does.

The obscene sound of Jimin's fussy little whimpers with his mouth still full of cock is way too much for Taehyung to handle. He's gonna cum in no time at all. How could he not?

His hips shudder, every muscle in his thighs trembling as he fights to hold his orgasm back, desperate to stretch the moment until it tears him apart. He’s practically propping himself up on locked arms, the countertop digging into his palms while his knees threaten to give out.

He thrusts in tight, deliberate rolls, not just back and forward but angled, controlled. Every stroke made to catch the soft give of Jimin’s tongue, the wet pull of his lips, right where it feels unbearable.

A ragged sound tears from him, something untamed and overwhelming.

"Up, up!" he gasps, just as the realisation slams into him that he's past the point of no return.

Jimin scrambles up, quick and obedient, turning away and bracing on the counter, his back arching, offering himself up like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sight alone just about kills Taehyung.

He presses the furious tip to Jimin’s loosened hole and groans as the first hot spurt spills over him. He pushes just the barest inch inside, just how Jimin likes it. Each throb pulls more from him, and he squeezes his shaft tight, determined to leave every last drop inside the beautiful boy in front of him.

When he’s done, he slumps forward, chest to Jimin’s back, arms wrapping around his waist to hold him close, grounding himself in Jimin’s warmth.

“That was… incredible,” he breathes against his ear, pressing a shaky kiss to his temple. His hand slips around to Jimin’s neglected cock, but it’s quickly slapped away.

“No,” Jimin pants, voice thin but sure. “I wanna save it for you. For later.”

Taehyung freezes, stunned, then lets his forehead drop against Jimin’s shoulder with a dramatic groan. “You’re evil,” he complains, grinning into his skin. “How the fuck am I supposed to work today knowing you’re here, stuffed full of my cum, aching for an orgasm, just waiting for me?”

"Sounds like a you problem," Jimin answers sweetly, turning just enough to kiss his cheek.

Taehyung lingers longer than he should, chest still pressed to Jimin’s back, forehead damp against his shoulder. His pulse hasn’t settled, and neither has the need curling through him, sharp and alive. If it were up to him, he’d drag Jimin back to bed and never leave the apartment again.

But the clock on the microwave is merciless.

With a groan, he forces himself to ease out of him, both of them wincing at the messy slide. Jimin makes a soft, spoilt sound, trying to tug him back in, and Taehyung almost caves. Almost.

He presses a steadying kiss to the top of his spine instead, reaching blindly for the nearest dish towel to wipe him clean enough for now. It feels rushed, wrong to let something so sacred end in a half-hearted wipe, but if he lets himself think too hard about it, he’ll never make it out the door.

Jimin leans back into him anyway, boneless and pliant, still smiling that coy little smile. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to him.

“Angel,” Taehyung mutters, kissing his cheek once, twice, before stepping back and forcing himself to breathe. “You’re gonna get me fired.”

Just as Taehyung is about to leave, ready to kiss Jimin goodbye at the door while he wears nothing but Taehyung's underpants, he says, "All jokes aside, I don't know what time I'm gonna be finished." He tucks a stray hair behind Jimin's ear. "I don't want you to feel like you have to wait up for me."

"I won't." Jimin says like it's the most obvious thing. "You have the code; just come when you're done and cuddle me."

"Ahhh, so now you want cuddles!!!" Taheyung teases.

"Shut up! I always liked your cuddles, but now I have extra rights, and I can demand them whenever I want."

"Oh yeah? Since when?"

"Since last night."

Taehyung gets the air knocked out of him.

"Yeah, okay." He mumbles, leaning in to kiss Jimin just one more time.

The early morning roads are clear. Dew still clings to the edges of parked cars, and the quiet feels heavier than usual, like the whole city is holding its breath. Taehyung pulls into the diner car park and scans the place before stepping out. His eyes sweep the lot, habit more than caution, but still he lingers on a van parked too close to the dumpster, his gut always taking notes. Agent Lee is sitting at his usual table.

“Sorry I’m late,” Taehyung says, as he walks in and takes his place opposite his partner. “Can I get the usual?” he asks the server as she walks past.

Agent Lee is looking out the window, eyes empty, gaze lost. His untouched coffee has gone lukewarm, steam long since faded. One hand drums against the table in a restless rhythm, but his face is carved from stone.

“Hey,” Taehyung calls, trying to snap him out of it. “Lee! You okay?”

Agent Lee slowly shakes his head. “It’s gone,” he says.

“What’s gone?”

A pause, like the other agent is trying to muster up the courage to say it. His jaw works, like the words are glass in his mouth.

“The clinic,” he admits. “Chief sent Detective Choi so he couldn’t be traced, but it’s gone. Burnt to the ground.”

The news makes Taehyung’s stomach drop. He feels it like a punch just below the ribs, the kind of blow that steals air. His fingers flex against the table, knuckles pale.

“But…how?”

“Agent Jeon says they must’ve known we had Sung-ho and got rid of everything he knew about.”

Lee’s voice falters, dropping low. He leans in slightly, as if even here in this nothing diner they could be overheard. “Not just gone. Erased. Choi said the fire was too clean. Accelerants everywhere. Nothing left but twisted rebar. Like someone wanted to salt the earth.”

Taehyung sits back, jaw tight. “They’re watching. They knew exactly when Sung-ho went dark.” His words taste bitter. “Means they’ve got tabs on all their guys.” His eyes flick toward Lee, the thought unspoken but heavy.

Lee finally looks at him then, guilt written across every line of his face. “We’re chasing ghosts, Tae. Every time we get close, they’re already a step ahead. If Sung-ho was right, if he really saw what he said, then someone on the inside is feeding them.”

Just as hope seems like it’s gone, Taehyung’s phone rings.

“Chief,” he answers.

“Kim! Dock police have something at ….”

“Already out the door,” he replies, grabbing his keys and nodding at Lee to move. He cuts the call off and shouts to the lady behind the counter. “Sorry, Jisoo! Gotta run!”

“What is it?” Agent Lee asks while climbing into Taehyung’s beat-up car.

“Dock police. They have something.”

The ride to the harbour is silent save for the sound of the engine and the occasional beep from Agent Lee’s phone. Taehyung keeps one hand loose on the wheel, the other flexing against his thigh, restless. Neither of them dares to say it out loud, but they both know this could be the break they need…or another dead end.

They ride right up to the scene, coastal guards almost excited at the chance of real crime. 'Fuck, their jobs must be boring,' Taehyung thinks.

“Officers, a ship just left. It was registered to dock out tonight, registered to the name Samhwa Maritime Transport Ltd. But it docked out at five-thirty-two and is completely off radar.”

“Where was it supposed to go to?”

“Japan.”

Taehyung nods. His mind ploughing over the possibilities.

“Doesn’t seem like they went in that direction though. They went north before falling off the map.”

One of the dock officers lowers his voice, gesturing for them to follow. “We found something behind a container they didn’t manage to take with them.” His expression is strained, nervous. “It’s…not cargo.”

Taehyung looks at Agent Lee; they read each other’s minds. This is it.

“Where?” Lee asks.

The coastguard leads them to the back of a large yellow container.

“We didn’t touch anything.”

Taehyung nods at him. “Good job.”

The young officer beams, proud of himself.

On the ground beside a battered traffic cone lay a vacuum-sealed biohazard bag, its outer layer slick with blood. The sight alone makes Taehyung’s gut clench. Agent Lee passes him a pair of latex gloves, and he snaps them on with practised ease. When he reaches down to pick it up, he realises it’s not just blood.

Something shifts inside. Soft. Heavy. Rounded. His breath catches.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, holding it out for Lee to see.

Lee flinches, eyes narrowing as he takes in the shape through the plastic. “Christ…that looks like a kidney.”

Taehyung swallows, the weight of the bag suddenly unbearable. “Bag it. Get it to forensics. I don’t want to guess.”

Lee nods quickly, pulling out an evidence container. The young dock officer stares, pale as paper now, his earlier pride evaporated into sickened silence.

The bag makes a dull slap as Taehyung drops it into the container. That sound alone will haunt him for days. Lee photographs it in situ, time-stamps the seal, and signs the evidence label before handing it off. 

Taehyung still can’t shake the cold weight in his gut when he peels the gloves off. The bloody bag is already sealed for evidence, but it feels like its contents linger on his hands. Agent Lee is pacing, muttering curses under his breath. The dock officers stand back, whispering to one another, almost giddy with the drama of it all.

Then… faint. So faint Taehyung almost thinks he imagined it. A muffled thump. Soft, but distinct.

He snaps his head up, scanning the rows of stacked containers. His instincts won’t let it go.

“Lee,” he says sharply. “Did you hear that?”

Lee freezes, listening. The dock is quiet, only the creak of metal and the faint slap of water against the pylons. Then, there it is again. A whimper.

“There,” Taehyung points, already moving.

A young officer scrambles after them, protesting, “We checked those manifests, that one’s supposed to be empty!”

Taehyung doesn't even acknowledge him with an answer.

They round the corner of the stacked containers, the sound clearer now, weak and desperate. Taehyung presses his ear against the steel wall. Someone’s inside.

“Who has the keys?” he barks.

One of the guards sprints off, but Taehyung’s patience is already gone. He rattles the lock himself, testing the give. It’s cheap, rushed, like whoever sealed it wasn’t planning on leaving it long. With a violent twist of a crowbar one of the officers hands over, the lock breaks.

The doors groan open, and a wave of stale air spills out. Inside is darkness.

Then, movement.

A girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, huddled in the corner. Knees drawn to her chest, eyes wide and wet. An IV is still taped to her arm, the line dangling uselessly. She blinks against the light, too weak to speak.

“Jesus Christ,” Lee breathes.

Taehyung crouches low, hands raised to show he isn’t a threat. “It’s okay,” he says softly, the edge gone from his voice. “You’re safe.”

The girl’s lips tremble, but no words come out. She flinches when the officers move closer.

“Back up,” Taehyung orders them, firm. Then, quieter, to her: “No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Lee kneels beside him, pulling out his phone to call in paramedics. Taehyung shrugs off his jacket and drapes it gently around the girl’s shoulders. She clutches it tight like a lifeline.

He’s reminded of his time as a negotiator. When he had to find a way to connect with the people in distress, whether they were the one with their finger on the trigger or the one standing on the edge of a bridge. He was always good at this.

“Before everything else has to happen, is there anything you’d like? Some water maybe?”

The girl looks at him as if he just gave her life. Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

“You have no idea how happy I am to have found you.” He chuckles softly, trying to bring just a little normalcy into the surreal situation. “I know this must feel impossible, but you’re safe now. That’s the only thing you need to hold onto.”

Her stare never strays. Her eyes are fixed on him, wide and trembling, but there’s a flicker of trust there, the tiniest spark he recognises from a hundred other faces in crisis.

“Listen,” he says gently, lowering his voice like he’s speaking just to her, “you don’t have to do anything alone anymore. All you need to do is let me help you stand. I’ll be with you the whole way. Can you try that for me?”

For a beat she doesn’t move. Then, almost imperceptibly, her head tilts in a nod.

Taehyung slips a hand under her arm, careful, giving her time to pull away if she needs to. She doesn’t. When her shaky legs threaten to give, he steadies her, murmuring reassurances that don’t need to be clever, only kind.

As they ease her out into the daylight, Taehyung keeps holding her. Her grip is fierce despite the tremor in her hands, like letting go might drop her back into hell. He’s her anchor. He knows how this works. Victims hold on to the first person they can trust.

The smell of salt and oil from the docks fills the air, gulls crying overhead, but all Taehyung can hear is her ragged breath pressed against his chest.

“Fuck,” Jungkook gasps as he sprints to them. His shoes skid on the wet concrete, eyes wide, chest heaving. “I’ve seen her before,” he pants, breathless.

"Where?" He hears Lee ask.

"Where d'you think?" Jungkook, acidic as ever. "Cypher."

Taehyung climbs into the ambulance, holding her arm as she stumbles in too. Then he sits with her, doesn’t say a word, just stays present. Sometimes that’s more than words, and Taehyung knows it.

They strap her in, and Taehyung begins to hum something under his breath. Something short on a loop; it helps with trauma. It’s something predictable and constant. Her fingers twitch against the strap, then slowly tap along in rhythm, like she’s anchoring herself to the sound.

By the time they arrive at the hospital, it’s mid-morning. Taehyung stays by her side the entire time.

“She has no ID,” he says to the slightly grumpy lady trying to do her initial screening assessment.

“Then who do I mark her as?”

Taehyung smiles at the lady. “Just put her down as Jane Doe for now.”

“We need to take her blood,” she says.

The girl inhales sharply, making herself choke on the air. She begins to visibly shake and cry. She shakes her head frantically but still can’t speak a word.

“Just wait,” Taehyung says firmly.

“But—”

“I said wait.” His tone is calm but leaves no room for argument. Then softer, more measured: “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

He steps aside with the nurse. “This girl has been in an organ trafficker’s ring for who knows how long. We need her to trust us, and I’m pretty sure that poking her with a needle won’t help. So would you please just give me her file and give us some space?”

The nurse looks stunned. Like no one had ever spoken to her in such a way. Taehyung thinks to himself that it would’ve been funny to see her interact with Jungkook.

“Flag Child Protection and a victim advocate,” Taehyung adds. “No interviews until she’s stable.”

She hands him the file and takes her leave.

Taehyung goes back inside the room and takes his seat next to the girl’s bed again. Not too close, not too far. She still has his jacket around her, knuckles white where she clutches it.

“You know, I never wanted to be a cop,” he begins, looking out the window as though the story is only half for her. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a train driver… or an acrobat.” He chuckles to himself.

Her eyes stay on him, wary but steady.

“I used to go down to the train station and try to talk to the drivers. Some had no time for me, but some were cool and let me in the cockpit, showed me all the levers and buttons.”

There’s the faintest flicker at the corner of her mouth, like she can picture it. Taehyung feels it, that first crack in the wall.

He spends the rest of the afternoon there, talking to her. Getting her water and food, helping her pull up the blanket when she’s cold, but still nothing. She won’t speak. It’s like she’s mute. The only sound she makes is the catch of her breath when someone walks too quickly past the door.

Taehyung won’t give up, but he knows that the further someone drops into this kind of isolation, the harder it is for them to break away from it. He’s seen it before — hostages, jumpers, people with nothing left to trust. Once the silence hardens, it can take days to chip through.

“Mr. Kim,” a young nurse calls softly from the doorway. “Someone asking after you.”

Taehyung looks back at the young, sleeping Jane Doe and quietly leaves the room.

“Keep an eye on her and let me know if she wakes up.”

The nurse nods. “Will do, sir.”

In the hall, Chief Han is sitting on a blue plastic chair. He looks as dishevelled as Taehyung feels. Tie loosened, shirt collar open, eyes rimmed red like he hasn’t slept either.

“Chief,” Taehyung greets him, tone always professional.

“Taehyung,” Han starts, and it catches Taehyung off guard; it’s the first time he’s ever called him by name. The gravity in his voice makes Taehyung’s chest tighten.

“This just got way more complicated.”

Taehyung takes the seat beside him and sighs. “Yeah.”

“It’s an international trade,” Han says grimly. “We’re not talking small fry anymore. We’re talking human cargo shipped out alive. That girl is just a lucky one they left behind.”

Taehyung lets out a long, loaded breath. The image of shipping containers stacked at the docks flashes in his mind, each one carrying someone’s child, someone’s sister, someone who won’t be as lucky as Jane Doe.

“I know, Chief.”

“I have no choice but to call in the national forces. You’re all still on the case as undercover detectives, but it’s out of my hands now.” He sighs. “Seoul HQ is sending a deputy director to take point,” Han says. “Above my pay grade.”

Taehyung turns to him and pats his knee twice. “Don’t worry, Chief. We’ll get him.”

Han’s eyes search his for a moment, and though he nods, Taehyung can see it: doubt, fear, the kind that comes from knowing they’re hunting a ghost.

• Taehyung: Baby, I’m gonna be late. Really late. Possibly tomorrow-morning late.
• Jimin: Don’t worry. I left food in the fridge. I’ll be in bed waiting for my cuddle. 😘

The simple comfort of it knots something tight in Taehyung’s chest.

Then hours into the night Jungkook comes to take over from him at the hospital. Jungkook arrives with a coffee in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other, looking like he hasn’t slept either.

“You’re the worst possible guy to leave with a trauma victim,” Taehyung mutters, trying to make it a joke.

Jungkook just glares. “What, because I don’t do teddy bear smiles and bedtime stories?”

Taehyung shrugs, smirking a little, but he's way too exhausted to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Then Jungkook nudges the cup of hot chocolate into Tae’s hand. “Go home. You look like shit.” Taehyung knows he’s right. He’s no use to anyone like this.

He arrives back at Jimin's, and the sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains. He’s exhausted and physically distraught by the events of the night. Before he can slip into Jimin’s bed, he needs to wash away the day: the blood, the hospital, and the filth that isn’t just on his body but under his skin.

He goes into the bathroom and finds a fresh towel on the toilet seat with a sticky note on top in Jimin’s messy handwriting: “I got the special soap for you and a toothbrush by the sink.”

In the shower sits a Jasmine body wash. Taehyung almost wants to cry at how thoughtful he is.

The hot water feels good, but he knows it’s gonna be a bad one tonight. Maybe he should’ve gone home.

After rinsing the day away, he places his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor by the sink and patters his way into Jimin’s room.

The curtains are just a little open; a golden line of sunlight hits Jimin’s form on the bed. He has nothing to wear, so he pulls back the covers and slides in as he is.

Jimin stirs, turns over and his face breaks into a smile when he registers that it’s him. Jimin burrows against his chest, warmth spilling into Taehyung until the cracks in him stop threatening to cave in.

“You okay?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep but soft, endlessly kind.

Taehyung can't answer. He can't lie, but the truth is unthinkable.

So he presses his lips to Jimin’s forehead and lingers there. Inhale… exhale… holding on.

"It's okay, if you're not." Jimin adds, rubbing his hands over Taehyung's back, trying to sooth him. "I get it that you can't tell me, but if you need something I'm here."

The words unravel him. Tears fill his eyes, and he breaks, just a little. Jimin holds him. Keeps him from falling apart.

“Shh,” Jimin whispers, over and over, a quiet mantra against Taehyung’s hair. He cradles him close, making him feel small and protected in a way he hadn’t realised he needed. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The steady rhythm of Jimin’s voice, the slow drag of his hand across Taehyung’s back, works like a tether. Each repetition eases the sharp edge inside him, each stroke pulling him further from the night and back into something safe.

For once, Taehyung lets himself sink. Lets himself be the one who’s held, who doesn’t have to hold everything together.

"Sleep now, baby." Jimin whispers into the night and Taehyung finally gives in to sleep.