Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The maknaes had always been the same to Yoongi.
Bright, reckless boys with too much energy and too little sense, throwing themselves headfirst into work until they nearly collapsed, only to stay awake until dawn shrieking over video games. Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook — they were a whirlwind of laughter and chaos, and Yoongi had slotted himself into his quiet role. The one who listened. The one who steadied. The one who defended when the world pressed too hard.

But boys don’t stay boys forever.

They grew. They sharpened. They became men — different, defined, untouchable in their own ways.
And yet only one of them made Yoongi’s chest seize with something he couldn’t name.

Kim Taehyung.

He used to be all limbs and noise, a too-lanky kid with a boxy grin and eyes too big for his face, radiating so much energy it was like his skin could barely contain it. Yoongi remembers shaking his head at the chaos of him, fond and exhausted in equal measure.

But now—

Now, Taehyung was tall, carved into a body that didn’t belong to the boy Yoongi remembered. He was lean where others bulked, his shape elegant but devastating. Broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, thighs that flexed against denim, hips that swayed without meaning to. Every line of him seemed designed to undo Yoongi.

His hands—long, graceful fingers, delicate wrists—looked like art. The kind of art Yoongi wanted to ruin, to pin against something solid just to see how easily he could bend him. And his neck, pale and slender, begged for Yoongi’s palm to wrap around it.

Yes, Tae was taller. But Yoongi knew. He knew he could break him down into pliancy with just a word, a touch, a look.

And those eyes—God, those eyes. Still wide, still bright, but molten now. Dark fire that pulled Yoongi under every time they landed on him for too long. He couldn’t fucking breathe when Taehyung looked at him like that, like he saw through all of Yoongi’s defences.

Then there was the voice. Deeper, richer, velvet dragged through smoke. When Taehyung growled through a verse, Yoongi’s skin prickled. When he whispered a lazy goodnight on his way past Yoongi’s door, it was like a spark pressed straight to his spine. And when he greeted him in the morning, voice rough and low with sleep—Yoongi had to bite his tongue not to imagine how his own name would sound in that register, falling from Taehyung’s lips, desperate and undone.

Those lips. Soft, heart-shaped, parted in laughter, in song, in careless little hums. Yoongi wanted them parted for him. He wanted to feel the heat of them, hear what sounds they’d make if he—

“Fuck,” Yoongi hissed, dragging a hand over his face.

It was happening too often now. These thoughts, these flashes of want he couldn’t kill. Every casual touch from Taehyung — a hand on his shoulder, a lean into his space, a smile thrown his way — stoked the fire Yoongi was trying to suffocate.

It was getting impossible to keep the mask on. To pretend his face wasn’t burning, to keep his voice steady, to stay Min Yoongi — cold, composed, unshaken.

Because Kim Taehyung was fire. And Yoongi was already burning alive.

Chapter Text

Yoongi had always been untouchable to Taehyung.

The perfect rapper, the hyung who carried quiet power in every word, every silence. The one who only spoke when it mattered, when someone needed anchoring, when the chaos of their world had to be steadied by a single firm hand. Solid. Strong. Min Yoongi had always been the wall that never cracked, the presence that never faltered.

When Taehyung was younger, he used to watch him with wide eyes, half in awe and half in fear. Yoongi didn’t waste time on nonsense. He wasn’t easily swayed by charm or noise or Taehyung’s constant antics. And yet—he was always there. The quiet support behind the loudest storms, the voice that cut through when things threatened to unravel. Yoongi never let him fray.

But something has shifted.

Taehyung doesn’t know when it began. He can’t point a finger at the moment, can’t name the reason, but Yoongi feels… different. Not with everyone—no, Yoongi is still the same solid hyung to Jungkook and Jimin, the same measured, steady presence he had always been. But with Taehyung—
There’s something else.

A look. A silence. A space charged with something unnamed.

Sometimes Taehyung catches him staring. Yoongi’s gaze lingers just a moment too long, dark eyes fixed on him like he’s unraveling something inside. And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe Yoongi is just lost in thought, as he often is, his mind buried in beats and lyrics. But it doesn’t feel like nothing. Not when Taehyung’s skin prickles under that gaze, not when his chest tightens like Yoongi has touched him without moving at all.

It bothers him. It fascinates him.

Because Yoongi doesn’t look at people like that. Yoongi listens, Yoongi observes, Yoongi understands—but he doesn’t stare. Not like that. Not with weight behind his eyes, not with silence thick enough that Taehyung can feel it in his throat.

And lately, Yoongi treats him differently. Subtly, carefully, but Taehyung notices. The way his hand hovers a second longer on Taehyung’s shoulder before pulling away. The way his words soften when directed at him, not blunt like they sometimes are with the others. The way his lips press tight, like he’s swallowing something unspoken whenever Taehyung leans too close.

It sparks something restless in Taehyung, a curiosity that coils low in his belly. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t dare to give it a name yet. But he can’t let it go.

Because if Min Yoongi is staring at him differently—if Yoongi’s walls are not as unshakable as he thought—
then Taehyung wants to know why.

And the thought of being the reason for even the smallest crack in Yoongi’s composure makes heat curl sharp in his veins.

Chapter Text

Taehyung has always been observant. People don’t realize it, not really. They think he’s lost in his own head, too whimsical, too strange to notice the details that slip through cracks. But Taehyung notices everything.

Especially Yoongi.

He watches without letting it show. Quietly, carefully. Filing away small shifts Yoongi probably thinks no one can see.

Like the hitch of breath when Taehyung brushes past him in the kitchen, shoulder against arm for the barest second. Yoongi doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but Taehyung hears it—the slightest pause in his inhale, sharp and quick.

Or when Yoongi’s hand rests on his back after a rehearsal, steady and grounding. It lingers one beat too long, heat seeping through Taehyung’s shirt, before Yoongi pulls it away like he’s touched fire. Taehyung almost turns, almost catches his eyes, but Yoongi is already looking elsewhere, expression smooth as stone.

He notices the way Yoongi’s gaze changes when stylists dress him in something bold. Leather pants hugging his thighs, silk shirts left unbuttoned far too low. The others joke, laugh, whistle, but Yoongi doesn’t say a word. He just watches, dark and unreadable, until Taehyung shifts under the weight of it.

Then there are mornings. Early, quiet, when Taehyung stumbles out of his room in nothing but loose tees and worn boxers, hair mussed, eyes still heavy with sleep. He’ll find Yoongi already in the kitchen with coffee, silent as always. But his gaze drags over Taehyung once, slow, before flicking back to his mug like it never happened. Taehyung feels that look long after it’s gone.

And then there was Jungkook. Careless, innocent Jungkook, who slung an arm around Taehyung’s waist after a music show, tugging him close while laughing at some joke. It was nothing—just Jungkook being Jungkook—but Taehyung didn’t miss the way Yoongi’s eyes flicked down to that hand. The way his jaw tightened before he looked away, lips pressed into a thin line.

None of these things are big enough to be proof. They’re all small, fleeting moments, easy to dismiss. Anyone else would miss them. Anyone else would believe Yoongi is exactly the same as he’s always been—solid, steady, unshaken.

But Taehyung isn’t anyone else.

And he sees it. The cracks. The edges fraying just enough to let something raw peek through.

Yoongi is looking at him differently. Touching him differently. Breathing differently.

And it makes Taehyung’s chest tighten, heat curl low in his stomach, curiosity gnaw at the edges of every thought.

Because if Min Yoongi is trying to hide, Taehyung will find out.

And God, does he want to know what Yoongi looks like when the mask finally breaks.

Chapter Text

Control.

It had always been Yoongi’s anchor, the one thing he held on to with pride. He had built his name on it—measured words, measured emotions, never spilling more than he intended. Even when surrounded by chaos, he stayed grounded, untouchable. That was who he was. That was who everyone believed him to be.

And he believed it too.

Until Taehyung.

He was slipping. More often now, and more carelessly. Every day seemed to crack something in him wider, and Yoongi didn’t know how to hold the pieces together anymore.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been surrounded by beauty before. He had seen his share of men carved too perfectly to look real. He had lived with Jin, for God’s sake—Jin, who was flawless enough to make mirrors jealous. And yet, Yoongi had never been tempted, never been shaken.

But Taehyung wasn’t perfect.

One eye carried a double lid, the other didn’t. His lips weren’t perfectly symmetrical, curving in ways that defied balance. Moles dotted his skin like constellations, some small enough to miss if you weren’t paying attention. His stomach was soft, not the sculpted abs the world worshiped.

And Yoongi found himself reeling because of it.

Those weren’t imperfections. Not to him. They were invitations. They were proof of something human, something raw, something real—and Yoongi wanted every inch. He wanted to trace the slope of Taehyung’s eyelids, to press kisses to each scattered mole, to mouth at the softness of his stomach until Taehyung was trembling under him.

He wanted. God, he wanted.

He wanted to hear that deep voice—not polished, not perfect, not trained for stage—but broken. Breathless. Moaning his name in the dark where no one else could hear.

And the more Yoongi tried to shove the thoughts away, to smother them under the weight of discipline, the more they clawed back. The more he tried to keep his distance, the more he found himself slipping closer.

His hands lingered longer. His eyes stayed fixed where they shouldn’t. His mask faltered when Taehyung leaned in, smiled, laughed, looked at him.

Control had always been his crown. But with Taehyung, it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

And Yoongi was terrified of how badly he didn’t want to stop it.

Chapter Text

It was pathetic.

Every night it was the same—Yoongi’s body hot and aching, his mind betraying him with the same images. He’d try, god he tried, to think of anything else. He’d conjure faceless bodies, fleeting memories of old flings, even shameful fantasies of strangers. But the second his hand wrapped around his cock, the only picture that burned behind his eyes was Taehyung.

Taehyung’s thighs—supple, firm, spread wide under him.
Taehyung’s waist arching when Yoongi’s grip tightened.
Taehyung’s lips, flushed and wet, opening to cry out his name—broken, needy.

Yoongi’s breath had stuttered as he came, shuddering into his fist, biting down hard on his own tongue to keep from groaning aloud. He collapsed back, disgust mingling with the bliss, chest rising and falling with the proof of his shame still slick on his hand.

He should’ve showered. He should’ve stayed in his room until the fever passed.

But he didn’t.

He opened the door, and there he was.

Taehyung, sprawled across the sofa like sin itself, lying on his stomach, legs stretched out long. His shirt had ridden high, exposing the soft dip of his lower back, the curve just above his ass. Thin cotton boxers clung to him, hiding nothing, the round of him outlined shamelessly. His thighs, pale and solid, stretched bare and inviting.

Yoongi’s cock twitched traitorously, still sensitive, still wet, and his throat went dry.

He should have walked away. He should have slammed the door, locked himself inside. Instead, like something outside of him was pulling the strings, Yoongi walked closer and sank down beside him.

“What are you watching?” he asked, his voice too rough, too low.

Taehyung shifted onto his side, grinning, oblivious. “Cats,” he said, turning the phone so Yoongi could see. “Look—this one keeps falling off the sofa.”

Yoongi didn’t see a damn thing. His eyes were locked on the strip of exposed skin at Taehyung’s hip, the shadowed dip of his waist, the place where cotton clung too tight to leave anything to imagination.

He leaned in under the guise of watching, his shoulder brushing Taehyung’s. His pulse hammered, fingers curling against his thigh to keep them still. But control had already frayed past saving.

Slowly, deliberately, Yoongi let his hand fall. His fingertips brushed against the back of Taehyung’s bare thigh, warm skin under his touch. He let his hand linger—not just a graze, not just an accident, but a press. Soft, firm, claiming.

Taehyung froze.

The video played on, tinny meows filling the silence, but the air between them thickened. Taehyung didn’t move away. He didn’t speak. He just breathed, chest rising slow, and Yoongi swore he could feel the shiver travel straight from Taehyung’s skin into his palm.

Yoongi’s cock pulsed hard again, shame twisting into want so strong it nearly made him dizzy.

And for the first time, he didn’t pull his hand back.

Chapter Text

Taehyung felt it.

The brush of fingers on his bare thigh, the weight of Yoongi’s hand lingering where it shouldn’t. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He let the cat video play, eyes glued to the screen though the sounds were distant, meaningless. What he focused on instead was Yoongi’s hand—warm, firm, trembling just faintly.

He waited. Patient. Curious. His chest rose evenly as if nothing was wrong, as if Yoongi wasn’t quietly burning beside him. And when the hand finally slipped away, Yoongi’s breath heavy, breaking the silence with a muttered, “Goodnight,” Taehyung only hummed.

Another skill Taehyung had mastered over the years: patience.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask. He let it simmer in the back of his mind, let it curl through his thoughts all night until it glowed hot under his skin.

The next day, he tested it.

When rehearsal ended and the others piled toward the van, Jimin tugging Jungkook along with a laugh, Taehyung moved differently. Smooth. Easy. He slipped past and slid into the second van instead, Namjoon already seated in the front, Hoseok and Yoongi taking the back.

“Hyung, I’m tired,” Taehyung murmured as he sat, leaning into Yoongi’s side without hesitation, his temple pressing against Yoongi’s shoulder. His shirt had ridden up slightly from the stretch, skin bare at his waist.

For a heartbeat, Yoongi didn’t move. His body went rigid, breath catching.

Then his hand lifted, hovering—and instead of falling on Taehyung’s shoulder, it landed lower. On his waist. Right where skin met fabric.

The touch was tentative at first, like Yoongi expected him to shift away, to push his hand back where it belonged. But Taehyung stayed perfectly still. His breathing steady, his gaze fixed lazily on the window.

And when he didn’t react, Yoongi’s hand betrayed him.

It moved.

Fingers sliding slow, deliberate, slipping under the hem of Taehyung’s shirt. Warm skin meeting warmer skin, the roughness of Yoongi’s palm dragging across the soft curve of Taehyung’s waist. The touch wasn’t steady—hesitant, shaking slightly, but it moved, inch by inch, until it rested low on his side.

Yoongi breathed heavy beside him, like every second cost him.

Taehyung’s lips curled just faintly. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at him, didn’t break the moment. He only leaned closer, pressing his body a little more into Yoongi’s, letting him feel every inch of contact.

And in his head, Taehyung repeated the mantra he lived by—

Patience.

Because Yoongi was unraveling. And Taehyung was going to let him.

Chapter Text

Control was a joke.

He used to pride himself on it. Control in his work, in his emotions, in his body. He knew when to stop, when to retreat, when to draw a line. But lately, around Taehyung… lines blurred. Slipped. Faded.

It wasn’t just want anymore. It was need. His fingers itched, his palms burned. His body screamed for touch, for skin, for the impossible heat Taehyung radiated. And he hated himself for it—this addiction disguised as affection, this hunger that made his chest tight with guilt.

But fate? Fate was cruel.

That night, Hoseok had gone out with Jimin and Taehyung, leaving Yoongi in peace. He thought maybe he’d find rest. Instead, hours later, they stumbled back—Jimin and Taehyung drunk, all giggles and loose limbs, Hoseok barely keeping them upright.

“Hyung, help me with one of them!” Hobi groaned as they came through the door, Jimin practically dragging him down with his weight.

Yoongi didn’t think. He should’ve taken Jimin. He should’ve let Hobi handle Taehyung.

But instinct betrayed him. His hand reached, his body moved—he caught Taehyung instead.

Mistake No. 1.

The moment Taehyung fell into his arms, the younger wrapped around him like a second skin, hanging onto his neck with an ease that made Yoongi stumble. His chest pressed flush, thighs brushing, breath hot against his collarbone.

Yoongi tightened his grip, holding him up. Too close. Far too close.

Hoseok, too busy with Jimin, muttered a quick thanks and disappeared down the hall, half-carrying the other boy. And just like that, Yoongi was alone. Alone with Taehyung wrapped all over him.

Mistake No. 2.

He tried—tried so damn hard—to lead Taehyung toward his room. Just drop him off, that was all. Nothing more. But Taehyung clung, arms squeezing tighter around his neck, murmuring into his skin.

“I don’t wanna sleep alone.”

His breath ghosted hot across Yoongi’s throat, lips grazing skin. Yoongi’s knees almost buckled.

Fuck.

He should’ve said no. Should’ve pushed him away. But his body betrayed him again.

Mistake No. 3.

He brought Taehyung into his own room.

And drunk Taehyung, pliant and loose-limbed, sitting on his bed, was the last thing Yoongi needed. His shirt slipping off one shoulder, his hair falling into his eyes, lips wet from a lazy swipe of his tongue.

“I need to change,” Taehyung mumbled, tugging at his clothes like they offended him.

Yoongi swallowed hard. “I’ll get you something—”

“No. Yours.”

The word shot straight to his gut. His own clothes. On Taehyung. His jaw clenched as heat surged through his body.

Mistake No. 4.

He helped him. He shouldn’t have, but he did. Fingers brushing against warm skin as he tugged off Taehyung’s tee, sliding down the soft plane of his stomach as fabric lifted. His pants followed, pooling at his ankles.

Yoongi’s cock throbbed painfully, and he had to shut his eyes, had to force his breathing steady. His hand lingered too long on Taehyung’s hip, the curve of his waist, before he yanked it away like it burned.

And then—then he saw him.

Taehyung, wearing his clothes. His shirt hanging loose, collar dipping to expose collarbones, sleeves too long. The pants slouching low, hugging his hips.

Yoongi nearly lost it.

Mistake No. 5.

He should’ve walked away. Should’ve taken the floor, the chair, the goddamn hallway. Anywhere but beside him.

But he lay down.

And the second his body hit the mattress, Taehyung moved. Instinctive. Natural. Like it was the most normal thing in the world—he curled into Yoongi, head on his chest, an arm draped over him. One long leg slid up, hooking over Yoongi’s waist, pulling him impossibly close.

So close that if Taehyung wasn’t drunk, he’d have felt everything. The hard length pressed against him, the way Yoongi’s body shook with restraint.

Taehyung’s breath evened out, soft snores filling the room. He was asleep.

But Yoongi? Yoongi stayed awake all night. Every nerve alive, every inch of skin aware. His heart hammered against his ribs, his cock painfully hard, throbbing under the weight of Taehyung’s leg.

It was torture. It was bliss. It was hell.

And Yoongi lay there in the dark, spiraling deeper. Addicted. Consumed.

Control was gone.

Forever.

Chapter Text

Yoongi’s eyes burned from exhaustion, but sleep was impossible. Not with Taehyung draped over him like this.

The boy was dead asleep, soft breaths brushing over his collarbone, his arm locked around Yoongi’s torso like he never meant to let go. Yoongi had spent hours lying rigid, pretending control was still his.

Then Taehyung moved.

A little murmur slipped past his lips, groggy and soft. “...hyung. Warm…”

Yoongi’s heart stopped.

Taehyung burrowed deeper into him, nuzzling at his throat with a sigh. His body pressed tighter, chest against chest, leg shifting higher until it brushed—

Fuck.

Yoongi’s cock pulsed violently at the contact. He bit his tongue, holding his breath, willing himself not to react.

“Don’t,” he whispered into the dark. The word cracked in his throat, heavy with desperation. He didn’t know if he was saying it to Taehyung or to himself.

But Taehyung didn’t hear. Couldn’t. He only stirred again, that sweet, mindless murmur leaving his mouth like a curse. “Hyung… stay…”

And then it happened. The leg slung over Yoongi shifted higher — dragging right across his erection. A slow, torturous rub that made Yoongi’s entire body seize with heat.

His self-control shattered.

Yoongi’s hand flew to Taehyung’s thigh, fingers gripping tight as if to push him away. But instead, he pulled it closer, anchoring that dangerous weight right against him. His cock ground into soft skin before he could stop himself, a guttural groan torn from his throat.

“Don’t…” he gasped again, this time louder, harsher. But his hips betrayed him, rocking up in short, desperate thrusts, cock dragging against Taehyung’s leg like he’d been starving for it.

Taehyung only sighed in his sleep, completely oblivious, shifting again with a little hum that pressed him even harder into Yoongi’s arousal.

Yoongi’s vision blurred. He buried his face into Taehyung’s shoulder, breath coming in ragged, tortured bursts. His hand slid up the boy’s waist, under the loose hem of his shirt — his own shirt — until warm skin burned against his palm.

The more he tried to stop, the harder it became. His hips kept moving, grinding against Taehyung’s thigh with slow, punishing friction. The bed creaked under the weight of restraint giving way to hunger.

Guilt clawed at his chest with every drag of his cock, but the need was louder. The need had always been louder.

And when Taehyung murmured his name again in sleep, lips brushing against Yoongi’s throat, Yoongi nearly lost it — rutting harder, clutching his leg so close it was almost wrapped around his waist.

He was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

When he finally stilled, chest heaving, cock aching painfully against the soaked fabric of his boxers, he realized his own whispered “don’t” had long since stopped meaning anything.

Taehyung slept peacefully in his arms, unaware.

Yoongi lay awake, trembling, drowning in guilt and arousal, knowing he wouldn’t survive another night like this.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight stabbed through the curtains, warm against his eyelids. Taehyung stirred slowly, groaning at the ache in his body. His head felt heavy, though not from alcohol. Just… something else.

The first thing he noticed was that the bed was empty. Cold, too.

Yoongi was gone.

Tae frowned, blinking at the sheets as though they’d give him an answer. He remembered climbing into Yoongi’s bed last night, drunk and clingy, laughing too much until the world spun. He remembered Yoongi’s warmth, steady against him, safe. He remembered breathing him in and thinking — this is good. This is right.

But then—
His mind stuttered.

Had he dreamed it? The closeness. The heat under his skin. The way he thought he felt Yoongi tense beneath him, breath harsh in the dark. Tae licked his lips, unsettled. Something pulsed in his chest like a memory half-formed, but the more he reached for it, the more it slipped away.

Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe it was just the dream.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Yoongi must’ve left early, probably annoyed. Tae was never this clingy with anyone else — but with Yoongi, it felt natural, like his body made the decision for him.

Did I make him uncomfortable? The thought pressed sharp against his chest.

Later that day, when the group gathered in the studio, Taehyung caught Yoongi’s eye. The older man looked the same as ever — tired, calm, unreadable. That only made the guilt worse.

Quietly, when no one else was listening, Tae leaned closer. “Hyung… about last night. Sorry if I bothered you.” His voice was soft, almost sheepish. “I was too drunk. I probably… inconvenienced you.”

Yoongi didn’t even blink. His mouth twitched into the smallest, dismissive smile. “No problem.”

The words were casual, flat — but something sharp flickered in his eyes. A flash of tension so quick Tae almost thought he imagined it.

Yoongi turned back to his notebook, scoffing under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear.

Tae didn’t catch it.

But Yoongi’s thoughts were loud, relentless. No problem? The boy had no idea. No clue that every breath, every unconscious shift against him last night had ripped Yoongi apart, dragged him under until he was gasping in the dark. Taehyung had no idea what he was doing to him.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Chapter Text

Something about Yoongi-hyung was off.
Tae felt it like static in the air — a push, a pull, an edge too sharp to ignore.

Yoongi didn’t touch him anymore.
Not in the casual ways he always had: the heavy palm on his thigh during long van rides, the lazy drape of an arm across his shoulders, the steady hand guiding his waist in dance practice. Now it was all hesitation, aborted movements, the weight of a touch that never came.

And Tae hated it.

The more Yoongi pulled back, the more Tae reached out. He didn’t even mean to — it was just instinct, a magnet dragging him closer.

In the van, he slid into the seat beside Yoongi, thigh pressing deliberately into his. He let his head tip onto Yoongi’s shoulder, whispering, “Hyung, warm.”
He felt the shudder Yoongi tried to hide. The way the older man’s knuckles went white against his jeans.

In the practice room, sweat slick on his skin, Tae flopped down beside Yoongi instead of grabbing a towel. He sprawled carelessly, his long legs tangling into Yoongi’s space. “I’m dead,” Tae groaned, letting his body melt sideways until his cheek rested on Yoongi’s thigh.

Yoongi went utterly still. Too still. Tae peeked up, smiling, expecting the usual grumble or shove. Instead he caught the tightness in Yoongi’s jaw, the way his eyes flicked away so fast it almost hurt to watch.

Later, in the dorm kitchen, Tae padded in half-asleep, hair a mess, shirt hanging off one shoulder. Yoongi was at the counter with a mug of coffee. Tae wrapped himself around him from behind without a thought — arms around his waist, face pressed between Yoongi’s shoulder blades.

“Hyung,” Tae mumbled, voice still rough with sleep, “you’re always warm.”

He felt Yoongi’s body seize beneath him, heard the breath he dragged in, sharp and strangled. Tae tightened his hold, smiling into his back like this was home.

But Yoongi peeled his hands off slowly, carefully, as if every second was a battle. “Go back to bed, Tae.” His voice was too low, too frayed.

Tae stood there blinking, heart squeezing. He’s angry. I messed up.

So he clung tighter the next chance he got.

One night in the studio, Yoongi was working late, headphones on, shoulders hunched over his laptop. Tae slipped in quietly, sinking into the couch behind him. He meant to just wait, to nap maybe — but the air felt heavy, charged. Yoongi’s silhouette was sharp in the dim light, every line tense.

On impulse, Tae slid down until he was lying across the couch. Then, half-lazy, half-pleading, he called, “Hyung.”

Yoongi turned, tired eyes meeting his.

“Come sit,” Tae said softly, patting the space beside him.

For a moment, Yoongi just stared, face unreadable, chest rising too fast. Then he turned back to his laptop without a word.

And Tae felt it again — that sharp ache of rejection, of something unsaid.

So when Yoongi finally shut down and stood to leave, Tae caught his wrist. His fingers wrapped around the pale skin, holding tight. “Are you mad at me?”

Yoongi froze. Didn’t look back. “No.”
Just that. One syllable, bitten off, thick with something Tae couldn’t name.

But he heard it — the storm Yoongi was strangling silent.

So Tae tugged, pulling Yoongi down onto the couch. Pressed close, shoulder to chest, thigh to thigh. “Then don’t act like you are.”

Yoongi sat rigid, every muscle locked. His breath came too rough, too loud. Tae thought maybe this would melt him, that closeness would soften the strange wall between them.

But he had no idea he was pressing Yoongi into hell.
Because for Yoongi, this wasn’t closeness.
It was torture.

Every second of Tae’s warmth was another thread snapping inside him. Every absentminded cling, every soft murmur of “Hyung, warm” was gasoline on a fire he was barely containing.

And as Tae rested his head against his chest, Yoongi thought — not for the first time —
One day, I won’t be able to stop. One day, I’ll break.

Chapter Text

The dorm was heavy with the smell of alcohol and the lazy buzz of laughter. Half the boys had already stumbled off to their rooms, the rest were sprawled across couches, a mess of limbs and slurred jokes.

Yoongi sat with a half-empty glass, watching the chaos from his corner. His head was light, his body warm, but his chest… his chest was a cage. Every breath rattled like it would snap something inside.

He was about to rise — escape while he still had the sense — when a hand caught his wrist.

“Hyung.”

Tae.

His voice wasn’t slurred. His eyes weren’t fogged over. Just sharp enough, just reckless enough.

“Why won’t you forgive me?”

Yoongi froze. “What?”

Tae tugged him back down onto the couch, sliding close. Too close. The alcohol in his veins burned hotter as Tae leaned in, the edge of his thigh brushing his.

“I thought I messed up… that night,” Tae murmured, gaze steady, almost defiant. “You’ve been different ever since. Cold. Distant. Why, hyung?”

Yoongi’s throat closed. The word different rang like a bell he wanted to smash to pieces.

Before he could answer, Tae shifted — climbing into his space, knees on either side, practically settling onto his lap. The weight pressed down on Yoongi’s thighs, and his control shattered, edges cracking wide open.

“Taehyung…” His voice was warning, frayed, but his hands betrayed him — gripping Tae’s hips, holding him there, fingers digging in hard like he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

“There are other feelings besides anger,” Yoongi ground out, the words dragged raw from his chest as he pulled Tae down flush against him.

Tae blinked, pupils blown wide, breath catching. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. Instead, his hands slid up Yoongi’s shoulders, curling into the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair.

“What feelings, hyung?” Tae whispered, teasing, dangerous. His thumb brushed Yoongi’s nape, soft and deliberate.

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. His palms dragged higher, rough over Tae’s waist, slipping under the thin hem of his shirt. His thumbs pressed into bare skin as he yanked him closer, until there was no space left.

“Feelings you don’t want to know,” Yoongi muttered, so close his lips brushed the corner of Tae’s mouth. His breath came hot, ragged. “They’ll ruin you.”

But Tae — reckless, beautiful Tae — only leaned closer, brushing his lips against Yoongi’s ear, voice low, trembling but stubborn.

“What if I do want to know?”

Yoongi groaned, low and guttural, head tipping back as if to fight himself. But his grip only tightened, dragging Tae against the hardness he’d tried so long to deny. His mouth hovered just a breath away, everything screaming not to — yet already breaking.

The line was gone. The last thread snapped.

Yoongi’s lips crashed to Tae’s jaw, rough, desperate, sliding lower to his throat, tasting the heat of his skin like a man starved. His hands roamed — over his waist, up his back, down again, greedy, unrestrained.

Tae gasped, nails scratching at Yoongi’s scalp, body arching into every touch.

And Yoongi thought, with something like despair—
This is dangerous. This is wrong. But I can’t stop.

Chapter Text

Yoongi’s hands shook as he held him in place, Tae warm and pliant on his lap, thighs straddling him like he belonged there. His breath was shallow, his chest heaving against Yoongi’s as if daring him to move first.

“Hyung…” Tae whispered, voice low, aching. The sound of it nearly undid him.

Yoongi let his lips wander — grazing over the sharp line of Tae’s jaw, lower, lower, until they brushed the sensitive skin of his throat. Tae tilted his head back instinctively, offering more, his pulse hammering wildly beneath Yoongi’s mouth.

A groan slipped from Yoongi’s throat, rough and unrestrained. His tongue darted against the hollow of Tae’s neck before his teeth scraped lightly over the skin, and Tae shivered, clutching at him, breathless.

“Fuck…” Yoongi hissed, losing his grip on reason. His hand rose higher, not to steady him this time — but to wrap around his throat. Not hard, just firm enough that Tae froze, pupils blown wide, lips parting on a silent gasp.

The weight of Yoongi’s hand there, the command in it, sent fire down Tae’s spine.

Yoongi’s forehead pressed to his, voice gravel low, shaking. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

Tae shifted against him, pressing closer, thighs tightening around his hips. His body was saying yes, even when his words couldn’t come out. His silence was an invitation, reckless and unguarded.

Yoongi cursed under his breath, tugging him even tighter, his other hand splaying hot and desperate over the small of Tae’s back. For a moment, just one stolen moment, he let himself feel — the warmth, the weight, the way Tae’s body molded into his like it was made for him.

His mouth dragged down again, across the curve of Tae’s throat, lingering there until Tae’s breath hitched sharp and needy.

But then—Yoongi’s hand eased, slipping away from his throat as if the contact had burned him. His grip shifted to Tae’s shoulders, and with a rough exhale, he guided him back, down onto the sofa cushions.

Tae blinked up at him, wide-eyed, lips flushed, chest rising and falling fast. He looked wrecked already — and Yoongi hadn’t even truly touched him.

Yoongi leaned over him, gaze dark, mouth trembling between hunger and restraint. His thumb brushed once, fleeting, over Tae’s bottom lip before pulling away.

“I told you,” Yoongi muttered, voice hoarse, broken. “I’m dangerous. Stay away from me.”

And then he was gone. Standing, moving, leaving.

Tae didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. His own body was humming, tingling all over, every nerve alive where Yoongi had touched, where his mouth had lingered. His throat still burned with the ghost of Yoongi’s hand, his skin alive with heat.

He lay there, lips parted, dazed, chest tight with something unnamed but overwhelming.

For the first time, it wasn’t Yoongi’s control that was unraveling.
It was his.

Chapter Text

It started the very next day.

Tae found him in the kitchen, late afternoon, when the others were scattered around the dorm. Yoongi was leaning against the counter, half-asleep over a mug of coffee.

“Hyung,” Tae murmured, sliding in too close, brushing against his arm when there was more than enough space around them. His shirt rode up as he reached for a glass from the cabinet, deliberately, his skin grazing Yoongi’s sleeve.

Yoongi froze, every nerve alert. He stepped aside fast, jaw tight, but not before Tae caught the twitch of his fingers — the urge to touch.

“Careful,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, warning. “Don’t.”
But his eyes lingered on the bare strip of Tae’s waist before he turned sharply and walked out.

Tae’s lips curled into a small, dangerous smile.

At practice, he pushed further. When the van pulled up, Tae bypassed the empty seat near Jungkook and Jimin and slid smoothly into the back, pressing himself right beside Yoongi. Shoulder to shoulder. Their thighs touched — and Tae didn’t move.

“Hyung, I’m tired,” Tae whispered, leaning his head onto Yoongi’s shoulder. His breath fanned warm across Yoongi’s neck.

Yoongi’s hand twitched again — meant to land safe on his shoulder, but instead brushed lower, fingertips grazing the hem of Tae’s shirt, the heat of skin beneath. He stilled immediately, stiff, fighting it.

Tae waited, quiet, patient. He shifted just enough that Yoongi’s hand slipped further under the fabric. Yoongi inhaled sharply, audible in the small, tense space of the van.

His hand withdrew like it had been burned. Yoongi turned his face away, staring hard at the window.
“Stop it,” he rasped, barely audible.

Tae smiled against his shoulder. He didn’t stop.

The third time broke him almost completely.

It was night. Most of the members had already retreated to their rooms. Tae wandered into the living room, where Yoongi sat hunched over his notebook, scribbling lyrics, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Tae didn’t ask. He simply sat down beside him, thigh brushing thigh, and leaned back, stretching in a way that made his shirt ride higher, exposing the smooth line of his stomach.

Yoongi’s pen stilled. His jaw clenched.

“Hyung,” Tae said softly, tilting his head so close their hair brushed. “You’re avoiding me.”

Yoongi turned, slow, dangerous. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark, his mouth pressed thin like he was holding back more than words.

“Go to bed, Taehyung,” he warned.

But Tae didn’t move. Instead, he shifted closer, so close that their legs pressed flush together, his thigh over Yoongi’s. He smiled, reckless. “What if I don’t want to?”

Yoongi snapped then. His hand shot out, gripping Tae’s waist, dragging him closer until their faces were only a breath apart. Tae gasped, chest tight, his body alive where Yoongi’s fingers dug in.

Yoongi’s breath was hot, ragged, lips hovering by Tae’s ear.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. “One more step, and I won’t stop.”

Tae’s pulse thundered in his throat. His hand slid up Yoongi’s shoulder, fingers tangling in his hair. His voice came out hushed, taunting, trembling with want.
“Then don’t.”

For a suspended second, Yoongi didn’t move — his control fraying to the edge of nothing. His thumb traced over the sliver of skin at Tae’s waist, a touch too lingering, too desperate.

And then — he shoved himself back, standing so abruptly the notebook clattered to the floor. He turned away, fists clenched, chest heaving.

“Stay. Away.” His voice was broken glass.

Yoongi left the room without looking back.

Tae sat frozen, breathless, every nerve ending tingling. He should have felt rejected, stung. Instead, a thrill shot through him.

Because Yoongi was cracking.
And Tae was going to break him all the way.

Chapter Text

Tae had tried everything — late-night clinging, stolen touches, whispered taunts — and Yoongi never snapped. He warned, he withdrew, he fled.

But Tae noticed.

Not when Tae brushed against Jimin. Not when he teased Hoseok.
But when he leaned too close to Jungkook.

That’s when Yoongi’s eyes darkened, unreadable but burning. That’s when his hand clenched like he was holding back from breaking something. Or someone.

So Tae tested it.

At first, it was small — stretching in the practice room, calling Jungkook over, asking him to hold his legs steady. Jungkook complied easily, gentle hands on Tae’s calves, his smile boyish, unbothered. Yoongi’s jaw flexed in the mirror.

Then, feeding him bites of tteokbokki at dinner, fingers brushing Jungkook’s lips while Tae giggled. Jungkook laughed with him, easy, innocent. Yoongi’s chopsticks snapped the rice cake mid-bite.

And in the dorm, Tae sprawled against Jungkook on the couch, his head pillowed on the youngest’s lap, Jungkook carding fingers lazily through his hair while half-watching a movie. Tae peeked up to see Yoongi staring — his expression blank, too blank.

He was melting him, slowly. And Tae knew it.

The breaking point came backstage.

Jungkook was on the floor, shirtless, counting pushups with ease. Sweat glistened down his chest, muscles flexing, each movement drawing hoots and laughter from the hyungs around him.

Tae, reckless, lowered himself onto Jungkook’s back mid-pushup. Jungkook faltered only slightly, then continued as if Tae’s weight was nothing.

“My strong Kookie,” Tae cooed, voice dripping with sugar, fingers stroking down Jungkook’s spine. “So powerful.”

Jungkook laughed, breathless, “Hyung, you’ll make me fall—”

But Yoongi’s voice cut through the room, sharp and low.
“Taehyung. Off.”

The laughter faltered. Tae blinked, startled, but Yoongi was already there, his hand firm around Tae’s arm, pulling him away before Jungkook could protest.

“It’s fine, hyung, I don’t—” Jungkook started, but Yoongi’s grip tightened, his voice flat.
“He needs his hair touched up before stage.”

And just like that, Yoongi dragged Tae out of the room, ignoring the confused glances and Jungkook’s words.

The second the door closed behind them, Yoongi shoved Tae gently but firmly against the wall, his body braced close, trapping him.

“You think this is a game?” Yoongi’s voice was gravel, his breath hot against Tae’s face. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

Tae’s pulse spiked. His lips curled in that infuriating, beautiful smile.
“Why, hyung? You jealous?” His voice dropped, daring. “Should I hang on Jungkook more? He doesn’t seem to mind.”

Yoongi’s hands slammed the wall beside Tae’s head, caging him in. His face dipped low, his mouth brushing the curve of Tae’s throat without touching, breath skating hot across sensitive skin.

Tae’s defiance faltered with a sharp inhale.

Yoongi tilted his head, lips grazing Tae’s earlobe, the faintest drag of teeth that made Tae’s knees threaten to buckle. A helpless sound slipped past Tae’s lips, small, trembling — a whimper.

Yoongi’s voice came dark, low, dangerous, right against his ear.
“Be very careful with what you’re asking for, Taehyung. Because if I give it to you… you won’t walk away the same.”

Then he pulled back, leaving only the ghost of heat on Tae’s skin, his eyes sharp, his body coiled tight like a predator forced back into its cage.

And he left.

Tae stood frozen against the wall, heart slamming, his throat dry, his whole body tingling from the phantom of Yoongi’s breath and teeth.

He had never wanted someone more.

And Yoongi had never been closer to losing everything.

Chapter Text

The dorm was hushed in that easy, domestic way.

Hobi and Jimin were out on the balcony, the faint murmur of their laughter drifting in. Jin had retreated into his room. Namjoon was still at the studio.

Which left Yoongi on the couch, watching.

In the kitchen, Jungkook manned the stove with practiced ease. Tae hovered far too close, his laughter soft, the lines of his body leaning into the youngest’s. Back hugs. Pokes. His chin hooked over Jungkook’s shoulder while Jungkook stirred.

And every few seconds, those sharp, knowing eyes flicked over to Yoongi.

Yoongi knew. Knew exactly what Tae was doing. Egging him. Prodding at the boundaries Yoongi had so carefully built. And still… his body betrayed him. His pulse beat low and hard, his palms itched, his jeans grew uncomfortably tight.

He wasn’t breathing right by the time Jungkook sighed, turning off the burner.
“Hyung, I’m tired. Can you finish the stew?”

Yoongi’s voice came out low, steady, but his chest was burning.
“Yeah. Go rest.”

Jungkook padded out, the kitchen door swinging shut behind him.

And Yoongi moved.

One step. Two. He was on Tae before Tae could blink, hands gripping his shoulders, spinning him and pressing him against the counter. The marble edge dug into Tae’s thighs, and Yoongi didn’t stop — he stepped closer, caging him in, chest brushing chest, thighs pressing forward until Tae froze.

Until Tae felt him.

Yoongi was hard. Thick, straining, pressed deliberately against Tae’s hip.

Tae’s breath hitched, sharp and ragged. His lashes fluttered as his eyes flicked up to Yoongi’s face, lips parting in disbelief, in need.

Yoongi’s hand slid down, not touching skin, but close enough as he hauled Tae in by the waist. His mouth was a whisper away from Tae’s ear when he spoke, voice shredded with restraint.
“This is the last time I’m warning you.”

His hips ground forward, one rough, deliberate roll against Tae’s body. The friction was brutal, electric — Tae gasped, his whole body shuddering, fingers clutching at the edge of the counter for balance.

Yoongi’s teeth grazed his jawline, the heat of his breath scorching.
“Next time… I won’t be responsible for what I do.”

Then, just as quickly, Yoongi stepped back. The heat, the weight, the hard line of him — gone.

He turned calmly, picked up the ladle, and stirred the stew as if nothing had happened.
“Set the table,” he said evenly, like his cock hadn’t just been grinding into Tae seconds ago.

Tae’s legs barely held. His hands shook as he gathered the plates, cheeks burning, his chest heaving with the breath he couldn’t quite catch.

His body was still tingling everywhere Yoongi hadn’t touched.

And Yoongi? Yoongi’s back was to him, shoulders stiff, head bowed over the pot — fighting for control like his entire world depended on it.

Chapter Text

Tae wanted it. Bad.

So the next evening, when the company dinner rolled around — no cameras, no press, just staff, managers, and the seven of them — he planned carefully.

He raided Jimin and Jungkook’s closets, piecing together the look like a weapon: skin-tight black jeans that gripped his thighs and ass like a second skin, a sheer mesh shirt that revealed every line of muscle and the tempting dip of his collarbones, and over it, a black leather jacket that smelled like rebellion. His boots clicked hard against the floor, hair pulled back sharp and deliberate.

He knew eyes would follow him. But the only eyes he cared about were Yoongi’s.

And the moment they left the dorm, he felt it. The weight of Yoongi’s stare dragging down his body, lingering far too long.

At the party, they laughed, they drank, they danced. Tae was everywhere and nowhere, draped over members, teasing, smiling, glowing. But when he finally caught Yoongi alone — nursing a glass of whisky in the corner — the game turned lethal.

Tae shrugged off the jacket, tossing it onto a chair. Mesh clung to his chest, the dim lights catching on the fine sheen of sweat on his skin.

Yoongi’s eyes dropped immediately.

Tae smirked.

The music shifted — low, pulsing, sensual — and Tae let his body fall into the beat. But his gaze never left Yoongi. Every roll of his hips, every slide of his torso, every drag of his fingers along his own stomach… was for him. Only him.

Yoongi’s grip tightened around his glass, knuckles white. His jaw clenched. His throat bobbed on a swallow.

And Tae, devil that he was, moved closer. Step by step until he was right in front of Yoongi, hips swaying, thighs brushing Yoongi’s knees. Then he tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and ground down. His ass slid deliberately across Yoongi’s lap, pressing against the bulge that had no chance of hiding. His hands fluttered across Yoongi’s shoulders, grazing, teasing, taunting.

Yoongi froze. His body rigid, his glass trembling. For a long, torturous moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then something inside him snapped.

The glass hit the table with a sharp clink. His hand shot out, gripping Tae’s waist and yanking him closer, flush against him. Tae gasped, triumphant, as Yoongi pulled him tight enough to feel every slow, filthy grind of his hips.

Tae rolled against him harder, purposefully, and Yoongi let him, let himself feel it — cock hard and heavy against Tae’s ass, heartbeat roaring in his ears.

That was it. Enough.

Yoongi stood abruptly, his grip unyielding, dragging Tae up with him. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at anyone around them. He just pulled Tae along, hand locked on his waist, stride sharp and angry.

They slid into one of the company cars waiting outside. Tae tried to lean into him, to press, to start what he’d lit aflame, but Yoongi’s hand tightened on his hip, holding him still. His voice was low, gravel scraping the dark.

“Not here.”

Tae shivered.

Yoongi leaned forward, directing the driver in a tone that brooked no argument.
“My apartment.”

The car pulled away from the curb, the city blurring by outside. Tae sat trembling, skin buzzing, the ache between his thighs unbearable. Yoongi’s hand stayed heavy on his waist, keeping him in place, but his thumb stroked once — subtle, dangerous — against the hem of Tae’s mesh shirt.

And Tae knew. Tonight, Yoongi wasn’t going to walk away.

Chapter Text

The moment the apartment door shut, Yoongi had Tae against it.

There was no hesitation, no half-breath of restraint left. His mouth crashed onto Tae’s, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a desperate claiming that stole Tae’s air before he could even gasp. Yoongi’s hands gripped Tae’s jaw, tilting his head up, deepening the kiss until Tae moaned into him — the sound needy, wrecked, a sound Yoongi had dreamed about too many nights to count.

“Fuck,” Yoongi growled against his lips, biting down hard enough to leave the sting. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me, do you? Showing up like that—dancing on me like I’m yours.” His hand slid down Tae’s throat, fingers wrapping lightly around it, thumb pressing against the pulse hammering beneath. He leaned in close, voice rough and low. “Already shaking, and I’ve only kissed you. You’re mine tonight, Taehyung. Every filthy fucking thought I’ve had—I’m going to show you.”

Tae gasped, trembling under the weight of those words, cock straining against his jeans.

Yoongi’s hands were everywhere—ripping open Tae’s mesh shirt, buttons scattering, lips tracing over the exposed line of his throat. He sucked hard marks into the pale skin, each one deliberate, bruising, ownership branded. Tae whimpered at the rough drag of teeth, at the way Yoongi’s tongue soothed only to bite again.

Yoongi’s hands yanked at the waistband of Tae’s jeans, unzipping fast, tugging them down impatiently. Tae kicked them off, breath ragged, until he stood in nothing but his underwear.

Yoongi stepped back, chest heaving, eyes dark and sharp. His gaze dragged down Tae’s trembling body, lingering on the bulge in his briefs. A smirk twisted his lips.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice filth wrapped in velvet. “Already leaking for me. I haven’t even touched you properly.” His hand cupped himself through his pants, cock straining, as he stared. “You’ve been driving me insane, and this—fuck—you’re dripping like you’re fucking begging for me.”

Tae whined, hips jerking forward. “Yoongi—”

“Take them off,” Yoongi ordered, low and sharp.

Tae’s hands shook as he shoved his underwear down, baring himself, flushed and hard. Yoongi’s eyes darkened, devouring him.

“Goddamn,” Yoongi muttered, stepping forward, chest pressing flush against Tae’s bare skin. He dragged his mouth over Tae’s shoulder, biting, tasting. His hands gripped Tae’s ass, pulling him in, grinding against him. “You’ve got no fucking idea how many nights I’ve imagined this—your body writhing under me, my hand on your throat, my cock splitting you open.”

Tae moaned, head falling back, and Yoongi licked down his chest, biting at a nipple until Tae cried out. His hand fisted around Tae’s cock, stroking once, hard, thumb swiping over the wet head. Tae’s knees buckled.

“You like that?” Yoongi hissed, mouth hot against his ear. “You like me using you like the little slut you’ve been begging to be?”

“Yes,” Tae gasped, shameless, hips thrusting into Yoongi’s grip. “Fuck—yes.”

That was it.

Yoongi’s control snapped clean in half.

Clothes flew, Yoongi undressing with a speed that was all fury and need. In seconds, they were both naked, skin burning against skin. Yoongi kissed him hard, tongue filthy and demanding, teeth biting at Tae’s swollen lips. His hands roamed—everywhere at once—gripping ass, sliding up his thighs, clutching his throat, pinching his nipples until Tae sobbed into his mouth.

“Been dreaming of ruining you,” Yoongi groaned, pressing Tae down onto the sofa. He spread Tae’s thighs wide, eyes devouring the sight, voice breaking rough. “Every fucking day—thinking about how tight you’ll feel, how good you’ll sound. And now you’re here, spread out for me, begging like a good boy.”

Tae’s body arched, desperate, every nerve ending lit up. “Yoongi—please—”

Yoongi lined himself up, no more patience left, the blunt head pressing against Tae’s entrance. His hand curled around Tae’s throat again, possessive, anchoring him in place. His eyes locked on Tae’s, dark, blazing.

“Remember this,” he whispered, voice shaking with need. “Remember I warned you. Remember you wanted this.”

And then he pushed in, hard, deep, fast—stretching Tae open in one brutal thrust that had Tae crying out, back arching off the sofa.

Yoongi groaned, guttural, forehead pressing to Tae’s. “Fuck—you’re so tight—so perfect—fuck—” He pulled out only to slam back in, pace immediately relentless, hips snapping hard enough to make the sofa creak beneath them.

Tae sobbed, nails clawing at Yoongi’s shoulders, every thrust stealing his breath. “Yoongi—oh fuck—harder—”

“You want it harder?” Yoongi growled, hand tightening on Tae’s throat, the other gripping his hip bruisingly tight. “You want me to fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow? Until everyone knows who you belong to?”

“Yes—fuck—yes!” Tae’s cries broke into gasps, body trembling with every merciless snap of Yoongi’s hips.

Yoongi’s filthy words spilled out between groans, his mouth at Tae’s ear. “Gonna wreck this perfect body—mark every inch—fuck you until my cum’s dripping out of you—make you scream my name until your voice is gone—”

Tae shattered, body clenching tight around Yoongi, orgasm ripping through him with a broken cry, cum striping his stomach. Yoongi didn’t stop, didn’t slow, fucking him through it, his own pace faltering only as he spilled deep inside, groaning Tae’s name like a curse, like a prayer.

They collapsed together, bodies slick, chests heaving. Yoongi’s hand stroked down Tae’s trembling thigh, possessive, grounding. He pressed one last, brutal kiss to Tae’s swollen lips, growling against them.

“You’re mine now. No more games.”

And Tae, wrecked and ruined, could only nod, because he never wanted anything else.

Chapter Text

The air was thick with sex, the sheets ruined, the apartment smelling of sweat and desire. Tae lay trembling, body shaking from how many times Yoongi had already taken him—but Yoongi’s eyes were still dark, still hungry.

Yoongi dragged his fingers down Tae’s stomach, smearing the mess already leaking from him. “You’re wrecked, and I haven’t even started.”

Tae’s breath stuttered, head tossing side to side, hair sticking to his damp face. “Yoongi…” his voice cracked, needy and desperate, “I can’t—”

“You can.” Yoongi’s hand clamped on his jaw, forcing Tae’s eyes open. “You’ll take everything I give you. You want this. Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

Tae whined, hips twitching, cock already hard again despite the abuse. His lips parted, gasping, “I—fuck, I want it. I want you.”

That broke Yoongi’s control. He growled, dragging Tae up and flipping him onto his stomach, shoving his face into the pillows. His cock pushed back inside in one brutal thrust that made Tae scream.

“Say it again,” Yoongi demanded, hand on the back of Tae’s neck, forcing him down as he pounded into him. “Say it while I’m inside you.”

Tae sobbed, voice muffled, but he screamed it anyway, raw and broken: “I want you, Yoongi! Fuck—I want you so bad—”

Yoongi’s smirk was feral as he bent low, biting the shell of Tae’s ear. “You’ve got me. All of me. Every filthy part.” His thrusts grew harder, deeper, until Tae’s body shook from the force.

When Tae tried to crawl away, too sensitive, Yoongi yanked him back by the hips, slamming him down on his cock again. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? You don’t get to run. You don’t get to hide from me.”

“I—I can’t—” Tae’s voice cracked again, but his body betrayed him, clenching tight around Yoongi.

Yoongi laughed darkly, nails digging into Tae’s hips. “You say you can’t, but your body’s begging for me. You’re dripping, clenching, so fucking desperate. You love it, don’t you? Being used like this.”

“Yes—fuck—yes!” Tae screamed, tears streaking his cheeks. “I love it, I love the way you fuck me, Yoongi—harder—please—”

That was it. Yoongi lost every shred of restraint, dragging Tae onto his knees, one hand around his throat as he rammed into him, filthy words spilling out.

“Look at you—my perfect little slut—taking me over and over. I touched myself so many fucking nights thinking about this ass. Thinking about you moaning under me. You drove me insane, Taehyung.” His hand squeezed Tae’s throat, making Tae choke on a moan. “Now you’re here, and I’m not letting you go.”

Tae’s voice was wrecked, but he still managed to whimper, “Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop, Yoongi.”

Yoongi groaned, snapping his hips harder, his other hand moving to stroke Tae’s cock. “You’ll come again for me. You’ll keep coming till the sun’s up. You’re mine to ruin. Mine to mark. Mine to fucking own.”

And Yoongi did just that.

He flipped Tae onto his back, lips latching to his chest, sucking bruises into his skin. Tae’s nails raked down Yoongi’s arms, head thrown back in pleasure.

“You’re everywhere,” Tae gasped, voice shaking. “I can’t—I can’t breathe without you—”

Yoongi’s smirk was dark, vicious, his hand tightening around Tae’s throat again. “Good. I don’t want you breathing without me.”

He fucked Tae through another orgasm, then another, spilling inside him and pulling out only to shove his cock between Tae’s lips. Tae gagged but moaned, eyes rolling back, sucking like he was addicted. Yoongi groaned, tugging his hair.

“Fuck—your mouth is perfect. Look at you, choking on me like a good slut. My good boy. Swallow all of it.”

Tae swallowed, messy and trembling, looking up at him with glassy eyes. “Yoongi… more. I still want more.”

Yoongi froze, chest heaving, cock twitching back to life.

“Fuck,” he growled, dragging Tae down and spreading his legs again. “You’re going to kill me, Taehyung. But if you want more, I’ll fucking ruin you.”

And as the first light of dawn crept through the blinds, Yoongi was still fucking him—slow, fast, relentless—until Tae was hoarse from screaming his name, until every inch of his body was claimed.

When Tae collapsed for the final time, Yoongi kissed him roughly, hand cupping his jaw. His words were low, final, absolute.

“This isn’t a one-time thing. You’re mine. Every night, every hole, every sound—mine. You don’t get to escape me.”

Tae’s lips trembled, eyes glassy, but his voice was clear.

“I don’t want to escape.”

Chapter Text

The sun was already warm when Tae blinked awake, his body aching everywhere Yoongi had touched, everywhere Yoongi had claimed. He expected to feel used, destroyed. Instead, he found himself carefully gathered against a chest, a steady heartbeat under his ear, warm hands smoothing lazy patterns on his back.

Yoongi’s lips brushed Tae’s temple, light, reverent, nothing like the hunger of last night. “You’re sore?” His voice was rough with sleep.

Tae nodded faintly, embarrassed by the stiffness in his muscles, but Yoongi only hummed, pressing another kiss to his hair. “Stay. Don’t move. I’ll run us a bath.”

And he did. Yoongi carried him—actually carried him—into the bathroom, setting him gently into steaming water as if Tae might break. Careful hands steadying him as though Tae might shatter.
Tae sank into the bath, silent, as Yoongi’s hands moved over him—washing his hair, trailing soap along his shoulders, rinsing him slow. Nothing rushed. Nothing demanding. Just… care.

This wasn’t the Yoongi who had held his throat and fucked him raw. This was… softer. Hesitant.

Tae felt his chest tighten. This wasn’t the same man who had pushed him against a wall, who had spoken filth into his ear until he broke apart. This was someone gentler. Someone vulnerable.

Silence stretched between them, only water moving. 

Then Yoongi’s voice cut through, low, almost nervous. “Taehyung…” He hesitated, thumbs brushing over Tae’s knees under the water. “Last night. Was that… just sex for you?”

Tae blinked. “What?”

“Taehyung…” His thumbs brushed over Tae’s knees under the water. “Last night. Was it… just sex for you?”

Tae froze. “What?”

Yoongi kept his eyes down, staring into the bathwater instead of him. “You don’t owe me anything. I just—” He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. “I know who you are, Tae. Everyone wants you. You’ve got admirers all over the world, people better than me. If you want it to be one time, I’ll understand. If you want… just sex, I’ll understand that too.”

The words hit Tae like a punch. The same man who had claimed him so completely last night was now… afraid. Offering to take scraps, when Tae could see in every line of his body that he wanted more.

“Yoongi…” Tae whispered. His heart hurt.

Yoongi forced a smile, small and shaky, finally glancing up at him. “I’ll take anything you’re comfortable with.”

Tae’s throat burned. He reached up, touching Yoongi’s jaw, making him meet his eyes. “But is that what you want?”

For a long moment, Yoongi said nothing. His silence was an answer in itself—he was scared. Scared that wanting more would scare Tae away.

Tae exhaled shakily. “What if…” His voice trembled, but he pushed through. “What if I don’t want this to be just sex? What if I want to date you?”

The effect was immediate. Yoongi’s head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. “Tae—”

Before Tae could say more, Yoongi surged forward and kissed him. It wasn’t careful this time. It was desperate, hungry, like he’d been holding himself back for too long. Water sloshed violently around them as Tae clung to him, laughing breathlessly against his lips even as Yoongi kissed him like a man drowning.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Yoongi muttered against his mouth, his voice breaking. “You’ll regret it. You don’t—”

“I do,” Tae cut him off, firm despite the tremor in his voice. “I want you. Not just for last night. Not just for sex. I want you.”

Yoongi groaned, forehead pressing against his, his whole body trembling with relief and disbelief. His hands cupped Tae’s face as though to make sure he was real.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered hoarsely. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Tae smiled through the sting in his chest, leaning forward until their noses brushed. “Then let me find out.”

Yoongi kissed him again, softer this time, lips lingering, pouring every unspoken word into him. And in that steaming bath, with the world outside forgotten, Tae realized this wasn’t about possession anymore.

This was love—raw, terrifying, and already too deep to escape.

Chapter Text

It started with a promise.

“No one can know,” Yoongi had said one night, tracing the curve of Tae’s spine as they lay tangled in sheets. His tone was firm, though his lips brushed against Tae’s shoulder with a tenderness that softened it.

Tae had nodded, agreeing instantly. Not because he wanted to hide Yoongi, but because he wanted to keep him—to keep this. The privacy, the little world they’d built between them.

So they became experts at sneaking.

At first, it was small things.
“Hyung, I’m going to grab coffee, want to come?” Tae would say casually, waving his phone. Five minutes later, he was sliding into the passenger seat of Yoongi’s car, their fingers linking the second the door shut.

Or Yoongi would say, “I need to check something at the studio,” and Tae would appear there twenty minutes later, bringing nothing but a bag of snacks and a smile that Yoongi swore made him forget how to breathe.

Their excuses grew increasingly ridiculous. Namjoon had once raised a brow when Tae claimed he needed Yoongi to help him “fix his Bluetooth settings.” Jungkook had caught them both coming back sweaty and breathless from a “walk.” And Hoseok had only laughed when Yoongi muttered something about “testing mics” at 2 a.m.

But no one asked too many questions. And they didn’t tell. That was enough.

When they did get out together, Yoongi was a perfect gentleman. He took Tae to quiet ramen shops, to late-night book cafés where no one recognized them, to empty arcades where Yoongi let Tae win half the time.

On those dates, Yoongi held doors open, ordered Tae’s favorites, and brushed his hand against Tae’s like he couldn’t resist the contact. He looked at him like he was something to be cherished, not just touched.

But when the dates ended—when the doors closed, when no one was watching—the man changed.

The second Tae stepped inside Yoongi’s apartment, he was pressed against the wall, lips crushed in a kiss that tasted of restraint snapping.

“You have no idea,” Yoongi would growl, hands already sliding under Tae’s clothes. “How fucking hard it is to sit across from you and pretend I’m not thinking about this.”

And then he ruined him. Every time.

Yoongi’s mouth at his throat, marking deep. His hands spreading Tae open, pinning him down, dragging every noise out of him until Tae was begging. Their dates always ended the same: Yoongi buried inside him, fucking him hard enough that Tae could still feel it the next day.

The dorm was supposed to be different. That was the rule—they had promised.

“No sex at the dorm. We wait till our places,” Yoongi had said, half-joking, half-serious.

It lasted exactly three days.

The first time it broke was during dinner. Tae had been teasing Jimin, chopsticks between his teeth, when he glanced up and caught Yoongi watching him. Not just watching. Staring. Dark eyes fixed on his mouth like a man starved.

The second everyone was distracted, Yoongi’s hand slid under the table, finding Tae’s thigh. Tae choked on his food, earning a curious look from Namjoon. He laughed it off, but Yoongi’s fingers dug in tighter, his thumb brushing higher and higher.

That night, Yoongi pulled him into his room the second they were done eating. Tae barely had time to lock the door before he was shoved against it, Yoongi’s mouth devouring his.

“Hyung—” Tae gasped.

“I told myself I’d wait,” Yoongi whispered harshly, lips at his ear, “but then you sat there… lips around those chopsticks… do you have any idea what you fucking do to me?”

His hands yanked Tae’s sweats down, not wasting a second. Tae’s knees almost buckled as Yoongi dropped to the floor, mouth wrapping around him with a hunger that left him shaking, biting his fist to stay quiet.

It became a pattern.

A movie night ended with Yoongi whispering, “Come here,” and dragging Tae into his bed while the others argued over popcorn.
A practice session ended with Yoongi pinning Tae in the dark corner of the studio, fucking him into the mirror with a hand over his mouth to keep him silent.
Even laundry day turned dangerous—Yoongi pressed him against the humming dryer, groaning filth into his ear as he took him hard and fast.

Every time, it was the same: secrecy, urgency, and Yoongi’s filthy voice in his ear reminding him how he belonged to him.

And every time Tae swore he couldn’t take more—only to find himself melting, breaking, wanting more.

Because between the gentle dates and the ruthless sex, Yoongi was giving him everything. And Tae couldn’t stop taking it.

Continued — Breaking the Rules

It started as another movie night. All seven of them were sprawled across the living room, lights dim, popcorn scattered in bowls. Tae sat cross-legged on the floor, too close to Yoongi’s legs for it to be safe.

Yoongi hadn’t touched him once all evening. Not a glance, not a brush of fingers. But Tae could feel the tension—the way Yoongi’s body was tight beside him, the way his knee bounced as if he were restraining something.

Tae tested it. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back until his shoulder pressed against Yoongi’s shin.

The reaction was immediate. Yoongi’s breath hitched, barely audible, but Tae caught it. A moment later, fingers slid into his hair, subtle, like Yoongi was pretending to scratch his own thigh. To anyone else it looked casual. To Tae, it was a command.

Come.

He waited five minutes, heart pounding, until the others were laughing at something on-screen. Then Yoongi stood up, muttering something about water, and padded toward his room.

Tae gave it another two minutes before following, feigning a bathroom trip. His pulse was hammering by the time he slipped into Yoongi’s room and locked the door.

The second the lock clicked, Yoongi had him pinned.

“You just had to test me, didn’t you?” Yoongi hissed against his lips, voice low, dangerous. His mouth crashed onto Tae’s, messy and hard, stealing every breath.

“Hyung—” Tae tried, but Yoongi cut him off, dragging him backward until the back of Tae’s knees hit the bed. He shoved him down, climbing over him.

“You sat there… touching me, leaning on me… while they were right there.” Yoongi’s teeth scraped his jaw, down his throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

Tae whimpered, arching as Yoongi’s hand slid under his hoodie, palming his chest, pinching a nipple until Tae gasped.

“Answer me.”

“I—wanted to,” Tae whispered, eyes wide. “I wanted you to lose control.”

Yoongi groaned, low and wrecked, before flipping him onto his stomach. Tae barely had time to brace before Yoongi dragged his sweats down and buried his face between his thighs.

Tae bit the pillow, eyes squeezing shut, as Yoongi’s tongue licked a slow stripe over him before diving deeper. The sounds were obscene, wet, filthy. Yoongi was eating him out like a man starved, holding his hips down when Tae tried to jerk away.

“Hyung—fuck—quiet—” Tae gasped, muffling himself against the sheets, terrified someone might hear.

But Yoongi only pulled back enough to growl, “Let them. Let them hear how good I make you sound.” Then he was back, sucking, tongue pushing in, pulling moans from Tae’s throat that he couldn’t control.

When Tae’s legs trembled, Yoongi flipped him again, lining up without preamble. He pushed in deep, and Tae’s cry broke free before Yoongi clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” Yoongi hissed against his ear, thrusting hard, sharp, deep. “Do you want them to hear me fucking you like this? Do you want them to know who owns you?”

Tae shook his head frantically, but his body betrayed him—clenching around Yoongi, arching into every thrust.

“You say no,” Yoongi panted, snapping his hips faster, “but you’re so fucking tight around me, baby. You love this. Love being ruined when they’re just outside that door.”

The bed creaked dangerously with every thrust, and Tae sobbed into Yoongi’s palm, muffled cries spilling against his skin. Yoongi kissed the side of his head, filthy and tender all at once, before fucking him harder—deep, relentless, until Tae was shaking apart beneath him.

Yoongi didn’t stop. He slowed only to grind in deep, whispering filth into Tae’s ear—how he’d wanted him all night, how he’d touch himself thinking of Tae, how he couldn’t go a single day without him now. Then he picked up pace again, dragging orgasm after orgasm from Tae until his body was wrecked, trembling.

When it was finally over, Tae collapsed face-first onto the bed, sweat dampening his hair, throat raw from muffled cries. Yoongi stretched out beside him, tugging him close, pressing a kiss to his temple like they hadn’t just broken every rule.

“We’re never making it a week in this dorm,” Yoongi muttered with a hoarse laugh, chest still heaving.

Tae turned his head, meeting his eyes, lips curling into the faintest, ruined smile. “Good.”

Chapter Text

Yoongi had been in his room for hours, pretending to work on beats. In reality, he was restless, checking his phone every few minutes. He’d texted Tae twice already—“come here”, “need you”—but no reply.

Frustration burned hotter each time his screen stayed dark. Finally, he shoved his chair back and stepped out.

The sound of laughter pulled him to the living room. He stopped dead in the doorway.

Tae was sprawled on the couch, head tilted back, laughing, cheeks flushed. Jungkook was next to him, just as loud, just as bright, one hand casually shoved under Tae’s oversized tee as if it belonged there. His fingers rested against Tae’s ribs, brushing when he gestured. Tae didn’t even seem to notice.

But Yoongi noticed. Every detail. Every touch.

Something inside him snapped.

He strode across the room without a word, grabbing Tae by the wrist so suddenly the laughter cut off. Tae blinked, startled, half-protesting—“Hyung—what—”

Yoongi didn’t answer. He just hauled him off the couch, ignoring Jungkook’s confused, “Uh… hyung?” and dragged Tae down the hall. The door slammed shut, lock clicking, before Tae could breathe.

Yoongi slammed Tae into the door hard enough to rattle it, his mouth devouring Tae’s before he could even gasp. The kiss was messy, bruising, Yoongi’s tongue forcing its way in like he was trying to erase Jungkook’s taste even though there was none

When he finally pulled back, Tae was panting, lips swollen. “Hyung—what’s gotten into—”

“What’s gotten into me?” Yoongi hissed, dragging Tae’s tee off so violently the fabric nearly tore. His eyes were burning, jaw tight. “I watched him, Tae. The way he touched you. Hand under your shirt like he fucking owned you. And you—laughing, letting him. Right in front of me.”

Tae swallowed, heart racing. “It’s not like that. He’s my best friend, you know that—”

Yoongi’s laugh was low, bitter, dangerous. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself. You’ve seen his eyes. The way he looks at you—hungry. Like he’s seconds away from spreading you open. He’s always looked at you like that.”

Tae froze, eyes wide.

Yoongi shoved him toward the bed, following close, caging him in. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Fans aren’t blind either—they scream your names together, write your stories, make your pictures filthier than even I do in my head. And you—you feed it. You let him cling to you, touch you, tease you, like it’s his right.”

“That’s not—” Tae started, but his voice faltered as Yoongi’s hand closed around his throat, not tight, but enough to silence him.

“It is,” Yoongi snapped, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “You fuel it. Every time you smile at him, lean into him, let him get away with touching you in ways no one else does. And maybe you didn’t mean to, maybe you think it’s innocent—but it isn’t. Not to him.”

Yoongi’s hand slid down, shoving Tae’s sweats off, his fingers rough, frantic. Tae whimpered, arching into the touch despite the sting.

“Hyung, please—”

“Please what?” Yoongi snarled, lining himself up and shoving in deep with one brutal thrust. Tae cried out, gripping the sheets, back arching at the burn. Yoongi groaned, forehead pressed to Tae’s as he bottomed out. “Please stop? Or please fuck you so hard you never forget who you belong to?”

“Y-you, hyung,” Tae choked out, tears pricking his eyes. “Only you.”

Yoongi’s hips slammed forward, fast and merciless, each thrust making Tae gasp brokenly. “Say it again.”

“You—Yoongi—fuck, I’m yours—”

“That’s right.” Yoongi bit his shoulder, sucking hard until a bruise bloomed. “Not Jungkook. Not Taekook. Not the fans. Mine.”

Tae whimpered, legs trembling around Yoongi’s waist.

“Tell me you know he wants you,” Yoongi rasped, snapping his hips harder, angrier. “Tell me you’ve seen the way he stares at your mouth, your body. The way he touches you like he’s testing boundaries I’d kill him for crossing.”

“N-no—” Tae tried, shaking his head, but Yoongi grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Don’t fucking lie, Tae. You know it. He looks at you like I do. Like he’s starving. He’s just too much of a coward to act. And you—you let him. You give him just enough to hope. You fuel it. And it makes me fucking insane.”

Tae sobbed, torn between guilt and raw pleasure, moaning as Yoongi drove into him again and again, claiming him with every thrust.

“I’m the one inside you,” Yoongi growled, fucking him harder, nails digging into his hips. “Not him. Not ever him. You’ll scream my name until your throat’s raw, and then maybe you’ll understand—you’re mine.”

And Tae did scream, voice breaking, body clenching tight around him as Yoongi wrecked him—jealousy, fury, and desperation all bleeding into brutal passion.

When Yoongi finally spilled inside, he collapsed against Tae, breath ragged, still muttering against his skin. “Mine. No one else. Not Jungkook. Not the fans. Mine.”

And all Tae could do, trembling and ruined, was hold him, whispering back what Yoongi needed to hear.

Yoongi whispered against his skin, low, dangerous, wrecked: “Stay away from him. I don’t care if he’s your best friend. He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine.”

And Tae—ruined, panting, marked all over—just nodded, too undone to argue, even though he knew nothing with Jungkook had changed.

But with Yoongi… everything had.

Chapter Text

It started with just a brush of hands under the dinner table. Tae’s knee nudged Yoongi’s, deliberate, and his lips curved into a mischievous smile when Yoongi shot him a warning look.

The others were too busy joking around, chopsticks clattering, Jimin whining about Jungkook stealing meat from his plate. Nobody noticed Yoongi’s hand sliding under the tablecloth, resting high on Tae’s thigh. Tae sucked in a sharp breath, biting into his lip to hide it.

“Hyung—” he whispered, low enough that only Yoongi could hear.

“Shut up and eat,” Yoongi murmured, his thumb pressing dangerously close to the bulge in Tae’s sweats. Tae almost dropped his chopsticks.

Later, in the hallway, Tae was laughing with Hobi about something when Yoongi suddenly gripped his wrist, tugging him into the laundry room and locking the door behind them.

“Hyung! Someone will—” Tae gasped, cut off as Yoongi’s mouth claimed his, messy and consuming.

Yoongi shoved him against the washer, grinding their hips together until Tae whined into his mouth. “You like teasing me in front of them? Hm?” Yoongi growled, pulling Tae’s shirt up to mouth at his chest, biting a mark over his nipple.

Tae arched, hands flying to Yoongi’s hair. “I—I wasn’t—”

“You think they don’t see it? How your eyes follow me across the table? How you can’t keep your hands off me?” Yoongi’s hand slipped under Tae’s waistband, wrapping around his cock. Tae cried out, muffling the sound against Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Quiet,” Yoongi hissed, stroking him hard and fast. “Or do you want them to hear how desperate you are for me?”

Tae bit into his lip, trembling, his hips jerking helplessly into Yoongi’s fist.

A noise outside—the slam of a door, someone’s footsteps—made them both freeze. Tae’s eyes went wide, his orgasm hovering right on the edge.

“Hyung—please, stop, they’ll—”

Yoongi smirked darkly, tightening his grip. “No. You’re going to come right here. Quietly. While they’re two feet away. Show me you can.”

Tae’s entire body shook as Yoongi’s thumb swiped over his slit. He buried his face in Yoongi’s neck, muffling his cry as he spilled hot over Yoongi’s hand.

Another night, another close call.

They were curled together on Yoongi’s bed, door unlocked, because Tae had been too reckless to wait. Yoongi was thrusting into him, bodies slick with sweat, Tae’s legs spread wide as he moaned into the crook of Yoongi’s neck.

And then—knock, knock.

“Hyung? You in there?” Jungkook’s voice.

Tae’s eyes went wide. Yoongi’s hand flew to his mouth, muffling the gasp that tore from him as Yoongi slammed deep inside, deliberately, watching Tae’s face twist in frantic pleasure and fear.

“Y-yeah,” Yoongi called, sounding breathless but steady, his hips still moving in sharp, controlled thrusts. “What do you need?”

From outside, Jungkook chuckled. “Nothing. Just… you didn’t answer my text, so I thought maybe you were asleep. Or writing lyrics. Wanted to ask if you’d seen Tae. Haven’t spotted him in a while.”

Tae’s muffled whimper shook against Yoongi’s palm. Yoongi thrust even harder, biting back a groan as he answered smoothly:
“Haven’t seen him.” He slammed in again, Tae’s eyes rolling back, body tightening. “Try the living room.”

Jungkook lingered. “Hyung, you okay? You sound a little—”

“Fine,” Yoongi cut him off, snapping his hips forward so hard Tae nearly screamed into his hand. “I’m fine. Go.”

Silence. Then footsteps finally retreated.

Yoongi smirked down at Tae, breath hot against his ear. “See? Even with him right outside, I still fuck you. And you still take it.”

Tae sobbed, nodding, clutching desperately at him as he came undone.

But it didn’t stop there.

Another night, they weren’t so lucky.

Yoongi had Tae bent over his desk, papers scattered, Tae biting into his own fist to keep quiet. Yoongi’s thrusts were rough, claiming, and Tae was already wrecked, cheeks wet with sweat and spit.

The door creaked open.

“Tae, are you in here—” Jin’s voice.

Yoongi yanked out at the last possible second, shoving Tae down under his blanket, rolling his chair forward to block the view as Jin’s head peeked in.

Yoongi’s voice came steady, but his chest was heaving. “Yeah? What is it?”

Jin’s eyes flicked over the messy desk, then to Yoongi’s flushed face. “You’re… busy?” he asked suspiciously.

Yoongi forced a lazy shrug. “Working. Tae isn’t here.”

Under the blanket, Tae’s entire body was shaking, cum dripping down his thighs, the taste of Yoongi still raw in his mouth. He clamped both hands over his lips to keep from making a sound.

Jin gave him a long look but didn’t press. “Don’t stay up too late,” he muttered, and closed the door.

The second the latch clicked, Yoongi ripped the blanket away, eyes dark, voice low and sharp. “See how close that was? You’re mine, Tae. Mine to hide. Mine to ruin. No one else can even imagine you like this.”

Tae whimpered, arching back into him, already begging for more.

Chapter Text

It started small—Yoongi tugging Tae into the dorm kitchen at midnight.
The fridge light was the only glow, humming softly, as Tae leaned against the counter with wide eyes.

“Hyung, anyone could walk in—” he whispered frantically, but Yoongi was already pressing between his legs, kissing him deep, sliding his hand under Tae’s loose sleep shirt.

“Then you’ll have to stay quiet,” Yoongi murmured against his mouth, thumbing over a peaked nipple.

“Yoongi—” Tae gasped, his head tipping back as Yoongi dropped to his knees, tugging Tae’s shorts down. Cold air kissed him, then Yoongi’s hot mouth. Tae’s hands flew to the counter, his breath catching as Yoongi sucked him in deep, tongue circling, obscene sounds filling the quiet kitchen.

The creak of floorboards made Tae jolt. Someone was walking down the hall.

“Hyung—stop—” he tried to push him away, but Yoongi’s grip only tightened on his thighs, sucking harder, forcing Tae to bite his own hand to keep from moaning aloud.

Footsteps passed. The bathroom door shut. Tae sagged in relief—only to cry out silently as Yoongi swallowed around him, taking him all the way down. His knees nearly buckled, orgasm tearing through him.

Yoongi swallowed everything, standing to kiss him breathless, cum still warm on his tongue. Tae trembled, trying to scold him, but Yoongi only smirked.

“You love it,” he whispered.

It got worse.

One morning, Tae was brushing his teeth in the bathroom when Yoongi slipped in, shutting the door quietly.

“Hyung—” Tae mumbled around his toothbrush, foam dripping from his lips.

Yoongi pressed up behind him, grinding against his ass. Tae spat into the sink, eyes wide in the mirror as Yoongi slid his hand down his sweatpants, curling around him.

“Yoongi, the others—”

“They’re awake,” Yoongi rasped, biting into Tae’s shoulder. “You’ll have to keep your pretty mouth shut.”

Tae’s knuckles went white on the edge of the sink as Yoongi pumped him slow, deliberate, their eyes locked in the foggy mirror. Tae bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, his thighs shaking as Yoongi’s breath burned against his ear.

“Say you don’t like it,” Yoongi taunted, stroking faster.

Tae’s mouth opened, closed. He tried to glare but his face betrayed him—flushed, wrecked, pupils blown.

Yoongi’s smirk curved dark. “Exactly.”

Backstage was the worst yet.

They’d finished rehearsal, sweat still clinging to their skin, the others outside waiting on staff. Yoongi caught Tae’s wrist, pulling him into an empty storage room.

“Hyung, we can’t—”

The words broke off as Yoongi shoved him against a stack of crates, mouths crashing together. Tae whimpered, Yoongi’s hands tearing at his waistband, pushing pants down just enough to expose him.

“Yoongi, please—what if—”

“Shut up,” Yoongi growled, sliding into him in one hard thrust. Tae’s cry was bitten back against Yoongi’s shoulder, nails clawing at his back as Yoongi fucked him deep and rough, the risk of discovery making his cock twitch painfully.

“You like this,” Yoongi panted against his throat. “Being taken like a whore where anyone could catch you.”

Tae shook his head weakly, tears pricking his eyes, but his body betrayed him—clenching tight, trembling with arousal.

“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi hissed, snapping his hips harder. “I can feel it. You’d let me ruin you anywhere, wouldn’t you?”

Tae’s legs gave out, body convulsing around him as his orgasm ripped through him, muffled by Yoongi’s mouth on his. Yoongi followed with a groan, pressing Tae into the crates so hard they rattled.

When it was over, Tae slumped against him, chest heaving, face flushed with shame and pleasure.

“Hyung… we can’t keep doing this,” he whispered, but Yoongi only cupped his jaw, forcing his eyes up.

“Yes, we can. Because you love it just as much as I do.”

Tae swallowed hard, but didn’t deny it.

Chapter Text

They had always assumed, if it happened, they’d be caught sweaty and half-dressed—panting in Yoongi’s room, or fumbling backstage where someone barged in too early.

They never thought it would be this.

A quiet evening in a tucked-away restaurant Yoongi liked. Low lighting, soft jazz humming in the background, the kind of place where he could let his shoulders drop and Tae could smile without restraint.

They sat in their corner booth, plates half-finished, drinks forgotten. Tae’s long fingers stretched across the table, Yoongi’s hand covering them, thumb lazily tracing over his knuckles. Tae was grinning, telling some ridiculous story, cheeks flushed pink from the wine, eyes shining in a way that made Yoongi ache.

He looked so young like this. So free. So his.

“Hyung, you’re not even listening,” Tae teased, squeezing his hand.

“I am,” Yoongi murmured, lips tugging at the corner. “I just like watching you talk.”

Tae flushed deeper, ducking his head, muttering, “Stop,” but his smile gave him away.

Yoongi leaned in, voice low, fond. “No one can stop me.”

And then—

“Yoongi? Taehyung?”

Both froze. The sound was too familiar. Too close.

Yoongi’s head snapped up, Tae’s eyes going wide. Standing not ten feet away, takeaway bag in one hand, was Namjoon.

For a long beat, none of them moved. Namjoon’s gaze flicked down, catching their joined hands on the table—Yoongi’s thumb still pressed to Tae’s skin, Tae too stunned to pull away.

Yoongi felt Tae’s pulse race under his palm. Tae’s lips parted, trying for words that didn’t come.

Namjoon’s brows lifted slightly. He looked from Yoongi to Tae, back again. Tae fumbled, “We were just—” but Yoongi’s grip tightened, steady.

And then Namjoon smiled. Warm, amused, almost soft. “Enjoy your evening,” he said simply.

Tae’s jaw dropped. Yoongi blinked, momentarily thrown off guard.

Namjoon gave the smallest nod, like this was nothing shocking at all, before turning back to his friends and walking away as if he hadn’t just turned their world upside down.

The silence he left behind was deafening. Tae’s hand trembled under Yoongi’s, but Yoongi didn’t let go.

“Hyung,” Tae whispered, wide-eyed. “He…smiled. He told us to enjoy.”

Yoongi’s jaw was tight, unreadable. “Guess he already knew,” he muttered. Then, softer, “Doesn’t change a thing.”

Tae looked at him—really looked—and despite the panic twisting in his chest, his lips curved. Because maybe Yoongi was right.

Chapter Text

Namjoon never said a word.
That didn’t surprise them.

He had only pulled Yoongi aside once, quiet in the hallway after practice when the others had gone ahead. His hand on Yoongi’s shoulder was steady, leader-like.

“Be careful,” Namjoon murmured. His voice wasn’t warning—it was weight, responsibility. “You know how it looks. You know the risks.”

Yoongi had nodded once, silent.

“And don’t hurt him.” Namjoon’s gaze softened, heavy with unspoken meaning. “Taehyung…he’s always been my responsibility.”

Yoongi’s throat tightened. “I won’t.” It came out hoarse, but certain.

That was it. No lectures. No threats. Namjoon trusted him enough to leave it there.

And for a while, their secret held. Late-night dates, stolen touches, the occasional reckless moment in the dorm. The thrill of keeping it quiet almost made it sweeter.

Until it didn’t.

It wasn’t sex that exposed them, not some sweaty mistake behind a locked door. No—it was the one time Taehyung leaned first.

They’d been tucked in the corner of the practice room, cooling down after a long day. The others were sprawled around, scrolling on phones, chatting lazily. Yoongi had drifted closer, sitting beside Tae, their shoulders brushing.

And then, out of nowhere, Tae’s fingers curled in Yoongi’s shirt. His eyes sparkled mischief, lips parting into a smile just for him. “Hyung,” he whispered, like a secret meant for only two.

Before Yoongi could brace himself, Tae leaned in and kissed him. Slow, bold, entirely unafraid.

It was soft. It was brief. But it was enough.

Because Jimin saw.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

His squeal echoed off the walls like a gunshot. Yoongi and Tae jerked apart instantly, Tae’s face flaming, Yoongi’s ears burning red.

Jimin clutched his chest like he’d been personally betrayed. “You two—YOU TWO—HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?!” His voice pitched higher with every word. “Taehyung-ah! Soulmate! You hid THIS from ME?!”

The commotion was too loud to contain. Jungkook’s head shot up, Hoseok dropped his phone, Jin nearly choked on his water. The room erupted with gasps and half-shouted questions as everyone scrambled toward them.

Yoongi cursed under his breath, Tae covered his face with both hands, and Jimin was bouncing on his toes like he’d just won the lottery.

It wasn’t how they wanted it to happen. Not with noise and chaos and the members filing out one by one to confirm what Jimin had already announced to the world.

But as Yoongi reached for Tae’s wrist, gently tugging his hands away, he saw that spark of laughter trembling in Tae’s eyes through the embarrassment. And despite it all, Yoongi thought—

Maybe being caught wasn’t the worst thing after all.

Chapter Text

The room was chaos.

Jimin was still squealing, practically bouncing in place like a toddler who had just been given candy. “I knew it! No—actually, I didn’t know it! But I should have known it! How could I not know it?!”

Hoseok had both hands in his hair, his mouth falling open and shut like a goldfish. “Hyung…Taehyung…YOONGI-HYUNG—” He laughed nervously. “I don’t even know what to say! What is this?!”

Jin, on the other hand, didn’t yell or squeal. He just crossed his arms, lips pressed together in that disappointed-dad way. “You two…” His sigh could’ve leveled a mountain. “I swear, if this had come out while cameras were around—”

Taehyung shrank into Yoongi’s side, cheeks burning crimson. Yoongi sat stiff, jaw tight, glaring at the floor like maybe he could will it to open up and swallow him whole.

And then there was Jungkook.

He hadn’t moved since Jimin’s scream, hadn’t said a word. His phone was still clutched in his hand, forgotten. His eyes were on Taehyung—wide, searching, unreadable.

Namjoon’s voice cut through the storm. Calm, low, commanding. “Okay. Everyone, sit down.”

The chaos simmered but didn’t die. The members collapsed into seats, all eyes still locked on the pair in the corner.

Yoongi’s hand flexed against his knee, the urge to reach for Tae strong, but he held back. Too many eyes. Too much noise.

Namjoon exhaled, long and slow, before finally speaking. “So. You two.” His eyes shifted between them. “How long?”

Taehyung hesitated. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “A…while,” he admitted softly.

Jimin let out another squeal of betrayal. “A WHILE?! You’ve been hiding it this whole time? From me?!”

Yoongi groaned. “Shut up, Jimin.”

But the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental. It wasn’t cold. It was heavy, yes—serious—but not cruel.

Jin shook his head again, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips now. “Of all the things to keep secret…”

Hoseok finally laughed, nervous but genuine. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You two always had this… vibe.”

Taehyung dared to glance up, eyes flitting nervously between them all. “You’re…not mad?”

Namjoon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His gaze landed on Yoongi—sharp, deliberate. “Not mad. But you know what this means, right? What people will say if this gets out.”

Yoongi met his eyes, steady. “I know.”

Namjoon held it for a beat longer before giving a single nod. “Then just…be careful.”

Relief bloomed in Tae’s chest, but before he could exhale, Jungkook finally spoke.

His voice was quiet. Almost too quiet. “So it’s real.”

Everyone turned. Jungkook’s eyes were still on Taehyung, wide and dark, his jaw tight. “Taehyungie…” His lips curved into something that was supposed to be a smile, but didn’t reach his eyes. “You could’ve told me.”

The words cut sharper than anything else had that night.

Taehyung froze, guilt flashing across his face. Yoongi’s chest clenched at the sight.

But Jungkook didn’t wait for an answer. He stood abruptly, muttering something about needing air, and left the room.

The door shut behind him with a heavy finality.

The silence that followed wasn’t chaos anymore. It was weight. Heavy, complicated weight.

Yoongi finally reached for Tae then, his hand warm over Tae’s, grounding him. And as the others started talking again—teasing, comforting, asking questions—Yoongi leaned close, his voice a whisper only Tae could hear.

“We’ll get through it.”

Tae nodded, squeezing his hand tight. But his eyes lingered on the door Jungkook had walked out of, worry pulling at his chest.

Chapter Text

The night air was cooler on the balcony, a relief against Taehyung’s overheated skin. He leaned on the railing, searching for Jungkook’s silhouette. He didn’t have to look far—Jungkook was standing at the far end, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the glowing city below.

“Jungkookie,” Taehyung called softly.

Jungkook didn’t turn, just exhaled, fogging the air. “You could’ve told me.”

Taehyung’s chest tightened. He took a slow step closer. “I wanted to. I swear. But… it was complicated. It is complicated.”

Finally, Jungkook looked at him, eyes glassy with emotions Tae couldn’t fully read. Hurt, confusion, but also—understanding. “You’ve always been mine, in a way,” Jungkook whispered, almost to himself. “Not…like that. But you’re my person, hyung. And suddenly I find out you’ve been giving that part of you to someone else, in secret.”

Tae’s throat ached. “You’re still my person. That will never change.” He reached out, wrapping Jungkook in a hug, their arms fitting around each other like muscle memory. Tae closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into Jungkook’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Jungkook’s arms tightened around him, warm and familiar. “I’m not mad,” he murmured. “Just… surprised. You deserve to be happy, hyung. Even if it’s not with me.”

Taehyung’s eyes stung. He pulled back, searching Jungkook’s face, seeing nothing but sincerity. Relief bloomed—but it didn’t last.

Because when Taehyung glanced toward the glass doors, he saw Yoongi standing there.

Silent. Watching. His eyes dark and unreadable as they lingered on the way Tae’s hands were still on Jungkook’s arms, the way they stood too close.

By the time Tae pulled away and turned, Yoongi was gone.

He found Yoongi in their room, hunched at the edge of the bed, fists twisting the blanket.

“Hyung,” Tae started cautiously.

Yoongi didn’t look up at first. When he did, his gaze was raw, stripped bare. “Are you regretting it?”

Tae blinked. “What?”

Yoongi’s voice was low, cracking like dry wood. “Jungkook… he’s younger, brighter. Built like a fucking statue. He looks at you like you’re the sun. Maybe that’s what you should have. Maybe I’m just…” He broke off, breath shaking. “Maybe I’m not enough.”

The words ripped through Tae like glass. He dropped to his knees between Yoongi’s legs, forcing his eyes up to meet his hyung’s. “Don’t you ever say that again.” His hands dug into Yoongi’s thighs, desperate, grounding. “You don’t see yourself the way I do. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Tae—”

“No.” His voice broke, but he pressed on, climbing into Yoongi’s lap, caging his face with both hands. “When you touch me, I feel like I’ll go insane. When you look at me, it’s like there’s no air. Jungkook is my brother—but you…” His lips curved into a desperate, trembling smile. “You own me. You always have.”

Yoongi’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching, and then the thin thread of restraint holding him together finally snapped.

He grabbed Tae by the waist and crushed their mouths together, kissing like he needed to consume him. Teeth clashed, tongues tangled, raw and feral. Tae moaned, grinding down, feeling Yoongi hard against him. “Yes, hyung,” he gasped between kisses, “please—take me—don’t hold back.”

Yoongi flipped them, pinning Tae beneath him on the mattress. His hands ripped at clothes until there was nothing left between them but sweat and skin. His mouth moved rough over Tae’s throat, sucking marks deep enough to bruise, while his fingers stretched him open with a ruthless pace that had Tae clawing at his shoulders.

“Say it,” Yoongi growled against his ear as he pushed inside, deep and unrelenting. “Say you’re mine.”

Tae cried out, arching, nails raking down Yoongi’s back. “Yours—fuck—always yours, hyung—”

Yoongi thrust harder, relentless, each snap of his hips driving the words deeper into both of them. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, Tae’s broken moans, Yoongi’s curses muffled against his neck.

“Don’t stop—don’t stop—fuck me harder—show me I’m yours,” Tae begged, voice ragged, legs trembling around Yoongi’s waist.

And Yoongi did. He fucked him until the bedsheets were soaked, until Tae was shaking and sobbing with pleasure, until both of them came undone in a tangle of heat and desperation.

After, the world slowed. Tae lay boneless against the mattress, Yoongi’s weight heavy but grounding on top of him, both of them sticky and trembling. Yoongi’s breath was harsh against Tae’s shoulder, his lips brushing the damp skin as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Hyung,” Tae whispered, running his fingers through Yoongi’s sweat-damp hair. “Don’t ever think like that again. Don’t compare yourself to him. Don’t compare yourself to anyone. You’re the one I—” His voice faltered, realization slamming into him mid-sentence.

Yoongi stilled. Lifted his head.

Tae froze, panic flashing across his face. “…forget it.” He tried to laugh it off, but the sound was brittle. “I didn’t mean—”

Yoongi silenced him with a kiss. Soft. Slow. The opposite of the storm from before. His lips trembled against Tae’s, but his eyes, when he pulled back, were steady.

“I love you too.”

Tae’s breath caught. “Hyung—”

“I mean it,” Yoongi said firmly, thumb brushing Tae’s swollen lips. “So stop being scared. You’re not the only one falling here.”

Tae’s heart felt like it was breaking open. He smiled, shaky and radiant, and pulled Yoongi back down into another kiss, this one tender, reverent.

For the first time, neither of them needed words.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight filtered through the dorm windows, warm and lazy, spilling across the living room floor where Taehyung was curled against Yoongi’s side. His head rested on Yoongi’s shoulder, eyes half-closed, a satisfied little smile tugging at his lips as Yoongi absently carded fingers through his messy hair.

The TV hummed in the background, playing some variety rerun no one was really watching. Jimin sat on the carpet, grinning so wide it looked like his face might split. “You two are disgusting.”

“Seconded,” Hoseok laughed, tossing popcorn at them. “Get a room. Or, you know, use the room you already have.”

Namjoon only shook his head, smiling into his coffee. “As long as they’re not sneaking around anymore, I’ll allow it.”

Seokjin sighed dramatically from the kitchen. “I knew it. I knew it since the day Yoongi suddenly started being nice enough to share his last piece of fried chicken.”

“I wasn’t being nice,” Yoongi muttered, voice gruff but his hand never stopped stroking through Taehyung’s hair. “He stole it.”

“I did not!” Tae shot up indignantly, only for Yoongi to tug him back down with a small smirk, and the others burst out laughing.

Jungkook, sprawled on the floor with his phone, peeked over at them with a teasing smile that carried no bitterness anymore. “You look happy, hyung.”

Yoongi didn’t answer at first. He just glanced down at Taehyung, whose eyes were shining at him like he hung the moon. A small, rare smile tugged at his lips. “I am.”

The room quieted for a heartbeat, the weight of the words sinking in. Then Hoseok threw another handful of popcorn, Jimin tackled Tae into Yoongi’s lap, and Seokjin started scolding them all for roughhousing before breakfast.

Through the laughter, the teasing, the chaos of six men crammed into one dorm, Taehyung and Yoongi sat pressed together, steady and warm.

It wasn’t secret glances anymore. It wasn’t stolen nights. It wasn’t fear of being caught.

It was just… them.

Home.

Chapter Text

The forest swallowed them whole, green shadows stretching across the cottage windows as the sun fell behind the trees. Yoongi parked and didn’t look at Tae. Instead, he turned to him, voice low and deliberate.

“No clothes for three days,” he said. “You’re going to be mine. Every second, everywhere. I’ll be inside you whenever I want. And you’ll feel it. Everywhere. You’ll feel me always, Tae.”

Tae’s heart hammered, fingers trembling on the dashboard. “H-hyung… you mean… even… like… everywhere?”

Yoongi’s grin was dark, hungry. “Yes. Every second. Cooking, eating, showering, sleeping, watching TV… it doesn’t matter. You’re mine. And I’m not stopping.”

The moment the door closed behind them, Yoongi pulled Tae into him, lips crushing against his. Hands roamed, teeth grazing, hips pressing. Tae gasped, trembling, already wet.

“Strip,” Yoongi growled. Tae obeyed, body bare under Yoongi’s eyes. “So perfect… already trembling for me.” Yoongi slipped inside him for the first time there, soft, slow, claiming. Tae shivered around him, voice breaking. “Hyung… please… I want it all…”

Yoongi didn’t wait. “You will have all of me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Every second. And you won’t move away. Not once.”

Day One: The Forest Alive

They started in the kitchen. Tae was trying to chop vegetables; Yoongi leaned over him, pressing against his back, slipping hands under his hips, inside him. Tae gasped into the counter. “H-hyung…”

“I told you,” Yoongi murmured, voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine. Every second you breathe, I’ll be inside you.”

Tae laughed breathlessly, shaking, tears of overstimulation in his eyes. He stirred the pot clumsily, Yoongi moving with him, grinding, whispering filthy things about how wet he already was, how he’d mark every inch. Even when Tae sat on the stool to taste, Yoongi pressed him back, murmuring words only he could hear.

Showering together wasn’t relief—it was a war of senses. Yoongi held him under the warm water, hands slippery, fingers stretching him open as he whispered, “You feel me everywhere, Tae… every inch. And I’m not stopping. I’ll touch every part of you you didn’t know could feel.”

Tae’s moans were soft, constant, begging to be more, while Yoongi’s thrusts were slow, deliberate, claiming. Even rinsing shampoo became impossible without Yoongi pressing in, whispering filthy promises into Tae’s hair and ear.

Sleeping that night was agony and bliss intertwined. Yoongi held him like a vice, inside him, murmuring low promises and dirty words. Tae twitched, rolled, gasped, and Yoongi never let go. Every inch of movement, every small shift, every breath was entangled, intimate, impossible to separate.

Day Two: Cooking, Watching, Living

Morning brought sunlight and hunger. Tae tried making breakfast, but Yoongi followed him everywhere, inside him, hands always on him. Stirring the eggs? Yoongi pressed him against the counter. Pouring coffee? Yoongi’s lips were on his shoulder, grinding low, whispering filth about how he’d already ruined him.

Even watching TV wasn’t safe. Tae tried to sit back, but Yoongi leaned over, pressing against him, murmuring about how hard he already was, how wet Tae was for him, teeth grazing his neck as the screen flickered. Tae moaned and squirmed, hands trembling on Yoongi’s shoulders, desperate and wet.

Lunch was a blur of hands, lips, heat. Every bite Tae took was accompanied by Yoongi pressing deeper, whispering, groaning, marking him. Tae’s gasps were loud, soft, constant—he could barely finish a sandwich, let alone breathe normally.

Every activity, even sitting or reading, became impossible. Yoongi was everywhere, inside him, whispering, grunting, fucking him slowly while making him do simple tasks. Tae never complained—if anything, he pressed back, grinding against him, eager to feel more.

Day Three: The Endless Night

The last day was a fevered haze. Cooking, showering, sleeping, watching TV—every moment Yoongi had him. No rest, no relief. Tae’s body was overstimulated, trembling, gasping constantly.

Yoongi’s filthy whispers filled every corner of the cottage. “You’re mine, Tae. Every inch, every moan, every gasp… mine. And you’ll feel me in everything you do.”

Even sleep offered no reprieve. Tae tossed and turned, moving against him, accidentally grinding into Yoongi, who whispered filthy promises into his ear, fingers inside him constantly.

By nightfall, Tae was shaking, drenched in sweat, completely spent, but grinning. Yoongi finally held him close, inside him, murmuring, “Three days. You survived, but you’re mine forever.”

Tae’s fingers clutched his shoulders, body still twitching. “I… I’m yours. Always yours, hyung.”

Yoongi kissed him, long and dark, teeth and tongue claiming, groaning low in his chest. “Good. Because you’ll never escape this, Tae. Never.”

And in the forest cottage, isolated and burning, they slept, utterly intertwined, the world outside forgotten.