Taehyung thought of his personality like a coat. It fit him well. But it didn’t often fit others.
It was warm, and pretty, and had little flowers dotting it like the ones he secretly liked. Boys didn’t like flowers. Even pretty ones who liked to sing and dance and didn’t like girls. That was a secret, too.
His coat didn’t fit anyone else in Bangtan very well, if he was honest with himself. He was often not honest with himself, honestly, because the truth stung a little bit too much. Jungkook and Hoseok liked him, in a passive, neutral way, sure. But he had to brush off Jimin’s huffs whenever he got too clingy, ignore the way Namjoon’s lips thinned when he was too loud, pretend Seokjin didn’t avoid him completely because he didn’t like working with people so much more immature than himself.
He couldn’t ignore Yoongi.
He admired Yoongi more than anyone else in the world, he had since he first heard him spit a verse and it sounded like raw, perfect poetry. He was so pretty, too, and Taehyung loved pretty. He was all scowls and snappy remarks and metaphorical harsh angles, but Taehyung saw the way he talked to Namjoon and respected Seokjin’s position and complimented Jimin and Hoseok’s dancing and rolled his eyes at Jungkook but in a way that only made the youngest grin. So he knew Yoongi could be nice. He knew Yoongi could like people. He knew Yoongi liked everyone but him.
There was no tolerance behind his scowls or affection behind his snappy remarks or softening of his harsh angles when they were alone and there was no one to behave himself in front of. There was poison behind his dislike, and he made it absolutely clear that Taehyung was not someone he wanted around. Taehyung was used to being told to be quiet, but Yoongi’s shut ups actually made him fall silent. Taehyung was used to being disliked, but he liked Yoongi, like he liked everyone, and he tended to like with his whole heart on his sleeve, and it hurt that he so obviously hated him.
It hurt that everyone hated him. Or, at the very least, didn't like him very much. Even his same age friend picked Jungkook over him, spent more time with Hoseok in the studio even though Taehyung asked to join, and Jimin just didn’t tell him when they were going.
They were new. They had debuted just a few months ago. They were still getting used to everything. Used to each other.
But Taehyung thought that maybe, probably, they wouldn’t get used to him.
He wasn’t that dramatically morose as he fell asleep in their little dorm in his little bunk, but he did fall asleep to the sound of Namjoon and Hoseok’s quiet laughs in the kitchen and Jungkook tapping on his phone as he texted his friends, and he did fall asleep feeling the familiar rock of loneliness sitting in his stomach.
He woke up with the same weight holding him down, but he woke up not from his shrill alarm or Namjoon’s loud snores or Hoseok’s rise-with-the-sun noises, but from a persistent tickling at his eyes as his hair kept falling over them. He didn’t think his hair was that long, but maybe it had grown an inch or two while he was sleeping. Weirder things had probably happened.
He sat up with a huff, shaking his head to make his hair flop away. He rubbed his eyes as they got used to the morning sunlight coming through the window—and maybe a weirder thing was happening now, because the tiny window in their dorm had never let in so much sunlight before, and his bed had never been that soft, and he didn’t remember having a such a plush mattress or such a big bed or such a nice room that he was all alone in.
Was he kidnapped? He thinks he might have been kidnapped.
But if his kidnappers were putting him up in a room like this, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing, even though it was odd and he wasn’t sure what sort of ransom they were expecting. He was sure his parents didn’t have too much to give for him, and he was even surer that Big Hit wouldn’t fork over that much, either, considering how Bangtan was constantly on the verge of flopping.
His stomach growled loudly as he considered his circumstances, reminding him of the meager dinner they had all eaten last night. He was used to waking up hungry. But maybe if his kidnappers were as nice as they seemed so far, he’d be able to have a really nice cheat day. Surely someone with such a nice spare bedroom didn’t skimp on their grocery budget.
As he looked sleepily around, though, it didn’t really seem like a spare bedroom. It had a fancy keyboard against the wall, and a computer on the desk that was nicer than any he had ever seen, and trinkets everywhere that Taehyung really, really loved. Maybe he and his kidnapper could be friends since they had the same taste.
He climbed out of bed, looking down at himself and blinking at the matching, dark blue, silky pajamas he was wearing. It was a little uncomfortable to think about being stripped and redressed by a stranger, but they were so comfortable and complimented his skin tone so well that he wasn’t too put off. He caught his own eye in a full-length mirror attached to the wall and had to do a double-take, because that was him, very clearly, but that was not him.
He stepped up to it for further inspection, prodding at his cheekbones (different than they had been the night before, more prominent), pinching his cheeks (where did his baby fat go? When did his face get this handsome?), running a hand through his hair (that was black and not orange, and wavy like it had been permed, and longer than it had ever been in his life). Even his eyes seemed different, but maybe it was the lack of dark shadows that usually hung below them.
“Huh,” he said to himself. He was prettier than he had been when he fell asleep. Had he been in a coma? Whoever had been taking care of him had done a very good job if he had been. But he looked too healthy to have been unconscious for so long.
“Huh,” he said again, and, when his stomach rumbled loudly, decided to leave it alone. The door was unlocked, he discovered, which probably meant his kidnappers didn’t intent to keep him contained. He poked his head into the hallway and heard sounds coming from one end, and even if he hadn’t heard them, the smell of breakfast being made was enough to lure him down, like a carrot on a stick.
“Huh,” he said when he arrived in the kitchen, looking at the lithe figure of a pink-haired man with his back turned as he checked the rice cooker.
Jimin turned around. Jimin turned around. He looked even more different from the night before than Taehyung and the smile he gave him before turning back around made him check behind him just to make sure it was directed at him. “Morning, Tae.”
“Morning?” He blinked, and felt more off kilter than he ever had. “Your hair looks nice.”
Jimin snorted. “I haven’t done anything to it yet, shut up.”
He was used to shut ups, but he wasn’t used to the fond tone in Jimin’s voice. “Did you dye it yourself?”
Did they let you do that? he meant. Does that work with our image? but Jimin didn’t hear the silent questions. “What?” he turned, squinting at him. “No, can you imagine? Leave that to Kookie. I do need a touch up, though, my roots are starting to show. I was thinking about asking to go silver.”
“Silver?” Taehyung asked, and that was even more confusing.
“You don’t think it would look good?” he pouted, putting a hand on his waist, cocking his hip, looking—not like he would ever let himself look.
“It would,” Taehyung assured honestly. “Why don’t you look like a baby?”
He took a quick step back when Jimin leapt at him, hitting his arm with just enough force to hurt. Taehyung gripped the injured spot with much more confusion than pain. “Because I’m not, please let that die, I’m so tired of it—”
“But—your face is different. So is mine. I don’t look like a baby either.”
“You’ve never looked like a baby,” Jimin scoffed. “Even when you were a baby, you didn’t look like a baby.”
“I don’t look as young as I did last night, then.”
Jimin looked at him oddly, assessingly, stepping closer than Taehyung expected to touch his jaw, turning his head for him. “You look the same to me. What are you talking about?”
“Why’s my hair longer, though? And—natural. Did I black out? For, like, a couple months?” Taehyung swallowed when Jimin didn’t move his hand away. They weren’t into skinship. Most of them. Taehyung wanted to be. “And why’s your hair pink, and how has it been long enough that your roots are showing, and also why aren’t you as buff as you were last night, and—”
“Tae,” Jimin interrupted, frowning in a way that made him a little scared. “Be serious, okay? What day is it?”
“Okay,” Jimin nodded, squinting. “What year is it?”
Taehyung was quiet for a long moment, searching his eyes. “2013.”
Jimin stared at him, like he was looking for the truth. He sighed abruptly, grabbing a phone that was almost fancier than the computer in the room he had woken up in, pressed a couple buttons, and spoke. “Hyung, the time travel thing happened again. Taehyung.” Jimin laughed, looking at Taehyung with a peculiar expression. “He’s—a baby, Joon-hyung, like— seventeen. Oh—” he gasped. “Just come here, okay, I have to feed him, you remember how hungry we were—”
Taehyung mouthed ‘feed him’ as Jimin hung up, getting a bowl from the cabinet and spooning rice and meat into it. Meat that wasn’t plain chicken, Taehyung noted, and blushed when his stomach growled at the thought.
“Sit,” Jimin said, pulling out a barstool for him, and Taehyung sat. “Eat. Poor thing.”
“Poor thing,” Taehyung mumbled quietly, staring at the bowl, then at him. “Why are you—” he paused, blinked, trying to figure out his question before he landed on a simple, “Why?”
Jimin’s eyes softened in a way he had never seen them do before. “I like taking care of you, Taehyungie. And you’re hungry and confused, and I can fix at least one of those things.”
“You can’t fix confused? You know what’s going on, though—” Taehyung frowned. Jimin rubbed his back and Taehyung felt a full-body shiver run through him, though it didn’t manifest visibly. “You’re being really nice to me, Jimin.”
Jimin winced a little, looking away from him but not moving his hand away. “I guess that is confusing, isn’t it?” He looked back at him with a sigh before pulling him into a hug, kissing his cheek and making Taehyung dizzy. “You’re my best friend, Tae-yah. I know we’re not for you yet, but—for me, all I want to do right now is take care of you.”
Taehyung stared at him when he pulled away, completely perplexed, not sure if he could even begin to imagine that transformation. Jimin looked pointedly between him and the bowl and Taehyung obediently took his first bite. His eyes widened in surprise and he spoke with his mouth full. “We eat this?”
Jimin laughed and it sounded like a chime. “We do. Eat up, hungry boy.”
“Taehyung!” Taehyung jumped as the front door slammed and Namjoon burst into the kitchen only a moment later. “Taehyung, hey.”
“Woah,” was all Taehyung could say. Namjoon was—woah.
“I know it’s weird, I know it’s scary, but it’ll fix itself in the morning and you won’t remember a thing,” Namjoon assured him, coming around and gripping his shoulder with supportive familiarity. That wasn’t as unusual for the leader to do as it was for Jimin, but the intense look in his eyes was.
“I won’t?” he finally said, shaking himself from the thrall of Namjoon being very, very handsome with much better hair and the sparkling worry in his eyes.
“It happened to me a few months ago. I wouldn’t have known if the others hadn’t told me. No recollection at all.”
Taehyung glanced between him and Jimin, who was watching at him with less concern than he expected. “What if I don’t want to forget?”
“No choice there, Tae-yah,” Jimin smiled softly. “It’ll be nice to have surprises, though, won’t it?”
Taehyung stared at him for another moment. “But you’re my best friend.”
“You’re not my best friend.”
“I will be.”
“But I want to know that.”
Jimin clicked his tongue and came close, kissing his cheek again. Taehyung thought if he was a cartoon, the print of Jimin’s lips would be tattooed on him forever. “It’ll happen soon, I promise. It just took us a little while to get there.”
Taehyung stared for another moment before nodding once, going back to his food. “We eat this. And we live here?”
“We live here,” Namjoon said, releasing his shoulder and pulling up the barstool next to him. “Want to know the craziest part?”
Taehyung nodded, blinking at him curiously.
Namjoon leaned forward, whispering like he was sharing a secret. “We have the day off.”
“The day—” Taehyung nearly choked. “What? We never have a day off, what?”
“We do today,” Namjoon grinned. “Which is—very convenient right now. We have dance practice tomorrow, I think Sungdeuk-ssi would be extremely confused if you forgot the choreography all of a sudden. You pick it up so fast.”
“I do?” he looked to Jimin, trusting his dance expertise quite a bit more than Namjoon.
“You do. Faster than me,” Jimin smiled. Taehyung had a feeling he would never admit it if there was a chance he would remember. “Not as fast as Hobi-hyung.”
“No one’s as fast as Hobi-hyung,” Taehyung nodded.
“It’d be funny for him to see our stuff now, don’t you think?” Namjoon asked, grinning at Jimin. “Our style is—a little different from debut.”
Jimin pinched his pointer finger and thumb together. “A tiny bit apart, wouldn’t you say?”
“Tiny.” Taehyung took another bite, frowning when he realized he only had another left. He made a loud noise of complaint when Jimin took it away, but fell silent when he watched him refill it. “You—Jimin-ah, you have to eat, too—”
“I’ll make more,” Jimin waved his hand, putting the bowl back in front of him. More, he said, like it was no big deal, like they could afford these nice cuts of beef without checking their bank accounts first.
Taehyung looked around as he heard quiet padding down the hallway, mouth going a little lax at the sight of a very soft, very cute, very much-more-grown-up-than-last-night Jungkook yawning and ruffling his long hair.
“Morning,” he mumbled. Taehyung felt like his soul shot out of his body as he watched Jungkook go straight to Jimin, kissing the corner of his mouth as if he did it every day, Jimin smiling fondly as if he expected it, Namjoon not reacting at all except Taehyung felt his stare he gaped, astounded. Jungkook poured himself a cup of coffee before meeting Taehyung’s eyes, his brows raised as he froze with his mug halfway to his mouth.
Jimin looked between them in amusement. “It’s 2013, did you know?”
Jungkook nodded, making a drawn-out “Oh” of understanding and taking a long sip of coffee before coming up to Taehyung and hugging him from behind, snuffling the nape of his neck and ignoring the way Taehyung tensed tightly against him, shocked and almost scared of the sudden affection.
“Cuddle day,” he said, like that made any sense.
“Ah!” Jimin gasped. “Good idea. I was trying to figure out what to do with him.”
“You don’t—” Taehyung stuttered out, the feeling of Jungkook encompassing him (since when was he big enough to encompass anything?) overwhelming enough that he lost his words. But days off were rare and sacred to them all, and he couldn’t allow himself to be selfish, not with his best friend. “You don’t have to do anything with me, I can just—hang out. It’s your day off.”
“We’d end up having a cuddle day either way,” Namjoon snorted. “Just with more video games in between.”
“Cuddle day,” Taehyung repeated. “We cuddle?”
“We’ve always cuddled. Just—more than usual now.”
“Not me.” Taehyung looked at Namjoon. He wasn’t accusatory at all, but he was honest.
“He’s right,” Jungkook said, his voice a little muffled with his face pressed against his back. “Make up for it.”
“We cuddle soon,” Jimin promised guiltily. “We change a lot, Taehyungie, don’t worry. Once we realize we’re soulmates we never let go of each other.”
“Soulmates,” Taehyung said quietly.
Jimin caught his glance between him and Jungkook. “Soulmates. My best friend in the world.”
“Can I ask—”
“Hyung and I are together,” Jungkook said, like it was nothing, like it wouldn’t ruin them, like liking boys in their world wasn’t a professional death sentence. “Soulmates in a different way, you know.”
Taehyung looked at Namjoon, desperate to understand.
Namjoon squeezed his shoulder again and Taehyung’s heart jumped. “It’s okay, Tae-yah. Don’t worry about it.”
Jimin smoothed Jungkook’s sleep-messy hair fondly. “Definitely don’t worry about it.”
And then—Namjoon got up and went down the hall, Jungkook unwrapped himself from around Taehyung, Jimin went back to stove to make more meat, and Yoongi came in, looking like a sleepy angel with his dark hair and pale skin and freckles dotting his cheeks and his pretty body that was coming closer and closer until it was pressed against Taehyung’s side and when Taehyung turned to look in shock those pink lips pressed against his own like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Yoongi said something, maybe ‘Good morning,’ maybe ‘Coffee,’ but definitely not ‘Fuck off, Taehyung,’ but Taehyung didn’t hear it, the sudden deafening rush of ‘What? What? What?’ rushing through his head drowning out every other noise in the universe.
“Fuck!” he vaguely heard, loud enough to break through. He wasn’t sure whose voice it was or whose arms caught him as he fell off the barstool, too overwhelmed by Yoongi kissing him to stay upright any longer.
When he came to, he was laid out on a plush couch, his head cushioned on Yoongi’s lap. He blinked up at him blearily. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe this was heaven. Maybe this was hell and Yoongi would push him off and punch him and break his heart but given the way Yoongi’s long, perfect fingers carded through his hair and fond worry on his face, Taehyung thought maybe it wasn’t.
“Hey, puppy,” he said, and Taehyung legitimately whimpered. “Sorry I scared you. I didn’t know—this was going on.”
“You kissed me,” Taehyung said. He sounded almost pained, almost offended, but apparently this Yoongi knew him well enough to just smile a little and tug his hair gently and hear the plain confusion behind it.
“Yeah. I do that a lot.”
“At least five times a day. Maybe six,” Yoongi’s smile was teasing and the prettiest thing Taehyung had ever seen in his life, and he had seen three of his groupmates aged up and drop dead gorgeous within the past hour.
“You kiss me five times a day?” Taehyung asked, furrowing his brows as he thought it out.
“Maybe six,” Yoongi reminded. “I like you quite a lot.”
“That’s new,” Taehyung couldn’t help but say.
Yoongi nodded. “For you it is, yeah. For me—we’re going on a year and a half, officially. Unofficially—we’re at three.”
“You’ve kissed me five times a day for three years?”
Taehyung stared at him, pouting in thought. “You like me a lot?”
“Quite a lot.” His hand left Taehyung’s hair, but his whimper was cut off when Yoongi touched his cheek, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone intimately. “I’m sorry I don’t—for you. Well,” he considered, “I’m sorry I don’t like you yet in a normal way, I for sure was not interested in fucking someone younger than me back then—”
Taehyung shot up, looking at him with shocked incredulity. “Fuck? What? We fuck?”
“We’re dating. And we like sex,” Yoongi confirmed, nodding.
Taehyung had always thought, really and truly, that he would never have sex. Not for lack of interest, not in the slightest—but he was a boy who liked pretty things and a boy who liked boys and a boy who liked himself but knew in his heart that other boys who liked pretty things and boys and him would not like his pussy.
It wasn’t a mistake. He never considered it—or himself—a mistake. But it was odd and unexpected, and it was the biggest secret he could ever imagine having, and he never, ever considered telling a single soul. He loved being known. But he didn’t want anyone to know about that.
But if Yoongi was telling the truth, if they were dating, if they had sex—Yoongi knew.
“We—hyung—” Taehyung whimpered, hugging himself tight and trying to quell the nervous swell of nausea in his stomach. “Hyung, we can’t—we don’t— I can’t—”
“We do,” Yoongi said. He tugged Taehyung’s hair softly and glanced at his crotch and the swell of nausea felt like a tsunami wave. “It’s pretty good.”
“Pretty good?” Taehyung muttered faintly.
“Yeah, I’d say so. Verging on phenomenal.”
“Phenomenal,” Taehyung muttered. “Phenomenal. I get five maybe six kisses a day and we have pretty good to phenomenal sex. Me and you. And you like it?”
“I love it,” Yoongi laughed a little, brushing his thumb over the arch of Taehyung’s lips. “I love all of you, so. It’s really easy to love it. Plus—I mean, I’m not kidding, it is phenomenal.”
“You said verging on,” Taehyung said quietly.
“I downplayed it. It’s consistently groundbreaking.” His eyes softened. “You love it too, just so you know.”
“Not scary. It was at first, but—that was normal. Starting anything like that is scary. But now it’s the best thing in the world, no hangups about it.”
Taehyung’s eyes flickered over his face for a moment, hoping that he could detect any amount of deceit on it. His eyes narrowed after a moment, a resolute frown slowly shaping. “Prove it.”
Yoongi laughed, raising his brows. “Prove it?”
“Prove it.” Taehyung tilted his chin up stubbornly, trying to hide the blush he could feel tingling on his cheeks.
“I don’t know, baby. It took a long time to work up to it, I don’t want to push you when you’re not ready.”
Taehyung keened when Yoongi reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear, unable to stop himself from leaning into his hand. “But if I won’t remember anything—”
“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be nervous now,” Yoongi said, voice gentle.
“I already think this is a wet dream, hyung.” Taehyung was almost pouting, but his lips parted as soon as Yoongi reached over, thumb brushing over them. “Prove you know.”
Yoongi huffed a laugh and watched him for a moment, searching his face for the answer to a question Taehyung wasn’t fully sure of. “You want me to prove I know about your pretty pussy, baby?”
The effect was immediate; Taehyung went red, each breath shook as he took in Yoongi’s words.
Yoongi considered him for another long moment. This was his Taehyung, still, even if he wasn’t his Taehyung yet. He always knew what his boy wanted and it was no different now. “Everyone knows,” he said, smiling softly when fear flooded Taehyung’s eyes. He took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, trying to convey that it was okay. Very okay. “Everyone loves it.”
“But—hyung, what? How?” Taehyung stuttered out, staring at them with those wide, lovely eyes.
“We’re all close, you know? Closer than we ever thought we’d be. I like to share sometimes.” He brought Taehyung’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “You’re my puppy, though. All mine, even when someone else has you.”
“Yours?” he asked, shaky and hopeful. “You know and they know and I’m yours and—” Taehyung blinked as Yoongi’s words caught up to him. “You share me?”
“It’s hard to not show you off, sweet thing. You’re so gorgeous. All of you is gorgeous.”
Taehyung swallowed thickly and tried to make the words come out, but was too caught up in Yoongi’s dark eyes to make his tongue work.
Yoongi knew him. “You want me to prove that, too?”
He nodded silently, his hair flopping cutely against his cheeks. Although his heart jumped to his throat when Yoongi reached for him, tugging his shirt over his head, he didn’t try to object. He didn’t want to. Not at all. He self-consciously covered his chest but Yoongi gave him a look and he dropped his hands immediately. It was a Pavlovian response he hadn’t been trained for yet, but the Taehyung he had replaced had, and that Taehyung's body remembered. Yoongi tapped his thigh and Taehyung stood, flushing brightly when Yoongi pulled his silk pajama pants down, tossing them to the side when he stepped out of them.
Taehyung couldn’t hold back his gasp when he looked down at himself—he was so much different than he knew himself to be, so much prettier. This body didn’t try to hide his pussy at all; it was completely shaved, and even from this angle, Taehyung could see that he was pink, his lips practically rose petals made to be parted. Then he noticed the dew on his flower—he was wet, he realized with simultaneous curiosity and horror. His attention snapped up to Yoongi, who was looking at him with fond amusement.
“See how pretty you are, puppy?”
“Puppy?” Taehyung asked faintly, stopping himself from reaching down to explore himself. “Is that—you—you call me that?”
“Mm, I do,” Yoongi said knowingly, smirking in a way that made a wave of lust roll in his stomach. “You like it, don’t you?”
Taehyung nodded, feeling more seen than he ever had. “I—uh-huh. Yeah.”
Yoongi huffed a laugh again before leaning back on the couch, looking at him expectantly. “Come here, baby, sit on my lap. Not like that—” he grabbed Taehyung’s hips as he went to do so, firmly turning him around so he would sit with his back against Yoongi’s chest, his legs on either side of Yoongi’s own. “There.”
Taehyung swallowed, squirming to adjust. He didn’t miss the vulnerability of this position—especially when Yoongi spread his own legs, parting Taehyung's wider, unable to close unless he moved them from over Yoongi’s, which he did not want to do. He felt faint, but it was not a bad thing. “Oh.”
“Good boy,” Yoongi whispered in his ear, wrapping his arms around his waist just in time to feel the full-body shiver that came from the praise. “Look at you, Tae-yah.”
Taehyung glanced up as Yoongi gestured and startled when he saw his reflection on the dark television screen. He looked obscene already, with his legs spread, his pussy on display. His lips didn’t reveal his hole yet, though, still innocently closed even as wet as they were, waiting for someone to coax him open. Yoongi’s own reflections caught his eyes, his smirk causing Taehyung to blush even more, moving his legs like he thought about closing them, but thought twice when Yoongi reached down to press a large hand against his belly.
“I love seeing you like this,” he whispered. “We do this sometimes. You let me play with you during movie nights. You let the others play with you.”
“N-no,” Taehyung breathed out. “You let them play with me.”
Yoongi laughed at the correction and kissed his shoulder fondly. “Yeah, you’re right. No one would touch you if I didn’t allow it.”
“I like it?” Taehyung asked, whimpering quietly when Yoongi’s hand drifted lower, his fingers barely brushing the start of his pubic mound.
“You love it. You love the attention. You love us looking at you, touching you, telling you how beautiful you are—” Yoongi’s hand drifted lower, drawing out another gasp, “how much we love you.”
“Oh—” Taehyung’s eyes went a little misty at that. The Taehyung of 2013 was convinced no one in Bangtan loved him, that none of them would ever love him, even if they tolerated him more often than not. But Yoongi was telling him that they loved Taehyung of now, loved how he looked, how he acted, how he felt—it was almost overwhelming. What was definitely overwhelming was Yoongi’s fingers ghosting over his sensitive clit.
Taehyung had never been touched like that—he barely touched himself, much less anyone else doing it to him—and he had a hunch that the only reason he didn’t come right then was just because Taehyung’s body was more used to it than Taehyung himself, otherwise the plain thought of being wanted would be enough to ruin him.
Though he didn’t have too much knowledge of himself, he knew that his clit was sensitive, and he could almost come with enough stimulation. It appeared that Yoongi knew that, too, because he stayed away from it after that, instead choosing to run his fingers up and down the still-modest slit of his pussy, smiling into Taehyung’s shoulder when his hips jerked up involuntarily, trying to get more.
“Stay still, puppy,” Yoongi admonished and Taehyung hurried to obey. “Let hyung take care of you. Let hyung prove it.”
Taehyung heard the tease in Yoongi’s voice but nodded quickly anyways, gripping his own thighs, digging his nails in and leaving red crescent moons as he tried to stay still. Yoongi clicked his tongue and grabbed both of his wrists, roughly pulling them off. “Uhn—”
“Don’t,” Yoongi said, and the admonishment was legitimate that time. “Don’t hurt yourself, puppy. You’ll stay still because I told you to.”
Taehyung felt shaky already and nodded again, taking a deep breath. “T-touch? Please?”
Yoongi kept gripping Taehyung’s wrists for a moment to remind him to stay put before they returned to holding him, one pressing his stomach comfortingly and the other traveling to his pussy. “Such a pretty boy. My handsome puppy.”
Taehyung blushed again, spreading his legs a little wider.
Yoongi just laughed, tracing a barely-there trail up and down his lips before parting them, just a little, spreading them expertly with his fingers. “Watch yourself.”
Taehyung could never imagine disobeying and he quickly looked back at his reflection in the television, at his pink pussy, at Yoongi’s beautiful hand holding him slightly apart. “Hyung, I—”
Yoongi continued to trace up and down, feather-light, but this time barely brushing over his hole with each stroke. Taehyung moaned at the very first one and very nearly screamed at the laugh from the doorway. He spun around to see Hoseok smiling like it was completely normal to see his namdongsaeng spread naked on his hyung’s lap, looking at his pussy like it was expected.
“Using your time with Taehyungie wisely, Yoongi-yah?” he asked with a smirk, looking Taehyung over top to bottom and back again. Taehyung vaguely noticed the lack of honorific but was too focused on Hoseok’s eyes lingering on his pussy, a wave of unfamiliar lust making him even more wet. “Pretty.”
Taehyung whimpered loudly, leaning helplessly against Yoongi’s chest.
Yoongi laughed and pinched the lips of his pussy together, making him moan even louder. “Isn’t he?”
Hoseok sat in the nearby armchair, moving it to give him a better view of the scene. “Do you remember what he told us, hyung? When you first started—?”
Yoongi hummed as he thought before freezing, looking up at Hoseok. “Oh, fuck.”
“What—” Taehyung gasped, trying to move into Yoongi’s hand, unable to keep his hips from seeking more friction. “What did I tell you?”
“That you’d never come before,” said Yoongi, a pure statement of fact.
“Oh,” Taehyung gasped, bucking into his hand again when Yoongi took it away. “I—n-no, I haven’t, I—”
“Hush, sweetheart,” Hoseok smiled—he was always beautiful, but now that he was looking at Taehyung with fondness and warmth in his eyes, he was the most gorgeous person in the world. But he glanced at Yoongi’s reflection behind his own and thought maybe there was competition. “Yoongi-yah will take care of you.”
“If you’re okay with that,” Yoongi added.
He brushed over his hole again, making Taehyung jump, letting out a soft whimper. “Please? Please, I’ve never—I want—”
Yoongi hummed and kissed his shoulder. “It’ll be like your first time, even if it’s not your first with us. And—” he dipped a finger just barely into his hole, just enough to tease, to slick up his fingers. “you won’t be as nervous as you would be if I fucked you, right? We’ll save that first for your own time.”
“But you’ll—hyung, you’ll make me come? Really, you will?”
Yoongi circled his clit and the sudden wet pressure made his thighs shake, almost trying to close but stopped by Yoongi’s own legs forcing them back apart. “Of course I will. Relax, puppy. Seok?”
Hoseok picked up the unknown cue and leaned forward touching Taehyung’s knee and smiling at him warmly. “You’re such a good boy, Taehyungie. You’re so beautiful and we love you so much—”
Taehyung wasn’t used to the rush of excitement that coursed through him, especially paired with the slide of Yoongi’s long fingers up and down the length of his pussy.
Hoseok grinned knowingly, coming closer to watch. “So pretty, sweet boy. You’re being so good for hyung, aren’t you? You’re being so good, doing exactly what we ask.”
“G-good?” Taehyung gasped out, bucking into Yoongi’s hand as it neared his clit and whining when he didn’t allow him the contact.
“So good, puppy,” Yoongi confirmed.
Taehyung wanted desperately to know what his own reaction would be when he heard ‘puppy’ for the first time, wanted to know if it made him feel as lightheaded as it did now, wanted to know what Yoongi’s face looked like when he said it, what Hoseok’s eyes lit up, how the fuck Hoseok even got involved, how the leadup to it all must have killed him, there was no way he wasn’t dead right then—
But then Yoongi began to press one long finger into him, slowly, gently, more than Taehyung had ever dared to try to do himself. If he was dead, he was in heaven, but the feeling of Yoongi in him was way, way too real to be anything but raw life. “F-fuck—”
“Look at you,” Hoseok cooed, leaning forward to rub his thigh. “Look how well you take Yoongi-hyung, sweet boy, look how wet you are for him—”
He was dripping, he could feel it drip from his pussy to his asshole to Yoongi’s pants, the thought making him whine. A second finger slid in beside the first and he whined in earnest then, the slight stretch not even burning like it did whenever he tried to do it himself. Yoongi pumped his fingers into him a few times, going deeper each thrust but keeping his pace almost torturously slow.
He pulled out entirely after a moment and Taehyung keened at the loss. “No!”
Wet fingers touched Taehyung’s lips and he realized, his lips parting, tongue lolling out to taste, to let Yoongi in, to suckle at his own slick like it was ambrosia. He licked them clean, grabbing Yoongi by the wrist when he tried to pull away.
Hoseok laughed, standing to kiss Taehyung’s temple. “That’s our puppy, always wants something in his mouth.”
“Always wants something in his pussy, too,” Yoongi added, resting his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder and briefly nosing his neck, allowing him to keep his hand in place. “But, our puppy needs to decide which he wants more right now.”
Taehyung stilled, blinked, and let go of Yoongi’s wrists, blushing when his hyungs laughed. He spread his legs a little more as Yoongi trailed back down, gathering more wetness on his fingers and bringing it back up to his lips, smearing it on them obscenely. Taehyung licked at them almost desperately as Yoongi started to finger him again, angling just so and pressing the heel of his hand onto his clit, giving him just enough pressure to make him feel insane.
“Hyung,” he breathed out. A fire was building in his stomach, familiar but always unattainable. “Please—please, please—”
“He doesn’t know what he’s asking for,” Hoseok said fondly, kissing his temple again. “Have fun, babies. I’ll let you keep this for yourselves.”
Yoongi hummed in assent as Hoseok left them alone, never slowing down, never taking the pressure away. “You’re always so hot, always so wet for me.”
Taehyung nodded quickly, breaths coming out in pants, little whimpers slipping out with every one. “Please—”
“Are you going to come, little pup? Are you gonna come for me?”
He threw his head back, gripping at whatever he could reach without grabbing his thighs because Yoongi had told him not to and he never, ever wanted to disobey him. “I want—” but the fire wasn’t close, it wasn’t within reach, it wasn’t enough—
But Yoongi knew because the Yoongi of now knew him and his other hand joined the first, sliding quickly over his clit, back and forth, the perfect pace that he knew was the perfect pace, and the fire grew, swelling in his stomach, in his pussy, in his heart. He arched into his touch over and over, holding his breath because breathing was a waste of energy and he wanted every single bit of himself focused on the feeling of Yoongi touching him, of Yoongi wanting him to come, of Yoongi making him come.
He knew he was much too loud, desperate moans escaping him whenever he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, especially as the fire threatened to overtake him.
“Fuck,” he breathed out, lightheaded and burning. “Fuck, fuck, hyung, please—”
“Come,” Yoongi demanded.
Who was Taehyung to disobey?
He came with a silent yell, muscles seizing as he was overtaken by the first orgasm of his life, overwhelmed by the fact that it was all because of Yoongi, all because of Yoongi who had hated him but now loved him, that called him puppy, that told him he was a good boy. Yoongi took his hand away from his clit before it could become painfully sensitive, but left his fingers inside, lazily thrusting, letting his hole clench around him as he still came down from the peak.
Taehyung felt soft kisses press onto his neck as he returned to his body. Yoongi maneuvered him off of his lap, laying him down on the couch and spooning around him, holding him close. He was murmuring quietly but Taehyung couldn’t process anything he was saying. But he did hear ‘love you,’ and ‘good boy,’ and the honesty in his voice and it all brought tears to his eyes.
“I never thought—” he whispered as Yoongi spread his large hand over his stomach. “Thank you, Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi huffed a laugh and squeezed him tight. “Don’t thank me, puppy. Making you come is one of my favorite things to do. Top ten, at least.”
Taehyung whined and looked at him over his shoulder, brows furrowed. “Just ten?”
“Top three,” he corrected with a roll of his eyes. “Greedy.”
“No,” Yoongi admitted. “You’re not. You’re—selfless, sweetheart, you really are. You always want to serve me first, I have to convince you to let me take care of you sometimes.”
Taehyung hummed and settled into him a little more. “Want me to take care of you now?”
“Ha, well—no need.”
“But it’s not fair—” he whined.
“What?” Taehyung blinked, looking back at him, eyes widening at Yoongi’s blush. “When you were—?” Yoongi nodded and Taehyung burst into giggles, turning around quickly to rub their noses together. His body remembered it as a familiar action, even when it was unfamiliar to his current brain. “Cause of me?”
“Of course because of you, hush,” he grumbled.
Taehyung giggled again, wriggling down til he could tuck himself close against his chest. “That’s so cute, hyung.”
“Aish!” Yoongi huffed, reaching to smack his ass; it just made Taehyung giggle more. “It’s not cute, shut it.”
“Is. You’re cute—”
“You’re getting bold, Kim Taehyung.”
Taehyung was surprised that the words didn’t make him cringe away, but there was distinct love in Yoongi’s voice that made him quiet down and snuggle closer, pressing his cheek to his chest and listening to thump of his heart. “You really love me?”
“I do,” Yoongi whispered, pressing a kiss onto his hair. “I love you so much.”
“I love all of you,” he added before Taehyung could even ask. “My beautiful puppy. All mine.”
Taehyung woke up the next morning in his own bed. It was narrow and dark, the sounds of the other boys waking up and moving around unmistakable and familiar.
He went out to their dinky kitchen; Jimin was there, just like he had been the morning before, and barely spared Taehyung a glance when he turned around.
“There’s rice,” he said, and Taehyung nodded.
Namjoon filed in, bleach-blonde, overworked. “Morning,” he grunted.
Taehyung could hear Seokjin in the hall on the phone with his mother, another familiar sound.
Hoseok was already in the studio, Taehyung knew. He was an early riser, eager to prove himself, even though he didn’t really need to.
Jungkook rubbed his eyes when he came in, baby-faced and so young, shy, ready to take on the world.
Then Yoongi—grumpy, exhausted, genius Yoongi—appeared in the door, and Taehyung was enraptured. He couldn’t figure out why; he looked as he always did, just as sullen and handsome, but there was something Taehyung couldn’t name fluttering in his chest.
“Hi, hyung,” he said quietly, just for Yoongi to hear.
He looked at him oddly for a moment before dismissing him entirely, heading to the coffee machine in an effort to survive the day.
Taehyung wasn’t as sad as he usually was, he realized. He didn’t feel as lonely. There was something light in his heart, not quite happiness, not quite hope, but something sweet in between. He ate his rice and watched the rest of his group slowly wake up, steeling themselves for the long, long day of practice ahead of them.
He didn’t know why he was so confident now, why he had such soft feelings in his chest, but he was sure that there were good things to come, that they would get better—as a group, as people, as friends. It would take time, but he had time to give. He didn’t want to give it to anything else.
Yoongi didn’t look at him as he set a hot cup of tea beside Taehyung’s bowl, but he did glance at him when Taehyung sipped it. He shot him a little smile over the rim, and the scowl he received in return didn't sting as much as it should.
He had time.