her~her~

It's an hour before the party is due to start, and Soonyoung has just turned up at your apartment to get ready together, just like always. He has the parcel of costumes in his arms, and a bright, excited grin on his face when he hands it over to you to allow him to remove his shoes.

“I haven't opened it yet,” he informs, watching you walk over to the couch to lean the parcel against the arm and open it like you know he wants you to. Soonyoung knows you get an odd sense of joy from opening parcels— whether or not they're for you—, so he often brings his orders over or invites you to his apartment to allow you to open them for him.

“So I see,” you muse with a little giggle.

Soonyoung appears at your back a moment later, leaning his chin on your shoulder to peer into the bag as you open it.

The first costume out is his, packaged in another bag, though this one is clear, revealing the cardboard insert with a picture of a man donning the costume on the front. He takes it happily when you offer it and bounces aside to start to open it excitedly.

There's only one more item in the bag, your costume, so you take it out, as excited about your matching pirate outfits as Soonyoung is. Up until you turn the packet over to look at the picture and realise that this truly is not what you expected. Especially not from your best friend.

“What the actual fuck, Kwon Soonyoung?!” you demand, flabbergasted.

“Uh-oh, the full name.” Soonyoung looks up at you in alarm, all signs of joy gone. “Did they send the wrong thing?”

“I hope so, because if you saw this on the site and still ordered it, you and I are going to have some issues.” You turn the packet to show him the picture on the cardboard insert.

A picture of a woman in a tiny pair of high-waisted shorts— if they can even be considered that— with fishnet tights underneath. There's an attempt at a white top that honestly could be a lot worse; it's off the shoulder and cropped, but it's not as bad as it could be for a female-focused costume, yet still far too revealing for your liking. To finish it off, she's wearing a striped bandana on her head, and grasping a plastic sword in her hands. You're very certain that the sword alone is the only reason the packet is this big, because there's certainly not enough material creating the costume to require such a size bag.

Soonyoung stares at the picture for a second, then looks up at you with a confused little pout. “It's a pirate outfit.”

“Show me yours,” you demand with a sigh. He doesn't hesitate to move over and hand you his costume, still just about in the packet.

There's a very clear difference in costumes. The picture on this packet depicts a man in three-quarter length, vertically striped, trousers; and a simple, white shirt with an open neckline, revealing a thin, triangular strip of skin down to his sternum. It’s finished with the same bandana as your costume, and a plastic sword. Though, the man's sword is a lot bigger than the woman's sword. Of course, the men get the big boy sword and the women get the toothpick.

“You seriously don't see a problem with this?” you ask, holding the two packets side by side so that he can see the photos together.

Poor, naive Soonyoung looks between the pictures rapidly in a desperate attempt to understand. Yet he winds up just shaking his head as he looks at you with such an innocent expression that you know that he seriously doesn't understand the problem here at all.

“Then you can wear this one,” you declare while handing him the woman's outfit, before turning to stalk off to your bedroom.

“What?!” he sputters, scrambling to follow you down the short corridor. “This is for women!”

“You've said before; clothes have no gender!” you remind, turning at the threshold with a hand on your open door ready to close it, and a sweet smile on your face. “If you want to match with me, Soonyoungie, you wear that, and I'll wear this.”

He stares between you and the packet in his hand for a moment before agreeing with a nod and a simple “Okay.”

And that right there, is your second mistake.

When you had told Soonyoung to wear that outfit, you really hadn’tbeen prepared for how fucking good he'd look in the skimpy little outfit. Now, you have to spend the next hours at Seungkwan's bustling apartment pretending that your gaze isn't constantly locating Soonyoung in the dim lighting as he happily dances amongst other costumed bodies.

Sure, you've seen Soonyoung topless before, so you know the man has a frankly incredible body— usually hidden under the baggy clothes that he prefers to wear—, but the sexy little pirate outfit highlights his strong torso and biceps so well.

The cropped top stops at his sternum, giving full view of the top half of his defined abs, the bottom half hidden by the high waist of the shorts. And those shorts? They really do not leave a lot to the imagination at all. Soonyoung has spent the entire night so far carefully doing his best to keep the sword strapped around his hips carefully located to dangle in front of his crotch to keep some of his dignity.

You had obligingly given him the bigger sword when you had realised that the 'woman's' sword wasn't exactly wide enough to cover him. Neither of you had made eye contact when you handed it over without a word, because you both knew what it meant; that you had obviously seen the bulge of his flaccid dick in the tight shorts. Which, honestly, had only made you wonder how big he is when hard, and that is a thought that you usually try to avoid, thinking of your best friend in a sexual situation.

Though his pure existence alone makes it very hard. No pun intended.

Kwon Soonyoung doesn't realise how attractive he is, and you're kind of grateful about it. Because if that unfairly effortlessly attractive man knows how hot he is, then you know he'll be cocky and dress to show off more often than just for nights out or special occasions, and you would not mentally survive that.

As it is, you're not sure you'll survive tonight.

“One day, you two are going to stop being stupid and just fuck it out,” Chan comments from your right where he stands in his doctor's outfit. Seungkwan's wearing a matching one somewhere else in the apartment and you really can't tell if it's intentional or not with those two. They're always bickering and acting like they hate each other, but they're always the first the other goes to for any reason whatsoever.

“Please make it before the end of summer so I don't lose money,” Seungcheol requests from your left, leaning against the wall with you, and dressed in a suit just like his own best friend and roommate, wherever she has disappeared to. She's likely with Junhui, based on the way the pair have been eyeing each other for the past hour— and since they met really, but that's another story entirely.

“You assholes have bets on us fucking?” you gawp in betrayed disbelief at the suited man.

“Yup,” Seungcheol confirms shamelessly, while Chan tries to sputter out a denial that makes you level the youngest with an unimpressed look.

However, it doesn't last because you hear Soonyoung's loud voice, even over the music, and automatically look over to where your best friend is trying to stop Seokmin from grabbing at his sword. No euphemism, even if the plastic is in the right place.

“Looks like Seok's going to get further with your boy than you ever have,” Seungcheol sniggers. You shove his arm, making him laugh harder.

“Swordplay,” Chan giggles to himself, then wanders off without another word to refill his cup after swallowing the last of its contents.

“Seriously though, you should, like, go fuck him,” Seungcheol says a moment later, when Soonyoung has successfully distracted Seokmin by grabbing the younger's hands to make him dance with him. Soonyoung shoots you a world-weary, wide-eyed look that makes you snicker and wave innocently at him.

“You really don't want to lose money, huh?”

“It's not even about that, just… you two. This has been going on for over a year now; this gross pining shit. Just sit on his dick and ask him on a date; it's not that hard.”

“You can't say shit, Cheol,” you remind.

“Hey, I've fucked her, regularly,” he defends with a pout before sipping at his drink.

“Oh yeah, because fucking your best friend who you've been in love with since childhood while encouraging her to go after your friend, who she's been mutually eye-fucking for the past three months, is so much better,” you retort sarcastically and give him a look.

He can't refute it at all, it's entirely true, and he's confided in you enough for you both to know that he's constantly making his own heartbreak worse by continuing to indulge his best friend, both in bed and when she comes home and whines over how good Junhui looks.

“We're as bad as each other,” he decides after a second.

“Don't lump me with you. I've never fucked him.” You scoff and turn back around to naturally locate Soonyoung where he's back to smiling away as he dances with Seokmin and some others.

“You want to.”

“Yeah, I really fucking do,” you exhale, and then swallow down the last of your drink, only to frown down into the empty disposable cup. “I need a real drink.”

“You know you can't drink around him like this or you will ask to suck his dick,” Seungcheol reminds you of the very reason why you're always the designated driver when Soonyoung dresses up.

Because yes, you have come close to getting on your knees in the middle of a club for him. Luckily, Seungcheol had noticed and took you home before you actually acted on the urge to publicly defile your best friend. Unluckily, Seungcheol had noticed and hasn’t failed to mention it at every chance. But at least it's stayed between the two of you.

“At this rate, I'll do it regardless,” you mutter, still frowning into your empty cup. “Back in a bit.” Seungcheol just grunts to show he heard before you slump off to the kitchen to refill your cup with one of the non-alcoholic beverages lining the counter.

You've barely finished filling your cup when a familiar hand reaches around you and picks it up to start gulping down. Even though you know it's Soonyoung, you still look over your right shoulder where he's chugging down the drink, entirely unaware of your thirsty gaze watching the drop of liquid that escapes from the corner of his mouth trail down over his chin and jaw, and down his neck to catch on his collar bone. You refrain from leaning in to slurp it up and lick your way up the trail it left all the way to Soonyoung's mouth. Even if you really want to do just that, and more. Much more.

Instead of staring at the way his throat bobs as he swallows down the last drops, you turn back around and wait for him to place the cup down so that you can refill it. And then he grabs it again before you can, making you groan in complaint. “Seriously?"”

“M'thirsty,” he defends, barely pulling the cup away and accidentally dribbling some of the liquid from his mouth onto your shoulder. You look at him in disgust. He just grins sweetly and kisses your cheek in a sticky, apologetic way before leaning back up to get back to his task of once again, stealing your drink.

At least this time when you've refilled the cup, he doesn't steal it away and lets you actually lift it to your own mouth. You can feel his eyes on you as you drink, so you side-eye him questioningly without moving the cup away.

“Are you taking Seungcheol home again?” he asks, stepping closer to you as someone passes too close behind him; his left hand falls to your hip and his right onto the counter, sort of caging you in, though you know it's unintentional— even if you wish it wasn't.

“He can take himself home, he's not drinking tonight,” you reply, distracted by the feeling of plastic pressing against you. “Your sword is digging into my ass.”

Soonyoung lets go of the counter to tug his sword belt around and lays the toy on the outside of his left thigh, leaving him pressed directly against you. You genuinely can't tell if he's even noticed that as he seems to be focused on the conversation, judging by the concentrated furrow of his eyebrows. “That's not what I mean and you know it.”

“If I know it, wouldn't I respond to what you mean?” You give him a look; puzzled by his words, and hoping he understands that you seem to very much not be having the same conversation here, and you are completely unaware of the conversation he's having with you.

“Not when you're both pretending nothing's happening.”

“What?” You nudge him back enough so that you can turn and face him, which admittedly, is not your smartest move when he moves straight back in. He doesn't press against you again, but his left foot is between both of yours as you lean your ass back against the counter. Any closer and his thigh will be very close to pressing to your crotch.

“Come on, I'm your best friend, I think you should at least be honest with me, even if you play ignorant with the others.” He frowns and leans heavier onto his right hand on the counter beside your hip, bringing him in closer so that he doesn't have to talk so loudly to be heard over the music. “You two often leave together when we go out. And even though his place is closer than mine, you drop me off first so it's just you two left. I'm not stupid.”

“Wait, you think that's so we can go fuck?” you realise with wide eyes.

“It's obvious; you always find each other when we're all together like this and spend the whole fucking night hiding off to the side whispering to each other.”

You can't help but laugh. “Do you all think we're fucking?” He nods in confirmation. You laugh again. “Oh man, I gotta tell Cheolie this.” You start to push off the counter with every intention of going to find the older man, knowing he will find it as hilarious as you do, but Soonyoung puts his left hand on your lower stomach to push you back, and then he pushes himself against you to pin you there. “Soonyoung–”

“No.”

“What? No? No what?"”

“I'm not letting you go back to him. You came with me, you're staying with me, and leaving with me, no one else,” he declares firmly.

You stare up at him trying to decipher what the fuck is actually going on right now; what prompted this sudden conversation and behaviour. Not that Soonyoung has never pinned you before, but it's usually playful as he whines and pouts cutely to get his way, or to just joke around. But he's entirely serious now and looking at you with something kind of dark in his eyes.

Admittedly, it's pretty fucking hot.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, even if you know he's not; you can't smell any alcohol on him, and drunk Soonyoung gets cuddly and clingy, not whatever this is.

“You know I'm not.” He places his left hand on the counter on your other side, well and truly caging you in, and causing him to lean down a little closer to reach comfortably.

“Then why are you suddenly acting like this?”

“It's not sudden.” You give him a look. “Okay, fine, acting on it is; but wanting to, that's not sudden. I've wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Then why haven't you?”

“Because I care about you too much.” He frowns a little as he takes in your features from up close, gaze catching on your lips for a few seconds before lifting back up to meet your eyes. “There's a bet, you know, about us fucking?”

“I just found out.” You pull a displeased expression. “Cheol's in on that, you know? He wouldn't bet on us fucking before the end of summer if he's fucking me.”

“He is?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “They made it sound like he's against the bet; said he's been trying to stop them from talking me into it.”

“Yeah, no, he just told me to fuck you. He's always telling me to fuck you.”

“Oh.” He licks his lips as his eyes divert thoughtfully. “Guess I should stop being a dick to him then.”

“You've been a dick to him?” you ask, genuinely surprised. You really haven't noticed Soonyoung acting badly towards Seungcheol at all.

“Mm, I always take his favourite snacks at movie night.”

You can't help but burst into giggling laughter at his confession. Of course, the man doesn't have a single genuinely mean bone in his body and would think purposely taking someone's favourite snacks would be a giant dick move. You bet he's been feeling kind of guilty about it while, no doubt, Seungcheol hasn't even noticed.

“What? why're you laughing?” He pouts at you.

“Oh, Soonie, you're so fucking cute,” you coo and cup his cheeks fondly. He smiles a little dopily at the compliment; the same smile he reserves for you and your doting attention on him, even if neither of you have noticed that. The rest of your friends have though.

“Nice ass,” you hear before Soonyoung's hips jerk into you when he yelps and tries to escape the slap that lands on his ass.

“Hey!” he complains, looking over his shoulder to pout at Jeonghan as the man appears from behind your best friend.

You really can't tell exactly what Jeonghan is supposed to be; you think it's some kind of anime character, or something kinky. Maybe both. Either way, his costume is a strange mix of faux black leather, and shimmery red, lacy wings. And he pulls it off unfairly well, considering that you know he hadn't been prepared for the party this morning at all.

“What? Don't look at me like I'm disturbing something,” Jeonghan scoffs, reaching around you to grab the same big plastic bottle you had been filling your cup from. Though he stops and looks at the way Soonyoung is very much pressed against you. Jeonghan grins after noticing that Soonyoung's crotch is definitely smushed against your upper thigh; something you have been doing your best to ignore yourself because yes you can feel everything through the thin material covering you both. “Or maybe I am.” He smirks at you both.

“What are you supposed to be exactly?” you ask in an attempt to change the topic to one that won't kill your last remaining dregs of sanity. Then again, with the things that come out of Yoon Jeonghan's mouth, you could still be rendered insane, but for a reason other than feeling your best friend's dick pressed against you.

“No idea, just grabbed some shit from Hao's costume closet.” Jeonghan shrugs as he looks down at himself. “Kind of think this might be less about his costume designing and more about sex though.”

“He's definitely worn that harness while fucking someone,” you agree, and reach out to hook your finger over the thick horizontal strap over Jeonghan's chest. You're pretty sure it's directly over his nipples, but the slightly sheer tank top he's wearing underneath the harness kind of obscures your view enough that you don't have confirmation.

“Mm, definitely,” Jeonghan agrees, and smirks at you. “Want to take it home yourself?”

“And take it from you? I wouldn't dare, you look so handsome, Hannie,” you coo, playing along with the flirty banter you two have always partaken in. Not because anything has ever happened between you, nor will it; you've discussed it plenty of times to make sure you're both on the same page. But it's just fun to harmlessly flirt.

“Never said I won't be wearing it.” He licks his lips and gives you a suggestive look.

“You're not going home with her,” Soonyoung argues firmly, crowding up against you further; though his gaze is on Jeonghan in warning, so he misses the way your eyes widen and dart down to where Soonyoung is now pressing his dick against your hip with his own thigh pressing up between your thighs. Jeonghan doesn't miss it though and cackles, leaving without another word with his cup and the entire bottle of drink clasped in his hands.

“S–Soonyoung,” you stammer, hands fluttering at his sides, wanting to push him back for your sanity, but you think putting your hands on his exposed skin will just make you pull him closer.

“Do you have to flirt with him all the time?” He frowns at you, entirely unaware of the screaming in your mind; mostly just sounds with the odd yell of the word penis. He'd probably laugh if he heard it, to be honest, just because of the word penis. He wouldn't even realise it's his penis you're mentally screaming about. “And when I'm right here too. Did you forget I'm here or something?”

“No,” you choke out.

“Then why– are you okay?” He suddenly realises how wide your eyes are.

“I can feel your dick,” you blurt, unable to think of anything else.

He blinks at you for a moment, then looks down at where he's pressed against you as if he hasn't even noticed until now. “Oh.” He pulls his hips back, and his thigh from between yours, making you let out a heavy, shaky exhale as your body relaxes a little. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Ha, not the word I'd use.”

“What word would you use?”

If he was any other man, you'd say the little quirk of his head and innocent eyes locked onto you is fake; just some kind of game, a way to flirt. But it's Kwon Soonyoung, and you've seen this man miss the most obvious of flirtations since you've known him. The number of times you or the guys have had to bluntly tell him that someone had been trying to take him home to fuck, is frankly absurd.

“Stop touching my ass!” his sudden exclamation makes you jump a little, while he looks over his shoulder in annoyance, glaring at Seungkwan, who's giving him an innocent look.

“I'm very happy that you two are finally doing something about your consistent sexual tension and mutual pining, but take it out of my kitchen, please. I don't want to have to burn my home down if you defile my counters,” the younger man speaks bluntly with a slightly sweet edge to his words. You can't even see him, but you just know that he's got that too sweet smile on his face that always feels more threatening than anything.

“What?” Soonyoung blinks at him puzzled as the annoyance of his ass being grabbed melts away. “We're not doing anything.”

“Hannie told me you're being possessive, and we all know that she likes that, so–”

“Hey!” you exclaim offendedly, not because you can argue it, but just more that you're being talked about like you're not here. “She has a name!”

“Well, take Soonie home and he can moan it for the neighbours to hear.” Seungkwan gives you that sweet-threatening smile as he leans around Soonyoung to meet your gaze. “My neighbours don't want to hear it.”

“My neighbours won't hear that,” you scoff.

Soonyoung can't help but frown; he feels like he's just been rejected, even though he hadn't even gotten to the point of actually asking to take you home and fuck you like he wants to, like your mutual friends had convinced him you want him to. But your firm dismissal of Seungkwan's words sounds like you putting that boundary securely in place before he can even ask to tumble over it into your arms.

“He's loud–” Seungkwan starts to point out, but you're not done talking, even if you had taken a quick scoff break.

“I don't live in a cheap-ass building with paper for walls like you do, Kwannie,” you finish.

Both men stare at you for a second; Seungkwan at first just blinks in surprise at the fact you're not even disputing the Soonyoung moaning your name part, just whether or not your neighbours will hear. And Soonyoung is full-on gawping at you, mouth open and eyes wide, wondering if this means that boundary even exists between you.

“Does that mean you won't get a noise complaint? He’s pretty loud, you know? There's a reason we don't live together anymore.”

“I don't know,” you reply with a shrug.

“Then go fucking home already and stop humping against my kitchen counter!” Seungkwan grabs Soonyoung by his hips to yank him backwards away from you, while the scantily dressed pirate yelps and flails a little at the unexpected action. Then he's shoved towards the kitchen exit while Seungkwan grabs your wrist to tug you along.

You're both too genuinely dumbstruck by Seungkwan's sudden, forceful actions to do anything but stumble along until you're both outside of the apartment, shoes in hands, and staring in shock at the door that's just been shut in your faces.

“Did we just get kicked out?” you mutter.

Soonyoung nods slowly and then looks at you. “I think we got kicked out for sex.”

“Is it still sexile if you're the ones getting kicked out and told to go elsewhere to fuck?” you muse, attention downwards as you focus on shoving your feet into your shoes with one hand on the wall behind you, and the other out in the air pointlessly.

“Uh, reverse sexile?” he offers, dropping his shoes to shove his feet into.

“Sounds like a sex position.”

He laughs. “What would that even look like?”

“No idea.” You grin at him, then figure that, well, it seems like you've both been outed enough already, seeing as all of your friends have stopped hiding the fact that they expect you to finally have sex, which really implies a mutual attraction. So, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth for a second as he frowns down at his shoe that just will not accept his right foot for some reason. “Shall we go find out?”

Immediately, Soonyoung looks up at you with wide eyes. “What?”

“Shall we go find out what reverse sexile looks like?”

“Like...us?”

“Yeah, Soonyoung, us,” you confirm with an amused twitch of your lips. “You said you're the only one to go home with me, right?” He nods. “Then let's go home and find out, Soonie.”

“Ye–no, wait.” He steps closer and takes your hand gently before you can start walking down the hall to the staircase. His fingers are barely holding onto your own. It's perhaps the most cautious he's ever taken your hand into his. Even the very first time you held hands, he had boldly laced your fingers together, and you had only met ten minutes previously.

“No?” you ask, feeling really kind of stupid all of a sudden. You had been so unusually confident in asking him to go home and fuck you.

“Not because I don't want to because I do seriously, I really want to fuck you,” he breathes out, sounding rather affected by the thought alone as he stares at you longingly and holds your hand a little more securely. “I just...I don't want it to wind up like Seungcheol.”

“Uh, what about Seungcheol?” You shuffle a little closer while giving him a questioning look.

“Regularly fucking his best friend who has a crush on someone else, while he...while he wants her as more than just company in his bed.” The way his expression turns serious and yearning makes your heart start to race a little with hope. 

“While he...Are you saying you want more?” you ask quietly.

“Earlier, when I said I care about you too much, I meant I care too much to be able to have sex with you if it means nothing. I really fucking like you, and I don't want to go home with you like this if you don't feel the same. I can't do that.” He shakes his head a little. “As much as I've thought about this, about you and me doing all kinds of kinky shit all over your apartment, and mine when Jihoon isn't there. Or when he is, if you're into exhibitionism; I don't know your kinks, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't even notice anyway because he never leaves his fucking room, an–” He's rambling at this point, frowning down at your connected hands as he talks.

“Soonyoung.” He makes a soft hum of a noise as he looks back up at you with rounded eyes. “We can talk kinks later, I'd really like to get back to the matter of it sounds like you're confessing to me?”

“Oh, right yeah, I guess I am.” He chuckles a little and nervously scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “So, uh, yeah, I really like you and uhm, I guess now comes the part where, hopefully, you say you like me back; but I really don't know if you do because the guys just really said you want to fuck me, and–” You cover his mouth with your hand this time to shut up his second bout of nervous rambling.

“I really like you too, Soonie,” you confirm softly, and giggle at the way his features light up adorably behind your palm. “Can we skip the trial dating bullshit and go straight to being together? I'd like to show you off as my boyfriend.” His eyes widen dramatically, and then he's nodding rapidly in agreement without dislodging your hand. “You're so cute,” you coo, and lean in just to press a kiss to the back of your hand over his mouth. He looks utterly betrayed and heartbroken when you lean back. “What?” You play innocent and lower your hand while backing up, lacing your fingers behind your back.

“You can't tease me like that, baby!” he whines, toddling after you, and dragging his feet in a sulk as he moves along the carpeted flooring of the hall.

“Tease? Me? Never.” You grin at him, then stop as your back hits the door to the staircase.

“You are. Teased me for the past year. Teasing me now,” he continues to mumble away as he nears, though cuts off when you reach out to grab the sword and yank on the plastic to pull him in right up against you. His hands automatically fly up to catch himself on the door above your head while his breath catches in his throat. 

“If you're so worried I'm going to keep teasing you, Soonie, you better hurry up and take what you want,” you warn in a low voice, chin tilted up so your faces are only inches apart.

Soonyoung groans in the back of his throat before he leans down and seals his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. He presses his left forearm flat against the door beside your head, so that he can firmly hold your jaw with his right hand and tilt you further into him with his thumb pushing on your chin to urge your mouth open wider and deepen the kiss in a manner much too filthy for a public hallway of your friend's apartment building.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” the loud voice of the friend in question forces you both apart, to peer over Soonyoung's shoulder to where Seungkwan is in the hallway with the cute neighbour he's recently started to date, their hands clasped together, and clearly with one intention in mind while sneaking away from his own party. They're standing outside of the neighbour's slightly open door, but Seungkwan is staring at you and Soonyoung in disbelief. “I told you to go home! Not get your booty here!”

“Ha, booty, pirate joke,” you snigger, and Soonyoung giggles; both at your amusement, and the pun he honestly hadn't even noticed.

“You two are fucking useless,” Seungkwan decides, and lets his neighbour tug him into the apartment. “You better be gone before I'm back!”

“90 seconds, right?!" Soonyoung calls as Seungkwan disappears. The younger's head pops back out to glare at the other and flip him a very heartfelt middle finger before the door actually shuts behind him that time. Soonyoung turns to look at you with a mischievous smirk. “Should we go fuck on his bed just to piss him off?”

“As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather only I hear you like that, Soonie.” You pout at him cutely. “I'm not very good at sharing my toys, you know.”

“Oh, I'm your toy now?” he muses, reaching down to open the door carefully and back you through it with his other arm wrapping around your waist.

“Mm, mine and only mine to play with when I want, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yours and yours only, baby,” he agrees lowly. “And you're mine.”

“I am,” you confirm, and tilt up to kiss him teasingly. “Let's hurry and get home so I can show you everything that now belongs to you.”

Soonyoung really doesn’t need any further encouragement and enthusiastically rushes out with his hand locked in yours and excitement on his face. He’s more than ready to unveil your body little by little and discover all of the sweet spots that make you loud enough that your neighbours will know his name before the night is over, thick walls be dammed.

Don't forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle, @jaja-salute

You have no idea what his name is, you’ve never spoken to him nor been in close proximity; but that doesn’t deter you from setting up in that same spot under the parasol for a few hours every few days, at roughly the same time, just to watch Mr. Hunky Lifeguard do his rounds, strolling topless up and down the sand, and helping where he can.

It’s sweet; the way he’ll help anyone who asks, even with matters you’re very certain are not a part of his job description. Judging impromptu sandcastle contests between kids. Blowing up beach balls. Helping older folk set up their beach chairs and parasols.

You can’t help but wonder if he’d help you apply sunscreen. His warm hands slipping over your thighs, working up, and up, and–

“Hey!” The voice of your best friend breaks you from your fantasies as she skips over happily, hands cupped together, and before she’s even close enough, you already know what’s in her hands. “Check this out!” She drops onto her knees at your side to proudly show you…a little crab. So not another shell to add to the pile gathering on the sand to your right, as you had assumed.

“A crab.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were looking for shells to decorate your castle with?” You both look over at the half-finished and, admittedly, rather grand sandcastle a little to the side, safely out of the way from any passerby.

“Every castle needs a King; don’t you think he’ll look crabulous on his throne?” You look back at your best friend to find her grinning at you, proud of her joke.

“Go find shells,” you deadpan, she just giggles and gets up to return to the rockpool where she had found the crab, to return it to its home.

Thoroughly distracted from your fantasy of the hot lifeguard, you have honestly forgotten about it and also happened to have lost track of him. Last you saw him, he was up on the deck of the watch tower, peering over the beach through binoculars, yet now, he’s nowhere to be seen.

With a disappointed sigh, you decide to just relax, leaning back against the bags you’ve piled up to create an impromptu backrest, and go back to reading your book.

It’s not even ten minutes later when a figure blocks your light and casts a shadow over your pages. You immediately assume it’s your friend from the way the figure lingers, and you lift your head with every intention of accepting whatever funky patterned rock or shell she’s found this time, yet it’s not her who you spot, but Mr. Hunky Lifeguard himself.

“Hi,” he greets, hands on his hips, and smiling at you in that bright, friendly way you’ve noticed him smiling at everyone else.

You take the moment with him so close to quickly rake your hidden gaze over his exposed, sun-kissed, toned torso and arms. Praise be to whoever invented dark sunglasses. “Hello.”

“Family day out?” he questions, motioning to the pile of plastic beach toys beside the sandcastle on your right, causing you to look over and only now realise how it must look; that you’re here with your child, not your grown ass adult of a best friend.

“Not exactly,” you huff a laugh and lean aside a little to peer around him. “My best friend,” you declare upon spotting said person, and pointing to her. To your surprise, she’s squatting down with another lifeguard— this one wearing the same red shorts, though he’s got a white sleeveless t-shirt on—, and rummaging through the sand with your friend.

“Oh!” The man in front of you lets out a surprised little laugh when he looks over too. “I’ve never seen Vernon interact like that with a stranger. Unless they know each other?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” You shrug and look back up at the tall man in time to see his body angle back around to give you his full attention.

You briefly wonder who exactly is looking over this section of the beach when both lifeguards are currently distracted on the sand.

“Huh, okay. I’m Mingyu.” He takes a step closer to lean over and offers his hand to you.

Your gaze catches on the chain around his neck and the way it swings as he leans over. You want to reach out and grab it, yank him down and defile the beach together. But that would get you arrested, and you really don’t want that. So, you lean up onto your knees to accept his hand to shake and tell him your name in return.

“Mm, pretty,” he hums, looking at you over the top of his dark sunglasses with a lopsided little smile. It feels flirty as fuck, but you don’t want to make assumptions that this beautiful man is interested in you.

“Oh, thank you.” You smile a little and take your hand back yet remain on your knees with your feet tucked comfortably under you as he straightens up. You can’t help but think about the fact that if he was a few feet closer, you’d be at face height with his dick and within reaching distance.

“You must really like the beach.”

“Huh?” You blink away the fantasy of slobbering all over Mingyu’s cock and seeing how pretty he looks when he cums down your throat, or maybe on your face; that’d be nice too.

“I said you must really like the beach; I’ve seen you here almost every day for almost a month now.”

“You noticed me?” you mutter in shock.

“Uhm.” Mingyu rubs the back of his neck awkwardly; his confident stance melting away as his shoulders curve in and make him appear smaller, embarrassed. Cute. “I–It’s my job. To notice things. People. You know. To ma–make sure people are safe.”

“I see.” You hum and tilt your head a little without even noticing; amused and endeared by him. As if he isn’t already attractive enough just by existing; talking to him and realising he’s got this cute, shy side definitely draws you in further.

“Y–yep!” He laughs awkwardly and straightens to his full height again while putting his hands on his hips. “Well, I should get back to it. Nice to meet you!” And then he rushes off before you can even respond, leaving you watching him scuttle off and almost trip over a stray sandal in the sand, making you snicker. Mingyu flails to right himself, and then immediately looks over at you to see if you noticed. Realising that you had definitely seen him almost faceplant the sand, he gives an awkward, embarrassed little wave before turning and rushing off, quickly putting his face in his palms as he goes.

And just like that, the beach gets that much more interesting.

It’s a handful of days before you return to the beach; you had been busy with work, unfortunately, so you simply hadn’t had the time or energy to take the trip.

“I’m gonna dig a giant fucking hole today,” your best friend declares as you both put down your items in your usual spot and start to set up.

“To bury me? Work killed me, babe,” you retort dramatically.

“Please don’t bury bodies on the beach,” the unexpected male voice makes you jump and look over. To your surprise, a dripping wet Mingyu is standing a little behind you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply dumbly, doing your utmost to not ogle his shimmering chest, or the flex of his bicep as he lifts a hand to run his fingers through his wet hair to stop the salty water dripping over his face.

You’re, once again, very glad for tinted sunglasses.

“You’re wet,” your best friend comments, making you both look at her where she’s standing and looking between you both over the top of her sunglasses— you’re very certain she’s lowered them down her nose just to give you both this very pointed look.

“I was teaching a kid to swim, of course I’m wet.” Mingyu chuckles, motioning over his shoulder with his thumb in the direction of the sea behind him.

“Wasn’t talking to you.” Your best friend gives you a final look before pushing her sunglasses back up into place. “I’ll leave you to set up, I have places to be.” With that, she turns and walks off in the direction of the snack carts and shacks further down the beach, leaving you and Mingyu alone.

You appreciate that; the alone time with the attractive man, but what you don’t appreciate is having to set up on your own. “She could’ve at least opened the parasol first,” you mutter to yourself while looking at the giant umbrella in disdain.

“I can help!” Mingyu offers, bounding forward before you can even answer, to pick up the umbrella from the sand, biceps flexing as he moves. “Where do you want it?”

“Right here,” you reply without thought. He hums in understanding, even if he doesn’t truly understand; because you were definitely thinking about where you want him to rail you when you answered, not where you want the parasol set up. Still, Mingyu sets the parasol up and it is in the right place, so you find no reason to correct yourself, and instead thank him and get to work setting up the mat.

To your pleased surprise, Mingyu sticks around to help you finish setting up everything, making friendly conversation as he goes and smiling brighter every time he makes you laugh.

You wish he would keep you company for longer but his walkie-talkie crackles to life and announces that he’s needed, so he leaves you with a smile, and waves at you when he looks over his shoulder after jogging a little away.

It makes you feel all warm inside; how he seems to be genuinely interested in being near you. You just hope that it doesn’t take another three weeks before he decides to make a move if he plans to. You’re not confident enough yourself to make that move; you’d be utterly mortified if you’ve read this all wrong and he’s just being a genuinely nice guy who goes above and beyond for his job.

So, you just settle down with a new book and hold that hope next to that sun shining in your chest.

“This is perhaps the dumbest idea we’ve had and gone through with,” your best friend comments as the two of you stand ankle-deep in the sea with the rented surfboards ready for your lesson, and one of the two men who run the surf supply shack.

“You signed us up,” you point out, both of you watching the man in question as he removes his t-shirt on the shore to toss at his co-worker, who rolls his eyes.

You know the co-worker personally, but more because he somehow knows your best friend. His name is Joshua, and he, according to your bestie, has purposely set up this lesson with his co-worker, Seungcheol, because Joshua owes her for something or other. Honestly, you long ago stopped trying to keep track of the shenanigans of your bestie. Wisely too.

“Sorry about that, Shua had to tell me something,” Seungcheol apologises as he walks over to join you two, sans surfboard of his own, confusing you, but you don’t point it out.

“Sounds ominous,” you declare.

“No.” He chuckles, and motions to your best friend, who points at herself with wide eyes on view thanks to her sunglasses currently being propped on Joshua’s head so that they don’t get lost to sea, while yours are with your belongings. “Shua said you have really bad balance, so I should probably hold onto you.”

“Terrible balance,” your best friend agrees seriously without missing a beat, even if you know she’s lying at least a little.

It takes everything in you to not burst into laughter. Clearly, Joshua is very aware that your bestie has been thirsting over his co-worker since she first saw him. Admittedly, you have been too, but most of your attention has been on Mr. Hunky Lifeguard, now officially known as Mingyu.

“Okay, so is it alright if I hold onto you to help?” Seungcheol checks, expression giving away that he truly has no idea that this is some kind of a set-up and is genuinely just concerned for his student’s safety.

“Full consent to touch me however you want,” your best friend agrees, making Seungcheol smile, entirely missing the depravity hiding in her words.

You have to look away to take a few breaths to calm yourself before you break, and happen to notice Mingyu up on the watchtower deck looking through his binoculars. You can’t be certain, but it looks like he’s got them pointed in your direction. You don’t want to be delusional, so convince yourself that even if he is, he’s not focused on you specifically.

Spoiler, he definitely is.

“Alright.” Seungcheol claps his hands together, making you jump a little, turn back to him, and catch his adorable gummy smile. “Let’s get this lesson started, shall we ladies?”

Honestly, the lesson with Seungcheol goes a lot better than expected; he takes it very seriously and pays careful attention to you both. You hadn’t expected to get anywhere close to standing on the board in the water, but with his careful guidance— even with his hands hovering around your friend to aid her oh so terrible balance if need be—, you get your feet under you.

After a few more tries, you manage to get almost entirely upright, while Seungcheol and your friend cheer you on supportively. And then, you make a giant fucking mistake.

Before you’re even upright, you lift your head just enough to peer around naturally, and notice Mingyu in all his topless, red short glory jogging along the beach, looking like everything out of a Baywatch themed porno with his pecs bouncing with fucking every step. And as if that’s not bad enough, the man clearly is packing something very special in his shorts, because you notice that bouncing too.

Next thing you know, you’re toppling into the water so suddenly that you inhale in shock a second before you hit the sea’s surface, allowing salty water to pour into your open mouth and trickle into your lungs. It’s barely a second that you’re under the water before a strong arm is around your waist and heaving you up into the air while you sputter, panic starting to seize your body.

“Move!” You hear as you’re laid down on the sand by the strong arms, though the voice is coming from elsewhere.

“I can handle this, Gyu,” this voice is right over you; the owner of the arms, and you vaguely register it as Seungcheol, but you’re too busy coughing up seawater to open your eyes or give him or the other man any attention.

“I’ve got it, Cheol,” Mingyu assures. There’s a heavy sigh, and then those strong hands leave your body, and you feel Seungcheol back away while other hands touch you gently, helping to remain on your side. “That’s it, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” Mingyu’s voice is soft and soothing where he’s hovering over you in concern with one hand rubbing over your arm and the other pushing your hair back.

Luckily, the whole ordeal only lasts a handful of minutes, and then you’re okay, breath stuttered and throat a little sore, but fine otherwise.

When you roll onto your back and open your eyes, you find Mingyu right there, leaning over you and backlit by the sun he’s purposely blocking from shining right in your eyes. Like your own personal guardian angel. Or something more poetic.

You can be given a break from being unable to wax poetic about this beautiful specimen of humanity before you, considering what you’re going through. And no, not the just inhaling seawater thing. But the whole, he’s leaning over you topless with that damn silver chain dangling inches from your face, thing. Just a little closer and you could bite it.

You wonder if he’d find that weird. Probably. You still want to do it though.

“Hey.” He gives you a tender kind of smile when you lift your eyes from his chain to meet his relieved, soft gaze. “You okay?” You just nod, pretty sure you’d say something highly inappropriate if you open your mouth.

“I dunno, I think she might need you to watch over her, Mr. Lifeguard,” Your best friend speaks up. You peer at her from the corner of your eyes and find her standing beside Seungcheol with a little smirk on her face as she looks between you and Mingyu. “Maybe you should take her up to the watchtower and keep a close eye on her, just in case.”

“She doesn’t need that,” Seungcheol points out simply, definitely unaware that your friend is trying to set up a situation for you and the man you’ve been thirsting over for weeks.

“No, no, she’s right,” Mingyu argues quickly as he shakes his head and turns to you to help you sit up and then get to your feet to stand with him. “I should definitely keep a close eye on her, she almost drowned, Cheol–”

“She’s fine,” Seungcheol’s mutter is neither heard nor considered as Mingyu continues to talk over him as if the man said nothing.

“So, I’ll take her to the watch tower for a while until she’s feeling all better, sounds okay?” He looks at you. You just nod.

“Make her feel all better, Mr. Lifeguard,” Your bestie encourages with a nod and thumbs up. Mingyu returns it, though you’re not certain he actually gets what your friend is insinuating, but you don’t really care. Whether he understands or not, you’re getting alone time with Mingyu and that’s all that matters. Bless your bestie for always trying to get you laid.

As you walk up the stairs to the watchtower, Mingyu walks a few steps behind you with a hand on your lower back gently, the same place it has been since the two of you started to walk across the sand. It’s still there when he opens the door and you two enter the building.

“Hey,” Vernon, the lifeguard your bestie apparently befriended the other day, greets upon looking over from where he’s sitting at the control desk facing the large windows that oversee the beach. “Oh,” he mutters, eyes widening a little as he looks between you and Mingyu, clearly taking in the sight of the tall man’s hand on your back. “You know, I think I’m going to go get some air for a bit.”

“Okay,” Mingyu agrees, giving Vernon a grateful look as the shorter man vacates the building without even grabbing his walkie-talkie from the desk.

At Mingyu’s gentle nudge, you move further into the building, allowing him to shut the door.

“I’ll grab you a towel,” he declares, moving over to the cupboards while you decide to check out the view from the window.

From here you can see the entire section of the beach, especially when you pick up the binoculars Vernon left on the desk and peer through them. It’s pretty interesting; being able to watch over everyone like this and see everything while they no doubt don’t even consider the eyes on them from above.

“Can they see us?” you wonder, lowering the binoculars to look at Mingyu as he approaches with a towel in hand.

“I mean, sure, if they try hard enough at other times of day; but the sun is in the right position to just reflect on the glass at the moment. So right now, no, nobody can see us,” he informs, stopping perhaps a little closer than necessary. Paired with the information that nobody would even see if he fucked you right against the window, heat flares in your stomach.

“Have you tested that?”

“Mm, a few times.”

“How?”

Mingyu tilts his head a little at you, and as you haven’t accepted the towel, too focused on the conversation, he puts it down on the desk and gently takes the binoculars from your hands to also put down. “What do you mean, how? By looking up from outside.”

“Right.” You hum and turn your head to look back out of the window.

“What were you expecting?” He chuckles lowly. You feel him move a little closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his bare chest against your left arm. “Hm?” You shrug. “Tell me.”

“Just…you know.” You shrug again, and although you can barely feel it through the wet material of the rash guard on your torso, the gentle press of his fingers on your back makes you shiver a little.

“You should get out of this and dry off,” he suggests while running his right hand up the length of your back and around your neck to the zipper in the middle of your throat.

“I might need some help getting it off,” you reply. “Things being wet makes things harder.”

“Oh, I know.” You’re very certain that you’re both talking in double entendre now and look at him over your shoulder as you turn your back to him a little more to give him better access without having to reach around you so much.

For a weighted moment, nothing happens, just heavy eye contact as if you’re both waiting for the other to take a step backwards and prove your suspicions of the rising tension between you to be false.

Yet, you both stay in place.

You feel a slight tug against your neck, barely noticeable, but it makes your body burn a little hotter as he slowly tugs down the zipper to your clavicle before stopping.

“Face me,” he mutters, adjusting his own stance to fully face you. You immediately comply and turn so that you’re face to face, all without him removing his grip on the pull of your zipper.

Then he’s back to dragging the zip down, over your breasts, where his knuckles brush a little, making your breath catch, before his hand moves on to finish the path to open the zip all the way to where it stops at your belly button.

Mingyu only then breaks eye contact to look down at the glimpse of skin he can see now with the zipper open. “This is a one piece?” he checks, noticing how the material of the rash guard vanishes into your shorts. You hum in confirmation, and then he’s lowering to his knees in front of you to tuck his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

He glances up at you, checking that this is okay, and when you nod, he gives you a little smile before turning his full attention back down to watch the shorts move down your thighs with the help of his hands.

“Can you–” he starts once you’ve stepped out of the shorts and he’s tossed them aside, but when he looks up at you, you’re already working on pulling the front of your rash guard open, revealing your chest little by little, covered only by the little bikini you bought specifically to wear with the rash guard. “That.” Mingyu swallows thickly, watching more skin get revealed until you start to struggle to get the wet material down your shoulders. Without a word, Mingyu gets up onto his knees as tall as he can without standing up, to reach out and grip the material to ease it over your shoulders and down your arms. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, hands bunching the wet material by your hips as he stops to take in all the exposed skin only a few feet from his face.

“So’re you,” you reply shyly.

He smiles up at you then leans forward to press a featherlight kiss to your stomach. “This okay?” he asks in between kisses on your skin; each growing more daring than the last.

“Y–yeah,” you agree, feeling breathless already and nothing has happened yet. The tension is just so thick between you that it fills your lungs and takes up space usually reserved for oxygen.

For a moment, you worry that if you’re this breathless already with just a couple of kisses to your stomach, you will not survive actually being fucked by this beautiful man. But then his lips are suddenly on the crease of your thigh, right at the edge of the rash guard and moving inwards, and you can no longer worry about the future state of your lungs.

Mingyu quickly tugs the rash guard off of you entirely and tosses it aside carelessly once you’ve stepped out of it, leaving you in just the skimpy little bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. “Fuck,” he breathes out, leaning back to take you in from head to toe, then back again. “So, fucking beautiful, baby.”

“Mingyu,” your voice is a soft little plea as you reach towards him, for what exactly, you’re not sure; you just want something and hope he gets the hint. He does, and tilts forward to lean his cheek against your palm for a second, then plants a kiss there, tender despite the heavy moment.

“Lean back, baby,” he encourages, leading you by your hips to turn and take a step back until the edge of the desk is digging into the meat of your ass.

You grip the desk edge on either side of you as he hitches one of your legs up onto his shoulder, then lean back as his free hand tugs aside the seat of your panties to allow him to get straight to work dragging his tongue up your pussy. The noise Mingyu lets out overpowers your own; he sounds like he’s tasted the nectar of the fucking gods or something equally as divine. Hearing him so immediately into eating your pussy only makes you more aroused and attracted to him in general.

You’ve heard of men eating pussy like a man starved before, but you’ve never experienced it until now. Mingyu truly gives it his all; holds you open and drags his tongue and lips over you with desperation, and an intensity that has your legs shaking; a constant stream of moans spilling from your mouth almost in time with the grunts and needy moans vibrating through his lips against you.

“Gyu,” you breathe out, tangling the fingers of one hand in his hair and encouraging him to stay on your clit. He groans at the slight tug on his scalp and redoubles his efforts, sucking and licking at your clit hungrily.

Your eyes are closed, entirely absorbed in the toe-curling sensations this man is giving you in spades, but when his hand touches yours on his head, you open your eyes to peer at him curiously. He’s looking at you, eyes so blown with arousal that you’re very certain you leak over his chin even more.

Mingyu doesn’t stop suckling your clit between his lips in a steady pattern that has you so fucking close to a beautiful climax. It won’t be long until you fall over the edge into bliss. He removes your hand from his head and directs it between your thighs to make you curl your fingers around the seat of your bikini bottoms and hold them aside out of his way.

Then, those same fingers that had just curled your own are prodding at your entrance. He hesitates though, staring up at you for permission until you rapidly nod, and then he’s plunging two right into you, made easy from how fucking wet you are.

Just like that, an orgasm hits you so suddenly and powerfully that you don’t manage to do anything, no warning, no sound from your mouth as it rushes through your body, making your eyes roll and back arch.

Mingyu feels you clamp down around his fingers and groans deeply as his own eyes threaten to roll back despite not being close to orgasm himself. Just knowing you’re cumming because of him, because of his mouth, on his fingers; it drives him insane and makes his cock throb.

Diligently, Mingyu works you through the pleasure pulsing through you, slowing down when your hips start to twitch, and then reluctantly detaches his mouth from your clit when you nudge his head with a slightly shaky hand. Though, he doesn’t go far, and instead, pushes your thigh a little further open to give his head more space to get next to his hand between your thighs, and noisily slurp up every single drop that spills from your pussy. He even goes as far as to lick up the line that dribbled down his hand to his wrist.

“Gyu,” the call of his name makes him lift his head to look at you with wide eyes, looking so innocent despite his mouth and chin being soaked in your juices, all the way down to his throat. The sight and reminder of how hard he just made you cum has you unintentionally squeezing around the fingers still buried to the knuckles within you.

He groans, tilting forward and opening his mouth ready to make you see stars all over again, but you quickly put your hand to his head, palm to his forehead to hold him back. “Lemme eat your pussy, baby, prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Most delicious pussy ever. Could eat you forever. Let me. Please?” He’s got a slight slur to his words as he speaks, voice pitched higher than normal as he begs in a tone verging on a whine.

“D–don’t you want to fuck me?” you ask, words a slight pant still, too soon from the intense orgasm to have your breath back, but you don’t care. He can steal all the breath from your lungs as long as he makes you cum like that.

“Fuck you?” he repeats dumbly. You nod, and then it’s like a switch has been flipped. All of the innocent pussy-drunk expression and voice vanishes in an instant as his eyes turn heavy-lidded, and his lips turn up into a smirk. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” His fingers in you start to move, making you jolt a little in surprise, and reach down to try and remove them. “No, no, no, you gotta take my fingers first, baby. Need to show me you can take them before I give you my cock, okay? This is such a pretty pussy; I don’t want to ruin it by giving you my cock before you’re ready.”

You can’t really say anything in response, both from his words and the way he’s skilfully moving those two fingers in you; slow but pressing in all the right ways to stretch you out and drag all ability to form anything but pathetic moans from your parted lips.

“That’s it, good, just take it. You can take it for me, right, baby?” You nod quickly at his words. “Can you take another finger?” Another nod, so he pulls his fingers out most of the way to work a third in beside them. “That’s my girl, fuck,” he breathes out, watching the way your pussy opens around his fingers as he carefully feeds the digits into you.

It doesn’t take much longer for Mingyu to pull his fingers out of you and get up to his feet. You barely have time to react before he has your hips in his hands and spins you to face the window. The sun is right in your face like this, lessened in power by the window yet still an annoyance, so you lean over all the way down onto your elbows and rest your forehead on your forearms.

“Oh,” Mingyu breathes out, watching you bend over the desk, and stops his task of shoving down his swimming shorts to free his leaking cock. “Fucking perfect,” he approves, and gives you a quick spank to watch your asscheek wobble with the impact. He hadn’t expected the moan that tumbles from your lips and pauses for a moment as he considers spanking you until your ass is raw and there are imprints of his hands left on your skin like a claim.

But then his cock twitches desperately, and he gets back to work shoving his shorts down enough and taking his thick, heavy cock into his hand to run his hand up and down the length, spreading precum over his heated skin while his free hand tugs your bikini bottoms aside.

A breathless curse spills from his lips when he aligns his cock with your dripping hole. He wants to bury himself to the hilt in your warmth right away, but he’s very aware that, frankly put, he has a giant cock, so he needs to take it slow to not hurt you.

As soon as the head pops into you, you’re moaning and trying to push back for more. Mingyu has to take a firm hold of your ass cheek and push you forward against the edge of the desk to stop you moving too fast. If you keep it up, he will fuck into you without hesitation, and he’s already trembling with the effort of holding back.

Little does he know; you want him to fucking ruin you. You want him to fuck you so hard and deep that you can’t take a step for the next few days without thinking of his cock splitting you open. But you don’t have the brain power to make your tongue move to form that specific string of syllables, so you’re forced to just remain pinned to the desk as he feeds you inch by thick inch of his cock at an almost agonisingly slow pace.

By the time his hips are pressed up against your ass, he’s shaking with his eyes squeezed tightly closed, and both hands gripping your hips so tightly you just know there will be bruises in the shape of his fingers afterwards. Bruises you’ll wear proudly.

“Fuck, baby, this fucking pussy,” he groans as you pulsate around his throbbing length.

He needs a moment; needs more than one really, with how fucking close he already is to filling you with his cum, but you press back against him as best as you can considering his grip. It’s barely any movement, but he gets the hint; you really don’t want him to wait anymore and fuck, neither does he.

Mingyu slowly pulls his hips back, sliding half of his length out of you before sliding back in in the same slow, careful manner. He’s testing the waters; the give of your pussy, and his own resolve, really. And all three give so fucking easily that the next time he pulls out, it's all the way until only his tip is tucked up safely inside of you before he thrusts forward harshly, making you cry out and scramble to brace a palm against the window above your head blindly.

“That’s it, hold on, baby,” he encourages with a heavy exhale as he adjusts his footing and hold on you, before he starts to fuck you like a man possessed.

It’s hard, and fast, and so fucking deep that he’s hitting places within you that you didn’t even fucking know existed before his cock found them. Or maybe they’re special places his cock is carving out, and no one will ever be able to access them again. No one will make your mind blank and eyes roll back so far that all you see is the mental image of Mingyu’s giant cock wrecking your pussy in the best of ways.

You’re being loud, both of you; moaning and whining with every drag of his cock through your rapidly tightening walls. But neither of you care, neither of you have the presence of mind to consider anything but the way it feels to fuck and be fucked like this.

At this point, you’re so close to another incredible orgasm that you wouldn’t even care if the door opened; you probably wouldn’t even notice, and honestly, neither would Mingyu.

When Mingyu tilts forward enough to wind a strong arm under your waist to press his palm against the flat of your chest and pull you up until your back is against his bare, sweat-dappled chest, you almost scream in pleasure at the new, somehow deeper, spot he’s grinding into.

There’s a little part of Mingyu that’s still aware that you’re in public and his place of work, even if he’s not consciously aware of it, and that part of him is the reason his hand flies up from your chest to your throat and squeezes in the exact way to cut off your airflow.

It’s the last nudge you need to hurtle into the single most mind-shattering, nirvana-inducing, orgasm of your fucking life. At least so far, because once you’re more coherent, you’ll definitely think about how much you want him to fuck you again in all sorts of ways.

A choked, cut off moan spills from Mingyu’s mouth when you clamp down around his cock so tightly as your pussy absolutely gushes around him, that it sends him over too. His hand on your hip quickly moves, sliding around over your lower stomach to wrap his arm around your waist and hold you tight as he ruts into you and fills you with his cum.

It feels fucking endless; the length of your orgasm and how much it takes out of you, even though it truly doesn’t last that long. It’s just an all-encompassing feeling that feels like utter bliss; a never-ending pulse of pleasure; pure fucking serenity.

“You okay?” Mingyu manages to breathe out once his cock has stopped twitching as your throbbing walls milk him for every drop of cum in his body. His chest is heaving against your back, matching the deep rise and fall of your own chest, even if he had released the pressure on your throat as soon as his cock started to empty in you.

You can’t respond yet; you’re not quite back on planet Earth, making Mingyu chuckle a little, fond of you already, and cocky at his own abilities to fuck you so dumb like this.

Carefully, he draws his hips back to slide out of you with a wince and hears the splatter of cum hitting the wooden boards. But that’s a problem for after he’s looked after you.

Mingyu is so fucking gentle as he grabs the towel from the desk and uses it to clean between your thighs as best as he can without removing his arm from around you to keep you propped up. Then he manoeuvres you onto the wooden chair on your right, before getting to his knees to spread your legs wide once he’s between them with his knees pressed to the floorboards.

For a few seconds, he just stares dumbly at the sight of his cum leaking out of your swollen pussy, and he almost leans in to clean you up with his mouth, but you’re already so out of it that he figures he better not. He’ll save that for next time.

Fuck, he really fucking hopes there’s a next time.

You come back to reality when Mingyu is doing his best to slide your shorts back up your legs.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greets you when he notices you moving slightly and looks up to see you blinking down at him. “How you feeling?”

“Like I had the life fucked out of me,” you reply, giving him a sated, borderline dopey smile that makes him laugh. You reach out to him, and he happily leans up to let you run your hands over his shoulders and to his neck, so that you can tug him in and kiss him.

He sighs in contentment as your lips move together, slowly like you have all the time in the world. Like there’s nothing that either of you would rather be doing than this right here.

“Should’ve kissed you earlier,” he murmurs when you both naturally pull apart for air and he rests his forehead against yours. “Sorry, got carried away.”

“There’s no need to apologise, seriously, that was…” You trail off and just giggle instead, fingers playing with his hair near his nape.

“It was,” he agrees with a chuckle, and leans back to look at you. “Could we maybe do that again?”

“Now?” you baulk.

“No, not now.” He giggles. “I really can’t do that again now; I think I’ll pass out if I try to do anything like that now,” he assures, squeezing your thighs a little where his hands lay. “But another day in the future, when we’ve both recovered.”

“That sounds much more reasonable to me.”

“Reasonable, huh?” he teases, and nips at your cheek playfully, making you giggle. “And what about a date? Does that sound reasonable to you?”

“No.” Mingyu’s face drops so fast as he looks at you. He looks pretty heartbroken, honestly. “I didn’t mean no as in no to the date!” you rush to assure, cupping his cheeks, and brushing your thumbs soothingly over his skin.

He pouts and pushes into your hold. “Then what do you mean?”

“Just that it doesn’t sound reasonable but very nice and something I would definitely love to do.”

“Oh.” He turns into your palm to try and hide the cute, happy, little smile that lifts his mouth and exposes his teeth, but you feel it. He presses a kiss to your palm before facing you again, no longer hiding his smile. “Good, good; I’m glad you’d love to. I’d love to as well. Maybe after my shift ends, we can get lunch? Well, we’d have to take Vernon too, and I guess your friend, but they can entertain each other at another table.”

You giggle and nod in agreement. “Sounds perfect to me.”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle, @jaja-salute

It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.

Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.

You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.

Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.

From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.

All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.

Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.

It's not that you actively want to see him.

You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.

He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.

God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.

The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.

In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.

Has told you a lot.

Told you far too much.

Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.

Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.

And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.

You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.

But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.

You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.

It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.

But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.

Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?

Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.

The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.

The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.

The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.

For a minute, you feel vindicated.

It doesn't last.

For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.

The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.

He always slept well in your bedroom, though.

Funny, that.

He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.

Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.

The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.

"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.

Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.

"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.

They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.

There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.

It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.

"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"

"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"

"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."

On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.

Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.

Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.

After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.

Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.

Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.

Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.

"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"

"Obviously."

"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."

"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.

And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.

While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.

But summer was lonely.

Or at least it was.

Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.

Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"

The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.

After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.

When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.

"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.

Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.

Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.

But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.

He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.

A routine grew. Habits formed.

Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.

Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.

The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.

He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.

And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.

Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.

But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.

Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."

"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.

You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.

The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.

But he was, and it was lovely.

The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.

"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."

It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.

Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.

Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.

But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.

Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.

You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.

It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.

"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.

"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.

"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"

On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.

"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."

A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.

"Sure."

There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.

"You think I can't be trusted?"

"I think it's foolish to trust any man."

His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.

"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"

"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.

"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"

With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."

"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.

"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"

"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.

"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.

Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."

Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.

A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.

And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?

His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.

Have you not served him enough?

You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.

"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.

He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.

"Excuse me, sir."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.

"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.

More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.

Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.

Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.

You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.

Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.

"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."

Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.

Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.

You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.

You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.

As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.

But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.

Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.

But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.

You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.

Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.

It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.

In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.

"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"

The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.

It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud. 

In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.

But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.

You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.

Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.

Where you at? It could read. I'm here.

Or maybe, I miss you.

I can't sleep without you.

This is so stupid. Can I come over?

It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.

Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.

You: you not coming in tonight?

You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x

You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?

Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.

Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.

Jackass Wang: party tonight

You: so????

One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.

Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery

"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.

It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.

Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.

You: i like it better when i don't see you x

Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.

You: they'd rather die :) x

Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: you just can't take no for an answer

Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.

You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????

The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.

Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.

You: charming x

Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.

You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.

Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.

The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.

Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.

Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.

Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.

"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.

Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.

"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"

Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"

His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.

Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."

He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.

"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"

"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."

"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."

"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."

Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.

"Don't give me that bull."

"It's not bull!"

"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"

His expression is flat. You are paper thin.

He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.

He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.

"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"

"No!"

Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.

Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"

"I'm not!"

"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"

Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.

"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.

"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."

"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.

He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.

"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"

With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.

"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."

You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.

As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.

By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.

"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.

There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.

Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.

Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.

Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.

It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.

But he did, and you damn well know it.

Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.

"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."

But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."

You're silent when he says this.

Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.

But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.

Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.

"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."

Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.

Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.

Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.

"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."

"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"

"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."

He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.

They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.

Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.

"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."

"Who?" Jimin chirps.

Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."

"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"

"I said leave it."

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.

"No one."

"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"

"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."

"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."

Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.

"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.

They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?

"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.

It's not that he's ashamed. 

It's that you're separate.

When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.

If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.

He doesn't want that.

He wants you to be a safe haven.

A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.

But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.

He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.

"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"

With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."

"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"

"You really have to ask?"

For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.

They always have done.

When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.

Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.

How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.

Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.

When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.

So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.

"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"

"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."

Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.

The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.

It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.

The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.

The irony isn't lost on you.

"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"

"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.

If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.

All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.

One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.

When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.

You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.

Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.

Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.

"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."

"It's not my new home—"

"MONTGOMERY!"

The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.

"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."

Nothing happened between you.

It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.

"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.

"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."

Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.

Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.

It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.

"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.

Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."

As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.

How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.

"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."

Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.

A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.

"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."

It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.

They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.

And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.

Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.

The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.

Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail. 

Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.

In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.

Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.

The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.

Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.

Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.

But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.

A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.

"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.

The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.

Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.

"Cut the bullshit," he says.

"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"

"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"

Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.

"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."

Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.

Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.

You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.

"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"

It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.

"Mistaken identity."

"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"

You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.

He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.

"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.

"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."

"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.

With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.

"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."

Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.

"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."

Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.

He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.

It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.

Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.

This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.

You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.

Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.

As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.

Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.

But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.

"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"

Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."

"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."

And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.

If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.

He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.

But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.

It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.

Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.

"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.

"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."

The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.

"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"

"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."

Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.

"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"

"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"

It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.

But every cloud has a silver lining.

"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."

He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.

"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."

The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.

A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.

And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.

Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.

The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.

"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"

You're gonna kill Taehyung. 

In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.

"Safe," you grimace.

Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"

"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.

"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.

"My sentiments exactly."

Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge

"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."

"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."

Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.

"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.

"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."

Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.

"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.

The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.

You wish you didn't.

"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.

"Excuse me?" 

"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"

"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."

"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"

Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.

And so he doesn't try.

"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"

You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.

Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.

You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.

"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.

"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"

It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.

"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."

"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."

"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"

"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"

He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."

Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.

"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"

He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.

"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"

"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.

"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."

"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.

The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.

"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."

"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"

He's silent, now. Cowardly.

"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."

"You know that's not—"

"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.

Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.

Feels like it, too. 

"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.

"Tell you wha—"

"That you were a virgin."

Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!

Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.

"Hardly relevant, is it?"

"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"

"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"

"I didn't ghost you."

"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."

"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"

"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"

"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."

"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."

"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"

The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.

"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."

You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.

To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.

With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.

Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.

With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.

Looks down at you.

Is so close you can smell his aftershave.

A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.

"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."

Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.

The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.

"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.

"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."

He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."

The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.

Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.

Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.

"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"

The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?

All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.

"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"

The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.

Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.

And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.

It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.

Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.

An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.

When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.

While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.

He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.

He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.

As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.

And so it's up to him to put you back together again.

"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"

His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to.  Also knows that he does need to.

"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."

"But I—"

"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up." 

He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.

"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"

His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.

An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).

"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.

The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"

"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"

"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."

Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.

Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.

It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.

"I want you," he husks against your lips. 

"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.

"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."

"And what was that?" You encourage.

There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer. 

Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."

And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?

Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.

The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.

"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.

"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"

"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."

He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.

"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.

"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.

As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.

"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"

You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."

He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.

"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.

"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.

"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.

There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.

"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."

Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."

"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.

And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.

His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.

"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"

"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.

"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."

With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.

Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.

His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.

Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."

The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.

He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.

When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.

Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.

But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.

"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."

If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.

Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.

Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.

You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.

But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.

As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"

Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.

"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."

The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.

"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.

"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.

"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."

It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.

His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.

"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.

"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.

"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."

"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"

"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.

He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.

"S'all there is. They alright?"

"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"

"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."

His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.

"I don't care. I don't want them—"

You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.

"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"

When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.

"I promise," you swear.

As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.

"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"

"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"

"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.

"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."

With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.

"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.

"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."

"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.

You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.

"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.

Your argumentative streak wants to fight.

You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."

His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.

In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.

Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.

Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."

Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.

He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.

"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.

The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.

You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.

"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."

"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"

His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."

And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.

But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.

Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."

"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.

"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."

"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.

"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole. 

His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes. 

Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"

There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."

But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You're stupider."

"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before. 

His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Think you were gonna make me cum."

"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."

His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.

The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.

As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.

The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.

"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.

"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."

You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.

"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.

"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"

It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.

"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.

"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."

The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with. 

His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.

But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"

That's the thing.

He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.

Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.

"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."

Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.

And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.

"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"

You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.

"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."

It's been half an hour.

He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.

The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck. 

Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.

Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.

"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."

"We?" You question, incredibly confused.

"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.

Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.

As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.

Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.

"Sorry, what the fuck?!"

Now he really had your attention. “You want to buy both of us a drink?”    

He smirked as he leant an elbow on the bar, turning his back to the bartender and focusing on you. He was cocky; he might even have been arrogant—it was too soon to tell—but there was something undeniably charming about him. Something that kept you looking, kept you entertaining this stranger rather than taking your drinks and leaving him there.     

“Yes, I’d like to buy both of you a drink.”    

You smiled—couldn't help yourself. “No, thank you, not interested.”   

“Are you sure about that?” He cocked his head to look at Jungkook, who was staring intently at you. “Your man looks pretty interested to me.”    

“He’s interested in figuring out who the creep is talking to his partner.”    

The stranger clutched his chest, his face a twisted picture of pain. “Oh, you’ve hurt my feelings, princess.” He stood straight again and looked seriously at you. “You really think I’m a creep?”     

You blushed—no, you didn’t really think he was—and were stopped from replying by Jungkook’s presence at your side.    

“Everything ok?” he asked you; you nodded.    

“I was just talking to...” You gestured to the stranger and he held his hand out to you. When you took it, you had to stop yourself commenting on how soft his skin was.     

“Jimin.”    

“I was just talking to Jimin. He wants to buy us drinks.”    

Jungkook’s eyebrows reached his hairline and his eyes flicked between you and Jimin like he was trying to crack a code. Jimin’s lips twisted into another smirk, but he was endeared, not sneering. Jungkook gestured vaguely to your drinks sitting on the bar.    

“We have drinks,” he said, somewhat hesitantly.     

Jimin nodded. “You do, and I would love to buy you both another. Whatever you want. You can go and enjoy those drinks and we’ll say no more about it, but I’ll still be here and my offer will still stand if you’d like to take me up on it once you’ve finished them.”     

You nodded and took your drinks from the bar. You deliberately kept your eyes forward as you walked to your table; you noticed Jungkook did not do the same. You sat and took a sip of your drink as Jungkook stared into the space just above his.    

“What do you think?” you asked.    

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he answered, having not actually tried his drink yet.    

“Not the drink, dummy.” You nudged him with your elbow and he blinked back into reality. “Jimin.”    

“Oh.”     

He picked up his drink and took a rather large gulp. He smacked his lips and got that slightly vacant look on his face again, but you let him think it over. You placed your hand on his thigh to remind him you were there when he had finished deliberating.    

“I don’t know,” was his eventual response. “I mean...” He looked at you with his wide, bambi eyes, and then he blushed and let his hair fall in front of his face. "It’s not going to be just drinks, is it?”    

“No. But we’ve talked about it, right? The possibility of it?”    

“Yeah... I didn’t think it would happen so soon or so... I didn’t think it would fall into our laps like this.”    

He giggled and pushed his hands through his hair a few times; he took another gulp of his drink.    

“You know we don’t have to do it. Just because the opportunity has presented itself doesn’t mean we have to take it.”    

“I know.”     

His eyes were fixed on Jimin’s back. He was still standing at the bar, chatting with the bartender as if they knew each other. You took time to admire him, too: the arch of his lower back as he leant on his elbows; the curve of his bum in his tight, black jeans; his thighs, similarly constrained, the slight convex curve of his hamstring assuring you that he was strong underneath all those clothes. A glint caught your eye, the lights on his rings as he moved his hand to take a drink. You remembered how soft his skin was, how very kissable those lips looked.     

You really wanted him to buy you a drink.    

“You want to do it.” Jungkook had interrupted your gazing and was grinning when you turned your attention to him.  

You shrugged. “He’s pretty fucking hot.”   

“Yeah, he is.”     

“You want to do this?”    

He tipped his glass and swallowed the last of his drink. He cocked his head to one side and then the other. He had never done this before: him and someone and someone else. You’d talked about it; he’d fantasised about it; you’d played all kinds of pretend, said all kinds of things while you were together, the two of you... But it had never been real. He wasn’t sure he could believe it might actually happen. Just like that. And Jimin was fucking hot. Jungkook felt a stirring in his gut just looking at him.    

There was anxiety, too. What if he got it wrong? What if you liked Jimin more than him? What if Jimin liked you more than him? He had to assume it was possible to be left out of a threesome—easily done, even.     

Jungkook liked to excel. He liked to be the best, but he had never done this before. You had. He had to assume Jimin had, too. He didn’t mind being taught, not by you, because he knew you and he trusted you and he loved you. Would he mind being taught by Jimin? His cock twitched at the thought and made the decision for him.  

He turned to you and nodded. “Yes, I want to do this.” He flicked his eyes towards your drink: still two-thirds full. “You going to finish that?”    

You laughed and took another sip. “You go and ask Jimin for another and I’ll work on it.”    

You watched Jungkook cross the room to the bar and smiled like the cat who got the cream. You bit your lip watching them together; you could only see JK from the back but you watched Jimin’s face attentively and gasped when he flicked his eyes over to you and winked. You looked away, flustered, and took a sip of your drink, trying to cool down. You hoped they would bring back small drinks, shots even, nothing that would take too long to finish; you were not a patient person at the best of times and this was beginning to test you.     

When they returned to the table, Jimin sat between you. You felt awkward at first, making small talk when you all knew where it was heading, what you were doing there, waiting for. Then the awkwardness began to melt away and the conversation flowed more easily. Jimin was a little cocky, but he wasn’t arrogant. He was sweet and funny and wicked and so distracting when he put out his tongue to wet his lips, when he leant back and swept a hand through his hair. You exchanged looks with Jungkook and you could feel his excitement and his nerves.     

He was cute like this, trying to impress. You could see him sit a little straighter, his shoulders back, whenever Jimin looked at him. You saw that watchful look in his eyes as he listened to Jimin talk; he was watching his face, hunting for micro-expressions, trying to figure him out, work out what he wanted Jungkook to be.    

He’d be anything, he thought. Jimin was too charming, too sweet not to want. Jungkook was nervous but there was something easy about Jimin, about the way he talked, the way he flirted, the way he treated you as old friends. Jungkook felt good about this. Really good. A little too good, if he were being honest, to still be sitting in this bar. He was itching to leave, eyes flicking back and forth between your glasses, carefully trying not to drink his too quickly and be called on his eagerness.    

In the end, Jimin was the last to finish. He was aware of your rapt attention—yours and Jungkook’s—as he brought his glass to his lips for the final time. He chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully before tipping back the final gulp.    

“So,” he said, slapping his thighs. “Your place or mine?”    

“We live just around the corner,” you answered.    

“Alright then; lead the way.”    

Jungkook grabbed your hand on the way out and gave it a squeeze. You squeezed back.    

* * *    

“You guys want a drink?” you offered as you slipped off your shoes and padded to the kitchen.    

“Sure.”    

“Yep!”    

“Soju?”    

Both men turned and your stomach flipped to see them standing together, looking at you. What a sight they were. Jungkook shrugged and Jimin nodded. You took three shot glasses from the cupboard and poured one for each of you.    

“To... uh, a good night?” you suggested as you brought your glasses together.    

Jimin laughed. “To three’s company!” he declared, clinking his glass against the other two and knocking back the shot.  

You and Jungkook followed suit, then Jungkook frowned.    

“I thought two was company and three’s a crowd?”    

Jimin laughed again, a loud, archetypal laugh, clear ‘ha’s in triplicate, as he leant forward for the soju bottle. He refilled your glasses and raised his aloft once again.    

“To three’s a crowd!” he cried but he didn’t take the shot because he was laughing too hard, the soju shaking in its glass, Jimin’s arm barely stable.     

You took it from him and drank your own shot while he recovered himself.     

“Ok, ok, I can drink it now.”     

You considered handing it back to him. Then you decided not to. You held the glass up to his lips and he looked at you from the corner of his eyes. Then he opened his mouth and tipped his head back as you tipped the soju into his mouth. When he swallowed, looking at you, his eyes were a little darker, you thought. They raked down your body, unabashed, and back up again.     

“Where’s the bedroom?”    

Jungkook pointed to a half-open door and you took them both by the hand and kicked it all the way open. You stood, the three of you, in a little triangle next to the bed, suddenly shy. Pink creeping up on Jungkook’s neck. You looked at Jimin expectantly and he moved a little nearer to you; his eyes travelled between you and Jungkook. He placed a hand on your hip and tugged you closer. You felt fluttery, a streak of ice shooting up your spine, making you shiver even though you were over-warm, flushed. Jimin held your eyes as he reached his other hand out and pulled at Jungkook’s T-shirt. He dragged him closer, the triangle much tighter now.    

With Jungkook’s T-shirt still grabbed in his fist, Jimin leaned in to you, pulling your body close. You could smell the soju on his breath, could have counted his eyelashes. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to close the gap.     

Then he disappeared from your proximity and you opened your eyes to see him bring his lips to Jungkook’s. There was a second of surprise and panic in Jungkook’s face before he gave in to it, his fists unclenching at his sides to tentatively settle on Jimin’s hips. You laughed a little, grateful that Jimin was being playful, breaking the tension, even if you didn’t appreciate being teased. Besides, Jungkook probably needed it more than you did, getting the first of the attention, realising that this wasn’t that scary, that it was really all stuff he’d done before. He wrapped his arms around Jimin and tugged him closer. You smiled; you knew he’d enjoy it.    

That didn’t mean he got to have all the fun. You pressed against his side and he broke from Jimin to look down at you, gleeful and sparkly. So fucking cute. You’d intended to look at Jimin, to tease him, to play his trick back at him, but Jungkook scrunched his nose and you instantly forgot about anything else. You lifted yourself onto your tiptoes and gave him his second kiss. You were pressed between two warm bodies now; hot and getting hotter, with Jungkook’s tongue soft and wet against your own, Jimin’s trailing down the slope of your neck. You flushed as he grazed his lips over your skin.    

“Shit,” you whispered when Jungkook broke away.     

“Having fun, princess?” Jimin whispered back, his voice so close, so low.     

Jungkook slipped his hands beneath your top and you shivered at his touch, only able to offer a quiet hum as an answer.     

It was quiet and still as Jungkook relieved you of your T-shirt and a little of the edginess returned as you all slowly stripped yourselves. Your heart was hammering as you slipped your skirt down over your hips and the little bridges between you swayed precariously. 

You held Jimin’s wrist gently as he unbuttoned his shirt, pulled his hand away so you could do it for him, so you could push it off his shoulders and let it float to the floor. Jungkook, observant and such a fast learner, already kicking off his trousers, approached and then hesitated as he reached out for Jimin’s belt buckle. It was better this way, even still quiet, even still a little unsure, as you crossed the rope bridges between you and let the clothes fall where they may.     

Jimin ran his hands up your sides and pushed you backwards, so you were sitting on the bed; he leant down to bring his face close to yours, your noses almost touching.    

“Would you like a kiss now, princess?”    

He was toying with you. He still didn’t know that you were the one who did the toying. You only had to glance at Jungkook to have him sitting by your side and, keeping your eyes locked on Jimin’s, you turned your head and kissed your boyfriend. You heard Jimin huff, a tiny little laugh, and you turned your back on him completely, straddling Jungkook, his hair in your hands, his lip in your teeth. Jimin was unperturbed; his hands were on you again, pressing on your back, palming at your breasts, his fingers rolling your nipples through the thin lace of your bralet.    

“I like you,” he whispered, low in your ear, and your whole body trembled. “Come on, let me have a kiss. Please?”    

He was getting the message. You couldn’t deny you were dying to kiss him, had been thinking about it since you first laid eyes on him. You broke from Jungkook and turned around. Jimin looked cute, not cocky, at that moment and it melted you right into him. His lips were soft and fruity; his mouth tasted like soju.    

Jungkook thought he might hate seeing you kiss another man. He didn’t. As you rocked yourself against his rock-hard cock and moaned into Jimin’s mouth, he realised he really rather liked it. As Jimin trailed suckling kisses down your neck, Jungkook slipped his hand between you, over your underwear. He pressed lightly, rubbing gentle circles over you, too lightly, too gently—he knew that. He knew how to get you where he wanted you and he wanted to show Jimin. It was exhilarating, having an audience and participant, having someone to teach.  

You turned around, sitting backwards on Jungkook now, all the better to kiss Jimin harder, deeper, but Jimin lowered his head, taking his lips away from you and licking a broad stripe over lace, over your breast, swirling his tongue around your still-covered nipple. Jungkook’s touch was too light, his kisses on your neck too sweet, Jimin’s mouth too-    

“Oh,” you gasped as he sank his teeth into your soft flesh, making your back arch and your pussy pulse. “Fuck.”   

Jimin hummed back with your nipple still sucked into his mouth and you felt Jungkook’s lips curl. Then both mouths were suddenly off you and you were desperate for them back.    

“She makes such pretty noises, doesn’t she, Jungkook?” Jimin asked, looking behind you.    

You couldn’t see the look on Jungkook’s face, didn’t know what silent communication was happening between them, but the moment held still, heavy for a second. Then Jimin broke it.    

“What kind of pretty noises do you make, huh?”    

Jungkook flushed all over, his stiff dick still trapped in his boxers, between your body and his. He liked being called pretty, liked you to hear it, too, to hear how pretty your boyfriend was. He’d show Jimin exactly what sounds he made and he was going to enjoy it.     

You liked it, too. You grinned and slipped out from between them, letting Jimin’s lips find Jungkook’s. You could feel your soaked knickers, wet to the point of discomfort, and you stood to discard them, sending your bralet with it and shivering in your new nakedness. You watched Jimin and Jungkook, your skin prickling with heat, them breathing heavy, hearts beating hard. You wanted to hold the moment, let it stretch as you waited, teetering on the precipice, flexing your toes at the end of the highest diving board.     

They felt your gaze and turned towards you and relaxed against the headboard. They felt it too, you thought, that there was something exquisite about the nothing happening between you at that moment, just breathing, looking at one another, drinking it in.     

Jimin shattered the quiet moment, fired the gun. “You gonna let me go first, Jungkook?” he asked, leaning on Jungkook’s thigh to push himself up, holding out his hands for you.    

You let him lead you, let him pull you down, and press a kiss below your ear.    

“I want to taste her.”    

It was whispered to you but intended for Jungkook.    

“No.”    

Jimin wasn’t the only one who was surprised. You looked down at Jungkook kneeling next to you, defiantly looking back at Jimin. He had that glint in his eye, that competitive one, the one that said he would end up on top. He didn’t usually wear that look in the bedroom, but you liked it on him.    

“She’s mine first,” he said, bringing his eyes to yours.    

Your lips curled into a smile; you absolutely were his first. Jimin chuckled and delicately licked the shell of your ear, sending an electric shiver down your spine.    

“As you wish,” he purred.     

Jimin circled around you and pulled you back, taking your weight on him as you knelt on the mattress, and Jungkook pushed your knees wider. You were about to lightly protest, to suggest lying down or moving to a more comfortable position but you had no sooner opened your mouth to say so than Jungkook had pressed his mouth against your cunt and licked. Your words disappeared into a strangled sigh and Jimin hummed appreciatively with his mouth pressed again on your neck. You didn’t keep your pleasure to yourself, letting Jimin hear what Jungkook did to you, what he could draw out of you.     

“Is he good at that, huh?” he asked you, low and quiet.    

“Yes.”    

“You like his mouth? Does he know how to work that quiet little tongue of his?”    

As if in response Jungkook flicked his tongue hard against your clit just once and you jolted. Jimin ran his hands over your chest, cupped your breasts, and took your nipples between his fingers.     

“Yes, Jimin,” you panted, your breath getting shallow as Jungkook pushed first one and then two fingers into your tight heat.     

“Yeah... Doesn’t that sound good, Jungkook? I bet you like hearing her say my name like that.”    

Jungkook stopped then, shuffled backwards, but didn’t take his fingers back; they stayed, crooked inside you, his thumb pressed against your clit. You rolled your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers.     

“I like it more hearing her say my name.”    

Jimin huffed, a little surprised snort. “Jungkook, I had no idea you were such a brat.”    

“Nor did I,” you said.    

He blushed and grinned sheepishly. The truth was he wasn’t much of a brat, not usually. He liked to be good for you, to comply with your wishes, to let you use him how you wanted, but he felt different with Jimin here. He was showing off; he was a little embarrassed at how childish it felt, but he wanted to impress him, he wanted Jimin to know how good he could give it to you, how good he could give it to him, too. Maybe that made him a little competitive. Maybe that did make him a little bratty.     

“I like it,” you told him, sincerely, glancing down the length of your body to your shining boy looking back at you from between your legs.     

He kissed your thigh with his sticky mouth and a lush warmth rushed out from your heart, like the first sip of a hot drink on a cold day. You sighed and leant back heavily on Jimin, letting him take your weight, finding that he could, that he held you steady, easily.    

“Me, too.”     

You could feel the curl of Jimin’s lips against your shoulder, saw the glinting look the two exchanged between them and a charge surged through you. You were suddenly ravenous, for both of them at once. You took your weight back and moved out of Jimin’s arms.    

“Why exactly am I the only one who’s naked?” you asked with your arms folded.    

“Oh, are you getting bratty now, too? Jeez.”     

Jimin rolled his eyes, his mouth still upturned, his crooked tooth shining behind his smile. But he did step off the bed and he did hook his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and he did slide them down his legs. His cock was thicker than Jungkook’s, a little shorter, made you instinctively pull your thighs together in just the same way.     

Jungkook was naked now, too, his discarded boxers thrown on the floor. You felt spoilt for choice but were swayed by the novelty of Jimin. You stood and sank to your knees in front of him, but no sooner had you hit the floor than Jimin was pulling you back up.    

“I think Jungkook has a job to finish first, doesn’t he?”    

He pushed you backwards until your legs hit the bed.    

“But,” you began to protest. “I want to. I want t-”    

“Patience, princess.” Jimin cut you off and pushed you backwards still, his smile sweet and indulgent as you lay down on your back and Jungkook settled once again between your legs. “We’ve got time. I’ll get mine; don’t you worry.”    

Then he winked and you were halfway through rolling your eyes when Jungkook’s tongue lapped at you again and your groan at Jimin became a moan for him. Your eyes closed and you let yourself go to the feeling of it: JK and his mouth and your cunt, like it ever was but also nothing like it ever was. Every hair on your body stood on end, every nerve ending on your body alight and sparkling. Jimin wasn’t even touching you, but knowing he was there was enough. Jungkook pushed your thighs a little wider, pushed his tongue inside you and his nose bumped your clit. He let you take control, let you rock and buck your hips against him, let you use him how you liked even with you on your back.    

The world was shrinking now, spiralling down, tightening, zeroing in on the pleasure in your core. Jungkook’s tongue inside you, his nose against your clit, the drawing together of every string of muscle, every fibre. You were so close, your breath coming in short bursts, staccato and sweet, little whimpers with every one.     

“Hold on.”    

Your eyes flew open as Jungkook retreated and you could only pant, staring down as Jimin nudged Jungkook aside slightly. Even Jungkook looked dazed as Jimin got comfortable between your legs, his face so close to Jungkook’s, their eyelashes almost brushed. Then Jimin licked a broad stripe across you and flicked over your clit in a way that made your hips buck. You watched his eyes slide over to Jungkook’s and his meaning slowly dawn on his face. Jungkook lifted his gaze to yours, asking permission, if this was ok, and you nodded back at him.     

You couldn’t shut your eyes this time as their tongues moved over you and each other. It was decadent, indulgent; you swore to yourself that you would never let the image of them go—this one you were keeping forever. They licked through your lips, sliding over your clit in turn, and it felt so good, you wanted to cry. Doted on in the filthiest way. You couldn’t believe your luck.    

Then Jimin slipped two fingers into your cunt and you groaned, you swore, you thought you saw heaven behind your eyes. You couldn’t stop your hips rocking with him as he curled his fingers and pressed hard against your ridged wall. Then his lips travelled, licking the crease of your hip, kissing your thigh.    

“Think you can take more?” he asked, and his was voice husky, his face shiny with your arousal.     

You nodded quickly and sharply, your mind unable to form the words fast enough for your eager response.    

“Hey, baby,” he purred to Jungkook and Jungkook paused, leaving you on the edge again. “Want to get in here, too?”    

He wiggled his fingers inside you and you whined, impatient, not wanting to be toyed with any longer, only wanting to finally come and come hard.     

Jungkook blinked in surprise. Did he want to? Of course, he did because he wanted to do whatever would get you off, but was that normal? He hadn’t expected it; he didn’t know that was a thing. Would he get it wrong? Did he go in front or behind Jimin? His hesitation made him flustered and he blushed but nodded, yes, he did. He wanted to show Jimin what he could do but he also needed Jimin to teach him how to do this. He’d do anything.     

He let Jimin guide his hand and pushed first one finger and then another into your tight, wet heat. He’d never felt you this tight before and his cock twitched in anticipation of being inside you—god, he hoped he’d get to be inside you; would he and Jimin take turns? How did it-    

He had to stop, pull himself back, let himself fall into the moment, let himself be led—by you, by Jimin, by his own instincts and desires, some of which felt brand new to him. He copied Jimin’s motions inside you and let him take over at your clit, his full, kiss-pink lips tight against it. He could see his tongue working from the way his cheeks moved; he knew he was doing it well from the way your body stiffened, the way your breath caught in your throat. He’d never got to see you like this before, never had such a perfect view of you.     

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist: with his fingers still pressing inside you, he moved upwards, caught your mouth with his, kissed you deep-deep and slow. Your hands flew to his head, tangled in his hair, pulled tight and you moaned into his mouth, high and desperate and ever so close. You gasped against him and tugged at his hair when you finally came, gushing hard over hands and face, thighs twitching. Jungkook pried your hands from his head to turn to Jimin.    

“Don’t stop,” he commanded as Jimin was just pulling back.     

Jimin looked surprised, almost confused for a second, so Jungkook repeated.    

“Don’t stop. She likes it.”    

Understanding lit in Jimin’s eyes and his mouth was immediately back in place, both his hands now around your thighs, keeping them open, keeping you still as you squirmed beneath him. You tugged at Jimin’s hair now and he moaned in response, long and low and rumbling and it made it all the worse, all the better. Jungkook stroked your hair as he watched you, being pushed over the edge and underwater. For the first time, he could see you; he could watch you writhe, watch you finally succeed and clamp Jimin’s between your thighs. It was better than he could have imagined: your back arching high off the bed and your body twisting, your brows pulled tight together, your mouth open, one hand still clamped to Jimin’s hair and the other digging tight into Jungkook’s side. Jungkook didn’t mind the pain, didn’t mind the sharp little arcs you were scoring into his skin. He could take more. For this, he thought, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do. To watch you, knowing you were enjoying it, knowing you were getting what you wanted, knowing you were being taken care of, squirming and shivering and shit--… He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, tried to catch his breath. If he weren’t careful, it was going to be over for him before it began. He took his cock, thick and hard and leaking, and squeezed gently at the base, then a little harder.     

“Don’t stop,” he said again, his voice strained. “Fuck, don’t stop.”    

You’d have said it, too, if you could have but your breath was strangled, your words incoherent. Jimin was less insistent than Jungkook, a little lighter, a little softer; that made it protracted, maddening even, this exquisite suffering. You wanted to climb up the walls and out of your skin. You felt like you were vibrating at a heretofore unknown frequency; you were somehow both over- and under-stimulated, not used to it going like this, someone else forcing pleasure on you, someone else with a different mouth and a different tongue and a different heart. You turned to Jungkook just as all your pleasure and pain and desire rolled itself up into a ball, expanded within you and burst, hard, violent. Coming as you looked into his deep abyss eyes, you shuddered and cried and let yourself flop, spent, against the mattress.    

“Stop,” you asked weakly, your voice quiet and hoarse.     

Jimin instantly stilled and Jungkook watched his eyes flick between you and him. He thought he saw a little concern in his glance at you; it made Jungkook smile and that competitive spark rose in him again—because he knew you and he knew your limits and he knew you were fine.     

“You did good,” Jungkook said, testing his ability to say it, to be the one holding the approval cards, the one giving praise and not the one begging for it.     

Jimin’s face relaxed into that easy smile of his. He rose and pressed a kiss to your hip before kneeling in front of Jungkook. He shrugged, casually. “I aim to please.”   

You let out a sound, somewhere between a cry and a sigh, and both men laughed.     

“She’s going to need a minute,” Jungkook said, stroking your hair back from your face as you lay, eyes closed, chest heaving, shivering in the comedown, still not back in the real world. 

Jimin accepted the implicit invitation and kissed Jungkook, sharing the taste of you with him. Jungkook shivered, too, the sweet tang of your taste and Jimin’s tongue sending him somewhere else completely. Nothing felt real inside that moment, with his body pressed against Jimin’s, Jimin’s hand trailing lightly up and down his body, skittering across his chest. Jimin sucked on his tongue and Jungkook moaned, his dick responding with a jump. When Jimin pulled back, he was still smiling, the glint in his eye bright even in the dim room.    

“I’m greedy,” he said, pulling Jungkook up on his knees as he sank down on his own. “You going to let me taste you, too?”    

Jungkook couldn’t say yes fast enough and, as Jimin ran his tongue up the length of Jungkook’s hot, stiff cock, he couldn’t help the mewling little whine that came out of him. He couldn’t look down, didn’t dare to, to see Jimin’s lips wrapped around him, to see his dark eyes looking up at him, to see tears prick as Jimin swallowed his entire length. Jungkook was stuttering and gasping, sweat trickling down his back and his forehead, stinging in his eyes. He wanted to come so badly—he was painfully close, didn’t even know how he was still holding it back—but he also wanted not to, needed not to. This needed to last. He didn’t want this to ever end.    

As Jungkook was flying off to another plain, you were settling back on level ground, unmoving but awake, watching Jimin, watching Jungkook. You wondered if Jimin could teach you a thing or two because Jungkook looked enraptured, sounded pained, seemed like he was barely hanging on. His fists were clenching at his sides, knuckles white and forearms twitching with the effort. His Adam’s apple bounced as he gulped, as he whined and moaned and panted Jimin’s name. You loved a helpless Jungkook; you loved to make him helpless and were surprised to find that you liked watching him be helpless just as much. You also loved pushing him to his limits.     

You ran a soft hand through Jimin’s hair and then held his head tight, slowly pulling him off Jungkook. You didn’t think he would let you, didn’t know how much control he usually enjoyed, but he settled back on his knees, somehow still angelic despite the tears and sweat and spit all over his face.     

You couldn’t help yourself: you lowered your face to his and kissed him, revelling in the heady taste on his tongue. This also gave Jungkook a moment to collect himself, to talk himself off the ledge.    

“JK, baby...” you cooed when you broke your kiss with Jimin. You rose and stroked a soft hand down his face. “Making Jimin do all the work?” You cupped Jimin’s face with your other hand. “Doesn’t seem fair.”    

Jimin looked dreamily up at you, a beautiful mess, and you wanted to see how far you could push him, too.     

“I want you to use him,” you told Jimin as your fingers wrapped around Jungkook’s dark, flushed, throbbing cock. “Would you like that? Using Jungkook for whatever you want?”    

Jimin flicked his eyes between the two of you. “Would he like that?” he asked.    

In an instant, Jungkook nodded. “Yes.”    

So eager was he that Jimin couldn’t even laugh, couldn’t even giggle. Jungkook was too needy, too cute, all his panting and whining so fucking hot that Jimin could barely think. He had known, almost immediately, that you were the one who wore the trousers, that Jungkook was used to following you, and he loved to serpentine himself between those dynamics, loved the way Jungkook submitted so easily, loved the way you didn’t. He couldn’t have picked a better pair.    

“How do you want to use him?”    

Jungkook could barely hear Jimin’s answer, the roar of blood in his ears was so loud. Jimin’s mouth lifted in a smirk and he thumbed Jungkook’s bottom lip, then gripped it hard between his thumb and forefinger. His cock throbbed.    

“I want to know what this sweet, little mouth feels like.”    

Jungkook didn’t need telling twice, or even once technically. He settled down on his knees, opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, always so eager to please.    

Jimin chuckled. “Baby, you are so good.”    

“He is,” you agreed.    

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.”    

You smirked at Jimin as you left Jungkook’s side to go to him. “Yeah, he likes that.”    

Jimin moaned and swore and gave his cock a few slow pumps before settling it on Jungkook’s tongue. Jungkook closed his lips around it and you felt Jimin’s muscles squeeze as he thrust so slowly forward, breaching the wet clutch of Jungkook’s throat. Jungkook welcomed it, the salt of Jimin’s precum on his tongue, the weight of his cock in his mouth, the slide as Jimin pulled back and pushed in again. He squeezed his own shaft, didn’t dare to move his hand, didn’t want to risk it, knowing he was on a hair trigger, how close he already was. 

He hadn’t known how the night would go, hadn’t known if he would enjoy it in actual fact, but this was already so much better than he could have expected. Jimin’s soft skin and hard cock; your wet cunt and the way you knew him inside and out; the possibilities were endless. Jungkook didn’t want one night, he wanted hundreds. Could there ever be enough time to explore this in its entirety? Every permutation, every action in triplicate; he wanted it all. For now, though, Jimin’s dick in his mouth, down his throat, that would do.     

“Oh shit, baby, you take it so fucking well, huh?”     

Jungkook moaned.    

“Yeah, you do. You’re so good for me. Look at you, crying; you’re so pretty. Isn’t he pretty?”   

“The prettiest,” you replied, before capturing Jimin’s lips with yours.     

You wondered what it felt like to be Jimin. You’d been Jungkook, on your knees, sweat-slicked, tear-streaked, choking on a cock like it’s what you were made for, but you’d never been in Jimin’s shoes. You hooked your chin over his shoulder and looked down at Jungkook; you held yourself tight against Jimin’s body, moving yours with his, pretending all the noise Jungkook was making, all that mess he was creating was yours.    

You were painfully aware of how hot you were, how wet you were, how your cunt was pulsing, aching and empty. If Jimin wanted to ruin JK, well... you knew exactly how to do that and get yourself and Jimin off too. You pressed your mouth just below Jimin’s ear, a little, soft kiss, and then whispered to him.    

“Do you want to see Jungkook get fucked?”    

Jimin startled and accidentally bucked a little too hard into his mouth. Jungkook choked and they separated. Jimin looked at you, his mouth a soft ‘o’ of surprise.    

“He takes that well, too, does he?”    

You looked at Jungkook, messy, wet, desperate-eyed Jungkook with a heart-swell of adoration.    

“Yes, he does. How about it, baby? Want to get fucked?”    

He was breathless in response. Yes.     

“But,” he uttered and stopped.    

“But what?”    

Jungkook didn’t usually call the shots. He did what he was told and he was good at it, he liked it, he liked being told how good he was being, he liked being praised, he liked being used, he liked feeling like he was made for pleasure. There was just something about this set-up, something about having Jimin there, for one night only; like a kid on Christmas morning, he wanted to open all his presents right now, he wanted to eat all his sweets and chocolate. He wanted to gorge on this and his greed overrode his goodness.     

His eyes flicked between you and Jimin. He forced the words past his shyness.    

“I want to finish Jimin first.”     

You loved it when he pushed back a little, when he asked to break the rules. He was a little bashful about it, always so hopeful, still being so good even when he wasn’t doing what you told him to. You didn’t even think he did it deliberately, using his innocence to get his way; it was just what he was like. You would usually indulge him, truth be told, because you couldn’t withstand his sweetness, but this time was different.    

“No, baby; you’re going to do both, how about that?”     

Jimin’s lips curled into a sickening grin and Jungkook looked over-awed. He looked at the two of you, his brown eyes all stars and sparkles. He’d never done it before. Didn’t know exactly what you intended; wasn’t sure he could stand the anticipation. His eyes settled on you and he was about to answer, to say yes, when you opened your mouth again.    

“You don’t have to, you know. It’s ok. We can do whatever you want.”    

If he weren’t resolved before, he was now. What he wanted was always whatever you wanted. That was how he liked it. Besides which, he was showing off, wasn’t he? Showing Jimin everything he could do. He’d show you, too. He could take two dicks, even if one of them was fake. He would. And he would fucking enjoy it.     

The only problem would be not coming in two seconds flat.     

“Where do you want me?”     

“You know I like you on your back, baby. You alright with that Jimin?”     

You hadn’t really needed to ask. He looked smug for a second, like he was trying to contain his excitement, but that only lasted a moment before his mouth split open in a wide smile. He licked his bottom lip and held it tight between his teeth, looking at Jungkook’s wet mouth with a piercing intensity.    

“Oh, I’m very alright with that.”    

You threw a tube of lube onto the bed and then knelt bedside to retrieve your harness and strap-on. You left them to it as you fixed everything in place, the flat, vibrating base flush against you. When your attention returned to the bed, you had to close your eyes and take a deep breath.     

Jungkook was already on his back and Jimin was ever so sweetly pushing a finger past his tight rim. You wondered if you wouldn’t prefer to see Jimin fuck him than to do it yourself, but then you remembered you didn’t have an actual dick to suck and Jimin did. You wanted to see Jungkook’s mouth full and throat bulge with it as you fucked him so deep and slow in exactly the way that made him cry. Maybe Jimin wouldn’t know how to do that.     

“Oh, is Jimin getting you ready for me, huh? That’s sweet.”     

Jimin waved his free hand as if to say ‘my pleasure’ and then let you take his place. You negotiated Jungkook’s position so that you both had the access you needed; his head and chest a little raised so that Jimin could kneel to the side, so he wouldn’t block your view of his cock down your boyfriend’s throat. You waited until it was back there, until Jimin had dipped himself back into the heat of Jungkook’s mouth and Jungkook had pulled his hands up to Jimin’s glutes, pushing him further. You were transfixed, for a moment, just watching them, his hollowed cheeks and his flushed face and his damp hair sticking to his forehead and his chest heaving and all those whiny little sounds.     

“Fuck!”     

It was enough to bring you back to your body.    

“You’re good at that,” Jimin continued, his face contorted and you wondered just how close he was. “Your hot fucking mouth, shit.”    

You could have watched them, just the two of them, all night, but that wasn’t the name of the game. You pressed the tip against Jungkook’s puckered hole and pushed, nice and slow, so slow it made your head spin and your thighs ache. Slower than he needed, slower than he wanted, slow enough to make him whine, so high and tight in his throat that Jimin gasped and grabbed the headboard. You could see his thighs tensing, his abs contracting as he tried to last, tried to prolong this moment.     

When you were finally fully sheathed, you turned the toy on. A moan travelled from you through Jungkook and came out of Jimin’s mouth. You dug your nails into Jungkook’s thighs as you held them for leverage, as you slowly pulled yourself back out and pushed yourself in. You hadn’t appreciated how sensitive you were, having come twice already; your clit was screaming, trembling, you were almost coming again, but you bit your lip and held firm. You couldn’t lose all control just yet. You had to make Jungkook do that first.     

Your limbs all felt like lead; it felt like fucking through molasses. Time warped, all stretched and sticky, sensations coming at you through a hazy mist of heat and sweat. Your blood roared so hard in your ears that you could barely hear Jimin’s grunts, the gasping, guttural groans escaping his lips. You couldn’t hear Jungkook’s mewling, his tremulous vibrato muffled by Jimin’s cock. You could barely hear your own cries, your own breathless moans as your clit rubbed against the vibrating dildo with each thrust. Like the end of a race, you didn’t know how you were carrying on, how your muscles were still working, still moving you, still pushing you forward.     

You tried to pull yourself together. You had a mission and so far, Jimin was the only one who’d got tears out of Jungkook. You zeroed in on him, his precious face, so shiny and sticky and stretched. His eyebrows were pulled low over his brow, his eyes closed and his fists clenched in the bedsheets. His cock was leaking, precum pooling on his stomach, dripping down. It leapt when Jimin groaned, loud and long, as he came. Jungkook blinked his eyes up at him, swallowing down every drop of cum, eyes wide, hoping for praise, for confirmation he’d done a good job.    

Jimin flopped down on the bed next to him and then shuffled down further so they were lying side by side. You swore lightly to yourself when he leaned over and kissed Jungkook, gentle, soft, and tucked his hair behind his ear.    

“You did good, babe,” Jimin said, or so you thought, the roaring of blood in your ears and the pounding of your heart reducing the sound down to a muffle. “You did so good.”    

He kept on like that, whispering sweet nothings to Jungkook, and Jungkook’s heart was fit to burst. His praise was sweet like honey, soft like silk, and Jungkook was so lost in the depths of Jimin’s eyes that he didn’t notice the glint on the surface, didn’t notice his hand sneaking down, not until he wrapped it around Jungkook’s dark, wet, hard cock and Jungkook cried; it took everything he had not to come.     

Suddenly, he was frantic, desperate. His need to come struggled against his urge not to, his desire for this to go on. Pleasure inside and out, fire and ice waging war, his skin scalding hot and body shivering. He thought he’d pass out from it all. This was more than it had ever been. Jimin’s teasing fingers, nails scraping over his soft skin, tapping down the length of his twitching cock; Jimin’s teasing mouth, asking him how he felt, telling him to make more of those pretty noises, crooning and praising and purring against his ear. Your cock inside him, the vibrations travelling along it, your nails deep in the skin of his thighs. He dragged his eyes from Jimin’s to look at you, your face pained, your mouth open and panting, your tits bouncing with every thrust.    

It was like your phantom limb, this dick inside Jungkook. It was as close as you’d ever get to a real one and it was tantalising. You were so close, you couldn’t speak, could barely move as you lodged yourself deep inside Jungkook and ground against the toy’s base. You were so empty and so close, it hurt; your whole body wound so tight, you thought you would shatter like hot glass, crack and splinter and burst into a thousand tiny pieces, each screaming pleasure as it flew through the stifling, hot air. You were scrabbling, your mind scrambled, white noise blaring; you were coming and it felt like you were coming inside him, like all your hot, sticky mess was coating you, coating his insides.    

But you couldn’t stop. You turned off the vibration that was making your thighs jolt and cramp and you resumed your thrusting, deep and slow, deep and slow; deep and slow enough that you timed your breath with it, gulping in lungfuls of air and holding them there, breathing them out slowly until you felt alive again, until you felt human.     

You could attend to something else now, your limbs lighter than air and unreal-feeling; you could see the effort in Jungkook’s face, see Jimin’s face, beaming and mischievous, his lips close to Jungkook’s ear, his hand dancing around Jungkook’s cock. Jungkook was almost sobbing; his breath was catching in his chest and his skin was blotched and he was gritting his teeth so hard, you were worried he’d grind them away to nothing.     

“You want to come now, baby?” Jimin asked, louder so you could hear him. He flicked his eyes to you and you wondered if he was asking permission, if he was allowed to give Jungkook that permission.    

It didn’t matter if he was. Jungkook wasn’t going to come. He was desperate not to, not yet anyway. He wanted to come inside you, fuck you deep and hard then even harder and even faster; he wanted Jimin to see you speared and split open on his cock.    

You and Jimin had other ideas.     

“You can come, can’t you, Jungkook?” Jimin’s voice was angelic, dripping sweet and innocent. 

Jungkook shook his head. “I wan-” he began, his voice so strained and throat so tight. “to-… fuck you.”    

He looked at you, tears glittering on the edge of his eyes. This was exactly where you wanted him. So close. Just a little bit more.     

“Why don’t you let me fuck her?” Jimin continued. “I can take care of you, can’t I, princess? Huh?”    

“I expect you can.”    

“I can. You gonna let Jungkook come so I can fuck you good?”    

Jungkook groaned and closed his eyes, maddened and faint, his lip wobbling. He thought his entire chest would cave in. Then Jimin stopped his dancing hand and wrapped his soft fingers around Jungkook’s shaft. He squeezed a little, tested a few, twisting pumps and Jungkook was starting to squirm now.     

You wondered, again, if you might die from this. Seeing your boy helpless and desperate, writhing under someone else’s touch as you fucked him the way you knew he liked best. It was exquisite, like nothing you could have dreamt. You looked at Jimin and he looked back at you and you felt aligned; he blinked slowly at you and you nodded slightly back at him. With his hand still twisting around Jungkook, he brought his face closer and kissed him, soft at first, comforting, then he opened his mouth and slid his tongue against Jungkook’s and Jungkook broke away, tipping his head back, his back arching high, his body wracked with sobs, crying in earnest now.     

But he wouldn’t come until you said. At least that. He wanted to fuck you but he knew that was a dream now; he just had to wait until you said.    

“Ok, baby,” you say, velvet soft. “It’s ok, you can come.”    

Jungkook’s breath was stuck in his throat as he let it all go, all the tension, all the tightness, all that pleasure bundled up and stretched, distorted and sharp, low in his abdomen and radiating everywhere else. A warm wave rushed over him, hot even, and he came, a pool of shimmering white on his stomach. He saw stars in his tear-blurred eyes and wondered if it was the room spinning or him. Had he ever come that hard in his life? He wanted, immediately, to do it again.   

You pulled out and let Jungkook’s legs drop to the mattress, unstrapping yourself and crawling to lie on Jimin’s other side. You expected an interlude, a reprieve, a small moment of pause.    

Jimin shuffled down the bed, his shoulders level with Jungkook’s hips, and, resting his hands on either side of them, he leant down and licked Jungkook’s cum from his stomach. 

“Fuck,” you whispered.  

It was so hot that you had to look away and then had to look back again because you couldn’t miss it, couldn’t live with yourself if you did. Jimin was thorough, took every drop and then ran his tongue over Jungkook’s cock for good measure. Jungkook shuddered and Jimin chuckled. Then he fixed his eyes on you.    

He held his hands out and you took them, let him pull you towards him and into his lap, moaned when you rolled your slick cunt over his cock, hard again, waiting for more.    

“You’re so fucking wet, princess. She always like this, Jungkook, or is it all for me?”    

There was a pause and then Jungkook pushed himself into a seated position against the headboard. He always rallied quickly, but this impressed you.  

He chuckled. “She’s always like this.”   

And he looked at you so proudly that you wanted to cry. Instead, you leant over and kissed him, let it say the words for you: a thousand ‘I love you’s and ‘I’m so happy to be with you’s and ‘you make my world brighter’s and one out loud ‘I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow’. He looked dazed when you pulled back, a little dizzy as he stroked your cheek.     

Jimin had your glutes in his hands, was rocking you just slightly, moving beneath you, the slightest bit of friction between your bodies, asking for your attention. You turned your face to him and nudged his nose with yours.    

“I want you to fuck me, too.”    

“Oh, I’m not enough for you?” Jungkook piped up. “Baby, I’m hurt.”    

For a split second, you were worried he actually was, but the sly grin on his face told you otherwise. He wanted to fuck you and he wanted Jimin to fuck you, too. He tried to pout, tried to sell the hurt, but he couldn’t keep it up, couldn’t take it seriously. He wanted you and Jimin in every way he could have you, was still ravenous for it.     

“You know I’m greedy. You’ve spoilt me, Jungkook; I can’t help it.”    

You pouted now, leaning into Jimin’s chest, resting your head against his shoulder. Jungkook grinned and knelt opposite Jimin, their knees touching. He pulled you backwards from the waist, and Jimin let you go, until you were on his lap and he looked over your shoulder at Jimin.    

“Condoms are in the bedside table.”    

“Got it.”    

A boldness overtook him and he lifted you off him, moved off the bed, and lifted you again, facing him this time. He carried you over to the wall and leant his back against it.     

“You all good, baby?”     

And usually it was you checking on him, not this way around at all. It was disorientating, leaving yourself in his hands like this, their hands. You nodded.    

“I’m good, yeah. Are you really going to be able to hold me up like this?”    

He laughed, a little huff, and puffed out his chest. “What, you think I can’t?”    

You giggled. “Fine, but if you drop me, I’ll be upset.”    

“I would never, baby. I promise.”    

There was the click of the lube cap and Jungkook bounced you in his arms to shift you a little, to make sure you were in the right position for him. You squeezed your thighs to lift yourself, and released them slowly, dropping yourself onto Jungkook’s cock. You were so wet, so ready, that there was almost no stretch at all, just that fullness you knew all too well as he sank to the hilt.    

Jimin approached behind you; you could feel the heat of his skin, his breath on your shoulder.    

“Ok, princess, you ready? We’ll start small.”    

You nodded, then said the word aloud when prompted. You rested your head on Jungkook’s shoulder as Jimin’s finger rubbed soft and wet over your hole. He slid in easily.    

“It’s good,” you breathed before he could ask. “Another.”    

You felt Jimin’s chuckle more than you heard it, the snorted breath strong against your skin. It was replaced by his lips, pressing a kiss to the place you shoulder met your neck as he pressed another finger inside.    

Jungkook tipped his head back against the wall.    

“Shit. I can fucking feel them,” he said. “You’d better hurry or I’ll blow again.”    

Just like that, he was your bashful, blushing JK again, sheepishly giggling at himself, at how sensitive he still was, how hot and hard he always was for you, hotter and harder now than he thought himself ever capable of.     

“What do you say?” Jimin asked you and, again, you nodded.    

“Yes, please. Fuck, please fuck me.”     

 He kissed your neck again. “Yes, ma’am.”    

That was more like it. 

His fingers retreated and you felt the slick, thick head of his cock pressing against the tight ring of muscle. He pushed and it stretched and he pushed some more and you moaned and Jungkook moaned and then so did Jimin. You felt his dick twitch inside you and you knew you would be quick like this. Wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself if you’d tried. And you weren’t going to try. You wanted more and you wanted it right now.     

Jimin moved slowly and it almost felt like payback; he moved as slowly as you had inside Jungkook, torturously. Your impatience was nagging at you, wanted you to beg, wanted you to plead, but the slow burning pleasure inside you kept you silent, kept your teeth biting hard on your lip as you waited for Jimin to sink all the way, to be swallowed up completely.  

Jungkook groaned. He had never felt this before. You had done this before, with toys, with things, never with another person, another hot, hard dick inside you, on the other side of a thin, flesh wall. He could feel Jimin’s cock, feel it as if his own were numb, that tiny distance between them like an anaesthetic, taking the edge off and making it so much worse; he was desperate to move, to fuck you, to rut against Jimin, to feel you both so fucking close to him, but he waited, waited for the all clear, for Jimin to be ready, for you to be ready. He was ready, as ready as he would ever be for this.    

Jimin bottomed out and then took his hands from your hips, placing them under your thighs and taking some of your weight. You felt it shift between them and there was something so sweet in the gesture, in the sharing of your weight as they shared your body, that brought a tear to your eye. You imagined that it could seem like you were being used, two men having their way with you. You weren’t. You were being cherished. You were being lifted up, literally, by them, having your desire honoured and catered for.     

“One sec,” you gasped and, even with your face nestled in Jungkook’s neck and your eyes closed, you felt the way their heads turned to you, sharp with concern. “I’m ok,” you reassured them. “I’m ok. I just need one sec.”     

Jungkook’s lips found your shoulder and Jimin’s your neck. They shuffled you between them, each freeing a hand: one to stroke your hair, the other to rub your back. That was new for you; you didn’t need comfort during sex. You were the one dishing it out. You remembered this with a start and a burst of energy. You had two men inside you and you wanted them to fuck you as hard as they could, fuck you so hard you couldn’t breathe, so hard you couldn’t walk. That was what you were doing. You shook your hair and rested your hands on Jungkook’s shoulders. You kissed him once, then twisted your head to kiss Jimin, too.    

“Alright. I’m good. Ready.”    

“You sure?”    

“Very sure.”    

Jungkook moved first, slow and deliberate and a little tentative. Jimin didn’t hesitate. They found their rhythms quickly, their thrusting smooth in tandem. It was almost too much, really. The heat and the sweat, the pressing of their bodies against yours as they fucked into it. The very air felt hot and charged, like literal sparks might fly. The feeling of fullness inside you was not like any you’d had before. You marvelled that it could be this good, the two of them, the three of you.     

You relaxed, soft and pliant and held so securely between them, and then Jimin took his free hand and wrapped his arm around you. His fingers played with your nipple and teeth found your earlobe, biting down just hard enough to pull a whine from you. The heat was shimmering between you, wet and warm and close, like a storm approaching. The air crackled, fizzed.    

The lightning struck first when Jimin dropped his hand to your clit, pressing his fingers between Jungkook’s body and yours, using his thrusts to move his fingers against you. You cried out, louder than you intended to, careening into an orgasm that blindsided you, that came so quickly and then lasted for so long. You thought you would either cave in or burst apart, or disappear into the ether, evaporate into the steamy air. Your nails were digging into Jungkook’s skin again, your head thrown back on Jimin’s shoulder, your mouth wide open and howling as you squeezed so tight, so fucking tight on Jungkook’s cock that he thought he might black out.     

He’d been holding back, holding on, desperate to not be the one to finish this, the first to finish. He still wanted to impress, wanted to show off, do right by you, do his very best, but fuck, he couldn’t breathe from the way your cunt was clutching him so tight, pulsing and clenching against him so hard, he had to use all his strength not to let you push him out. And Jimin’s cock pressing against his, the slide of him that he could both feel and not really feel.     

He sped up, bucking up faster into you, harder, hoping that Jimin would do the same, and he did. He matched Jungkook’s pace and the relief Jungkook felt was palpable. Until Jimin grinned, stilled, and spoke.    

“JK, stop.”    

He stilled immediately, his eyes wide and his mouth open. He thought he had missed something, some cue, some sign, been so involved in his own pleasure that he’d ignored you. Then he saw Jimin’s grin twist into a smirk.    

“You really are such a good boy, aren’t you?”    

Jungkook wanted to be frustrated, annoyed, even angry, but his dick leapt at the praise, at the purring lilt of Jimin’s voice as he said such nice things to him. He could never hear it enough.    

“You ready to come, huh?”    

“Yes.” He was barely able to utter the word.    

“Wait.”    

Jungkook shuddered. He loved to be praised. He loved to be commanded. He nodded, mute.    

Jimin resumed his thrusting and Jungkook gulped hard. He could still feel him, and feel you, lush and wet and warm and still spasming, your whole body lightly trembling. He had to breathe carefully, had to bite his lip, had to blink away tears as his desperation reached fever pitch. He was shaking now, too, with the effort not to come, the effort to keep holding you up, the effort to not fuck you.    

But he didn’t have to hold out for long. He could feel Jimin tense, hear the pitch of his breathing change, felt him pound you a little harder, see the sweat on his brow and the purse of his lips. He came with a gasp and a whining groan, his head dropping onto your shoulder with a heavy thunk.    

Everything stilled. The only sound in the room was your heavy breathing. Then Jimin pulled back, withdrew, and Jungkook broke the silence, whined as he felt Jimin’s absence. Jimin held you up, let Jungkook rest a little more of your weight on him as he looked to you both for permission. You nodded, just barely, enough for Jimin to feel with your head on his shoulder, but not enough for Jungkook to notice.    

“Ok, baby,” he said, “you can come now.”    

Jungkook barely managed more than a sigh of relief before he was coming too, spilling into you, almost sobbing with his final satisfaction.    

With no more strength left in any of you, you all sank to the floor, a heap of limbs and sticky torsos, ragged breathing and soft, tiny kisses. Jimin was the first to move, to stand and discard the condom, but he came right back and fell to the floor, your back to his chest. You lay, sweaty, sated, silent, glistening and gasping until you could feel the earth beneath you, until you felt solid again, until all the shimmering little parts of you had coalesced back into three, real, separate human beings. You took Jungkook’s hand and then Jimin’s.    

Jimin’s mouth curled against your neck and he nipped you lightly before he spoke.    

“Still think three’s a crowd, Jungkook?”    

Jungkook buried his face in your neck, his cheeks pink, and Jimin laughed heartily, his stomach bouncing against your back with each burst of air. Jungkook mumbled something neither of you could hear and you gently turned his face outwards and asked him to repeat it.    

He felt a little silly, a little shy, and he couldn’t look you in the eye when he said it.    

“Three’s company.”    

You snorted and laughed and Jimin pinched Jungkook’s cheek.    

Seungcheol could tell the week was eating you alive. You’d been venting about that looming deadline, and judging by your radio silence, he connected the dots. Without saying anything to you, he heads out of work early to start dinner and knock out a few chores, just so you can walk in the door and finally decompress.

Back at your desk, you glance at the clock. Just a couple more hours until you can escape the madness and burn off every last ounce of tension with him. The thought alone has you pressing your thighs together. You lick your lips, letting the anticipation settle into the base of your belly, using it as motivation to power through the rest of the day. And you can come home and claim your well-deserved reward.

******

The scent of dinner cooking welcomes you as you walk through the door after a long and trying day. At the end of the hallway, you catch a glimpse of Seungcheol in the kitchen, his broad back turned to you while he unloads the dishwasher.

The exhaust fan hums softly, and music is blasting in the background. You figure this is why he hasn’t responded to your text that told him you were on your way.

You cock your head and watch him for a moment. Your heart swells with appreciation at the sight of him taking care of some chores at home without you asking him.

He looks up at the jangle of your keys as you hang them on the wall. He beams instantly when his gaze lands on you. “Hey, love! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

He’s in sweats and one of his old college shirts, whose sleeves he proudly hacked off himself. It used to hang loose around his shoulders, but now it clings and stretches nicely over his biceps. They’ve been looking more defined lately, and you’ve mentioned more than once how good he looks in that shirt.

You spot the V-shaped sweat mark beneath his collar that tells you he just finished a workout. You can’t help but hope he’s not completely spent, and that he’s saved some energy for you.

Honestly, you’re hoping for a little more than “some.” You want—no—need to be manhandled tonight. After hours of trying to hold things together today, you’d want nothing more than to give up control and have him take over.

He strolls over and greets you with a kiss. A grin spreads across your face. “You didn’t have to cook!” you say. “I was going to order takeout, because I thought you’d be working late tonight.”

He turns back to the stove, lowering the flame beneath one of the simmering pots. “I was,” he says, “But Joshua owes me a favor, so I asked him to finish up the rest of the cases. Told him there was an emergency at home.”

You tilt your head, brows knitting in curiosity. “Oh? What kind of emergency?”

He crosses the room again, cups your cheeks, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. His eyes soften as he meets yours. “The kind where I need to take care of you.”

He’s so cheesy—but your heart still melts. “Ugh... I love you,” you gush.

“Love you too. Now go get changed—dinner’s almost ready.”

******

After dinner, as the food coma settles, you and Seungcheol curl up on the couch to catch up on your favorite show. You’ve changed into an oversized sleep shirt and stretched out sideways, your legs draped across his lap. His eyes are on the screen while his thumb traces lazy circles over your knee.

You’re not really watching the show—your gaze keeps drifting to his profile, bathed in the soft, warm light of the nearby lamp.

“Thank you for dinner,” you murmur. “It was perfect… especially after today.” A slow smile spreads across your face.

He turns to you with a gentle look. “You’re welcome. I know this week’s been a lot,” he says, his voice low and warm. “I thought if I came home early and took care of a few things, maybe you could just… breathe a little easier this weekend.”

“Like what things?”

“Just a few chores. After grocery shopping, I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up your prescription…”

You could cry listening to him list many of the errands you planned to do this week, but never found the time for. How is it possible to love him even more than you already do?

“Then, before I started cooking, I did the laundry.”

Your shoulders tense up.

Every time he did the laundry, it was utter chaos—darks, lights, and delicates tossed into the same load. You never knew if your white tees would survive unscathed or come out with a tinge of pink. The last time, he left everything in the dryer overnight, and you spent the next morning re-running cycles just to tame the wrinkles. Since then, he’s been unofficially banned from doing laundry unsupervised.

He sees your expression shift and quickly adds, “Don’t worry. I sorted everything. Even used the pre-wash on the sheets—just like you showed me.” He gives you a reassuring look, promising there wouldn’t be a repeat of last time.

Your eyes go wide. “You did what?”

He hesitates. “I… did the laundry?” He breaks into a sweat as he starts to question every decision he’s made in the last couple of hours.

You shake your head. “No, no—what did you say after that?”

“I sorted it and ran a pre-wash cycle?” He winces, hoping this answer will get him in less trouble.

When he sees your jaw drop with a gasp, he assumes the worst and scrambles for an explanation.

“Okay, hear me out. I know I messed up before, but I swear, I did it properly this time. I even folded the clothes and put them away in our closet. I’m just waiting for the last load to finish in the dryer.”

You find yourself…inexplicably aroused by all of this. The thought of him in his cutoff shirt, doing a load of laundry, and carefully folding everything. Not only that, but most importantly, doing it exactly the way you like it—is enough to get you hot and bothered.

He sits there anxiously, completely unaware of the effect this has on you.

“I was just trying to help. Are you mad?”

Instead of answering him, you lunge forward and kiss him.

“Whoa, what? What’s happening?” He’s perplexed, yet pleasantly surprised by your sudden aggressiveness.

You shift to straddle his hips. “You had me at ‘sorting the laundry,’” you breathe against his lips before kissing him again, harder this time.

He pulls away again, still looking confused. “Wait, seriously? The laundry?”

It’s not just the laundry. Your hormones are already raging from ovulating, which not only piles onto your stress and irritability at work, but it also leaves you feeling unbearably horny.

The dinner he made had briefly distracted you, but now he’s stirred the memory of what you’d really been looking forward to since walking through the door.

You glare at him in exasperation for trying to derail your plans again. “Yes! Now, are you going to interrupt me again or do you want to get your dick sucked?”

He blinks slowly, your words echoing in his head. Then a slow smirk tugs at his lips, and his gaze darkens. He mimes zipping his mouth shut, hands lifting in mock surrender. He sinks back into the couch, arms stretched, eyes locked on you with quiet amusement.

“Good choice!” You cup his nape and pull his mouth to yours.

You kiss him with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue—each one driving him crazy with want. Your hunger is intoxicating, only rivaling his scent: a heady mix of body wash, sweat, and the savory aromatics from the dish he cooked. It’s the perfect cocktail that sends your senses into overdrive.

When you break the kiss, you tug his shirt over his head. Then you lower yourself again, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, tracing it with gentle licks that elicit a low moan from his throat. Your mouth travels down his chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses as you slide from his lap, then finally sinking to your knees between his legs.

He lifts his hips when you tug at his waistband, helping you slide his bottoms, just enough to pull his cock out.

You tease the tip with a gentle flick of your tongue, making him inhale sharply. You slide your mouth down his length, drawing another gasp from him. At the first hint of suction, he sinks his head deeper into the cushions and groans in pleasure.

“Holy…f…uck…” The rush of wet heat from your mouth over his sensitive tip is so intense, he struggles to catch his breath. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue massaging that perfect spot on his cock that you know makes his toes curl.

You pull upward, then tease him with your fingers, stroking with just enough pressure to make him crave more.

His hands are in your hair, his neck straining to get a glimpse of your mouth sliding up and down his cock.

“Fuck, baby…” he hisses through his teeth, “So good.”

You peer up at him and see his lip caught between his teeth, eyes heavy-lidded, face etched with pleasure—the visual intensifies the throbbing between your legs. Unable to resist, you slip your fingers into your panties to ease the ache. Being extra sensitive during this phase of your cycle, it doesn’t take long before your fingers are coated in your slick.

The hum of your moans vibrates through him, fueling his torment and driving him closer to the edge. You can feel it in the way his thighs tense, hear it in the way his breath stutters. Then suddenly, his hands grab your sides, breaking your suction as he pulls you upward.

“C’mere.”

His hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, gliding to cup the backs of your thighs and the curve of your ass. He pulls you in until your center hovers right over his face.

“Take it off,” he whispers, eyes gazing up at you with dark anticipation.

Without hesitation, your top comes off in one fluid motion.

He presses slow kisses across your stomach, each one making you sigh with pleasure and weak in the knees. His fingers hook into your panties, easing them down your legs, and he guides you back onto his lap.

You gasp as your overly sensitive nipples brush against his bare chest, sending a burst of sensation straight to your core.

“I want you inside me,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours.

“Yeah?” His fingers find your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. You whimper when the sharp but pleasurable pain makes goosebumps race across your skin.

“How bad?”

You grind your soaked folds shamelessly along the length of him, then tease the seam of his lips with your tongue. “Really, really bad.”

Seungcheol flashes a cocky grin, clearly pleased with your answer. For a second, you think he’s about to finally put you out of your misery. But instead, he surprises you, lifting you off the couch.

His hands steady beneath you, he tightens your legs around his waist. You band your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he carries you down the hall—both of you giggling and kissing between breaths.

He angles his body and bumps your bedroom door wider. Your thighs hit the edge of the mattress first, and then he lowers you gently onto your back.

With a sly, teasing smile, he leans down and kisses you quickly.

“My turn.”

He hovers over you, then down—his hot mouth trailing over your breasts, your stomach, and finally, your center. You gasp, arching as his tongue flutters over your clit, every flick sending jolts through your body.

His hands slide up to cup your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples while his mouth devours you with unrelenting focus. The more you beg him to fuck you, the longer he makes you wait, savoring every sound you make, every tremble of your body.

“Cheol, please…”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just slips two fingers inside you and curls them, pressing and stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you.

You’re close to tears when he makes you come once. Then again. And again. By the time he finally lets up, your legs are shaky, your body limp with aftershocks. You lie still, your limbs heavy, your clit still pulsing from his relentless mouth.

You barely register him speaking when his finger strokes you gently across your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You nod weakly.

He chuckles, clearly pleased with the satiated look on your face.

“Time for bed?”

The second the words register, your eyes snap open, and you push up onto your elbows, protesting. “What? No!”

The corners of his mouth twitch. That’s exactly the response he wanted. He leans in close, his breath fanning against your skin.

“Can you take more?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, then his lips trace a path down your cheek before claiming your mouth again.

“Please. I just want you inside me.”

He’s seen that look in your eyes before—hunger, need. And because Seungcheol aims to please, he gives in.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You give a vague nod and your body’s already moving, scrambling upright, too eager to wait another second.

He leans in again, his breath warm on your cheek as he gently tucks a few loose strands behind your ear.

“Say it.”

A small smile curves your lips as you kneel on the bed, hands resting obediently on your thighs, sitting back on your heels–like a good girl.

His teeth catch his bottom lip. God, he could come just from seeing you like this.

“Ask me again.”

He steadies himself, shifting his focus to hang onto his last shred of control. He wants to make this last—for both of you.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“Yes.”

He takes a couple of steps back, and your mouth waters as you watch him peel off his sweats. His hand wraps around himself, slowly stroking, before he climbs onto the bed with you.

“Lean into me,” he murmurs.

You shift until your back presses against his chest, resting your cheek against his shoulder. One hand cups your face, tilting your mouth up to his for a kiss, while the other slips between your legs, fingers pumping steadily inside you.

“You ready?” he purrs.

“I’ve been ready,” you whine breathlessly.

He chuckles. “Go ahead,” he coaxes, his tongue touching yours with teasing licks. “Put me in then.”

Reaching back, your hand wraps around his length. He adjusts to line himself up for you. You sink your hips as he pushes up simultaneously, both groaning at the sensation of stretch and constriction.

He wraps his hand gently around your throat, his palm flat against your stomach. He withdraws, then thrusts so hard into you that you could swear you see stars. He holds you firmly in his arms, pumping in and out of you steadily, his groans thrumming against your spine.

“Yes, yes…harder,” you pant, reaching behind and sinking your nails into the flesh of his ass, beyond needy.

You don’t have to ask him twice—he’s already on it. He pulls out, guides you down to the bed, and steadies you as you bend at the waist, cheek pressing into the mattress. His hands grip your hips firmly, and he slides in deep, pulling a whimper from your lips. This is exactly what you wanted, and he’s all too happy to give it to you.

Your insides tense, clenching desperately around him. He grunts through clenched teeth, pulling out just enough before pushing back in intensely. Again and again. Each time, hitting every one of those tight bundles of nerves inside you.

“Don’t stop…” You whine.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me hear you.”

He smacks your ass hard, the stinging sensation causing your insides to clench around him in a vice-like grip. Your fingers claw at the sheets, deep moans rumbling from your throat.

Your legs tremble with a particularly rough stroke, but you’re still desperate and hungry for more. The steady rhythm of his hips and the sounds you make only add to his own insatiable need for you.

He spanks you again, before he picks up the pace, pounding into you, his fingers circling your clit add to the torment. Your cunt squeezes around him as another orgasm nears.

His movements grow unsteady and erratic—after delaying his gratification for so long, he’s now racing toward his orgasm.

He comes with a drawn-out, throaty growl, your knees buckling with the rush of his release melding with yours.

You both collapse onto the bed, skin flushed with a gleam of sweat, limbs tangled in the mess of sheets that he had, ironically, just washed.

He lets out a hoarse, breathless laugh. “Sorry if I went too hard.”

You giggle. “Are you kidding? No complaints here—at all!”

You both settle into a comfortable silence as your breathing steadies and heartbeats slow to normal.

After a moment, he glances over at you and asks, “Hey… are you ovulating, by any chance?” His tone is light, but there’s a hint of apprehension to it.

You narrow your gaze, intrigued. “Y-eah,” you draw out the word. “Why?”

He nods, as if that confirms something. “Figured.”

You tilt your head in amusement. “And how exactly could you tell the difference?”

His voice drops as he locks eyes with you. “Because I can feel it.” 

Sure enough, you’re much wetter, and he slips right into you with ease.

You bite back a grin. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on that kind of thing.”

He shrugs, all nonchalant about it. “We’ve been together long enough for me to know you tend to like it rough around this time.”

You glance at him, cheeks warming. He wasn’t wrong. You wanted to be manhandled, and he delivered, as he always does. “Is that weird for you?”

His mouth curves into a smirk. “Weird? Nah. Hot?” He gives an exaggerated nod, eyes trailing over you, and blows out a slow whistle.

You tilt your head back, laughing softly at the ceiling. “Well, I never thought properly done laundry would end up on my list of turn-ons, and yet, here we are.”

You catch his cheeky grin from the corner of your eye.

“Well, in that case,” he drawls, “I should mention that I ran the delicates cycle. Even used that little mesh bag you keep stashed above the washer.”

You roll onto your side and slow-blink at him, as if he’d just grown an extra head.

“And,” he adds, his voice dropping, “I vacuumed.” His eyebrow arches in that cocky way that sends your pulse racing and your self-control straight out the window.

You sit up slowly, crawling toward him with purpose. “Oooh, Mr. Choi,” you whisper, fingers trailing up his chest, “Keep talking dirty to me.”

He breaks into that throaty laugh you love so much. “Round two, then?”

Main SVT Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

Mingyu. Tall, broad, and beaming at you. Wearing board shorts that hung low on his hips and a tank top clinging to his sun-kissed shoulders. The fabric is practically a paid actor. He strolls up to you with that easy swagger he’s always had.

You wave and smile back, lips pressed together as you stifle the quiet moan that almost slips out involuntarily.

“I knew it was you.” He closes the distance in a few easy strides. With those legs, it’s certainly effortless.

“Hey, stranger!” you gasp, breath hitching as he pulls you in. The hug lingers just long enough to feel familiar.

When he eases back, his eyes dip to the plunge of your neckline, then flick back up, unashamed and unbothered by the fact that you catch him looking. Good to know he hasn’t changed one bit.

“God damn...you look hot,” he says, completely unfiltered.

“Thanks! You’re looking good yourself,” you reply.

You’re grateful for your dark, oversized sunglasses, because he definitely looks more than just “good”. You lick your parched lips. How does he somehow look even better than the last time you saw him?

“Wow, long time, huh?” His voice is warm and a bit incredulous. “Of all places! Didn’t expect to run into you here. Are you on vacation? You with someone?”

You laugh, caught off guard by his rapid-fire questions. “No, it’s just me. I’m here for work.”

He groans, his face twisting in mock horror. “Work? Out here?”

You shrug. “Well, the company covered most of it. Can’t complain. What about you? What brings you here?”

“Giving surfing a try. After the lesson, we figured we’d grab a quick bite at the restaurant here.”

Your ears perk up. “We?”

His eyes shift past your shoulder, and you turn to see someone approaching.

“Hey, you remember my buddy Seungcheol, right?”

Of course you do. You met him at one of Mingyu’s parties, back when the two of you were… spending a lot of time together. It’s been a while, but you remember Seungcheol being charming, if a bit reserved. He was also very much spoken for, the last time you saw him.

Apparently, they’re on a boys-only trip this week.

“Hi! Good to see you again,” you say, offering a hug.

Up close, he smells like sunscreen and ocean salt, clean sweat tinged with something woodsy. When you pull back, your eyes catch the scruff along his jaw, the plush curve of his mouth, the solid expanse of his chest and shoulders beneath a loose, cutoff shirt. And you can’t help but think—whoever’s waiting back home for him is damn lucky.

Mingyu’s hands land on his friend’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “I figured a little beach trip might help get this guy’s mind off things back home,” he says with a rueful smile.

Mind off things? You cock your head slightly, interest piqued.

“Bro,” Seungcheol mutters, mildly annoyed and partly embarrassed, “you don’t need to tell everyone my life story.” He shoots you an apologetic look.

Mingyu turns back to you. “C’mon! Wouldn’t you agree that a vacation is a good way to start moving on from a breakup?”

Your lips part before any words take shape. “Oh,” you breathe, the sound slipping out on a tight, startled exhale.

You glance between them. You’d assumed Seungcheol was still with his girlfriend. He just has that steady, long-term commitment vibe to him.

But not in this particular instance.

You try to mask your intrigue with a polite nod. “Well… yeah. I guess a change of scenery doesn’t hurt.”

“Please, don’t feel sorry for him,” Mingyu cuts in. “I’m just glad he finally got rid of that—”

“Dude,” Seungcheol interjects. “What did I just say?”

“Sorry,” Mingyu says with a subtle eye roll, completely unapologetic. “I promised I wouldn’t mention her name.” He clears his throat and switches gears. “Anyway! How much longer are you in town?”

“After today, just two more days,” you reply. “Managed to squeeze in some time off. The spa here is really nice.”

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you savor the memory of the facial and massage that left you feeling thoroughly blissed out.

“Good for you. You deserve to be pampered,” Seungcheol says, his voice low and velvety.

You glance over and find him watching you. His sunglasses obscure the exact direction of his gaze, but somehow, you know it’s focused.

Warmth blooms beneath your skin, spreading fast like wildfire.

Maybe it’s the heat. Or maybe you’re still coming down from your spa high. Whatever it is, Seungcheol’s presence has a gravity to it. It commands your full attention. You almost forget that Mingyu is standing right next to him—and Mingyu is impossible to overlook.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “You should come hang out. You know, if you ever get bored.”

The casual invitation is tempting, and Mingyu is quick to capitalize on it.

“Yeah! We’re renting a place up the coast. Super chill, really nice. There’s a pool, too.” He grins, eyebrows wiggling with mischief. “We could just lounge around while we do a little catching up… like old times.”

Your eyes flick to Seungcheol, trying to gauge how much he knows about those “old times” with Mingyu. But his expression gives nothing away.

You narrow your eyes at Mingyu, your smile tightening. “This isn’t that kind of trip,” you say through your teeth.

He leans in, voice low enough that only you hear it. “Didn’t say it was.” A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Buuuut… if you change your mind, I’ll text you the address. Same number, right?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply. He doesn’t need to.

Right on cue, the valet rolls up with their rental. Mingyu turns with a wink, leaving you standing in the middle of the hotel lobby, half-amused, half-agape, as Seungcheol matches his stride.

But just before he climbs into the driver’s seat, Seungcheol turns and looks back at you.

He doesn’t just glance.

He looks. A long, quiet, heated look that lands squarely on you.

And then he smiles.

*******************

Staying focused during the last session of the day proves more difficult than you thought, especially with Mingyu’s text quietly demanding attention from inside your pocket.

By the time your final meeting wraps, a few colleagues talk about hitting up the luau the hotel is hosting. You decline politely. After days of constant interaction with the same familiar faces for days and hours on end, what you really crave is peace and quiet for yourself.

You don’t feel like rotting in your room all night, so you decide to head down to the pool to catch the sunset. You slip into your swimsuit, pull on a sundress, and make your way down.

But as you round the corner that leads to the pool and the low hum of conversation from other guests drifts in, you hesitate.

Something feels off. The idea of lounging among strangers suddenly loses its appeal. You stand there for a beat, the hem of your sundress brushing your thighs, purse slung over your shoulder. You already have everything you need.

With that thought, you pivot back toward the lobby. Moments later, you slide into your rental car, punch Mingyu’s address into the GPS, and cruise up the coast with the windows down.

*********************

After driving through a long stretch of winding hills, the vacation rental finally comes into view. It looks sleek and modern, with large bay windows and dark wood, the sunset kissing the mountainside behind it.

You park and walk up to the front door, ringing the doorbell camera once.

A few seconds later, the door clicks open, and it’s Mingyu. Shirtless.

“Shit… about time,” he grins, taking the couple of beer cases from your arms. He steps aside to hold the door open, but not before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. It catches you off guard, but feels more familiar than you expected.

“Hope you’re hungry. Cheol’s been grilling like we’re expecting an entire army.”

You step into the open kitchen-slash-living room, the scent of smoke and grilled meat already floating in from outside. Through the glass doors, you spot him in the backyard, beer in hand, manning the grill.

You slide the door open and poke your head out. “Hi!”

Seungcheol turns at the sound of your voice, a slow smile spreading. “Hey. Glad you made it.”

And there it is again—that lingering stare, quietly consuming you.

“Thanks for the invite,” you grin. “Definitely beats awkward small talk at the hotel luau.”

A bottle suddenly appears in your peripheral view.

“For you,” Mingyu offers it with a flourish. “Still your fave, right?”

“Wow! Yes, thank you.” You’re surprised and impressed that he remembers. “I hope you didn’t go out of your way.”

This brew isn’t easy to come by. It’s only available in a few tucked-away spots, which makes finding it feel like a small victory every time.

“Nonsense,” he says, waving you off as he heads toward the fridge. “We aim to please around here.” He pops the cap off an identical bottle. “Besides, it’s been one of my favorites too—ever since you introduced me to it.”

You laugh softly and take a sip. You let out a satisfying sigh once that sweet and sharp finish hits your palate.

Then Mingyu tilts his chin toward Seungcheol. “We’ve got another convert here, too.”

Only then do you notice Seungcheol standing off to the side, the same bottle cradled in his hand.

You nod politely, not thinking much of it. It’s a great brew, you reason. Anyone could like it.

“Gorgeous view,” you say, gesturing past Seungcheol, grasping for something to ease the tension.

The infinity pool spills toward the horizon, overlooking the ocean. It’s breathtaking. Almost unreal, like a painting. You wonder quietly what the nightly rate is for a place as insane as this.

“Did you bring your swimsuit?” Mingyu asks.

You gesture at your outfit. “Of course,” you reply, recalling his mention of the pool.

“Oh,” he says, sounding slightly disappointed. “Because I was gonna say—if you hadn’t, it wouldn’t be a big deal. We’re pretty remote, after all.”

You nudge his shoulder with a grin, the teasing instinctive. “Will you behave?” you say, pretending to scold him.

It hits you. How easy this used to be with him. How relaxed and playful you are whenever you’re together. When did that stop? And more importantly, why?

You slide onto a stool by the kitchen counter, then see Seungcheol approach, a plate in hand.

“Got a few pieces ready,” he says, setting down some grilled pork belly and sliced beef right in front of you.

After you mouth your thanks, Mingyu pouts next to you. “Hey, what about me?”

“Eh, you can wait.” Seungcheol dismisses him. “Guests eat first,” he adds with a smirk aimed at you before turning back to the grill.

******************

You’re not imagining it. The way Seungcheol leans in during dinner, maintaining eye contact every time you dive into another anecdote. He asks questions, genuinely interested in your answers. His fingers casually brushing against your hand as he passes a dish, or his knees “accidentally“ bumping against yours multiple times while you sit side by side on the kitchen counter.

He’s definitely flirting.

And you don’t mind one bit, matching his energy as you ask about his job and the little things, like how he takes his coffee in the morning.

The Seungcheol you met back then feels like a different person. Quieter. Always tending to his girlfriend and careful not to stand too close to you or any of Mingyu’s other female friends. You figured it was his way of reassuring her, which…was fair.

However, you much prefer this version. He seems lighter. More open. Like a fun guy who just needed someone to coax him out of his shell. And maybe drop a little extra baggage along the way.

At some point, he gets up from his seat. You’re mid-laugh with Mingyu when Seungcheol returns, setting a fresh bottle down next to you.

You turn your head as he takes your empty bottle away, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I don’t know.” His voice dips just enough to make it sound sinful. “Is it working?”

You eye him for a second before bursting into laughter. You wag a finger at him. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

That earns you a knowing smile. “Who says I won’t?”

Your smile falters slightly at the sudden shift in the air between you. Playtime’s over.

You hold his gaze a moment longer than you mean to, heart rate ticking up in your chest. Then, slowly, you reach for your drink, your fingers swiping at the condensation like you need something to ground you.

“Hmm,” you murmur, taking a sip without breaking eye contact. “We’ll see about that.”

Mingyu looks between you and Seungcheol, waiting for one of you to let up. “Sheesh,” he huffs, blowing out a raspberry. “Don’t mind me!” he says before shoving another couple of pieces of meat into his mouth.

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes, cutting through the moment. He digs it out of his pocket, glances at the screen, and curses under his breath. “Sorry, I gotta take this,” he says, slipping out into the backyard.

You take the chance to collect the empty plates and bring them to the sink, the clatter of dishes a convenient way to focus on anything but your racing thoughts.

Whether it’s the alcohol or that tense exchange with Seungcheol, the flush on your cheeks hasn’t quite settled when Mingyu sidles up next to you, with a look that says he knows exactly what’s going through your head.

“He wants to fuck you,” he says, casually setting the rest of the dishes beside you.

Your head whips toward him. “Excuse me?” you choke out.

“Cheol.” Mingyu grins. “He’s got those ‘I want to fuck you’ eyes whenever he looks at you.”

You roll your eyes and snort. “Shush,” you say dismissively. “And don’t talk about your friend like that, especially if he just got out of a relationship. It’s harmless flirting. I’m sure he just wants to find out if he’s still got it.”

“Well, either way,” Mingyu shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “I think you should let him,” he whispers.

Your brow lifts. “I’m sorry, are you pimping me out now?” you ask, laughing.

Without missing a beat, he deadpans, “You’ve got no room to talk. You’ve got those fuck-me eyes, too.”

You scoff. “And how would you know that?”

He leans in. “Because you used to look at me the exact same way,” he replies smoothly and cocky as hell, before knocking back the rest of his drink.

Your jaw drops for a second before you snap it shut and purse your lips. He’s not wrong.

Back then, the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. No strings, just tangled sheets and a good time. You never crossed the line into anything serious, but the chemistry? Ridiculous.

“It’s the perfect storm,” Mingyu snickers. “He’s on the rebound, and you’re horny.” You scoff at his comment again.

“Show him how freaky you are.” He nudges your elbow.

You eye him for a few beats, then drop the sponge into the sink and turn towards him. You lower your voice. “Okay, even if I did want to, don’t you think that would be weird for him? Knowing you and I used to mess around? Isn’t there some guy-code that—”

“I’ve known him longer than you have,” he cuts in. “Trust me—he doesn’t care.”

You both go quiet for a moment.

“But hey,” he brushes his finger along your arm, “if it doesn’t work out… you know you can always come to my room. Do some catching up of our own?”

His touch sets goosebumps racing across your skin.

Before you can get another word out, your shoulders jolt when you hear the sliding door creak.

Seungcheol steps back inside, tucking his phone away, eyes locking onto yours like they never really left. His head tilts, a hint of suspicion crossing his face as he takes in the two of you standing a little too close.

“Are you guys… okay?” he asks, his eyes flicking between you like he’s just interrupted something.

You feel Mingyu’s stare burning into the side of your face, but you don’t dare look back at him.

Seungcheol makes his way across the room, and you swear the air shifts with every step he takes closer.

“Uh—we were about to ask you the same thing,” you say, a little breathless. You tear off a piece of paper towel beside the sink, trying to discreetly wipe your soapy (and sweaty) palms.

“Was there an emergency back home?”

“Not really,” Seungcheol says, shrugging. “Just someone making sure I wasn’t around so they could grab a few things from the apartment.”

Mingyu winces.

“Oh,” you say gently, remembering the reason he’s trying to get away in the first place. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol’s tone is almost too casual as he rests his hips against the kitchen island right across from you and Mingyu. “Much better now after I handled that interruption.”

Your stomach flips. That’s not small talk. It feels like intent.

You keep your eyes on him as he reaches for his drink and leans back with that confidence that sends a flash of heat straight to your core.

Mingyu clears his throat loudly. “I think I’m gonna head into town for a bit.”

Seungcheol glances at him, brow raised. “What for?”

“Uh…” Mingyu scrambles for an excuse, eyes darting around before landing on his bare chest. “To buy a shirt.”

You don’t even glance his way. “No. Stay.”

He blinks. Once. Then again, but slower this time. “Sorry—what?”

Seungcheol tips back the remnants of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. You watch the slow flex of his throat as he swallows, followed by the deliberate drag of his tongue across his lips to catch the final drops. You let the silence simmer a bit longer before finally turning to Mingyu with a slow, half-smile.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Seungcheol’s lips quirk in amusement. “I didn’t think you were the type who liked an audience.”

“I’m not,” you reply. “But I don’t mind—so long as it’s the right kind of company.” You toss a quick glance at Mingyu, then turn your attention back to Seungcheol.

He arches a brow, stepping in closer. “And exactly what kind am I?”

You don’t back down. Instead, you lean in just enough to make your point. “The kind that stares like he wants to know what I taste like.”

Mingyu lets out a low whistle. “Fuck me,” he murmurs with a soft laugh.

Seungcheol’s laugh rumbles deep in his chest. “You’re bold. I like that.”

“Mm… you do?” you ask, letting your fingers trail lightly up his chest. “What else do you like?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lingers as it travels slowly down the length of your body and back up again. “I like a lot of things,” he answers. “Especially when they come in pretty packages.”

His fingers toy with the strap on your shoulder, tugging it just enough to make your skin prickle.

“Pretty, huh?” you tease.

He narrows the gap further, heat rolling off him now. “Sexy,” he corrects, his voice hoarse. Then he dips his head slightly, breathing you in. “And a little intoxicating.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you, watching with quiet awe. By this point, the air is so thick with tension it feels like the beach house has collapsed on itself, leaving just the one charged corner of the kitchen where the three of you stand.

“Well, are you just going to keep staring?” you tilt your chin up to Seungcheol.

He brings his face closer. “I can stop, if you want me to.”

You pucker your lips and furrow your eyebrows, pretending to consider it for a bit. “I don’t want you to.”

**************

From there, you’re not sure who moves first.

Maybe it’s you, heading toward the living room, pulling them with you without meaning to. Or maybe very much on purpose. Seungcheol settles beside you on the long couch, and you turn to face him, crossing your legs slowly, offering him a better view of your thighs beneath your sundress.

Mingyu follows without a word, claiming the lone chair nearby. He angles it just enough to keep you in view, his eyes tracking your every move as he leans back with his drink.

Then again, maybe it’s Seungcheol who starts it—closing the distance, his breath brushing your lips like he can’t wait to get his fill.

Or maybe it’s Mingyu—who hasn’t said much, but his eyes speak volumes. Settling into his chair with a quiet possessiveness in the way he watches. Still, curiosity gets the best of him as he can’t take his eyes off whatever’s unfolding in front of him.

Seungcheol shifts to mirror you, his body now angled closer, fingers grazing your thigh in slow, absent-minded patterns. “How long did you say you’re in town again?”

“Couple more days,” you say casually, though your eyes quickly look to where his hand rests over the hem of your dress. Close. So close. If he can move it just a smidge higher…

“Plenty of time to unwind.”

You raise a brow. “Oh? Are you offering to help with that?”

His smile deepens. In one smooth motion, his hand slides beneath your leg, hooking behind your knee and tugging you toward him. Your breath hitches as your legs come to rest across his lap.

“It would be my pleasure.”

It’s not even the words. It’s the way he just said them, as if he’s already worked it out in his mind how he’s going to give it to you. He’s just being polite about it.

You lean in first, but he meets you halfway. His mouth brushes yours, teasing. Tentative…then firm. Like he’s testing the waters before diving in.

And then he kisses you properly. One hand cups the side of your face, the other splayed across your thigh, thumb brushing upward, pushing the hem of your dress higher. His tongue tastes like your favorite brew, with a touch of smokiness from your meal. He kisses like someone who wants you completely wrecked, not just satisfied.

You shift and straddle his lap, cupping his face and angling it to how you want to kiss him deeper.

You barely register Mingyu setting down his drink until you feel his familiar presence behind you. His fingers sliding along your shoulders, the light drag of skin on skin grounding and dizzying all at once.

“Let me see you,” he breathes in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turn your head to look up at him, lips swollen from kissing Seungcheol.

Mingyu stares back at you, brushing his thumb over your lips without a word. You bite down lightly, then take it into your mouth, sucking on it. His breath catches. He didn’t expect you to push him over the edge this fast.

“You joining, or just spectating?”

“Depends,” Mingyu says thickly. “Where do you want me?”

You glance at Seungcheol, then back at him. Mingyu’s pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched like he’s giving you full control while barely restraining himself.

You let out a soft laugh and nod at the space next to you. “Right here is perfect.”

Before he settles in, you tilt your chin up, offering your mouth. He takes it without hesitation, kissing you like he’s been starved for it. His long fingers wrap around your neck in a light but possessive hold, savoring every second of his turn before he has to share.

When he finally finds the willpower to pull away, he sinks onto the couch next to you and Seungcheol, his hand still resting at your waist. “Guess we’ll both help you unwind.”

Your kiss with Seungcheol deepens to something hotter and messier. And Mingyu kisses along your shoulder, whispering every filthy, naughty fantasy, letting you know how much he's missed tasting every inch of you.

The night turns warmer and more humid, mirroring the thick air of tension that’s been simmering in this room since you walked through the door. And in this house, at this moment, you aren’t just being treated like a fantasy. You’re being worshipped like one.

Their hands meet at your thighs, stroking, squeezing your flesh. You have no idea whose hands are where, just the feeling that your body is being devoured.

Seungcheol is in front of you, pulling your dress up over your head. Mingyu stands briefly to strip your swim top off you. His chest presses to your back, breath teasing along the curve of your neck as his hands roam every spot you used to like, eager to find out if you still do. Your moans are enough confirmation for him.

“Still good?” Seungcheol asks, voice husky, while his tongue flicks at your nipple.

You nod, pulling his jaw up toward your mouth and kissing him again. You roll your hips against him as his hands grip your ass, pulling you closer, letting you feel just how hard he already is for you.

Mingyu chuckles behind you, feeling his own erection press against your back. “She’s better than good,” his mouth grazes your ear. “She’s soaked.”

You inhale sharply once you realize Mingyu’s hand is between your thighs, already pressing where you need it. Over your swim bottoms—teasing, circling. But eventually, it’s not enough. Your hips buck against his hand, and Mingyu instantly knows you’re demanding more already.

“God, I miss how responsive you are,” he says. “You always get needy when someone praises you.”

“She still does,” Seungcheol murmurs, his mouth trailing down the line of your throat. “Don’t you, baby?”

You freeze at the word.

Mingyu notices instantly. “No pet names,” he shakes his head at Seungcheol, leaving no room for debate.

“It’s just…” you begin, trying to explain, but Seungcheol is already looking at you, eyes soft. He doesn’t push or question the matter.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly. Just like that. 

“Let’s not lose the moment,” Mingyu says right away, scooping you off Seungcheol’s lap, propping you up on the couch facing him. In one motion, he slips your bottoms away, drops to his knees, and hooks your legs over his shoulders. Then he gets right to work.

You barely have time to catch your breath before his mouth is on you. He still knows how to make you melt, like he has an entire user manual on how to make you come. One arm slips under your bottom to angle you, while the other holds your thigh to open you wider for his tongue.

Seungcheol just watches at first, eyes hooded and lips parted, hands running along your arms and shoulders, squeezing your breasts and teasing your nipples. Every touch, every kiss, every lick overloads your senses.

“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” Seungcheol says. “You’re shaking.”

“I…God…” You gasp, head dropping back onto the couch cushions as Mingyu slips his fingers into you, fluttering his tongue over your clit. He’s found the right rhythm and is not afraid to ride it mercilessly.

Mingyu briefly comes up for air. “She’s close,” he says smugly. “Can feel it.”

“Make her come. I wanna see,” Seungcheol says. With a deep suction of Mingyu’s mouth and a hard press of his fingers onto your walls, they both watch your jaw drop with a low, dragged-out groan as you start to fall apart.

Your release hits you fast and hard, your hips grinding against Mingyu’s face while Seungcheol holds you steady and kisses you through it.

And when you slump, boneless, between them, Mingyu places a soft kiss on your inner thigh before he stands, licking his mouth with a satisfied smirk. “Just as sweet as I remember.”

You manage to gasp out a laugh. “That was…”

The words escape you.

“Just the start,” Seungcheol promises. Or is it a warning?

He stands and cradles you in his arms like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bedroom down the hall, Mingyu trailing behind. They set the pace together, stripping down, letting you take them in while you sit in the middle of the bed.

“Still good with both of us?” Seungcheol asks again.

You meet his gaze. “I would actually prefer both of you.”

They move in tandem, Mingyu behind you, Seungcheol in front, their hands never leaving your skin. They kiss you, touch you, press you between them. Seungcheol parts your thighs and slides into you slowly, eyes locked on yours as he bottoms out and hisses through his teeth.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Even better than I imagined.”

Mingyu doesn’t wait long. With one hand cupping your nape, the other wrapped around his cock as he brings it to your lips.

“Open up for me,” he says, and you do so eagerly.

The scene they’ve built around you is straight out of a porno. Seungcheol drives into you with deep, rough thrusts while Mingyu’s hips rock in shallow, deliberate strokes, teasing as you take him into your mouth.

They grunt and moan praises at you with every pass.

So tight.

So wet.

So loud.

Such a good girl for them.

And there you are at the center of it all—absolutely, positively ruined.

They don’t rush anything. Every movement is drawn out, almost to a torturous extent. Pushing you to the edge, then backing off just as you’re about to tip over. Edging you relentlessly. Kisses and gentle bites trail over your skin, two pairs of hands all over your naked body, fingers gripping your flesh deep enough to bruise.

“Should we let her come?” Mingyu asks breathlessly.

Seungcheol gives a nod, his own release brimming. “I think she’s earned it.” His thumb finds your clit, working slow, but precise circles that are enough to set you off.

This wave of orgasm is loud and messy. It has your thighs trembling, eyes watering from the overwhelming pleasure. Seungcheol follows, thrusting deep and spilling inside you with a guttural moan. Mingyu pulls back from your mouth, jerking himself fast as he spurts across your chest.

You collapse onto the mattress, covered in sweat and completely spent.

For a while, no one moves or says anything. Only the sound of stuttered breaths and the evening breeze drifting in through the open balcony doors echo through the room.

You feel the mattress shift as Mingyu gets up first. A few moments later, he returns with a couple of towels. Seungcheol reaches for one, then leans in, gently running it between your legs with slow, careful strokes.

Normally, you’d prefer a shower. But right now, you’re too exhausted and too dazed to even consider getting up off the bed.

Then Mingyu flops beside you. “Aren’t you glad you skipped that luau?”

Seungcheol lets out a laugh and collapses on your other side, brushing your hair back.

“Still okay?” he asks again.

You nod, eyes glazed, smiling languidly. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Mingyu lazily drapes an arm across your stomach. “Remind me again why we stopped fucking?”

You scrunch your face, trying to remember. “You know what? I thought about that earlier and I’ve gotta say, I honestly have no idea,” you laugh. “But this is a nice little trip down memory lane.”

“We’ve still got two more nights,” Seungcheol says casually.

You turn your head toward him. “Meaning what, exactly?”

He shrugs, all charm. “Just saying—you’re welcome to stay. I’m pretty sure our amenities are much better than your hotel’s.”

Mingyu’s lips hover just above your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin before he gives you a playful bite. “What do you think?”

They lay there in silence, anxiously awaiting your answer.

“Fine,” you say, stretching casually. “But I’m on top this time.”

Both men light up, cheering as if they just hit the jackpot.

You roll your eyes, lips curving into a grin as you nestle deeper between them, your body warm and your mind quiet, for the first time in days.

Main SVT Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask. 

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread. 

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash. 

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.” 

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.” 

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red. 

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless. 

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke. 

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom. 

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you. 

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightley finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen. 

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind. 

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you. 

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you. 

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment. 

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”