#(( l o l

The words leave your mouth like a drunken dare. Slurred just enough to qualify as inadmissible in court, but sharp enough to slice through the silence in his beat up Honda Civic.

He chokes on absolutely nothing — just air, his own saliva, probably the weight of existing too —and the car swerves slightly in response. His knuckles go white on the steering wheel, eyes flicking to you with full-body panic.

“What?” he manages, but it comes out like he swallowed the question halfway down his throat.

You bite your lip, grinning like the brat you are. “You heard me.”

He looks back to the road like it personally offended him, jaw locked, ears turning that very specific shade of holy shit she’s serious pink.

This is fun. Dangerous, maybe. But fun.

You’re curled up in the passenger seat, legs folded under you, a little too buzzed and warm, thanks to whatever was in that last green tea shot. Your dress is bunched high on your thighs, and his hoodie, stolen sometime around drink three, is drowning your frame. You look casual. But your heart is punching the inside of your ribs like it’s trying to break parole.

“I’m just saying,” you continue, tilting your head, “you drive like someone who hasn’t.”

He sputters. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” you hum, stretching like a cat in the front seat, “you’re so tense. Both hands on the wheel. Ten and two. Obeying the speed limit like it’s a religion.”

“I—” he blinks rapidly, glancing at you again before darting his eyes back to the road. “I’m being safe. You’re drunk. I’m driving you home. Can you say… You’re welcome?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t grateful,” you tease, smirking now. “I just think you’re overdue for a little character development.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose like he’s been victimized by your words. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, considering it’s the last thing tethering him to sanity. The curve of his jaw flexes under the fluorescent wash of a passing streetlight, and you wonder if he’s actually angry or just short-circuiting.

Probably the latter.

You lean in just a little. Not enough to do anything stupid.

“C’mon,” you say softly, voice lilting, teasing. “Never? Not even once?”

He gulps audibly. You watch the movement of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No,” he mutters. “Jesus.”

“Wow,” you say, dragging the word out like sin. “So pure.”

“I’m not—”He shuts his mouth. You watch his knuckles flex again. “That’s not… God.”

You bite your cheek to stifle a laugh. This is better than expected. You’ve been harboring this tiny, stupid crush on him for months. Jungkook with his pretty mouth and shy eyes, always tripping over his own feet around you like you’re some kind of asteroid crashing into his orbit. And now? You’ve finally caught him mid-spin.

He clears his throat. “You’re so drunk.”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“Stop it.”

And maybe you should stop. Maybe you should let him keep his sweet-boy dignity and drop it, but… where’s the fun in that?

“You didn’t say you didn’t want it,” you reply, the grin blooming slow and wicked across your lips. “Just that it’s never happened.”

The car turns down your street mercifully. You see his shoulders rise and fall with the tension of someone who is praying for deliverance. Or a flat tire. Or spontaneous combustion.

He parks, throws the car in front of your building a little too aggressively, and finally looks at you. His voice is low when he says, “Get out of the car before I say yes.”

You blink. Smile fades just a fraction.

Oh.

So he has a mouth on him too.

You unbuckle slowly, heartbeat in your ears, and open the passenger door. But just before stepping out, you glance over your shoulder.

“Next time, Jungkook,” you murmur, lips quirking. “Hands at nine and three. You’ll need the leverage.”

And then you’re gone, vanishing into the night like a drunken menace, leaving him alone in the driver’s seat, still clutching the wheel like it just changed his life.

still, the night that it happens, her dream starting off in a familiar place -- in your arms, your lips like cinders to the parchment of her skin, but then you're pushing her back, and there's a heat coiling within her (it's been there for weeks but she's never known how to define it, never really leaned in close enough to hear it's name). and the ache between her legs is so familiar, and yet so strange at the same time bc it's not her first time, she knows the wanting for that fullness -- your fingers, your mouth, your tongue (sweet gods you're tongue) but it's nothing like this, right, the feeling of wanting to be stretched out. to feel --

her hips jerk, her mouth falls open, there's a whine twisting its way up her throat and her eyes are squeezing shut, bc why are you looking at her like that, like she's perfect but that you couldn't wait to take her apart. you snap your hips and she keens, biting down on her bottom lip so hard she thinks she tastes blood.

"fuck vi -- so good for me --"

"please -- n-ngh --! pleasepleaseplease --"

"vi?"

"a-ah --!"

"vi! are you okay? hey -- wake up!"

"h-huh?"

she jerks up, her heart a wild clatter of thunder in her chest, her skin flushed, her eyes unfocused till she sees you, hovering above her like in her dream, but unlike her dream, there's no delicate smirk on your lips, only a sincere, mounting worry creasing your forehead as you cup her cheek.

"are you okay? you were moaning in your sleep --" you say, eyes flickering over her face, taking in the dark flush in her cheeks and the uneven pace of her breaths.

vi swallows, a fresh wave of heat cresting up her stomach into her chest as she feels herself clench over nothing, the phantom fullness of the dream receding even as she scrambles to find something to say.

"sorry -- shit -- uh -- it was uh --"

"it was just a dream," you soothe, convinced that she'd had a nightmare and not --

she hisses out a long breath as you lean up to kiss her cheek, her hand coming up to catch yours, her grip strong as it always is, but something about it makes you pause.

"vi? is... everything okay?"

she takes a few deep breaths, leaning back against the pile of pillows. it's only then that she realizes what time it is -- the late afternoon sun slanting orange into the bedroom. right, she'd come into the bedroom for a power nap, and you said you were going to join her in just a few minutes.

she sighs, nodding.

"yeah. everything -- everything's great, cupcake. c'mere." she drags you into bed with her, pulling you into her chest. you settle there after a few seconds of shuffling limbs, pressing your ear to her heart.

"was it a bad dream?"

vi laughs, blinking hard as she tries to rid her vision of the afterimages of you, fucking her open on a strap, gently tugging away her hands as she'd tried to hide her noises.

"uh... no. i mean. it was just --" she swallows, "different."

you look up, your bright eyes curious as she sucks in another breath, blushing.

"but it wasn't a nightmare?"

vi licks her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry.

"uhm... no. not really exactly."

"well, you wanna tell me about it?"

vi bites her lips, swallowing down the kneejerk urge to reject the idea completely. she steadies her breathing and closes her eyes. if there's anything she knows in this life, it's that you'd never laugh at her, never do anything you thought might hurt her.

that you love her, unconditionally. in a way that she's still sometimes unused to being loved. but she's learning. so she figures it can't hurt, and she opens her mouth.