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alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

Text

throttle │ jjk - one

this fic is my baby and has just hit 400k over on wp, so I'm sharing her here too he he

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - jungkook is blonde <3, he's also a bit of an asshole. dangerous driving, alcohol consumption, nothing major, we're setting scenes, building worlds just to ruin them woohoo. mentions of violence, gang dynamics. both the oc and jk swear like sailors.

word count - 17.8k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

The bell above the gas station door always chimes just a little bit louder than is really necessary.

In fact, the shrill clang of metal is so intrusive, that it feels borderline rude every single time a customer swings the door open. It's only natural for you to ignore it now, affronted by the way it distracts your focus.

It's not like you're ever doing anything important. Just flicking through the day's newspapers or counting stock.

Although, come to think of it, you're never actually counting stock, either. You leave that job for Jieun, because you know she's a stickler for the rules, and likes feeling accomplished after her shifts are finished.

You're not really sure how much accomplishment can be derived from a part-time job at a GS25 attached to a gas station forecourt, but she seems to enjoy it.

This job really isn't for you - but it's better than following your father into local politics, and nepotism is all you really have going for you, considering you flunked the college entrance exam. An act of rebellion, for the corruption scandal your father had chosen to embroil himself in during your senior year, you had refused to write a single word on the paper.

You thought it would embarrass him - and it did. Just at your expense.

And so, while it may not be your childhood dream of being a pop star, or a vet, or anything of any significance, ringing up bills at the gas station is how you're able to pay your own bills. It'll do for now.

You ignore the chime of the bell as the door to the service station opens once more.

It's the start of the year, and the breeze is bitter whenever it rushes in. This time, the wind is accompanied by a guy in his mid-thirties. Dark slacks, burgundy jumper. His off-brand sliders scuff across the floor as he traipses round to the refrigerator, bottle clinking as he picks up a little soju and some beer for his evening. It's not an uncommon occurrence for men his age.

You hypothesise his next move. To the snack section to pick up something for his kids? Maybe straight to the kiosk to pay for his fuel? You check the screen, and notice he's barely added enough gas to cover the minimum charge.

A scornful mutter of 'priorities' laces your lips, as you see him put back the soju and reach for the whisky instead.

Still, you can't blame him. It's fucking freezing. A little whisky to warm him up will probably be as cost-effective as getting a new boiler that actually works.

It's all just an assumption of course.

You don't know this man, and you don't have a clue if his boiler works or not - but thinking about the lives of the people you meet for split fractions of time always helps to make your shift go quicker.

He comes to the counter, pays, and leaves.

You wonder if he's made up a life for you in his head, too.

Probably not. He probably already has an actual life to distract him from his thoughts. Maybe that's what the whisky is for.

And there you go again; hypothesising. Thinking. Putting your assumptions onto strangers.

The next customer is a girl around your age, wearing a fluffy pink coat and hoops big enough to be worn as bangles. She arrives on foot, pushing the swing door open without much care for excessive force.

You decide, all rather quickly, that she must work at the gentlemen's club around the corner from the gas station. She's buying a coffee, iced, and nothing else.

It's when she's at the kiosk that you realise your make-believe life for her is terribly inaccurate. She fumbles with her purse, dropping her staff I.D. card.

She's a nurse. Paediatric nurse, to be specific. The coffee she's picked up isn't for a boost before a shift on the poles, but to keep her going through a night on the wards.

And yet despite how your assumptions are so often so wrong, you still consider yourself to be a good judge of character.

It's a flaw, the way you always seem to think you can read people; think you can look at their demeanour, their clothes, and assume their financial status, what they do after the sun sets, and if they're going home to an empty house or not.

Your thoughts become lore. The gas station you work in is the thick leather cover that protects your make-believe world from outsiders.

When the bell chimes again, you don't look up.

It's a habit. You don't want to make eye contact. It breaks the illusion that these people are just characters in your head.

Instead, you glance up to the curved mirror in the far corner of the shop. It acts as a second pair of eyes, and is ignored by pretty much all of the customers - except for the teenage girls who like to take selfies in it.

Tall, you assess when you finally find the new customer in the mirror. Broad.

His posture a little sloped, but all things considered, he carries himself well. He heads for the refrigerators, just like every man above the age of 19 seems to do on a Friday night. There's that clink again, and you guess he's going for soju. He's young, so it seems apt. Whatever's cheapest seems to be the drink of choice for the guys your age, and you can't blame them.

You watch, cautious to not catch his gaze, as he heads to the food fridge.

Gimbap, you guess. Tuna, not chicken. One roll, not two.

He pulls out his phone to check a notification, and you notice just how hard his gaze is. There's a ridge between his brows, and a couple silver ballbearings accenting the brow farthest from you. Whatever he's reading on his phone, he doesn't like.

Girlfriend, you guess again. No. An ex. No, no. A FWB turned far-too-clingy.

He looks like the type to be after something a little casual.

The tattoos on his hands are nothing special - you've seen hands like his in countless 'sneaky' Instagram stories; a hand on the thigh, holding a bag. Y'know, the ones. The kind of shit girls post with the caption 'private, not secret' - but you both know there's nothing really 'private' about it. The owner of the hands will be blocked within a week or two, once the girl realises he's nothing special, just like his hands.

You hear him mutter beneath his breath. You can't quite make it out, but the way he shakes his head lets you know that it was most likely a curse. He locks his phone, tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, and carries on looking for something to eat.

You watch as his gaze lifts and falls.

That's it, you urge silently. Go for the gimbap.

You want to be proven right.

He's already got a green bottle tucked into the pocket of his black bomber jacket, so you know you've got his choice of drink correct. You're assuming that your guess about his phone is correct, too, so you only need one more right to get a full house.

As he looks across the snacks - gimbap, vacuum-sealed meats, cheese, strawberry sandwiches and enough microwavable food to feed an orphanage - he pushes his hair out of his face. The way it falls back down almost instantly makes you smile.

He needs a haircut - but you bet that his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover) loves it, so he keeps it long for her satisfaction. It's bleached; pale as the sticky rice balls he's eyeing up, with dark roots that let you know he's trouble. No boy with hair like that has ever been good news. Especially not the ones who look like him.

Or so you guess look like him. He's wearing a mask. It's black, to match his outfit, cinched at the nose, hooked around ears that are studded up the sides. He must have, what? Five? Six? Little square studs in there. Airport security must be a nightmare.

You smile to yourself as he reaches for gimbap. One roll, not two. Tuna, not chicken. Bingo.

"Pump six," he says as he approaches the counter. You already know. It's been waiting on the screen since he walked in. There's no one else in the forecourt. "And these."

He tosses down the gimbap, and pulls the soju from his pocket, an old receipt coming with it. Kang's Auto Repairs it reads, but he stuffs it back into his pocket before you can read anything else.

"We're cheaper," you note, not really caring for revealing just how incredibly nosey you are. There's a perspex screen between you, which always makes you feel protected - from people, their judgements and whatever other airborne diseases they might be carrying. From the looks of him, the only diseases he'll be carrying are the ones found beneath the sheets. He's too well-built to be suffering from any ailments - but equally, too well built to not to be fucking about. "Cheaper than Kang's, I mean. He'll charge you an arm and a leg for the honour of his service."

"Hmm?" He raises a brow, obviously just wanting to pay for his shit and go. "Thanks, but I like Kang's. Been going there for years."

You hold back a laugh. He's no older than you. 24? 25? Yet he's talking like he's been loyal to that over-priced, under-qualified garage for decades. The neighbourhood is littered with garages, scrap part dealers and gas stations, and yet Kang's is the main competitor for your place. It's not even in this neighbourhood - it's across the river, which is a different district entirely, but the proximity is close enough. Your boss will never miss an opportunity to shit talk Old Man Kang and his 'con-artist' car mechanics. He doesn't think any of them are actually trained.

"Yeah, well," you smile, scanning his items, pretending there's a fault with the barcode on his gimbap just to be a little annoying. "Our guy, Yoongi, he's a specialist with those." You nod out of the window and towards the car by pump six. It's red; a little bit brash, but a classic. "Pony, right? Hyundai? '80?"

"Pony," he nods, tone neutral but eyes a little narrow. Doesn't know why, but he didn't expect you to know - and then he remembers you work at a garage. Of course you know. Got the year wrong, though."It's an '83. A mark two. I'll keep the suggestion in mind," he adds, though you both know he's lying. "How much do I owe you?"

He doesn't really listen as you list off the figure. Just hands you his card, hums when you ask for his signature - sign of a big spender, must be a full tank - and says little else. His phone buzzes on the counter as he stuffs his purchases back into his pockets, and you glance down - again, not caring for the discretion of your nosey tendencies.

KNJ. (1) New Message.

Sneaky bastard, you think. How rude of him not to have his message previews displayed.

You're not sure if he caught you looking, but he snaps his phone up regardless and shoves it into his back pocket.

"Cheers," he nods, before he sets off into the night. Car unlocked, he slides into the driver's seat and empties his pockets onto the passengers' side. You watch on for a moment, before there's a rattle of his exhaust pipe, engine roaring into action - and like that, he's gone. You assume he's not on his way to his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). Wouldn't have bought tuna if he was. Then again, he's a guy. You don't expect him to care about such social cues.

Maybe he's just left hers. His neck did seem a little red, but then again, it's cold. Minus 3. The river you walk across to get to work is frozen over, and has been for about two weeks now. You've got a heat pack stuffed in either pocket of your work jacket.

Well, Yoongi's work jacket. It's his name stitched into the breast pocket - but it's bigger than yours, so you can fit a few more layers beneath it. If the boss saw you in it, he'd have a bitch fit for 'not following company protocols,' and for not caring about the 'company brand image'. Which is true. You're neither following protocols, nor do you care about the company nor its brand image.

It's just gone nine on a Friday night, though, and the boss clocked out a few hours ago with a bottle of makgeolli and the day's newspaper under his arm. He's not gonna see. And if he does, what's he gonna do? Fire you? Good luck to him finding anyone else who wants to spend their winter nights freezing half-to-death in this shit hole of a gas station.

By the time midnight hits, you've been yawning for at least an hour. Keeping yourself warm is a laboursome task.

"You're gonna catch a cold," Yoongi acknowledges as he enters the shop through the back entrance. He's still wrapped up in a calf-length puffa jacket, all warm and cosy. He heads out past the kiosks as normal, up to the fridges. Bagged americano and a cup of ice. You know his score - and you're proven right. "Tell me why I agreed to cover your night shift, again?" he says with a slight shiver as he scans through his own items.

Though he's typically out fixing up cars behind the service station, he helps you out at the kiosk too. Normally just when there are staff shortages - which in all fairness, occur more frequently than you'd expect.

"'Cause you love me," you sing, knowing that it's entirely plausible.

Yoongi - stone-cold, stoic, as emotionally inept as you'd expect a bachelor verging on his 30s to be - could very much be in love with you. It's not like he really speaks to many other women, and he's never given you a reason to believe he's not interested.

But he does give you his jacket, cuts you slack on the days you feel like shit, and covers the shifts you don't want to work without asking any questions. Sometimes he sneaks you the food that was meant to be tossed in the bin overnight, and other times he makes sure there's a peach tea waiting for you when you clock in.

"It's 'cause I love money," he corrects, as if the extra 30,000 won he'll make from the last three hours of your shift is really an incentive. He's already spent 3,000 on his coffee. "Now scram. Get yourself home. Fucking freezing tonight. Want me to call you a cab?"

That'll be an extra 7,000 to his evenings' expenses. You really don't think he does love the money. At least not enough for it to be a reasonable excuse.

"It's good," you shake your head. "You know I'm not far away."

He nods, not really fighting your choices. It's not like you ever accept his offer anyway. He learned quite a long time ago that if you want something done, you'll do it for yourself.

Y'see, you're not the only one who watches.

Yoongi watches you too, as you tap through on the screen to log yourself out and cash up the till.

You've only run 260,000 through your till in the last four hours, barely enough to make ends meet for the gas station. No wonder the place hasn't had any upgrades - with the exception of tills and a new fridge every now and again - since the mid-noughties. The signs are rusting, and Yoongi still has to change the fuel prices by hand every morning.

On the rare shifts you work together, you like to make assumptions together. You guess what people are gonna buy, hypothesise where they're going, who they're going with. When you hear bottles clink, you guess which flavour soju they're going for, as if you don't only have 4 flavours stocked. During the summer, you like to guess who's filling up their tanks to go to the coast.

The door chimes as a new customer walks in, and Yoongi knocks his head back. "Go on, out. I'll cash your till up. It's all good."

You ask if he's sure, to which he smiles and tells you to leave again - so you do. Not without thanking him, and fluttering your lashes a little. Maybe it is your fault, just a little, that Yoongi might be a tiny bit in love with you.

"I owe you the world!" You squeal as you skip out the door. He laughs, but says nothing. He just wants you home and safe as quickly as possible.

Yoongi doesn't mind covering your shifts, not this late at night. He knows this area doesn't have the best reputation, and despite your sharp tongue, he knows that you'd stand absolutely no chance if someone decided that it seemed like a good place to commit a felony or two.

It's a debate you've had a few times before. You know he's right, but you fight against him regardless. It always makes him smile, and only adds to your theory that he might be a little bit in love with you.

You forget the quiet thrum in your chest as soon as the cold air hits you. Yoongi traded his jacket with you before you left; him now in his work uniform, and you in his thick puffa which reaches down to your ankles. Hands stuffed into his pockets, your shoulders hunch as you walk, a mask covering your face just to keep the heat in. Your scarf is wrapped around you so tightly that you might just suffocate, but it would be worth it, you think. You hate this time of year. So fucking cold, and for what?

The bridge lights are off by the time you reach it, illuminated only by a couple of cars. They're sat up towards the far end, facing you, and you sigh. Every fucking weekend.

It's not always the same cars, but quite often it is - or some variation of the same group, at least. They sit, waiting for traffic to die down and the lights to cut off, before turning the bridge into their own little speedway.

You should have guessed from the sound of that asshole's exhaust earlier that evening that he'd be one of them.

The fact he goes to Kang's, too.

It's obvious, when you think about it now.

Guys his age never fill up their tanks - but he did. Filled it up just to spit it all out again, painting the road in iridescent speckles of gas.

You can see the Pony. It's the car farthest away from you, next to a black SsangYong.

You can't make out the model of the SsangYong, but it looks fast. It's lowered, windows tinted, exhaust tampered with, just to create an almighty roar - which screams 'I have a tiny cock'.

At least with the Pony, you can tell that the sound being delivered comes from his engine. Credit where it's due, and all that. He could still very much have a tiny cock, but at least he's better at hiding it.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you hug into yourself to preserve heat. The lights of the cars make you a little self-conscious, aware that you're the only thing in sight that's disturbing their peace. There's ice on the road, but you pay it no notice, knowing that there's no point in worrying about one of the cars swerving off-road as they inevitably shoot past you.

If it happens, it happens.

The SsangYong is loud. Obnoxiously, so. You can hear pressure being put down and released on the gas pedal, clutch raised. He's teasing you. Warning you. Hurry up.

Next to it, the Pony hums. He doesn't seem interested in taunting you as if you could fight a two-tonne vehicle as it hurtles towards you. That, or he doesn't want to waste his gas. Lord knows he'll be wasting enough of it tonight as it is.

"Try me, fucker," you mumble under your breath, eyes trained on the black car. You can't make out its driver, nor do you really care.

It's at this point you notice a guy on the opposite side of the road.

He flashes the torch of his phone, once, twice. The Pony kicks into gear now, too, revving to rival the SsangYong. You're halfway across the bridge, wishing they could have just waited, like, one more minute. But whatever. Assholes will be assholes.

The torch guy is out of your line of vision by the time you hear tyres screech against the ice-cold road, rubber-burning regardless. The Ssangyong bolts, fumes from the exhaust fogging in the air behind it. You expect the Pony to do the same.

It takes you half a second to realise it's stagnated, and another half to realise that things aren't going to plan for Mr Gimbap.

There's a thud from the back wheels as they lock and release, causing the wheels to spin out. You've seen enough wheel spins now to know one, and as the Pony lurches forward, you know that's exactly what it is - but you also know the road is icy.

The fun of a wheel spin, or so Yoongi likes to tell you, is that brief moment of lost control. He likes to do it whenever he gives you a lift home, because he finds the way you freak out funny - but he's always in command of his vehicle. He's never done it with you in the car during the winter. He knows better. Doesn't actually want to lose control.

At least, not like the dude in the driver's seat of the Pony currently is.

The back kicks out, sending him swerving. The front wheels are a fucking mess, his hands twisting the wheel in an attempt to rectify his fuck up. It's fruitless. He's off the clutch, the wheels aren't spinning, but he's already on the ice, and he's hurtling towards you.

You're aware you should run, but like the river, you're stuck. Frozen in place.

Maybe you should have accepted Yoongi's offer of a taxi. RIP.

There's another biting screech as you're doused in headlights, and you're pretty sure that this is what people mean when they say you see the light before you die. Fucking blinding. No way those lamps are regulation approved.

It's as you're bracing yourself for the inevitable end (and thinking about how embarrassing it's going to be when your family is tasked with clearing out your apartment after your demise - you haven't cleaned for weeks, laundry has been sat in the washer for two days, and there's a pizza box that you don't dare look in sitting next to the bin) that miracle seems to strike.

The Pony hits an uniced patch just in time for the driver to slam on his breaks. Handbrake, by the sound of it, but you're not sure. Not really sure of anything. Your heart is beating in your throat.

Steam is coming from the heat of the tyres, but the air around you is frozen, and so are you. You're not sure if it's from the cold or from the shock. A bit of both probably. You don't shake out of it until the driver's door pops open.

"The fuck are you doing?" He shouts. His mask is off now, not like it had been in the store. Light glimmers off yet more metal stuck in face, this time a ring around his plump bottom lip. His nose, though well proportioned, is blushed. "I could have fucking hit you!"

"Uh, yeah?" You almost laugh, too stunned to compute the fact that he was shouting at you. "Yeah, you could have fucking hit me, you asshole-"

"The fuck are you doing on the bridge? This late? Wearing all fucking black? I know you work around here, so I know you know what this place is used for-"

"Yeah, it's a bridge," you deadpan. It's notorious for racing, but who cares? It's not like you're in the wrong here. He's the one breaking laws. You're just trying to go home. "It's used to cross rivers. So, yanno, people working night shifts can walk home without rowing a fucking boat. Pretty neat actually, invented by the Greeks."

"Don't be smart," he scolds. "You saw us gearing up, you knew what was about to ha-"

"I'm sorry," you really are laughing now. "Are you telling me that I'm in the wrong? You? The asshole who's racing his shitty car on an icy fucking bridge? The asshole who can't control his aforementioned shitty car-"

"Can control it," he snaps. "If I couldn't, you'd be fucking dead."

"Oh, well thank you very much! How kind of you to not kill me as a result of your reckless driving. No, really. I appreciate it so much. How ever can I repay you?"

"You know what?" He calls after you when you begin to walk away. As far as you're concerned, the conversion is done. "Next time, I will just hit you."

"Be my fucking guest!" You shout back, holding your middle finger up to wave goodbye. "Stick to Kang's next time, you pretentious, self-absorbed cunt."

"Gladly."

"Oh, and by the way," you begin to say in a sickly sweet tone, which you just know is going to piss him off. You turn to find him standing, facing the bridge wall, looking at the river that's illuminated only by the headlamps of his car, like two little moons. The real one is hidden by clouds. "You'll have better control if you release the clutch a little slower. Wheelspin like that? Yeah, someone needs to practise their clutch control."

He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he just flares his nostrils and grates his jaw. He knows you're right. Knows he missed the mark - but he'd been distracted when he noticed you on the bridge. You threw him off his game.

Equally, you know he's a good driver. The way he gained control of his car on the ice was borderline expert. Impressive. You won't go as far to say life-saving, because if it wasn't for his driving in the first place, your life wouldn't have needed any God Damn saving.

You walk backwards for a step or two, just to gloat in the knowledge you've gotten the last word. He glares at you, but stays silent. Victory.

"Oi, Kook. The fuck was that about?" A distant voice yells. The SsangYong driver, you assume.

"Nothin'," he yells back. His eyes are still on you, watching as you hunch a little, folding your arms over your chest. You must be freezing, he thinks. Stupid, too. The area is littered with taxis on Friday nights. Why anyone would choose to walk is beyond him. He casts you one final stare, his chest heaving from the adrenaline, before he turns away from you. "Stupid bitch almost got herself killed. Starting line. Let's go again."

────────────

You don't mention your near-death experience to Yoongi when you see him at work the following Monday. You know he'll just worry, and then he'll really start insisting on ordering cabs for you.

Worse yet, you think he might just order them to arrive when your shift finishes, and then you'll have to take them. No point in making mountains out of molehills.

Customers are always steady on Mondays; people fuelling up for the working week, replenishing stocks wasted on the weekends.

By the time it hits four, school kids are piling in. They're picking up snacks, something to fuel them between mandatory classes and the additional ones they've picked up at hagwons. Poor suckers, you always think.

It's been years since you did the same grind, and you still don't fully understand just why you worked yourself to the bone, only to end up working in a fucking service station.

It had never been the dream. Still isn't - but it beats being hired on account of nepotism, thanks to a father with an unlawful influence in the city.

Your family name - which you don't go by, these days - is on the side of buildings, in the list of hospital beneficiaries, even on the local soccer team's fucking shirts. You're cursed with it; no identity of your own. Even when did try to get a job without the backing of your family, people still knew. Your face has been at God knows how many press junkets, playing the role of the Mayor's darling daughter.

All bullshit, of course.

Your father is just as good at saving face as he is at making investments. Turns out there really is nothing money can't buy; support for a mayoral campaign, the silence of a nanny - of whom he started fucking when you were still in middle school - and enough pearls to keep your mother happy after she found out.

Cars, houses, material goods? You'd wanted for nothing as a kid.

Privilege. It's a funny little thing. You had the world, and yet none of it was yours. Not really. And so, as soon as you were of legal age, you were out of the family home, trying to find some concrete meaning for your life.

All you'd found so far was the harrowing knowledge that your father's mayoral tenure had been hell for those without the privileges you'd been raised with, and therefore you'd distanced yourself so far from your family that you weren't even sure they'd recognise you, anymore.

"You good?" Yoongi asks, around about the time the clock hits five. He's by the back entrance, wiping his oil-covered hands on an old rag. "Just finishing up."

"Good," you nod in response to his question. You give him a fond smile to let him know that the perplexed expression he'd caught on your face was nothing to be worried about, and then you ask him his plans for the evening.

There are only a few more hours left on the clock for you. It's a mid-shift, someone else coming in to work the night rotation. You've never liked these shifts - the highest influx of customers, but by far the least interesting interactions.

They come and go so quickly that it's hard to make up a fake life for them, before they're replaced by the next sullen face, wanting to get in and out as quickly as possible.

"Gimmie a call if you need a lift," Yoongi calls over as he gets his jacket to leave. Off comes his work one, tossed over to you, replaced with the black puffa you returned that morning.

"Will do," you nod - and you both know you're lying. Still, he's a gentleman through and through. Wouldn't have felt right if he didn't at least offer. The bell on the entryway door chimes, but you don't look over to see the customer, choosing to smile at your friend instead. "Catch ya later, Yoongs."

"Yeah, you too," he smiles back, zipping up his coat and pulling up his mask. He's walking home, too, but it's still light. It will be dark by the time nine hits, and even though he doesn't know about last Friday night, he still doesn't like the idea of you walking home alone.

You hear the clink of glasses by the fridge, but the view is obscured by an obnoxious advertising standee your boss has insisted you put up inside the store. You tried telling him that the whole point was to draw customers in, not block them from even entering, but he was having none of it. Doesn't trust the kids in the neighbourhood not to nick it.

There's a crunch as the lid of the chest freezer is slid open, a cup of ice rattling as it's pulled from the stack. You only filled it up half an hour ago.

Annoying. And who the fuck is drinking an iced drink on a day like today? You think, as if Yoongi doesn't reach for an iced americano before each and every shift. You're just as bad. Your peach tea habit is becoming an issue.

You glance to the forecourt to check which pump to ring through - and that's when you see it.

Sat in bay six, as proud as the paint is bright, is that stupid fucking Pony again. With a small scoff, you pull up the balance - just over 30,000. Half a tank. Already.

Hardly a surprise, with the way he had been ragging it about on Friday evening. Must be a common occurrence.

As he comes into your line of vision, you busy yourself.

Turning your back to the kiosk, you're arranging cigarettes that don't need to be arranged, purely so that you don't have to look at him. The bottom of his soju bottle clinks against the counter, the ice and a coffee bag following suit. You still don't turn around, instead opting to look through the 'how-to' manual for the lottery machine, just to really reinforce the fact that serving him is the last thing you want to do.

Had you not told him to stick to Kang's?

"Ahem," he coughs.

You pause mid-page turn and look vacantly into the distance for a moment, before facing him with a smile so insincere it's almost comical.

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

He nods, but doesn't say anything further. He's in all black again, this time with a sweater beneath his bomber. Air quality is still bad, thanks to the cold temperatures and lack of rain to clear the skies, so he's wearing a mask again, but it's perched beneath his jaw. His poker face holds up well.

You ring up his total, ignoring the fact he's chosen to go for a peach tea, not coffee like you'd assumed, and ask if he wants a receipt. He declines, and heads on his way, scooping up his soju bottle, leaving the peach tea.

"Oi," you call after him, but he ignores you."Oi."

Still, nothing. He pushes the door open with his knuckles that are wrapped tightly around the neck of his bottle, not paying you any attention. He's just being a dick at this point. You know he can hear you.

"Oi," you shout again, sliding out from behind the kiosk and following him to the door. You don't grab his drink - he can go back and pick it up himself, the asshole.

"Kook," you shout, remembering the name the SsangYong driver had called him by.

He stops now.

"Oh," he turns, lips pursed, before throwing your words right back at you. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

Neither of you say anything. It's fucking freezing, and you can see your breath as you huddle yourself together. His eyes are soft, expression gentle, to suggest he's only teasing, but you can't work him out.

"You left your drink."

He shakes his head. Holds up his soju. "No, I didn't. That's yours. You like them, right? It's what you were drinking the other day?"

You narrow your eyes, only for him to raise his brows. You aren't the only nosey one, doll.

"Bit weird," you tell him.

Retrospectively, he thinks you're probably right. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He hadn't intended for it to be so strange - he just isn't great at admitting when he's in the wrong, so a peace offering is a far more tempting solution.

He digs a hand into his pocket, almost as if he's searching for the remains of his dignity, but simply shrugs. "I know I was a bit of a prick."

Acknowledgements of flaws are always welcome by you, but you really don't fancy just forgiving and forgetting. As stupid as it all seems, it was a life or death situation. A peach fucking tea wouldn't have resurrected you or uncrushed your bones.

"Yeah," you nod, biting down on your lip, a little unsure of how to handle the situation. "You were. And not just 'a bit' of a prick. Massive prick, actually."

He repeats your correction, and adds, "You just took me by surprise. I panicked. I'm not usually that..."

"Unreasonable? Arsey? Unable to control your clutch?"

"All of the above," he smiles, and you notice that he has dimples. Asshole. "Look, I won't bother you again. It just wasn't sitting right with me, the way I behaved. My mother would have been rolling in her grave if she heard me speak to a girl like that, especially so late at night. It was a dick move... and so," he inhales, looking at the ground before briefly meeting your eyes again. They're round and wide, almost as if he's incapable of telling lies. "I'm sorry."

There's silence for a moment, and then there's the flash of headlights as a second car rolls into the forecourt. You both turn to check the car, but it's just a standard family saloon. Nothing worth checking out, but it's enough to end the conversation.

"Stick to Kang's," you simply say as he pops open the door to his car. "I appreciate the sentiment, though. Was sweet."

He nods, fully intending on sticking to Kang's. He just needed to do this before he could move on from things.

Or at least, that's the assumption that you make as he drives away.

You wait for a little while, ignoring the man clicking the gas nozzle into the side of his car, just watching the now empty road where the small red car had sped off from. You wonder where he's going, but determine he's most likely going to that FWB you've decided he has.

Turning on your heels slowly, you let your body weight fall into the swing door, pushing it open with your shoulder. The bell jingles, like always, and for some reason, it kind of feels like the sound has settled in your stomach. It's all jittery and annoying, and you don't quite understand it. You definitely don't like it, whatever this feeling is.

It's the same feeling that washes over you next Thursday afternoon, when the bell chimes and you glance out the window, only to see a red Hyundai fucking Pony sat in bay six.

He begins to make a habit of it. Neither of you really address it. He just keeps showing up, filling his tank up, and buying whatever tickles his fancy from the snack fridge. It's nearly always gimbap. Occasionally he'll pick up something a little more substantial, and it's always accompanied with soju on Friday nights.

It takes about three weeks for you to be able to distinguish the way in which he opens the shop door. The bell chimes a little slower than normal, his casually cool demeanour preventing him from using too much force to open it. It will always 'ding' for just a bit longer than when other people push open the door. Doesn't matter where you are in the shop, what time it is. You always know when it's him.

It's a Saturday when you hear the unmistakable sound of him again, 4 weeks since that first time.

You can't see him, thanks to the standee that is still obstructing your view, but you can hear the fridges. One, two, bottles of soju. There's another clang. Three? Unusual. It's when he heads to the snack fridge that you realise you're off your game.

He's holding beers - four of them. Making the most of the four for 10,000 deal, you muse. The bottles are green, so you assume Terra, but there are some foreign imports in the fridge, too. You kind of stop guessing at this point, too busy watching. His hair is messy, like aways, and the flannel shirt he's wearing is in need of an iron, but you have to admit - there's a certain charm about him.

Your eyes flick to the door to check that nobody else has entered, and are proven correct - so why does your stomach still feel like that bloody bell chiming?

"Am I good to leave these here?" He asks, drawing your attention back to him. He's already putting the beers down on the counter, so it's not really like you can say no. "Haven't filled up yet, just wanted to check that you had what I was after, first."

"Beers?" You laugh almost immediately. "It's a GS25, dude. Course we have beers."

"Right," he nods, scrunching his nose up a little as he smiles. It was a stupid excuse, and he knew it. Part of you thinks he actually looks a little bashful. It's sweet. Confusing - but sweet, nonetheless. "I'll just go fill up."

"Uh-huh," you nod, when he doesn't leave immediately, almost as if he's waiting for permission. He laughs, and so do you. It's awkward, and you don't know why but you find yourself dropping his gaze. "Just go fill up your car."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Fill up. Right."

You move his bottles to the side just in case of another customer, and set about making yourself look busy, but you're a simple being. It's hard to do anything other than wistfully stare when a boy that pretty is stood in your forecourt.

He pays you no notice as he unscrews his gas cap and positions the nozzle against the opening of his car.

There's a casual nature to his posture, leaning back ever so slightly as he slides the length of the nozzle into his car, displaying just how in tune he is with doing such a menial task. It's second nature at this point.

He watches the nozzle, then lifts his gaze above the car and out towards the road. His eyes are hard, focused almost, that little line forming between his brows again. Almost like he's looking for something.

There's a click as his gas reaches its limit, and he withdraws the nozzle slightly, letting the excess drip into the tank. He knocks it once, twice, against the entrance to be sure that he's emptied it of every last drop, before he slides it out and hooks it back into its holder.

You finally avert your eyes as he screws the cap back into place, your fingers working nimbly to bring up his total on the screen.

There's that ringing feeling again when you notice he's barely reached the minimum spend, yet you could hear the tell-tale sign of a full tank from the forecourt. He hadn't needed gas at all.

He could have just gotten a few bottles of beer from any of the convenience stores in the area - and yet for some reason, he made his excuse to come to you.

The silage of his aftershave lingers by the kiosk, and you remind yourself that he's probably off to see a girl you've made up in your head. The beers are probably to be drunk with her. The flannel shirt is still creased because what's the point in ironing something that will just end up on the floor, anyway?

It's these thoughts that have you acting a little frosty again when he returns. You ring up his total, instruct him to put his card in the machine, as if he doesn't know what he's doing, and then you offer him a receipt.

He's a little confused by the fact you're as cold as the air outside.

Had your interactions not developed past the point of a typical cashier-customer relationship? Maybe he'd read the situation a little wrong.

"Kang's have beer," he finally adds, accepting his receipt, studying it, just to see if it has your name listed under the cashier ID. It does. He takes his time to fold it up, instead of just stuffing it into his back pocket. He's biding time. Making more for himself. "But I'm a bit of a liar," he says, ending his statement with your name. The way he says it, hanging onto the last syllable, taking claim of your identity as his gaze meets your eyes, has that stupid ringing feeling back in your stomach. "I'm not here for beers."

"No?" you ask, almost nonchalant. You're divided by a perspex screen, and you've never been more thankful. It's cutting the tension for you.

"No," he shakes his head. He's about to speak, when the bell of the door goes again - for real, this time. Not just in your stomach.

He steps aside to let the customer pay for their gas. It's a simple transaction, no added extras like Flannel Boy always has.

He stands awkwardly, toying at the bagged sweets with his ring adorned fingers. You decide that even if your assumptions about him are wrong, there's one that must be right: he knows he's hot.

The way he turns and smirks after the customer leaves, and says, "where were we?", only confirms this.

"You were saying how you weren't here for beer," you remind him, not that he actually needs it.

The perspex screen feels like a thick brick wall. You're simultaneously thankful for and annoyed by it.

"Ah, that's right," he nods. "You were saying how you're going to call in sick tomorrow night and meet me downtown."

"I'm gonna do what now?" You laugh, caught off guard by his boldness. He's smooth, you'll give him that much.

"You're gonna meet me downtown," he says simply, before adding, "Jungangno underground, exit two. The one near CGV. I can draw you a map-"

"Shut up," you laugh, blissfully ignoring the fact he's flirting with you. "I know Jungangno."

"So you'll meet me there?"

"I didn't say that."

He begins to gather up his beers, two in either hand, a smile etched on his cheeks. "So I'll see you tomorrow, at, hmm, say, 8?"

"No," you laugh.

"Yes," he grins back, walking away so that you don't have even more opportunities to reject his advances.

"No, you won't."

You sound so full of conviction when you say it. Determined. Self-assured.

Idiot.

────────────

You tell yourself that you're not going to go.

You told Mr Gimbap that, too, before he left the gas station, not that he was listening.

You tell yourself it again when you're thinking about what you could wear, and then you repeat it like an oath when you're texting Yoongi to see if he can cover your shift.

It's not like you're actually going to go.

You just want to check out your options.

And yet, somehow, you find yourself sitting on a bench outside a shitty burger chain at seven-fifty-six the next evening.

You're dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a slouchy sweater which is a few sizes too big, but you think it looks cute. It's covered by a thick puffa jacket, regardless - cropped to your hips, unlike Yoongi's mammoth calf-length one.

He told you he'd be happy to cover your shift tonight when you asked, but you still feel a little guilty.

Mainly because when he asked why, you panicked and lied, telling him it was a friend's birthday.

You then also told yourself that you're definitely going to hell - but it's not like that's news to you.

It's still freezing, and you're thankful that you changed out of your converse and into a pair of boots before you left your apartment. Your hair is clipped up, make up the same as it normally is, just with a little more mascara than normal. You don't want to make it look like you've actually made an effort - but you definitely have.

You're about a mile and a half from work, but you can feel that bloody door chime in your stomach, again.

Should you walk away, a little? You don't want him to see you waiting.

Appearing too keen is the least of your desires.

Desperation isn't a good look for anyone. If anything, he should be the one waiting for you. Kind of rude that he isn't, actually. So you get up, and pace around a little, before thinking fuck it.

You hop on the elevator and head down into Jungangno underground mall, painfully aware of your stomach doing that stupid ringing thing again. Maybe it's vertigo. From, like, the change in altitude, or some shit like that. You're almost able to convince yourself that it's plausible. Almost.

The shops in the underground mall are a welcome distraction. Ajummas stand in dated clothing stores, offering low-quality clothes for even lower prices. It's crowded, and stuffy, but you're enjoying the distraction. You head for your favourite jewellery place, an emporium filled floor to ceiling with what must be thousands of jewellery pieces, and fumble through the racks of earrings.

You aren't wearing any, and remember that he - Kook, though you're not entirely sure that's actually his name - wore enough to open up his own jewellery store. You settle on a simple pair, just a couple silver hoops. It's a subtle difference, but one that makes you feel a little more confident. A little more willing to awkwardly say hello, and go on a date (if you can call it that) with a guy you barely know.

Pulling your phone out, you check the time. Seven past eight. Do-able. A little late, but not so late that it's rude. You head up the stairs, and are greeted with almost the exact same scene you had left ten minutes earlier.

Perhaps he's just running late. It's not embarrassing to be the first one waiting, not now that it's gone past the meeting time, but you can feel that ringing in your stomach begin to grate against your insides.

It hits eight-fifteen, and you're feeling anxious. Embarrassed. Even if he does show up now, it's obvious that you've been waiting there like a tragic, desperate excuse of a woman.

Five more minutes, you tell yourself.

But five turns into ten, and then another fifteen, and then it's nearly nine.

You pull out your phone and are barely able to type, thanks to how bloody cold it is.

How long until lateness turns into being stood up?

Opinions vary, but everyone on the little online forum you're reading seems to be of agreement that 45 minutes is the cut off point. 45 cold, lonely, mortifying minutes.

You imagine he's watching you, laughing from the warmth of a cafe, with that friends-with-benefits girl you've convinced yourself is definitely real.

God, you must look like a twat. You've been sat here for so fucking long. Your hands are numb, arse too, and you know you're gonna wake up with a cold - but none of these compare to your hurt pride. Not by a country mile.

With a sigh, you stand, admitting defeat. Being a jerk, you could get over. But this? Deliberately being cruel? You're proven right, after all. The guy is an asshole.

You hop on the 503 out of the downtown area and back towards home. The ride is lonely, city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gaze out the window and wonder at which point your life became this bleak. You work at a gas station, and got stood up by a guy who drives a fucking Pony. Mortifying.

The ding of the bus as it rolls into its stops reminds you of the chime of the gas station door - so you stay on for a few extra stops past your apartment building.

You're gentle as you press the red button to let the driver know you'd like to get off, but there's a little more traffic than normal, so he lets you off ahead of schedule. Odd. The roads are never normally blocked, not at this time of night.

You're only a couple hundred steps away from the bridge, but you notice the red and blue flashing lights across it almost instantly.

Your heart sinks to your stomach, right into the pit where the chime has been grating your insides apart. Still, you keep on walking. It's only the road that's blocked. Not the path. One foot in front of the next, you keep going, until your pace begins to increase. You can see the police cars now, and where they're parked.

Fuck the kid you barely know, fuck feeling sorry for yourself.

All you can think about is Yoongi.

There are four cars sitting outside your place of work, and you can hear an ambulance blast its sirens away from the gas station in an attempt to get through the crowd.

You're gonna be sick. You can feel it - or is that just the chime resting too far up in your oesophagus, now? You ignore it though, and begin to run, faster, faster, faster, boots clicking against the pavement as you draw closer to the gas station. Your boss is there, locked in conversation with a police officer, but Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

A cop notices you approach, grabbing onto you as you attempt to run past the tape and into the store.

"Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, little lady-"

"Where is he?" You panic, not even caring to offended by the officers choice in tone. "Min Yoongi. The guy who was working. Yoongi, where is he?"

"Who are you?" The officer counters, and you want to scream.

"Where is he?!" You struggle against his grip, kicking out, but the officer is firm. He's trained to handle situations like this; girls like you. The little but fierce. The kind of girls Shakespeare wrote about. "Where the fuck is he?"

From across the forecourt, your boss calls over. "She's one of mine. Was meant to be working this shift. Did a last minute switch with Min Yoongi."

The officer nods, understanding the situation, but not easing his grip. "In that case, I'm gonna need you to come with me to the station. Need you to answer some questions."

You stop struggling. "I- What?"

"You're not under arrest. It's voluntary, but we'll have to go to the station," he speaks calmly, straight to the point. You notice that his nose is slightly crooked. You wonder how many people have punched it. Quite a few, probably, considering that you'd quite like to do the same.

"Just go," your boss calls over, not even looking in your direction. Asshole, you seethe internally. City is full of fucking assholes.

"Where the fuck is Yoongi?!" You demand to know, this time shouting towards your boss, who looks like he's in desperate need of a cigarette. He just fucking shrugs.

"C'mon, station," the officer says, deciding that enough is enough.

You don't know your rights. You can't fight back, not really, and you're starting to tear up, and everything feels like such a fucking mess. You just wanna know that Yoongi is safe, that he's well, that he's okay. If he's not, it's all your fault, and you don't even know how to process that.

In fact, you don't know how to process any of this. Your cheeks are wet before you're even sitting in the back of the police car. The engine rumbles, and before you know it, you're back downtown, but this time you're at the city's main police office.

It's hard to comprehend anything. You practically feel like you're dragged from the car and then dumped in the witness interrogation room. Some rookie cop is asking you questions, and you find yourself not wanting to answer a single one of them.

They're stupid fucking questions, for starters. Dumb shit.

Why did you switch your shift? Were you aware of a planned hold up at your place of work? Is that why you swapped? Who were you going on a date with? Why did you lie to Min Yoongi about your activities this evening? How do you not know the name of your date? Says on your file that you legally changed your name six years ago? Why? Anyone know of your family ties to politics?

Dumb questions reap dumb answers though, so once they realise they're getting nothing of any substance from you, they admit defeat. Tell you they'll be in touch if they need to follow up.

And then, after they've watched you cry for an hour and half over Yoongi, they tell you he's fine. Came in for routine questioning, but was released without charge (obviously) and drove back.

He's waiting for you in the lobby.

That temptation to break the officer's nose? Yeah. Intensifies.

"God, you fucking idiot," Yoongi speaks softly as you come into view, face all red and puffy from tears cried over him. He pulls you into his chest, and you can hear his heart thud, thud, thud, against your head. "Why did you go to work? Shouldda just gone home."

He calls you an idiot again, and you sniffle into his chest. There's a comforting scent to his clothes, a mix of gasoline and cotton, and it makes you feel a little calmer.

You pull away, and inspect his face. There's a small graze on his cheekbone, which is beginning to bruise, and a little dried blood crusting around his nostrils. Other than that, he seems okay.

He's silent as your fingers trace the pink flesh of his cheeks, lips resting a little ajar, unsure. Uncertain. He doesn't know what to make of such an outward display of concern - so he simply brushes it off.

"I'm fine, trouble," he promises, bringing his hands up to clasp your wrists and stop your hands from roaming. Doesn't wanna stop you. Not really. Just knows that he should. "C'mon, let's get you home."

And it's ridiculous, 'cause Yoongi was the one who had been held at knifepoint by three men that evening, the tills forcefully emptied and his life threatened if he didn't tell them where 'the girl' was.

He doesn't tell you that last part when he tells you what happened, though. Doesn't want to scare you. He's scared enough, himself.

It replays in his head, the way the guy with the knife doubled-down when Yoongi said he had no clue where you were. The clatter of the knife against the counter, the hands that tangled in his hair and slammed his face against the surface... yeah, they weren't memories he'd be forgetting any time soon.

Yoongi has few regrets in life, but taking the perspex screen down at the beginning of his shift to clean it definitely makes the list.

A conversation plays on loop, though, which scares him more than anything else.

"You said she'd be here. She ain't fuckin' here!" "Well she normally is. You know I've been keeping watch for weeks-" "Not hard enough." "Oh fuck you, you do it next time, prick."

Doesn't take a genius to work it out - and Yoongi's pretty smart, regardless. For whatever reason, they'd been hoping you'd be on shift.

"Do me a favour?" Yoongi asks as he rolls his car into your neighbourhood. He only lives around the corner from you, but it's too far, he thinks.

"Mhmm?"

"Kind of feel a bit..." he pauses, but doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. You already know. "Don't really wanna be alone."

"Stay at mine," you offer, straight off the bat, not giving it a second thought.

He shakes his head. Makes some excuse about your place being small. Avoids mentioning the fact he's scared that someones keeping tabs on you.

"I've got a spare room," he adds. "Makes more sense."

You'd be forgiven for thinking this is just another sign that the poor boy is helplessly infatuated with you. He knows he isn't really all that inconspicuous, but he also knows that the pair of you would never work. He just can't seem to help himself.

And so you end up in his bed, while he takes the pull out sofa in his spare room, because he's far too much of a gent to make you sleep on something so crappy. He leaves the heater on in your room, because you're always complaining about the cold, and tells you not to worry when you pout and mention the fact it will hike his heating bill. It's a small price to pay.

"All the money I've saved when you refuse taxis can go on the heater, instead."

Still, you click it off as soon as you're confident Yoongi won't be back in to check on you.

In the morning, when his hair is all fluffy and cheeks puffy from a crappy sleep, he orders breakfast and double-checks that you're okay to work the shift you're scheduled on for. You remind him that he was the one held at knifepoint. Not you.

You're not surprised to learn that Yoongi thinks two iced americanos and half a bagel each qualifies as 'breakfast', but you appreciate it nonetheless.

"I can cover, if needs be," he rambles, bagel in one hand, americano in the other, while you watch on with a smile. His cheek has bruised rather spectacularly, and you wonder if it aches as much as your heart does. "Boss gave me a couple days off, but I don't love the idea of you being there alone-"

The guilt of asking him to cover the night before is eating you alive. You don't think you'll ever ask him to cover for you again. Karma will catch up with you, you're sure, but for now, you'll be your own Saturn.

"I'll be fine," you smile. "Lightning never strikes twice."

────────────

When Jungkook drives, he drives alone.

No music, no radio, just him and the open road. He likes to hear the way the tarmac sounds beneath his tyres, and how the engine purrs a little louder when he steps on the gas. It's therapy in a way - though, with the amount that he spends on gas, he's pretty certain that an actual therapist would probably be cheaper.

The roads are empty, morning sun breaking beyond the mountains that line Daegu, as he makes his way past the bridge over the river, and out towards Kang's. There's a boxing studio next door, owned by Old Man Kang himself, a little decrepit and definitely not the kind of place you end up by chance.

It's the kind of place that's bestowed upon those who need it; the people looking for a home. A family. A cult, some like to joke, though Jungkook thinks they're half right. For him, it's somewhere to hide when the world gets too invasive; a shadow in the spotlight.

Old Man Kang's boxing club is a shit hole, when Jungkook looks at it objectively. Wires hang from the ceiling, and the walls have needed a paint ever since he'd first stepped foot into the place six years ago. He thinks about doing it sometimes, just showing up early before anyone else arrives, with a can of white emulsion from Daiso and a few brushes. Never does it, though. Would be a thankless job. Old Man Kang probably wouldn't even notice.

And if he did? He'd probably make Jungkook pay for 'defacing his property.'

As he pulls his car into the forecourt, parking up by the air compressors, Jungkook sighs. He isn't expecting anyone else to be here so early, but he's having trouble sleeping. Pulling down on his sun visor, he's rough as he slides the mirror cover across to study his face.

He's not looking too bad - lip a little split, but alright, all things considered. Could have been a lot worse. Namjoon has a mean left hook, after all.

His thumb presses down on the buckle of his seatbelt, releasing it as he reaches over for his duffle bag in the footwell of his passenger seat. There's a clink as he does so, half a dozen bottles of soju ready to be transferred into the fridge by the entrance to the locker room. It's a free for all, used by all the members of the boxing club, but no one ever knows who actually stocks it up. It just kind of... replenishes. Like Christmas presents, or coins under pillows in place of lost teeth.

Admittedly, Jungkook never used to know, either. He still doesn't know who stocks up the waters. He knows who stocks the soju, though. Or at least, he's known for the last few weeks, now.

Where else is he gonna put all the bottles he buys from your store? It's not like he ever drinks them. He just needs an excuse to visit so frequently.

"You're early," a voice says from the back entrance, as Jungkook is shuffling around with the bottles. The fridge light hums, illuminating his face, as he lets his perfectionism take priority when arranging the bottles. He doesn't turn to look, knowing the tone by heart.

"So are you, Minnie."

Minnie by name, mini by nature, Park Jimin is a 5'7 (though he swears blind he's 5'9 with shoes on) force to be reckoned with. He likes to get to the club early, before his shifts at the fishmongers. It gets his blood pumping, ready for a day of hacking away at marine carcases.

"I'm always early," he teases, as he tosses his bag on an old wicker chair in the corner of the room.

It's a large space - a disused rice store that was repurposed in the 80's, and taken over by Old Man Kang after the last owner gambled it away during a back alley game of poker. A large square ring is in the middle, red ropes a little tatty, but still usable. There are a few machines dotted around the corners of the room, but most people opt to use the plethora of punching bags hung up by the far wall.

Jungkook smiles softly as he begins to wrap his hands up. He's dressed down in just a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. They're tapered towards his ankles, where they meet his beat-up black high tops. His laces are pulled tight, wrapped around the classic star logo, and tied in hasty bows on the back of his ankles. Double knotted, as always. "Couldn't sleep."

For how much of a liar he is, Jungkook is always honest with Jimin.

Well. Nearly always.

Jimin heads for the far corner, where a skipping rope is strung up on a rusty nail embedded into the wall. He nods, figuring as much. "Joon isn't happy."

Jungkook rolls his eyes as he stretches out his back. He couldn't give a fuck if Namjoon is happy or not, especially not after-

"You should talk to him."

Squaring up to the coffee-brown punching bag, Jungkook knocks his head to the side. His jaw clenches as he gently presses against the leather to get a feel for the weight. He bounces, left, right, and then throws a punch. The smack of his hand against the weighted bag echoes into the room.

"Or not," Jimin adds, sensing that Jungkook is in no mood to talk to anyone - and definitely not Namjoon.

Unsolicited advice is never received well by Jungkook. If he wants it, he'll ask for it. Jimin knows this.

There's an art to the way his body moves, recoiling a little with every punch thrown until he disciplines himself. Back broad and triangular, calves strong and tense, it's clear to see that Jungkook can defend his own. If he had wanted to fight back against Namjoon, he could have.

But Jungkook is a man of honour. Integrity. Respect. He'd never fight against Namjoon, no matter how much he disagreed with him - so instead, he takes it out on a punching bag that is so old it may as well be an antique. The echo of his assault against the leather rings in his ears like a warning bell. A siren. A chime.

It's funny, 'cause a few roads over - just past the bridge and down the lane - there's a ringing in your ears too.

For you, it actually is a chime - the one of the gas station door, and it's a scathing reminder of how badly you fucked up by asking Yoongi to cover your shift.

You spend your morning lamenting, hypothesising. You're so busy thinking about the stupid boy who drives that god-awful red car, that you don't even bother making assumptions about other customers.

They're all about him. Where he was, who he was with. Why he did what he did.

You decide that he grew up in a single-parent household. He's already mentioned his late mother, and suggested that she influenced his need to apologise, so a father figure didn't really seem to fit the profile you have of him.

He wears so much black because he's scared of having an actual personality. Scared that it makes him vulnerable. Or so you assume. In fact, you decide that 'scared' is the best way to describe him.

A scaredy-cat. A chicken. A pussy. No balls.

After all, he was too scared to show up, and didn't even have the bottle to find a way to let you know. Did he have your number? No - but perhaps that was deliberate on his part, too.

Your final assessment of his character comes in the form of his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). If she's real, which again, you've decided she is, then you don't think it's her fault that she's developed an unhealthy dependency on him. He seems to be the type to lift others up, only to drag them back down with him.

Enough thoughts about him, though.

If you're not worthy of his time, then why should he be worthy of yours?

The next few days are spent in a subliminal haze; body moving, mind still. It's Wednesday before you know it.

Jieun is on shift with you, after she complained about not wanting to work alone following the raid. You told her that no one would be stupid enough to rush the place again so soon after the first time, but she's having none of it.

"We don't get paid enough to put our lives at risk," she states whenever the topic of conversation is mentioned. And she's right - you don't.

But as you look at the grainy CCTV footage still-image that's taped up above the counter, you can't help but think they wouldn't have actually killed either you or Jieun. Realistically, they barely left a scratch on Yoongi. Physically, at least. Mentally, he's a little more wounded.

There had been three of them; two rather tall, the third shorter. About Yoongi's height, you guess. Dressed in all black, it's hard to really distinguish any features or their bodies, let alone their faces, which had been covered in ski masks. Run of the mill robbers. The kind you see in crappy action films. Background characters. Just a way to move the plot along, no real personalities, no actual significance to the lives of the protagonists, other than causing a mild inconvenience.

You don't even realise when you're making assumptions, these days. You think in hypothesis more often than not.

The thieves had run off on foot and down the back alley behind the shop, which is where the trail to find them ends. The CCTV for the alley has been out for months. The boss didn't deem it a necessary investment - "Well, we'd never been robbed before!" - so it had fallen to the bottom of his priority list. The issue with the back alley is that it leads to an underpass with so many blind spots that it's easy - almost too easy - to slip into nothingness.

It's when you're staring at them, thinking about the assumptions you could make for your mystery men of misdemeanours, that the door chimes.

You don't ignore it, anymore. The raid has spooked you. So you look towards it, and are met with the sight a broad back. The shoulders, strong and well-defined, are covered in a brown flannel shirt. It's tucked into a pair of jeans, that cling to the contours of the customer's legs. He's not wearing a coat - just hopped out of his car, where the aircon is keeping him toasty - and you realise you recognise his posture.

The mop of bleached hair is pretty damn recognisable, too.

"Jieun," you hiss quietly, drawing her attention from the stock she's counting in front of the kiosk. She glances towards you, eyes startled by your tone. You beckon your head back, and she scurries over to you.

"Can you man the till?"

She looks confused for a second. "Why?"

"Girl issues," you lie, knowing she won't be able to say no. "Just came on my period. Need to, yanno-"

"Go, go, go," she nods, hurrying behind the counter, ushering you away and towards the staff room door.

As you leave, you glance to the curved mirror in the far corner; the one that only you look in. It's your second pair of eyes - but you find another pair staring back at you. It's brief, and his gaze drops as soon as he sees you focus on him, blonde hair covering his dark eyes from your view. He's looking at the gimbap again, now. Pretending like he never saw you.

Good, you think. Fuck off.

It's been three days since he stood you up; three days since you jeopardised one of your best friends lives to see him, only for him to be M.I.A. You don't know the kid, not really. Why waste any more of your time on him?

You stay in the bathroom for upwards of five minutes. Just enough time for him to leave. Jieun must be wondering what you're doing, but you'll just explain it away.

You're quite good at that. Lying. Just little ones, white lies. Porkies. Fibs. Never anything that will harm another person, just things that will protect you instead.

"Who's the blonde dude?" Jieun asks when you return. You furrow your brows and play dumb. "The one with the brow piercing," she adds, as if you need any clarification. Blonde dudes aren't really the norm around these parts. He sticks out like a sore fucking thumb. "Tattoos."

"Dunno," you say with a smile. It's the same one that laces all of your little lies.

For once, Jieun looks at you, her thick brows hard and poised, as if she knows you're lying.

And then she nods towards the counter, where a peach tea and a cup of ice sits. "Left this for you."

"Hmm," you purr. "Must think I'm someone I'm not."

Yeah, you think scornfully. Must think I'm an idiot.

It worked as an apology once before - but it's a pattern of behaviour, now. He's a leopard, spots unchanged as he runs away from the consequences of his actions, suffocating you in the dust clouds he leaves behind.

"He's cute," Jieun muses.

"No," you smile. It's the same one. That little one full of lies. "He's not."

────────────

The peach tea sits on the counter by the till for two days. It's tucked behind a box of pocket money candies, which are waiting to be restocked; hidden in such a way so that only you know it's there.

Y'see, you've been making assumptions again - though you wouldn't really call this one an assumption. It's acceptance of a habit that's been proven: he will return.

He always does, it seems.

And sure enough, that afternoon, two days after you'd last been graced with his presence, he returns.

Jieun spots him first, eyes darting immediately towards yours. You're like a deer in headlights, ready to bolt - but she doesn't let you.

"Gotta go," she squeaks, before mouthing 'girl issues' to you, with a smile she reserves moments like these; her little victories.

He does his usual rounds, and you're already mentally ringing it up: a bottle of soju, and a tuna gimbap roll. You glance out to the forecourt, towards pump six - but it's empty. Not a single car in sight, let alone his trusty red pony. You're confused. Brows furrowed, nostrils a little flared. Lips pouty. You big baby.

When he eventually comes to the kiosk, it takes all of your strength not to ask, 'why the fuck are you here?'

And just like all of your assumptions about him, you're wrong. Again.

No soju, no gimbap. Banana milk and bibimyun ramyeon, instead. A great combination by all accounts, but you're not gonna give him the satisfaction of letting him know you think his choice is elite.

As far as you're concerned, he can take his banana milk and shove it up his ass.

Frustratingly, he appears to find amusement in your outward expression of annoyance. There seems to be a small grin on his face, cheeks appled beneath his mask, as if he's not aware that it's painfully awkward between the pair of you.

He has no manners, you decide. No spine. No awareness of social cues, either. A triple whammy. What a catch.

But you believe that silence is a virtue, so you say nothing as you ring up his items. You don't even tell him his total - just nod towards the card machine. He follows your line of sight, watching the machine light up for a moment, before putting his card in the slot.

While he does so, you reach for the peach tea and add it to his stockpile.

"You forgot your drink again."

He looks at the pouch of tea, then up towards you. And then he repeats it, several times.

"Ouch," he says, ending his declaration of pain with a small laugh. You've got half a mind to rip the pouch open and pour it all over his shitty flannel shirt. It's blue today, paired with sweats, because apparently that's fashionable?

Boy looks like he got dressed in the dark, you think scornfully - but really, you're just annoyed with how hot you think he looks. Unreasonably hot. He's the bloody Sahara storming through Daegu's coldest winter. He's melting the river, leaving everyone wet in the process.

Or maybe not. Maybe just you-

"What's the grin for?" he teases, and you realise that you've been paying too much attention to your thoughts.

"No grin," you snap, face flushed.

"Service with a smile, as always."

"Your transaction is done," you say, this time smiling as if butter wouldn't melt. "You can leave, now."

He holds up his pot of ramyeon and shrugs, before glancing over to the food station, where the hot water and microwaves are waiting for him. "Actually, I think I'm just gonna eat here."

Without even so much as a glance back towards you, the asshole picks up a pair of chopsticks, wrapped in thin paper, and heads towards the food station. You're in a state of disbelief. Entitled prick.

Jieun returns almost as soon as he's left the counter. She still doesn't have a clue about whatever's happened between the pair of you, but she did see you hiding up the peach tea a couple of days ago, so she figured it was something.

"You gonna take it to him?" she asks, nodding down towards the tea, which he's left at the counter, again.

"No."

"Take him the tea."

"No."

"Take it."

"No.

"Fine," she huffs. "If you don't, I will-"

"Fine!" you whisper, though it's definitely a shout. You might not want anything to do with him, but you also don't want to watch him work his charms on Jieun. For her benefit. Not yours. Definitely not because you don't want to see him flirting with her instead.

Him, with his stupid tattoos, and dumb blonde hair, and annoying smile and-

"Go," she grins.

"Just... give me a minute."

You watch as he fills up his ramyeon bowl, hot air steaming around the jet of water. It's been a while since you ate, and you're a little jealous. Your break isn't for another few hours yet, though, so smelling his food throughout the store will be torture. Asshole.

He sits down, and Jieun pesters you a little more, but you're trying to wait it out. If a customer comes in, then you can just deal with them instead - but the forecourt is empty, just like it always is at this awkward time of day. After lunch, but before the end of school. This is the real ghost shift of a gas station - after midnight is when it comes alive.

Admittedly, it was a little too lively the night of the raid. You make a mental note to text Yoongi on your break, just to check-in, and then you glare at Jieun and her shit-eating grin, before heading towards gimbap-less Mr Gimbap.

Tossing the bag down onto the cheap plastic table, you're indifferent as you speak. "Like I said. This is yours."

"Is it?" he asks, unpierced brow raised. "Doesn't look like mine."

"Well, it is," you say, clearly fed up with him. "And just while we're talking - where's your car?"

His eyes narrow ever so briefly. Almost like he knows you're onto him. For what? No clue. But something.

"Taillights out. Just needs a repair."

You nod. Seems plausible. At least he sticks to the highway code - even if he does break it after the clock strikes twelve every other weekend.

You're not quite sure what to make of him as he looks at you, eyes only lingering for long enough to let you know that there's something he's not telling you.

The air quality isn't bad today. There's no need for him to be wearing a mask, but he's hiding. From you? From something else? You can't work him out.

Perhaps it's shame.

After all, this is a boy who came and apologised to you for being a little bit mean in the heat of the moment. Being deliberately cruel doesn't really seem like his motive, no matter how cold his demeanour is.

And so, instead of just letting your assumptions fester, you voice them.

"You're hiding something."

You're met with silence.

"Behind that mask," you clarify, before repeating yourself. "You're hiding something."

He looks at you for a moment, before dropping your gaze, and glancing towards the door.

Thinking about making a run for it, you lament internally - but he's not. He just doesn't like how sometimes - just sometimes - your assumptions are entirely correct.

He lifts his ringed index finger to his ear, unhooking the thin black elastic that keeps his mask in place, before letting it fall. His skin is clammy beneath it from the heat of his breath, and the chill of the winter breeze outside, but your eyes fall to his bottom lip.

It's split, the centre crease darker than the soft pink flesh around it. There's a bruise beneath it, still tender and sore. You don't mean to, but you gasp at the sight of it. It's no worse than Yoongi's graze, the placement makes it so much more bothersome.

Uncomfortable with the way you're looking at him - like you feel sorry for him - he hooks his mask back up again.

"Happy now?" he asks, knowing that you just love to be proven right.

You scoff, a little offended. "Obviously not. What happened?" You take the seat opposite his. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened," he lies, avoiding your eyes as he does so. It's funny how you haven't noticed that little trait of his yet. You will. Just not yet. "I'm fine."

"You're quite clearly not fine."

"Quite clearly am," he bickers, before nodding to the food on the table. "Just hungry."

Ouch. You're just trying to make sure he's okay, but if he wants to be hostile again, then fine. No skin off your back.

You nod, looking away. It's awkward, and when the bell chimes to indicate another customer entering the shop, you find your stomach lurching.

Still, he toys with the softening noodles in their pot, as if they're the most fascinating things in the world.

This isn't how he wanted this conversation to go. Hell, he doesn't even know what the outcome should be. He's just feeling uneasy, as if he's making all the wrong choices.

"I heard about the raid."

You nod. It's been on all the local radio stations. Thankfully Yoongi is the only employee being name-checked. You aren't ready to give up your own personal paradise just yet, which is exactly what will happen the second your family gets notice of where you're spending your days.

"Yeah, me too," you deadpan. It's a fault of yours, giving back the same energy you receive, unable to just suck things up and be nice all the time.

Thankfully, he smiles. You kind of expected that he would. He seems to get you, get your humour. It's something you both share, like a little secret. A smile rests on his lips as he glances up towards you, like he's a school kid trying not to giggle in class.

And then you find yourself making assumptions again. You wonder what he would have been like in school, if he would have been just as charming. You bet that he was the kind of kid who could get away with murder in class. All he'd have to do was flash those of eyes of his, and he'd be off the hook.

Sort of like how he does with you. Why else would you be giving him the time of day after he stood you up?

"Oh really?" He entertains your attitude."What did you hear?"

You lean against the table, a little bit provocative, but only 'cause his tone of voice matched it. "Heard that I'm lucky some prick asked me out, even if he did leave me waiting for hours in the dark."

His smile falters a little, but only for a fraction of a second. He likes the flirt; doesn't like the acknowledgement of what he did. "Hours?"

"Nah," you scrunch your nose up, and sit up straight again. You're still smiling, to let him know that you're feeling fine about it, now. "Didn't stick around for that long. What?" You laugh when he raises a brow, and begin to tell white lies. He'll see through them, but you want him to. "You think I don't have other eligible bachelors lining up, trying to take me on dates?"

He shrugs, and you can tell that he's pouting a little behind his mask. "I'm still the one you skived off work for, am I not?"

"That's neither here nor there."

"Yeah, it is," he speaks softly, leaning forward on the table. Closer. "What time do you clock off today? I wanna talk. Properly."

"Are we not talking properly now?" You say, unable to resist being difficult. It takes everything within his power not to roll those pretty eyes of his - but you're grinning, and he finds himself doing the same back. His mouth may be covered by his mask, but you can still tell.

He thinks about his response for a moment. If he's being honest, he wants to make some crude remark; tell you that he wants to get you talking just so he can think of ways to shut you up. You're not at that level yet, though. Coming on strong is unfavoured by him, so he opts for something a little cooler.

"We're talking about talking," he reminds you, picking up the pot up and leaning over to the sink by the food station to drain the excess water. "I wanna talk about... well, anything else."

You purse your lips, folding your arms across your chest. There's part of you that really wants to say no, to tell him to go fuck himself. But there's a teeny tiny part of you that wants to say-

"Nine. I'm off at nine."

"Nine," he nods. "I'll be here."

"Sure you will," you tease.

"I will."

"Yeah, yeah. Course. You're really good at that." You're nodding enthusiastically, a stupid smile on your face, eyes all wide as if you couldn't be more naive. You can tell he's smiling again, and it's like that door chime in your stomach is bloody broken. "Yanno, the whole showing up when you say you will, thing."

"Shut up," he laughs, but it catches in his throat like a low growl. "I'll be here, but not if you keep being a little bitch."

Your teeth cushion themselves on your bottom lip, and you nod. "See you at nine... Kook?" You question, realising that you're yet to actually ask his name.

"Jungkook. But Kook works, too. Just depends on how well acquainted you're planning on getting."

He doesn't give you a chance to reply, simply standing as he pushes the pot of noodles over to you. "Eat up. You look hungry."

Turning on his heel, he heads for the door.

The bell chimes, and it's like it's harmonising with the feeling in your stomach.

You prod around at the noodles, and sigh, posture defeated. This is not good.

────────────

The rest of your shift trudges on. It's slow, the hands of the clock seemingly frozen - until, suddenly, it's nine.

"You're late," Jungkook greets you, perched on a bollard by the side of the forecourt. He's wearing a coat, now, wrapped up a little warmer than he had been earlier. His sweats have been traded for jeans, but he's still in that big blue flannel shirt. You like it.

And he's not wrong - cashing up your till took a little longer than normal, thanks to an old note that wouldn't read properly in the sorter. Just another thing your boss refuses to upgrade.

"At least I'm here," you quip back.

"Touché." He holds out his arm, almost as if he expects you to link yours with his. "Shall we?"

You look at his arm, then up towards him. And then you repeat it, letting out a soft laugh, not accepting his arm, instead turning to walk in the direction of home. "C'mon," you call back. "You walking me home or not?"

It's his turn to laugh now as he ups his pace to catch up with you. "Not."

"Not?"

"Not," he repeats, seemingly unable to say anything else - until, of course, he does. "My cars around the corner. Wanna go for a drive?"

"Sorted the taillight?" You ask, curious, figuring that it would have been at Kang's overnight.

Jungkook hums a response, not really saying yes or no, but as you turn the corner and it comes into vision, you can see that his taillights seem fine - not that you can really judge. A car as old as his doesn't come with central locking systems, so it's not like you'll see the lights flash as it-

Oh. Nevermind.

There's a beep, and the car flashes in front of you, mocking those damn assumptions of yours.

"Since when do Pony's have electric locks?" You ask defensively, almost as a reflex for having your assumptions disproven.

"Since I decided to install them," he says, as if it's the simplest job in the world. You've heard Yoongi mutter 'bastard locks' enough times to know otherwise.

"Kang's must make a killing from you," you joke as he nods towards the passenger side, indicating for you to get in.

"Kang's don't make shit from me when it comes to the wires."

You wait for him to pop his door open before you do the same. The interior is leather, all black, and is cold to the touch as you get in. The windscreen begins to fog almost instantly, the minimal heat you're letting off proving just how cold it's been getting lately.

It's curious, you think. There should be a little heat left in the car from his drive to meet you.

"No?" you question, choosing to ignore the temperature of the car. It's below zero, you rationalise. Of course it cooled quickly.

"No," he shakes his head, turning the key in the ignition.

The car rumbles - purrs - softly. You can tell he's listening to the engine, making sure that it sounds okay before he sets off. Standard old car problems. Running gas through the motor before it warms up only causes issues.

Like his locking system, you notice that the stereo isn't exactly true to the era in which the car was built (even if the lack of insulation is). It's got an aux cord hanging from the headphone jack, which he picks up and places in your lap. "Don't put anything shit on."

He avoids clarifying your question, and it annoys you - so you choose to be direct about it, not plugging your phone in at all. If he doesn't want to listen to shit music, he should be a more specific.

You're stewing, clearly irritated, but you're also casually enamoured, watching him as he carefully observes the dashboard, checking the revs, trying to heat the car up a little.

"Just the electrics? What about everything else?"

He doesn't look your way as he replies. "Just the electrics. Put your seatbelt on."

"Why?"

He's still not looking at you. "'Cause if I crash, you'll go straight through the windshield."

"Not the seatbelt," you reply, though he's got a point. You haven't clicked it into its buckle yet. Nor has he, though. "The electrics."

Still. Not. Looking. At. You.

It's not even like it's an important question. You couldn't give a flying fuck about his shitty car's electrics. You just don't like that he's deliberately avoiding answering something so simple, as if you're asking him how old he was when he lost his virginity.

Eventually, he cracks. It's as he's sliding his seatbelt down, the smooth noise of fabric scruffing against plastic filling the car. He's bargaining - hopes that if he does his belt up, then you will too.

Then again, he knows that you're difficult, and that you'll probably use it as a bargaining tool. You won't do it up until he gives you an answer.

"Electrician by trade," he says with a little sigh, before turning to face you finally. "Happy?"

You don't want to say yes - but you are. You're smug in the knowledge that you know just as much about him now as he does you.

"By trade?" You push a little further as your buckle clicks into place.

"By trade," he answers, in that annoying way he so often does, not really giving you an answer, just confirming what you already know. "I'm in between jobs at the moment."

"Ah," you smile, finally putting the aux into your phone. The windows are beginning to clear. "That explains why you're always in the garage at such weird hours."

It doesn't. There's an entirely different explanation for that. Not one that he'll give, though.

He hums a response, not wanting to tell more lies. He knocks the car into first, and lets the handbrake down, easing the car into motion as it rolls gently from the curb and into the road.

It's at this point you realise you're in the car with a near-stranger, and that it's probably the dumbest thing you've done in a while. You're smarter than this. Been raised better.

Jungkook smiles at your statement, though. "You ever stop making assumptions?"

A laugh falters in the back of your throat. "No," you muse. "I don't think I do."

His palm rests on the gear stick, thigh pressing down against his seat as he dips the clutch. There's a simple joy to be found in watching his movements like this, as if you're getting to see something reserved for very few people. He's smiling as he knocks it into second gear. Smiles a lot around you, actually.

Perhaps he's just like this all the time. Naturally light natured, despite the dark clothes and even darker eyes.

"Tell me mine," he says as the car moves from the slightly beat up side road, towards the main street that leads up to the bridge. There's a change in pressure beneath the tyres, the new road far smoother, far easier, than the one you'd been on previously. "Your assumptions. I wanna hear them."

"I can't," you reply, as if they're some closely guarded secret. In a way, they are. You've built up this idea of Jungkook; of who he is, who he associates with, what he does in the dark.

If he confirms or denies a single one of these assumptions, then it could all be in tatters.

"Can't? Or don't want to?"

You watch his hands as he flicks on an indicator. There's no one else on the road. Seems redundant. It's interesting, though, how he seems to care about the rules of the road now that you're in the passenger seat.

"Why can't it be both?"

And just like that, you're going round in circles again. Always talking, but never quite saying anything. It's a strange little dance you like to do, one that you don't know the steps to, but seem to get right anyway.

He uses the palm of his hand to turn the wheel, back on the bridge now. It's less icy today, but you find your heart resting in your chest just like it did the first time you were here with him. He glances over to you, but you keep your eyes straight ahead.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "About that time. When we were here, yanno?"

You nod. It's a weird thing to think about. You could have died. Came pretty fucking close to it - and yet all that really lingers in your mind from that night is the way he stared you down.

"Mhmm," you press your lips together, and cross your legs.

He doesn't like it. The way your body sort of angles away from his. It's cold. Cruel, almost.

So he lifts his hand from the gear stick and taps your knee. A request, not a demand. He's gentle as he nudges, encouraging your legs to unhook, until they're back in their original position. You just kind of let him. Neither of you say anything, but there's an awareness that he doesn't want you to close off from him.

Your arms move instead, without much thought, crossing over themselves.

"Don't."

The silence is so loud you think the windows might shatter.

"Please," he follows it up, then decides that he needs something to fill the void that you're leaving in the conversation. "Put some music on," he says, before backtracking on his earlier statement. "I don't mind if it's shit."

It earns a small smile from you, an exhale from your nose letting him know that you find humour in his words.

You unlock your phone and head to spotify, confronted with more playlists than you know what to do with, and settle on the one you use when Yoongi lets you control the music in his car. It's pretty inoffensive, you think. Nothing too shit. No noughties classics, at least, though there are a couple from the 80's. If he complains, you'll just remind him of how old his car is.

"So what's the deal?"

The fact you only start talking as he exits the bridge isn't lost on Jungkook.

"No deal," he replies just as casually as you asked.

"Well you aren't taking me home," you muse, glancing over to him. There's a smile on his face. Dimples present. "And I'm hoping that you're not chauffeuring me to a date with the Grim Reaper - so where are we going?"

"We-" He turns to face you, now. Just briefly. Just a glance with a smile that has a chime sounding in your tummy again. "-are heading into town. I don't think the Grim Reaper's gonna be there, but you never know with that dude. Always showing up at the worst of times."

"Mm," you agree with a small laugh. "His social skills are atrocious."

"You give him a run for his money, yanno," Jungkook teases you.

It's reflex, more than anything, that has you swatting at his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft, and there's a waft of his aftershave as you draw your hand back to your lap. Oaky. Mature. Probably more than he seems to be.

"My social skills are fine. You're just shitty company."

"Me?!" He sounds affronted now, but there's a grin plastered all over his pretty little face. "Sorry, little miss clutch control. Forgot you were queen of making casual conversation."

"Uh-huh," you say as you shift in your seat, body angled towards his. The smile on his face grows. There's one on yours too. A pretty fuckin' big one, at that. "That's why they hired me. Could see I'd be great with the customers."

He snorts, crown of his head tipping against the back of his seat. "Oh, yeah?"

You hum an affirmation, and Jungkook looks towards you briefly, chin lifted, eyes narrow, curious of what you'll say next.

"Well, I seem to have done alright with one of the customers, at least."

His teeth begin to show as he looks towards the road again. "Poor fucker. I'd hate to be him."

And then you're both laughing.

It's how it remains for the rest of the evening.

You're laughing when he parks in the furthest corner of the lot, just to make sure no one scrapes his paintwork. You're laughing when he can't figure out the QR code for the automatic parking fee, and you're laughing when he tells you to fuck off for laughing.

But he's laughing too.

Laughs when you can't figure out the apron in the dakgalbi place off the side of the main shopping street, and laughs when the middle-aged lady running the shop comes to help you out. Jungkook had refused. He was enjoying the struggle too much.

See, your cheeks go all red when you get flustered. He's never seen that look on you before. You get a similar look once you realise the spice of the galbi is a little hotter than what you're used to, and you get it again after you've had a few shots of soju.

He matches you, shot for shot, but also makes sure to keep filling up your stainless steel water cup. In fact, he fills it more than he fills his own.

Unlike you, and your perceived ability to judge characters, Jungkook actually can read people pretty well. He knows his limits, and he's guessing at yours, but doing a good job doing so.

It's not until Jungkook's paying that you realise just how many bottles the pair of you have gotten through. You're steady on your feet, but you can feel the alcohol in your system, and know that he must be the same.

"How we getting home?" You ask, as the chime of the door rings behind you. Within seconds you're pulling your arms over your chest, trying to preserve heat. You fucking hate January.

"C'mon," he mumbles, looping his arm around your shoulders, rubbing at the side of it quickly to build up some heat. He's all hunched up too, clearly feeling the cold. "Taxi? I can pick my car up in the morning."

It's gone twelve on a week night. You both know there's no way in hell you'll be able to score a taxi, not without a 45 minute wait, at least. The curse of downtown Daegu. Should have just gone to eat in your neighbourhood, but Jungkook felt like he had a point to prove. He wanted to make it up to you. Properly.

You drop Yoongi a text as you load up your taxi app, just checking in, letting him know that you're all good. He replies pretty much instantly, but you're distracted by Jungkook letting you know that his app says no cabs are available.

"Shit," you hiss, bouncing around on the balls of your feet, trying to keep warm.

Jungkook weighs up his options. On the one hand, he knows he needs to get you home. On the other, you're hopping around like a fucking bunny. It's borderline cruel to keep you out in the cold like this. Especially when his place is only a ten minute walk away, in the heart of town, compared to your hour long trek back to the outskirts.

"My place isn't too far."

The suggestion is out of his mouth before he knows any better. He's getting himself in too deep already. All it's taken is a couple weeks of awkward flirting across a gas station kiosk and exactly one (1) shared dakgalbi. Maybe the 6 bottles of soju didn't help.

"You can wait it out in the warm for a taxi, at least," he adds on, before realising that you're both as tipsy as one another. Both hovering a little too close to one another. Both feeling that weird pull, of which he's telling himself to ignore, but he just can't seem to help himself.

He's a simple man, of simple pleasures - and sex is the most simple of them all.

If he wants it, then you probably do, too.

Might do, he corrects himself. Best not to make assumptions about things like these.

"Wait it out," you nod, a little grin resting on your lips. They're a little plumper than normal, partially thanks to the galbi spice, but also thanks to the you've been biting down on them all evening. It's okay, though. Jungkook's lips are just as bad. All plump and pretty and - fuck. You know you're staring but it's kind of hard not to.

He knocks his head to the side and holds out his hand for you to take. "C'mon. I'm this way."

And so you do take it. Fingers neatly linking between his, hooking on and holding close as if it isn't the first time that it's happening. It's been so long since you did this with another person that you're almost not sure you're doing it right. His grip adjusts, and then his other hand reaches behind your shoulders to prop the hood of your jacket over your hair.

"For the wind," he says.

Definitely not so that the pair of you are a little more incognito.

It's why he puts his hood up, too... For the wind.

After all, he's not hiding behind his mask like he was earlier. Not hiding from you.

But he's hiding from something.

And you should be, too.

────────────

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

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betweenblackberrybranches · 5 months

Text

So i wrote a little thing for the RLGL au

Its a prologue of sorts, the first actual meeting between the guys and y/n at work before they become neighbours

Be warned though i am not a writer and typed this out quickly on my phone while i was supposed to work so it is probably not that good (i think i just randomly switch between present tense and past tense so it just be like that)

Warning for suggestive themes. But nothing explicit is mentioned

There you stood, one hand grabbing the handle of the sleek chrome and wooden door. This was not part of your job description. And this was really not something you wanted to do. You were a janotor. Fixing minor electrical things, looking after the plumming, washing all sheets that the cleaners brought into the washing room and fixing and cleaning up the rough stuff. Every day was busy and you had always kept to yourself and the many staff only hallways, away from the rich red and black velvet and the polished wooden floors, raw concret where the eyes of the customers wouldnt see.

You felt safe in your domain, the low humming of the heating filling the basement rooms like the breathing of a sleeping dragon. Or atleast that was what you liked to imagine it as. It made your work seem atleast a little more exciting and kept your mind of the various fluids you had to painstakingly rinse out of the white and burgundy sheets.

You straighten your sleeves, a black turtleneck black slacks and a black baseball cap with fazCOs logo, not really the usual uniform for the people interacting with customers, worlds away from the white button up and vest you should be wearing. But this was an emergency. Well as far as the rich bozo in this room was concearned atleast. So who knows on what level the "mess" was, this could be anything from some spilling to..... well no need to think about worst case szenarios.

Straightening your cap one last time you enter the dimmly lit room. You immidiatly regret every single choice that led you to this specific sight. The hairs on your arms rising in protest as you try to nonchalantly step further into the mess, the customer having left apparently, not even waiting for the emergency roomservice to arrive after calling for it. Red wine and some gunk that looked like it had been food once that had been chewed and spit out again smeared all over the couch and carpet. You call out to make sure the coast is clear, trying very hard to not gag.

As soon as you are sure there is no human in the room you rush to a lifeless form of satin metal and plastic on the ground, swallowing hard as salvia and gall rise up in your throat. You find the second one bundeled up on the bed, lanky arms and legs positioned in a way that sent a shiver down your spine, one of his arms was popped out of the shoulder, only hanging by the many thin cables running under the outer casing.

Shaking hands finding the small power button at the base of the blue ones head you wait, counting five and then ten seconds. This isnt something you should be doing. This is against company policies, and yet you cant just leave them like this for a technician to find after you cleaned up. The soft hum of the reboot sent your hand back as if burned and you kneel down to repeat the action on the yellow one. You knew they had names, pretty obvious ones at that.. sun and moon. You had only seen them from afar until now. Especally because you were not a waiter or maid, someone who would walk past them regularly in the flashy suits and club rooms, no you were someone working in the shadows. A shame that the one time you saw them this closely it felt like you should avert your gaze, because even under the questionable liquids and gunk they still looked stunning. The yellow one started humming under your touch and you hurridly got up, starting the cleaning process and ignoring the two stiring bodies like you were supposed to.

Moon sat up straight, unfurling from his nothing but explicit position, his left arm dragging on the bed. No mind was given to the worker bustleing around the furthest corner as moon leaped forwards and down to the ground, shaking arm immidiatly finding his bright counterpart who was in the process of opening his eyes. Sun looked up and welcomed the soft embrace of moon, foreheads pressed together best they could with their orbish heads, giving themselves just one moment of comfort before dealing with the situation at hand.

You had started to clean the bathroom first, wanting to give the two robots enough time to regain their baring and hide their bodies away if they so wished. A bitter taste on your lips you reenter the main suite with two steaming hot towels and a big box of wet wipes, wordlessly pressing them in the hands of the two, now sitting on the bed encased in a thin sheet. With any interaction between general staff and escorts being prohibited you were pretty much towing the line of doing something that could get you fired, but you felt like this needed to be done.

Moving on you cleaned the carpet, trying to ignore the two bots meticulously wiping down eachother. You sigh. This all felt so wrong. You grab the cleaning rag tight as you rub at the carpet and wish you could do more for the two than gracefully ignoring them and their disheviled apearances, assuming theyd even want any help from a random janitor.

They are still cleaning and fixing up eachother when you put away the last stained pillowcase and wipe down the low table one last time. You swallow dryly. All you can think of doing for them is grabing two small post it notes from your cart and make small origami flowers, one of like three things you know how to fold. Leaving them behind on the stack of clean clothing you plop down on one edge of the bed. It is hard not to sneak one last look at the two, hovering around eachother, deeply concentrated on reapplying eachothers makeup with gentle brushstrokes.

The most beautiful constelation. But you feel like this is not something you are supposed to whitness.

You leave the room, softly dragging the door shut behind you and the cleaning cart with a click, disappearing back into the concrete lined corridors of the staff only areas, back to whatever you were doing before, the two robots in their gentle embrace at the border of your mind.

Cream fingers close around the neon colored paper flowers, to be carefully deposited in an inner jacket pocket and transported home. To be kept safe in a small cardboard box under their bed. To be forgotten but never lost.

#fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca #daycare attendant #dcamv #my writing #rlgl au #i know this isnt very good #or long #anyways ill go hide now

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jakescaravel · 7 months

Text

Starving

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3,526

Warnings: smut, slight exhibitionism, kissing, touching, spit, overstimulation, head, slight mentions of spanking, drinking, being drunk, I think thats everything and as always 18+ MDNI!!!

Summary: “Baby, I can’t wait until we’re home. I’m starving.”

It’s no secret that Jake has money. Thinking about the 0s in his bank account makes your head spin and Jake loves to spoil you. About an hour ago he gave you a little hint about your evening plans, “go get dressed up nice babydoll, I’m taking you out.”

Getting ready to go out like this was always exciting, even if you were unsure of the location. You locked yourself in the bathroom and took the time to get perfect, making sure not a single hair was out of place. You picked out a satin dress of deep burgundy, one of Jake's favorites, the one that falls just above your knees and hugs your body in all the right places. Over the dress, a sheer lace black shawl paired with black heels and a black handbag. Your hair is pinned back in a low bun with two curled pieces hanging perfectly by your ears.

Your phone vibrates on the bathroom counter and you see a text from Jake.

Jake 💍💕

Leaving in 5, can’t wait to see what you’re wearing 😘

Oh shit 5 minutes. You quickly swipe a thin layer of eyeliner across your lash line, a coat of mascara, just a touch of blush, and a little bit of highlight on the end of your nose. Also some silver earrings and a red lip to match the color of the dress. Finally, you press some perfume behind your ears and a little bit on your wrists.

You take one last look in the mirror and smile at the pretty face smiling right back. Stepping out of the bathroom, you see Jake on the bed looking at his phone. Upon hearing the door open, he immediately tosses it to the side like it's some piece of junk and moves to stand. His eyebrows raise as he walks closer. He takes his time looking you up and down, taking in every little detail, eyes lingering on your thighs.

“Baby.” There’s just a hint of desperation in his voice and his lips curl into a sinister smile.

He places his hands on your hips and pulls you in to kiss you but you turn your head at the last movement. He pulls back, brows pinch together in confusion.

“Lipstick!”

He shakes his head and laughs to himself. “Oh you are so gonna regret that.” He smacks your ass. “Come on, let's go.”

You both walk outside to wait by the curb and Jake pulls out his phone, probably to check on your ride. Now it's your turn to look him up and it’s clear he’s taken some time to get ready, himself. He wears a dark blue cloth shirt, held together by only two buttons and simple black slacks with the faintest pinstriped lines. His hair, parted to the side and freshly shampooed, shines under the moonlight and a single atocha coin necklace adorns his perfectly tanned chest. He looks so effortlessly perfect, and expensive. That’s the Jake Kiszka charm, laid back but dripping with sex, and he knows it.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and returns his attention to you. You let him place a little kiss on your cheek and you interlock your fingers with his. Only a few minutes pass before your ride arrives.

Your jaw practically drops in shock as a shiny black limo pulls onto your street. You look at Jake and he’s watching the limo as well, smirking. He walks to the side and opens the door for you.

“M’ Lady.” He holds his hand out and you take it as you carefully step into the back seat. He’s not far behind you and you both settle in as the door shuts.

The limo has one long seat covered in leather and a table in the middle with a vase of colorful flowers. He picks out a tiny red rose and tucks it behind your ear.

“This is nice right?” He says, still smirking.

“Yes I.. I don’t even know what to say, this is so nice Jake.” You rest your head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you close.

For the rest of the short ride, Jake flirts with you, whispering into your ear, kissing you on your neck, and other little acts of affection, all while sliding his hand slowly up and down your thigh. When you pull into the parking lot and exit the vehicle, you and Jake walk hand in hand to the door of the restaurant.

“Good evening sir, are you Jake Kiszka?”

“Yes, that's me.” Jake looks to you, flashing his perfect teeth, you know how he likes to be called sir.

This place is nice. The tables are lined with a white table cloth each with a set of dimly lit candles. The live Jazz band plays a soft ballad in the back.

When the hostess leads you to your table, Jake pulls out your chair for you and you take a seat. Even the chairs are fancy, varnished wood and padding of a dark black color. You take a closer look around and see that the restaurant is mostly made up of other couples, mostly older ones. You two seem to be the youngest people here in fact. Yougest people to be able to afford it no doubt.

A cute brunette waitress approaches the table, and immediately seeing Jake, her eyes widen. Trying to play it off she quickly introduces herself as Katie. Then she hands you both menus and reads out the specials. Her eyes are practically glued to Jakes the whole time. Katie leaves the table but when she walks away she does a double take before going into the kitchen.

You roll your eyes when she finally turns and Jake is looking all too smug.

“Wow she was not subtle.” You say.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “I think I actually heard her whimper when I said thank you.” You laugh and he sends you a wink before returning to the menu.

You both decide on a nice bottle of red to start and she returns shortly taking your orders.

Jake leans forward as he orders, smiling sweetly at her as she takes the wine menu. “Thank you Katie.” He sends her one of his heart stopping, teeth flashing smiles and she blushes and looks at the floor.

“Thanks, I mean… sorry I-I'll have that right out for you!” She scampers away nervously as the two of you try to stifle your laughter. She comes back just a minute later with a bottle of some expensive looking french wine. Chalk it up to Jake to pick out something like that. She sets the bottle chilled in ice, down and walks away very quickly.

Jake fills up your glass very generously and you take a sip. You’ve never been too critical of wine. As long as it's red, you’ll drink it but you have to admit, this is delicious. Jake seems to feel the same way, given his similar satisfied expression. You look over the food menu and finally decide on the spaghetti and when Katie comes back Jake says, “We were waiting for you Katie.”

She laughs, too loud, and then straightens out. “Alright what would you like to start off with?”

Jake nods at her, holding eye contact and smirking. Oh the poor girl.

“Yes I'll have the spaghetti and my fiancé will be having the same.” He hands her the menus, slightly brushing his hand against hers.

You can hear her breath literally catch in her throat and she takes both of your menus and descends once more.

“Wow Jake, that was a little evil. Now she’s gonna have to wait hours until the end of her shift to relieve herself.” He giggles.

After your food arrives at the table, and you’ve each had a little bit more wine, you let yourselves fall into a comfortable silence while eating. The food is delicious and it pairs perfectly with the wine. You can taste the fresh tomato and basil. After you’re both done with the small portion, you finish your glass and Jake fills it right back to the top. You can tell he’s on his third glass already by the way his cheeks are flushed and he keeps staring at you, looking at your lips and chest.

You’re starting to feel it a little too. Your body feels lighter and relaxes into the cushion. You stare into his eyes as you sip on the sweet red liquid. As it enters your system you start to feel looser too. You almost knock over your glass reaching for the salt but Jake grabs it and sprinkles some over your plate for you. As he does so he leans in and curls his finger at you. You move forward and turn so that he whispers right into your ear. “You look so gorgeous y/n. I’m having a hard time controlling myself.” He sits back in his chair and winks at you. The raspiness of his voice ignites something in you and you move your leg to brush against his, desperate for any sort of touch.

You look up to find him trying to contain his smirk as his foot meets yours and travels up the inside of your leg. He moves a little higher and you send him a look as if to say, ‘we’re really doing this right now?’ His lips curl into an evil looking smile and he slowly nods his head.

After a few minutes of staring each other down and playing under the table, you feel your patience growing thin and the tension getting stronger. Where is this waitress with the check so we can get the fuck out of here?

Jake relaxes back in the chair, moving his shoulders up to stretch as he does so. He looks so sexy when he rests his forearm on the table and puts his other elbow up, resting his chin in his hand. You quickly finish the rest of your wine and pour yourself another glass. Your mind starts to slip away, thinking things you shouldn’t be thinking of in public, but Jake’s is already there. You continue to stare, eye fucking each other until the waitress returns with the check.

Jake never looks away from you, never breaks the stare as he opens his wallet and takes out a few bills. He doesn’t even check the amount, he couldn’t be bothered, he knows the crisp hundreds he’s pulled out will do the trick. He always carries cash with him, no matter the impracticality of it, it is the Jake kiszka way. He puts the money on the table and slides it towards Katie.

“Skipping dessert tonight?”

“Desert is waiting for me at home.” Oh fuck.

That shuts her up and she looks nervously from you to Jake as he smirks, still staring into your eyes. He playfully kicks your foot under the table. After the bill is paid and Jake gives her a generous tip, you both stand. Jake immediately wraps his arm around your waist, tightly holding you to him. You can see the jealousy in her eyes as you move away from the small table.

Walking towards the door of the restaurant proves to be a difficult task. It's almost as though you’ve partially lost control of your legs, they feel like jelly. However, Jake walks tall and proud and in turn, holds you up as you exit the building. When you get outside, the same limo is already waiting for you.

As soon as the door is closed and you are both concealed in the back seat, he wraps his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in to kiss him. You kiss him back as you throw your leg over to straddle his lap. You place your hand on the back of his head, moving your fingers through his hair, grabbing and pulling, holding onto anything. Your heart rate starts to pick up as you kiss him back with more fervor. You both fall into a perfect rhythm, pulling back and forth, bodies pressed tightly to one another. With his other hand he grabs onto your thigh, kneading into the skin and working his way up higher. A second heartbeat starts to form and you’re aching to get home.

You pull back to take a breath and you both just stare at each other for a moment, chests rising and falling heavily. His lips curl into a smile and you move in to kiss him more softly. Your lips meet in a slow embrace, moving your heads in unison as your tongue slips past his lips. He lets out a soft hum and you pull away again.

He whispers into your ear, “Baby, I can’t wait until we’re home. I’m starving.”

For the rest of the ride, he’s trying to refrain from fucking you right there but he touches you like he’s addicted. He brings his face to your neck hungry breathing in your scent. He mutters a low “fuck” that you can barely hear and holds you, placing sloppy drunken kisses along the length of your neck, licking and sucking at any exposed skin he can find. His hand reaches around to clamp your mouth shut, preventing you from making any noise in front of the blissfully unaware driver.

After what seems like hours, the limo pulls up to your house and you exit, walking hurriedly towards the door, the result of the heated car ride evident between your legs. Jake is hot on your trail as you fumble with the lock on the door. The second you’re both inside he crashes his lips into yours with force almost knocking you off your feet. He holds you steadily as he walks you backward towards the living room. Once your back is pressed against the wall he pushes his body into yours and you can feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your stomach.

In his drunken state, his movements are messy and uncalculated but he moves swiftly and with purpose. His hands travel down from your breasts to the bottom of your dress where he roughly pulls the fabric up and hikes it around your hips. Jake pulls away and smirks looking down at the lacey pair of painties you picked out. He drops to his knees until his eyes are level with your cunt. He looks absolutely taken by you, as he looks you over hungrily. He looks up to your face with dark lustful eyes and your breath catches in your throat. The way he looks up at you from his submissive position mixed with the dominance in his glare sets your body on fire. You can feel yourself pulsing, aching to be touched.

With no warning, he roughly pulls your panties to the side and attaches his mouth to you, burying his face in your cunt. His expression softens at the mere taste of you and he whimpers against your clit. Your hips buck up into his mouth from the harsh vibration and a moan of your own ripples through you.

You swear that he does this for his own pleasure rather than yours. The way he looks when he's enjoying you like this… eyes shut in concentration, the thin line of sweat forming at his forehead, the moans of his own. It seems like you're not even there, like the only thing that matters to him is your taste.

He pulls away and spits right onto your clit, his eyes never leaving your center. The visual itself is one you wish to remember for the rest of time. He crashes his lips back into you, sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over and over you. The sensation builds and builds and you know you’re teetering over the edge. You pull your hips back slightly and his hands find their way around your waist pulling you onto his mouth, holding you there.

He speeds up his movements, sending a jolt of electricity through you and you grab onto whatever you can, which happens to be his head as he continues to devour you. His arms tighten around you and he flattens his tongue moving his head back and forth against your clit. The noises it makes are obscene but neither of you could possibly begin to care. He stops moving all together and you don’t even realize you're rocking into him chasing your release until he squeezes you tighter forcing you to stop.

He slips his tongue inside you, rubbing his nose against your clit with every nod. His tongue curls deep inside you and your leg twitches involuntarily at the soft pressure of his nose against your clit. He slows his movements, allowing you to find your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you let yourself feel every little sensation. The small flicks of his tongue, the way his nose feels against your center, his hands gripping into your skin, sure to leave bruises.

This new mix of pleasure carries you further to the edge until you’re almost letting go but at the last second, he pulls away. You groan with disappointment and he opens his eyes, narrowing in on you. He looks up at you with those puppy dog eyes as he sticks out his tongue, carefully delivering a slow lick from your center right up to your clit where he swirles his tongue around.

He looks so innocent.

You hiss as he repeats the action a couple more times, your legs start to tremble. He starts to move a little faster now, licking tight circles around your clit. Your whole body feels white hot and you’re so close you know it's only seconds before you fall apart. He knows it too, you can see it on his face. His expression changes, his eyes glossing over and turning dark, the look he gives you says, ‘Give it to me. Now.’

He nods his head slightly as he pulls your clit into his mouth. You feel his tongue moving in fast circles and ever so softly, he closes his teeth around the sensitive bud. That's what does it. You grab fistfuls of his hair as your body shakes around his mouth. You’re being transported into another world, entirely unaware that you're chanting his name into the room. He licks over you as you ride your high, no end in sight.

After a surprisingly long time, you feel yourself coming down but Jake has other plans for you. His gaze is locked on yours as he moves even faster and harder. You feel your pleasure starting to turn into overstimulation but there is no cease in his movements. Your legs start to shake more aggressively and you can’t seem to stop.

You manage to choke out “Jake… it’s.. it's too much” but he dismisses you with a simple shake of his head and he begins to move even faster. He growls into your soaked cunt and he seems to be lost in his own pleasure too.

His tongue moves fast, buried deep in you soaking up anything he can. It’s like he's starved for you and he can’t move fast enough to collect every last drop on his tongue.

Your second orgasm hits you like a train, pulling you under faster than you could ever have imagined. This time you can hardly hear anything as your whole body goes limp against his kneeling frame. Time doesn't exist and your screams fill the air as he holds you steadily. Your whole body is shaking and you hold the back of his head so tightly you’re afraid you might hurt him. “Fuck fuck fuck” falls from your lips like a mantra, the pleasure is overwhelming and is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

After you possibly can't take it for another second you pull his face away and he gasps for air like he was drowning in you… which he sort of was. Jake looks up at you, covered and shining with your release. His chest heaves up and down as he looks over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Good job baby, I knew you could do it.”

As your breathing starts to calm down he returns his attention to your cunt. He takes his time slowly cleaning up the mess he's made, dragging his tongue from your clit to where your cum drips down your inner thigh making sure not a single drop is left. He detaches just for a moment to say, “you taste fucking fantastic” and soon his kitten licks turn into kisses and he makes his way up placing little pecks along your stomach.

Suddenly tiredness washes over you and standing becomes impossible. The alcohol still swirls around in your system as you feel like you could collapse. Jake gently fixes your dress and scoops you up, princess carrying you to your shared bedroom where he will clean you up and get you ready for bed. He laughs, somewhat taunting you but really, he thinks you’re adorable.

“Tired, my love?”

#jake kiszka #jake x reader #greta van fic #romance #greta van fleet #smut #sugardaddy

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scalingsvt8thusiast · 25 days

Text

Skin-Deep Chapter 9

summary: The one where you fall for Seungcheol amongst all the protests and insecurities. The one where you don't know that he's fallen for you too.

a/n: After this there will be one more chapter then we will enter part 3! I'm halfway through part 3 so :)

You found yourself sitting in Seungcheol’s burgundy Ferrari 812 Competizion, being driven up a winding path towards his family estate.

The view was breathtaking with rows upon rows of grape vines, surrounded by a lush green forest, all managed by his family’s gardeners according to Seungcheol. Maybe you would be better able to appreciate its beauty if you weren’t so bloody nervous.

After a lengthy discussion with Seungcheol, you had agreed to meet with his parents. Reason being the sooner you met them, the sooner your would be able to return to your normal life with Seungcheol. You spent the past few days studying up on his parents. It was ridiculous what people put on the internet these days. A quick google search and you were able to find out where his father regularly played golf and where his mother went to get her nails done. You had gone a step further and memorised every twist and turn of his family company’s meteoric rise.

In fact if asked to write a report on his parents and their company, you would probably be able to do it. No, you would probably ace it.

At your feet was a box of oranges. You weren’t sure what to bring to meet someone else’s parents so you called Seungkwan for help. The bubbly boy directed you to his family’s favourite orange supplier who guaranteed that the box you had was the best of the best. Gosh you hope his parents weren’t allergic to oranges, you were pretty sure that they weren’t. Pretty sure.

You could feel your heart beating rapidly as you neared the massive estate. Your boyfriend, oblivious to the way you were feeling, was humming happily to a song playing over the car speakers. Seungcheol put his car into park right next to the main doors. Clambering out of the car, you wiped your sweaty hands on the back of your slacks and willed yourself to breath. You had to somehow calm down as you were going to face the final boss(es) in a few seconds. You held the box of oranges close to you, it was you and these oranges against the world.

Your very lovely but very ignorant boyfriend dropped his keys into one of the attendants hands before rounding over to you with a big grin. He wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you to up the steps for the front door.

As the help lead the two of you indoors, you were marvelled at the beauty of the manor. From the pristine marble floors to the intricately designed columns decorating the massive rotunda. There were large frames hanging from the walls filled with expensive pieces of art accompanied by vases which were filled with different sorts of exotic plants. You peered up at the ceiling in awe as you noticed that it looked so familiar.

“One year my mom became obsessed with Michelangelo and all his artworks,” Seungcheol explained, “She tried to get my father to rebuild the Sistine Chapel for her, brick by brick.”

You looked at him with your mouth agape. It amazed you that people always found some new and absurd way to part with their money.

“Of course my dad didn’t do it, he thought she was crazy.” Seungcheol shrugged.

“My mom threw a fit and he appeased her by putting up all this crap.” He waved his hand above his head, not even bothering to look up.

“There’s my Cheollie!” A shrill voice came from the top of the staircase.

A woman dressed in the most elegant dress came rushing down the stairs.

“Hi mom.” Seungcheol said, already tired of his mother’s antiques. He had no idea why she was acting like she hadn’t seen him in years.

Mrs Choi pulled her son from your side and gave him a hug. Seungcheol didn’t hug her back, giving her an awkward pat on the back.

It felt like forever before Seungcheol was released from his mother’s death grip, Mrs Choi then turned to you.

“Hello, you must be y/n.” She said her smile dropping along with her tone as she gave you a once over.

“Hello Mrs Choi, thank you for inviting me to your house.” You said, giving her a polite smile.

“Of course.” She said with a clipped tone. She gave you a curious look when you realised you were still holding the box of oranges.

“These are for you Mrs Choi.” You say handing over the oversized box. “I hope you like oranges!”

“You really didn’t have to.” She said, giving you a blank stare as she received the box before immediately handing it to a nearby servant.

Turning back to her son, the smile returned to her face. “Come on, your father is already waiting in the dining room.”

You and Seungcheol were lead down a hallway and you couldn’t stop yourself from openly gawking at the art hanging on the walls, recognising a few original works from Picasso and Klimt.

“Wow Mrs Choi, you have very good taste. Your collection is breath-taking!” You said, trying to earn some brownie points.

“Oh, are you an art collector as well?” Mrs Choi inquired curiously.

“Not really, just an avid admirer.” You replied with a gracious smile.

Mrs Choi gave a hum of understanding.

Just as you were about to strike up another conversation about art, the three of you reached the dining room.

The dining table was long enough to seat at least 20 people. Stained glass windows lined every inch of the back wall showing the massive garden behind the estate. Mr Choi sat at the head of the table, right in front of the stained glass. You felt like a hero in an action novel about to face the villain.

“Father.” Seungcheol said, giving his father a curt nod.

Mr Choi, who was busy looking at his phone, didn’t bother to acknowledge the greeting.

Seungcheol gave you an amused look as he guided you to your assigned seats.

“Oh are other people joining us?” You said, gesturing to the empty chairs.

“No, my parents just like the extra chairs, makes it feel like the Last Supper.” He said dryly. At this point he couldn’t wait to finish dinner and go home.

Sitting on your chair, you weren’t even given a chance to breath before a plate of food appeared in front of you. You honestly had no idea what you had just been served, it looked like beef with dried fish skin lining the sides.

“So, you must be y/n.” Mr Choi said, cutting into his meal.

“Yes, thank you so much for inviting me to dinner, sir.” You said, you sat at full attention, not wanting to miss any questions that would be thrown your way.

“What do your parents do?” Mrs Choi asked.

“Mom.” Seungcheol warned as he was biting into his piece of meat.

“I just want to know what her parents do Cheol, no harm here.” His mother quipped, before turning to give you a smile.

A little creeped out by her smile, you answered “My mom is a tailor and my father is in construction.”

“I see, what sort of construction?” Mr Choi asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, my dad does all sorts of construction here and there, he doesn’t really have a set job.” You replied, keeping a smile on your face.

“Do you work?” Mrs Choi asked, not really giving a damn about construction.

“I do, I work as a barista at a cafe near the university.” You explained.

“It’s good to work these days, maybe my son could learn a thing or two from you.” Mr Choi mused, eyeing Seungcheol who was busy downing his tea.

You gave a nervous laugh, not knowing where this conversation was going.

“I try to work so my parents don’t have to send me money.” You offered. “I like to support myself.”

This time Mrs Choi gave you a genuine smile. “I remember thinking like you back in my younger days. Don’t you, honey?”

Mr Choi smiled at the memory, “We used to sell home-cooked food just to make ends meet, on top of that we were sending money home to our parents by the time we were your age.”

“It was tough times but it made us understand the value of hard work.” Mrs Choi continued.

“Your parents must be very proud of you.” Mr Choi said with a note of admiration.

“I hope so,” You joked, content that his parents seemed to have warmed up to you.

Seungcheol gave you a reassuring smile as you tried your best to eat whatever it was that was sitting in front of you.

The rest of dinner was filled with conversation about Mr and Mrs Choi’s hardships, they loved to talk about how they built their company from nothing to what it was today. As you ate the various plates of food filled with mystery meat, Seungcheol’s parents continued to feed you stories of their painstaking efforts in assembling a business while raising a son.

This led to you and Seungcheol being invited for dessert, much to your boyfriend’s dismay. The four of you moved to the drawing room where you were currently being served the largest slice of tiramisu you had ever seen in your life.

“Eat as much as you want y/n, don’t feel embarrassed.” His mother resounded, grabbing onto the maid who was serving the tiramisu. “Have some more!”

“Oh no Mrs Choi, I’m really very full!” After 10 courses of food, you really couldn’t take another slice of tiramisu.

“Well, alright, if you insist.” Mrs Choi said, sounding dejected.

While Seungcheol was annoyed that he was forced to stay longer than he planned, he was happy that you appeared to be enjoying yourself and his parents seemed to like you.

“So, y/n, what are your plans for the future?” Mr Choi questioned, as he settled into the leather armchair.

“Erm, well, I guess the next step would be to graduate.” You responded, unsure what he meant.

“Do you plan on working in the area?” Mrs Choi asked, leaning into your personal space.

“Oh, I guess that really depends on my parents. If they want me home then I will go back.” You explained.

“What a dedicated daughter.” Mrs Choi marvelled, directed at Seungcheol more than you.

“Well y/n, it has been such a pleasure meeting you.” Mr Choi said, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that you aren't suitable for our son.”

What?

“Dad!” Seungcheol snapped as he sat up from his chair.

“I’m sorry,” You said, confused, “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Look, you are really the most polite girl I’ve ever met, your parents raised you so well!” Mrs Choi chimed in. “But you just aren’t right for our son. Seungcheol was brought up with a certain lifestyle, he needs someone who is similar to him to help in the future.”

You mouth fell open in shock, no one has ever said that to you before.

“Mom!” Seungcheol turned to give his mother a glare.

“You weren’t raised for our lifestyle.” Mr Choi said with a businesslike tone.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my entire life!” Seungcheol threw his hands up in the air. “I’m not going to sit here- “

Mr Choi ignored his son’s comments and pointed a finger a him. “You are going to take over the business and when you do you need the right girl to be by your side!”

“Ok, that’s it. We’re leaving.” Seungcheol announced before pulling you to your feet and heading for the door.

“Cheol, stop acting like a child, you know we’re right!” Mrs Choi yelled from her seat, not bothering to stop her son.

“You marry her and everything we’ve built will go right down the drain!” Mr Choi thundered.

Those were the last words you heard before the door slammed shut.

a/n: Criticism is welcomed <3 Much love :D

#scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fic #scoups fic #seungcheol fluff #scoups fluff #choi seungcheol #scoups #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen scoups #seventeen #svt #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt fic #svt x reader #svt fluff

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owls-spice-cabinet · 4 months

Text

The Inevitable (Part 2)

Welcome back to me! Trying! Go read Part 1 if you haven't (somehow). We are picking up right where we left off!

Minors, Leave. Now. Goodbye.

Words: ~7,200 Content: M/M/M threesome; anal fingering; anal sex; protected and unprotected sex; praise kink; (brief) masturbation; (brief) oral sex; aftercare; sharing a bed

Summary: Ending up here was kind of a given, after those two nights in London. Phillip is still more than happy to let Nik and John have their way with him while he figures out... everything.

Link to Part 1

Translations (in order of appearance): Лучик = sunshine; Лев = lion; Родной = darling (lit. home/native place)

John rested his chin on his shoulder. “Because Nik’s not gonna be able to sleep tonight if he doesn’t fuck me out of his system, so I’m just checking.”

Oh, right. Phillip laughed quietly to himself, catching the subtle change in Nik’s expression. “Nik, you have the patience of a saint.”

Nik smirked, his dark eyes fixed on John’s face. “I didn’t want to interrupt the show. It would have been bad manners.”

“Oh, you’re worried about manners now?” John replied. “Why don’t you read the room, then? You’re the only one still dressed.”

“He has such a way with words, doesn’t he, Лучик?” Nik said. He carefully tucked the gold chain around his neck into the collar of his burgundy sweater. It was a very soft sweater too, as Phillip could attest, having smushed his face against it discretely a couple times that evening.

“He knows what he wants,” Phillip said, glancing sideways at John. “Can’t fault him for that.”

“What I want,” he replied, reaching up to put a hand in Phillip’s hair, “is to see this one’s brain short once he sees how handsome you are, love.”

“You already saw that once with you,” he pointed out as Nik pulled his sweater off over his head and tossed it onto a chest against the nearest wall.

John hummed and kissed his jaw. “And I want to see it again.”

God, these two were going to be his undoing—they pretty much were already, actually.

Nik stood up beside the bed, now only in a black t-shirt and his slacks and socks. “You’re very demanding for someone who’s going to be a whining mess in a few minutes.”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it, Kolya,” John said, his voice rumbling in his chest against Phillip’s back.

It was a new nickname to Phillip’s ears, but clearly, it had been chosen for its effect on Nik. He stared at John for half a second, then made a low noise at the back of his throat. In a heartbeat, he pulled his shirt off and tossed it to join his sweater.

Phillip hated that John had predicted his reaction, but he couldn’t be that upset, not when graced with the view in front of him. Like John, there was a thick swath of hair covering most of Nik’s chest and trailing down beyond his waistband. Maybe Phillip had a thing for it, because once again, his hands were itching to touch, and his eyes were fixed on the glint of steel from Nik’s dog tags resting on his chest. Nik’s waist didn’t taper the way John’s did, and frankly there was just… more of him in general. The layer of fat over his muscles was thicker, adding a subtle plush roundness to his tummy and pectorals. Phillip could feel saliva pooling in his mouth just looking at him.

John’s hand still in his hair tightened its grip, tugging at his scalp slightly and breaking him out of his stupor. “See?” he said, the smug bastard. “It’s fun to watch your brain melt out your ears.”

Nik tsked at him, moving in close to them. “Be nice, John,” he said, leaning down and lifting John’s chin with a firm hold on it to slot their mouths together. “He’s not a toy,” he added quietly, pulling back just enough to get the words out before leaning back in.

John’s hand left Phillip’s hair to curl back around his chest, holding him in place. His other hand found Nik’s wrist under his chin and wrapped around it loosely, the thumb rubbing the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. Nik’s second hand reached and found Phillip’s shoulder first, then followed it up to his neck to his jaw. Phillip’s hands tightened around the glass of water he was still holding, a little taken aback by how comfortable he felt. Here he was, sitting in one man’s arms, watching said man eagerly kiss his partner, all while that partner had a hand cradling Phillip’s face like he was the one being kissed instead.

But still, it felt… good. John’s chest was warm against his back, and Nik was so close, he could feel the warmth radiating off of his shoulders as well. It was welcoming, in some way, like they had accepted he had a place here, and wasn’t that an intimidating concept. He wanted to have a place here, which might have been even more terrifying, since he’d never had a relationship where he had truly wanted to stay.

Fortunately, he only had a few seconds to sit with his trailing thoughts before Nik pulled away from John’s mouth and patted his cheek. “Go lie down, Лев,” he said softly.

John pressed a final kiss to the shell of Phillip’s ear before he extracted himself from where he sat behind him to go lie down closer to the center of the bed. Nik watched him, a hungry sort of glint in his eyes, but his hand hadn’t moved from Phillip’s neck yet. Eventually, he dipped his head slightly, lowering his voice when he spoke.

“Phillip, would you be a dear and undo my trousers for me?”

Phillip’s mouth started watering all over again, and he happily sat up to set his glass on the bedside table nearby. The power this man held over him—over both him and John, honestly—was incredible. “I would absolutely love to,” he purred, reaching out and finally sinking his fingertips into the flesh around Nik’s waist and hips.

John groaned, equal parts frustrated and aroused. “Nik, for fuck’s sake. That’s not fair.”

“I think it’s perfectly fair,” Nik told him, running his hand up the back of Phillip’s neck and into his hair. Phillip resisted the urge to lean into his chest in reaction as he worked to undo the clasps at the top of Nik’s pants. “You’ve been doing it for years. Let him have his turn.”

John grumbled nonverbally. Phillip grinned, happy that he could push John’s buttons even now. He took his time pulling the zipper down, watching the muscles in Nik’s abdomen tense when it brushed against the prominent tent that Phillip had been not-so-subtly eyeing earlier. Why was he resisting his urges again? He slid the waistband of the slacks down until they fell in a pool around Nik’s ankles, then leaned in, pressing his face against Nik’s warm skin just under his pecs and slightly to one side. He felt as well as heard the quiet exhale in response, and felt the fingers in his hair tighten all at once. His right arm snaked around Nik’s waist, the hand splaying out against his lower back. The other hand dropped down to gently palm over the length of Nik’s cock through his boxers.

That got a quiet groan from both Nik and John. Nik’s hand at the back of Phillip’s head involuntarily pressed his face harder against his torso, and he hummed appreciatively, happy to stay there surrounded by the man’s warmth and scent as long as possible. He also could finally appreciate why Nik and John had both, separately, discouraged him from having Nik fuck him. He remembered intimately the stretch and fullness from John’s dick buried in him, and he was now forced to concede that yes, Nik would have broken him. Proportionally, he wasn’t that big, but he had girth that John simply didn’t. His fingers found the tip of his shaft and found a damp spot in the fabric there as well. Patience of a saint indeed.

Nik pulled a little harder on his hair, turning his face up to look at him. Phillip made no move to move either of his hands. “Лучик,” he breathed. “I have to ask you to let go so I can take care of John.”

That was only fair. Phillip dipped his chin to press his lips against Nik’s ribs, and withdrew his hands. Nik ruffled his hair and used his shoulder to lean on as he rid himself of his pants and socks. He planted a quick kiss on his head before he walked to the foot of the bed and climbed on over John’s feet. John pushed himself up on his elbows to meet his mouth as he descended upon him, only to be laid right back down. Phillip drank in the sight, still a little incredulous he was even here, and a little surprised at himself for enjoying it as much as he was. But it seemed to balance out, in a weird way, that after his abysmal efforts to figure out normal romance for twenty years, he’d end up in an unconventional… whatever this was.

By some supernatural strength, his eyes left the spectacle of obscenely attractive musculature and landed on the bottle of lube where John had abandoned it on the sheets. Since he’d just discovered what Nik somehow kept tucked into his pants all day, they’d definitely be needing it eventually. He picked it up and slid it across the sheets towards them where it bumped up against Nik’s elbow.

Nik broke away from John’s mouth, looking to see what had bumped him. Phillip’s attention had focused on the sheen of spit on John’s lower lip as the light caught it.

“Thank you, beautiful,” Nik said, taking it in his hand. He sat back on his heels and grinned when he said something to John afterwards in Russian. John knocked his knee against him in reply. It only made Nik’s grin stretch wider as he squeezed lube onto his fingers and set the bottle down within reach. “I didn’t hear a no.”

“Why do you always make me think right before you fuck me?”

Nik leaned over him slightly, his smile never wavering. “Because I like seeing the moment it all stops.” He didn’t give John an opportunity to respond before he reached down and pressed his first finger into him.

Phillip scooched back to sit against the headboard, hugging his knees loosely as he watched. There was something slightly vindictive about witnessing Nik systematically take apart the man who had only recently been responsible for doing the same to him. It was also perfectly clear—even without knowing what he already knew about them—the absolute adoration they held for each other. It was so obvious this was a familiar and comforting kind of ritual, despite the way Nik’s eyes were taking in every single detail, every twitch, like he’d never seen it before.

He also realized, as his eyes followed Nik’s free hand trailing up John’s side, he didn’t seem to care particularly where the attention was directed. It didn’t seem to matter that the gleam of satisfaction in Nik’s eyes came from making John melt into his hands and not Phillip. Likewise, hearing the curses and groans spilling from John’s lips might as well have been the most perfect music to grace his ears, regardless of who was causing them. They were enjoying themselves; they were enjoying each other; and, as Nik had done earlier, Phillip was enjoying the show.

There was a small aspect of satisfying some curiosity, as well. Even as he attempted to burn their expressions into his memory, his eyes kept being drawn back between John’s legs. From this angle, he couldn’t see Nik’s hand, but he got an excellent view to find out exactly how long John’s refractory period was. Under Nik’s ministrations, it wasn’t terribly long at all. His dick was half-hard already and filling out steadily.

Nik might have noticed Phillip’s attention, because his hand moved from where it had been splayed out below John’s sternum, following the trail of coarse hair down. John swore quietly, like he knew what was coming. His palm finally wrapped loosely around the base of John’s dick and stroked up almost gently.

John’s head pressed back into the pillows as his hips bucked up over their own accord, and his eyes rolled back shut. “Bloody Christ, Nik,” he managed.

Nik grinned, looking up at Phillip. “He’s still sensitive,” he said, like it was information just between the two of them.

John glared, once again knocking one of his knees against Nik’s side. “Fuck’s sake—can you get around to putting your cock in me sometime this week?” Some of the commanding tone was lost when paired with the pink flush from his ears down to his shoulders and the barely contained whines he made when Nik’s fingers found the right spot. It was extremely satisfying to see.

“I’m only up to three,” Nik replied. Somehow, his voice remained unchanged, unstrained, despite the obvious desire written all over his face.

Phillip’s brain then went back and replayed what he’d said. Only three? Dear God, how much bigger was Nik down there?

John was unfazed and still impatient. “You think I can’t feel how many—”

Nik’s hand once again slid up the length of John’s shaft, now fully erect again. Once again, it drew a groan from John, cutting into whatever he’d been saying in the first place.

Phillip grinned. “That’s playing dirty pool, Nik, c’mon.”

“That’s the most fun kind of pool.”

“Fuck off, the both of you!”

Again, John’s frustration was undermined almost entirely by Nik’s thumb running up the underside of his shaft. Phillip uncurled from where he sat and crawled over to him, crouching on his knees next to John’s shoulder. Before John could ask why he had moved, he reached over with one hand to the far side of his jaw and leaned over to kiss him, just because he wanted to and he could.

One of John’s hands appeared to curl around the side of Phillip’s neck, holding him close. He broke away just long enough to mutter, “Fine, you can stay,” before pulling him back in.

Phillip tried not to let the ridiculous fluttery feeling that came after that remark overwhelm him. Fortunately, his thought process was quickly interrupted when a moan erupted from the back of John’s throat, sending a wave of vibrations between their lips, into Phillip’s mouth, practically to the back of his skull. They pulled apart, Phillip shifting slightly to rest his forehead on John’s. “And that was…?” he asked, keeping his eyes closed while his head stopped spinning.

John hummed in utter contentment. “Fourth finger.”

Ah. He pressed a kiss to John’s forehead before sitting up and resuming his previous position, but now sitting within reach. The shift made him suddenly aware of exactly how much the scene in front of him was affecting him. His own dick had started to harden again, despite having gotten his brains fucked out not too long ago. That was a new concept. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased by the prospect of more than one round going forward.

How the hell had he not figured this out earlier again?

Nik kept John squirming on the bed for a minute or so longer, which just seemed like torture at this point, even if Phillip was enjoying the show. He pulled his hand away at last, rising up off his heels.

“Oh, thank fuck,” John breathed.

“I think letting you have Phillip first made you more demanding,” Nik said. He stepped off the bed temporarily to rid himself of his boxers—which he did largely one-handed and with practiced ease, and Phillip’s mind was going a little fuzzy watching it. “Maybe he should be a reward so you behave for me next time.”

A small part of him reminded Phillip he probably should have said something about being referred to in such a depersonalized way, but the rest of him was far more focused on Nik’s hand. His mouth was watering as he followed that hand up and down the length of Nik’s… just stunningly beautiful and objectively big dick.

Fuck, he was so gay.

“Kolya…” John sighed, sounding like he was actively restraining himself from whining. He followed with something in Russian in the same tone.

The reply was also in Russian, said very sweetly, but not quite crossing the border into apologetic. Phillip had a feeling the last thing Nik would be feeling here would be apologetic for what he’d done. He got back on the bed and shook his head when John opened his legs a little wider for him. Reaching out, he patted the outside of John’s left thigh and said one word in Russian.

“You’re gonna kill me,” John muttered, pushing himself up and going to roll over onto his front.

Phillip started to move aside to make room.

“You don’t have to move, Лучик,” Nik told him.

They both stopped, glancing first at each other, then back at Nik, who seemed completely unbothered where he knelt towards the foot of the bed. Phillip looked down again, doing the very simple calculations that once again came up with one of two solutions: either John had to move over, or his face was ending up directly in Phillip’s groin.

John was the one who asked. “Do you want me in his lap?”

“If he doesn’t mind.”

He looked back up at Phillip, waiting for a response.

Phillip nodded once. “Fine by me,” he said, proud that he could keep his voice steady considering the anticipation running through him was making his stomach flip and his heart pound in his ears.

He straightened his legs so John could climb over to sit between them. He was a little surprised when John surged forward to connect their lips, but he wasn’t going to complain about it, not when John’s hand and mouth were hot and just rough enough to have goosebumps breaking out across his skin. After a few seconds, he heard a click when Nik snapped the bottle of lube closed, and then he felt the mattress shift.

John recognized it as well and pulled back. Over his shoulder, Phillip saw Nik kneeling behind him, one hand slowly, almost lazily spreading lube on his cock. The other was palming one of John’s asscheeks, kneading into the muscle, pulling it apart from the other slightly. It was fucking possessive, and it would have been intimidating if it weren’t so fucking hot. John grunted softly, his forehead dropping onto Phillip’s shoulder. Without really thinking about it, Phillip curled a hand around the back of his neck, but his eyes were still tracking Nik’s every movement.

A smile spread over Nik’s face, remaining there as he leaned over John’s back, only disappearing when he pressed his lips against his skin. “How did I get this lucky, hm?” he said, his smile returning in full force. His dark eyes flicked up to meet Phillip’s gaze. “Two such gorgeous men in front of me, and I get you both to myself.”

John whined, very quietly, but it was there. He rocked back against him slightly. “Nik,” he groaned. “Come on, love, fucking Christ.”

Nik hummed, kissing up one side of John’s back like he had nothing better he could be doing. “But you didn’t follow my directions,” he said in a low voice.

John grumbled, but nothing that sounded like words. Phillip was confused, but stayed quiet. He wasn’t entirely sure his brain could put together a coherent sentence anyway. Nik’s right hand left John’s ass and ran up his side, between his shoulder blades, finally resting over Phillip’s fingers still splayed across the back of his neck.

He pushed down, steady but firm. “I want you in his lap, Родной.”

Phillip’s breath lodged in his chest as a rush of arousal flooded his brain instead of oxygen. His face felt feverishly hot, so he knew he was blushing deeply, but couldn’t be truly bothered to care. Nik kept his hand on John’s neck as he lowered his shoulders down, placing his arms down on either side of Phillip’s hips and wrapping them around him. When his face was finally buried in the bend of Phillip’s hip, his breath tickling the hair around the base of his dick, Phillip let out a slow, only slightly shaky breath.

“There we are,” Nik said, removing his hand from his neck. Phillip’s eyes followed it as it trailed up the planes of John’s back, right back to where it had started, gripping a handful of John’s ass. The new view was downright sinful. “You are good for me, I will be good to you,” he added on.

Phillip watched a shudder run through John’s body before his eyes. “Please, Kolya.”

Nik hushed him softly, lining himself up against John’s ass before carefully pressing in. Again, Phillip found his attention entirely hostage by the sight. He could only really see the very root of Nik’s shaft from this angle, but he watched, rapt, as it drew closer and closer. It felt like John had gone limp in his lap as his whole body relaxed to welcome him.

For the first time that evening, Nik’s face was not a picture of self-control. Phillip caught a distinct line between his brows and faint strain around his mouth as he eased in deeper. John made a low noise in his throat, his arms tightening around Phillip slightly as he tried to push back into the feeling.

Nik put a hand between his shoulders. “Wait,” he told him, his breathing finally starting to go a bit unsteady, and his cheeks flushed a shade redder than before.

It was slow, and Phillip felt a little bad for John because of it, squirming in his lap under Nik’s hand. Only a little bad, though, because he remembered how easily John had taken him apart only a few minutes prior, and it was still fun to watch the tables turn. Before Nik was fully sheathed, he started thrusting shallowly, making John melt all over again as he worked his way deeper.

“Fuck yes,” John moaned, slightly muffled against Phillip’s groin.

Phillip felt more than saw Nik bottom out a moment later, when his hips bumped up against John’s ass and jostled his shoulders into Phillip’s middle. It pushed a quiet breath out of him, which he’d hoped would be lost under John’s much louder noise of pleasure.

Judging by the glint in Nik’s eyes, that might not have been the case. He said nothing, only bent over John’s back again, pressing a kiss where he could reach. “You always take me so well, John,” he murmured against his skin. “Feel like pure paradise on my cock.” He added something in Russian that made John groan as his body spasmed, so it must have been something good.

Nik hummed, resting his forehead against John’s back while he regained his composure. When he looked up again, he caught Phillip’s eye and grinned. He grabbed a hand towel from nearby—a second one that he must have brought with the first when Phillip had been too fucked-out to notice—to wipe his hand clean. He left the towel somewhere under John out of sight before grabbing both his hips.

Whether or not Nik had planned this position or merely stumbled upon it on a whim, Phillip had no idea. Either way, he kind of wanted to thank him for it. Every motion, every thrust, no matter how shallow or deep, was conducted directly through John’s body and into Phillip’s. He could feel every jostle from John’s shoulders, every squeeze of his arms, every breath that ghosted over his balls. The onslaught of sensations, combined with the absolutely fucking incredible view of Nik fucking into him, of his abs tensing, his pecs jiggling just slightly on each thrust, and his dog tags only serving to highlight the motion, made his head spin.

Phillip put an arm across John’s shoulders, searching for a fraction of stability as his mind struggled to comprehend everything going on around him. As Nik’s pace slowly sped up, his eyes fluttered, and he tore his gaze away from the absolute vision in front of him, letting his head rest against the headboard for a moment to breathe. Fuck, he was so hard again.

“You can touch yourself, sweetheart.”

Phillip’s eyes flew open and his head whipped down to stare at the back of John’s head.

Before he could reply to the remark, Nik beat him to it. “Is he that hard again already, love? Just from watching me fuck you?” he grinned, giving a particularly harsh thrust into John. It drew a loud moan from him, and a hissed curse.

“’Course he is,” came the answer once he had regained coherency.

Phillip let his head fall back against the headboard again with a quiet groan. It didn’t seem fair that John still had enough mental fortitude to tease him like that while getting fucked into next week. But unfortunately, he couldn’t really argue with him on that point, because it was absolutely true. Keeping his left arm across John’s shoulders, he wrapped his other hand around the base of his dick and started stroking himself, biting back a moan when he did. It took a little repositioning, since John’s shoulders were hovering just over his dick, but it would work. He knew Nik was watching him, too, even if he couldn’t see everything. The slick noise accompanying each thrust never faltered, but he could practically feel his gaze on him.

“Good boy,” Nik crooned at him. His sweet tone was in direct contrast to him placing a hand on John’s back, pressing the arch deeper for him. “Make yourself feel good for us, yes?”

Phillip swallowed a whine as he slowly sped up his hand to match the movement of Nik’s hips, swiping drops of precum off the tip to make the slide easier.

John’s body jolted on the next thrust, then he melted into Phillip’s lap with a low moan. “Fuck, right there, love.”

It was something Nik had been waiting for, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. There was a determination hidden behind a veneer of accomplishment, like a hunting dog who had just seen the rabbit stumble, and knew already how this would end. Later, Phillip probably needed to do some thinking about why that got his dick twitching in his hand, but for now, he couldn’t have cared less. It was fucking hot, and he wasn’t even the one getting railed this time.

“Fuck,” he breathed, mostly to himself, when he felt Nik’s movements pick up strength. He could guess every one of them was nailing John’s prostate, judging from the way the man’s hands scrambled for purchase on Phillip’s back. He could feel John’s brow furrowing against his hip, and every noise, every breath, every word out of his mouth, he could feel ghosting over his skin. Even his knuckles would occasionally graze John’s beard as he continued fucking his hand in time.

He wasn’t going to last much longer, and from listening to the sounds falling from John’s lips, he wasn’t alone in that regard. Somehow—somehow—Nik still come off as nearly unaffected, and the only signs indicating anything otherwise were the slight crease between his brows, and the quiet grunts he made every few thrusts. It was impressive, considering how long he’d waited to get to this point.

John made a desperate noise, his fingers digging into the muscles in Phillip’s flanks. “Nikolai…” he ground out.

“I know, my dear,” Nik answered, only now starting to get breathless. “I know, I can feel you. Fuck, you get so tight,” he breathed, screwing his eyes shut for a second or two. His fingertips sunk into his hips and ass as he pulled him back into each of his thrusts. “Go on, my love.” Four more words followed in Russian—presumably endearments based on tone and repetition.

It was a struggle to listen to the exchange to make any more inferences, since Phillip’s mind was starting to fade into blissful static. A consuming heat was racing over his skin and wrapping itself around his middle as he pulled himself towards a second climax. He took it as slow as he could bear, not sure he wanted to come all over John’s neck and shoulders—or, rather, not sure if John would appreciate that.

John lasted a moment longer before he grunted, and Phillip was suddenly transfixed watching the muscles up and down his back contract as he came. Nik hissed a curse, his rhythm stumbling slightly for the first time. He recovered quickly, groaning quietly in satisfaction as he watched his partner fall apart under him.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, his attention entirely on John now. “So handsome, so strong—fuck—” Nik’s eyes slipped closed for a second when he cut himself off. John was starting to squirm and whine from the onslaught of sensation, and Phillip was seriously struggling to hold himself back from coming just listening to him. “Ah, ah, I know, I know,” Nik soothed, before falling back into Russian Phillip couldn’t recognize.

Whatever he said, it made John groan in frustration, and Phillip had to tilt his head up to stare at the ceiling just to keep himself together. He felt John’s shoulders shift, felt the mattress dip slightly on one side, but his mind was too hazy with pleasure to really compute those things. It wasn’t until he felt John’s hand take hold of his wrist, halting his hand’s arduously slow movements along the length of his dick, that he looked back down.

He almost wished he hadn’t. Almost. It was up for debate. His eyes found John’s hand on his wrist just in time to watch his lips wrap around the head of his dick and swallow it half-way down in one smooth motion.

Phillip forgot how to breathe. Despite this, he still managed a strained “John—” before John pulled back, sucking on him just perfectly, and hurling him over the edge for the second time that night. His eyes rolled back and his head hit the headboard behind him as a low moan fell from his lips. Damn John and his stupidly talented mouth.

It was less intense the second time around, even if he still got the distinct impression that his soul had just been sucked out of his body through his dick. His brain didn’t go entirely offline, which meant he was plenty aware enough to recognize Russian cursing filling the air and that Nik had stopped moving. John let out a pleased hum, and Phillip’s legs jolted when the vibrations went right down already sensitive member. His hand dug into John’s shoulder.

“John—Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me if you keep doing that,” he hissed. Then he squeezed his eyes closed when he felt John’s tongue carefully lapping over the head as he drew back. “What the hell was that?”

Thankfully, John’s mouth was off his dick when he chuckled quietly and pushed himself up from between his legs.

“It was fucking cheating,” Nik said fiercely, looking slightly disheveled in a way Phillip couldn’t quite place. Something in his eyes, maybe.

Slowly, Phillip’s brain pieced together the last couple moments, and he smiled, half in disbelief. “Did John get you to come just by sucking my dick?”

“Yep,” John said with an immensely pleased smile.

“Of course he did!” Nik said at almost the same time, and Phillip wished he could tell if his cheeks were flushed from exertion or something else. He went on, his tone betraying more of just how out of sorts he was. “I am surprised at—how could you—” He trailed off momentarily as he concentrated on pulling out, but as soon as his cock had slipped free, he picked right back up. “I feel used.”

John scoffed as he used one hand to fold over the towel underneath him. Phillip supposed it was somewhat impressive that Nik had managed to so accurately predict exactly how much of a mess John would make. “Oh, you feel—love, remind me what’s dripping out of my arse before we decide who’s been used, yeah?”

Nik grumbled in mostly Russian for a second or two, bending down to pick up the towel. “You know what I mean, you impossible bastard.”

John looked up at Phillip while Nik wiped him down. He’s embarrassed, he mouthed, then winked.

Phillip shook his head at their dramatics and sat forward, putting his clean hand on John’s chin so he could press a kiss to his cheek. When he tried to turn his head to meet his mouth, Phillip tightened his grip on his chin. “Absolutely not, I saw where that mouth has been.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied, sitting back when Nik had finished and moved away. “Nik brought your bag in here, by the way. It’s by the door, if you like.”

He would like, actually. It was only a matter of time before he started getting cold again, and he would prefer to have his pajamas on before that point. He scooched to the edge of the bed and slid off onto the carpet. Nik had grabbed the other towel off the bed and disposed of it as well as the other in a laundry hamper between the two dressers opposite the bed. Walking to his duffle bag by the door, Phillip watched out of the corner of his eye, seeing John shift to sit on the edge of the bed to stretch his legs, seeing Nik step up to him. He bent down to slot their mouths together, then abruptly pulled back, one hand still gripping John’s chin.

John grinned with his mouth still open slightly. Phillip shook his head and set about digging his pajamas and toiletries out of his bag to ignore the blush creeping up his ears. He knew exactly what John’s mouth tasted of: him. Glancing over when he stood up, his ears and face only grew hotter when he could see just how much Nik was enjoying it. And possibly because he was getting an eyeful of Nik’s ass.

He used the bathroom and got dressed quickly, recognizing he didn’t have the energy to even think about taking a shower tonight. He decidedly avoided confronting his hair, because he knew it was a mess, but it was a mess for tomorrow. So, he just brushed his teeth and left it at that. When he came back out to put his toiletries away and collect his scattered clothing, he found John wrapped up in Nik’s arms where they sat at the head of the bed, both thankfully with more clothing on than when he’d left them, even if it was only boxers in this case. John looked like he’d lost a battle against falling asleep, but he roused quickly when Nik kissed his head and pushed him upright gently.

It was painfully domestic, seeing them both so completely relaxed and out of uniform. A small part of Phillip still was bewildered that he’d been allowed to see them like this at all, never mind the sex. Most of the rest of him had gone soft and mushy upon seeing them like that, which was definitely something he should think about later. But he was also too tired to be anything other than mildly baffled at this point. He picked his shirt up off the floor near one of the dressers. When he stood up, he made a quiet noise of surprise when John had appeared without his tired brain noticing and kissed his forehead as he passed on his way to the bathroom. His leaned into it with a smile before continuing to gather his clothes. He just tossed them on top of his bag, too tired to do anything else.

Turning back to the bed, Nik smiled and beckoned with open arms until Phillip crawled up into his arms where John had been a moment ago. A dark blue duvet had appeared on the bed over the sheets while he’d been gone, but he didn’t need to crawl under it yet. Both Nik and John were always so warm, and Phillip tried not to think about how much he enjoyed that as he curled up against Nik’s chest. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the discussion that thought process would prompt.

“Are you okay?” Nik asked softly.

“Mmhm.” He heard the shower start running in the bathroom.

“Are you okay sleeping here with us, or do you want to be by yourself?”

It was a fair question, even if he hadn’t been expecting it. He’d sort of assumed he would sleep here. But, now that he thought about it, that was only because it was what he had done in every other relationship he’d had. It had just seemed like the only option. “Hm,” he said, opening his eyes (he hadn’t meant to close them). “I guess I’ll try it with you. Haven’t… shared with anyone in seventeen-odd years, so I might be a terrible bedmate, but sure.”

Nik kissed the back of his head where he could reach. “If you don’t like it, just wake one of us up. We have a very comfortable fold-out couch in the sitting room and lots of blankets.”

Again, he felt a rush of some warm and fuzzy emotion that, again, he wasn’t going to figure out now. He liked being given options. He liked that Nik knew he would want lots of blankets, even if it might have been obvious, since his PJs of choice were long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. “Any quirks I should know about?” he asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the feelings he didn’t know how to talk about yet. “Should I know if one of you might try pushing me out of bed in the middle of the night?”

Nik laughed quietly, and Phillip reveled in the vibrations it sent through him. “Nothing like that, Лучик,” he smiled. “The opposite, probably. John is like a bear trap: he will not let you leave. We had to get a bigger bed because I can’t enjoy being held like that in my sleep.”

Phillip’s brow furrowed at the phrasing. “Can’t?”

“I wake up screaming.”

“Oh.” Speaking of which— “Thank you for reminding me to take my meds,” he said, extracting himself reluctantly from Nik’s arms.

Nik chuckled and took it in stride. Such was the way of a career in any military: if you didn’t end up medicated, you probably should be. “Happy to help.”

By the time he’d finished that, John was out of the bathroom with damp hair and smelling like shampoo and mouthwash, though dressed identically to when he’d gone in. Nik got up to take his turn through the bathroom, kissing John’s shoulder as he went by.

“You could have used it while I was in the shower,” John pointed out.

Nik turned to him, half-way into the bathroom already. “But then Phillip would have been all alone,” he said, gesturing to him. “I am not heartless.”

John rolled his eyes as he disappeared into the bathroom. “Dramatics.” Looking back at Phillip, he asked, “Am I allowed to kiss you again, beautiful?”

Phillip lifted his chin and took a step towards him. “Now you are, sure.”

John closed the distance between them and set his knuckles under his chin. His mouth tasted like spearmint and felt perfectly warm against his own. He’d gotten used to John’s beard and mustache remarkably quickly, and now he barely noticed it unless he had to. It was just another thing that made John… John; it was like the height difference with Nik, in that regard.

John pulled back, but held him still so he could press his lips to his brow before stepping away. “You’re staying with us here?” he asked, climbing into the center of the bed and starting to rearrange the pillows from where they’d been smushed earlier.

“I’ll give it a shot,” Phillip answered honestly. “Nik already told me he’s not the cuddly type.”

“He wishes he was,” John said. He flipped the comforter back and stuck his legs under it, then patted the sheets next to him for Phillip to join him. “I’ll do my best not to suffocate you.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask,” he replied, sliding in beside him and finally accepting that he was absolutely fucking exhausted. “I don’t think I’ll mind sleeping with a human space heater, though,” he added.

John smirked as he laid down. “Don’t get cross with me at three hundred hours if I sweat you out of bed.”

He could count the number of times that had ever happened on one hand. He lay down himself, tugging the covers up to his neck and partially curling up on his side facing John. He stuck a foot out and pressed his toes into the side of John’s leg.

He jerked his leg away. “Bleedin’ ‘ell!” he hissed, his blue eyes going wide with shock.

“I don’t think you’re gonna overheat me, John.”

“You’re a fucking ice cube, Phillip!”

Nik emerged from the bathroom then, and he smiled softly upon seeing them both already in bed. “You should warm him up, then, dear,” he said, going to a light switch at the base of the lamp currently casting the room in a warm glow.

“I’d get frostbite,” John protested.

Nik sighed with great emotion, looking up to the ceiling. “So dramatic.”

Phillip laughed so suddenly, he almost surprised himself, and clamped his mouth shut around the next fit of mirth. John must have picked up what had gone through his head, because he reached over and ruffled his hair none too gently until he batted his hand away.

“I’m turning off the light,” Nik said in a voice that gently implied they should cut it out. The room plunged into soft indigo darkness, with only a dim grey light seeping through around the corners of the curtains over the large window. “Good night, Лучик.”

Phillip couldn’t help but smile. “’Night, Nikolai.”

He watched Nik’s silhouette as he walked to the far side of the bed, then felt the mattress shift slightly as he climbed in and adjusted the covers and pillows to his liking. He heard a quiet phrase in Russian, spoken with great care and even reverence, then saw the shadows of the two beside him shift slightly and heard a soft kiss in the dead silence.

The response from John was almost too quiet to make out the words. “Love you too, Nik.”

With that phrase resting in the air, Phillip let his eyes close and took a slow breath, feeling the beginnings of sleep start to tug at his mind. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt… satisfied? The feeling went beyond accomplishment, and it was deeper than just contentment. It was weighted, grounding, even. There was something in it reminiscent of that first hug from Nik, that first moment where he allowed himself to realize that what he’d been feeling went beyond the parameters for friendship. Maybe…

His eyes flicked open again, resting on the silhouettes of the men next to him, watching and listening to the even rise and fall of their breathing. That was it.

He felt like he sort of… belonged here.

#i write things sometimes #cod mwiii #cod smut #cod fanfic #modern warfare fanfiction #modern warfare smut #nikpricegraves #cod nikolai #john price #captain john price #phillip graves

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rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥'𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Diamonds and glamour, fancy gifts and galas — all superficial and superfluous when you had him at your every whim and him at yours, it’s how you learnt diamonds weren’t as superior as you had first thought.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✦ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✦ 2.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✦ Angry!Bucky (not at reader), tension ჻჻჻ SMUT: Thigh riding, choking ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, daddy, dumbification

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✦ My first bingo fill and I have no idea what came over me, but this is... a lot — If anyone wants to yell at me, I will be at church in a confessional booth ✌🏻

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✦ 7 rings by Ariana Grande

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✦ @allcapsbingo 𝗜𝟭 — Mafia AU — Masterlist

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The halls of Bucky’s home were vast with floor to ceiling works of art hung on burgundy walls, soft lighting that led to the open living, dining, and kitchen - each space as luxurious as the last. Your bare feet padded softly against the dark herringbone floor until you reached the kitchen, where black and gold marble countertops shone under downlights.

Soft voices were coming from the double doors to the left of the living room, too low to make out but the tone was clear; business, not pleasure. The soft whirr of the coffee machine drew your attention from the expansive view, and you smiled as you grabbed your favourite mug from the top cupboard, the fabric of Bucky’s shirt riding up your bare thigh with the stretch.

“You know what-” A smash of glass echoed from the closed doors and you startled. “I fucking told you to keep your fucking nose clean!”

“Oh, boy,” you murmured. Bucky was angry, but at who–your endless guesses may not even come close, he had many men under his command being at the head of the mafia empire he built from the ashes.

Abandoning your mug of steaming coffee, you tiptoed to the door and pressed your ear to the cold wood. There were shuffling sounds, a hiss of annoyance, and a grumbling voice that sounded like Steve. Bucky spoke up again, this time his tone measured and tense. “When I tell you to do something, I mean it. I am fucking sick of cleaning up after you two.”

“Yes, boss,” another voice spoke, almost too softly to make out.

“Fuck it,” you whispered, glancing up and down your body. “They’ve seen worse.”

The door opened smoothly and you peeked inside. Sam was by the door, his posture screaming ‘fuck around and find out’, and Steve was pacing behind the two seats where two men sat, straight backed and tense like a rod had been shoved up their ass.

And to be fair, having an angry mafia boss targeting his considerably controlled rage at you - that would make anyone shit bricks.

“Not now,” a voice whispered and you looked at the source to find Sam staring at you from the corner of his eyes. “Later.”

You nodded once and backed away from the door when Bucky’s voice suddenly piped up, hostility null and void. “Hey, baby, c’mere.” The door opened further, and you looked inside properly, still hanging back in the doorway - just in case. “I missed you,” Bucky breathed, the honeyed sound of his voice your calling card, and without thinking you stepped into his office where every eye landed on you.

The diamond necklace that Bucky had gifted you was cold between your fingers when you fiddled with it, a calming presence in a much too heated environment. It was a nervous tic that Bucky had known, and picked up on very quickly.

Bucky’s seat scooted back on the wooden floor, and he pointed to his lap. “C’mere, sit down.”

Silence pressed against your eardrums while you moved around his desk and sat on his thigh, the corded muscle straining against the black fabric of his slacks. Once settled, you leant against his chest and rested your head in the crook of his neck, facing forward to look at the two men staring in absolute shock at you.

A cold hand rested on the small of your back and Bucky’s chest rumbled under your ear when he spoke. “Good girl.”

You shivered, but not from the sudden cold of his prosthesis.

“Now,” Bucky began lowly, a dangerous undertone to his authoritative voice. “Where were we?”

The men spoke and you tuned it out, preferring to stare with curiosity at the seated men while they spoke, studying their faces that were twisted in distress at was evidently one hell of a fuck up.

The one on the right was built like a bear with dark blond hair down to his ears and a neat beard, he was staring pointedly at Bucky with unwavering conviction and determination to right his wrongs. Beside him sat a man that looked smaller but not by much, his hair was dark like Bucky’s though he had strands falling over his forehead. The nonplussed expression and relaxed features of his face came as a surprise.

You shifted to get more comfortable and gasped, the sudden change of pressure against your clothed heat on Bucky’s thigh taking you by surprise. “Easy, kitten,” Bucky drawled, loud enough for the room of men to hear and you whined low in your throat - a sudden need to move consumed you and set your body alight. “Be a good girl for daddy.”

“M’kay,” you whispered, settling down with a huff. This was business, not pleasure, you reminded yourself. Bucky’s left hand suddenly cupped your ass and you whimpered when he squeezed once, twice, three times before he relaxed his hold.

“Behave,” Bucky purred, quiet enough for only you to hear. “And I’ll give you a treat.”

They continued talking for a while - Bucky’s hand moving up and down your back as they discussed deals and partnerships. You focused on Bucky’s voice, still clipped and tense, though you sitting in his lap seemed to abate the worst of his anger. He hated having you witness his violent bouts of rage, especially at the incompetence of his men at their worst moments.

“I expect this to be fixed before the end of the day,” Bucky snapped, his arm momentarily tightening around you. In an act to soothe him, you placed an open palm against his chest and shifted even closer so your knee was on the edge of his seat and closer to his crotch.

“You got it, boss,” the dark-haired man said, saluting.

Bucky snarled, a low growl building in his throat and you tensed. “Hal, quit the-”

“We’ll take our leave now, boss,” the blond interrupted, sending a sharp glare at his partner, who shrugged lightly and the two rose.

“Ari, I expect a phone call no later than sun down with the news that this fucking mess is fixed,” Bucky called, his cold hand creeping up your back while his tattooed hand pointed right at Ari, his pinky ring shining in the light of the sun from the window behind him. “Do you understand?” Ari nodded and pulled Hal from the room and Sam finally moved, a nod of his head and moving to stalk after Hal and Ari to escort them out.

“Stevie,” Bucky asked, looking at his most trusted man, his voice rumbling in his chest. “That deal that they fucked up, make sure they actually fucking fix it. I don’t want another loss or it’s their heads.”

“Got it, Buck,” Steve answered. He smiled at you softly and strode from the room, closing the door with a click behind him.

The chair holding the two of you scooted back even further and Bucky’s hands, one warm and tattooed, the other metal and cool, moved down the back of both your thighs and dug in. “C’mere,” he murmured. You squeaked in shock when he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips. “You behaved for me there, what’s goin’ on with you, hmm?”

Your breath hitched at his lowered octave, his accent shining through with the heady tone of his voice. Entirely unbidden, your cunt clenched with want when he lowered you both onto the couch against the far wall by the fireplace - it wasn’t your fault when he showed off his strength that it awoke something within you. You were straddling one of his thick thighs now, and you exercised every last slither of self-control not to sit down, not before you were told to.

“Wanted to be good for you-”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Bucky interrupted. His right hand cupped your jaw and he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, his cerulean eyes blown and eclipsed with lust. You opened your mouth and swirled your tongue around his thumb like it was the head of his cock. “You wanted to behave for daddy?”

You moaned and nodded, not breaking eye contact as you sucked at his thumb hard. “Oh, baby, you were such a good girl for me.” His left hand gripped your hip and pushed you down roughly against his thigh. “I want you to sit.”

“Ah! Daddy, please-”

“What? What is it, kitten?” Bucky pouted, his mocking tone only serving to send a fresh wave of heat through your body. “You can’t be stupid for me yet; I haven’t even touched you.”

“N-No,” you whimpered, clutching at the lapels of his suit jacket. “Please, I was good, I-I want you, to– fuck-” The sudden heat of Bucky’s mouth placing open mouthed kisses on your neck made you whine loudly.

“So sensitive, aren’t you? Poor thing,” Bucky sneered and you nodded feverishly, unable to move from the bruising grip he had on your hip. “Goin’ all silly on daddy, huh?”

“Ye-Yeah,” you gasped, Bucky had moved his right hand from your jaw and placed it on your hip in line with his left. “Oh, god, daddy, please!”

Bucky hummed and pushed your hips down, the pressure against your clit now becoming unbearable and you cried out, a sound thin and high that bounced off the walls of his office.

“What do you say, kitten?” Bucky snapped, his left hand suddenly grasping your throat so the cold metal shocked your skin. His right remained on your thigh, controlling you like a rag doll to grind back and forth, back and forth, again, again, and again.

“Fuck! Thank you, daddy, oh fuck,” you sobbed.

Bucky smiled like a predator - a wolf who had caught the lamb.

The force of his hold on your hip began to smart and you whimpered, bringing your hands from his chest to his left wrist and holding on for dear life. “Please, I need more- daddy-”

“Aww,” Bucky cooed. “No, kitten, you know that daddy knows what’s best for his girl, and right now she’s being a fuckin’ little slut for her daddy, isn’t she?”

“Yes!” You cried when a tendril of pleasure wound up your spine. “Yes, for you, only for you!”

“Atta girl.” The grip around your throat made you wheeze in sharp pants that fanned over Bucky’s lips when he pulled you closer. A sharp stab of pleasure coiled low in your stomach and you broke out in a sweat, the diamond necklace underneath Bucky’s wrist clinking against the metal with your forced and desperate movements.

“Ah- ah- oh, fuck, please,” you moaned, and Bucky chuckled darkly. He squeezed your hip in warning when you tried to move faster.

“You wanna ride my thigh? Is that what you want?” Bucky asked. His chest had begun to heave with heavy breaths that showed he was only barely holding on himself. “You just need that pretty head of yours empty while fucking my thigh, huh, baby girl? Don’t worry, daddy’s got you.”

The relief of hearing Bucky’s promise was overwhelming. His grip around your throat loosened until he only squeezed the sides while his right forced you to move in earnest, the pace of your hips brutal to the already tight coil.

“‘M gonna come, daddy! Oh- fuck, oh my god,” you babbled, hysterical on a high you had tasted many times before. “I-I can’t stop-”

“I know, baby, I know,” Bucky soothed. “Such a good girl for me, c’mon.”

You gasped loudly when Bucky pulled you forwards, his brute strength forcing you closer and in turn, your thighs clenched around his to keep you balanced.

“I know you’re close, kitten, fuckin’ look at you–such a slut, and you’re all mine, fuck,” Bucky breathed, his claim ending in a chuckle when you whined loudly at the change of position. “Be a good girl for me. I want you to come, now.”

The words leaving his lips were the catalyst of your release. You screamed when it hit you all at once, far too much and far too little in its devastation.

“That’s it, that’s it, oh, baby, look at you,” Bucky breathed, his tone hoarse with restraint when you could finally hear him over the dull roar in your ears. “You were so good for me, ‘m so proud.”

You fell boneless against Bucky’s chest and his arms wound around your waist, hugging you tightly while he whispered praises and soothed you from your high. His tattooed hand cupped the back of your neck where the clasp of your necklace sat against your sweaty skin, and he heaved a happy sigh through his nose. “Do you think they heard you?”

“Probably,” you giggled, moving to sit up so you could look into Bucky’s face. The diamonds adorning your neck were warm and misted with sweat while you fiddled with them. “Why?”

The dangerous glint in Bucky’s eyes and the devilish smirk was all you needed to know to understand why, if his hard length brushing against your thigh wasn’t enough of a hint; after all, his hard cock was better than a diamond by far.

“I need you to scream a lil’ bit louder for me this time, baby,” Bucky said impishly. With a grunt of effort, he lifted you again and stood from the couch.

“Bucky!” You squealed, hanging on for dear life around his broad shoulders. The damp patch on his slacks brushed against your thigh with his sudden movement and you giggled - that was you, you had made a mess on his ridiculously expensive pants. You had marked him.

It was a vice, the possessiveness he held over you and you over him, and parading his come-soaked slacks where his men would see?

Oh, god, you thought.

“Nope,” Bucky sighed, his hands gripping your ass tightly in reprimand. “I’ve gotta fuck you until you don’t know nothin’ but who I am, kitten. Besides, I have time to kill until that idiot calls me with good news, and I wouldn’t wanna waste an opportunity to be buried so deep in your fuckin’ cunt that you’ll be feelin’ me for days.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

878 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 10 months

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 18: You, me, and our men

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 17.1k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️ warnings: dear god, buckle up... discussion of drug use; very soft and fluffy moments; threesome; oral sex (m & f); screaming orgasm; multiple orgasms; playing footsie; punishment & reward; orgasm denial & control; voyeurism & exhibitionism; all of these men are shit heads; loud, sloppy oral; squirting; begging & teasing; light humiliation; safe words; Yoongi & Namjoon being domestic at a silly time; submissive Jeongguk; mc dominant for the first time; use of restraints; noona kink; hair pulling; face & body slapping; masturbation; praising; riding (forward & reverse); mirror sex; finger sucking; a little spanking; fingering; ass eating; overstimulation; after care; i love these characters so fucking much and it really shows ughhhhh.

🗡️ note: i really have no idea how i let the smut scene™ get so huge and wild, but i hope you enjoy it. after all the pent-up tension, it was fun to write. perhaps this scene being huge and gratuitous is my way of distracting you from the horrible realities of the Collateral universe, which will become extremely present in the next chapter. it feels more like a oneshot than a proper chapter, but...whatever. i know not one of you will complain. ok enjoy!!! i love you!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on june 2023 | read on ao3

From the moment you wake up, your nerves are haywire.

You know two things to be true. The first is that this is the last day in the foreseeable future that you will be spending in Jimin's home. The second is that Yoongi will be home shortly after 2 PM.

When Jimin wakes you up by rubbing over your forehead and whispering sweetly, it dawns on you that this is the last time, and it causes a swirling of happiness and sadness to fill your chest. The sun blares through the window at an angle that you typically miss in your sleep, and you squint against the morning light, a sight that has become something of a stranger to you.

With a loud yawn, you rub sleep from your eyes. Then you grumble, feeling as if you had just gone to bed moments ago, frustrated to discover that it is only 10 AM and that you have, in fact, slept far less than normal. It is sweet for Jimin to wake you early on your last day; it warms your heart to know that he is up to something.

"I thought we could get some coffee and pastries before I send you off to the Min Mansion," Jimin suggests with a smile.

Today, Jimin is dressed casually in a burgundy turtleneck tucked into charcoal slacks, with his hair partially pushed off his forehead. His skin is dewy and clear of makeup, radiating with natural beauty. And you can tell his patience for you is wearing thin as his smile falters and his eyes widen; Jimin does not like to wait, and he is absolutely incapable of hiding anything on his face.

"Alright, alright," you mutter before he has the chance to complain.

With a somewhat indignant huff, you toss the warm, pretty pink and orange comforter aside and try not to lament how you will not be returning to its embrace. Then you pad over to the closet and choose a pair of black leggings and cozy green sweater, and you get dressed in there, knowing Jimin is still sitting on your bed, likely scrolling through his phone.

"Don't worry about your things," Jimin calls when you stand a little too long, taking in the sight of clothing and shoes scattered around, cluttering up a sliver of space in the large, walk-in closet. "I'll have Joonie come deal with it. He loves doing your peasant work."

"That is true," you respond with a smile, shutting off the light in the closet and walking out in socked feet. "If there is one thing Namjoon is good at, it is doing exactly what I want him to."

Jimin rolls his eyes dramatically, and mutters, "Gross," under his breath, and the two of you giggle as you exit the room into the hallway, and set out for a morning errand.

Hanging out with Jimin for several hours is a blast, and you spend most of the time seated on a café patio watching passersby and commenting on everything from the cooling weather to people's clothing styles and any random little thought that crops up in between. But as time ticks by, you become antsy.

By 1:30 PM, you are a wreck, checking your phone so often for a notification that Jimin snickers and tells you to relax.

At 1:45 PM when you get the "Almost home!" text from Namjoon, your heart becomes so frantic, you feel like you might throw up.

"Alright, let's get you home," Jimin grumbles when you announce the news with shaking hands clenched tight to your phone. Maybe caffeine was a mistake.

You are able to distract yourself a little with chatter during the drive, and even get lost in singing a song on the radio that you recognize as one of the tracks a dancer named Cherry enjoys stripping to. The breeze coming in through the windows as you leave the city pulls you into a calm state, and you close your eyes to enjoy the way the wind feels.

But as soon as the car pulls into Namjoon's driveway, your stomach is turmoil, sloshing and churning, threatening to make you sick. You realize you are squeezing your hands tightly when the dig of your nails begins to hurt your palms, and you open them wide, flexing and attempting to relax them before resting them against your knees and squeezing.

All you can think is, What if he hates me? What if he remembers every horrible thing I said? What if he never wants to see me again?

Of course, you do not fully believe any of that; you do not think Yoongi has it in him to hold a grudge over something like that, especially if Namjoon has relayed the things you said to him the other night. But you do fear that something you said could have stuck with Yoongi—burrowed deep into his subconscious to make a home, festering with hateful words during quiet moments when all he wants is peace.

"Dove?" Jimin asks softly, and you gasp, pulling your gaze from the black dashboard that had gone out of focus as you stared at it. You glance up to find the vehicle has stopped in front of Namjoon's garage.

"I'm scared," you mutter softly before you can stop yourself, squeezing your eyes closed to fight back the urge to cry.

"I know," Jimin responds as he reaches over to rub a hand over your shoulders and down your back. "But this is Yoongi, and he loves you. He is not going to be angry with you."

Although no tears have fallen, you press the sides of your index fingers below your eyes as if willing all condensation to stay put. And, with a deep exhale, you nod and say, "I don't think I worry about him being angry. But I do worry about him being hurt."

Jimin's hand slides up to your shoulder and gives it a squeeze, forcing your eyes to close involuntarily. "Go in there and talk to him," he urges, and you swallow thickly and nod some more.

"Thanks for everything," you mutter, smiling despite yourself.

"Any time, dove," Jimin responds, and you know that he means it.

The seatbelt feels heavy when you unbuckle it and release it to clunk against the door as it slides into resting position. With a slow, deep fortifying breath, you reach for the door handle and tug, then you begin the process of making your limbs move, one after the other, sluggish with anticipation.

As you approach the door, your heart pounds, and you wring your hands in front of you with each step forward that you take. It will be fine, you tell yourself over and over. It will be fine, it will be fine, itwillbefine.

Before you have a chance to lift your hand and knock, the door opens, and you squeeze your fists tight once more while taking in Namjoon's bright, beautiful smile. The urge to cry returns and your exhale rattles something fierce from deep in your lungs.

"Hey, sweetheart," Namjoon says, eyes soft and knowing, assessing your very clear signs of distress. He wears a fuzzy brown cardigan over a white tee with black slacks, looking soft like a teddy bear and so inviting. "Deep breaths, yeah?"

You nod and let out a chuckle of relief as you step through the threshold and lean against him. Namjoon wraps his arms around you and steps back into the house, pulling you along just enough to allow him to close the front door. Both of your hands grip onto the cardigan, and you rub over the soft fabric with your thumbs while toeing out of your sneakers one at a time.

"Alright, clingy," Namjoon jokes, rubbing splayed palms over your shoulders and back before attempting to release the hug and take a step away. You continue to hold on tight and step with him, causing Namjoon to laugh and take you firmly by the arms. "The only way out is through. Let's go release you from limbo; Yoongi is excited to see you."

Tears spill at the mention of Yoongi's name, and you heave an exhale, then stand straight and wipe uselessly under your eyes. Even as Namjoon rotates, you feel the urge to bury yourself forward once more, allowing your body to turn while your forehead rests against his chest.

"Darling," Yoongi's deep, soft, beautiful voice calls from beside you, "why are you crying?"

You hardly get a look at Yoongi as you back away from Namjoon and fling your arms around Yoongi's middle, gripping onto another soft sweater as you bury yourself into his chest. Yoongi wraps you in a warm, delicate hug and presses his lips to your temple, holding you there while you tremble and cry. He smells sweet and musky and perfectly him, and you are so terribly in love.

"I'm sorry," you manage to whimper.

Yoongi's hold on you tightens, and he slides his head beside yours, uttering soft shushes while his hands rove everywhere they can reach, squeezing your neck gently and patting over your hair.

His voice is barely above a whisper as he responds, "I'm sorry, too."

"I didn't mean anything I said," you sob, and Yoongi's hug tightens then softens.

"It's alright if you did," he says, voice full of love; no malice to be found. Because, of course, Yoongi is soft and understanding with you. Of course, he knows your heart. "You have every right to be hurt."

Finally, you release the hug and back up only far enough to smile at the face that greets you. Yoongi's hair is wild dark waves framing his beautiful face, and with tears in his eyes, he looks softer than ever before. He wears a light blue sweater, and you rub your hands over his chest searching for the words to say; overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.

You settle on a simple, "I love you," and it feels so right when it passes your lips. It feels so right when Yoongi's lips upturn into a sweet smile that reaches his eyes. "I love you, and I'm sorry, Yoongi. I'm so sorry."

"Let's sit?" Yoongi offers, and you exhale deeply, releasing so much tension that has built and built in your shoulders and chest.

Yoongi guides the three of you over to a large, light brown leather couch. The cushion groans as Yoongi sits, and you take your place beside him, followed by Namjoon, who sits on your other side. You bend your legs and turn your body to Yoongi, who does the same, facing you with his elbow against the backrest.

"You look great," Yoongi says with a smile, and although you are the most dressed down you have been in weeks, you return his smile, welcoming the compliment. With a teasing lift of a brow, he adds, "Namjoon says Jimin has been teaching you to dance?"

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and you chuckle, then nod. Yoongi waggles his eyebrows, making you laugh harder. You lift a hand to swat him on the chest, but Yoongi catches it and holds your palm against him, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

"Yes, Jimin has been teaching me to dance," you respond somewhat sheepishly. "And Hyejin, a little."

"Ah, Hwasa!" Yoongi responds happily, smiling widely—devastatingly. "I'm so glad you spent time getting out and making friends. I was worried about you being cooped up in a dark mansion for three weeks."

You chuckle, but something heavy settles in your chest, making you frown. "I was drinking a lot at first. But dancing helped me get out of my head. It's been really good for me."

Yoongi releases your hand and attempts to scoot closer, knocking his knee against yours. In fluid, unspoken movements, Yoongi spreads his legs—lifts one leg to rest against the backrest and slide past you—and you mold into him, shifting onto your knees to slot yourself into the space he has made and scoot onto your side, wrapping your arms around his chest.

"Namjoon," you mutter against Yoongi's sweater. "This hug needs a Namjoon."

The sound of Yoongi's laughter rattling in his chest against your cheek is a symphony, and you squeeze him tighter, feeling love build and build and pour from you. The couch shifts behind you as Namjoon stands, and Yoongi attempts to scoot the two of you forward while Namjoon wedges himself behind Yoongi. The two of them shift around until one of Namjoon's legs slide beside Yoongi's, multiplying your hug as two more arms wrap around you, sinking you further against Yoongi's chest.

"Better," you mutter happily, tilting your head to press soft kisses to the underside of Yoongi's chin and against his throat. Yoongi sighs with a smile and tightens his hug, and you continue to kiss along the curve of his neck until Namjoon—whose lips are pressed just below Yoongi's ear—comes into view.

"Thank you for giving me another chance," Yoongi says, tugging at your heartstrings so hard you nearly cry again.

"You're not allowed to thank me for loving you," you complain against his skin, breathing in his musk.

Yoongi chuckles gentle and sweet and says, "On the contrary, I am extremely grateful for your love." His voice softens as he adds, "And I intend to do my best to never take you for granted again."

"I don't understand what drove you to use…" you blurt out, then trail off, unable to say the word heroin, feeling it lodge itself in your throat, sharp as a needle and thick as tar. As you swallow around the discomfort and continue, Yoongi's fingertips trace shapes against your back, and Namjoon gives your biceps a gentle squeeze. "I don't understand addiction at all, and I overreacted. Even if my feelings were genuine at the time, the things I said were awful. I want you to feel safe with me, and I want to support you through whatever you are going through. I guess I was just shocked, but that's no excuse to lash out."

Kisses litter your cheeks and forehead, firm and soft and lingering, punctuated with hums. Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into Yoongi's lips, smiling as his body says so much without the use of words.

"I feel safe with you," Yoongi finally says, and you sigh, content. "I can't fully explain what drives me to use…and I can't promise I won't again…but I want to try to stay clean. I deserve to feel happy, and pushing you away or putting myself at risk of overdose are terrible ways to chase happiness."

"You can always talk to me," you offer despite silently acknowledging how huge and heavy and impossible some things might feel to voice. "And Namjoon."

"I'm going to resume therapy, too," Yoongi says. "I was talking to Christopher for a while, but stopped shortly before you moved in. I think it would be good for me to return to him."

You nod and bury your face against his neck, wondering if you should also talk to the family therapist. Some nights, you wake up screaming, returned by your subconscious to the night of the crash—to the sight of Taehyung stabbing a man clear through the gut with a blade.

Even now, the thought claws at your subconsciousness with such force that Namjoon says something softly, and you hear Yoongi hum in response, but the sounds are distant and hard to parse. You squeeze your eyes closed, determined to be present and not spiral, breathing away the memory of that night as best as you can.

"I hope the therapy helps," you say with a bit of a pout, feeling emotionally overwhelmed but with a desire to keep assuring Yoongi that you are here for him. "I'll do my best to love and support you."

Yoongi squeezes you tight and sighs against you, and Namjoon's hands slowly rub over your arms and Yoongi's in calming motions. This feels like the right time to voice what has been weighing on you so heavily, but as you open your mouth to speak, you begin to feel nervous. But why should you feel nervous with Yoongi? Since he began opening up to you, he has been supportive and understanding; asking him what the three of you are should not be scary.

"How would you define our…" you begin, trailing off while your pulse pounds loudly in your ears. "Our, uh…our relationship."

Four arms hug you tight, and Yoongi hums softly. Then, he asks, "You mean the fake engagement doesn't make my intentions clear enough?"

"No, you're right," you chide, lifting a hand to swat at Yoongi's shoulder, making him laugh harder. "Silly me."

It takes a moment for Yoongi's laughter to die. His shoulders continue to shake, and you give him time to respond truthfully while you rub his soft blue sweater between your thumb and forefinger.

"I consider the two of you my romantic partners," Yoongi finally says, voice low and sweet. "I consider us exclusive, but with an asterisk attached to the word, allowing you and Jeongguk to play around if that is something you still want."

"It is," you admit, feeling your cheeks warm.

"And the same goes for me," Namjoon says, making your smile widen. You already know these things to be true, but it feels so nice to hear them spoken aloud.

"Okay," you respond. "Good."

"I suppose we have never had this conversation," Yoongi muses. "We sort of just…fell into one another."

"A beautiful collision," Namjoon says, fingers tracing shapes against your shoulders. "I feel so lucky to have been pulled by such an undeniable gravitational force, creating a galaxy of beauty and warmth between the three of us."

"What the fuck," you mutter against Yoongi's sweater. "That was so poetic and cute. I want to kiss you so bad, but I don't want to move."

Namjoon chuckles and gives your shoulders a squeeze. "You have plenty of time to kiss me, don't worry."

With a dreamy sigh, you mutter, "Good."

The three of you sit like this for a while, quiet and tangled around one another. Then Namjoon's phone rings, shrill and loud, and he shifts around as he fishes the device from a pocket to answer.

"Hey, Tae," he says, and you smile to yourself; they say, speak of the devil, and he shall appear, but you only needed to think of him moments ago.

"Hey, would you two like to join Taehyung and Jeongguk for dinner?" Namjoon asks. "Jeongguk is cooking."

"Darling?" Yoongi prompts, and you nod without taking time to consider the offer. As nice as it is to have a quiet moment between just the three of you, you imagine Taehyung and Jeongguk are eager to see Yoongi again. And you did tell Jeongguk that you would be interested in the five of you getting together soon.

You, me, and our men.

Namjoon confirms that the three of you will be joining them, then ends the call and informs the two of you that you have just over two hours to get ready and meet at Taehyung's place.

"I need to change into something a little nicer," you grumble, reluctant to release Yoongi from your hold.

You remember the closet of things that are at Jimin's place, and you frown, feeling torn once more. You are glad to be returning to Yoongi's bed, by Yoongi and Namjoon's side, but having a little home away from home was nice.

"Let's head home, then?" Yoongi suggests, and you nod but continue to lean into him, breathing in his musk and feeling his warmth.

It takes coaxing to get off the couch, and you whine and grumble the entire way, stumbling over your feet as you move, arms still slung around Yoongi and refusing to let go. Namjoon chuckles and heads to the door first to put on his shoes, and Yoongi waddles in that direction, walking you backward and pressing you into the door while he leans and bends to put his shoes back on.

Only when you need to use your hands because shoving your feet into your sneakers proves feeble with the tongue and heels bending and getting stuck, do you release Yoongi, huffing and puffing indignantly the entire time.

"Want a piggyback ride, sweetheart?" Namjoon offers as he opens the front door, and you gasp loudly because yes, absolutely, you do.

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, excited, and Namjoon walks outside, steps down the three short steps onto the ground, and stands with his arms held out to the sides. You run and leap onto him, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, making him wheeze as he reaches for your legs and adjusts you in his hold.

"Sorry, Joonbug," you mutter as you loosen your hold and place kisses along his nape, and Namjoon chuckles and says, "It'll take a lot more than that to kill me, don't worry."

Yoongi closes the door and falls into step beside the two of you, and off they walk to the dirt and gravel path that leads back to the main mansion. Yoongi reaches for one of Namjoon's hands, linking their fingers together, and you smile as you rest your head against Namjoon's shoulder, feeling safe and warm and happy—indestructible and untouchable in this soft, quiet moment.

The walk back is peaceful, with only the sounds of footfalls crunching softly guiding you home, and you close your eyes, relaxing and breathing in the gentle bouquet of Namjoon's skin, shampoo, and laundry detergent. Despite being big and strong, with more blood on his hands than you can imagine, Namjoon is sweet, sweet, sweet, filling you from limb to limb with so much affection.

You hear the ground change underfoot and open your eyes to find yourself being carried past the driveway and garage, toward the front door. It feels good to be home, and you straighten out and watch over Namjoon's head as Yoongi takes the lead and begins to unlock the front door. Although you have cried more than necessary for one day, tears well in your eyes, and you feel so inexplicably happy to finally be home.

Yoongi takes off his shoes, then pulls yours off for you, chucking them aside while Namjoon steps from the slides he wore. There is a very light atmospheric scent to the mansion that you only now realize you have missed, and you look around at everything that is just as it was the last time you saw it—frozen in time and waiting, shrouded in dust motes that sparkle in the sunlight.

Namjoon carries you through the main hall and up the stairs, holding onto Yoongi's hand once more. Once you reach the master suite, Namjoon bends to lower you to the bed, then spins before you have a chance to fully release your hold, and closes in fast, slotting his lips against yours and sending a thrill of arousal through you. It has been far too long, and you melt into his touch.

"We have two hours," Namjoon mutters against your lips, slotting himself between your spread legs. His mouth trails low, kissing and nipping at your neck and making you shiver. "I need to have both of you before I lose my fucking mind."

"You have me," you groan, lolling your head back with pleasure. "I'm all yours. You too, kitten."

"Kitten," Yoongi repeats in a low rasp as he climbs onto the bed behind you.

The tangle of bodies is chaotic and haphazard—ravenous. Hands push and tug and remove articles of clothing while mouths desperately attempt to remain attached to mouths and skin, bruisingly firm touches and moaned confessions, making up for lost time.

You slide to the floor eager to wrap your lips around Namjoon's half-hard cock, feeling him shudder beneath your fingertips while his whimper becomes lost between Yoongi's lips. Yoongi joins you on the soft rug, and you share your prize, watching with bated breath as his pretty doll lips wrap around Namjoon's hard length. And as a show of love, you graciously allow Yoongi to swallow Namjoon's cum.

Namjoon has you on your feet and then on your back against the dark comforter so fast your head spins, and the two of them take their time pulling orgasm after orgasm from you with their mouths and fingers until Yoongi finally spins you onto your hands and knees, and fucks you so hard, you scream into Namjoon's warm, open mouth.

"Taehyung's gonna kill us for being late," Namjoon jokes as he presses Yoongi into the mattress to stretch him on one finger, then two, all the way to four. When Yoongi makes you cum with his mouth mere moments before his own orgasm hits, it feels too good to be true. And when Namjoon's back arches and he fills Yoongi with his own release, the whorling mixture of moans and whimpers in the air lulls your trembling, achingly euphoric body deep into the comforter.

You are so fucked out and high on pleasure that Namjoon has to carry you to the shower.

When Jeongguk opens Taehyung's door wide and inviting, the first words that greet you are, "Taehyung is going to kill you for being late." His eyes drift between the three of you, and you watch as his gaze hones in on the bruise you sucked into Yoongi's throat hours before.

The savory scent of meat and spices hit your nose, and you take a deep inhale, smiling as you say, "It smells amazing."

Jeongguk beams and takes a step back, giving the three of you room to enter. He wears that damned silk leopard print shirt again, this time tucked into tight black slacks, and you smirk to yourself remembering the conversation you had at Paradise; the sweet boy took your teasing to heart.

You wear a simple black short-sleeve a-line mini dress that stops mid-thigh, with a heavy Cuban link necklace encrusted in diamonds, and your hair pulled back tight. Although your makeup application skills pale in comparison to Jimin's, you managed to paint a smoky look to your eyelids and allowed Yoongi to pick out a bright red for your lips. Yoongi and Namjoon wear black tucked into black, with several buttons undone, revealing skin and silver chains.

As you step into Taehyung's home and out of your heels, Jeongguk walks ahead through the living room, off to the right. Taehyung's home takes you by surprise. His furniture is extravagant and mismatched, gaudy floral velvets and curving, carved woods. Art pieces litter walls and surfaces, from landscapes to portraits and strange carvings that may be human bodies but could be amorphous blobs.

As you walk through the space, Yoongi takes your hand and tugs you slightly back, causing you to bump into him. "You can rile Jeonggukie up if you'd like to," he mutters in your ear. "Tease him a little."

Heat licks at your senses as you remember the discussion you had with Jeongguk. Nothing could happen without the others present, and here you are, under one roof with everyone at once. Your heart soars with hopeful anticipation, and you twist to send Yoongi a wink, making him chuckle.

As you round the dividing wall into the dining area, you find a long, sprawling table adorned with dishes and covered pots of food. Past that is a black marble island against which Taehyung stands, frowning while swirling a glass of deep red wine. He wears a burgundy shirt that nearly matches his beverage, tucked into dark brown slacks, and at the sight of him, you smile widely.

"Thanks for the invite," you beam, pleased when Taehyung does not miss a beat, grumbling, "Thanks for finally fucking showing up."

"Sorry, Taehyungah," Yoongi says as he slots an arm around your waist, kicking butterflies up in your tummy. "I've been away from these two for too long…I couldn't keep my hands to myself."

With a hum, Taehyung kicks from the island and says, "I suppose it was my fault for only giving you two hours." Adding, with a dismissive wave, "All is forgiven."

"How gracious," you mutter under your breath as Jeongguk brings a final dish to the table and Taehyung urges everyone to sit.

Yoongi surprises you by taking a seat beside Jeongguk, and Namjoon pulls out the chair in front of Jeongguk's for you, so you sit and scoot in while Namjoon sits across from Yoongi, to your left, and Taehyung places himself at the head, to your right. Taehyung lifts lids from dishes, revealing pan-seared steaks and sides of potatoes, steamed and pickled vegetables, and an inviting pile of glass noodles.

"Holy shit," you mutter as your mouth waters, and Namjoon grabs your plate, asking softly what you would like and how much of each serving.

Yoongi and Jeongguk serve themselves, discussing something lowly and impossible to hear while Taehyung fills your glass with red wine. Once everyone is settled with their plates in front of them, Jeongguk raises a toast.

"To Yoongi-hyung staying happy and healthy," he beams, turning to face Yoongi, whose cheeks flush as he smiles wide, showing off his gums. "Whatever it is you're going through, you're never alone, okay, hyung? I mean that. You have a lot of support."

"Alright, enough," Yoongi grumbles, shoving his wine glass forward for the rest of you to tap yours against. Although he is doing his best to appear as grumpy and impassive as possible, the joyful glimmer in his eyes is unmistakable.

Everyone drinks and then begins to eat, and you take a deep, calming exhale before digging in, bracing yourself for a delicious meal. The food is fantastic, and you fall back in your chair after only a few bites, almost frustrated by how well Jeongguk can cook.

Namjoon chuckles from your left, and you turn to find him watching you with a smile. "That good, huh?" he asks, knowing full well the physical and emotional anguish you are experiencing.

"It's ridiculous," you complain as you sit forward and continue to eat, and when you glance at Jeongguk, he is smiling around a bite of food.

"How are you liking the new position at Paradise?" Yoongi asks as everyone begins to slow down mid-meal.

"It's fun," Jeongguk responds happily, having a sip of wine.

This feels like a good time to rile Jeongguk up, and you take a sip of your wine and prepare yourself with a deep breath for impending foolery. Tentatively, slowly, you stretch your leg forward, searching with your toes for an ankle or a calf. When the side of your foot brushes against the side of a leg, you lock eyes with Jeongguk, who gazes curiously at you over his glass.

"Jimin says you've been really enjoying it there, and that everyone is warming up to you quickly," Yoongi continues, using a knife to cut off a section of his steak.

Jeongguk clears his throat, and you drop your leg away only enough to recalibrate your aim and try again. This time, you find the inside of a calf rather than the outside, and you very delicately rub your toes against him, feeling the soft material of his slacks gather and fall away.

"Y-yeah," Jeongguk stammers, repositioning himself in his seat so that his legs are even closer—easier for you to access. "I like it there a lot, and Jimin-hyung says I'm learning the ropes pretty fast.”

You push your leg up, grazing along Jeongguk's knee as you ask, "Is there anything our Jeonggukie can't do well?"

Jeongguk's eyes widen, and he clears his throat, failing to hide the effect you have on him from even a small touch. You glance at Yoongi to find his eyes flitting briefly down at the foot between Jeongguk's legs as he bites back a smile.

"Word on the street is you're little miss popular at Paradise, too," Taehyung says, turning your attention to him. He raises an eyebrow as if studying you, and suddenly you feel nervous, like a child caught misbehaving by their teacher. You wonder if there is any way he could know what you are up to.

You clear your throat and continue to lift and press your foot forward rubbing your toes against Jeongguk's inner thigh, and from the corner of your eye, you can see him jolting slightly before slouching himself a little closer.

"Jeonggukie," Taehyung says before you have a chance to respond to his earlier inquiry, cocking his head curiously. "Care to share with the class what seems to be the matter with you?"

Rather than letting up, you rub your foot back and forward, inching slowly closer to his crotch and making him shiver as he responds, "No-nothing. Why?"

Taehyung is fast on his feet, standing and rounding the table before you can move your foot away, but you still sit up quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as Taehyung looks at Jeongguk, then looks at you.

"Playing footsie, I see," Taehyung says as he approaches Jeongguk's chair, places two hands on the tall wooden backrest, and leans close. "And without my permission."

"S-sorry, sir," Jeongguk says as his eyes fall to his plate. His entire demeanor shifts, making him seem small and weak compared to a moment ago.

"Hyung, what should we do to punish these two?"

Yoongi's smirk is sharp and knowing, and you begin to wonder whether this was his plan, all along. You wonder if he knew that encouraging you to rile up Jeongguk would get this kind of reaction from Taehyung. What if the two of them planned this ahead of time?

"Up to you, Taehyungah," Yoongi responds, sending a chill along your spine.

"I think Jeonggukie should get under the table and give our dollface here a taste of her own medicine," Taehyung suggests.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks, "Do you consent to this?"

"Yes," you respond softly, feeling somewhat dazed as your eyes trail from Yoongi's grin to Jeongguk's shocked expression and finally to a smirking Taehyung.

"You heard her, Jeongguk," Taehyung says firmly with a hint of impatience.

Without needing further instruction, Jeongguk pushes his chair back and sinks to his knees. "Yes, sir," he mutters before his head disappears under the table.

Your heart pounds, and you watch Yoongi, who sits and stares at you with his wine glass cradled between his fingers. The feeling of two warm hands spreading your legs makes you gasp and shudder, and you comply with allowing Jeongguk access, sinking further in your chair until your ass is right on its edge.

"I don't want to hear a sound from you, doll," Taehyung instructs, ripping your gaze from Yoongi to him. "If you so much as whimper, I won't let you fuck him. Understand?"

"Y-yes," you respond in time for the featherlight brush of fingers over your clothed heat, intaking a deep, quiet breath.

"Yes, sir," Taehyung instructs, and you nod emphatically as you correct yourself, saying, "Y-yes, sir."

Warm breath wafts between your legs, and you swallow thickly, glancing between Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon, who all carry on as if nothing is happening. Taehyung takes Jeongguk's seat, and the three men discuss bringing The Tigers on to take care of Jeongguk's former responsibilities, and how things have been going while Yoongi has been away. It seems Namjoon has been the family point person in Yoongi's absence, but you cannot bring yourself to listen closely to their conversation because the feeling of lips dragging over your pussy shuts out all sound around you.

With a sigh that is as silent as you can manage, you let your head fall back against the wooden chair. Warmth laps over the mesh layer covering you, and you shiver as your pelvis angles upward, chasing the sensation. You want to beg Jeongguk to move your panties aside and touch you properly, and you bite your bottom lip to keep any sound from spilling.

Namjoon is the picture of nonchalance as he leans forward and reaches for a bottle of wine to fill his empty glass. When he turns to you and reaches for yours, which is still half full, his voice is so sweet and soft, asking, "Don't care for the wine, sweetheart?"

As if determined to spoil any chance of fucking you, Jeongguk chooses this moment to tug your panties away and press the pads of his fingers against you, spreading your lips slowly and firmly. Your eyes roll back as he rubs over your clit, and you shake your head, doing your best to stay present as you say, "It's good," breathy and clearly on the brink of losing it. "It's a good wine."

"Well, then drink up, darling," Yoongi suggests, raising an eyebrow as your chest heaves. "There's plenty more wine; don't be shy."

You tremble as you lean forward and reach for your glass, gripping the stem tightly to lift it to your lips. Jeongguk's tongue flicks against you in quick, teasing tastes, and you chug back a large gulp, gasping for air once it is swallowed down as pleasure mixes with hints of a buzz.

Jeongguk wastes no more time, licking and sucking your pussy with skill and vigor. He hums between your legs, making loud wet sounds with his mouth as if you are just another course in his expertly prepared meal. You wonder if he does it to taunt the men at the table, what with how loud he is.

Arousal builds quickly, flooding you hot and fast, making you scrape your fingernails into the arms of the wooden chair as you hold your lips taut between your teeth, desperate to stay silent. It feels good. So good that you have to puff out your cheeks in order to hold back from making any sound. So good that whenever one of the men attempts to speak to you, you respond in nods or a shake of the head, all the while keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

"Do you think we are too mean to her?" Taehyung teases, and you open your eyes to find the three men watching you with hungry, dark expressions. "Perhaps asking her not to make a sound was uncalled for. After all, Jeongguk loves eating pussy, and I imagine he is giving his all to our sweet doll."

"She is quite vocal," Yoongi says with a pout as if taking pity on you.

"And she does make the sweetest sounds," Namjoon adds with a grin.

Jeongguk slips a finger into your heat, forcing your entire body to simultaneously attempt to tense and relax. Although it is not much of a stretch, the angle forces him to press against your erogenous zone, and you tremble into the feeling.

"Dollface?" Taehyung asks, and you turn your attention to him with wide, eager eyes. "Do you think my punishment is too harsh?"

You look around to all three men, attempting to gauge their expressions, which are all somewhere between curious and stern. Although Taehyung seems to be offering you a lifeline, you worry that outright agreeing might be more dangerous in the long run.

"N-no, sir," you respond, sinking a little further into bliss as Jeongguk finger-fucks and eats you out. "Ah-I was naughty and deserve to be punished."

Taehyung seems pleased, eyes widening as he says, "My, what an obedient girl. You two must have a lot of fun with her, don't you?"

Namjoon leans and drapes an arm over your shoulders, and the weight of it paired with his light, distinguishing musk and delicate cologne does nothing to stave the many tumultuous sensations eager to pour from you. Already, you climb closer to orgasm; all Jeongguk would have to do is slip a second finger inside, and you would burst in seconds.

"We sure do," Namjoon groans beside you, and the sound of his voice is too much, causing your eyes to roll back once more as you bite your lips closed.

"Since you're so desperate to be good," Taehyung says almost sardonically, "I will let you make all the sounds you need to. But only after you have been granted permission to cum, which you have to beg for."

The men in this so-called family are infuriating with their need to make you beg, and you open your mouth, letting out a quiet shuttering sigh, then lift your gaze to your devious, gracious host and ask, "Please, sir. Please, may I cum?"

"Already?" Taehyung asks, cocking his head with surprise.

"She is extremely easy to please," Yoongi says, filling you with red-hot embarrassment.

"Especially since we already made her nice and sensitive earlier," Namjoon adds. "I bet she will become overstimulated fast."

"I'm close," you say, voice coming out a little too broken—too close to a whimper. "Sir, please. I'll never misbehave again, please, please."

The squelch of Jeongguk's finger fucking into you becomes audible, and Namjoon shifts beside you as he asks, "Are you using two fingers, Gguk?"

Frantically, you shake your head, eager to tell Namjoon, No, please, don't encourage him. But Jeongguk is obedient as can be, and he slides his finger out only to press two deep inside. The stretch makes your mouth fall agape, and you huff out silent vowels, holding back so much you practically choke on air.

"Please," you try again, staring ahead at Taehyung while doing your best to school your features. Pleasure tugs at every inch of you, knitting your brows and forcing your mouth open to hang wide, and you croak around each syllable, muttering like a prayer, "Please, please, please."

"Ggukie," Taehyung calls, "is she close, baby?"

Jeongguk licks a long, slow stripe over you, then calls, "Her muscles keep tensing and relaxing; she feels very close," before getting back to work, making your head absolutely spin.

"I am close," you mutter just above a whisper, desperate. "I'm so close. Please, sir. Please let me cum."

"Are you sure you deserve to?" Taehyung asks.

Petulance rises, and you rotate to glance between Yoongi and Namjoon with a look of sheer desperation that the two of them all but ignore. You confessed your love to these two monsters, and this is the way they treat you in a time of mental and emotional collapse; unbelievable!

"Please," you turn your attention back to Taehyung. You are so close to the edge, every fiber of your being trembles under the pressure of tightening your muscles and staving off release, but you are not sure you can hold on much longer. Orgasm denial is not something you are used to; pretty soon, your body will give into Jeongguk's very talented mouth and fingers and do what it wants to, permission be damned.

Yoongi stands slowly, scraping his chair legs against the wooden floor, then he rounds the table with a look of hunger, slowly stalking. Although you attempt to follow his movements, just having him nearer makes it more and more difficult to hold back. Clearly, these men are determined to torture you.

Yoongi grabs your chairback with both hands, which you see from the corners of your eyes, then he leans close, filling your senses with his musk, asking, "Is our Jeonggukie making you feel good, darling?"

You nod emphatically, biting your lips closed for fear of moaning if you attempt to speak. Jeongguk's fingers press over the sweet spot that makes you crumble so easily, and you squeeze your eyes closed in an attempt to hold your composure.

"Use your words, sweetheart," Namjoon instructs.

"Ye—" you huff and sigh, eyes widening as Jeongguk's tongue laves and twirls, sloppy and wet. "Y-yes, sir," you practically moan, jaw trembling around each syllable.

"Poor thing," Taehyung teases, "just look at her fall apart."

"Please, sir," you mutter, closing your eyes. "Please, please, please."

With each push and pull of Jeongguk's fingers, you lose the ability to hold on any longer. Your body quakes from the storm that rages inside you, and heat pools and pools, ebbing but never flowing.

"Please," you beg more desperately. "Sir, please!"

"Can't hold on any longer, can you?" Yoongi asks, and you shake your head, muttering, "No, sir; I can't."

With a sigh, almost as if he is annoyed, Taehyung sits forward with both elbows against the table and says, "Alright, pretty doll. Cum for us."

The moment you relax, orgasm rushes through you, dragging you straight to the depths of hell. You practically scream, "Oh, god!" as Jeongguk plunges his fingers deep, sucking at your clit gently in a rhythm that pulls pleasure from every inch of you.

You grip the chair tightly and squeeze your eyes closed, gasping and panting while you cum on Jeongguk's fingers and tongue, coating him in a release that pours from you, hitting your thighs in droplets. Yoongi's arms wrap around you, one splayed hand on your chest while the other loosely grips onto your throat, holding you firmly in place.

Overstimulation hits just as fast as your orgasm had, and you sob and begin to pull your hips back, eager to force Jeongguk to stop but unwilling to call a safe word or command him to. Jeongguk's mouth feels good—different from the ways Yoongi and Namjoon pleasure you, though you are incapable of determining how. Heat fills your cheeks at the thought of Jeongguk wanting this for as long as you have, and you begin to pull away with more intention, this time.

"Too much," you beg. "Please, I can't—"

Jeongguk's lips and fingers fall away instantly, leaving you drenched and shivering as the air hits your exposed pussy. Yoongi lets up on his hold around you, and you catch your breath, heaving each exhale through your lungs as if you had just been drowning.

"Magnificent," Taehyung praises with a smile. "Namjoon is right, you really do make pretty sounds, doll."

"Th-thank you, sir," you gasp, feeling equal parts thrilled and humiliated to cum with Taehyung watching you.

"Can you take more?" Taehyung asks with a raise of an eyebrow. He scoots his chair back and Jeongguk crawls between his legs, resting his head on Taehyung's lap with a dopey, wet smile that you can just barely see past the table. Taehyung rakes his fingers through Jeongguk's hair, keeping his eyes on you. "I can restrain this pretty boy and let you have your way with him, if you would like."

Using Jeongguk for your own pleasure sounds like a fantastic idea, and although you are overstimulated, you nod, slowing your breathing as you say, "I would like that, sir."

"Wonderful!" Taehyung beams, giving Jeongguk a soft pat on the head. "Get a head start, baby. I want to find you in the throne room, naked, in the center of the bed, understand?"

Jeongguk sits high on his knees, tilting his head up to Taehyung with an expression that pours over with affection. "Yes, sir," he says as Taehyung leans down and presses their lips together. Then he stands, and you notice the drool and cum that coats his chin and chest, shimmering in the light. Your gaze flickers to Taehyung just in time to notice him licking his lips, and you burn with the knowledge that he can also taste you.

Jeongguk leaves the room, and you take the opportunity to reach for your refilled wine glass and chug its contents back, gasping on your next breath while your hands tremble. Taehyung stands and returns to his seat, to the right of you, leaning against the top of the backrest.

"How are you feeling?" he asks in a tone sweet enough to take you by surprise.

"Good," you respond truthfully, sitting up and squeezing your thighs tight.

"It goes without saying, but you absolutely do not have to keep going if you need to stop," he assures you, and you smile, giving a slight nod and muttering, "I'm good. I'm enjoying myself."

"Yoongi-hyung? Namjoon-hyung?" Taehyung asks.

"Perfect," Namjoon responds as Yoongi says, "I'm having a great time."

"Good," Taehyung says, clapping his hands together once. "I was prepared to have more of a conversation, but none of that seems necessary, so let's dive right in. Jeongguk and I use the stoplight safeword system, do you know what that is?"

You clear your throat and nod, having learned about this from your days in sex work. "Green for continue, red for stop," you say, unsure what their use of yellow might be, as sometimes it can vary.

"Exactly," Taehyung praises as he walks over and leaves a gentle pat against your head. "Yellow means slow down or let up, depending on what you are doing. You can check in and demand a color, but he is good about calling when he needs to. As for you—" he raises an eyebrow with his hands on his hips, "—Jeongguk and I have agreed that you can fuck him as long as I get to tell you what to do. Yoongi and Namjoon are also welcome to command you. Of course, if there is something you do not enjoy, you get the final say and can call a color, or simply tell us no. We want you to enjoy this experience to the fullest and will never demand anything you dislike. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," you mutter while wrapping your head around everything, feeling equally eager and nervous.

"Perfect," Taehyung says. "I just need ten minutes to get him ready for you…we're in the first door on the right."

As Taehyung begins to walk in the direction Jeongguk went, you sit up with a start. "Wait," you say, feeling nervous to voice your concern. "I…I've never been…dominant, before. Is there anything I should know? Or do?"

With a grin, Taehyung turns his attention back to you, raking his eyes over you before he shrugs and says, "Just have fun. Jeongguk gets very sensitive if you tease him long enough…so you can lean into that if it's something you enjoy. That is, as long as you are being obedient to our orders."

You nod and say, "Understood," and Taehyung turns away and begins to exit the room.

"These heathens left a mess behind," Yoongi grumbles as he gets to work covering pots of food and moving them to the stove before opening the cabinets to find storage containers. Namjoon follows suit, collecting plates and wine glasses to rinse and stack in the sink, and you sit in your chair in a bit of a daze, staring around the room, half-noticing the curved shapes of wood carvings on the chairs and the faint shapes of houseplants that you are not able to fully perceive.

Once the table is clear, Yoongi pulls back a sleeve and checks his watch. "It's been about ten minutes," he says. "Shall we?"

"Best not to make Taehyung wait twice," Namjoon teases as he approaches and reaches a hand for you to take.

Everything feels hazy and dream-like as the two of them lead you through Taehyung's house to the stairs near the front foyer. Each step creeks gently underfoot, and the closer you climb to the second level, the more frenzied your heart becomes. Your panties are soaked, askew, and uncomfortable, and your hand prickles with sweat in Namjoon's firm hold, which you grip a little tighter once you get to the upper landing.

"Ready?" Namjoon asks sweetly, and you nod, muttering, "Yes, daddy," earning your palm a squeeze.

As soon as you turn to enter the hallway, and turn again to the first room on the right, it becomes evident that this is not the master suite but a room they have specifically for sex. To the left in this large room is a king-sized four-poster bed covered in black satin with black mesh hanging down over and tied neatly to each post. Rigged between the two posts at the head of the bed is some metal bar contraption that Jeongguk is attached to, and it takes a few moments of staring at him for the scene to fully settle in.

Jeongguk is nude with his hands over his head, arms extended long, with his wrists restrained high enough that he has to sit tall on his legs. Except his thighs have leather straps around them, connected to leather straps around his ankles, suspending him in a somewhat strange position, as he does not seem able to fully sit tall or relax all the way down.

"Breathtaking, isn't he?" Taehyung asks from a large black and gold throne to the right, overlooking the scene. He sits slouched against one arm of the square, wooden seat with a leg slung over the other arm, lounged and looking bored.

You nod and mutter, "Yes, sir," as you turn your attention back to Jeongguk, whose head hangs slightly forward, short dark hair messy and covering his eyes.

And he really is breathtaking. The way he sits has so many muscles taut and strained, covering his body in beautiful topography. His pierced nipples glimmer in the golden light of the room, and there is a perfectly inviting trail of dark hairs that travel from his cute, round navel down to the cock that hangs heavy and semi-soft between his legs.

"Jeonggukie," Taehyung calls, voice magnanimous yet sharp, "eyes up, baby."

Jeongguk lifts his head, and already his eyes look glazed over and a little lost, as if the simple act of being restrained is enough to give him immense pleasure. When his gaze lands on you, a dopey smile tugs at his lips, which he wets with his tongue, dragging the inviting pink muscle slowly as if to tell you that he can still taste you—or, perhaps, that he wants to taste you again.

"Dollface," Taehyung calls, and you turn to look at him with wide, eager eyes, feeling somewhat intoxicated by this entire scene and still reeling from what happened downstairs.

"Yes, sir?" you ask sweetly.

"Unless we say so, from now on, keep your eyes on Jeongguk, understand?"

"Yes, sir," you respond, turning your attention back to Jeongguk.

"I imagine this setup is a bit overwhelming for you," Taehyung continues. "What is your color, pretty?"

This setup is overwhelming, but you are incredibly intrigued and find this submissive side of Jeongguk rather promising. "Green, sir."

"Good," Taehyung says as Namjoon's palm slides away from your hold and both men walk toward Taehyung, leaving you alone. "I want you to strip, right where you stand, keeping your eyes on Jeongguk. Can you do that for us?"

With a nod, you swallow a lump of nervousness and respond, "Yes, sir."

The dress zips in the back, and you reach with your right hand, fumbling with the material before reaching with your left hand to grip onto the dress and slide the zipper down. You only make it a few inches and have to bunch the dress up even more, feeling grateful this the material is actually loose and that you are not stuck having to contort yourself uselessly for an audience. It takes time, though—bunching, unzipping, bunching some more, unzipping some more—until finally, you are able to reach back with your arms lowered and get ahold of the zipper, tugging it down to your waist.

Jeongguk watches intently as you slide the black dress down, away from your chest. You wear a thin, mesh black bra and matching panties, and you feel your nipples begin to harden beneath the material as the air hits your exposed skin, causing a very slight shiver to work its way along your back.

When the dress falls past your hips, down to the floor, all that covers you are thin, small swathes of black material, and you fight the urge to lift your arms to shield yourself, holding your arms stiffly to your sides while you stare at Jeongguk, who stares back.

"Strip all the way down, darling," Yoongi instructs, and you mutter, "Yes, sir," as you reach back and unclasp the bra.

Jeongguk's gaze widens and softens as the material falls away to the floor in a heap in front of you, and his eyes follow the path of your hands, down to where your thumbs hook under your panties and push-pull them away.

"Jeonggukie," Taehyung calls, "how is she?"

"Beautiful," Jeongguk responds in a dreamy, faraway tone. "She's perfect."

"Dollface, join our sweet boy on the bed, please," Taehyung instructs.

"Yes, sir," you say as you force your feet to step from the pile of clothing and move forward. The bed is tall enough that you need to place your hands down and swing one knee up, hoisting yourself forward. You crawl to Jeongguk, and then sit tall on your knees before him. From this close, he is a work of art—a perfect blend of soft and firm lines that appear handcrafted with utmost care.

"Dollface, I want you to tease our sweet Jeonggukie. You are not allowed to touch his cock or asshole unless given permission, but everything else is fair game. Rile him up, make him whine, make him beg. He likes it a little rough so don't be afraid to pinch, slap, scratch, bite…whatever it takes to drive him crazy. Does all this sound good?"

"Yes sir," you respond, unmoving as you decide where to start. It feels like you have been given too many choices, and suddenly, you feel overwhelmed. "Can I kiss him, sir?" you ask, inching closer on your knees.

"Of course, doll," Taehyung calls happily, and you continue to inch closer.

Sitting high on your knees, you reach up and drag the backs of your fingernails over Jeongguk's cheeks, causing him to tremble and take in a deep, slow breath. His eyelids flutter, but he keeps his gaze on you, lips lifting and moving slightly, as if he has something to say. As your right hand continues to work its way up, over a scratchy shaved undercut and into thick, straight hair, your left thumb drags down, over his bottom lip, pulling it past his teeth until it stretches to its limit and pops back into place.

"So pretty," you whisper, watching Jeongguk's eyes widen. He must not be allowed to speak unless spoken to, but you have been given no such instruction. "I've never done something like this before. You're my first."

Jeongguk's mouth twitches around a syllable left unvoiced, and you lean forward and suck his bottom lip between your teeth, soft at first, then a little harder, making Jeongguk gasp, tasting skin and metal. You dart your tongue out to soothe over the scrape of your teeth, unable to hold in a whimper when Jeongguk's tongue meets yours, and you take the sides of his face in both hands to deepen the kiss, shoving your tongue into his mouth, forcing him to open around you while he moans, soft and inviting.

You lick hints of your own arousal from his mouth, then smile against his lips as you say, "You taste like me…so sweet," watching with delight as he holds back from responding, brows knitting as if pained.

This time, when you kiss him, you take his hair in both hands and grip. Jeongguk groans as his head is yanked backward, and you suck and nip at his bottom lip, making him whimper uselessly, darting his tongue out as if in search of a deeper kiss—desperate.

"So pretty," you say again while nipping at his jaw, holding his hair tight in your grip and letting your teeth snag and tease the skin all the way to his ear.

Jeongguk trembles in your hold, and when you reach his ear, taking it gently in your teeth, he lets out a sweet little song of, "Ah-ah-ah," shivering madly in your grasp while his back arches.

"Oh you are sensitive," you tease before taking his earlobe between your teeth again, a little more roughly, until he cries out a pitchy little yelp.

"Color, baby?" you ask, to which Jeongguk quickly responds, "Green, noona."

Hearing Jeongguk call you noona should not excite you so much, but arousal builds between your legs, and you feel the urge to keep pushing him for more. You nibble down the long, salty-sweet expanse of Jeongguk's neck, savoring the taste of his sweat, dragging your fingernails from his hair, to the back of his neck, over to his shoulders, and down along his spine. Jeongguk responds in jerks and gasps, and you continue down, down, until your mouth reaches one of his pierced nipples.

With a flick of your tongue, Jeongguk responds as if he has been shocked, back bowing as his body shakes. His pebbled, pierced skin is inviting, and you lick again, this time slowly dragging your tongue over him, feeling every tiny curve, tasting hints of titanium.

You scrape your fingernails down Jeongguk's ribs while you suck his pierced nipple into your mouth, reveling in the sweet, broken sounds he makes. He seems to be holding back, and you feel determined to make him sob. Although you two are becoming closer as friends, he was a bit of a prick to you for months, and you intend to let him know that you have not forgotten.

"Color?" you ask, knowing it'll be green, just to make him speak.

"Green, noona," Jeongguk responds almost robotically—not good enough.

Once more, you sit up tall, taking his hair in one hand and his jaw in the other. Your hand trembles as you pull it back and crash your fingertips against his cheek, gasping in tandem as Jeongguk's eyes widen, difficult to read.

"Color?" you ask, receiving, "Green, noona," instantly.

You slap again, this time a little harder, and Jeongguk gasps but holds his composure nicely. So you tug his hair harder, just enough to pull his head back, before you slap again. The skin of his cheek begins to redden, and you give it quick, softer taps, moving your fingertips little by little, covering the expanse of his cheek.

"Color?"

"Green, noona."

This time, when you slap, it stings your fingertips, and Jeongguk groans. His cheeks seem to be the wrong place to tease, however, so you sit back, releasing his hair and rethinking your plan.

"Darling," Yoongi calls, and you nearly turn to look at him but correct yourself, staring Jeongguk in the eyes as you say, "Yes, sir?"

"The way he's suspended is really taxing on the legs. If you're trying to hurt the poor boy, I recommend the thighs."

Jeongguk's eyes widen further, and you smirk as you say, "Yes, sir."

From across the room, you hear Taehyung gleefully say, "Hyung you are evil."

Slowly, you drag your fingernails from Jeongguk's shoulders, along the curves of his pecs, down his ribs. Finally, at his hips, you allow yourself to look down and find a very inviting semi-erect cock hanging between his legs. Of course, Jeongguk is perfect in every way, and you bite your lip as you attempt to pull your vision away, to his thighs instead.

With both hands splayed open, you lift and crash your palms down onto Jeongguk's thighs, and he cries out, sobbing on the end of the sound. A thrill quakes through you, and you rub your hands over his thighs, lift both, and slam your left one down hard.

"Fu—ahh!" Jeongguk screams.

"Color, baby?" you ask sweetly.

You glance up and catch him hesitating before saying, "Green, noona."

Without giving him a chance to relax, you slap your right hand down, followed by your left, watching his face as it contorts in pleasured pain while he bleats pathetically.

"Color?"

"G-green, noona."

Again and again, you slap, moving your hands over to the sides of his thighs, rubbing your palms and alternating which side slaps, never in a discernable pattern, always to catch him off guard.

Finally, you ask, "Color, pretty," impressed when he gasps, "Yellow, noona!"

Gently, you rub your hands over his thighs and sink down low, rubbing your cheek and lips over his left thigh, smiling sweetly against him. From here, there is a gentle, inviting musk coming from his lap that is difficult to resist. You lick your lips at the thought of swallowing him whole, then turn your face away, kissing the sore, warm skin of his leg while breathing through the arousal that licks at you, urging you to be selfish and take.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon calls, and you sit up, eyes on Jeongguk as you say, "Yes, daddy?"

Curiosity flashes in Jeongguk's eyes, and you wonder if he is attempting to calculate the various dynamics of your relationship. Using the term daddy with an audience is slightly embarrassing, and you shift in place, waiting for his response.

"I don't think Jeongguk got a good enough look at you under that table. You should sit back and touch yourself for him…show him how wet he made you."

The edges of Jeongguk's lips curve, and you hesitate. It is not that you don't want to touch yourself with an audience, but it does add to the humiliation to have your two partners and one of their best friends sitting on the sidelines, watching you.

"Color, doll?" Taehyung asks.

Somehow, the concern in his voice grounds you, and you say, "Green, sir," adding, "Thank you for the advice, daddy," so that Namjoon does not feel left out.

"Such a good girl," Namjoon praises as you sit back and scoot enough to spread your thighs around Jeongguk.

There is more than enough room on the large bed to sprawl out, but you stay close, sweeping one of your feet against the outside of Jeongguk's restrained leg as you reach your hand between your legs and slowly drag your fingers over yourself, spreading and teasing your folds.

Desire burns through you as you touch yourself while Jeongguk watches, eyes wide and hungry, trailing from your pussy, over your body, and back down. Slowly, you sink your middle finger inside, and although the size is nowhere near enough to stretch, a thrill quakes through you, making you moan as you gather release from your earlier orgasm and pull your finger out.

Jeongguk licks his lips, intently watching as you use your slick finger to spread yourself and swirl over your clit. It feels good, a simmering pleasure that covers you in warmth, and you loll your head back, hesitant to let go enough to moan, whimpering more softly than usual.

"Be vocal, darling," Yoongi calls, and you squeeze your eyes closed for a second as you say, "Yes, sir," frustrated that absolutely nothing can get past these men, but also grateful for the push.

You still hesitate as you open your mouth to moan, but with each sound you make, Jeongguk appears to lose his composure more and more. With a nibble on your lower lip, you circle over your clit, then rub down to your hole, up and down, gathering more and more release, becoming wetter and wetter, all for him.

"Do you like what you see?" you ask, eager to tease despite the tremble in your voice.

"Yes, noona," Jeongguk gasps, swallowing thickly before his mouth falls wide.

"So wet for you, Jeonggukie," you moan, using your other hand to rub and pinch at your breasts. "Too bad you can't fuck me."

Jeongguk whimpers and shakes in his restraints, legs straining and arms moving. His distress urges you on, and you rub over your breasts more, gathering and squeezing the soft skin between your fingers while dipping two fingers into your pussy.

"I want you so bad," you pout, watching as Jeongguk crumbles. "My fingers aren't big enough…but you are."

"Please," Jeongguk mutters, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Please, sir. Please."

"Begging already?" Taehyung teases and Jeongguk nods emphatically.

Jeongguk's voice sounds dreamy, and he licks his lips again. "Please, sir. I've been good."

You can hear Taehyung stand and begin to approach before he comes into view, climbing onto the bed, on his knees, reaching up to drag his fingertips up and down the length of Jeongguk's arms. At first, you feel shy to be on display for him, but Taehyung does not regard you, keeping his eyes on Jeongguk.

"You really have been very good," Taehyung praises as he nuzzles against Jeongguk's neck. Jeongguk leans into the touch, doing his best to keep his eyes on you as Taehyung continues. "You cooked an excellent meal, and you were very obedient when I told you to make our doll cum."

"I've been good, sir," Jeongguk whimpers as if stuck on repeat. "Please, sir. I've been good."

Without another word, Taehyung reaches up and begins to undo Jeongguk's wrist restraints, slowly lowering his arms one by one and rubbing his palms from Jeongguk's shoulders to his hands. With a sigh that sounds like relief, Jeongguk sits back on his heels.

"I'll undo your legs too, but you have to behave," Taehyung says as he begins to unhook one of the thigh restraints. "You are only allowed to do as you are told and nothing more, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jeongguk responds with a sharp smile, eyes focused on you.

Although your moments have slowed, you continue to tease yourself with your fingers, watching as Taehyung crawls around Jeongguk's back to free his other thigh. Taehyung crawls backward, then stands beside the bed, out of your direct line of vision.

"Sit back," he commands, patting the bed, and Jeongguk does as he is told, sliding back and extending his legs in front of him, settling against the tall wooden headboard.

"Dollface," Taehyung calls, and you keep your eyes on Jeongguk but instinctively begin to sit up as you respond, "Yes, sir?"

"He's all yours," Taehyung says as his voice travels back to where the throne sits. "Have fun."

"Thank you, sir," you respond as you sit forward, getting swiftly onto your hands and knees.

With the possibilities suddenly seemingly endless, you feel overwhelmed, but you crawl forward and cage Jeongguk's reddened thighs, hovering close to his leaking cock, which sits pretty and thick against his tummy.

"Is Jeongguk an impatient man, sir?" you ask, watching as Jeongguk fails to keep his expressions schooled, eyes sharpening and widening.

"Extremely impatient," Taehyung responds, making Jeongguk huff a sigh. "If you decide to go slow it might drive him insane."

With a smirk, you mutter, "Noted, sir," then lean forward, touching the very tip of your tongue to the very bottom of Jeongguk's shaft and dragging up slow, slow, slow. His skin is velvet-soft, and you drool as you lift your head just below the crown, humming as Jeongguk trembles and gasps.

You kiss over the crown, right where the skin is softest, pressing your lips nice and wide before sucking and lapping at the skin in slow, gentle movements. Jeongguk groans, sounding almost pained, and you continue to lick languidly, teasing the skin, giving him just enough pressure to feel something but not enough to satiate any hunger.

"Please," Jeongguk whispers, and you glance up, tongue outstretched against him, to find a look of desperation tugging at the corners of his eyes. You hesitate to respond for a fraction of a second, feeling momentarily astounded that this is happening.

"Please, what?" you urge, watching as his jaw trembles.

"Please, noona. Please touch me more."

Teasing Jeongguk is a thrill, but you are quickly losing your composure, and as much as you want to listen to him beg and beg, you are also too eager to continue holding back. In a swift movement, you tilt your head forward and swallow Jeongguk's cock, taking him only halfway while sucking on the tip.

Jeongguk moans loud and eager, music to your ears. You hear Taehyung say, "Hands at your sides," and imagine Jeongguk must have been moments away from taking your head in his hands, sending a thrill down your spine.

With a pleased groan, you lift your head and settle a little higher on your knees between Jeongguk's spread legs. At this angle, you can take him into your mouth much more easily, and you sink down until he nearly hits your throat, feeling the tight squeeze of your lips accommodate his girth.

"Fuck," Jeongguk mutters, "you feel so good."

Jeongguk's words of encouragement spur you on, and you hum happily as you bob your head slow but steady, lodging his cock into your throat just enough that it nearly makes you gag before coming back for air. You can hear the sound of his fists gripping the sheet below, soft material scratching against blunt fingernails—a quiet, tactile cry of desperation.

As you lift your head, you swirl your tongue over his shaft, then release, opening your eyes and looking upward, watching as Jeongguk melts from the sight of you holding your mouth wide, saliva falling like garland hung between your tongue and his cock.

"You taste good, Ggukie," you say as the spit breaks and falls against your chin and chest, some dripping onto your knees. Eager to tease but nervous to dirty talk, you swallow thickly and do your best to sound confident as you crawl high onto your knees and begin to straddle his lap. "I could do this all day…but I want to feel you so badly."

"God, yes," Jeongguk groans, gripping tightly to the comforter at his sides. "Please, noona."

"What a shame you can't touch me," you pout while wrapping your arms around his shoulders, sitting high on your knees. "I bet you could make me feel so good."

You tilt your hips low, dragging yourself over Jeongguk's length, coating him in your arousal. Jeongguk whimpers and it sounds so sweet and so needy, you bite your lip and smile. Slowly, you push your chest out, dragging your breasts over his clavicle and pecs, and Jeongguk looks pained from how little you are giving him.

You lean close and mutter, "Kiss me. Show me how badly you want me."

With a groan, Jeongguk tilts his mouth to yours and eagerly sucks at your bottom lip before prising your mouth open, making way for his tongue. You hold him steady, keeping his head close, but still, he leans his face into yours, groaning desperately, rough in the way his forehead and nose press against yours, desperate in the way his teeth gnash and nip between wide, ravenous licks.

You part from the kiss and grip onto Jeongguk's chin, smirking as you angle your hips forward, surprising yourself with how easily you snag Jeongguk's cock on your entrance and begin to lower yourself on him. Jeongguk's eyes widen then roll back as you lower and lift your hips just enough to tease his tip, sighing through the stretch.

"Please," Jeongguk mutters, eyes and mouth fluttering and trembling so pretty and so wrecked. "Noona, please fuck me. Please, please, please."

"Awe, baby," you tease, lowering yourself further, gasping a silent sob from how incredible he feels. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

"She caved so quickly," Taehyung grumbles, reminding you that you have an audience, causing your cheeks to warm with humiliation.

Yoongi chuckles as he mutters, "I'm actually shocked by how long she held out."

You roll your eyes despite Yoongi being correct about your impatience. Holding back for as long as you have has not been easy, and truthfully, you deserve to be praised for your efforts.

"Typically, she's begging us in an instant," Namjoon adds, and you bite back an indignant smile.

You would absolutely run your mouth if you thought the three doms chiding you would let you away with it, but you are not eager to test them—not with Taehyung, who seems to have the firmest willpower and most sadistic tendencies, present. You finally have Jeongguk nestled deep inside you, and you are not willing to fuck this up for either of you.

The unraveled straps of the restraints that were wrapped around Jeongguk's wrists hang low, about a foot above his shoulders, and you reach up, gripping onto the leather. You hold on tight and moan as you lift and swivel your hips, teasing Jeongguk's tip and pulling a soft, impatient huff from his chest.

Jeongguk's eyes rove over your body, up to your face, as he cranes his head back. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and you tilt your head to the side to ask, "What is it? Speak, boy."

"Beautiful," Jeongguk mutters sweetly, and you feel your heart skip a beat. You smile, then bite it back, trying to be a tease, not feel fluffy.

"Shut up," you grumble quietly, lowering your hips just enough to make Jeongguk croak out a soft moan before lifting. With the help of the straps, you find a good angle for your back to arch, allowing you to bounce your ass just enough to tease his tip.

Jeongguk whines and huffs, squeezing the sheet below him, causing peaks of material to form—mountains of tested patience reaching a breaking point. And although it feels good to stretch yourself around just the end of him, you want the rest, so you release one strap and then the other, settling with your hands on his shoulders and sinking down deep with a moan and pleasure flows through you in waves.

"Fuck," Jeongguk whimpers, dragging the word out long.

The stretch is enough to make you quake, but you do not have the ability to keep teasing yourself, even if it means finally caving in and giving Jeongguk what he wants. You lift your hips and drop them, choking on a sob that is punctuated by a deep moan. Pleasure bursts and settles into your limbs, tingling through you like electricity, and you wrap your arms tight around his shoulder and neck and begin to fuck yourself on his length.

"Feels so good," you moan, eyes shut and head tilted back, using Jeongguk to chase your high, eager to cum all over him and make a fucking mess.

Jeongguk's lips drag over your neck and shoulder, huffing hot breath that turns your skin sticky, and you do your best to keep a steady rhythm, climbing closer and closer to bliss, reaching the precipice little by little.

"God, look at her," Namjoon groans, making you shiver. You shouldn't be so greedy, but you do wish Namjoon could climb onto this bed and help you use Jeongguk.

"Stunning, always," Yoongi responds, and your heart and soul yearn for him, desperate to feel Yoongi once more, even if it has only been hours since the last time.

"Our poor Gguk is going to rip holes in this sheet by the time I allow him to touch her," Taehyung teases. "I haven't seen him this wound up in ages."

Jeongguk sighs and groans, then leans slightly back as his head lolls from side to side. He looks like he is about to burst, and you slow your hips, watching intently as he shakes his head and frowns, muttering, "Please, noona, please don't stop."

Rather than listen to his pleas, you lift your hips all the way, sending his cock to hit his tummy in a wet splat. Jeongguk grumbles, and you lean in to nibble at his chin and jaw until he shivers, then you back away from his lap and spin around.

As soon as you turn away from Jeongguk and lift your head, you are met with your own reflection, staring back from a floor-to-ceiling mirror that runs from the door to the conjoining wall. You gasp as you take in the sight of yourself on your hands and knees covered in a sheen of sweat, with Jeongguk sitting high on his knees behind you.

Jeongguk watches the mirror, smiling as you regain your composure and back up on your knees, grabbing for his cock with one hand while lowering yourself down. As soon as you are partially seated on his erection, you use both hands to spread your ass, arching your back as you lower yourself, eyes on the mirror to see Jeongguk staring down, moaning with his mouth hung wide.

"Like what you see, baby?" you ask as you begin to raise and lower your hips.

Jeongguk's eyes snap to the mirror, and he appears dazed as he says, "Yes, noona."

You sit up high on your knees and anchor your hands against your thighs as you begin to ride Jeongguk, finding a steady rhythm that sends your pleasure building once more. At this angle, his tip rubs over your erogenous zone, and you tilt your head back, moaning and gasping with each delicious drag.

With one hand gripping to your thigh, you reach the other between your legs, rubbing over your clit, desperate to cum. Your hope is that once you orgasm, you can barter with the doms to allow Jeongguk to touch you; you want his hands on you, groping, squeezing, and holding you down. Just the thought alone has you speeding toward bliss, and you press your fingertips just a little more firmly against your clit and slam your hips down so hard it stings.

"Fuck," you whimper, chasing your high faster and faster, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum."

The sound of one of the men clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth makes you jolt, and you begin to fear the worst. Sure enough, Taehyung asks, "Did we say you could cum, pretty?" and you begin to feel frantic, though you do not slow your movements.

"N-no," you mutter weakly, "but, I thought—"

"I'm just toying with you, pretty," Taehyung interrupts with a chuckle, filling you with relief.

"If I cum, will you let him touch me, sir?" you ask, watching Jeongguk's lips twitch through the mirror.

"I suppose I could allow that," Taehyung responds. "Since you've been so obedient."

"Yes," you whimper, lifting and slamming your hips, so close to the edge. "Thank you, sir."

"Fucking squeezing me," Jeongguk groans behind you, and you glance into the mirror to find him sitting tense, staring down at your ass.

Jeongguk looks fucked out and on the brink of collapse with sweat dripping down his neck and his face screwed up in both pleasure and impatience. You imagine him holding you down against the mattress to use you just as you have used him, and that thought is exactly what you need to plummet into euphoria.

"Fuck," you whimper, "I'm gonna—"

Your orgasm crashes through you, snapped suddenly with a burst of energy that throws you forward as you quake and sob, gripping onto the black satin sheet with both hands while you desperately move your hips, chasing more and more until you are no longer able to move, moaning and sobbing as your muscles tense and release around Jeongguk. You squeeze around him, eager to chase more bliss, but your body feels tired, and your legs quake.

"Sir, please," you whimper as your hips slow and you become too overcome to keep a steady rhythm, "please let him touch me."

"Jeongguk really has excellent stamina," Taehyung says, sending a chill through you as he adds, "if we allow him to fuck her, he might just break her in half."

"She can take it," Yoongi insists in a tone that is familiar and dangerous. "She can handle the two of us, after all."

After a short pause, Taehyung calls, "Jeonggukie," and you glance into the mirror, watching as Jeongguk's mouth twists into a sharp, dangerous smirk.

"Yes, sir?" he responds, eyes on your reflection.

"You have permission to touch and to speak," Taehyung says, and you watch as Jeongguk releases the poor sheet from his grip, stretching and squeezing his palms at his sides. "The hyungs say she cums really easily…but I bet you can't give her three more orgasms by the time you're finished."

It should be terrifying the way Jeongguk looks down at you suddenly as if you are a piece of meat, licking at his teeth while dragging his hands from your hips to your shoulders, and back down. Jeongguk adjusts behind you, still buried deep, and he settles with one hand on your hip and the other gripping the back of your neck.

"Stay on your hands and knees," Jeongguk instructs firmly, making you shiver. "And keep your eyes on me."

You barely have a chance to mutter, "Yes, sir," before he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, spearing you on his length far deeper than when you were riding him. The pleasure-pain is incredible, and the moan that falls from your lips is broken, no more than rough a burst of air. Jeongguk wastes no time digging his fingertips into your soft skin and setting a pace that is brutal enough to make you scream.

It feels impossible to keep your eyes open and on Jeongguk's reflection, but you do your best, only allowing your eyelids to flutter closed momentarily. Jeongguk is very clearly punishing you for teasing him so much, and you do your best to take everything he gives you, moaning and sobbing with each deep thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good, doll," Jeongguk groans, digging his fingertips deeper. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep my fucking hands off you?"

The hand around your neck moves up to your face, and Jeongguk slides two fingers into the side of your mouth, gently tugging as he holds your head up, keeping your back bowed and ass held high.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight," he groans, lifting the hand on your hip to smack your ass, making you squeal around his fingers from the tingle of pain. "So fucking wet."

Jeongguk's praises make your head spin, and it takes no time at all to chase another high. Your reflection is absolutely debauched, and you stare ahead at yourself and at Jeongguk, still unable to shake the surprise that this is actually, finally happening. Jeongguk is absolutely ruthless with his thrusts, and you squeeze around him in a rhythm that matches his, building and building your next orgasm, quaking uncontrollably as it begins to roll through you like a hurricane.

"You're fucking cuming again, aren't you?" Jeongguk groans as your muscles flutter around him.

"Yes," you mutter, attempting to nod with your head stuck in place. "Yes, please, please make me cum again."

Jeongguk slides the hand from your mouth, down to your shoulder, and fucks into you, moaning to match your sounds as your orgasm reaches its peak and causes you to sob and slip forward, unable to hold yourself up. Although you are disobeying his rule to stay on your hands, Jeongguk seems unphased, and he rubs his hands over your back and then presses your shoulders down into the soft sheet while his hips stay just as steady.

"She really is fucking easy," Jeongguk teases as he leans forward, pressing his weight into you.

You turn your head to the side and lock eyes with Namjoon, who sits on one wide, wooden arm of the throne with his legs spread wide, watching you with a fire burning in his gaze.

"Incredible, isn't she?" Yoongi asks, and you move your focus to him, on the other arm of the wooden throne, leaning forward with one elbow on his knee.

Jeongguk pulls out, and you sob, clenching around nothing while his hands move down the expanse of your back, to your ass. He spreads you wide with both palms while bending lowly then licks from your clit all the way to your asshole, and you gasp then whimper, sinking deeper forward while arching your back to present yourself as best as you can.

The sloppy, hungry way he laps over your cunt is intoxicating, and when he curves up to your ass to dig his tongue into your tight rim, you grip roughly at the satin sheet, babbling nonsense at the sensation. Two fingers slide into your pussy, and Jeongguk slurps at your ass while his fingers stroke your erogenous zone, humming and groaning loudly.

"Oh my god," you whimper as Jeongguk's ministrations intensify. There is no way you are going to last long like this, and you do your best to relax despite how taut you feel pulled from every delicious movement. You knew Jeongguk would be good, but this is practically soul-crushing with the way your pleasure builds and builds.

Jeongguk's fingers squelch inside you, and you feel the spray of your arousal hit your thighs while his tongue slurps and prods, breaching your hole and making a sloppy fucking mess.

"Please, Jeongguk," you whimper like a prayer into the sheet, which is sticky-warm with drool. "Please don't stop. Please, please, please."

Jeongguk groans into you, plunging his tongue and fingers in deep, pulling you apart at the threads. Orgasm hits like a freight train—fast and sudden and unforgiving, a crash without casualties. You scream and claw at the blanket as your release squirts from you, coating your thighs, sloppy and loud.

You quake and sob uncontrollably, lips dragging against satin as Jeongguk pulls his fingers from you and sinks low enough to lick over your cunt in firm, broad strokes. He hums as he devours you, squeezing at the backs of your thighs and filling you to the brim with oversensitivity.

"Two down, one to go," Jeongguk gasps as he sits back and releases you from his hold.

He pushes against your hip, sending you crashing into the mattress, and you mutter equal parts indignant and incoherent as he begins to turn you onto your back in a haphazard twist of heavy limbs. You feel exhausted, but you do your best, digging your head into the bed while settling onto your back.

Jeongguk towers over you tall and pretty like a demon of pleasure, glistening and muscular and so fucking handsome. You attempt to smile, panting around each breath, and Jeongguk crawls between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder while spreading the other wide.

"You look fucking wrecked, doll," he teases as he leans forward and rubs beneath your eyes, undoubtedly to clean up a mess of mascara that has smeared. You pout, and he chuckles, adding, "Still gorgeous though. Perfect, even. I would have been gunning for this pussy long ago if I had known how much fun you are."

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter breathlessly, making Jeongguk chuckle.

"Never made someone squirt before," he continues, lining his cock up with your aching entrance. "You've done wonders to inflate my ego, doll."

"Great," you mutter, attempting to roll your eyes indignantly, instead rolling them involuntarily as he slides in deep, filling you in one swift thrust.

You moan as your body responds, pelvis lifting and arousal crashing. Jeongguk begins to roll his hips in a dizzying, tantalizing motion, and you do your best to relax despite the turmoil that already builds, threatening to tear you asunder. You are dangerously close to overstimulation, but you do not want to call your safe word. Jeongguk still has not cum, and you desperately want him to.

"She's a goner," Namjoon chuckles, and you hate how well he can read you. "This will be her last orgasm before she becomes too overwhelmed, Gguk, so make sure you cum."

Jeongguk feigns a pout, reaching down to press two fingers between your lips, smiling softly when you do your best to suck around them. His hips are steady and much slower, dragging in a way that lets you feel every perfect inch of him along your swollen walls.

"I won't be able to last much longer," Jeongguk assures, voice dipped low and sweet. "Taehyung bragged about my stamina, but you got me so fucking worked up. You can call your safe word if you need to, though. Yoongi told me it's sakura."

You suck on Jeongguk's fingers and allow your eyes to close momentarily, drifting into a state of full-body bliss. Despite how heavy your limbs feel, you are floaty and weightless. Euphoric.

"How do you stay so fucking tight?" Jeongguk groans as his hips pick up a quicker pace, skin slapping against skin. "How are you so fucking wet?"

You want to complain and tell Jeongguk to shut up, but the thought of speaking feels like too much, so you continue to suck mindlessly while Jeongguk uses you. He needs to finish before you lose your grasp on reality, and you are teetering dangerously close to that edge, lulled by the rhythmic thrust of his cock.

Jeongguk moans and sighs, becoming louder the harder he fucks you. His voice is sweet when lilted high and pitchy, and inviting when it is deep and dulcet. You could drown in him, really—in fact, you think you just might.

Time and space slip—float away like vapor in the air. You lay pliant and malleable as Jeongguk bends forward and leans back, changing angles, spearing you deep, rubbing places inside you that are carved wide just for him. When he finally pulls his fingers from your mouth to press them against your clit, you feel like you are dreaming.

"One last orgasm," he pleads gently, twirling over you in incorrigible movements. "I won't last much longer."

You pull your arms over your head and stretch your back, arching into Jeongguk's steady, determined thrusts. With the final ounce of energy you have left, you tense and relax around his length, working your muscles to a rhythm that will help you cum. Not that you need to help him; Jeongguk's fingers work over your bud, pulling you closer and closer with each swipe of skin against skin.

"Close," you whimper, feeling pleasure build.

Jeongguk must take your affirmation as incentive to fuck harder, deeper, faster. Your eyes roll back as his pace reaches heights you have come to expect, and you grip at the satin sheet above your head as you stare into oblivion.

And then, you drop. All at once, without warning, your arousal reaches its breaking point and bursts.

"Fuck," you squeak through a sob, mouth frozen in bliss, desperately forming broken syllables until you are finally able to create words. "Oh fuck, I'm cuming. Jeongguk!"

Jeongguk leans forward, dropping your leg from his shoulder to the mattress and placing both hands beside your head. His pace falters as he leans close and slots his lips against yours, moaning and whimpering into your open mouth while he licks and sucks at your lips and tongue.

"Feels so good," Jeongguk groans into your mouth. "I'm gonna cum, holy shit."

Jeongguk trembles, body lurching forward before he is up on his knees, pulling out and spraying his release onto your tummy, warm and viscous, quickly turning cold. You giggle, though you are unsure what is funny; you feel absolutely fucking broken.

One of the men begins to clap—you assume Taehyung—and then the others join in. You drag your arms down, over your face, cringing as you attempt to roll into a ball and disappear. "Please don't make this weird," you grumble as you turn to your side, only slightly bothered by the trickle of cum that runs along your tummy, down to the sheet.

Jeongguk hovers close, chuckling and pulling on your shoulder to get you to return to your back, and you resist, sleepy and no longer in the mood for any of these men; fucked past your limit and reeling from everything that has transpired.

"Let's get you into a bath," Jeongguk offers, and you loosen your limbs a little, willing to tolerate them a little more if it means a nice hot bath. "Hyung has a huge jacuzzi in his room, and I bet he would be more than happy to turn it on and get it nice and warm for us."

"It would be my pleasure," Taehyung responds, and you hear the sound of wood creaking as he stands and walks out of the room, footsteps quieting the further he gets.

Behind you, the bed dips, and you roll onto your back, eager to find out whether Yoongi and Namjoon are here to bother you—pleased to see that it is both of them.

"Darling," Yoongi says with a grin, dancing fingertips over your leg, which is bent at the knee. His touch tickles, and you shiver but do nothing to make him stop. "How do you feel?"

"Great," you mutter without thinking, voice wrecked and rasped from screaming.

"That was quite the performance," Namjoon adds, sitting beside your head and wiping his hand over your forehead. "I'm surprised you had no issue with letting all of us watch that."

You shrug, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation. "We're all friends," you mutter, making Yoongi chuckle.

Taehyung returns, and you grin widely, appreciative of him for letting you fuck Jeongguk. And sure, you are aware that your thought process is a bit ridiculous, but you feel drunk from this scenario—far more intoxicated than the two glasses of red wine could have made you.

To your surprise, Taehyung holds his arms out and asks, "May I?"

Your assumption is that he either wants to hug you, or that he plans to carry you off to the jacuzzi, and both options sound nice, so you roll onto your side and then to your knees and crawl haphazardly into his open arms.

"Do you always turn into such a little baby after getting fucked?" Taehyung asks, to which Yoongi and Namjoon say, "Yes," in tandem.

"Sometimes," you respond dreamily as Taehyung scoops you up bridal style, holding you close to his chest while whisking you away.

"It's cute," he responds, dulcet voice soft and pleasant.

"You're cute," you grumble as you reach your arms to lazily hang around Taehyung's neck, burying your face into his chest. He wears a cologne that is earthy and a little spicy; unique.

Taehyung chuckles, chest rattling softly against your cheek, and you close your eyes and hum into the feeling.

"I'm glad you had fun," Taehyung says as his slippered feet softly patter while he carries you down the hallway. "If you come to have any regrets or complaints later, we can all sit down and talk. I want you to feel comfortable with us; relationships are built on trust."

"I won't," you say, certain that there is nothing to regret. "I love you guys."

"We'll see how you're feeling in a few days, but it makes me happy to know that you feel good about everything now."

The sounds of Taehyung's footfalls change, and you open your eyes to find that you are in a room with wainscotted walls of what you imagine to be mahogany, though you are not certain. Then he turns once more, and you are in a bathroom that is a lot like Yoongi's, but everything is white and gold instead of black.

"Jeongguk has my permission to see you without my presence required. So as long as the hyungs are okay with it, the two of you can do anything you want. Personally, I don't care who sees you. Fuck on the stage at Paradise if you'd like."

"Now, now," Yoongi says, causing you to peek over Taehyung's shoulder, smiling when you see him entering the room and unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's not encourage them to fuck in public. Jeongguk might actually take it as a challenge, and we don't need rumors flying that Boss Min is a cuckold."

"For once, the rumors would be true, hyung," Jeongguk says gleefully as he sidles up to Yoongi, still fully naked and covered in sweat, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

Jeongguk winks at you, flashing a wide grin, and you bury your face against Taehyung's shoulder, feeling shy.

"Are you getting in too, hyung?" Jeongguk asks as Taehyung begins to set you down, lowering your legs until your toes touch a soft rug.

With reluctance, you release Taehyung, and he keeps an arm around your waist, holding his other arm out for you to grab onto while you step one leg over the side of the large, white jacuzzi tub. The water is warm enough that you hiss and nearly retract your leg, but you quickly acclimate and lean in, finding the seat with your foot and standing on it.

"Of course I'm getting in," Yoongi says, and you can hear the sounds of clothing being removed behind you. "Can't let our pretty darling have all the fun."

Taehyung sighs and mutters, "No fucking in the hot tub, hyung," making Yoongi chuckle.

It takes a lot of concentration to make your limbs cooperate, but you manage to get both feet into the jacuzzi and lower yourself enough to step into the center and wade over to the far seat. The warmth is soothing, and you sink down until only your head remains above water, watching through squinted eyes as Yoongi and Namjoon get undressed to their briefs.

Jeongguk is turned around, rubbing his hands over Taehyung's chest, muttering lowly, and you enjoy a glance at his round, muscular ass before closing your eyes, smiling to yourself.

The water sloshes gently as bodies enter the tub, and you do not need to open your eyes to know that the arm wrapping over your shoulder from the right belongs to Yoongi; his musk greets you, followed by the familiar weight of so many hugs. You sit up slightly and lean into Yoongi while familiar hands lift your feet onto familiar thighs and begin to massage thumbs into your tired arches.

"I had fun spending time with everyone at Paradise, but the real paradise is here with you," you mutter somewhat sleepily, feeling Yoongi laugh against your cheek.

"Corny," Yoongi teases with a squeeze of his arms around you, and more bodies enter the tub, shifting the water around to your left.

You want to open your eyes and take in the bright, happy smiles of the men around you. You want to thank them all for the fun and show your gratitude for the affection they have given you. Taehyung is a wonderful host, Jeongguk is an excellent cook, and both Yoongi and Namjoon have shown a great deal of trust in you for encouraging you and Jeongguk to enjoy each other; Taehyung, as well.

Your heart feels so full of joy, and your sore, aching body is soothed so perfectly in the warm tub. But your eyelids are heavy, and the warmth pulls you in. You hug Yoongi while the men chatter about things you are unable to keep track of, doing your best not to drift to sleep.

At least you know that you are not at risk of drowning. With Yoongi at your side, it is impossible not to feel safe.

Just look at me, baby, day and night Don't make me bad, make me bad, I'm addicted to you 이미 길들여진 내 맘을 자극해 Don't make me bad, bad, addicted to you 시작해 버린 이상 내 게 아님 안 돼

🎵 visit the playlist

this chapter was more or less an oasis, but the rest of the desert is to come. i cannot stress enough how shit is really about to spiral in the final arc.

thank you for reading!!! 💜💜💜 reblogs and comments make the world go ‘round, and likes are nice too!!! i love you, stay hydrated!!!

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#yoongi mafia #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #bts mafia #bts smut #bts angst #bts poly #namgi smut #namjoon mafia #jungkook mafia #taehyung mafia #fic: collateral #Spotify

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setsugekka · 11 months

Text

『paradise lost』 ; 10

❝ chasing ❞

↳ the night of hongjoong’s gallery open lends itself to the confronting of a lot of feelings, and the opening up of a lot of feelings.

but maybe lends itself to a lot of healing, as well.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : kim hongjoong x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : romance, angst, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 13.7k

『 warnings 』 : angst, self-reflection, working through feelings and tough conversations that allow for that, smut :)

San's hand delicately winding around your waist from behind, hand starting from the small of your back and slowly making its way around before stilling on your front, reminds you of the caring touch of a lover’s — kindness and adoration in every inch of movement across your body — closing your eyes to take it in with a slow but heavy inhale, as the two of you stand in front of the full length mirror that lies propped up against the wall just next to your bedroom door, you open your eyes again to take in the visual of San standing behind you, eyes locked on one another before he settles his chin onto the exposed skin of your shoulder.

He smells of cheap, generic, cologne, but you appreciate the thought that goes into it all of the same.

“It's gonna be fine,” he says with absolute positivity in his tone. “I'll be there, Wooyoung will be there, it'll be fine.”

You only hum in response, brushing the palms of your hands over the dress that you bought just for this very occasion, this evening — a Thursday evening. San removing his hand from you so that you can carry on primping yourself in front of the mirror, you watch him saunter over towards the large, burgundy chair in the corner of your bedroom — plopping himself onto it with a huff as if a child waiting for his mother to finish with her errands.

“Do I look okay?” you can't help but ask.

“You know you do,” he responds with a smile — raven black hair slicked back and off of his forehead, a hairstyle you suggested for him and due largely in part because of how well Wooyoung wears it — you certainly were correct in the assumption.

And you're a little taken aback by how well San cleans up, you have to admit. All black everything, but perfectly fitted button down shirt and dress slacks — a man you're used to seeing in ripped up jeans that he's probably owned since he was a teenager and a brown, coffee stained apron showing off the trials and tribulations of business ownership, part of you couldn't help but wonder how it might look showing up to an event such as this with a man such as him.

Would Hongjoong think you to be showing off? Trying to make him jealous?

“Hoping to get someone's attention?” San rings out, one corner of his lips pulling upward slyly, knowing damn well what he's doing.

You have half a mind to throw something, anything, his way from across the room.

“No! But I don't want to show up looking like a slob, either,” you pause, looking into the reflection of the mirror again, taking in all of the fine details of your appearance before finishing the thought. “It's important.”

“You don't have to lie to me, it's fine,” he answers back, the roll of his eyes so dramatic you catch it out of the corner of your eye. You opt to sigh instead of attempting to offer him another fib.

Standing again, San makes his way across the hardwood floor of your room to take position where he was only a few minutes prior — this time hands placing themselves on your arms and pulling them from yourself, as if forcing you to stop obsessing over every wrinkle or spec of dust that dare to find itself out of place in your sight. You sigh at the touch, finding comfort in it, before allowing your eyes to make contact with San once again.

“How do you know it'll be fine?”

A single huff of amusement through his nose at the question, he gently squeezes you in acknowledgment of the question before pulling you out from in front of the mirror and down the hall into the kitchen. You watch him in silence as he makes his way through the space — opening one cupboard, then closing it. Another, and then closing it, before finally happening to stumble upon the one it is that he's looking for. Two wine glasses in hand and setting them down on the counter between the both of you, San raises his eyebrows at you before turning back the other way and grabbing one of the two bottles of red wine sitting in the corner of the space, just next to the sink.

“Sit.”

You do, watching him as he works.

'Work' being an interesting choice of words, you think to yourself, because it certainly appears as though this is something that San has done a handful of times prior to now. Expertly de-corking the bottle and with a pour stance that certainly would cause one to assume as such — when he finishes with both perfectly even glasses of wine and slides you one across the table, you can't help but continue watching him as he sets the bottle to the side and opts to stand just before you instead of sitting next to you.

“Before I moved here I used to work in food service.”

Suppose it was written on your face, after all.

San's glass remaining on the dark marble of the kitchen island, you watch his thumb as it delicately traces over the rim of his glass — his own eyes fixated on the movement, along with a face full of features that imply one deep in thought.

“Before I moved here—“ he begins again, quieter in tone.

“—I was married.”

“Oh.”

It's not the best response, given the information, and for that you think you may forever be regretful, but San snorts at it in response as if amused by it all the same.

“But you're...not...anymore?” you slowly manage out, watching for any change in the man's expressions as you do.

Looking up at you through his eyelashes, you watch him smile harder this time — dimple evident this time — and thankful that you haven't completely blown this interaction, you sigh in relief just a tad as San inhales to begin his next thought.

“No,” he says with a slow shake of his head, eyes pulled back down to the rim of his glass. “It's sort of...strange to talk about, I guess. Not hard, but strange.”

You recall your conversation with him back at the cafe after closing not too long ago.

“There's really no easy way to go about saying it, I suppose — she passed away, seven months ago,” he finally states, pausing for a brief moment and finishing the thought with the amendment of. “—Seven months and four days.”

You suppose that there are always times in life where your ability to manage situations will be tempted. How good you are with words, or with feelings — wrangling with the aftermath of tragedy, of your tragedy sometimes can seem easy — everyone grieves differently, and we're all entitled to grieve in our own, different ways.

How one handles the grief of another, though, you guess you have found just another thing in which you are lacking.

“San,” you whisper, reaching out and taking the hand that had once fiddled with his drink into your own. “I'm so sorry.”

“Ah, it's okay, this is why I don't like telling people, it's a little bizarre,” he says, chuckling a bit under his breath at the awkward turn of the night. “She was sick for a long time — years — we knew really early and just lived out our best years together in spite of it. I suppose you could say that I had already grieved the loss before she actually passed, in a way.”

It certainly puts your own life in perspective.

Flipping the positioning of your hands so that his sits atop yours, San squeezes gently as he finally takes a sip of his wine with the other hand. You follow suit, watching him intently.

“I guess I'm telling you this because — it will always be okay,” he assures with a smile. “It doesn't matter what happens tonight at this thing, or with Hongjoong, or anything — you'll be okay. The world will keep spinning, we'll all keep moving on, there will always be a reason to be okay.”

You think that it sounds corny, in the most charming, Choi San way.

“When my wife passed away, I sold all of our assets and moved here, opened a business, just...did something else,” he starts again, this time staring forward and into the nothingness ahead. “I could have stayed there, been sad and rotted away in our home, but she wouldn't have wanted that for me — she loved me because she thought I was great, so I have to keep on being great for her. That's my duty, now.”

The way that San's eyes sparkle in the dimly lit ambiance of your apartment makes him look stunning to you — a man already beautiful, only made even more so by the way that he so affectionately talks about his late wife and their love and life together — you can't help but imagine how lucky she must have been to have been married to a man like him.

And in that moment, you realize that you love San.

In a way that is born of nothing more than adoration and platonic affection.

'I love you, but I'm not in love with you.'

“Anyway!” he finally says, cutting through the silence of the kitchen after his heavy words. “What I'm trying to say is that I'm sure what Hongjoong would want for you is to just be the best version of you, all of the things that he ever fell in love with — be that, even if it doesn't necessarily mean that the two of you will end up back together, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You want him to be great, too, right?”

“Of course,” you reply, taking another sip from your glass as San falls back into the slightly more animated version of himself that you've become so accustomed to. “But clearly he has no issues with doing that much, given the event that we're attending tonight.”

And you know that it sounds bitter, somewhat petty, given everything. You're not sure if you don't mean for it to, even just a little bit.

You watch San frown gently at you, a silent scolding for the bitterness that you've accidentally let fall from your lips and into your glass of wine — followed up by a gentle smile and him coming around the side of the island to lazily sling an arm over your shoulder just as he tends to do in an effort to playfully rough you up a bit.

“Don't be like that,” he says, pulling you into a headlock much to your whiny dismay. “Think about how sexy he's probably going to look tonight.”

“Why in the hell would I do that? And why would you say that?” you whine louder now, desperately attempting to pull away from the grip of the man that has now comfortably taken position as your annoying, kid brother.

“Takes the edge off,” he admits, finally letting you free from his grasp only to settle his elbows onto the surface and cradle his chin between his hands coyly. “Besides, aren't you curious?”

Clearing your throat in an attempt to lie, you avoid eye contact. “No, I'm not going there for that.”

But San only sighs dramatically, flinging a hand in the air and picking up the empty glasses of wine to set down into the sink as you stand up with intention of leaving the apartment now.

“You lie to me with such ease, what's a man to do? How are women so cruel?”

“Women are cruel!?” you bite back, picking your bag up off of the side of the chair and slinging it carefully over your shoulder as the both of you head towards the door. “You're mocking me.”

“Not mocking,” San amends the statement as he slips his shoes on, eyes closed but smiling all the same — the same cat-like features that drew you to him those few months back.

What a mistake that was.

“Teasing,” he finishes, leaning forward and planting a kiss to the side of your head as you busy yourself with slipping into a nice pair of heeled shoes.

You scoff, finally ready to exit the house with keys in hand, and with San motioning for you to exit first you take your last, sharp inhale in the comfort of your own apartment — unsure of what it is that awaits you from the rest of the evening.

Closing the door after San and locking it behind, in the near pitch darkness of the hallway before the motion sensor lights flicker on, you feel familiar fingers lace in between your own — a comforting offering from a man that as always, knows no other way to be but selfless, loving, and there.

“It's going to be fine,” he whispers, thumb delicately tracing over your skin beneath.

“I've got you.”

As the car crawls to a stop in front of the large, steel building — adorned with large windows giving it the appearance of being made entirely of them, it's the first time that San lets go of your hand since leaving your place — carefully sliding it back to his side of the seat as the both of you unbuckle your seat belts and carefully open your doors to head out and onto the street.

Said street — bustling with people, mostly appearing relatively well-to-do and with money to spend, brings you a bit back down to earth at the sudden ways in which things can seemingly change. Majority of them not appearing to be the typical crowd that only six months back you would have expected to see Hongjoong rubbing shoulders with — memories of meeting him downtown in the art district, that dingy little bar that was his favorite because he was allowed to smoke inside of it, a bar where all of the wait staff and bartenders knew him and his typical friend group — including you, not unheard of to be dragging the man out of there late at night or gently holding his hair back after one too many.

You remember how he looked the last night you saw him — dressed immaculately and to fit in perfectly with this sort of crowd — always a bit of a chameleon of sorts, a man that could fit in anywhere, really.

Perhaps he had changed, though. Maybe you were too busy to notice it.

“Should we go?” San asks with a nudge to your arm, effectively bringing your thoughts back to the present. “Do you need a minute?”

“No, no,” you quickly answer him, checking to make sure you have all of your belongings despite the car that you had come in having long since left. “I'm ready, we can go.”

Upon stepping inside and through a small crowding of people near the entrance, once finding an area inside where the floor is relatively clear, the two of you stand in a bit of awe, glancing around the room before you — black and white walls and tiling accompanying gently, cool lighting on the art pieces themselves — mostly monochrome work that Hongjoong had been putting time into long before the two of you had even begun seeing each other in a way beyond friends, as your eyes dazzle along the sights, so many of the pieces bring you back to a specific moment in time, a moment shared with the man behind them all: memories of lying on the couch in the darkness with a movie on the television, the flickering of the film the only offering of light for the artist as he worked along a canvas. You so vividly recall asking him how it is that he can work in the dark of night, and him simply responding that it suits him — sometimes hard at work into the early morning hours, only taking breaks for the promise of being wrapped up in you — an easy win, you remember thinking back then, the sex paired with the simplicity of getting him to finally eat a meal thereafter.

Stepping towards one in particular, it brings all of the memories flooding back — laughing with him, lying around with him on the couch in his loft and lazily painting one of his fingernails pink for the laugh of it despite knowing him not to be one to gripe over such a color choice anyways — it brings a particular and familiar twisting in your gut that you had since buried well and deep within you; the longing for him.

The fact that you still loved him immensely, after everything. It was all still there.

But the piece that you recall so clearly now standing before you — changed in so many ways from how you have it etched into your memory — a vision that brings you great sadness, as if highlighting all of the ways in which Hongjoong has attempted to forget you, remove you from his life as best he could.

“There she is.”

Already well aware of who it is that the voice belongs to before turning to greet it, you can't help but smile as he steps forward, hair up and back just as always — and just like San's — as he comes up to stand next to the both of you in his too-expensive white button down shirt and black slacks.

“You came,” Wooyoung leans in towards you to whisper with a playful nudge to your side, as if he had been partially expecting you not to. “I'm glad.”

“Yeah.”

“This the guy?” he says, stepping forward to look past you and to your other side at San, quickly reaching a hand out to shake it. “Jung Wooyoung, nice to meet you. Heard good things.”

“Choi San, gotta say the same, she speaks highly of you.”

“Is that so?” Wooyoung can't help but tease with the raise of an eyebrow. “You told him?”

And you know full well that he's joking, and that you haven't, but the playfulness of the man something that none of you capable of keeping barred, ending up instead as something that all of you simply must become accustomed to. Sending an elbow into his side similarly to how he had done to you just moments earlier, Wooyoung folds at the waist with a giggle at the contact.

You'll have to explain some other time, not tonight, though.

“Have you seen him?”

The jesting tone of the evening not one able to be carried throughout, unfortunately. In the end, everything will always come back to Kim Hongjoong.

You shake your head gently, staring forward once again and at the bastardization of an art piece you had once held in your heart so fondly — instead now showcasing in bright lights and for a hefty price tag all of your most immediate and humiliating failures.

“He's around here somewhere.”

“Who is?”

To say that you were unprepared would have been an understatement. A familiar, airy pitchiness in a voice that over the months you had grown so accustomed to, formed such a particular adoration towards — now sounding almost foreign in ways as it enters your ears from behind you. You can only figure that he doesn't yet know that it's you, especially with not recognizing the man to the other side of you — to so simply saunter up to the group and seemingly without a care in the world, but surely with the weight in which your heart threatens to beat out of your chest and onto the floor for every guest in the gallery to see, the thumping would give you away long before the vision of your face ever could.

At the very least, the threat of your heart beating out of your chest and taking your consciousness with it suddenly not sounding so bad, after all.

The three of you begin turning to face him before you really even know what's happening, you think for a split second that you hear Wooyoung in your ear telling you to 'take it easy', though you're not so sure how you're expected to do so with little instruction on the matter.

It's been three months, after the better part of a year being over, under and irrevocably in love with him — arguably, he was even more in love with you, that much you were quite certain of.

“Speak of the devil,” Wooyoung chimes in as the three of you turn, and you think that for a moment time truly stops as you make eye contact with Hongjoong again for the first time since that night.

And it was certainly true that he had not known it to be you from behind with the way his features splash with nothing less than absolute shock from the visual of being met with your face again. You watch him so intently, for any sign of distaste, of not wanting you there, of unhappiness at the sight — any tell-tale sign that you should get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, and you're happy to.

Figure, happy might not be the right word, but it'll do.

It's pure shock as he looks at you, before slowly allowing his vision to fall to the side where San resides next to you.

“You're—“ Hongjoong stutters out with a pause in between the words. “Here,” he finally finishes with a hard look in Wooyoung's direction.

Finally pulling your attention away from Hongjoong, not wanting to stare but God what a sight for sore eyes, you glance towards Wooyoung and his nervously giggling self.

Caught red-handed, but surely, he knew that would be the case.

“Well, you know what they say,” he starts through his anxious laughter. “Don't give the sex party guy a plus-one, who knows who might show up!”

A hateful attempt at a light-hearted joke, especially given the history between the majority of you present, both you and Hongjoong roll your eyes at the gesture simultaneously while San stands next to you quiet and surely somewhat confused.

“Right, well,” Hongjoong sighs, hands slipping into the pockets of his pressed, black slacks — similarly dressed to when you had last seen him, albeit a bit more casually in his white button down and slightly oversized black suit jacket with the red lining just barely peeking out along the buttoning, but with hair still black and pressed up similarly to San's, you really can't help yourself.

He looks incredible. And healthy.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, I just didn't expect—“ he starts again, this time cutting himself off to offer to shake the hand of the man next to you. “Kim Hongjoong, but I'm sure you've—“

You listen to him trail off on the tail end of the statement, the word 'heard' barely escaping his lips at all as the awkwardness of not only the situation but acknowledging such, you find comfort in knowing that it's not going as well for him, either.

That you're both going to have to suffer through this, even just a little bit.

San snorts at the gesture and the words accompanying them, shaking Hongjoong's hand and nodding. “Choi San, and indeed, I'm familiar.”

An elbow gently greeting San's side, now.

But there's a particular unsteadiness to Hongjoong's stature that you find yourself unable to place. A discomfort that you had not anticipated upon entering the night, paired with the way that he makes an effort to avoid making eye contact with you at all costs, almost exclusively staring at the floor, or even opting to look at Wooyoung in any words spoken your way, that sends you through a loop much more than expected.

You knew that he wouldn't be expecting you, but the reality of it proving more than that causes you to feel a strange consolation that you're happy to welcome.

Perhaps it's not just you having to weather the storm of tonight, after all.

With silence taking the group, you watch Hongjoong gently rock back and forth on his heels a couple of times — first glancing at Wooyoung, and the two of them seemingly embarking on a perfectly mute conversation of sorts before the object of your undying affection's attention suddenly turns back to you and shaky eyes find their way to yours once again.

“So,” he starts, and not nearly as confidently as he probably would have hoped. “How...long have you two been together?”

It takes you a moment to follow the train of thought, not quite understanding what it is that he's referring to, an embarrassingly long amount of time before you finally realize that he's referring to the strange man that isn't Wooyoung standing to the other side of you — a dizzying sight before you when you begin to put the pieces together of Hongjoong's horrified realization of the fact that maybe, just maybe you had moved on.

Not sleeping with someone else, not talking to someone else, but dating someone else.

That even in all of those past encounters, everything that ultimately tore the two of you apart, at the end of the day, he held an irreplaceable spot in your life.

But not anymore.

“Oh, oh, we're—“

However, in typical Jung Wooyoung fashion, before you're able to get the thought out, he's reaching across you and towards San, gripping a hand into the strange man's arm and pulling him away from you and towards himself. “We should let them have some time, don't you think?”

San, all too quick on the uptake for your liking and grinning ear to ear whilst yanked around the gallery by the handsome stranger with the bright blonde hair, nodding and agreeing — but not without a passing look that says all you really need to hear from him in the circumstances, after all.

'If you need me, I'm a text away.'

Always good with words, even unspoken.

Before you have the time to revisit the prior topic, Hongjoong nods towards the piece of art hanging on the white wall in front of both of you, eyes glued to it in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with you — and in a way you find it sort of charming, the way he's being — suddenly reverting to this shy, awkward boy that you think in all of the years that you've known him, you've never quite seen this side of him.

Unnerving, in a way, as well.

“Finally finished it,” he starts, eyes pulling to the ground as he kicks at nothing with the toe of his shoe before glancing up at you again briefly. “Took forever.”

“It's changed a lot,” you acknowledge, attempting to quell the hint of sadness in your voice. “It's beautiful though, of course. You always had the talent for it.”

You wonder if it's too far — complimenting him so outwardly even in regards to his work and work alone, with the way that silence befalls the conversation and he opts not to respond to it, anxiety rustling within your chest all over again with each passing second.

“Gonna smoke, wanna—“ Hongjoong takes a second to think through the rest of the question before settling on it definitively. “Step outside with me?”

Opening the door to the private exit, down another dimly lit hallway that's not part of his exhibition but rather for staff to come and go as need be, Hongjoong holds it for you to step through before rifling through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and lighter, slipping one between his lips and bringing his hands up and around the end to light it through the gentle breeze of the evening air.

In the midst of the busy city, smelling vaguely of sewage and burnt pizza — compliments of the little restaurant down a block or so away from here.

The two of you step towards the balcony edge together, leaning against the glass and steel guard rail — staring out into the night sky and upon all of the passersby down below — people and cars alike with places to be and people to see — you can't help but wonder just how many of them may find themselves precisely in this same situation as you; in what feels like the precipice of something, although you can't be sure what, or how much of that is simply you projecting your hopefulness upon a situation in which there is none.

It's the last thing you wish to do, punish him for his kindness towards you tonight.

Glancing to your side, you watch him exhale cigarette smoke, immediately dragged off and away into the wind.

How quickly things come and go.

“We're not together.”

It's a split second decision on your end, to amend the thought from earlier, and you can't help but study the way that Hongjoong's features may change at the receiving of such information. There's nothing, from what you can tell, but he always did have an exquisite poker face.

And besides, he doesn't have a drink next to him, either.

When silence blankets the conversation, you wonder if you should have left it, with Hongjoong not responding nor giving any indication of interest in the matter — chewing on your bottom lip, you turn your attention away from him and back out towards the tops of all of the shorter buildings in your view.

“Slept with him?”

The question comes out of left field, for a plethora of reasons — it sends you reeling a little bit, the audacity of it, for one, but shrouded by the fact that it's the first truly Hongjoong thing that he's said to you all night. Through all of the glitz and glamor, pressed dress pants and fancy wine — Kim Hongjoong was still just the guy that you had always known him to be; an artist that smokes too much, drinks a little too much (but not if you ask him), and is at all times at the mercy of his emotions — for better or for worse, it's him, it's who he is.

But just as quickly as he says it, his head drops forward a bit in a chuckle — clearly at himself more than anything else. “Don't answer that, you don't have to answer that.”

You know as well as he does that it's a question born from a place of unresolved hurt. No doubt in your mind that in your time apart that both you and he had experienced monumental growth, but some wounds take longer than others.

Three months is a good amount of time, but it's not long, not long enough to mend a lot. You know this, as well, with the way your chest tightens every time you look at him.

A strong man, but a weakness for you — not yet grappled with in its entirety in that time spent without contact.

“No.”

The choice to answer, if asked why, you suppose you're not entirely sure. A gut reaction, and willingness to provide a certain openness to him now that perhaps you had always failed to before. Unsure of what it may offer him — be it comfort, solace, understanding, maybe even sadness in a knowledge that this is now, and all of that was then, you choose to display your heart for him all the same.

And perhaps for you, a feeling of it being the least you could do.

'I'm doing the work, whatever it may mean to you now.'

Hongjoong takes another drag of his cigarette before turning his head to look at you, and for the first time that evening, the wall of feeling like strangers feels as though it may be crumbling, if only ever so slightly. A familiar glint in his eye — a man that enjoys playing games to a point, but with information so tantalizing presented before him — information that perhaps allows for more questions than answers, you suppose you could have guessed him to not be above taking the bait, as it were.

“Why not?” he asks, head cocking to the side inquisitively. “He's handsome, you're spending time with him so presumably he's not a scumbag.“ He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Brought him here.”

“Wooyoung offered,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “I didn't want to come alone.”

“Gotta stop letting Wooyoung get away with so much, he's really getting out of hand these days.”

A playful response that you're happy to hear in tone as Hongjoong turns back to gaze out towards the skyline.

“Are you...” you begin, once again that suicidal inquisitiveness getting the best of you as Hongjoong offers no insight into his own status, so to say. You watch the corner of his mouth pull up gently before bringing his hand up for another inhale.

“Seeing anyone?” he finishes the thought for you. It's a little humiliating, but he did always find joy in getting you a little flustered for his viewing pleasure.

“Why? Jealous?”

“No,” you lie. “Wooyoung mentioned you had been dating—“

“I've really got to get a handle on that guy...” Hongjoong sighs with exasperation again.

“I mean, it's fine, obviously, I'm not surprised, just—“ your words turning into nervous babbling before you have a chance to get a handle on it, with a chuckle, the man next to you takes it upon himself to put you out of the tailspin you've allowed yourself to fall into.

“I'm not,” he says firmly. “I mean, yeah, I went out with some people here or there but I'm not dating someone.”

You hate the way that your mind immediately begins to fill the voids with visuals of him making love to someone who isn't you.

But thankfully, that's a question you're more than willing to carry on not knowing the definitive answer to, in actuality.

Putting out a cigarette long since burned down to the filter, Hongjoong flicks it off and into the nighttime air before turning on his heels in a sort of particularly animated way — raising eyebrows at you and motioning towards the door. “Suppose I'm expected back, eventually—“

“I'm sorry.”

The words slip out from between your lips before you have a chance to second guess them, familiar prickling of tears forming at the corners of your eyes as your chest tightens and throat burns with the promise of all of the months of loving — and longing — for him, threatening to make themselves known right here, right now, on this otherwise tucked away balcony. A pathetic display, perhaps, as Hongjoong's eyes pull away with eyebrows knitting together harshly at the sight of you before him. You think to yourself that this, this time — and you suppose all of the times before, as well — you've gone too far, pressed him too hard for something he's not willing to, or simply cannot give you.

Emotionally stunted in so many ways, another thing that three months time not enough to unpack in its entirety — or maybe, even put a dent in.

And this one Hongjoong can't fuck away, either.

You consider it heavily, with the words already out and on the floor between the both of you, how selfish it is to offer him this now — tonight, of all nights, very much not what he needs to be dealing with.

But suppose you can't apologize for apologizing now, can you?

“I'm a mess,” you laugh under your breath, thumb on one hand reaching up to gently wipe away the formation of a tear from your eye before it has a chance to lend itself down your cheek and strip your makeup. “It's just been so long since I've seen you, that's all—“

“I know, me too. I'm sorry, too.”

It comes out of left field, the admittance of some form of responsibility in everything that had gone on — and while past a certain point, you find it impossible within yourself to hold him to much of a standard of accountability, it's the acknowledgment that he was, at any point in time, a participant in all of the many ways that things between the two of you had gone awry that puts an even stronger emotional choke hold on you.

“You want to get a drink?” Hongjoong asks, once again nodding towards the door. He checks the time on his phone before speaking again. “Bar should be open for another twenty minutes or so, then we can get out of here—“

We.

Pausing, Hongjoong laughs at himself again, the Freudian slip of sorts, and you can't help but giggle along with him even in spite of how your chest feels as though it may collapse in and onto itself at any given moment.

Making your way back inside and to the bar, you're comforted when you lay eyes on San and Wooyoung — happily seated together at a table with drinks before them, and quite evidently thoroughly engaged in conversation with one another. The blonde guy shouting so loudly that it echoes through the hallways of the establishment, Hongjoong mockingly covers his ears as you both seat yourselves with them at the silent insistence of San, himself.

“How's it going?” San asks Hongjoong, quickly settling his attention to you thereafter to scan over your stature and deduce whether or not there's a problem.

But the artist simply shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping before responding. “Well, but I'm ready to go home. All this snazzy, expensive shit isn't really my scene, this is all Wooyoung's jive.”

All eyes turning to the man in question, he shyly grins without an argument to put up against such accusations. “Guilty as charged, I suppose. Mommy and daddy didn't put me through a top five private school for no reason, after all.”

“You should have seen his apartment in college,” Hongjoong adds, “sickening.”

“Oh really?” Wooyoung responds, somewhat condescending in nature. “Interesting, because from what I recall, you sure enjoyed spending time there—“

You can't see it, aside from the jolt of Hongjoong as a result of a swift kick into Wooyoung's leg, and the problem in question subsequently hissing at the contact, but you and San laugh at the display before you, remembering all of the ways that this is precisely where you want to be, and the company you wish to keep.

That it feels like home.

And as the event comes to a close, the four of you are the last to leave — slowly making your way out of the building and curbside as you wait for your cabs to arrive to take you home.

The scent of burnt pizza stronger than atop the balcony, and even threatening to lull you towards it, you take in the fragrance — the sense most closely tied to memory — in hopes that maybe, just maybe, every time you smell pizza in the future, you could relive this for a second — the right here, the right now of this.

Glancing over at San to your left, him turning to meet you, he gently plants an elbow into your arm — a sort of 'I told you so' that the night would be okay. You're thankful that he's right.

And to your right — successful, accomplished, and extraordinarily loving, perhaps even to a fault, Kim Hongjoong.

Hair long since fallen as a result of running about and mingling — thick, waxed together strands of hair off to each side of his head, you watch him light another cigarette at the bemoaning of Wooyoung who makes it no secret that he wishes for his friend to give up the habit.

Ignoring the annoying friend and glancing towards you by chance, catching you gazing upon him, you quickly avert your eyes despite having already been caught in the act.

Another nudge into your arm, but this time from your right, and not from San.

Leaning towards you, it's the closest you've felt Hongjoong to you since the last time you had seen him — his presence sending shivers down your spine even in how innocuous the movement is.

“Want to come over? Ya know, for a drink or something.”

It's a private invitation, not for Wooyoung, and not for San. Only for you.

Your mind takes you to a million places all at once, something you would have to sort out on the car ride there, as you nod in acceptance without a single spoken word.

“If your boyfriend says it's okay, obviously.”

He's joking, tilting his head over and towards San who stands none the wiser to the scenario playing out just next to him. You slap Hongjoong's arm in jest — him cowering away at the gentle assault, of which finally brings San's attention over and to the both of you.

“Um, so—“ you start, clearing your throat nervously as you attempt to inform San of the change of plans for the evening. “I'm gonna go...with Joong.”

“Oh?” San says, and a little too loud for your liking as you watch it catch Hongjoong's attention, the upward curl of his lips in such a sly way giving away the fact that he finds the entire thing humorous — especially given that it be yours and yours alone to navigate.

“Don't be like that,” you groan, rolling your eyes at the display. “We have a lot to talk about, you know.”

“Of course, don't let me stand in the way.” San grins, bowing ever so slightly towards Hongjoong with reciprocation from the man, simultaneously receiving the notification that his car has arrived. “Be good, kids! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“What wouldn't he do?” Hongjoong asks, Wooyoung's attention now piqued from the scenario having gone on on the opposite end of him.

“Almost definitely whatever the fuck is about to go on here,” Wooyoung adds, and to no one’s liking. “But, suppose I only have myself to blame for this.”

It's a pathetic display of a man pretending to be upset about the fruition of a scenario that he had more than a hand of causing to play out — dramatically tossing his arm up and over his face as if to fall faint on the wet, concrete below.

You had suspected Wooyoung to be up to no good in inviting you to this evening, and certainly hadn't thought him to be setting you up to fail — but this, perhaps a man entering dangerous levels of understanding the human psyche.

Notification sounding on Hongjoong's phone of the car arriving for the both of you — never before a more thankful time for it. Opening the car door, the man motions for you to enter first, happily obliging before he pauses to thank Wooyoung for being an absolute fucking nuisance tonight.

“Don't you have somewhere to be?” he asks his friend before finally shoving himself in next to you.

“Yes,” he affirms with a grin. “Waiting for the hot bartender to finish up his shift.”

And with the roll of his eyes, Hongjoong slides himself into the backseat right along with you, shutting the door and informing the driver of the address, but not before Wooyoung sends the both of you off with some more of his parting wisdom.

“Have fun talking.”

Through a mostly silent ride -– aside from Hongjoong attempting to light up a cigarette in the backseat of a luxury car and thus entering into a heated debate with the driver — you contemplate just what exactly it is you're being invited into. So many nights spent away from one another, and the last most prominent memory of you being in the man's home — pressed hard against the wall without an offering of any love or care from the man himself — you feel guilty for considering what would be for many the most obvious reason: the promise of sex.

That perhaps now, Hongjoong has downgraded the relationship to what it always should have been from beyond the first time — two people using each other’s bodies as a means to an end, without any emotional ties or interest beyond the physical in one another — that even in spite of the love and nurturing the friendship had once held within it, now all that lie there is a brute, primal need to feel and be felt by another human being.

That this ultimately will mean nothing, that you ultimately mean nothing.

And can you accept that to be the case just to have him again?

A tailspin that isn't so unheard of, being so completely and desperately in love with someone that one is willing to forgo all of their emotional needs in an effort to have what little it is that the other offers to them. If Hongjoong is only willing to let you have him physically, is that good enough for you? Knowing full well all of the ways that it will bury itself deep inside of you and rot you from the inside out — the knowledge that despite being there with you in his bed, his mind may be elsewhere, with someone else should the time ever come, until eventually he should cut you off entirely at the promise of a partnership with someone he can actually see himself with. Someone that he can see himself with in totality.

Is it good enough for you?

Maybe it is, for now.

Jarring you from your thoughts, the car stops — Hongjoong begrudgingly leaning forward towards the man who had previously chewed him out for his poor backseat etiquette with a wad of cash in hand — no doubt a hefty tip on top, as it's just the kind of guy he is, Hongjoong scoots himself out of the car just as he had entered approximately twenty minutes before, lending you his hand as leverage to pull yourself up and out of the vehicle as well.

With the door closed and the car pulling away, suppose it is what it is, now. You're here.

Hinge of the large front door creaking, a sound you're all too familiar with and left entirely unsurprised by its remaining in your absence, the two of you step inside — coats off and onto hangers and shoes carefully pulled from your feet — so delicately on your end, a feeling as though you're not meant to be here anymore, that you should enter with care, and as to not disturb those who lie in wait just beyond the hallway.

But Hongjoong strides forward with his usual nonchalance, towards a small makeshift bar now erected in and to the side of the open living space — you stand in awe for a moment at all of the ways that the place you had grown so accustomed to has changed — once black walls now white with numerous canvases scattered about. A man evidently hard at work, and for too many hours at a time, you can only imagine.

The only other way he knew of dealing with his feelings, plugging away at paint and pencils.

“Drink?” he questions, already popping open a bottle of some brown liquid for himself before noticing the surprise splashed across your face. “Oh, right, you haven't seen the place in a while — changed a lot.”

“I'll say,” is all you can manage in the moment, eyes still bouncing around the walls and off of all of the new and unfamiliar objects. “Busy as ever, huh?”

“You know how I am,” he says, handing you a glass without you ever giving him an answer one way or another. “How's it look? Other than messy, obviously.”

“Kind of miss the piano walls, I'll be honest.”

“Needed a change.”

It's a simple comment, but carries so much weight behind it under the guise of artistic vision.

Tipping his glass towards you, a silent 'cheers' of sorts, you both take sips before Hongjoong motions you further into the apartment and over towards the couch.

You don't mean to make such a big deal out of every little thing, suppose you just can't help it. The couch, far from forgotten, so many moments. Bright and bitter, all the same.

As you sit down next to Hongjoong, palms nervously flattening over your thighs to straighten the fabric of your dress after having set your glass down onto the coffee table, you stare down and at your fingernails — anything to pull your attention from the deafening silence of the room.

You hear Hongjoong inhale sharply, for some reason, you know to brace yourself for impact.

“I'm going to say something,” he begins, eyes glued to the liquid in his glass that lie carefully cradled between both hands in his lap. “It's going to hurt.”

Fight, flight or freeze — you couldn't move if you tried, every muscle in your body tightening at the promise of whatever pain it is that the man next to you intends to rain down on you.

“I slept with someone else, in our time apart—“

The confirmation that you had been attempting to avoid all of this time — the knowing without knowing, well aware of it without having to be told, now iron pressed into the forefront of your mind.

“—I prefer you.”

The words hit you a bit like whiplash with their unexpectedness. Words not necessary to express, and unsure of the intent behind such expression, it takes you a moment to even really allow them to sink into you through the uninvited imagery of the man you love in bed with someone who isn't you, and once they do, you find little understanding in them — allowing your eyes to wander off and to the side in which Hongjoong sits as he continues staring intently into his decorative glass of rum.

“Okay...” you whisper, somewhat conclusively, but with a hint of questioning — unsure of his motive in disclosing this sort of information to you. It is to say that you knew that already, but why are you being informed so carelessly.

“—And, I'm telling you this to hurt you, the same way you hurt me so exquisitely.”

You suppose that deep down, you appreciate the honesty. A sort of tit-for-tat game that you're not at all shocked by Hongjoong partaking in — probably having wanted to all along but without the willingness to do so when the both of you were still so completely involved — a sort of settling of the score that the man could never find it in himself to carry out knowing that you would be going to sleep with and waking up next to him for so many days following.

It's a sort of cruelty completely foreign to him — saying things just for the intent to hurt the receiving party, but the speaking of harshness, well, that's simply the Kim Hongjoong way, you're well aware.

Abruptly leaning into the back of the couch with a sigh, Hongjoong takes another sip of his drink. “Wooyoung said I should find a more...constructive way to get the hurt out of my system, this is sort of what we settled on.”

You can't help but chuckle at the idea of the two of them mulling over their options in regards to the topic.

“What was the second best option?” you playfully inquire, and Hongjoong snorts.

“Was gonna fuck your best friend, but Wooyoung said that might be a bit much.”

“Hard to come back from that one.”

“Yeah, it sure is.”

You hadn't meant it that way, but if the shoe fits.

“Can I ask you something?” Hongjoong's attention turning towards you as the words leave his mouth, you only nod. “Does it hurt?”

Questioning how much of yourself you wish to bare to the man before you, the man already having proven himself with intent to harm you this evening, you make what some may consider to be a questionable call.

You tell the truth.

“Yeah,” you sigh with a gentle nod, leaning forward and taking your glass into your hands. “Yeah, it fucking does.”

“I'm sorry.”

And you think that it's so quintessentially like him, to have it out for you only to apologize mere seconds after delivering the final blow. Bullet to the heart, and an apology soon to follow.

“Did it really happen?” you ask, Hongjoong glancing at you questioningly.

“Did what really happen?”

“Did you really sleep with someone else?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then don't apologize,” you say with finality. “If you're not lying, then don't apologize for it.”

It's only a few moments that Hongjoong silences at your words before he sits up again, this time turning himself slightly to face more towards you — the look on his face serious but all the while still dripping in anguish — you contemplate if he's aware that he's dropped the facade of being okay.

“If we're telling the truth tonight then—“ he begins, hesitancy lacing his voice as if he knows he's soon to be overstepping bounds he shouldn't be.

“—Have you slept with San?”

Once again repeated, you suppose there's some part of you deep down that feels a marginal bit of triumph in being able to answer the question openly, truthfully. It feels weird in so many ways, being questioned so vividly about the goings on of your private life that have nothing to do with the man asking — having long since expelled himself from you and yours, you know as well as he does that questions like this bubble up when one least expects them, and from long forgotten, long since buried places of immense and immeasurable hurt.

But what Hongjoong is really asking is if you loved him so irrevocably that you couldn't sleep with San.

Looking back at the evening at yours, when you kissed San on your couch with any and every intent to allow him to have you in all of the ways that Hongjoong is now asking if he did, it's easy to say that on the surface, no, you didn't.

But it was San himself that made you see that you did.

“No, I haven't,” you answer in almost a whisper. “I'll call him right now if you want.”

Drink in one hand and grabbing into your purse with the other free one for your phone, Hongjoong stops you — both verbally and with his hand atop your own before you have a chance to acquire it.

“Don't. I believe you.”

“Why?”

Words slipping out and past your lips before you have a chance to even think twice about them, Hongjoong laughs at them all the same, scooting himself across the couch cushions and closer to you. “I don't know. I want to, I guess.”

A loving gesture in so many ways, the man’s insistence on trusting you given all of the ways that perhaps he shouldn't — the softness of his hand on yours, reminding you of the delicate ways in which San loved to offer you physical comfort just the same — you wonder for a moment if you and Hongjoong truly do have a shot at a friendship after this.

After everything.

But it's meeting eyes with Hongjoong thereafter; beautiful brown, eyes decorated heavily in dark makeup for the event, messy, raven black hair that suits him even in spite of all of the colors you had seen him adorn long before, and just peeking through the collar of his white button down shirt — the single beauty mark on his neck, one you had long since grown to love so much over the months that takes you to another place.

The way that Hongjoong still, even to this day, looks at you as though you're the only other person in the world — after everything, and in this moment still — despite desperately wishing for him to say the words that you longed to hear, he always did say it with a gesture as effortless as his eyes meeting yours.

All of this time, through the high highs and the even lower lows, you knew that Hongjoong was still desperately, madly in love with you.

And for all intents and purposes, so you were with him.

“I guess you should—“ he begins with a sigh, less of sadness and more of a man having come to terms with something that may have been troubling him for some amount of time. You know what he's referring to, reflexively looking over and towards a large antique clock hanging from one of the walls.

“Yeah, it's late,” you add to his thought, setting your glass down onto the table once again before standing and carefully heading towards the door. You can't help but feel a bit like a bull in a china shop — expensive, sprawled out canvases and other art supplies as far as the eye can see, and wholly out of place — somewhere that you once felt so comfortable, now feeling completely foreign to you, as if your first time stepping foot inside.

As if you hadn't helped make this place what it is, from the very beginning — the memory of paint blotches adorning both of your giggling bodies after late nights drinking and decorating the walls that now bear no resemblance to the time.

Following close behind, you feel the presence of Hongjoong accompanying you to the door — unable to see him, but still feeling what you can only figure to be his eyes on you in some way. You figure it a sort of projection as you mull over the thoughts that may be swimming through his own mind in the moment — missing you, loving you — and maybe even not truly wishing for you to leave him tonight.

“Tonight was fun,” you say, forcing cheeriness through your voice in an attempt to slice through the tension of the situation. “I'm glad I went. I'm glad I came.”

“Me too,” he admits with a faint smile, hands buried in his pockets once again.

And you can't really help it, the way you wait just a few seconds longer beyond the interactions in hopes that he'll tell you to stay, each time allowing just a moment too long before straying into borderline awkwardness, but when it becomes somewhat painfully aware that this is how the night is ending, you find yourself still able to find joy in it.

It's not the perfect outcome, matters of the heart often aren't. But it's a start.

A far cry from where you began today.

Digging in your purse clumsily for your phone and keys, while simultaneously attempting to locate your own shoes through the cascading pile of his — with head turned and an arm stretched out towards them, you feel your phone tumble from your bag and down towards the floor — hard, cold cement and an almost certain demise for the accompanying glass, you swiftly turn your attention to the impending doom headed for your device, only for your head to meet a similar one upon collision with a similarly jolting down Hongjoong.

Expletive slipping from your mouth followed by a hiss, you stumble back slightly to the sound of your phone clattering against the hard ground below, but before you're able to truly set your sights on it, you feel gentle, familiar hands pressing up, cradling the sides of your head — so suddenly yet with such a feather-like touch you question for a second whether or not you're imagining it.

But opening your eyes again, and ignoring the thumping in your head, you find Hongjoong standing firm — and concerned — just in front of you, arms stretched out to steady you from the ridiculous collision.

“Jesus, sorry,” he laughs, “are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I'm fine—“ you manage out, quickly averting your eyes from his own.

He's not strange, it's not strange, but it all feels so brand new, navigating the uncharted waters now of whatever this situation has become. Having his hands on you again, such a loving touch — as he always had with you — flooding back the memories shared in the past, and once again, the all too familiar burning in your throat finds its way creeping back up to make itself known.

Long past the point of needing his additional stability though, you find Hongjoong's hands still on you, head delicately held between them as he gazes upon you. There's a place inside of you, deep down, that wants to — nearly needs to — continue avoiding looking at him, for fear of allowing even more of the flood gates to open back up, feelings you spent months attempting to lock away with the promise that this may never happen again.

That you may never end up here again.

And yet, here you are.

But eyes slowly finding their way back to his, you find Hongjoong's features to tell a story of all of the same, if you had to guess. A troubled look gracing his otherwise beautiful features, as if going through the options for not only tonight, but the rest of his life in real time right before you, and desperately you want to shout to him to say 'yes', to allow himself to fall for you again because this time it will be different, but not having the courage or the strength to bare yourself to him in such a way again, at least, not yet.

You need more than this solemn, single, moment in time — ripe for misinterpretation and misunderstanding, you need something definitive.

And just like that, as if the man had access to your inner thoughts and feelings the entire time, Hongjoong leans in towards you — exceptionally slowly, as if giving either, or both of you, time to back out before you do this again, or perhaps it's just that it feels like it's slow motion as your heart threatens to leap out of your chest at the promise of again.

A second chance. 'We'll do it right this time, I promise.'

Hongjoong's hands slide down just slightly, palms holding your face between them as his lips make contact with your own — perfectly familiar in ways that so many other happenings of the night lacked it, tainted with a hint of unfamiliarity, but not this. Warm, faintly chapped lips slotting perfectly against your own with the slight cock of his head — it's almost instinctual the way your hands quickly reach up and cling to the sides of his jacket, as if desperately holding him in place so that he can't escape. A man with no intention of doing so as his tongue carefully prods between your lips and against your own — the usual taste of rum and cigarette smoke that you'd become so accustomed to over the many months together with him, but even in all of the similarities, and all of the way that it feels like home to you, it's different.

A man that not so far in the distant past treated you thoughtlessly, carelessly, much too roughly for his own liking, now touching you increasingly delicately, almost to a fault. The man that you'd thought about every day since then, and so many before, who you want nothing more than to have and to feel — touching you as if he's terrified of doing so, like he may break you with a disorderly touch.

Perhaps he's not entirely incorrect in thinking so. 'Damaged. Handle with care.'

When Hongjoong pulls from you slowly, eyes slightly lidded as if dazed by the contact of having you within him again, he quickly, and shyly, averts his eyes down to the ground between the two of you — palms slicking down your arms and settling into your own hands.

“Useless around you,” he whispers playfully. “Probably never stood a chance. Guess that's why Wooyoung invited you.”

The entire situation feeling as though it's hanging on a shoestring, you take each and every possible response into careful consideration before allowing a single word to slip out from your mouth.

“You kind of scare the shit out of me, I'll be honest,” he adds with jest, tone picking up a bit more now as he bends down to pick up your phone, somehow still fully intact despite the dive.

Placing it into your hand, you watch his every movement, waiting for the pin to drop, so to speak.

Hongjoong looks over and to the side of you both for a second, before bringing his eyes back to your own with a slight upturn of one of the corners of his mouth.

“But, I'm in love with you, so sue me, I guess.”

And there's no other additions to the statement, no amendments to it, no bells and whistles or explanations as to the why or the how that allows him to. It's just Hongjoong standing before you, submitting himself to you.

“Can you say something? You're killing me here.” He then laughs, taking one of his hands back in an attempt to swipe hair up and out of his face.

Frankly, you're stunned by the scenario before you. So much has happened in...less than five minutes.

Cracking a grin — both thrilled and horrified at once somehow — it's the first thing that comes to mind.

“Can I wash your hair?”

A sight for sore eyes, you think, is the understatement of the year as Hongjoong steps into the shower soon after you — large, dark blue tiling throughout, and with couples shower heads (your idea during remodeling) that you're more than thankful to have — you watch him attempt to ruffle his otherwise stuck together hair with a scrunch of his face.

“Gotta stop going to all these fancy events, hate cleaning up this nice, pain in my ass,” he groans, stepping towards you and delicately placing his chin onto your shoulder.

“Yeah, they should just let you show up in ripped skinnies you haven't washed in two weeks and the tank you threw up in the night before.”

“You want the art—“ he begins, pulling up with a kiss to your temple before backing under the cascading water and flushing it through his hair. “—gotta take the artist.”

Pulling him back towards you by the wrist, you dump shampoo into your palm and carefully run it through his head, fingertips digging in between the clumps of product and dismantling them for his comfort. Planting a kiss to the back of his shoulder, Hongjoong takes it as an opportunity to lean his head back and against your own despite your attempting to wash him.

You work through it, allowing him the luxury as you watch his eyes slowly close and what appears to be contentment washing over him for the first time in so, so long.

“Missed this,” he whispers through the sound of the pressurized water. “Missed you—“

A pause.

“—Us.”

Just a passing comment from earlier, riddled with so many other things going on that the entire situation left you with far too much to focus on, but it's the idea of 'us' dropping from between his lips that briefly takes you back to that place all over again.

'I prefer you.'

It doesn't require much thought at all from your end, a very simple understanding of precisely what it is that he means by it — after all of the other situations, any of the other men, at the end of the day — it was always Hongjoong.

You preferred him, too.

“Rinse,” you say, gently pushing him off of you and towards the water again much to his displeasure, groaning as he stands fully on his own and under the water — nose crinkled like a child as you watch soapy water fall from him. “You gonna act like a toddler all night?” you chide with a grin.

“Hadn't planned on it,” he answers back, reaching out for your wrist and pulling you against his body much more firmly than you had anticipated, and much to your surprise as arms reach around you and hold you in place. “Unless you want me to call you mommy tonight, then I'm happy to oblige, I suppose.”

Despite being naked together in this instance, the overt sexuality of the comment catches you fully off guard. The teasing, sultry twist of his tone at the ending comment just as his head dips down and towards the shell of your ear has you remembering all of the ways previously that the man could so easily have you as putty in his hands.

“Joong,” you whine in gentle protest at the idea, the man exhaling a light chuckle at the sound of you.

“Sorry,” he whispers into your ear. “Been so long, I miss you.”

Deeply, some part of you wishes that you could put up more of a fight against the idea of feeling him tonight, but with his skin against yours, and the thought having already presented itself in his own mind — it's reminiscent of his earlier words.

You don't stand a chance.

“Come to bed.”

Hongjoong hearing you beckon for him, phone in hand one last time before finally setting it down on the nightstand to give his undivided attention to you, you watch him slowly crawl up between your legs; a kiss to your knee, then your thigh, your hip, breast, and shoulder before finally settling lengthwise against you — his lips gently cascading across the exposed skin of your neck and jawline before finally meeting on your own, only for a moment before beginning his descent on the other side of you — you melt into the feeling of being with him like this again, enjoying all of the ways that he feels all encompassing to you.

“New mattress?” you breathe out, feeling somewhat as though you may sink into it entirely as a result of his touching you.

“Broke the last one while you were gone,” he says into the skin of your neck. You freeze beneath him, only for him to huff out a laugh at the physical response. “I'm joking. It was old, you hated that thing, anyways.”

“Very funny.”

“I'll make it up to you.”

You figure he means it in more than one way.

Hongjoong's weight shifting onto one side to free up a hand to begin its journey down your body and between your legs, it's yet another thing that feels so strange but so comforting all at once — fingertips feathering across your folds before dipping forward with a little more intent than before, middle finger ghosting circles against your clit, you try to swallow down the neediness of your response — back arching slightly off of the bed beneath you and chest up into his own with a whimper at the contact, the feeling almost completely stealing your attention from how the man is carefully kissing, sucking, biting marks into the skin of your neck as he begins working you.

But Hongjoong only gives you a couple of minutes of it before you feel him pulling up and off of you, sliding himself down the same way he had come just a bit earlier with damp, black hair carpeting over his forehead and dancing across your bare skin as he kisses his way down and between your legs fully — the two of you make eye contact just as he makes himself comfortable.

“You know I have to or I'll die,” he jokes, in reference to his particular sexual compulsion.

And he gives you no time to answer back, as his lips replace the contact his finger had just made only moments prior, now unable to hold back the sigh of relief at the feeling of him as his tongue firmly presses against you — a single finger prying at your opening before slowly making its way inside of you — you find it's almost relaxing, the way in which Hongjoong handles you and your body with such care and concern each and every time you're with him like this.

Something no one else ever could do to such perfection.

A few drives into you with a single digit, he adds another to it in an attempt to work you open for him. The dizzying feeling of feeling so full of him, paired with the idea of what's to come and additionally, the breathtaking suction of his lips against your clit — has you tensing beneath his touch already as his free hand holds your thigh apart for him to work. You feel him grip fingernails harder into the skin there as his other ones curl against the spot you love to have him against so much.

“F-fuck, Joong—“ you whine, breathy and already a bit too far gone for how little he's had you like this, but Hongjoong opts not to relent, even to respond, carrying on against you as you unravel beneath him in record time.

Hand darting down and into wet hair, you grip onto him a little tighter than you had meant, Hongjoong only groaning into it and you in response as he evidently carries out his every intention of making you come right then and there.

It's only a few more seconds, three or four more drives of his hand into you before you're crying out for him, grinding down against his mouth involuntarily to chase the high of your orgasm as he drags you through it in its entirety — a grin plastered across his face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand through his triumphant come up, and your entirely worn come down.

Once again trailing kisses along your chest on his way back up to your mouth, “still got it,” escapes between his lips in a whisper just before pressing into your own, and you figure if you weren't so spent by how evidently right he was, you might be more willing to put up a fight.

But not tonight, you can let him have this one.

“Missed the way you taste,” he says into you, the scent of yourself still prominent on his mouth. “Everything about you is perfect for me. I could never tire of you—“

You feel his lower half shift slightly for positioning, the weight of his hardened length pressed against the apex of your thighs, and you realize now that you crave feeling him again, just as before.

“—My muse.”

A term of endearment, perhaps not often used within the context of sex, but sending your heart through a loop all the same, you bring your hands up the length of his back — feeling the skin and muscle beneath your fingertips as he flexes atop you to hold himself in place.

You didn't have as charming a word for what he meant to you, but you were a little obsessed with him, for sure.

Gentle nips into your bottom lip, you feel Hongjoong moving towards the beginning of pulling away from you, gripping into him harder as to not allow him, he kisses down and into your jaw.

“Condom,” he whispers against your skin. Such a bizarre concept for the two of you.

And you hate to ruin the moment, but it begs the question.

“Why?” you ask, attempting to ground yourself enough through the feeling of his mouth on your flesh. “...Did you?”

But Hongjoong pulls up almost instantaneously, looking down upon you and straight into your eyes with earnestness. “No, I just figured—“

Reaching up and taking a hold of him by the shoulders, pulling him back down and against you — chest to chest, skin against skin — you lean him into another kiss, teeth and tongue and longing and the need to have one another all over again, and perhaps in some way, undo all of the wrong that had been done before.

It's not a fix, or perhaps, a very temporary one. You both know that there's still work to do, a lot of it — but maybe in some way, it's a start.

“I miss you,” you reiterate, speaking the words directly into his mouth as he positions his hips between your thighs — there's silence for a second, the both of you taking in the sensation of him pressing forward and filling you once again — a feeling far from being forgotten but also far too long since the last, the simultaneous heavy exhale from each at the feeling of you wrapping around his cock, and alternatively, him prying you apart for it.

When he bottoms out inside of you, Hongjoong brings a hand up, gently swiping loose strands of hair from your forehead before planting a kiss there.

With a nearly full withdrawal of his length from you, he slowly presses back inside again, repeating the act four, five times — reveling in the sound you make at once again experiencing the full feeling of him being inside of you.

It's gentle, and you know he's making up for lost time — but even more than that, he's trying to undo last time.

Kissing the apple of your cheek before pecking a kiss to your lips as he begins to settle into a rhythm against you, lips lazily lying against the skin of your jaw, Hongjoong looks up at you through his eyelashes with a smile. “Too much to say 'I love you' while I'm inside of you?” he asks jokingly, but you know more than anything else that he's not really joking.

And for that, you couldn't be happier.

“No,” you sigh, word catching in your throat as he finds that particular angle that has you coming undone with haste beneath him. “Never.”

“Good, because I do,” he whispers, the feeling of you clenching around him taking him out of the thought for a split second. “Sorry, dirty talk is terrible tonight, I know,” he laughs through a groan.

Times like these, where you're able to completely and entirely be yourselves together — laughing and loving without a second thought, it takes you back to the first time with him — albeit, more of a performance, an interview for both parties in some ways, but the ease in which you two fit together entirely being something that you're not sure you ever really can find more than once in a lifetime.

The concept that there's no 'one,' that there are so many ninety-nine point eights or nines, but no singular person, the fairy tale ending, the all-encompassing everything.

Perfection.

And in truth, it's possible that you and Hongjoong are simply another example of it, given the trials and tribulations of your relationship, only to end up right back here after everything.

But it's still real life, and it still takes work. Even when it comes to the ninety-nine point nine, it's up to you to fill in the deficit.

It's not long at all before Hongjoong has you pressed hard against him as you come, firm, hard, drives of his length into you to ride you fully through it just in time for him to bury himself as deeply as he can — teeth gritted and a bit back groan as he comes inside of you with throbs of his cock so evident that you can feel him against your walls as he releases as well.

Hurriedly, lazily kissing your mouth through heavy, labored breaths, the both of you smile against each other's lips, 'I love you' slipping out and into the air, although, you're not sure which one of you is the one to say it.

It's not perfect, and it's been far from easy, but with your hands buried into dark, messy hair as Hongjoong draws invisible art into your skin with a single, painted index fingertip, you think that in spite of all of that, at the very least it's worth another shot.

That if Hongjoong is willing to believe you, believe in you, then the least you can do is be kind enough to yourself to do the same.

“This is a little unethical.”

“I know.”

Looking around the office space, you take in the faint scent of what you think you can note as cedarwood, being far from an expert on wood-related fragrances but having smelled it enough times to think to know, you find comfort in it — it's obvious intent, glancing past the bookshelves filled with brown, white and gray book spines and eventually settling on a desk towards the back of the room.

It's your first time doing this, they'll have to forgive you for not being completely present at the very start.

Dark green walls and a dark wood desk with a heavy waxed glaze, you tune out the conversation taking place in the room if only for a moment to focus on the photograph standing tall and a bit off to the corner.

In it, two men that you are very well acquainted with. One with an adorable slit in his eyebrow.

“I'll do this once but I'm gonna have to refer you elsewhere,” he says firmly as your attention snaps back in front of you as the words leave his mouth. The end of a pen dangling from the corner of his lips and wide glasses sitting atop his nose — almost obstructing the sight of the beauty mark just below his eye, but not quite.

Hair down today, suppose he does mean business.

It's then that a hand slips into your own, fingers lacing between — catching your eye, a single, yellow-painted pinky nail — something you had done yourself a few nights prior to now.

It brings a smile to your lips. A sort of guide, you think, as silly as it may be. Maybe it will all be okay, and even if it's not — we gave it everything.

Looking back up and over at Hongjoong, the man next to you on the couch smiling gently even through the discomfort of the situation at hand, you can't help but feel the hopefulness he exudes, the confidence, and even more than that, the contentment coursing through him.

Happiness, in full understanding.

'I love you, and for both of our sake, we have to try.'

You know that you will wear Hongjoong in your skin for as long as you live, and the same for him with you, no matter this outcome.

But you owe it to yourselves, closure being a gift that cannot be gifted to us through others but rather understanding from ourselves.

For you and Hongjoong both, this is the way.

You watch Wooyoung look up at the both of you through his eyelashes, one eyebrow cocked upwards in what you can only gather is some level of grievance in this being requested of him — but accepting of it all the same, really, it's the least he can do for being so conniving.

“Well then,” he sighs reluctantly, opening his notepad and sitting up proper in his chair just across the table, and you know that he knows the answer to the question once he says it, but suppose one should go through all of the motions — for professionalism, of course.

“Why is it that the two of you are seeking therapy at this time?”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

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#hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic

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fortheloveofwonderland · 9 months

Text

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 9 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - a night spent at Rossi’s leads to some incredibly hot sex and some difficult conversations about your future together.

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - drinking, swearing, tipsy and horny reader, fingering, handjobs, public sex, car sex, slight cock warming, penetrative sex, protected sex, angst.

WC - 7.1k

Chapter 9 - As it Seems

Well in this life you must find something to live for,

'Cause when the darkness comes a callin',

You'll go back to where you were before.

'Cause this life is as,

Fragile as a dream, and,

Nothing's ever really,

As it seems.

Rossi had happily agreed to let Spencer and you use his cabin for a weekend away, but he wouldn’t be Rossi if it didn’t come with a stipulation.

He was fine with the two of you using his cabin, if he met you first.

Luke and Garcia had agreed to sit the girls for the evening and had taken Roxy with them over to Spencer’s that Friday night.

The girls adored their Aunty Penelope and Uncle Luke and were ecstatic to spend the evening with them.

So that was how you ended up on the doorstep of an extremely grand house in DC, wearing your best black satin dress and heels, hand sweating in Spencer’s.

“My entire apartment building could fit inside the house.” You swallowed a lump in your throat as Spencer rang the doorbell.

“Yeah it’s pretty daunting the first time you see it. But I guess I’ve gotten used to it.” He chuckled breezily, giving your hand a squeeze.

You looked him up and down out of the corner of your eye.

He looked positively fuckable in his deep burgundy shirt, black tie and slacks. You felt a heat flood between your legs and you wondered why the two of you hadn’t skipped dinner in lieu of other activities.

Sensing you looking at him he turned, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Mind out of the gutter, angel.” He winked at you. “At least for now anyway.”

You opened your mouth to reply but suddenly the door was opening and an older man with completely silver hair and beard and the kindest eyes you’d ever seen, was smiling at you both.

“Spencer!” He practically cheered and Spencer let go of your hand so he could embrace Rossi.

Rossi gave him a kiss on each cheek, looking pleased to see his old friend.

“It’s good to see you kid.”

“And you Dave.” Spencer stepped back and placed his hand on your lower back, edging you forward. “This is Y/N.”

“Benvenuta!” He exclaimed, placing his hands on your shoulders and kissing both of your cheeks too. “It’s very nice to meet you Y/N.”

“Likewise sir.” You chewed on your lip nervously.

“Oh come on now, sir makes me feel old. Call me Dave. Come inside.” He stepped away from the door and motioned you both in. “Krystall sends her apologies but she’s gone to visit Portia for the weekend.”

“Ah that’s a shame.” Spencer guided you with a hand on your back towards the door.

He felt your body tense as you moved closer to the house. He thought it was adorable how nervous you got around his friends.

You were usually so confident so seeing this side of you allowed Spencer a glimpse into another facet of your personality, another thing that made you who you are.

You weren’t normally uneasy around new people, you’d spoken to him just fine when you’d met.

So the only logical explanation for your anxiety around his friends was because you were scared they wouldn’t like you.

And you wanted them to like you because you liked Spencer.

Rossi ushered you in and closed the door and your wide eyes and slack jaw as you took in the entrance way wasn’t lost on either man.

The floor your heels clacked on as you walked was a stunning cream marbled with grey swirls. An expansive staircase with large dark oak bannisters rose to the second floor.

Intricate and what you could only assume was very expensive pieces of art hung from the walls. The ceilings were high and vaulted.

Rossi took your coats and hung them on a large, ornate silver coat rack.

He motioned you through to the kitchen where you were met the delectable smell of frying bacon and garlic.

The kitchen was just as grand as the entrance way, with every possible kind of appliance dotted around the large marble countertops.

But it was clear they all went to good use.

Rossi quickly moved to the stove to stir the pasta sauce before turning back and giving you both a large smile.

“Carbonara alla Rossi, I didn’t think to ask Spencer if you ate meat.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“I do.” You nodded. “I eat pretty much anything.”

“Favoloso!” He clapped his hands together before slinging a dish cloth over his shoulder. “Can I get either of you a glass of wine?”

“I’ll have one with dinner but I’m driving.” Spencer replied, wrapping his arm around you again, his palm resting on your lower back.

His warm touch allowed you to relax a little.

“Y/N, please tell me you will join me for a pre-dinner glass of vino?” Rossi looked at you expectedly.

You glanced up at Spencer as though you needed permission to drink and Spencer chuckled.

“Do let me stop you, angel.” He rubbed your back a little.

You nodded and turned back to Rossi with a smile.

“Merlot please, if you have it.”

“If I have it?” He chuckled heartily. “My dear, I have a wine cellar full to the brim with wines from before you were even born. I’ll be right back. Make sure my pancetta doesn’t burn!”

Rossi hurried off and Spencer turned you so you were facing him.

He stroked your hair back from your face and looked down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

It was a new look, one you couldn’t place. Usually when he looked at you his eyes were full of lust but this was different.

“He’s eccentric.” You whispered, having to tiptoe to kiss him even in your heels.

“That’s certainly one way to describe him.” Spencer laughed against your lips. “I like this. You meeting my friends.”

Your heart swelled at the happiness emanating from him as he kissed you again.

“I like it too.”

He certainly wasn’t ready for you to meet his kids but this was a nice start.

He kissed you once more, a little deeper than before and you both didn’t notice Rossi reentering the room until you heard a cry.

“Aye! My pancetta!”

***

Lily was half asleep on the living room floor, lazily stroking Taco’s belly. Daisy sat cross legged on the couch trying to listen into her Aunty Penelope and Uncle Luke’s chatter in the kitchen over the sound of the TV.

Roxy was on the couch with her, her head resting in Daisy’s lap while Daisy absent-mindedly scratched behind her ear.

Eventually she pushed herself up, gently moving the large dog aside and padding towards the kitchen.

Penelope and Luke had their backs to the door, fussing over how to make the best hot cocoa.

Penelope was insisting they boil the milk in the pan but Luke was adamant it was just the same in the microwave.

“It’s just lazy!” Penelope grumbled.

“It doesn’t taste any different.” Luke argued.

“We’ll see shall we? You make your heathen cocoa and I’ll make my delicately light and fluffy cocoa and we’ll see which the girls prefer.” She gave him a challenging look through her thick pink frames.

“Oh you are so on woman. Just you wait. You’re about to be a very sore-”

“Does my dad have a girlfriend?” Daisy suddenly spoke up causing Luke and Penelope’s backs to go rigid.

She saw them exchange a look before turning to face her.

“Uh…sorry?” Penelope squeaked a little.

Daisy cradled her cast and gave them a look that said, I’m not an idiot.

Their expressions, no matter how hard they tried to hide them, told her the answer.

“That’s a yes then.” She smiled a little.

“Uh…” Luke looked at Garcia before looking back at Daisy.

He had a lot of nieces and he knew to find out the facts before he admitted to anything. He felt a little like an unsub being interrogated.

If he found out why Daisy thought that, he might be able to counter her points.

“What makes you think that?” He moved across the room towards her.

“I grew up around profilers, Uncle Luke, I know what you’re trying to do.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I saw a lady leaving the house last week and dad kissed her.”

Luke looked at Garcia over his shoulder and she just shrugged.

He exhaled before looking back at the teenager.

“Right. I don’t suppose I can spin that another way, can I?”

“Nope.” Daisy giggled. “So it’s true? He has a girlfriend?”

“It’s…he’s dating.” Garcia scurried over on her too high heels. “He met someone. She’s lovely.”

“She’s very pretty.” Daisy nodded. “Is he happy?”

Luke and Garcia both melted at her question. It was too adorable that all Daisy cared about was her fathers happiness.

“I think so, kid.” Luke smiled at her.

“I want him to be happy.” Daisy nodded. “Why hasn’t he told us?”

Again Luke and Garica looked at each other, subconsciously trying to work out the best way to answer that.

She was so much like her dad and there was no lying to Spencer. He always saw right through them and no doubt his daughter would too.

“They’ve just met. It’s still early days. But I’m sure at some point he will tell you. But after your mom…he’s scared.” Luke tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I just want him to be happy.” She repeated.

“He is, sweet pea.” Garcia wrapped her arm around Daisy and bowed her head to kiss her hair. “Just give him time, ok?”

“And maybe don’t tell Lily yet.” Luke added.

“Ok.” Daisy agreed with a small smile. “Lily’s terrible at keeping secrets.”

Garcia ruffled her hair a little with a laugh.

“You still want cocoa?”

“Yes please!” Daisy cheered.

“Go in the living room with your sister.” Luke patted her back.

“Ok!” She turned towards the door but as she reached it, she turned back to look at the grown-up’s. “Oh Uncle Luke?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You’re bonkers if you think microwave milk is going to taste the same as boiled milk.” She shot him a cheeky grin before hurrying back into the living room.

“Son of a bitch.” Luke laughed.

“Told you.” Garcia grinned smugly. “Saucepan please.”

***

“You got shot in the leg?” You glared wide eyed at Spencer over your wine glass, a slightly amused smile on your lips.

“It wasn’t as bad as he’s making it out to be.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“You used a cane for months, kid.” Rossi laughed.

“Ok so it was kind of bad. But it was a long time ago. And it only hurts every so often.” Spencer tried to downplay it.

Dinner was incredible and after a few glasses of wine your nerves had eased up. Rossi had made you feel so welcome which also helped you relax.

You were now in his impressive study, sinking down into a large leather armchair with Spencer on his own next to you.

He’d reached across the space between you and had been holding your hand the whole time.

You finished the remains of your wine while Rossi swirled his scotch around his glass.

“I tell ya, the stories I could tell you about Reid-”

“Let’s save that for another time, shall we?” Spencer cut him off. “I’d rather it we didn’t scare Y/N off.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all the good doctors' gory secrets one day.” Rossi winked at you.

Spencer patted your hand and you nodded, leaning forward to put your empty glass on the coffee table.

“I should get back and relieve Luke and Garcia of babysitting duty.” Spencer let go of your hand and pushed himself up from the chair.

You followed suit, as did Rossi.

“How they think the team doesn’t know they’re dating is beyond me.” Rossi chuckled.

He led you out into the entrance way and handed you both your coats.

“Thank you so much Dave, dinner was wonderful and it was so nice to meet you.” You smiled a little dreamily, Spencer could see the alcohol had gone to your head a little.

“The pleasure, my dear, is all mine.” He gripped your face and kissed both of your cheeks with gusto.

As you slipped on your coat he gave the same treatment to Spencer.

“She’s great, kid. Don’t let her go.” He whispered into Spencer’s ear.

“Duly noted.” Spencer smiled warmly.

He opened the door and placed his hand on your lower back to guide you towards it.

“Buona notte.” Rossi waved the two of you off.

You waved back and started down the stairs ahead of Spencer.

“Reid?” Rossi called him before he got too far.

“Yeah?”

“The two of you are welcome to my cabin anytime.”

“Thanks Dave. Goodnight.”

“G’night kid.”

Spencer hurried down the stairs after you, taking hold of your hand and bringing it to his lips before he brushed them over your knuckles.

You swayed a little in your heels as you looked up at him.

The moon was peaking between the clouds and caught your eye as you looked at him.

It caused your eyes to sparkle in such a magical way Spencer almost lost his footing. That paired with the smile tugging at the corners of your lips, the one you seemed to reserve just for him, lit a fire in Spencer.

And at that moment on Rossi’s driveway, he found himself handing over all the remains of the shattered fragments of his heart to you and praying to a god he didn’t believe in that you were the one who could help piece them back together.

***

You rambled on on the drive home, your tipsy words making Spencer laugh as he drove.

You were animatedly gesticulating with your hands as you spoke, almost hitting him a few times.

He tried to remain focused on the road but your wild arm movements kept garnering his attention.

“I’m going to get in an accident if you don’t calm down.” He chuckled, easily grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and placing them in your lap.

“Sorry.” You chewed your lip. “I’m a little tipsy.”

“I can tell.” He returned his hand to the wheel with an amused smile.

“A little tipsy.” You repeated, turning your body in the chair so you could look at him. “And a lot horny.”

Spencer almost swerved the car off the road and gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles instantly turned white.

“Fuck, Y/N.” His cock was immediately awake. “Don’t say things like that. My girls are home.”

“Didn’t say we needed to go home.” You reached over the centre console and palmed his already hardening cock through his slacks.

His toes curled in his shoes and he hissed.

“Fuck.” He swallowed, tightening his hold on the steering wheel. “W-what are you suggesting?”

“A dark alley and a bad idea.” You pressed your palm against his erection and he jolted a little in his seat.

“You will be the death of me.” He growled. “Thank fuck I put those condoms in my bag.”

He was quick to locate a dark and desolate side street, barely able to see through the lust clouding his vision.

It was a narrow alley, barely bigger than Spencer’s car and the only light was from the moon still creeping between the clouds.

He practically slammed on the brakes and shut off the engine, unbuckling his belt in a flash and turning to you with dark eyes.

“Come here then angel,” he patted his lap. “Or are you all talk?”

You fumbled undoing your belt in excitement and Spencer had to help you out of it before he was pulling you towards him and having you straddle his lap.

The seat was already back as far as it would go due to his long legs and a car that wasn’t strictly made for a man of his stature.

Your dress rode up your thighs and you instantly started grinding his lap while he roughly gripped the back of your neck and crashed your lips together.

You moaned into his mouth as his free hand wandered your thigh, wasting no time in moving your panties aside.

He hissed into your mouth when he felt how wet the fabric was already and the heat that emanated from you made him dizzy.

The two of you didn’t get to be alone often and he was too eager to wait. He dove two fingers inside your waiting cunt and you bucked against his hand, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

He returned the favour by roughly thrusting them upwards and curling them against your bundle of nerves.

Your tongue hungrily explored his mouth, navigating every inch of his mouth. Your hands swatted at his belt, desperately trying to free him from his slacks. It took a few failed attempts before you got it undone and popped open the button on his pants.

Your hand sunk inside his boxers, moving the fabric enough to let his throbbing member escape. You stroked his length as he continued fucking his fingers inside of you with force and desperation.

You tore your lips apart so you could look at him. His lips were swollen and red and his pupils were blown out wide. His messy hair fell onto his forehead and he smiled wildly as you pumped him harder.

“Fuck angel, you are too good at that.” He panted, his chest heaving up and down. “And you feel so good around my fingers.”

He dove deeper, causing you to jump a little and throw your head back in pleasure.

The windows were already steamed up from your heavy breathing, obscuring any previous vision of the dark street.

Precome leaked from Spencer’s head and you swiped your thumb over it and spread it down his shaft.

The sounds of your wet slicked cunt as Spencer plunged his fingers in and out of you filled the car.

His free hand started fumbling behind his chair, trying to locate his satchel.

He gripped the handle and tossed it to the front seat. Still keeping up your strokes on his cock, you leaned over slightly and rummaged inside for a condom.

The ripples of pleasure crashing through your body meant it took longer than you would have liked before your fingers brushed against what you were looking for.

You sat back with it and after a few more thrusts of his fingers Spencer cautiously withdrew them.

You watched in absolute awe as he drew those same fingers to his lips and sucked your arousal clean of them.

“Fuck you taste good.” He hummed around his own digits.

Your thighs clamped together at the sight.

“God-fucking-damn Doctor.” You whined, squeezing the base of his shaft a little.

He smirked before pulling you in for another kiss, the taste of yourself on his tongue was electric.

As he kissed you, you ripped open the condom and held his shaft as you rolled it down his length. You pulled back from his lips and knelt over his head.

You moved your panties aside again for him while his own hand went to the base of his cock as he lined himself up. Slowly you lowered yourself, keeping your eyes firmly on his.

Just moments ago he’d been driving and now here you were. It had all happened so fast it made him a little dizzy. But this was the first time he’d had you alone in what felt like forever. He didn’t want to waste a second.

There would be other times for you to go slow, maybe at Rossi’s cabin. But now the need for speed was prevalent.

His head pressed against your desperate hole briefly before you steadily sunk down onto him, feeling your walls stretch around his heavy length.

Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head and he gripped hold of your hips, blunt nails digging into your flesh.

Your pussy fluttered around him, tightening as though you might come already. He bottomed out inside of you, taking a few moments just to revel in the way you felt sheathed around his cock.

“I could stay like this forever.” He moaned, head falling forward onto your shoulder. “I could just fucking live in this glorious pussy.”

He sucked on the flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to leave behind marks whilst the two of you sat perfectly still.

Your hands found their way to his hair and entwined in the unruly locks, burying deeply into them.

He stopped sucking your shoulder and rested his forehead against it instead.

A wave of emotions washed over him as if out of nowhere. He snaked his arms around your body and held you as he felt tears prick the corners of his eyes.

This was how it was supposed to feel. This was what was missing in his marriage.

He felt as though in you, he’d found the other half of himself. He’d found what he’d been searching for all these years, what he’d never found in Maeve.

You were hope. You were a freedom he’d never felt before. You were the air his lungs had been gasping for his entire life.

He was inconceivably and deliriously in love with you. And that both elated him and terrified him at the same time.

But he knew now, as he held you, whilst he was buried deep inside of you that you were the one his heart beat for.

He didn’t even know he was capable of this kind of feeling. But it smacked him in the face like a ton of bricks at that moment.

You pulled back a little and he blinked away the tears threatening to fall before you noticed them.

You kept your hands in his hair as you smiled at him and started grinding down on him.

“Need you.” You mumbled.

“Need you more.” He quickly grabbed your face and slammed your lips together as you started moving up and down on his length.

He held your face firmly, kissing you a little sloppily and moaning into your mouth.

He started rocking in his seat to meet your movements and his belt jingled slightly with the motion.

His hips bucked back and forth, thrusting deep inside of you and crashing against your g-spot again and again.

You released his hair and gripped his shoulder for leverage and your other hand slammed against the car window, leaving a near perfect handprint in the condensation you’d both created.

He pulled back from your lips and moved his hands back to your hips, using them to move you up and down around him.

Your mouth fell open as wanton moans left your lips and you let him guide your body how he wanted you. Your knees clamped around his thighs and your eyes fluttered closed.

“No,” he panted, manoeuvring you up and down. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

Slamming hard against your cervix your eyes darted back open, wide and practically black.

You could feel your arousal leaking down your legs and a combination of the wine and lust caused you to feel light headed.

“Fuck, Spencer, I’m close.” You whined, gripping the collars of his shirt.

“Fuck, so am I.” He looked conflicted by this.

He wanted to come while he was inside of you, more so than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He was wearing a condom but he was still scared by the thought.

Needing to get you to your peak before he reached his, he moved his hand under your dress and rubbed your clit with his thumb.

Your whole body jerked, clenching around him and it was almost enough to send Spencer spiralling.

“Come for me angel, please come for me.” He held his breath, hoping that might stave off his orgasm.

You hummed and moaned as he continued thrusting inside of you and the added pleasure of his thumb pressing against your clit caused your orgasm to bubble in your chest.

A moan wracked your whole body as you came, squeezing so tightly around Spencer’s cock that it was impossible for him to hold back.

With your orgasm still washing through you, Spencer’s hips jut up hard and his head fell to your shoulder again as he came inside the condom.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Fuck.”

His cock twitched inside of you as you rocked back and forth on him lazily while you both rode out your highs.

Spencer felt partially relieved yet suddenly flooded with remorse.

He helped you off of him and over to the passengers seat where your arousal leaked into the fabric of the chair.

He didn’t look at you, he stared down into his lap at his slowly softening dick as though it had betrayed him.

“Spence?” You whispered, squeezing your thighs together to try and stop the mess on Spencer’s chair.

He didn’t respond, he just kept staring at his crotch.

You sighed and reached over the console and removed the condom from his limp dick before tying a knot in the end.

“Condoms are really safe.” You whispered again.

“Are you on any kind of birth control?” He croaked, still not looking up at you.

“No.” You shook your head. “But condoms are really safe.”

“Ninety eight percent.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“They are ninety eight percent effective. But taking into account human error it brings that down to about eighty five in reality. Which means fifteen out of a hundred people who use condoms as their only form of birth control are likely to get pregnant.” His voice was so emotionless it scared you a little.

“Spence, it’ll be ok.” You gently placed your hand on his arm and he suddenly looked up at you.

Even in the dark you could see the tears behind his eyes.

“I can’t have another kid.”

“Of course. I’m not ready for kids either.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I don’t mean I can’t have another kid right now. I mean I don’t ever want another child.”

His words hit you like a wave. That once sentence sobered you up like an IV filled with caffeine.

“Ever.” You croaked, slumping back into your chair. “As in…”

“Ever.” He sighed. “Daisy’s a teenager and Lily will be one too before I know it. And running around after toddlers in my thirties was one thing but it’s another entirely to be doing it in my forties. I don’t want any more kids.”

You cleared your throat and turned to stare out of the window so he wouldn’t see the tears in your eyes.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” Your voice betrayed your sadness.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I've not thought about it. My divorce has only been finalised a few months. Until I met you I never thought I’d ever date again.”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth.

This wasn’t a conversation that needed to happen now. You’d just started dating, it wasn’t important now, right?

You didn’t want to ruin what you and Spencer had right now for the sake of some phantom future.

“Ok.” You nodded, belting yourself in the car.

“Ok?” He frowned at you.

“Ok, let’s go.” You turned back to him and he suddenly became aware his dick was still hanging out of his pants.

He quickly tucked himself away and buckled his belt.

“Are we ok?” He asked softly before doing up his seat belt.

“Yeah.” You forced yourself to smile. “We don’t need to worry about stuff like that now.”

“Right. Sure.” He nodded with a slight frown as he started the engine.

The two of you were silent the whole drive back to your apartment and it was a stifled kind of silence. The tension was palpable, making the air around you thick and heavy, almost choking you on it.

You watched the passing cars outside the window. You stared intently until DC became nothing more than a blur behind your eyes.

Eventually after what felt like a lifetime trapped inside the car, he pulled up outside your building. You practically flung yourself from the vehicle, trying to ignore your sticky inner thighs.

Spencer quickly shut off the engine and joined you in the street outside your building. He was tentative as he moved closer to you, cupping your face tenderly in his large hands.

“We have an expiration date, don’t we?” You croaked, tears instantly pooling behind your eyes.

“I don’t know.” He confessed. “Maybe.”

“You really never want more kids?” A tear escaped your eye and you cursed yourself for it.

He sighed loudly, moving his hands down your face and onto the sides of your neck. His touch was featherlight, barely ghosting over your skin.

“I really don’t know Y/N.” His bottom lip quivered a little. “I never imagined having anymore, especially with my girls getting older now. I’m not going to stand here and lie to you and say I might change my mind one day because I don’t know if I will. Maybe I will, but I don’t know. And I don’t want to get your hopes up and say I will when I just don’t know.

But I don’t want to lose you, not like this. And I know it’s probably really selfish of me to ask but can we just like, put a pin in it for now? Deal with it another day? I’m not ready for whatever this is between us to be over. I’m already in over my head here, I can’t lose you.”

A few more tears escaped your eyes and you could tell Spencer was close to losing it himself.

He wished you were the mother of his children. He wished you were the one he married. His wished time and circumstance had been on his side but he couldn’t change any of that.

But he could potentially stop you from walking away.

“It’s a pretty big pin.” You replied with a sniff.

“I know.” He nodded sadly.

“But I’m not ready for whatever this is to be over either.” You confessed.

You might live to regret that decision. You might only end up prolonging the pain. But any minute spent with Spencer Reid was worth any hurt it might cause in the long run.

Spencer’s body seemed to relax at your words and he threaded his hands around the back of your neck, edging his face closer to yours.

“Y/N?” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours and his breath fanned across your face.

“Yes, Spence?”

“You know I adore you right?” It was the closest he could bring himself to say what he really wanted to say.

Adore was the most he could allow himself to admit out loud although he was fairly certain you knew what he really meant.

Your lip tugged at the corner and you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I know.” You murmured, lips almost ghosting over his. “I adore you too, Spencer.”

He closed the small gap between your lips and kissed you with everything he had.

He spoke silent love songs and sonnets that died in your mouth. But he told himself that you knew. He was sure that you knew.

When the kiss broke he stroked an errant hair back off your face and watched the way the moonlight danced in your eyes.

It should have been you, he thought regretfully. It should have been you I got to have a life with.

But he didn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t speak those words because they seemed far too cruel.

Instead he stepped back from you and stuffed his hands awkwardly in his pockets.

“I promise you I am going to get Daisy to her mom’s next weekend whatever it takes. And you and I are going to Rossi’s cabin.”

“I can’t wait.” Your smile was full of melancholy and he was sure his own reflected it back.

He took a step backwards, closer to his car.

“See you Monday.” He nodded, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“See you Monday.” You repeated, watching him retreat back to his car and slide in the driver’s seat with a heavy heart.

***

Spencer was exhausted by the time he arrived home, both physically and mentally.

He knew the right thing to do was to let you go. It wasn’t fair on either of you for him to string you along when chances were he couldn’t give you what you wanted.

He was being selfish, he knew that. He knew it was unfair for him to keep this up. But his heart wouldn’t allow him to let go.

You’d gotten in. You’d snuck past the defences he’d carefully crafted in the wake of Maeve’s affair. You’d bombarded his fortress, snuck in without him even realising his strongholds had been breached.

You’d taken up roots and they grew like vines around the shards of his thread bear heart. For now they were holding him together, but your clutches would only grow stronger, squeezing and squeezing until his heart all but turned to dust.

You were a part of him, embedded deep in his soul. So even if it was selfish, he couldn’t let you go.

He knew he should. But he couldn’t.

He sat in his car on the drive, silent tears streaming down his face unwilling to go inside just yet.

Time passed by slowly. He didn’t know how long he sat there in the dark before he wiped his eyes, put on a practiced fake smile and exited the car.

His footsteps trailed heavily up the porch steps and he nudged open the door as quietly as possible, hoping at this late hour his daughter’s would be asleep.

The light was on the living room and he didn’t have to go far to find his children or their sitters.

Luke was sprawled on the couch, feet resting over the arm. Lily was curled up on top of him, head resting on his chest and he had a lazy arm slung around her while they both snored peacefully.

Roxy and Taco were curled up together at the foot of the couch.

Garica was asleep in the armchair, head lolled back against the headrest and Daisy lay soundly sleeping in her lap, head buried into the crook of the bubbly blonde's neck.

His heart soared in his chest at the sight of them like this. His kids were masters of distraction and very rarely did anyone sitting them get them to bed.

He hadn’t expected Luke and Garcia to be any different.

The girls had tactics that stopped working on Spencer long ago. They knew how to wear adults down until they were too tired to convince his errant daughters to go to bed.

Spencer couldn’t help but smile in pride at how Lily and Daisy could outsmart two FBI agents.

He crept further into the room towards the couch and crouched down next to Luke and Lily. He reached out and stroked Lily’s curly hair off her face, her lips were drawn into a small smile that made Spencer feel warm inside.

Luke stirred a little, Spencer could see his eyes moving beneath his lids and then they slowly opened.

When they landed on Spencer he frowned a little, looking down at Lily before looking back at him.

“Don’t feel bad, they’re too smart for their own good.” Spencer whispered.

“Wonder where they get that from.” Luke croaked. “They wore us down.”

“It’s ok, really.” Spencer smiled.

Lily made a little humming sound before her eyes fluttered and opened. She looked at Spencer, blinking a few times before she lifted her head from Luke’s chest.

“Daddy!” She instantly beamed, shuffling to sit up on Luke’s stomach, no doubt winding him in the process.

She got to her feet and collapsed into Spencer’s open arms.

“Did you have a nice time with Uncle Luke and Aunty Penelope?” He kept his voice low to not disturb Garica and Daisy although he’d have to wake them up eventually.

“Yes! We had lots of fun and Taco and Roxy are the best of friends.” She giggled, pulling herself from his arms and pointing at the two dogs who were now awake but still stayed close to each other.

“I don’t know if he’s neutered and they would have some very strange babies so let’s keep an eye on them.” Spencer told Luke.

“It’s all good, Roxy’s been done.” Luke chuckled as he sat up on the couch.

“What’s neutered?” Lily frowned.

“Nothing, pumpkin.” Spencer ruffled her unruly hair before getting back up and moving over to the armchair.

Daisy was a much heavier sleeper than her sister so he was able to cradle her legs and head and scoop her up into his arms without waking her.

“I’m going to put them to bed.” Spencer whispered, motioning for Lily to follow him.

“I’ll wake Penelope.” Luke nodded.

Spencer headed for the stairs with Daisy in his arms and Lily gripping the back of his shirt. He was an expert at manoeuvring with two children attached to him and made quick work of the stairs.

“Go get into bed and I’ll be in in a second ok?” He instructed Lily.

“But I’m not tired!” She whined.

“Yes, pumpkin, you are.” He smirked. “Go get into bed.”

“Fine.” She huffed, turning on her heels and scampering to her room.

At least Luke and Garcia had managed to talk to the girls into their pajamas, it was more than most could do.

Nudging Daisy’s door open with his hip, he carried his daughter into her room, pulled back the sheets with one hand and laid her down on the mattress.

She stirred a little but didn’t wake.

He covered her up with the sheet and bowed his head to kiss her forehead.

“I love you baby girl.” He whispered as he slowly backed out of the room.

Lily was a little harder to get down, proclaiming she wasn’t tired when she could barely keep her eyes open.

It took twenty minutes and two stories before she finally gave over to sleep and Spencer was able to leave her.

He found Luke and Garcia slightly bleary eyed in the kitchen, three cups of coffee on the island.

He slid into one of the free chairs and took a grateful sip.

“How was your dinner at Rossi’s, boy wonder?” Garcia grinned suggestively at him, eyeing him up and down.

Spencer looked down at his attire and it was only then he noticed his tie was off to the side, his shirt was still untucked from his pants and his belt was twisted where he’d done it up in a hurry.

His cheeks burnt instantly as he looked back at Garcia sheepishly.

“Cut me some slack, I never have time for sex.” He grumbled, lifting the mug to his lips and letting the warmth comfort him.

“I mean we kind of figured what you were doing. You texted us almost two hours ago that you were leaving Rossi’s.” Luke snickered. “So you had a good night?”

“For the most part.” He couldn’t help the sigh that left his lips, causing his shoulders to slump. “It got a bit tense at the end.”

“Tense how?” Garcia raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.

“We got onto the conversation of the future. I don’t know, I think we want different things.” He swallowed thickly.

“Because you’ve already done the marriage and kids thing.” Luke nodded.

“Yeah and it didn’t work out so well for me. So I’m not exactly in a hurry to repeat it.” He shook his head. “It’s fine, we’re fine…what?”

Luke and Garcia were exchanging slightly guilty looks that cut Spencer off his trail of thought.

They looked at him sheepishly, trying to decide who would be the one to speak.

“Uh…” Garcia toyed with her necklace. “Daisy knows about Y/N.”

Spencer almost dropped his mug from his hands but just managed to steady it and placed it loudly on the counter.

“Excuse me? You told my thirteen year old daughter I’m dating?”

“No, no, we didn’t.” Luke was quick to speak up. “She saw Y/N leaving the house. Said she saw you kiss her. She drew the conclusions.”

“And she talked to you about it and not me?” Spencer felt a little saddened by that.

“She’s happy for you.” Garica tried to cheer him up. “She was super grown-up about the whole thing. I sometimes forget she’s not an adult.”

“S-she is?” Spencer stuttered.

“She just wants you to be happy. And we told her you are.” Luke smiled softly at him.

“I was really not ready for my kids to know I’m dating.” He leant his elbows on the counter and put his head in his hands.

“If it helps, she did agree not to tell Lily.” Garcia shrugged.

“Until the next time Lily steals her favourite sweater or annoys her in any way and it will be the first thing she blurts out.” Spencer exhaled, lifting his head back out of his hands. “Thanks for handling it. There was a lot I didn’t think through before I dove head first into this dating thing.”

“Tell us about it. We did not think through how hard it would be hiding our relationship from the team.” Luke chuckled.

“Yeah about that,” Spencer offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’m pretty sure they all know. Rossi mentioned it.”

Luke and Garcia looked at each other wide eyed.

“We shouldn’t be so surprised. They are profilers.” Garcia shrugged in defeat, slipping out of the chair. “I’m going to use the ladies room and then I need to go home. It’s late and I’m exhausted.”

With Garcia gone, Luke helped Spencer clear up the coffee cups before they went through to the living room where Luke got his coat on.

“I don’t know how you do it, man.” Luke smiled wistfully at his friend as he fished his car keys out of his pocket. He grabbed Roxy’s leash from the coat rack and whistled to garner her attention.

“Do what?”

“Any of it.” Luke laughed as Roxy padded over and allowed Luke to clip her leash to her collar. “Dating’s hard enough without corralling those two girls. You’re doing great, you know that right?”

Spencer smiled but sometimes it didn’t feel like it. Sometimes it felt like he was being torn in two directions, between his family and his personal life and he was sure at some point he would rip down the middle.

“Thanks,” he said rather than launch into a self-pity rant.

Garcia rejoined them and Luke helped her into her pink denim jacket before she hugged Spencer tightly. He waved at Luke as he opened the door and they stepped out on the porch with Roxy in tow.

“Thanks again guys, I really appreciate you sitting the girls.” he leant on the door.

“Any time! I just adore those little angels!” Garcia beamed as brightly as she could considering how tired she was.

“See ya soon, super dad.” Luke winked at him as they turned and headed down the front steps.

Spencer shut the door, chuckling to himself.

He had no idea what would happen between the two of you, if there were even still a two of you. But as long as he had his daughters, he knew everything would be ok.

Spencer could conquer anything life had to throw at him as long as his two girls were happy and healthy.

But why did the thought of losing you make him feel like he could crumble into a million pieces and never be able to put himself back together?

@andiebeaword @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @its-yagirl-raelynn @loonalockley

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