#just went through it now and it was so weird lol

[tawked]

via @odo-apologist

Actually, we see some ASL in TNG!

I think this podcast might've been referencing S02E05.

In this episode we meet Riva, a deaf mediator and royal. Apparently most of the royal family from his planet are deaf. I went back and watched through most of the ep just to make sure I'm not blowing smoke here.

It's from the era when "special" was being promoted as preferred language instead of "disabled" lol, so it's very much before my time. I haaate the word "special" personally, but that's my bag.

There's a cute moment where Riva and Geordi share recognition and solidarity over their accommodations, which I like.

Uh, OK. So,

Riva goes on a date with Troi and starts communicating with her with what I think are accessible ASL signs (think pulling your fingers apart to express "different" or "separate") in a signed English way, and she responds as if intuitively aware of the concept of sign language.

There's a moment where Picard says "he knows some kind of gestural language, find out which one and learn it," and I think the podcast might've been responding to that. But like... it is some kind of gestural language, and Picard recognizes immediately that Riva's gestures are language, which imo implies familiarity with sign. Picard DOES attempt to interrupt Riva's panic attack by grabbing his head and yelling at him / forcing Riva's hands into specific motions to communicate, which is weird and conveys a kinda inexperience I feel, but early TNG Picard is just that kind of bitch to be totally honest.

Worf regards sign as a concept as something possibly new to him? He comments on how he finds sign kinda cool because it's

but that's early season Worf. He is also, alas, that kind of bitch.

That's about it really. Actually, I think this episode is pretty commendable in that it models basic manners for hearing people! For instance, you talk to the deaf dude and not his interpreter.

He uses telepathic interpreters in the episode too, which I think is a neat Star Trekian assistive technology adaptation thing.

Those dudes die immediately though lol rip bozos

Get SKELETATED

Personally, I do think that some form of deaf culture would continue to exist in Star Trek's future, but even now in the real world, we're seeing a mainstreaming of pressure for parents to implant up their kids' cochlears. I've personally encountered assholes who believe that because of the existence (and presumed magical cure-all nature of) these implants, deafness is a kind of choice people are making. While it's not invoked in Star Trek to my knowledge, I do think this kind of real life discourse reflects the same attitudes that Geordi responds to when he feels pressured to explain why he prefers his visor to getting magicure cyborg eyes surgically implanted into his head. Kinda.

I'm not presuming you don't know this stuff but like, for people who come across this post and migntn't:

There is a deeply complex history to the way the hearing world has characterized and oppressed the deaf, which might be interesting food for thought here. Deaf people have already survived over a century of attempted cultural destruction in real life, all centered on accommodations and language.

I recommend reading about the 1880 Milan Conference if you haven't before, and particularly the subsequent history of deaf education surrounding oralism, the philosophy that emerged from that.

Basically, for a long while, in much of the western world, deaf schools didn't (weren't legally allowed to) teach sign language. Or if they did use sign, it was often in the form of signed English, that is a sign language lexicon to an English syntax. This introduces additional communication barriers for the deaf, because they're still forced to translate from English to ASL (or BSL, AUSLAN, whatever language is relevant; this was an international thing); it's not quite accommodation, really.

This happened because many hearing educators of the deaf apparently agreed and made it policy that deaf students should be forced to assimilate via lip-reading or other essentially unaccommodative methods. They did this under the belief that if you force the deaf to really struggle to understand you, they will develop methods to "overcome" their deafness. However, if you use sign, they'll lose the motivation to sigma grindset their way out of deafness and thus be unable to integrate into the hearing world.

It really was the ableist presumption of disabled laziness distilled down to its purest form, imo. One of the most tragic, infuriating things to ever happen in the broad disabled world.

Here's a video explaining the subject. It's a little "for kids" but it's a fast and easy summary of the major points.

I also want to recommend this really incredible video series attached to a book / research project that explores Black American Sign Language (BASL) as a distinct dialect of ASL, with its own unique concurrent history. The book attached to it is The Hidden Treasure of Black ASL: Its History and Structure. One of the coolest projects I've ever seen discussing Deaf American history and Black history. The BASL series is much longer and engages with a lot of the precise history, with a range of people sharing their stories as first hand witnesses.

I say all of this to say, I think that deaf erasure in the Star Trek universe would be a very intense, complex subject to explore, and that while I absolutely do not trust anybody working at Paramount to have that conversation with the audience, I do really wish that someone would write that novel or direct that fan movie.

I personally believe it's one of those things Star Trek writers would mostly use as a mistake from the past that has already happened and been learned from, but that sad shit might've gone down during the unseen and unexplored Eugenics Wars or something. I also think that it'd be one of those things that is presumed to be often cured as a matter of routine medical procedures:

They do, notably, explore the concept of just curing Riva (as if he'd acquire verbal language immediately...?) and you could combine that with DS9's disability stuff to explore the idea that these prosthesis and surgeries are the norm, but then again, this could just be an allusion to "no we can't slap some hearing aides on this boy" to Geordi visor him up.

So one of the things I like about Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, which I think is somewhat underappreciated in the audience because it clashes hard with the utopic vision of the future, is that the Federation is in many ways still systemically and culturally ableist.

I think this is explored best in S02E06's "Melora," obviously.

This episode starts off with Dax being shocked that the replicator contained a schematic for a wheelchair, because no one has needed one in three hundred years. Bashir answers that no no no lol, Federation replicators in fact cannot make wheelchairs based on their built-in libraries, and that the wheelchair is a schematic that their incoming wheelchair user coworker sent over to have replicated for her on arrival.

The rest of the episode explores how this utopic vision of the future that the difficult-to-accommodate disabled are not a part of has absolutely de-normalized the cultural concepts and accommodations surrounding some disabilities, thus creating complex and seemingly anachronistic institutionalist-era realities in the space future.

This is, to me, deeply interesting because it highlights a very real conversation around pursuing cures against pursuing accommodation.

It's basically acknowledging the threat of the Gattica style shit currently engaged in by dudes like Elon Musk and these freaks

(for those who don't recognize them, these are weird pro-natalist yuppies who claim they've done shit like genetically engineer their kids for high IQs, a scentifically impossible thing. they are, unsurprisingly, very racist but in a SoCal-Berkeley way.)

becoming so normalized in society that we effectively engineer out the majority of "defects." Everybody starts off with a happy healthy life as defined not through accommodation and infinite diversity in infinite combinations, but through the elimination of variation that would necessitate different cultural practices, different architecture, different understandings of life worthy of life, blah blah blah.

It's not "in the brilliant shining future nobody has to be disabled," it's "in the brilliant shining future the disabled aren't allowed to exist, and we don't have to think about them" lol.

But! Geordi LaForge!

Well, Geordi is born blind in a context where blindness can be perfectly accommodated, debatably even cured, via his wundervisor and / or surgically implanted eyes. In fact, in the movies, which do not exist sorry, Geordi gets them eyes stuck in and in so doing even loses the cultural signifier of his blindness, as well as situational considerations of blindness.

Further, Geordi is in this unfortunate weird space a lot of disabled characters in science fiction are, where his prosthesis is considered cool enough that it passes some kind of ableist vibe check wherein the character is no longer necessarily received as "disabled" by the audience. It's a cool cyberpunk thing, and thus loses its audience association with disability in many ways, ala Adam Jensen's sword arms or the unexplored nature of voluntarily cutting off one's limbs to replace them with robot parts in Cyberpunk 2077.

Geordi "can do things," he just "has to do things a little differently." The "a little differently" here is defined as "wearing a thing on his face" and not a different process or method. We never see how Geordi lays out his quarters or prepares his uniform, tools, whatever in a way that makes it all more accessible for him; he readily assume the first thing he does in the morning is plug his visor in. Glasses.

It's a fun cosplay idea in a way a wheelchair isn't.

The thing is, when Geordi is without his visor, he's fucked.

I don't just mean the episode where he's trapped in a island with a Cardassian or whatever, I mean on the fucking Enterprise. Say they're in a crisis, he falls over, wangs his noggin on a console and breaks his visor. Look at the open layouts with no handrails leading anywhere, no braille or layout signage posted, nothin'.

How the fuck is he going to find his way to the turbolift?

These are not accessible environments for a blind bloke. These are accessible environments for a sighted bloke wearing glasses.

The thing to consider as well is, we know Geordi's blindness is absolute. Blindness in real life is pretty diverse, actually, and many blind people do have some vision. Not Geordi. So, all the lights that communicate where to go in a crisis mean fuck all to him.

And, considering how often the Enterprise is in crisis, crew members are cut off from each other or the ship, the practical realities Geordi has to deal with on away missions that are simply never accommodated - it becomes apparent that Geordi is considered effectively the same as any sighted crew member.

His disability accommodation is individual and his responsibility. Nothing is provided by Starfleet except, perhaps, new visors and free visits to Beverly.

The same criticism exists for my man Hemmer,

who is played by blind actor Bruce Horak, yes, but who exists in a similar state to Geordi. I doubt they considered Mr. Horak a consultant on blindness and how a blind crew member would work in their series, because again, his blindness is accommodated for by magical future thing that doesn't fucking exist. In this case, psychic senses or something (idk I've never watched nuTrek sober).

If you look at the environments he's in, or the situations he deals with on away missions, sans those Daredevilian supersenses he'd be shit out of luck.

They're so adverse to giving blind characters so much as a cane.

I'm not saying the inclusion of blind characters is bad or that we should not engage in these fantasies of disabled characters being able to live and work equally to able-bodied characters without the need for accommodation, necessarily. I'm certainly not saying every blind character should have a sighted support following them around or a dog or whatever. My criticism is not of the blind characters' individual accommodations not being up to my arbitrary standard as a sighted viewer lol.

What I am instead attempting to hightlight here is that the shows seem adverse to engaging in disabled / accommodative environmental design or in the more complex, social realities of disability, and that's something that the episode "Melora," the wheelchair user episode this post is about lol, addresses in depth.

Julian is a future space doctor who doesn't know how to comfortably talk to someone in a chair. That only happens in a universe where doctors don't encounter wheelchairs in their professional lives. That's a reality brought about specifically by the comfortable eugenicist realities of the future, where although due to a war the Federation draws the line at "enhanced" individuals, it obviously voluntarily engages in liberal eugenics to the effect of eliminating disabled life in many meaningful forms. Its society, where doctors seem to need an aide like this to do their jobs properly:

And idk! I think that's neat. I think that's a powerful flaw in the utopic vision of the future that Roddenberry and the others probably didn't intend originally, and that DS9, commendably, attempts to explore.

Especially because Julian was a lil autistic boy who was forcibly cured through similar treatment, and correctly identifies that this means the him who existed before was drastically altered for his parents' fear of actually accommodating him.

anyway this post was brought out of me by some dickhead saying Melora "breaks the setting" for them lol. bro they fought a eugenics war, they definitely didn't come out of that culturally unchanged. you're just scared of wheelchairs. fuck u

[thecorefrisk]

Here are some ideas for some other kind of ‘reader’ characters that you can do other than a neglected reader for yandere or non-yandere batfam!! Because I can’t just tell you to stop doing something and not give something else to play around with. (Some are nsfw.)

Tw: talks of pseudo-incest, yandere batfam, possessive behavior. This isn’t true for every ‘reader’ but be aware of it.

Retired hero! Reader.

They’re over it. They’re done. (Or, at least that’s what they tell themselves.) They are now just trying to move on with their lives and get used to being ‘normal’ again.

Except a couple of bats keep sniffing around them. Like they already suspect them of a past they left behind.

Babysitter! Reader.

They’re the nanny. Alfred is… old. He can’t take care of everyone and everything by himself. He needs help.

This could have ‘romance’ in it too! (Specifically, yandere-style.)

Damian could learn what it’s like to have someone truly care about him. (And only him.) Add in some ‘they’re paid to be around me and take care of me’ conflict and you have something to gnaw on.

…and maybe one of the others (or multiple members of the batfam) decide that the reader is pretty hot. And that they need to do something about that.

Time traveler! Reader

Bruce met them on his little trip through time and got attached but the reader left before Bruce went back to his timeline. The reader was sad that they had to leave but did so anyways. Because they had to.

And then there is Bruce Wayne. On the big screen. In modern day Gotham.

And there the reader is— reachable, touchable. Bruce isn’t letting them leave this time.

Secret cam girl! Reader.

This one is one I don’t mind seeing the neglected reader trope with. Just a girl who got out of Wayne Manor!! She just had to take off her clothes first.

And maybe someone in the batfam stumbles upon one of her streams. And maybe they don’t know that it’s her. Not at first.

And maybe they find out. But they don’t tell her.

Anyways!! Um, this next one is actually based off one of my dc oc’s lol. (Just thought it would be cool to see more characters like her.)

Victoria De La Cruz! Reader.

Victoria (my oc) is a girl from crime alley who grew up with the knowledge that her mentally ill mother believed that Bruce Wayne was Victoria’s father. Victoria comes to dislike Bruce because of this— not truly because of anything he did but because of what he represented. A rich man who was a fantasy her mother clung to and truly felt was real in the shithole that was Gotham.

Then, she claws her way out. She gets a full-ride scholarship to one of the best schools in Gotham. She becomes captain of the cheerleading time. She starts her own business.

She has, by all definitions, become her ‘father’. In the sense that there is Victoria and then there is ‘Tori’. And that there is Bruce and then there is ‘Brucie’.

Tori is the charming, arrogant girl who came out of nowhere and took Gotham by a storm. She’s the leader, the trend setter. She’s not dumb but she doesn’t exactly walk around with a phd. She’s one of those girls who you love because she’s insane.

Victoria is manipulative. She is cunning. She is ambitious. She knows what she wants and she grabs it by the throat. (She’s desperate to get out of a crumbling city.)

The reader could be like that. Someone who hates Bruce not because of what he did but because of what he represented and what he meant.

And all he does is chase after the love of a daughter who hated him long before she even knew she was actually his kid.

Crossed into the omegaverse! Reader.

A reader who came into this completely different world. And is forced to adapt or die. Their body literally develops those traits. A scent, sharper teeth, animalistic instincts, even a second gender.

And the batfam is just in the corner like, “Why is this pup so weirded out by completely normal things?” Because behavior that makes sense to us would be very concerning to them.

Carmen Sandiego! Reader.

An international super thief raised on the island of VILE. Except, instead of her dad being ‘the wolf’ it’s her mom. And Bruce just found out he has another kid out there.

Last but not least!!

Teenage superhero! Reader.

I like this one when the reader doesn’t know the batfam at all and just comes to Gotham one day or they come to get to know the reader through crime fighting.

And it’s just… one misunderstanding after the other. Maybe the batfam thinks the reader is in a relationship with their secret identity. Maybe they think that the reader hates their superhero identity.

[lovequeerindigo]

i haven’t been on aro reddit for a while so my bad if this has already been mentioned but PSA to any aros that use it, the r/actuallyaromantic subreddit is ran by an exclusionist so… steer clear of that one.

[disposal-blueeee]

doodles

edgar vargas and squee by johnen vasquez

scriabin by zarla-s

[ambrosykim]

i never realised how poor i was until i got a job lol

[zymstarz]

yeah sure that's how i'll [re]come out

[kdranime]

.

[sysig]

Dr. ZEXenstein (Patreon)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent things.. mostly just writing screenshots lol

[f1owermoon]

sorry i just. need to rant for a second

[mer-se]

I've always seen posts about how bad it hurts when your kid is heartbroken, and I don't have a kid but l've helped raise my niece for so many years and through so many milestones, always there for the important and the not important stuff and she feels more like my little sister than my niece. She's tough like me and also a teenager so she keeps her emotions to herself and I gotta say her coming into my bedroom earlier crying and defeated about this boy - hurt in a different way because I can’t fix that.

[running-in-the-dark]

so! I've not been sleeping well lately. and I've gotta get through the next few months (of writing my stupid thesis) somehow. I need a lot of sleep to function. so I've decided to increase the dose of the medication that lets me sleep (an antidepressant) again. we only just reduced it earlier this year so I know it's fine.

the dose I've been on is the lowest dose possible, so this is still very low. I don't think it really does much for my mood either way (even at the higher dose that I used to be on). but not sleeping well definitely makes me feel like shit, and especially lying in bed not being able to fall asleep. I'm not good at consistently taking this medication long enough before I go to bed, so it usually takes about an hour until I can sleep. I know that at this slightly higher dose, I get sleepy very quickly, maybe read for a few minutes and then fall asleep with no issues.

I really want to take fewer meds (for someone who is ~young and healthy~ according to their GP (🙄) I take a lot of medication every day, and tbh it is really annoying), but they help a lot and at the moment I can't function without them, so I'll just have to wait a little longer (and that's fine)

[sysig]

Huh?? Whuh??? Okay (Patreon)

[mbat]

i dont believe in any higher power or things necessarily happening for a reason but its. actually insane how im spending a second year of my life thinking a whole lot about twenty one pilots and dan and phil at the same time, the first time being 2016. and like, how im comparing the two years

2016 was when i first began isolating myself, it was the beginning of the end yknow. a lot of things changed back then and not really for the better

and this year im trying my damn hardest to end that, to fix the stuff i caused starting back then

how much i dont feel like how i used to anymore mentally

also how far ive come in my queer journey as well, i didnt even concieve me of being trans back then lol (i wont put the picture here cause its so unserious but i LOVE that one meme with jesse pinkman and the caption is "girls fetishizing mlm and then 5 years later they look like this" like. THAT WAS ME)

idk, its just like... thats so weird, wow. just how things came together. i just keep reflecting on this stuff so much lately just cause like... i might actually get to live my life. i know i said it before but i really did think my life was over, that i fucked it up all cause i was a teenager going through so much that i was completely unprepared for, some things that no one couldve been prepared for. i did my best with what i had, but what i had was crumbs.

and now i really have a chance. i really have a chance to actually be a person again. thats so fucking scary but its also amazing. theres a whole world out there and i want to be a part of it so badly, and i dont quite know how i will be, but at least ill have the option

so yeah, 13 year old me thinking a lot about twenty one pilots and dan and phil simultaneously, and now 21 year old me doing the same thing. its like im still that kid, and yet not at all. i wish he knew everything that would happen, but i know he had no way to.

[beargyu313]

We be outside 𓇼 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Untie my leash, take off my mask, This world flips, turned into a bad love

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: what better way to meet your boyfriend’s friends than going on a trip with them, right?

Pairings: Sunghoon x you (couple), Niki x you (side piece),

⋆˚꩜｡WC: 17.2k (guess this is my new norm…) ⋆⭒˚｡CW:  this story includes CHEATING/homie hopping, if this is something you don’t like then simply don’t read the story. Obviously, I don’t condone cheating irl and am hence using fiction to explore a fantasy…

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ Tags: Cheating, cockwarming, sexual tension, semi-public sex (Niki fucks you in the living room while everyone’s watching a movie), fingering (m!giving, f!receiving), sneaking around, heavy petting, teasing, talk of anal,, dick size comparison, marking, light choking, hair-pulling, size kink, praise kink, jealousy (from both lol), pussy licking, crying during sex

𓆉⋆.˚𓆟A/N: apologizes for not posting sooner, just been in a weird funk, reblogs and likes are as always appreciated<3 also next in the making is Jake with the trope of friends to lovers (After a tipsy kiss, you both agree to "see what happens" with strictly no feelings. (Spoiler: There are so many feelings.))

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You watch Sunghoon wrestle a large silver suitcase out from under his bed, the corners bumping against the frame with a dull thud. His brows are drawn in concentration as he unzips it and starts mentally organizing stuff—socks, chargers, skin care.

You sit cross-legged on the floor beside him, back resting against the edge of the mattress, your phone glowing in your lap. You scroll idly until a notification catches your eye.

“Who’s ‘h1seungsgirl’?” you ask, squinting. “She just sent me a follow request.”

“Hmm?” Sunghoon doesn’t look up. He’s busy tucking his cologne into a small pouch. “Oh. That’s Heeseung’s girlfriend. She just joined the group chat.”

You tap into her profile, skimming. Her feed is warm-toned, curated, clean. Sun-kissed selfies, gym mirror shots, a laugh caught mid-frame. She’s pretty. Like... really pretty.

“Is she the one he met on twitch?” you ask, glancing over the phone at him.

“I think so.” He shrugs, casually. “She’s cool. You’ll probably like her.”

“Yeah, she seems sweet… Wait- Jay just added me too.” Your thumb flicks upward. “That’s…?”

“Jungwon’s boyfriend.” This time, he does glance at you, briefly. “You met him at that rooftop thing, right?”

“Oh, yeah. With the guitar,” you say, smiling faintly at the memory. “He was nice.”

“Mm. They’re inseparable. They’ll be in the other bungalow.”

“So it’s them, Heeseung and his girl... and us?”

Sunghoon pauses just long enough for you to notice. “Technically. Niki’s with us.”

You try to sound casual, try to keep your pulse steady.

“Right. Of course.” As if you hadn’t spent the last few nights spiraling down his Instagram, heart hammering at every pic he’s in, every grin, every blurry photo of him at a club (yes you also went through his tagged photos). (It’s not a big deal – you just like his aesthetic)

Sunghoon pauses, glances at you like he’s trying to remember something.

“You’ve met him before, haven’t you?” Sunghoon asks offhandedly, now folding a hoodie into a tight square.

“Once or twice,” you murmur. “Very briefly.”

A silence settles. It’s not tense, just familiar. You start to wonder if you’ve run through your daily word limit with him when he speaks again.

“He can be kinda weird with people he doesn’t know,” Sunghoon says, not looking at you. “Just ignore it if he’s awkward.”

You tilt your head. “Weird how?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. He’s just... Niki.”

Your phone buzzes again, and this time it’s from the group chat — the one you were only added to yesterday. Seven unread messages. You scroll past a selfie from Heeseung’s girlfriend and some chaotic voice notes from Jungwon until you reach the newest one.

ki005__ ok but who’s driving with who tmr lol i’m not tryna get squeezed into jay’s clown car again

You snort softly, thumb hovering over your screen.

“Group chat’s already getting spammed” you say, glancing up at Sunghoon. “Niki just asked who’s riding with who.”

Sunghoon doesn’t pause in his packing. “He should just go with us.”

You tilt your head. “Do we have space?”

He zips the suitcase halfway and nods. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” you say, a beat too quickly. Then you add, more casually, “Honestly, we might as well. Makes sense.”

You type out a reply: you can ride with us if that’s easier,, plenty of room

Sunghoon, kneeling by the suitcase again, barely glances over. “I thought you said you didn’t like long drives with other people.”

You scroll, pretending not to hear that. On the screen, Niki’s typing…

ki005__ bless ur soul 🙏 see u two losers at 10?

You feel the corners of your mouth pull upward, slow and involuntary. “Ten okay with you?” you ask, not looking up.

“Sure,” Sunghoon says, then stands to stretch, like the conversation's already over.

Your screen lights up again.

ki005__ shotgun btw don’t fight me

You laugh under your breath. Sunghoon doesn’t ask what’s funny. You don’t tell him.

The next morning, Sunghoon’s alarm blares, slicing through the silence of his dim bedroom. You blink awake slowly, watching him stretch one arm toward the phone. He shuts off the sound, sighs, and sits on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, you think he might turn toward you, maybe brush your hair out of your face like he used to. But he doesn’t. He just stands, yawns, and walks into the bathroom without a word.

“Morning to you too,” you mutter under your breath.

You both get ready in now-familiar silence, trading only the essentials, such as

“You packed your swimsuits?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

By the time you’re lugging your bags to the car, you feel like you’re with a roommate rather than with your boyfriend. Everything is just too… habitual, stale almost.

You help Sunghoon fit the luggage into the trunk, neither of you offering much more than grunts of effort. Once seated, with Sunghoon in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger, you unlock your phone and connect it to the car’s Bluetooth.

You scroll for something upbeat. Maybe something to lift the mood. But just as the opening bars of the song start playing, Sunghoon taps the steering wheel screen and changes it to something else. A playlist of low-effort indie tracks he listens to when he’s zoning out.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t explain. Just... switches it. You sigh, long and quiet, and turn to the window. Pull out your phone again.

A notification lights up your screen: @ki005__ liked your photo.

And then — a second later — unliked it.

You bite back a smile, heart kicking up a notch against your will. You try not to read too much into it.  You fail.

Turns out, Niki only lives three minutes away. As you pull up outside his building, you automatically sit up straighter in your seat, fixing your hair in the rearview mirror without really thinking.

He’s already outside, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, matching sweat set hanging off his tall and lean frame. Messy blonde hair covering his face. Sleepy-eyed with pouty lips. Effortlessly attractive.

He opens the back door and climbs in, pushing his platinum hair out of his face with one hand. The scent of his cologne filters through the car as he settles in.

“Yo,” he says easily to Sunghoon and you.

Sunghoon glances at him through the rearview. “Right on time. Proud of you.”

“Only because I didn’t sleep,” Niki replies, voice even deeper than you remember. His eyes flick to you briefly, and for a second just a second you swear his gaze lingers before he looks away.

About forty minutes into the drive, Sunghoon pulls off at a gas station. The three of you had just settled into a comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the radio filling the car. You were almost asleep as the car stills with a gentle jolt and Sunghoon parks. He yawns mid-sentence.

“I’ll go pump and pay. You two good?”

You nod, already checking your phone. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Niki’s voice comes from the backseat. “I’m good.”

The door thuds shut behind Sunghoon, and the hum of the engine is replaced by a quiet kind of stillness. The type that immediately makes you aware of every movement, every breath.

You feel Niki shift in the backseat, the soft rustle of fabric as he stretches his legs out. “You always sit that still?” he says after a beat.

You glance at him through the rearview mirror. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You just got all… proper. Like you’re waiting for roll call or something.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile threatening. “I’m literally just sitting.”

“Yeah, but it’s very... formal,” he teases. “I feel like I should be speaking in full sentences or something.”

You huff a laugh. “Sorry I don’t slouch dramatically the second I sit down.”

“Oh, this is dramatic?” he leans his head back against the seat, totally relaxed, baring his long neck. “This is me conserving energy.”

You give him a sidelong look. “Sure. You’re the picture of restraint.”

He hums, smile still tugging. “So you’ve noticed.”

You don’t answer right away. The inside of the car suddenly feels smaller.

Before either of you can say more, you spot Sunghoon heading back. You shift slightly in your seat, eyes flicking to the window. The moment passes. Light and forgettable, except for how it settles somewhere under your belly.

“Let’s go,” Sunghoon says, his mood noticeably uplifted now that he’s returned. The car hums to life and you guys spend another hour or so driving on the highway, the sun setting high in the sky.

Sunghoon’s hand rests on your thigh as the car crawls to a stop, fingers warm and absent-minded, more of a habit than a gesture. You barely notice—you’re too busy staring out the window.

The afternoon sun streaks gold across the sky, bleeding into the ocean just visible beyond the trees. The air is warm and thick with salt, the kind of coastal humidity that makes your clothes stick and your skin feel sun-kissed even before hitting the beach.

Ahead of you, two bungalows sit side by side, like mismatched siblings. The one on the left is signed as B2 and is clearly the nicer of the two, it’s slightly raised on stilts, white wooden siding faded just enough to look effortlessly aesthetic. There's a wide patio lined with string lights and a grill already set up near the steps.

B1, the one you’re pulling into, is smaller. Cozier. A single narrow porch leads to the front door, and you can already tell from here there isn’t a lot of space. You imagine the living room will barely hold three people, let alone host them.

Sunghoon shifts into park.

“Welcome to paradise,” he says, removing his hand from your thigh as he leans over to turn off the engine. You don’t answer, your eyes are already on the two cars in the driveway, the figures moving around them.

The second the doors open, chaos spills out.

“I swear if someone forgot the speaker—” Jungwon’s voice rings across the driveway before you’ve even unbuckled your seatbelt. He’s halfway out of his car, waving a pair of flip-flops in one hand like a flag.

Jay hops out after him, laughing. “Why are you yelling like we’re not all within three feet of you?”

Heeseung leans against his trunk, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His girlfriend stands beside him, cool and quiet, scrolling on her phone. She barely glances up as people start unloading bags, her vibe unreadable but somehow calm amidst the noise.

You open your door and stretch your legs. The drive wasn’t long, but sitting between Sunghoon’s silence and Ni-ki’s quiet energy in the backseat had left you buzzing.

You glance around just in time to see Niki hop out of the back. He pulls his duffel bag over one shoulder and pushes a hand through his hair. His hoodie’s half-unzipped, sleeves pushed up. You try not to stare at the way the tank top underneath the hoodie hugs his waist, as he blinks into the sun, the breeze catching his platinum hair.

“Yo! You finally made it,” Heeseung calls out to the three of you.

“Traffic was ass,” Sunghoon replies, grabbing both your suitcases from the trunk before you can even protest.

Jay points to B1. “That’s yours, right? The little one? Y’all better cuddle tight.”

You force a laugh. “Guess we’re the cozier bungalow.”

Niki gives the house a once-over, then squints. “Damn. Tiny thing.” His voice is light, but there’s a subtle lilt of irony and when his eyes flick to yours briefly, you feel your stomach flutter.

You pretend not to notice.

The group starts dragging bags toward the houses, voices overlapping again as flip-flops slap against the pavement and someone cranks the volume down on the speaker.

“Okay” Heeseung holds up his phone, squinting at the Airbnb confirmation as everyone crowds loosely around him. “Let’s figure out who’s sleeping where before someone tries to claim the grill as a bed.”

“If I snore, me and Won should get the master as a courtesy to the rest of you,” Jay says, tossing his bag over his shoulder and leaning into Heeseung’s space. “It’s a kindness, really. You don’t wanna hear what happens when I hit REM.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend lifts her head from her phone just long enough to give Jay a side-eye.

“Dream on, man.” Heeseung scrolls with his thumb, then looks up. “Me and my girl have the master in B2. Y’all can fight over whatever’s left.”

Jungwon groans. “If I end up on the floor I’m spooning someone, no discussion.”

“As long as it’s not me,” Jay mutters, already heading up the steps.

“Yeah right,” Jungwon says, playfully slapping Jay’s ass, a soft fondness in his eyes as he does so.

You trail after Sunghoon, letting the rest of them peel off toward B2 in a wave of teasing and mock complaints. You can hear Jungwon’s voice bouncing off the side, something about who packed the best snacks and whether or not cold brew counts as hydration.

Sunghoon stops just short of the door to B1 and turns toward Niki, who’s lingering a few steps behind you, hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Bedroom’s ours. You’ve got the couch.”

Niki lifts a brow, clearly unfazed. “As long as it pulls out. Or doesn’t.” He glances at you, just for a second.

Jungwon snorts loudly from the other porch. “Niki, you’re disgusting.”

You pretend not to catch the innuendo, but your face feels warm.

Niki just grins and kicks at a loose pebble by the steps. “I’m easy, anyway. You could toss me a towel and I’d make it work.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, turning the key in the lock. “You say that like you didn’t once refuse to sleep in a tent because it ‘smelled like nylon.’”

“Okay, first of all, it reeked like wet socks and shame,” Niki shoots back, following him up the porch. “Second, you promised there’d be a cabin.”

“I lied,” Sunghoon shrugs simply.

You trail behind them, amused. “Didn’t you also say he whined the whole hike up Mount Seorak?”

“That was different,” Niki says quickly. “I had altitude-induced existential dread. You can’t control that.”

You lag behind as the door swings open and your eyes scan the inside. The bungalow’s exactly as expected. Modest and slightly cramped. The living room couch is a muted beige, already half-unfolded, and the small hallway beyond it leads to a single bathroom and a closed bedroom door. A window unit hums quietly, cutting the humidity.

You step inside last.

There’s something about the space. How close everything feels. How there’s no room to hide if anything starts to unravel.

Sunghoon snorts as he pushes the bedroom door open. “You had blisters.”

“Blisters and dread,” Niki corrects, glancing over his shoulder at you with a lazy smile. “She gets it.”

You raise your brows. “I’m not taking sides until I see who actually makes the best barbecue.”

“Oh, it’s on,” Niki grins, brushing past you, “I hope you like your chicken emotionally charred.”

Sunghoon mutters under his breath as he steps in behind you, “That’s rich coming from the guy who once set noodles on fire.”

“I was experimenting,” Niki defends. “Creativity can’t be contained.”

You spend the afternoon like that, bantering with each other. The sun is starting to set as you change into a pastel linen set compromised of shorts and a crop top. You felt pretty as you brushed your hair, spritzing light perfume on before joining the rest of the group outside, by the grill.

The patio of B2 was bathed in golden hour light, the grill heating up and a portable speaker was playing something upbeat. Laughter and beach air are thick in the atmosphere. There are coolers, soda bottles and bags of half-opened chips.

As you step out you already hear Jungwon. Jay is already holding a spatula he definitely wasn’t asked to touch.

“I swear if someone forgot the buns again!” you hear Jungwon shouting.

Jay is grinning as he waves the bun bag around, “Your savior has arrived.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend is leaning against the railing, sipping from a can and listening quietly as Heeseung frowns at the grill knobs like he’s diffusing a bomb.

“Why is this one hissing?” Heesung asks her.

“Because you turned the wrong burner,” she deadpans, moving to show him how to do it right.

“It’s gonna be a long weekend,” you hear Jay mutter as he huffs over to Sunghoon. Who you’re sitting next to at the edge of the patio bench. As soon as you stepped out Jay handed you a cold can of probably beer, that you’re nursing in your lap.

Even as you’re sitting next to Sunghoon he’s mid-conversation with Jay and doesn’t notice when your knee touches his. Just as you were starting to feel awkward only listening in to their conversation Niki slides onto the other side of you.

He was close enough for you to smell his cologne, but not close enough to touch. He took his hoodie off now, sporting a black tank top that hugged his frame – leaving nothing to the imagination. His skin golden under the last of the sun looked inviting and you do your best to gather yourself.

A moment passes.

Your thigh brushes his. He doesn’t move away.

He’s talking to Jungwon about some movie, but you swear you feel the pressure shift. It’s like he leans into the touch just a little more deliberately. Or maybe you’re imagining it. Your drink suddenly feels warmer in your hand.

Sunghoon laughs at something Jay says — something about their shared gym horror stories — and you smile faintly, eyes drifting as Heeseung fiddles with the grill knobs again, one hand shielding his eyes from the low sun.

Heeseung calls out, increasignly more annoyed, “Who said they were good at grilling and lied?”

“I never said I was good. I said I was confident,” Jay tells him with full mouth.

A small gust of sea breeze picks up, carrying the scent of salt and charcoal. The sky’s starting to stain dark red at the edges.

Niki shifts beside you to grab a paper plate from the stack in the center of the table. His knee bumps yours, firmer this time. And again, no apology. Just a tiny glance your way, unreadable. Then he returns to his casual lean, resting his forearm along the edge of the bench, figertips grazing your shoulder.

Just then, Jungwon loudly appears with a bag of ice in his hands,  “We need drinks, or I’ll start chewing on these hot dog buns out of boredom.”

“You say that like you haven’t done it before,” Niki deadpans.

Jungwon shrugs, “A man’s gotta survive.”

Everyone laughs. Sunghoon stands and takes the plate from your lap without saying anything, walking over to help Heeseung. You’re left sitting with Niki, who doesn’t move.

“He usually like that?” Niki playfully asks, as he leans a bit into you, his voice low so only you hear him.

You glance at him, confused. “Like what?”

Niki shrugs, his lips spread into a half-grin “A little… married already.”

You snort, it slips out before you can catch it.

“I guess he’s just focused.”

Niki hums, “Mm.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “You don’t seem very focused.”

Your brows lift. “Excuse me?”

Niki fully grins now, staring forward, “Just saying. You keep…” he pauses and looks down at your joined legs, “…accidentally touching me.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you glance down and gulp as your eyes trace over his legs, noticing how much bigger Niki seemed to be than you. It gave him the effortless ability to make you feel small. And horny, you wonder what else-

“You always this quiet in groups?” he casually asks, almost crowding your smaller frame with his much bigger stature.

You shrug, noncommittal. “Depends on the group, I guess.”

You glance at him. Hold it a little too long. He smiles, just a little. You unknowingly lean your head to the side, admiring the slight blush covering his cheeks.

Jungwon across the table from you two, loudly laughs at something unrelated, but still he notices the moment between you and Niki, “Damn, she’s studying him like she’s about to write a dissertation.”

You immediately look away, biting back a smile. It’s a joke light and harmless but it makes Niki huff out a laugh.

“Better get my citations ready, then,” Niki quietly huffs, just loud enough for only you to hear.

You don’t answer. But your thigh presses just a little closer to his under the table. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to feel his warmth seep into you.

At the cooler, Sunghoon tosses a cold can toward Niki. Niki catches it with one hand.

“You still drink this crap?” Sunghoon grins.

“Only when I’m pretending I’m happy to be here,” Niki fires back.

They grin at each other, an old rhythm. Laughter hums around the table. Bottles clink. You're halfway through your drink, Sunghoon’s angled toward Jay and Heeseung, deep in some debate about gas prices or whatever. You’re not really listening.

Niki shifts beside you to reach for the last can in the cooler. His fingers brush over yours deliberate or not, you can’t tell. He pops the can, leans back with a low sigh.

Just then Jungwon from across the table proclaims, “I call not washing dishes tonight.”

“You didn’t even cook anything,” Jay points out, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Yeah, because I bring vibes.”

“You bring crumbs, bro,” says Heeseung with tongs in his hands. He’s by the grill flipping the last few pieces of meat left over, “These aren’t cooking fast enough.”

“That’s cause you’re sober, bro,” says Jay, holding up a can of beer.

Once you’re all sat down Heeseung declares “I did the meat,” arms crossed like a judge.

“And I chopped stuff,” says Sunghoon, leaning back in his chair.

“I set up the table,” Jay chimes in, reaching lazily for another chip even though dinner is clearly over.

“I brought vibes,” Jungwon adds with a grin, mouth half-full.

You raise an eyebrow. “You literally showed up with a bag of ice.”

“Exactly,” Jungwon says, smug. “Essential.”

You glance at the pile of dishes accumulating on the patio table. Bowls of melted ice cream, skewers, empty soda cans and beer bottles.

“So, who’s cleaning?” you ask, even though you already know where this is going.

Jay waves a lazy hand. “Not it.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend stands, already brushing off her shorts. “I helped cook. I’m off-duty.”

Jungwon taps at his phone. “I’m on aux. Very important.”

There’s a pause. Then everyone looks at you.

And then at Niki.

“Fine,” you mutter, pushing your chair back. “I’ll start rinsing.”

Niki’s already gathering plates with one hand, sipping from a half-empty can with the other. “I’ll help,” he says, eyes flicking toward you — casual, like he’s not secretly delighted.

Sunghoon doesn’t comment.

In the small bungalow kitchen of B2, you pile dishes beside the sink while Niki turns on the tap. He nudges your elbow as you reach for a bowl. “You dry. I’ll rinse.”

“So bossy,” you mutter, grabbing the towel anyway.

You fall into a quiet rhythm. Steam curls from the hot water. The only sounds are dishes clinking and the faint bass of music still playing outside.

He hands you a plate, fingertips brushing yours.

Then the next.

Then—

“You’re kind of… small, huh?”

You blink, caught off guard, still holding the bowl he passed you. “Excuse me?”

Niki doesn’t look at you. He’s smirking at the faucet. “Not in a bad way. Just—” he shrugs, “Everything about you’s tiny.”

Your jaw drops slightly, face burning. “That’s not— You can’t just say that.”

“You can’t tell me I’m bossy and then act offended when I observe facts,” he says, playfully bumping his shoulder into yours. You sway at the contact, Niki smiles.

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips. He sets the next plate in the drying rack, then finally turns to look at you.

“Your hands are small too,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought. “Here—” He holds his palm up. “Let me see something.”

You hesitate, heartbeat quickening, then lift your hand to his.

Your fingers meet. His are thicker, longer, they swallow yours easily.

Niki tilts his head, watching the contrast. “Thought so.”

You say nothing, but you’re very aware of how warm his palm is against yours. And how long he lets it linger before pulling away. Aware of the way he has to look down, and the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him when he’s this close.

You take a deep breath, a familiar heat spreading through your lower belly. Your mind is in overdrive, dizzy with a growing need and you wonder if Niki can feel it too, can feel the electricity between you two.

Outside, a burst of laughter is heard. Jay probably dropped something.

Niki gives you one more plate. “Last one,” he murmurs. Your fingers brush again. Neither of you moves when your shoulders touch, standing just a bit too close to each other to be considered platonic.

After the kitchen is finally cleared, the two of you now also joined with Sunghoon, drift back toward B1 with the sort of wordless quiet that only comes after hours in the sun. Flip-flops slap softly against the concrete path. You trail a little behind, watching Sunghoon and Niki.

Thoughts of comparison sneak into your mind before you can stop them. They’re both very tall, but Sunghoon never made you feel tiny and you couldn’t understand why Niki, who’s at most 5cm taller than your own boyfriend continuously made you feel this way.

It wasn’t just the height, Sunghoon was a good boyfriend, but you couldn’t deny that recently your relationship started to feel a little stale, too familiar. Niki on the other hand intrigued you, he was quiet but not shy. Reserved, but not apathetic. Filled with endless oxymorons that you wanted to pick apart until you understood him fully.

You glance at their backs. Same broad shoulders, same lazy stride. But when Niki walks, it feels like the air shifts. Like you’re meant to follow.

Sunghoon is the first to speak again, voice low as he thumbs through his phone. “Jungwon’s making me download some old movie for movie night. Like, black and white old.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Said it’s ‘actual cinema.’”

Niki lets out a snort. “Bet it’s boring as hell.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Sunghoon mutters, fiddling with the door key.

“He probably already knows,” you say with a small laugh.

Inside, the bungalow is darker and cooler than outside. You click on the hallway light and a soft glow spills across the small space. The couch is still pulled out halfway, pillow already set up, and a folded blanket rests on top. Someone probably Sunghoon tossed it there earlier without comment.

Niki toes off his slides and heads straight for it, dragging the blanket to one side as he drops onto the cushions.

“I got couch,” he says, almost too casually, pulling the pillow under his arm. “You two go pretend you’re dating.”

You roll your eyes, but Sunghoon just stretches. “Not pretending,” he mumbles, already heading to the bedroom. “She steals all the covers.”

“You snore,” you call after him.

He doesn’t deny it.

The bathroom door creaks open and closed as Sunghoon steps in to brush his teeth. You hover by the small hallway shelf, fidgeting with your toiletry bag, but your eyes drift back toward the couch.

Niki’s tossed his phone on the edge and is flipping through the TV menu, blanket over his lap like he’s done this a thousand times before. He doesn’t look tired. Just… calm. Settled.

You pause for a second longer than you mean to.

He glances up, catching your gaze. His voice is quieter than before, almost lazy. “Don’t worry. I won’t snore.”

“I know where to come then, if Sunghoon gets too loud.” You mean it as a joke but it comes out more suggestive than you intend.

Your face burns as Niki raises his eyebrows, a slight smirk stretching across his lips.

“You might regret that. I’m not great at sharing space.” He lets it sit for a beat, then adds with a half-smile, “I do like to cuddle though.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. You laugh a little too quickly.

“Just as long as you're not a blanket thief…” it slips out before you think, and now it’s your words hanging between you like smoke.

His eyes flick up. The moment stretches.

You scramble to fill it.

“I— I mean, not that I’d actually, like… come over. That’d be— weird.” You’re already backing up a step, fingers twitching at your hair.

“Right?”

He doesn’t say anything, he just watches you, unreadable, lips still curled.

Heat creeps up your neck.

You turn before he can answer. Practically flee into the bedroom.

Behind you, you hear his soft laugh low and amused, followed by the gentle click of the TV remote, the hum of something starting to play.

Not much later, after you’ve both freshened up in the bathroom, you slip beneath the covers beside Sunghoon. Your thighs ache annoyingly and betrayingly. You replay the memories of Niki, all the teasing, all the quiet touching. You shuffle closer into Sunghoon, hoping he can eradicate any thoughts of other men. You cuddle into his side and nuzzle your face into his neck.

He lets you, wrapping an arm around you. As you kiss his neck he stiffens, “babe, Niki’s right next door.”

“So?” you ask, moving to straddle him as he continues laying down.

“It’s fine, we closed the door,” you say, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. It lands somewhere behind you.

Sunghoon rests his hands on your hips, satiated with your excuse. You can feel him getting hard under you and you smirk.

You lean down, enveloping his lips in a passionate kiss as your hands move under his shirt, softly scratching at his plush skin.

“You’re really needy tonight, huh?” Sunghoon comments, more to himself than you.

“Can’t help it when I have such a hot boyfriend,” you say, rocking your hips against him. Willing yourself to stay grounded in the moment and not let your thoughts escape to a taller man, a man who was in the next room.

Sunghoon groans softly, the sound caught in his throat as you roll your hips again. “Fuck… babe…”

“Did you bring condoms?” you ask, as you already move to his suitcase.

“Yep, left corner at the bottom,” he tells you, and when you’re back on him you’re both naked. You rip the wrapper open with your mouth before rolling it onto his hard length.

You watch as his eyebrows pinch together and squeeze him a bit, just the way he likes.

Sunghoon softly groans as he throws his head back, allowing you to essentially play with his dick. And you do, gripping it and jerking it as you please.

Your hand can just barely envelop his girth, he was big but since Niki was bigger in all other aspects would that also mean he’s… you shake the thought away, and rock your wet folds against Sunghoon’s dick, almost laying down on him.

He watches you, flexing his abs in quiet restraint.

You knew your boyfriend and you knew if Niki wasn’t behind closed doors Sunghoon would’ve already had you the way he likes it. Passionately, deeply and roughly.

Which was why you wanted to tease him more, not getting this opportunity often, but alas your impatience drives you into sinking on him too quickly. You both groan, trying to stifle any noise as you adjust – you to the stretch of his dick, and Sunghoon to how tightly your little pussy wrapped around his dick.

The mattress creaks beneath you, old springs giving way with every motion. It’s subtle at first, but soon it starts sounding unmistakable. Rhythmic. Inescapable.

From the other side of the wall, the TV volume suddenly clicks louder.

You freeze for half a second, not stopping entirely, just… aware that Niki definitely knew what the two of you were doing behind closed doors. Your breath catches.

Sunghoon notices. He laughs a little, low and amused, his hands squeezing at your hips. “What, getting shy now?” he murmurs, his voice brushing warm against your collarbone.

You don’t answer but your eyes flick toward the wall.

Sunghoon’s grin is slow. He’s misreading it. “C’mon,” he says, lifting his hips to meet yours again. “I’m sure Niki doesn’t mind hearing your pretty little moans.”

Your body jerks involuntarily. Your thighs clench tighter around him. He feels it.

His voice drops, half teasing, half turned on. “Oh… you like that?”

You try to play it off, but your face is already hot. You look down, lips parted.

Sunghoon sits up slightly, flipping you two, so he’s on top of you.

His mouth brushes your jaw possessively, like he’s a predator guarding his prey and it turns you on, thoughts of Niki eradicated. For now.

“You want him to hear us? Want him to know how soaked you get just from riding me?”

Your breath shudders out, lashes fluttering, “Yes” you dreamily sigh.

He groans, voice rougher now, “Dirty girl…”

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you again, this time rougher, his hands gripping harder as you move together, it’s messy and heated. The bedframe knocks softly against the wall.

The TV volume clicks up again.

Your eyes squeeze shut. You imagine Niki with his hands down his pants, listening to you. Playing with his hard dick and wishing you were in the living room with him instead.

You moan loudly. Sunghoon growls in a possessive warning to be less loud. But it does nothing to stop your mind from picturing Niki on top of you.

Ater all is done and you sloppily clean up together Sunghoon dozes off, spooning you from behind.

You on the other hand can’t sleep. The ache between your thighs is still present, even more intense now. You can’t stop thinking about Niki, his bigger frame, his dark eyes, the way he always seemed to be close to you or watching you…

After more tossing and turning around in the bed you finally manage to fall asleep to Sunghoon’s soft snores, the even and familiar rhythm lulling you to sleep.

You wake to a soft rustle of sheets and the sun warming the back of your neck.

Sunghoon is curled around you, one arm snug at your waist, his chest rising and falling against your spine. His breathing is steady, calm. He smells like salt and warmth and the lingering sharpness of last night.

Your body aches, pleasantly sore from last night but something inside still gnaws. That deep, low ache hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s worse now.

You squeeze your thighs together, as if that’ll ease it. It doesn’t. It’s not Sunghoon’s fault. He was good, sweet, and familiar. The kind of rhythm you knew by heart. But it still wasn’t enough. Because someone else is in your head.

Still.

You finally slip out of bed once you’re sure Sunghoon’s breathing has evened again, brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom and rinsing your face with cold water in hope it clears your thoughts. It doesn’t.

You step out into the main room only to stop short. Niki is already up. Sitting sideways on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, one arm draped over the backrest. His hair’s a mess. A thin silver chain around his neck. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looks like he didn’t sleep or like he hasn’t been to bed at all.

You hesitate, but he doesn't look at you. Doesn’t even flinch.

You go to the kitchenette, grab a mug, pour some coffee from the thermos left out by Heeseung when they made the first pot before heading to B2. The silence stretches long. Too long.

You glance over again.

He still hasn’t looked at you. Just staring blankly at something on his phone. His expression is unreadable, still and blank in that way he always is, like there’s something going on inside and he just won’t let you see it.

The coffee’s hot against your tongue. Too hot. You burn your mouth slightly but don’t react.

He speaks just as you’re lifting your mug again.

“Sleep okay?”

You nearly drop it.

You nod too fast. “Yeah. You?”

Niki hums. Barely.

“Not really, t’was kinda noisy, I heard you.”

The mug clinks against the counter. You choke a little. “Heard…?”

Niki finally looks at you.

His eyes are dark not sleepy, not soft. Just focused. Direct.

“Sunghoon,” he says simply. “He snores.”

You exhale too loudly. Your laugh is brittle, cut at the edges. “Oh. Yeah, he does that sometimes. I’m used to it.”

He nods once, looking away again. But not before his gaze drops just briefly to your legs, bare beneath your oversized tee. His mouth twitches like he was going to say something else but thought better of it. You pretend to busy yourself with stirring sugar into your cup. Your hands are shaking. You tell yourself it’s the caffeine.

But you can’t stop thinking. Did he hear more than snoring? Did he hear you moan? Did he want to? His voice was unreadable. But his eyes…  There was something there.

You go back to the room after that, crawl back into bed where Sunghoon sleepily tugs you close again. You let him. You even kiss his cheek, nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck.

But your pulse is still skipping. Your body is still awake. Your mind is already elsewhere. And you know exactly who it’s with.

When you step into the kitchen for the second time today, it’s already a little warm from the early sun. Sunghoon’s already poured your coffee. You sit beside him, trying not to look like you didn’t sleep or like your brain has been replaying someone else’s face since 2AM.

Niki walks in a moment later. His hair’s damp from a shower. He’s shirtless again, wearing only swim trunks, towel over one shoulder, phone in his hand. You don’t look directly. You can’t. But your pulse stutters when he brushes past you, reaching for a mug.

"Groupchat says beach by eleven," he says casually. “Jay and Jungwon are already down there. Heeseung’s girlfriend brought one of those fold-up coolers.”

Sunghoon leans forward to check his phone. “Sick. We can just bring drinks and chips or something.”

Niki nods, noncommittal. He sits across from you, sipping quietly. You feel his eyes once. Just once. Why does he sound so casual, but look like—

No. Stop. You exhale. You’re imagining things again.

...Aren’t you?

After breakfast is finished, you dig through your suitcase for your black one-piece swimming suit. The safe one. The covered one. The one Sunghoon likes and specifically asked you to take. But your hand hits string. Ribbed fabric. Triangle cups. Your stomach drops.

“Shit…”

You’re still holding it up dumbly when the bedroom door creaks open behind you.

“You almost ready?”

You turn. Sunghoon’s leaning against the doorframe, rubbing sunscreen between his hands. You hold the bikini by the strap, like it might explain itself. “I thought I packed the one-piece.”

He pauses. Then frowns. “That’s not it?”

You nod. “They’re both black. I grabbed the wrong ones.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, pointedly he asks “…You’re really gonna wear that?”

Your brow lifts. “I mean… yeah? I only brought one swimsuit with me.”

“I just—” he laughs under his breath, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t think you’d bring the tiny one.”

“It’s not that tiny,” you huff.

He raises an eyebrow.

You cross your arms. “It’s just a bikini, Sunghoon.”

“Yeah, but—” He sighs. “Come on, baby, like—the guy’s are gonna see you in that.”

That catches you. Sharp and immediate. Your eyes narrow. “So? It’s not like I took them on purpose.”

Sunghoon’s tone shifts, it’s still soft, but strained. “I just don’t like the idea of them seeing you like that.”

You pause.

“Then don’t look,” you say, turning away.

You walk to the bathroom with the bikini still in hand. Behind you, Sunghoon exhales but doesn’t further comment.

From the couch in the next room, Niki doesn’t say anything. But you’re sure he heard.

You glance at him just once and catch him watching the TV, expression unreadable, remote still in hand. Too focused for it to be natural.

His eyes flick to you as you pass, just for a second. Just long enough to make you heat up, shyly speed up your step. But neither of you speak. You feel his gaze on you as you enter the bathroom, heartbeat spiking and you can’t deny it. You’re secretly looking forward to him seeing you in this set.

By the time you’re walking down to the beach, the sand is still cool beneath your feet.  It’s an easy silence. Or at least it would be, if not for the way Sunghoon keeps close to your side, hand occasionally brushing yours, like he’s reminding everyone who you belong to.

You feel Niki fall into a step behind you. Not quite trailing. Just… not rushing. You don’t turn around. Not at first. But then, a whisper of fingertips grazes the small of your back. Just one second. Maybe less. A ghost of touch, light as air.

You jolt barely and glance back, pulse ticking up.

Niki is looking straight ahead, board tucked beneath one arm, mouth unreadable. Not a smirk. Not even a glance. He could’ve brushed past you by accident. You could pretend it was nothing.

But your skin is burning where he touched. You bite the inside of your cheek. Keep your face neutral. Force your eyes back to the ocean in the distance. But your heart is hammering.

Sunghoon doesn’t notice a thing. “Did you remember sunscreen?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna need a lot in this tiny thing…” he dryly comments, still sulking that you’re wearing it.

You glance down at yourself. Black, tiny, sure, but everything was covered. Even if you could feel the bottoms digging into your asscheeks, even if you had to keep adjusting your top so you wouldn’t flash anyone by accident.

“I already told you thought I grabbed the other one,” you sigh, annoyed. “They’re both black. I got confused.”

Sunghoon clicks his tongue. “Well, now every guy here is gonna get confused too.”

He drapes a towel over your shoulders, tugs the ends together at your chest like it’ll hide anything. It’s not that you don’t appreciate the sweetness. But the tension in his jaw makes it feel... like a leash. You let the towel fall back open.

Just then, Jungwon whistles as you approach.

“Damn girl,” he grins, lounging on a towel next to Jay, “you’re making the beach jealous.”

Niki snorts. “Don’t start.”

You barely have time to laugh before Sunghoon throws a look that could slice steel. Jungwon lifts his hands innocently, grinning wider.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything just steps closer, wraps an arm low around your waist. You stiffen a little. Smile for show. And feel Niki’s eyes before you see them.

When you finally glance his way he’s not subtle. His eyes are already sliding back up your legs, past your hips, then lingering just long enough on the line of your chest to make heat spark beneath your skin.

And when your eyes meet, he doesn’t glance away. He just looks at you like he’s thinking about something. Something he shouldn’t be.

Your stomach dips.

You force your attention forward. Pretend the air isn’t suddenly warmer. Pretend your thighs aren’t pressing a little tighter together beneath the towel slung around your waist.

So, when you all move to the water, you angle yourself away from him. Playfully splash at Jay. Duck behind Sunghoon. Anything to stay far, far from him.

It’s working.

Until it’s not. Jay lunges at someone — Jungwon shrieks — a huge wave rolls toward you, foam curling at the top. You brace, but your foot slips, and in the brief chaos, something catches you.

No—someone.

Hands, firm at your waist, steadying you.

You freeze. You know who it is before he speaks.

“Careful,” Niki says, voice low. You feel it in your core. His breath brushes your ear. His grip firms for just a second, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you how much larger he is. How easily he could move you if he wanted to.

You’re painfully aware of the way your body fits against his. Your head barely at his shoulder, your waist swallowed in his palms.

You turn to look but he’s already gone. Already stepped away, drifting toward the others like nothing happened.

Your heart pounds. Your pulse thrums between your legs. You’re not imagining it. Not anymore. Later, when you’re drying off, you catch him watching again. And this time, you don’t look away.

Everyone’s sitting around on the beach towels, casually snacking on fruit and sandwiches. The group’s easy laughter fills the air, but your eyes keep drifting to Niki, who sits a little apart, fiddling with a seashell. Heeseung leans over Jungwon, nodding toward you and Niki. “You notice how these two barely talk? Like, they’re around each other but kind of distant?”

Jungwon shrugs. “Yeah, it’s weird. You guys don’t really vibe with each other, huh?” He tells you and Niki. But before either one of you can say something in response, Jungwon continues.

He turns to Heeseung, “but I figure they’re just not that close or maybe still getting to know each other?”

Jay chimes in, grinning, “Definitely not like the rest of the gang. They’re like… polite strangers.”

Heeseung’s girlfriend laughs softly. “Maybe they’re just on different wavelengths or something.”

Sunghoon catches the comment and smirks. “Probably. You know how some people just don’t click right away.”

You nod, chewing your sandwich, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. It’s true you and Niki do act different around each other. Not quite awkward, but definitely not easy either.

Niki glances over briefly, and you quickly look away. The group moves on to another topic, unaware how loaded that quiet distance really is between you two.

You clear your throat and stand up, forcing a smile. “I’m just gonna grab some more snacks and water for everyone.” You grab your bag and head toward B1.

A minute later, you’re pulling out some bottled water out of the fridge and a bag of gummy worms. You’re rifling through the small plastic bag of snacks when you hear footsteps behind you.

Niki’s voice follows a second later, low and casual. “So… we’re polite strangers now?”

You nearly jump, hand still buried in the bag. “I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, turning your head over your shoulder. “And they’re just being dramatic. We’re not strangers.”

Niki leans against the counter beside you, arms crossed. “Polite, though?”

You huff a small laugh, plucking out a gummy worm and popping it into your mouth. “Only to keep the peace.”

He nods slowly, watching you chew. “Mm. What flavor was that?”

You hold up the bag. “The best one. I only like the red ones, so I’m picking them out before the others get to them.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re hoarding gummy worms?”

“I’m curating an experience.”

“Uh huh,” he murmurs, slipping a hand into the bag before you can stop him.

“Wait—!” you lunge for it, but it’s too late. He’s already fished out a red one with unholy accuracy, grinning like he planned it.

“This one?” he asks, holding it just out of reach. You reach again, but he easily steps back, long arm lifting the candy above your head like it’s a game. Because for him, it is.

You scowl. “That’s mine.”

“Then come get it,” he murmurs, voice dipping low, teasing. “Come on, pretty. You want it, don’t you?”

You poorly try to snatch it again. His height makes it a joke. One hand to your shoulder, one holding the worm, he keeps you at bay like you weigh nothing.

“You’re so tiny,” he teases, smirking. “It’s cute. Like watching a kitten try to climb a cabinet.”

You glare, lunging again, and he just shifts his arm higher with obnoxious ease.

“Oh no,” he adds mockingly, eyes gleaming. “The ground-level threat is back.”

You huff, stepping in closer, pretending to try again but this time you shift the game. Your hand slides along his side, just below his belly button, fingers grazing the skin just above his waistband. You feel it immediately. His sharp inhale, the flinch in his posture. His muscles tense under your touch like you flipped a switch.

His smirk drops. His whole body stills. You look up at him through your lashes, playing innocent. “Problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares down at you, eyes dark and unreadable.

Then he moves.

In one step he’s crowding you back against the counter, towering over you, voice a low scrape of gravel. “Fine, you want it? Then open your mouth.”

You freeze. The tone is different now. Serious. Darker. Your lips part instinctively.

He slides the gummy worm between them, slow, deliberate. His fingers brush your tongue.

You close around them. Suck just faintly. Purposefully.

His jaw tightens. His breath catches. His hand curls tight around the counter behind you. “Good girl,” he mutters, low and rough, like the words cost him something.

Your mouth pulls into a slow smile as you chew. “You shouldn’t have teased me,” you murmur, voice light but your eyes say something else entirely.

He exhales hard.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters to himself, thinking you wouldn’t hear it (but you do), already turning to leave. He grabs the big water bottle from the counter and walks off, shoulders tense.

When you join the group outside a few minutes later, with cheeks flushed and heart pounding, you settle beside Sunghoon. But you feel Niki’s eyes on you. You’re on edge for the rest of the day, jumpy, too observant. The restlessness follows you into nighttime.

One again you’re tossing and turning in the bed, unable to sleep. Sunghoon’s snores don’t help lull you to sleep this time. Instead, they act as a bigger distraction to your lack of sleep. You sigh and grumble to yourself before sitting up.

You contemplate for a moment and then you’re off. Wrapping your silk summer robe over your naked body you quietly shuffle out of the bedroom.  The purpose? Getting water. Water that’s located in the kitchenette, but to get there you have no choice but to pass through the living room. Where Niki was.

You just had to open the bedroom door and you’d be in the living room. A small hallway that could barely classify as that was where you’d have to pass to see him. A door and 5 steps. That’s all that separated the two of you. You’ve been avoiding him ever since the incident today. Constantly reminding yourself that you have a boyfriend, like it’s a mantra.

You walk painfully slow past him, padding softly on your tippy toes and slightly hunched over. At any other time you’d look hilarious, but you’re too nervous tonight to think about that. You don’t want to wake him up. You don’t even dare glance at him, knowing that knowing what he looked like while he was sleeping would consume your mind, the image etching itself deep into your brain.

Which was why you don’t notice that he’s awake, scrolling on his phone, only wearing his boxers, also unable to sleep. His eyes follow your figure all the way into the kitchen, watching, calculating… The fridge hums behind you as you fill a glass with water, your silk robe barely clinging to your skin. The quiet should be peaceful.

It isn’t.

“You really weren’t gonna say anything to me all night?”

Your hand freezes. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

Niki’s voice is low. Hoarse. Just behind you in the dark.

You whisper, “I didn’t know you were awake.”

“I was.”

Silence stretches.

“I watched you walk past. Slow. Quiet. Pretending you didn’t feel me watching.”

Your pulse kicks up. You clutch the glass tighter. “Please don’t start—”

“Start?” he cuts in, voice soft but deadly. “Sweetheart, you started this. Every time you run, you’re the one starting it all over again.”

You finally turn to face him.

Niki’s leaned against the counter now, towering over you. His hair is messy from sleep. His eyes stormy. Wild. “You think I don’t notice?” he murmurs. “The way you react whenever I touch you. Your body doesn’t lie.”

“Niki—”

He steps forward. Just one slow, measured step. “Do you have any idea what it’s doing to me?” Another step. You’re backed up to the wall now, between the fridge and hallway, cold tile against your calves.

“I can’t sleep. I can’t fucking breathe around you. And you know what makes it worse?”

He leans down, lips near your cheek. “It’s that you want me just as bad. And yet you still go back to him.”

You whisper, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But he’s not me,” Niki says like a sin, like a prayer.

You open your mouth to reply, but he beats you to it.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it. How good it felt when I touched you. When I put that candy in your mouth and you sucked on my fingers.”

He exhales hard. “Fuck—You looked up at me like you’d let me ruin you right there.”

Goosebumps raise on your skin. His voice, even deeper than usually, was finding home somewhere deep in your belly. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, trying to escape but Niki’s bigger frame has you caged in place.

“But you are.”

He slips one naked thigh between yours. “You’re not wearing anything underneath this robe? Don’t act like this was innocent.”

His voice drops lower, slight growl to his words, the desperation slipping through his nonchalant facade. “You still wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

He cups your jaw, tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “You wanna be my good girl so bad it’s killing you.”

You nod once, barely breathing.

His lips brush yours in a not-quite a kiss. Not yet, even though you chase his lips. But he stops you, speaking. “Then be good for me.” His hand slips under your robe, up your thigh, to your soaked center. “But you don’t get to cum.”

Your breath stutters. He’s already pressing his middle finger into you slow, hard, firm. “Not here. Not yet.”

You let out a soft sigh, spreading your legs in silent consent for him to continue. He bites your earlobe gently. “You’ll cum when you admit who you really want.”

You shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut, lips trembling. You grab onto his forearm that’s between your legs, grinding onto his finger. But he doesn’t move.

“Say it,” Niki whispers, grinding you into the wall. “Say my name. Say it and I’ll let you fall apart on my cock right here outside his door.”

His body is so close now, it’s all you can feel. His thigh between yours, his hand under your robe, the heat of his mouth against your ear.

“Niki,” you silently cry out in a desperate plea. You feel him slipping another finger into you. Your wet velvet walls sucking him. Fuck. If his fingers felt so thick in you, then you couldn’t wait for his dick. You clench around his fingers at the thought and Niki’s towering frame leans down, close to your ear.

“Still pretending this means nothing?”

“It doesn’t—” you moan out, barely controlling your volume. His thumb grazes your clit. Your eyes shut as you cover your mouth with your hands to prevent any noises from escaping.

“Bullshit,” Niki hisses, he pinches your clit, pressing it with his thumb into the side of his palm in punishment. It makes your walls tighten even more. A sob escapes you when he presses his hips against yours.

“You don’t even believe that. You’re dripping. And your boyfriend is nowhere near, you thinking of him or me right now?”

You flinch. Shame and need twist in your gut. But they’re squashed by an overpowering and ever growing need for Niki.

“I shouldn’t—”

“But you are. You came out here wearing nothing under this robe. You walked right past me, like you wanted me to stop you.”

You close your eyes, head tilting back as he curls his fingers, finally pushing them in and out. “Niki…” you choke out in a broken whimper, hands curling around his biceps to steady yourself.

His mouth is at your neck now, kissing, claiming  you. “There it is.” He rasps, biting you just under your throat softly. You squeeze his bicep in warning. He just licks over the bitten spot.

“Say my name again,” he says, sounding utterly destroyed already.

“Niki—” you whimper, quietly. Too quietly.

Through gritted teeth, “louder.”

You hesitate. He drags his fingers along your slit, barely there. Not enough. It’s maddening.

“Niki,” you quietly whimper, squeezing your walls when Niki changes the current rhythm. The speed picking up with your growing desperation.

“Fuck—say it like you mean it,” he breathes, sharp and strained.

You whimper as starts rubbing circles over your clit as he’s still fingering you. Your hands claw at his chest.

“Please…”

“No.” He stills his hand. “Not until you say it.”

You’re walking on the edge of tears and pleasure, too dumb to think about anything, anyone other than Niki,“Say what?”

 “Say you want me,” he says, lips against yours, not kissing you yet.

He strokes deeper. Your knees buckle. He catches you, arm wrapping around your waist.

“I want you,” you pant, grinding on his hands. Your eyes burn and you can feel a tear slip down your cheek.

“Not enough.”

He stops again. Cruel. Controlled.

You pout up at him, he bites his lip, eyelids dropping slightly. He leans into you. “I want you, Niki. I want you,” you breathe your voice breaking and cheeks wet with your tears.

His breath leaves him like a punch. He back-walks you gently into the hallway against the wall. The wall that separates the bedroom from the rest of the house. Where Sunghoon is sleeping.

No hesitation now. The robe slips open just enough. “That’s all I needed.” He pushes down his boxers, his cock springing free. He doesn’t give you any time to look at it, sliding his cock inside you. He’s slow, thick, unbearable.

Your robe bunches up at your waist, you feel his cock dragging between your folds, veiny and heavy. Thicker than you expected. The kind of thick that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Shit—” you whisper, body trembling.

Niki chuckles low behind you. It sounds dark, satisfied, already flushed. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, guiding his cock to your entrance. “You haven’t even felt the whole thing yet.”

You brace yourself, hand gripping his shoulders. “You’re not small.”

That gets a sharp exhale out of him. He leans forward, his chest brushing your back, his voice dipping into your ear like a secret. “You’ll take it. You’re already soaking for it.”

“God—” you half sob, your walls continuously clenching down on him as you try to adjust to his thick length, splitting you apart.

Niki’s voice cracks with restraint, “don’t move.” His hand clamps over your hip. His forehead presses to yours. “Just stay like this.”

“Why?”

Niki’s barely breathing, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he tries to calm his ragged breathing down, “Because if I fuck you the way I want to… we’re gonna wake your boyfriend up.”

You gasp. He smiles. Dark, unhinged, wrecked.

“So be good. Take it. Feel me.” He rolls his hips once. Slow, still not fully in you. Deep. “You’ll cum when you admit I’m the only one who gets to have you.”

Your head falls back. Eyes flutter. His thumb catches a tear tracing your cheek.

“Fuck,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your eye. “So pretty when you cry for me.”

He cups your jaw, then your breast roughly, wordlessly claiming. You hiss as he squeezes hard, too hard but he’s already pulling you forward, sliding out.

You make a strangled noise, empty without him. Niki doesn’t pause.

He shoves your robe up, pushes you over the couch. Your knees dig into the cushions. One hand braced on the backrest.

You hear the sound of him spitting in his palm. The slick stroke of him lining up again.

A moan, low and raw, as he grinds the head of his cock between your folds. “Every fucking night,” he mutters. “I think about this. About bending you over like this. Filling you up so deep you forget how to lie.”

You whimper. He grabs your hips, hard enough to bruise.

“You were made for this,” Niki breathes, more to himself than you. “Made for me.”

He pushes in, slow at first, the stretch near unbearable. You’re choking on your own gasp, trying to breathe through it, but your walls spasm around him, trying to force him out.

Niki groans, it’s a sound full of restraint and disbelief. “Fuck. You feel like this for him?” He starts to push deeper, jaw clenched. “No… you don’t. You can’t.”

You moan but it sounds more like a sob. His size splits you open, the burn meeting something deeper, something you don’t want to name yet.

He sinks in all the way. Your hips jerk forward, eyes fluttering shut. “Such a good girl for me,” he pants. “That’s it. Let me fill you.”

His hands spread across your waist, holding you steady like you might run. But you’re not running. You’re melting.

“God—Niki—” you whisper, your fingers clenching the cushion.

“Too much?” he asks but the smirk in his voice is already smug.

“No—just… just big,” you confess, voice cracking.

That shatters something in him.

“Say that again.”

“You’re… big,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I can feel it in my stomach.”

He snarls softly behind you, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you deeper into the couch as he starts to move. Slow, dragging strokes that scrape along every nerve ending inside you.

“This pussy’s mine already,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You moan like you’ve been waiting for this.”

“I haven’t—” You’re cut off by a sharp thrust that knocks the breath out of you.

“No? Then why’d you keep looking at me every time he touched you?”

His voice is venom and honey, seething and smug. “You’d kiss him, and still look at me like you wanted more.”

Your whole body tenses. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You meant it,” Niki snaps, grinding deeper into you. “You wanted me to notice. You wanted me to get jealous.”

He yanks your hair back just enough to turn your face, so he can see your lips parting in a moan you’re desperate to hide. “And I did. I noticed everything.”

He slams into you harder, rougher now. You whimper it’s too much, too deep, and somehow still not enough.

“I see the way he touches you. All careful. Like you’ll break.”

He bites the shell of your ear. “I won’t be careful.”

Your orgasm builds fast, overwhelming the stretch, the fullness, the jealousy behind his words. You’re panting, desperate.

“I can’t—Niki, I’m gonna—”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him as he fucks you through it murmuring filth into your ear while you shatter.

“That’s it. Come for me.” His voice breaks. “Show me this pussy is mine.”

You cry out, body convulsing as you clench down on him. His pace stutters, cock throbbing inside you.

He follows with a low groan, spilling inside you, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Just heavy breathing. Sweat-damp skin. Your body pulsing around his.

Then, quieter Niki presses his forehead to your spine. “You ruined me,” he breathes.

You don’t answer. You can’t. But your hand reaches back trembling to find his. And he laces your fingers together. You stay like that for a while. Folded over the couch, skin damp, heart pounding.

Niki doesn’t move. He’s barely still inside you, his chest pressed to your back, both of you trembling with the aftershocks. His hand is still locked in yours. His breath hits the curve of your shoulder, ragged and hot.

No words.

Slowly, silently, Niki pulls out and you both gasp like it hurts. You don’t dare look at him as you pull your robe down and sink onto the couch, legs tucked under you. You feel stretched, sore, leaking.

You feel ruined.

Niki leans against the wall across from you. His hair is a mess, sweat shining on his chest, and his eyes they’re not smug anymore. They’re starved.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod.

But your eyes don’t meet his.

You fix your robe. Run fingers through your hair. Like if you’re fast enough, no one will know what just happened.

“I should go,” you whisper. “Sunghoon might wake up.”

His jaw ticks. He hesitates. For a second, it looks like he might say something else, something too real. But then he exhales, pushes a hand through his hair, and doesn’t say anything as he watches you leave.

Your body is warm. Too warm.

It takes a second before you remember where you are, who you’re with and why your thighs ache. Sunghoon shifts beside you, arm slung lazily over your waist, his chest rising and falling in slow, peaceful rhythm.

He mumbles your name. It should be comforting. And it is. But it also feels like being caught. You stare at the ceiling.

You did it. You crossed the line. And it wasn’t a mistake. And you have a feeling it wouldn’t be a one time thing either.

Your fingers twitch. You can still feel Niki’s breath in your ear. The rough press of his palms all over you. Sunghoon sighs again and pulls you closer, nuzzling the back of your neck like instinct.

You feel different now. Like you’re split in two halves. The girl who touches her boyfriend like nothing happened... and the girl who can still feel Niki’s fingers between her thighs.

You tie your robe tighter and pad out, barefoot on cold tile. Your hair’s a mess. You haven’t even washed your face. The kitchen’s quiet but not empty.

Niki stands near the counter, tousled bedhead, glass of juice in one hand, phone in the other. He looks up.

“Morning,” he says low, unreadable.

You swallow.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Like a rock,” you say, forcing a brittle smile, reaching for a glass of water.

There’s a slight pause.

“Yeah,” Niki murmurs, gaze flicking to your mouth. “You looked wrecked when you left.”

The glass nearly slips from your fingers.

But Niki doesn’t move. Doesn’t smirk. Just sips his juice and scrolls casually, like he didn’t just ruin your nervous system in three words. Sunghoon joins you two just then. And the three of you have breakfast, the two guys seem to be in a good mood, bantering and teasing each other.

The sun’s high already when you three join the others on the beach.

Your bikini feels too small the minute you leave the house — or maybe it’s the way Niki looked at you when you stepped out. Not directly. Not for long. Just… long enough to know he noticed.

You hold Sunghoon’s hand like it anchors you to the right version of yourself. You laugh too loud at his joke. Kiss his cheek too quickly. You’re trying.

Maybe if you play the part well enough, you’ll forget what you did. Who you became.

Sunghoon’s still talking, half-focused, half-scanning the crowd. “Okay, so we rotate after every point, right? Heeseung always forgets that. Also, snacks. We need more of those sour gummies—”

He pauses, eyes flicking toward where Niki’s lounging in the sand, shirtless, arms behind his head.

Then he grins and nudges you lightly. “And someone better remind her to reapply. Last time she turned into a tomato.”

You roll your eyes, faking a yawn. “I’m fine.”

But Sunghoon’s still looking at Niki as he adds, teasing, “If she burns, it’s your fault too.”

Your stomach flips.

Niki grins  slow, deliberate but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

You almost choke on your water at the implication. Sunghoon just laughs, oblivious.

As you all lay your towels down, Sunghoon starts rubbing sunscreen over your shoulders, he’s sweet, focused, unbothered. Niki watches briefly, jaw tight, before tossing him a comment.

“You missed a spot,” he says, touching the place he means, the dip just below your bikini bottoms. “That’ll definitely burn.”

He says it like nothing. But you know. He knows you know. You meet his gaze over your shoulder for just a second. And something sharp passes between you, an unspoken possession.

Like a warning.

The volleyball net is up by the time the two guys deem you protected enough from the sun. Jungwon’s already flinging a ball into the air like a golden retriever with caffeine in his system. Everyone’s loosening up, laughing, yelling across the sand.

You’re standing with Sunghoon, sipping from his can of soda, and trying very hard to subtly adjust your bikini top like it’s not deliberate. But it is.

It keeps slipping a little, well not off, just… shifting. The fabric is damp from ocean water, clinging to the peaks of your nipples. You tug it up again.

Sunghoon notices. But so does Niki.

You catch both of them watching you at different times. You feel their eyes burn as they trail over your chest, down your waist, over your thighs. It’s hard to breathe, but you smile anyway.

You lean into Sunghoon. Kiss his cheek. He grins, tapping your nose. But Niki’s sunglasses tilt up slightly from where he’s standing. You feel his gaze rake your body like a challenge.

Just then Jay starts calling out teams.

“Alright, me, you” he points to you, “Niki, and Jungwon. Let’s go.”

You pause for half a second, not enough to be noticed, but just enough to feel it in your spine. Niki steps forward, tugging his shirt off in one fluid motion. He spins the volleyball once in his hand and smirks faintly.

Jay tosses him the ball. “We good?”

Niki shrugs. “Yeah.”

No snide comment. No suggestive grin. Just calm. Unbothered.

But when you brush past him to join your side of the net, your shoulder grazes his chest and you swear you feel him inhale.

It’s subtle, but he doesn’t look away.

The court's uneven, half-sand, half-sunbaked grass. The net’s a little crooked. No one cares. Jay serves first; sharp and fast. You barely get your hands up in time, but the ball pops cleanly into the air. Jungwon tips it up. Niki lunges, spikes.

Cheers erupt. “Nice!” Jay claps him on the back.

Niki smiles, his eyebrows subconsciously quirking up, but his eyes flick to you lightning-quick.

Across the net, Heeseung groans. “Alright. No mercy.”

His girlfriend laughs, nudging him.

Sunghoon wipes sweat from his jaw and grins. “Let’s go.”

The game rolls out in bursts sand kicking up, laughter breaking through competitive yells. You’re too aware of everything.

Niki’s footsteps behind you.

The way he moves to cover your side, even when he doesn’t have to. The sharp grunts when he jumps, muscles flexing under sun-warmed skin. How he murmurs “mine” when the ball arcs high, and every time, it hits harder than it should.

You almost trip once trying to pivot.

Niki’s hand touches your back, steadying you, it’s fleeting but firm. You flinch like you’ve been burned.

He says nothing.

But later, when you call out a ball and dive for it, squatting before bending over as you serve the ball lowly, Niki swears low and hard not at the game.

At you. Or maybe for you.

You need water. Not just to drink but to cool down. Everything is hot. Your cheeks, your chest, the way Niki’s eyes follow your movements even when he’s pretending not to.

You step toward the cooler, reach down to grab a bottle.

That’s when you feel it. A whisper of heat. His fingers graze your lower back. Barely. You freeze. He’s behind you now, one arm resting on the lid of the cooler. Not blocking you. Not touching you again. Just close.

His voice is low “Avoiding me again?”

You suck in a breath. Fumble slightly with the cap.

You want to say something biting. Sharp. Dismissive. But your voice comes out too soft, too unsteady.

“I’m not.”

Niki leans in, just an inch closer. “Mm, you always shake this much when you’re not avoiding someone?”

You grip the bottle too tight. “I have a boyfriend.”

His smirk returns slow, almost cruel. “That didn’t stop you from moaning into my mouth last night.”

Your eyes snap up to his, but he’s already walking away. You stand there, holding the water bottle like it might explode.

After the game of volleyball ends (with Sunghoon’s team winning), everyone’s collapsed on the beach towels, salt-streaked and lazy. Jay’s half-asleep. Jungwon’s playing something on his phone. Sunghoon lies beside you, propped up on an elbow.

You’re restless. Overcompensating again. You reach over and thread your fingers into his hair. Lean down to kiss him a bit longer than necessary.

Your tongue just barely traces his bottom lip.

Sunghoon flinches back, blinking.

“Babe,” he says, confused but sweet, “not in front of everyone.”

You smile, trying to play it off. But your mouth is dry.

“Sorry. I just…” You shrug. “Felt like kissing you.”

Sunghoon grins and kisses your cheek instead. Harmless. Soft.

But behind your back, across the circle of towels, Niki’s watching again. Still shirtless. Still silent. His jaw tight, his fingers curled loosely in the sand. He sees everything. And you feel everything.

The sky begins to shift then, almost too fast. What was golden and hazy becomes gray and heavy. You glance up. Thick clouds roll in over the water, veiling the sun. Thunder grumbles low in the distance. A breeze lifts the ends of your hair.

Someone groans.

“Seriously? This early?” Jay complains.

“Guess the ocean playlist’ll have to wait,” Jungwon pouts.

A sudden gust sends sand flies into your shin. You wince, brushing it off.

Sunghoon nudges your side, “movie night?”

You nod automatically, but your eyes flick again to Niki.

Within minutes the group’s scattering, grabbing towels, speakers, empty bottles.

“B2, thirty minutes. Everyone shower unless you wanna smell like death,” Jungwon says, a comically large towel wrapped around his waist as he tries fit five different things in his arms. Heeseung groans but agrees, already hoisting up a cooler.

The mood lightens. Laughter, teasing, towel snaps echoing around you as people head back toward the bungalows.

You stay quiet. Let Sunghoon lace your fingers with his, pull you toward the path. But you can feel the shift in the air. It isn’t just the weather. It’s something heavier. Louder. Waiting to break.

By the time you’re all piled into B2, the rain’s already started. Soft and steady, threading down the windows like something cinematic. This bungalow’s a little bigger than yours, meant for hosting, maybe. The open-plan living room spills into a small kitchen, sleek and sunlit even with the storm outside. At the center of it all is a small burgundy couch. It’s deep enough to sink into, angled so one side stretches toward the kitchen, and the other points toward the mounted flatscreen.

A shaggy rug softens the wood floor. Throw blankets are everywhere, tangled and half-folded. Someone’s dumped a few pillows in the corner. A string of fairy lights buzz faintly over the windows, casting a soft gold haze now that the lamps are off.

It’s cozy. Safe. Or it should be.

Just before the movie starts, you’re rinsing strawberries in the kitchen when Heeseung catches your wrist. Not harsh just enough to pause you.

“You good?” he asks you.

You blink, startled. “Yeah. Why?”

He tilts his head slightly. That familiar half-grin on his lips but his tone’s changed. He’s watching you.

“You and Ni-ki aren’t… weird, right?” he asks, eyes full of sympathy.

You laugh. Too fast. Too thin. “What? No. Why would we be?”

His gaze lingers. Not unkind. But not letting go, either. Heeseung carefully explains, “I noticed he keeps trying to talk to you. You keep slipping away. And honestly?”

He shrugs, “You’re being weird with Sunghoon too. If we’re being real.”

You stare at the cabinet. Like it might open up and swallow you whole.

“I don’t care what’s going on. Just don’t let it get messy. Especially not here.” He softens it with a small smile. Like he’s giving you room to save face.

You nod too quickly. Your palms sweaty. And then you join the rest in the living room, plopping in the center of the couch.

By the time the movie starts, the seating’s already sorted. Jay and Jungwon are curled up on the floor with a blanket pulled over their legs, sitting cross-legged with a bowl of popcorn between them. Heeseung and his girlfriend are on the smaller love seat, arms tucked around each other, their view of the TV clear, but not the couch behind them.

And then there’s the main couch. It’s closest to the kitchen, and furthest from the screen. You, Sunghoon, and Niki end up there.

It’s kind of crowded.

Sunghoon claims the far side, legs kicked out. His arm stretches behind your back, lazily. You squeeze into the center cushion. Niki takes the end.

He doesn’t say much. Just sits there. One arm draped along the top of the couch, the other curled into his lap. Eyes half-lidded. Calm.

Rain lashes against the windows as the movie starts, some pretentious black-and-white thing Jungwon begged for. Everyone’s piled into the main room of B2, wrapped in throw blankets, half-limp from sun and salt and too many chips.

You hear a few groans as the movie opens up in a black and white picture and Nosferatu – the oldest version, starts playing.

There’s barely space. The couch is too small. You’re wedged between Sunghoon and Niki. Sunghoon tuggs you into his side, his arm around your shoulders. Niki shifts closer, silent. The blanket from the back of the couch gets pulled over your legs, accidentally shared.

You should say something.

But you don’t. The movie drones on and on. Someone snores lightly. A bowl clinks from the kitchen.

You feel the blanket shift. Niki’s hand brushes yours under the fabric. You flinch but don’t pull away. He pauses, but when you don’t pull back, he takes your hand. Guides it down, slow and steady, until your palm is cupping him through his shorts.

He’s already hard.

Your breath hitches. You glance once toward Sunghoon. He’s half-asleep, lips parted, breath warm on your neck .

Niki leans in, mouth near your ear. “Go ahead. Pretend you’re not dying for it,” He whispers, his breath tickling you neck, goosebumps rise.

His fingers slip beneath your waistband. Push inside.

You gasp, barely. Bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. “Are you this soaked from playing the perfect girlfriend? Or because you know I’m going to fuck you right here?”

Niki’s fingers on your clit are slow. Cruel. Tiny circles, teasing, not giving you enough. Just reminding you who can make you this way. Turned into a puddle through simple touch.

The room is dark, except for the flickering light of the movie and the occasional flash of lightning outside. Thunder rumbles low and slow, like it’s warning you. Across from you Heeseung and his girlfriend, curled on a love seat, half-asleep. Jungwon and Jay are tangled together on the floor under a mountain of blankets. And beside you,  too close is Sunghoon, with his arm still lazily slung over your shoulder.

Your head is spinning.

You grasp Niki through his shorts, fondle him. A smile tugs on your lips when you feel him twitch under your touch.

He presses down on your clit more firmly now, finger sliding down your slit to your hole. You subtly scooch closer to him. Sunghoon’s arm around your shoulders slides off, but before he can say something you angle your body towards him and slightly lay your head on his shoulder/bicep. It’s somewhat awkward since you’re’ still in an upright sitting position but you don’t notice any discomfort.

Because Niki’s starts pushing your panties aside. Then, he slowly, forcefully bullies his dick into you. No prep. No fingering.

You nuzzle your head into Sunghoon to prevent yourself from making any noise. He thinks you’re scared of the movie, patting your head while whispering a small ‘cute.’

Meanwhile Niki sheaths himself into you so deep you’re shaking from the stretch. From the silence. From how still he is.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to. One arm’s casually thrown over the back of the couch. The other is under the blanket. Hidden, anchored around your hip like he owns it.

Owns you.

And in a way he does, because he starts pulling you closer to him. So much bigger than you, it’s easy for him to do that. You couldn’t stop him now even if you wanted to, your brain turned into mush because of the dizzying and pleasurable stretch of Niki’s dick deep inside you.

“Feel that?” he murmurs near your ear, low enough only you can hear. “No one has a clue. You’re so tiny, I can get away with anything.”

You clamp down unintentionally. He feels it.

His breath stutters. “God. You’re so fucking tight.” He bites down on your shoulder to stop himself from moaning.

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. But the tension in your body gives you away. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His lips graze your ear again, words like smoke and sin “They’re all right here. Sunghoon. Jay. Heeseung. If one of them turns around…”

He shifts inside you, just a little. Grinding his hips frustratingly slow into you “…they’d see the way I’ve got you stuffed full. Dripping. Shaking.”

You dig your nails into his thigh under the blanket. He doesn’t stop.

“I could make you come like this,” Niki breathes, voice darker now. “Without moving. Without touching anything but this.” He squeezes your hip possessively. “You’d fall apart, right in front of your boyfriend. And he’d never know.”

You want to scream. Instead, your breath comes in shallow, silent waves.

“Ignored me all day,” Niki murmurs, his tone bitter now, jagged. “But now you’re letting me fuck you inches from his face?”

The weight of it presses down on you, the reality. The risk. If Sunghoon moved just a little… leaned forward even slightly… They’d all know.

Niki’s hand slides up past your stomach, under your shirt, palming your breast. Rough. Familiar. His fingers pinch your nipple hard and you twitch.

“Say his name,” Niki growls into your neck.

You whisper it. Quiet. Shaky. Like you’re afraid it’ll break the spell.

His grip tightens. “Now say mine.”

You don’t. So he thrusts once. Deep. Sharp.

Your breath hitches, eyes fluttering. A quiet noise escapes before his hand slaps gently over your mouth.

“Say it.”

You do. “Niki.”

His head drops to your shoulder and you feel it in the way he exhales against your skin. Like your voice undid him. Like hearing his name on your lips makes it all worth it. His dick feels even stiffer in you, you push back against his strong frame.

Outside, the rain’s gotten louder, wind pushing against the glass. Inside, the couch creaks once. But no one stirs.

And that’s when he starts to move. Tiny thrusts. Barely-there movements. But you feel all of it. The stretch. The pervertedness. The weight of him claiming you in the same room as everyone else.

He fucks you like it’s punishment. And it kind of is, for running, for pretending, for not saying his name sooner. One hand over your mouth. The other wrapped firmly around your throat, fingers curled just under your jaw like a tether.

And you. You’re falling apart. Silently. Desperately. Completely. Because this isn’t just sex. You’re his. Even here. Even now.

Especially now.

He spills inside of you, biting on your shoulder as he does so. You squeeze your eyes shut so hard the room spins when you open them again. You stay connected like that for the rest of the movie. Niki’s length has gone flaccid, but his girth, his thickness… you still felt too full of him.

By the end of the movie, the room is nearly silent. The credits flicker across the screen in eerie black and white, accompanied by soft thunder outside. Niki slips out, fixing your panties and his boxers. You feel cum ooze out of you, sticking to your panties.  Jay’s asleep on the floor. Jungwon’s curled under a blanket, half-awake. Heeseung and his girlfriend are whispering something to each other, focused completely on one another.

But on the couch you, Sunghoon, and Niki have somehow ended up tangled together.

Sunghoon’s arm is back around you, head heavy against your shoulder. Niki’s hand rests loosely on your thigh, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just ruin you in the shadows of this very couch. You’re stiff between them. Smiling. Laughing at something dumb Jungwon muttered as the lights come back on.

You play your part. You always do.

Everyone stands. Stretches. Groggy and full of popcorn, ready to go to bed and collapse. You follow them, grabbing your phone off the counter. Just before you head out, it vibrates.

[seungie 🌀]:

hey glad you and niki are good now things feel less weird hoon looks happy too proud of you 🫶🏽

You stare at the screen. Three words echo in your head like a curse ‘proud of you’. Your heart sinks. Your stomach flips. Niki brushes past behind you as you freeze and you feel the smallest tap of his fingers against your back.

A reminder. A thank-you. A secret. You smile. You type back.

[You]:

yeah. all good now :)

And you follow Sunghoon outside.

You feel different in the morning. You wait for the guilt to hit you, wait for the sense of responsibility to weigh down on you. But it never does.

You feel happy, Sunghoon sees it too, as you eat breakfast with the boys like your body doesn’t still ache from what happened on the couch hours before.

Sunghoon nudges your arm with his and grins around a mouthful of toast.

“Damn, baby. This vacation’s been good to you. You look all… glowy and relaxed.”

You glance at him, hiding a smile in your coffee.

He leans in, peering at your face.

“Like, really pretty. I don’t know — it’s cute.”

You blink innocently. “Must be the ocean air.”

Across the table, Niki doesn’t look up from his plate. He spears a slice of mango, pops it into his mouth.

Then, effortlessly he says “Yeah, she looks good when she’s been taken care of.”

Your breath hitches.

But Sunghoon just nods in agreement, oblivious. “Right? I knew this trip would be good for her.”

Niki’s eyes flick up. Just for a second. Right at you.

And there’s nothing innocent about the smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

Your stomach flips. Not with guilt, not anymore. That’s the strange part. The guilt should be there. But it isn’t.

Maybe it burned off sometime in the night, in the warmth of Niki’s breath on your neck, the ache of him inside you while Sunghoon’s arm was draped over your shoulder. Maybe it’s because Sunghoon still smiles at you like nothing’s wrong. Maybe it’s because nothing feels wrong.

Niki’s just helping you scratch an itch you could never ask anyone else to touch. It’s only physical and you would make sure it would never be deeper than that. You were still Sunghoon’s. And Niki, he’s just helping you scratch an itch. A very deep and needy itch.  

You take another sip of coffee and peek at Niki. He’s licking mango from his thumb. It’s ridiculous, how something so small makes your thighs press together under the table.

“You want the last one?” he asks casually, holding up the final piece.

You shake your head. “All yours.”

His smile is lazy. “Didn’t know you weren’t into sharing.”

Sunghoon, doesn’t look up from his plate. “She’s not. Don’t let her fool you — she’ll stab you over fries.”

“Only if they’re mine first,” you add sweetly, leaning toward Niki just slightly. His knee bumps yours under the table. You don’t pull away.

Eventually, Sunghoon pushes his plate back and stretches. “Alright, I’m gonna shower. You guys start packing, yeah?”

“Sure,” you chirp, too fast.

The moment the bathroom door clicks shut, you glance at Niki.

He’s still chewing, watching you with slow, cautious eyes. Like he doesn’t want to assume anything. Like he doesn’t believe this is real yet.

You stand. Don’t think. Just move.

You pad down the hallway. Leave the bedroom door open just long enough for him to see you slip inside. And you don’t wait.

You strip your shirt first. Then your shorts. By the time he reaches the doorframe, you’re sitting in your and Sunghoon’s bed in nothing but your panties.

He exhales something between a laugh and a curse. Steps in. Closes the door.

“You’re not serious.”

You cock your head. “I’m naked in his bed. What do you think?”

He walks to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

His voice is low. Rough. Almost reverent. “You really want this?”

You nod. “I want you.”

His gaze dips to the mattress beneath you. His mouth twists like he’s trying not to smile. “In his bed,” he mutters, half to himself.

You smile, slow and wicked. “Didn’t want you thinking I’d change my mind.”

Niki lets out a breath, close to shaking. Then he laughs, low and stunned.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he says, moving closer. But there’s something in his voice, something cracked open. Relieved, like he was afraid you would run away from him again. It’s like he’s finally sure. Like he finally believes he’s not just your secret, he’s your choice.

You go on all fours, angling your ass towards him. Niki steps closer, softly fondling your ass, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve, every dip.

“Fuck,” he breathes, climbing onto the bed like a man starving. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

He flips you so you’re laying on your back and you grab him by the shirt and pull him down to kiss you.

It’s filthy instantly all tongue, no hesitation, teeth clicking as you both try to taste too much too fast. He groans into your mouth and presses you back into the mattress, body already hard against you.

He bites at your jaw.

You grab his hand and shove it between your legs. “I’ve been wet for you since I woke up.”

His breath stutters.

Then he flips you fast, chest to the mattress, ass in the air. His palms spread your cheeks without hesitation. And he laughs. Dark. Disbelieving.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters. You hear a ripping sound, your panties slipping off of you. And Niki doesn’t even apologize, he just bends down, your ass in his face.

You whimper as his mouth drops down, tongue sliding over your folds, teasing, tasting. Until he’s devouring you from behind. Tongue fucking your pussy, then higher, licking over your asshole like he’s lost all control.

“Niki—fuck—” you gasp, he pushes his middle and ring finger between your mushy walls.

“You let me do this in his bed,” he groans. “So filthy. You want me to fuck you here?”

“Yes—please—” you plead, in hurry now too, Niki scissors inside of you. Prepping you for his thick length.

When he pulls back, he’s stroking himself slowly.

“Bet you’d let me in your ass if I asked nicely.”

You whine, burying your face in the sheets.

His hand comes down on your ass, a soft slap. “Don’t hide now. Not after this.”

“Next time,” you manage. “Just—fuck me. Please.”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, lining up behind you. “I’ll make you beg for it next time.”

And then, he pushes in. All of him, all at once.

No fear of being caught, knowing Sunghoon needs at least 20 minutes to shower. No need to muffle the way your breath breaks. You moan into the mattress, and he just holds your hips tighter.

“So tight,” he growls. “Like your cunt knows who owns it.”

He fucks you hard, dragging your body back into each thrust, hair wrapped in his fist so your mouth brushes his ear when you moan.

“Say it again,” he pants. “Say you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you.”

He flips you again. Your back hits the mattress. Your legs spread wide.

He thrusts in deep and holds.

“Look at me.”

You do.

Eyes locked, he fucks you like it’s the last time. Hard, slow, deep. Like he’s memorizing every sound, every clench, every twitch of your hips under his.

He doesn’t break eye contact. Not even when you come.

Not even when he does, pulling out and finishing across your chest with a grunt, panting above you, his name still wet on your lips.

You don’t wipe it off. You just pull him down. Kiss the corner of his mouth. And stay.

Because now?

Now you’re not pretending. Now you both know the truth. The sheets are still warm when you slip out of bed. Your legs ache. Your chest is sticky. And your heart is an echo chamber. Loud and quiet at once. You don't say anything to Niki as you wipe yourself clean. He doesn't try to stop you. You think he gets it. That you have to reassemble the version of you that belongs to someone else.

By the time Sunghoon comes out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, you're in a hoodie. Hair damp. Smile practiced. Niki’s gone from the bedroom, like he never came at all.

The front of B2 buzzes with the quiet chaos of departure. Suitcases thud against gravel. The sky is overcast, the air heavy with leftover rain and that weird post-vacation stillness like everyone’s trying to delay the inevitable.

Jay and Jungwon are finishing their last photo op, laughing at the blurry selfie timer results. Heeseung’s girlfriend is squatting next to the trunk trying to zip her overstuffed duffel while muttering under her breath.

Niki is arguing with Sunghoon over who left the aux cord behind. Loudly.

“Bro, I swear I gave it to you yesterday.”

“No, you left it on the porch table. Like a dumbass.”

“You were literally DJing from my playlist.”

“Yeah, because your music’s decent for once.”

“You’re welcome.”

You smile into your hoodie, watching them shove each other lightly between loading bags. There’s no tension between them. No suspicion. If anything, they’re closer after this trip.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you out of the moment.

It’s Heeseung.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, almost too quickly. “Yeah.”

His gaze holds steady. “You seem lighter.”

You blink.

“Whatever was going on before…” He glances toward Niki who’s now making a dumb face at Sunghoon behind the car, then back to you. “Glad you figured it out. You look better.”

There’s a beat of silence. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You smile, soft and quiet. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He just nods.

Eventually, the group breaks apart with lazy goodbyes. Jay hugs you like a big brother. Jungwon thanks you again for organizing everything. Heeseung’s girlfriend waves from the passenger seat, already applying lip balm.

And then it’s just the three of you left.

Sunghoon slaps the roof of the car like a dad and grins. “Alright, losers. Time to hit the road.”

You’re halfway to the front seat when Niki tugs the door handle ahead of you. “Shotgun.”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes. “You’re seriously calling it?”

“You drove my playlist into the ground,” Niki shrugs, already sliding in. “This is penance.”

Sunghoon groans but gives in, climbing into the driver’s side. “Unreal.”

You climb into the back, the leather still warm from the sun.

Niki glances back at you briefly. “You sure you don’t wanna swap?”

You smirk. “I’m good for now.”

Sunghoon starts the engine, windows cracked to let in the humid breeze. As he pulls onto the road, the bungalow shrinking behind you, Niki kicks his feet up.

“Try not to get carsick this time. I’m not cleaning anything,” Sunghoon tells him, teasingly.

“I’ll throw up on your playlist.”

Niki glances back at you, smirking. “Last chance, you sure you don’t wanna sit up front? Might get lonely back there.”

You smile lazily, stretching out. “I like the view from here.”

“Thought you get crancky in the back,” he says, twisting around in his seat just a little.

You tilt your head. “Only when I’m bored.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So basically whenever Sunghoon talks.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, starting the engine. “Disrespecting your driver? Bold move.”

“You’re not a driver,” Niki fires back. “You’re a menace with a license.”

“Keep talking and I’ll hit every pothole from here to Seoul.”

You laugh, light and unbothered, resting your head against the window.

Niki glances back at you again, conspiratorial. “If I end up puking, I’m aiming for your knees.”

You deadpan, “Joke’s on you. I brought wet wipes.”

He mock-gags. “You’re disgusting.”

“You started it.”

Sunghoon cuts in with a snort, shaking his head. “God, you two are so annoying.”

But there’s no edge to it, just fondness, worn-in and easy. You catch the way his reflection softens in the rearview mirror, eyes crinkling slightly. His shoulders relaxed.

He’s happy. They both are. And so are you.

The road curves out of the bungalow’s driveway, tires crunching over wet gravel. Trees blur past. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the engine and the soft playlist Sunghoon has playing. One of those moody acoustic mixes. Your throat tightens at the lyrics.

Niki shifts in the passenger seat beside Sunghoon, exhaling sharply. He leans his head back against the headrest, eyes squinting toward the window.

“Dude,” he says after a beat, voice low and a little strained. “I think I’m getting carsick again.”

Sunghoon turns briefly to glance at him, brows pinched. “Seriously? You were fine earlier.”

“Yeah, well,” Niki sighs. “Something about your tragic-ass music and winding roads. Not vibing.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Sunghoon mutters, but he’s already pulling over.

You stay quiet, curled against the side window in the back, pretending to be asleep.

“Is she out?” Niki asks, peeking behind the seat.

Sunghoon lowers his voice. “Looks like it. Just crash back there, it’s fine. But if you puke on my upholstery—”

“I won’t,” Niki says, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll aim for your sweater.”

Sunghoon groans as Niki climbs out and slides open the back door. You don’t open your eyes, just shift slightly, your legs curled up.

Niki settles in next to you without a word, sitting directly behind the passenger seat (you’re behind the driver’s seat). Carefully. Quietly. The door shuts, muffling the outside world again.

“Better?” Sunghoon calls back once they’re moving again.

“Yeah,” Niki answers, voice relaxed now. “Much.”

You don’t reach for Niki. Not at first. Not until twenty minutes pass and the silence gets thick again. You shift in your seat. Let your hand rest on his thigh.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

You lean in anyway, close enough for your breath to brush his jaw. “You’re quiet.”

No answer. You squeeze gently. “Pretending to sleep?” A beat. “Or just sulking because I didn’t kiss you goodbye?”

You feel it, the slow inhale. The way his body tenses just slightly under your touch.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he murmurs finally. Voice low. Rough. But quiet enough that Sunghoon, humming along to some song up front, doesn’t notice.

You smile. Let your fingers trace idle shapes over his thigh. “You knew what this was,” you whisper. “You knew I wasn’t done with him.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t argue. But after a second, he turns his head, eyes half-lidded and focused fully on you. “I didn’t think you’d do this.”

You just tilt your head. “Do what?”

“Pull me into his bed,” he says, voice like gravel, “then hold my hand in the car like nothing happened.”

You shrug, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

A dry laugh escapes him. No humor, just surrender. “I don’t even know what I am to you.”

You lean in. Closer. Your lips graze the edge of his jaw.

“You’re mine,” you say softly. “Even if I don’t belong to just you.”

His hand finds yours again, locking your fingers together, tighter this time. Not asking, just taking. Letting himself want, even if it’s not enough.

“You’re messed up,” he mutters, almost fondly. “You know that?”

You grin. “And you’re still here.”

He huffs a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m still here.”

And he will be. Even if he’s just your secret. Even if it eats him alive. Because this time, he doesn’t let go. And neither do you.

[ggukivrse]

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content (mdni), kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

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You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

��And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

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