Archive of Our Own

The white feathers of his giant costume wings rustled softly as Jimin adjusted the harness across his shoulder blades. He turned side to side, examining his reflection in the full-length mirror propped against Taehyung’s bedroom wall, critically assessing the drape of his white top. The fabric was sheer, deliberately so, with delicate strings crisscrossing over his chest and tied in a loose bow at his sternum, and his booty shorts left absolutely nothing to imagination, hugging every curve and making his thighs look phenomenal.

“Jimin-ah, you’re going to give poor Jeongguk a heart attack,” Hoseok said from his perch on the bed, already decked out in his vampire costume complete with fake fangs and a dramatic cape. His eyes swept appreciatively over Jimin’s outfit. “Or a boner. Possibly both.”

Jimin scoffed, fluffing his blonde hair. The strands fell in soft waves just past his shoulders. He’s been growing out it for months now, and he’d spent an embarrassing amount of time styling it tonight, making sure it looked effortlessly perfect. “Please. This isn’t for him.”

“Right,” Taehyung drawled, not looking up from his phone where he was scrolling through Instagram. He sat at his vanity, adding final touches to his pirate makeup. “That’s why you’ve checked your reflection seventeen times in the last ten minutes.”

“I have not.”

“You so fucking have,” Taehyung countered, finally meeting Jimin’s gaze in the mirror with a knowing smirk. “And I don’t blame you. You look hot as hell. Just own it. You want to make your ex jealous. That’s, like, textbook post-breakup behavior.”

“It’s been four months,” Jimin muttered, turning away from the mirror to grab his small crossbody bag. He checked inside for his essentials. Phone, wallet, keys, lip gloss. “If I want to dress up and feel confident, that’s for me. Not him.”

Hoseok and Taehyung exchanged a look that Jimin pretended not to see.

“Whatever you say, Jiminie,” Taehyung said, finally standing and adjusting his leather vest. “Ready to bless this Halloween party with your presence?”

Jimin’s stomach fluttered. Tonight was the annual Halloween bash hosted by some guy in their year named Jackson Wang. He had a reputation for throwing legendary parties at his off-campus house, and this year, the entire university seemed to be invited. Including, Jimin knew via Hoseok, a certain ex-boyfriend who would undoubtedly be there.

The Uber ride felt longer than it should have, the streets of their college town alive with costumed students migrating between parties. Jimin sat in the middle, sandwiched between Taehyung and Hoseok, his fingers nervously smoothing over the fabric of his shorts. He could feel the butterflies in his stomach.

“You’re going to be fine,” Hoseok assured him, tapping into his anxiety. “Just have fun. Dance. Drink. If you see him, you see him. No big deal.”

Jimin nodded, taking a steadying breath. His hyung was right. This wasn’t a big deal. He was over Jeongguk. Completely, totally, absolutely over him.

The music from Jackson’s house blared and vibrated through the car doors before they even stepped outside. The front yard was packed with people, smoke machines billowing colorful fog across the lawn, and bright orange pumpkin-shaped string lights illuminating everything. A group of girls dressed as sexy policewomen stumbled past, giggling. Someone had toilet-papered the trees.

Jimin adjusted his wings, making sure they were secure, and followed his friends inside.

The house was absolutely brimming. Every room overflowed with people, bodies pressed together, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, perfume, cologne, and sweat. The living room had been converted into a dance floor, multicolored lights flashing in time with the heavy bass that made conversation nearly impossible. Jimin immediately lost Hoseok in the crowd, but Taehyung grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the kitchen where a makeshift bar had been set up.

“Time to let loose,” Taehyung shouted over the noise, already reaching for a bottle of cheap vodka. “What do you want?”

“Vodka cran,” Jimin yelled back, watching the liquid splash into a red solo cup. He took it gratefully, taking a long sip that burned pleasantly down his throat.

They migrated back toward the living room, and Taehyung vanished in two seconds flat, turned into a predator on the hunt when he saw Kim Seokjin within ten feet of them.

Good luck with that, Jimin thought, and then he stopped thinking about Taehyung entirely, because—

Because Jeongguk was right there.

Jeongguk stood near the far wall, leaning against it with one shoulder, drink in hand, looking undeniably handsome in that infuriating way he always did. He hadn’t even tried with his costume: the same black leather jacket he always wore, fitted perfectly across his broad shoulders, the sleeves pushed up to expose the intricate tattoos that snaked up his forearms. A simple black t-shirt underneath, black jeans, and combat boots. His dark hair was styled in an artfully messy way, showcasing the silver hoop earrings Jimin had bought him for their six-month anniversary.

Jimin’s grip tightened on his cup. Of course. Of course Jeongguk would show up looking like that, like he’d just rolled out of bed and accidentally ended up at the biggest party of the year. It wasn’t fair.

It also wasn’t fair that he was currently surrounded by at least three different twinks, all of them clamoring for his attention. The one closest to Jeongguk was practically draped across his shoulder, a boy with pink hair and glitter across his cheekbones, wearing something that might generously be called a shirt. He was laughing at something Jeongguk said, tilting his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. Jeongguk’s gaze dipped to that throat for half a second, and Jimin’s stomach lurched with sickness.

Another one—taller, in a sexy nurse costume—stepped closer, angling his body to block Pink Hair’s access. The two of them were practically circling, and Jeongguk stood at the center of it all, smiling that quiet smile, the one that made his nose scrunch slightly, the one Jimin had once believed was reserved for him.

Pink Hair pressed a hand to Jeongguk’s chest. Jimin watched Jeongguk’s lips move, some reply Jimin couldn’t hear, and then Pink Hair threw his head back laughing again, his hand sliding down to Jeongguk’s stomach.

Jimin’s jaw ached. He was clenching it too hard.

Nineteen-year-old me would walk right over there and show them what’s mine, he thought. But he wasn’t nineteen anymore, and Jeongguk wasn’t his.

And then Jeongguk looked up.

The moment stretched, elastic and thin. Noise folded away—the bass became a distant thud, the chatter reduced to static. Jimin’s pulse beat in his throat, in his wrists, between his legs.

Jeongguk’s gaze tracked down. Wings, sheer top, the visible lines of Jimin’s torso through the fabric, the obscene cling of the booty shorts, the long spill of blonde hair. His expression flickered—something hungry in it—and Jimin felt it land in his chest like a struck match.

Smile, Jimin willed him. Come over here. Do something, for fuck’s sake.

But Jeongguk just smirked, a small, dismissive curl of his lips. And then he turned back to Pink Hair, leaning down so the boy could murmur directly into his ear.

The rejection felt like a prompt slap to the face.

Fine. Fine!

Two could play at that game.

Jimin turned away, scanning the crowd until he spotted a familiar tall figure near the center of the dance floor. Kim Namjoon stood with a group of friends, sipping a drink and nodding along to the music, his broad shoulders draped in what appeared to be a very half-hearted scientist costume—lab coat over a t-shirt, glasses perched on his nose.

Perfect.

Jimin downed the rest of his vodka cran, letting the alcohol burn through him, then straightened his wings and marched toward the dance floor.

“Joonie-hyung!” Jimin called, pitching his voice to carry over the bass.

Namjoon’s face lit up when he saw him, pulling him into a quick side-hug. “Jimin! You made it! Love the wings, very angelic.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jimin said sweetly, already stepping closer, letting his hand rest on Namjoon’s forearm. He could feel the warmth of Namjoon’s skin through the thin fabric of the lab coat. “Want to dance?”

Namjoon blinked, clearly surprised, but not unwilling. “Uh, sure! Yeah, let me just—” He handed his drink to a friend, then turned to face Jimin properly.

The bass dropped, and Jimin moved.

He started simple, just swaying to the beat, letting his body find the rhythm. The alcohol was buzzing through his veins, making everything feel softer, easier. His wings fluttered with each movement, and he could feel the air against the exposed skin of his thighs.

“Your costume is great,” Jimin said, stepping closer so Namjoon could hear him over the music. He let his hand slide from Namjoon’s forearm to his chest, fingers splaying over the lab coat. “Very… intellectual.”

Namjoon laughed, dimples appearing. “That’s the idea. Sexy scientist, you know?”

“Oh, very sexy,” Jimin agreed, and his voice came out lower than he’d intended. He turned around, pressing his back against Namjoon’s chest, letting his hips sway to the beat. He could feel Namjoon’s hands hovering uncertainly near his waist. “You can touch me, hyung. We’re at a party, not a funeral.”

Namjoon’s hands settled on his hips, tentative but present. “Sorry, I’m not exactly—”

“You’re doing great,” Jimin assured him, rolling his hips in a slow circle. He tilted his head back, letting it rest briefly against Namjoon’s shoulder, his blonde hair catching the flashing lights. “Just relax.”

He glanced toward the wall where he’d last seen Jeongguk.

Their eyes met again.

And this time, Jimin watched as Jeongguk’s jaw tightened. Watched as his smile faded, as his fingers clenched around his cup.

A thrill of satisfaction shot through Jimin’s chest.

Gotcha.

He turned his attention back to Namjoon, but he was acutely aware of Jeongguk watching. He let his movements become more deliberate, more sensual. He rolled his body, letting his head fall back. His sheer top shifted with the movement, the strings pulling taut across his chest.

“You’re really flexible,” Namjoon said, sounding impressed and slightly dazed.

“Years of dance, hyung,” Jimin confirmed, turning to face Namjoon again. He looped his arms around Namjoon’s neck, pulling him closer before he raised his voice. “You have no idea what I can do.”

Jimin didn’t have to look to know Jeongguk had heard them. He kept his eyes locked on the spot where Jeongguk stood, watching as the other man’s expression darkened. The nurse guy was still talking to him, but Jeongguk wasn’t listening anymore. His focus had shifted entirely to the dance floor.

To Jimin.

Jimin turned around again, pressing his back against Namjoon’s chest, and let his hands slide down his own sides, over the curve of his hips, down his bare thighs. The movement was slow, his fingers trailing over his skin. He could feel the heat of Namjoon’s body against his back, could hear the older man’s breath catch.

“Jimin—”

“Shh,” Jimin murmured, reaching back to rest his hand on Namjoon’s hip, encouraging him to move with him. “Just dance with me.”

They moved together, Jimin’s body fluid and practiced, Namjoon following his lead. Jimin rolled his hips in slow circles, feeling the beat pulse through him. Every few seconds, he’d glance toward Jeongguk, checking, making sure he was still watching.

He was. Jeongguk’s eyes hadn’t left Jimin once.

Jimin turned to face Namjoon again, sliding his hands up the older man’s chest, over his shoulders. “You feel so good, hyung,” he breathed, loud enough to carry. “So strong.”

Namjoon’s hands tightened on his hips. “Jimin, are you—is this because of—”

“Does it matter?” Jimin asked, rolling his body against Namjoon’s. “I just want to dance. I just want to feel good.”

He let his head fall back, eyes half-closing, mouth parting slightly. His wings spread slightly behind him. He was putting on a show, and he knew it. Every movement was calculated to entice, to tempt, to provoke.

Most importantly, to make Jeongguk watch.

And Jeongguk was watching. Jimin could feel his gaze like a physical touch, burning into his skin. The admirers had given up, drifting away when it became clear that Jeongguk’s attention was elsewhere. Now Jeongguk stood alone, cup forgotten in his hand, his eyes fixed on Jimin.

Jimin turned his back to Namjoon again, grinding against him in a way that was bordering on inappropriate for a public dance floor. He could feel Namjoon’s breath hot against his ear, the older man’s hands tightening on his hips.

“Jimin, people are—”

“Let them watch,” Jimin breathed out, and his eyes found Jeongguk’s again.

Something had shifted in Jeongguk’s expression. His jaw was tight, his nostrils flared. His free hand had clenched into a fist at his side.

Jimin smiled.

He turned in Namjoon’s arms, facing him again, and let his hands slide up to cup Namjoon’s face. “Thanks for dancing with me, hyung,” he said. “You’re so sweet.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon said, looking dazed and slightly overwhelmed. “You’re, uh. You’re welcome, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin laughed, patting Namjoon’s cheek. He glanced one more time toward Jeongguk’s spot against the wall, but—

—it was empty.

He frowned, scanning the crowd. Where had—?

“Motherfucker,” Jimin breathed.

“What?” Namjoon leaned down, trying to hear over the music. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Jimin’s voice came out sharper than he intended. He forced a smile, sliding his hands down and patting Namjoon’s chest. “I’m fine. I just—I need another drink. Raincheck on the dance?”

Jimin’s triumph faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. He suddenly felt tired. The music was too loud, the room too hot, and his feet ached from standing in his heeled boots. The vindictive satisfaction he’d felt moments ago had drained away.

He made his way toward the kitchen, grateful for the relative quiet as he moved away from the speakers. The hallway was still crowded, but less chaotic, and he squeezed past a group of girls taking selfies until he reached the kitchen doorway.

The kitchen was slightly less packed, a few people milling around the cooler, others chatting in corners. Jimin headed straight for the counter where bottles were lined up haphazardly.

“I’ll take a beer.”

The voice came from directly behind him, low and familiar, sending a shiver down Jimin’s spine.

He spun around.

Jeongguk stood close, one hand braced on the counter beside Jimin’s hip. Up close, Jimin could see the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, the slight flush to his cheeks. He’d clearly been dancing too. And those stupid plastic devil horns were still perched on his head, glittering under the fluorescent kitchen lights.

“Jeongguk.”

“Jimin-hyung.” Jeongguk’s eyes raked over him again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Cute costume.”

“Thanks.” Jimin tilted his chin up defiantly. “Took you long enough to come say hi.”

“Was busy.” Jeongguk shrugged, but his gaze kept drifting to the strings tied at Jimin’s chest. “Didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“Sure. It’s not like everyone knows this is the party of the year.” Jimin snarked, turning back to the counter and reaching for a cup. “Besides, you clearly saw me. You were too busy with your fan club to bother.”

Jeongguk huffed out a laugh. “Jealous?”

“I’m not the one who needs validation from random twinks.”

“Oh, ouch.” Jeongguk pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

“I’m not in a mood,” Jimin scoffed. “Just stating facts.” Jimin poured vodka into his cup, not measuring, just splashing. “You come here dressed like that, tattoos out, smiling at everyone—”

“What’s wrong with my tattoos?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem.” Jimin turned to face him again, jabbing a finger at Jeongguk’s chest. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Showing up looking all—ugh. You’re such a manslut.”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows shot up. “Manslut?”

“Yeah, manslut. Walking around like you own the place, flirting with everything that moves—”

“I was being friendly!”

“You were being manslut.” Jimin insisted, crossing his arms. “And don’t think I didn’t see you watching me with Namjoon-hyung. You got all clenched-jaw and broody and then ran away.”

“I didn’t run away.”

“You disappeared.”

“Yeah, I went to get these.” Jeongguk tapped the devil horns, and it was only now that Jimin noticed the new addition. “Wanted to match with you.”

Jimin stared at him. “What?”

“We’re matching.” Jeongguk gestured between them. “Angel and devil. Classic.”

“We are not matching.” Jimin’s voice rose in indignation. “I spent two weeks planning this costume. I ordered these wings specially. I made sure every detail was perfect. You barely made any effort!”

“Still matching.”

“Absolutely not. I actually put in effort. You just happened to grab five-dollar party-store devil horns lying around.”

“Just like you happened to come to this party?” Jeongguk’s voice dripped with disbelief.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“Right,” Jeongguk said, letting out a short laugh. “Because when I mentioned it to Yoongi-hyung, who probably mentioned it to Hoseok-hyung, who’s literally your best friend, there was no chance it would get back to you.”

Jimin’s jaw clenched. “That’s not—I don’t keep track of your schedule.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jeongguk stopped inches away, close enough that Jimin could smell his cologne, and it made him dizzy. “You always did know how to get my attention.”

“I’m not trying to get your attention.”

“No?” Jeongguk’s gaze raked down Jimin’s body, taking in the wings, the lace, the shorts, the bare thighs. “Then why dance with Namjoon-hyung like that?”

“We were just dancing.”

“Just dancing.” A humorless laugh. “Jimin-hyung, you were practically fucking him on the dance floor.”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

“Don’t I?”

“No! We’re not—we’re not anything anymore, remember? You made sure of that.”

Something flickered in Jeongguk’s eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” Jimin’s laugh came out bitter, sharp at the edges. “You want to talk about fair? Okay, let’s talk about fair, Jeongguk. Let’s talk about the last two months of our relationship when you basically checked out.”

“I didn’t check o—”

“You stopped texting me back. Like, you’d literally wait hours. Sometimes a whole day. And when I’d ask if something was wrong, you’d just say you were busy.” Jimin’s voice climbed despite himself, the words spilling out faster than he could stop them. “Busy! That was your excuse for everything. Busy with the gym, busy with your photography, busy with your friends. Meanwhile I was sitting in my room wondering what the hell I did wrong.”

Jeongguk’s jaw worked. “You never said anything.”

“Because I shouldn’t have had to!” Jimin set his cup down on the counter harder than necessary, vodka sloshing over the rim. “I shouldn’t have had to beg my boyfriend to notice me! And when I started pulling away—which, by the way, I did on purpose—you didn’t even react. You just let it happen.”

“I thought you needed space.”

“Are you serious?” Jimin stared at him, incredulous. “I needed you to fight for us, Jeongguk, just once!”

Jeongguk ran a hand through his hair, the motion agitated. The muscles in his forearm flexed beneath the ink, the dragon tattoo Jimin had traced a hundred times with his fingertips. “You were already pulling away. What was I supposed to do? Chase you down and demand you talk to me? That’s not—I didn’t want to be that guy, Jimin-ah. The controlling boyfriend who can’t take a hint.”

“I was testing you.” Jimin’s voice cracked slightly, and the words came out petulant. “And you failed.”

“That’s bullshit, Jimin-hyung. If you wanted me to fight for you, you could’ve just said so.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” Jimin stepped closer, anger overriding his better judgment. “Mr. I-don’t-talk-about-my-feelings. Mr. Everything’s-fine-don’t-worry-about-it. You think I didn’t notice you pulling away first? You think I didn’t see you getting distant after your exhibition got rejected?”

Jeongguk flinched.

“Yeah, I knew about that.” Jimin’s voice softened, but the hurt in his words remained, throbbing beneath. “You never told me about anything. I had to find out from your friends that you were struggling. And when I tried to be there for you, you shut me out completely.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“I was your boyfriend!”

“Yeah, and I didn’t want you to see me like that.” Jeongguk’s voice came out hoarse. “You know, being a failure. Not good enough. I thought if I just,” he cleared his throat. “dealt with it on my own, I’d figure it out and then everything would go back to normal.”

“But it didn’t.” Jimin wrapped his arms around himself, the wings on his back suddenly feeling heavy and stupid. “It just got worse and worse. Until—” Jimin took in a breath, then shook his head sharply. “Ugh, whatever, that’s not even the point.”

“What is the point then, sweetheart?”

The pet name made Jimin’s stomach flip traitorously. “Yah, don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Jeongguk stepped closer, his voice dropping lower, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk. “Used to love it when I called you that. Especially when you were underneath me, begging—”

“Jeongguk!” Heat flooded Jimin’s face. “We’re in public.”

“Just stating facts.” Jeongguk’s smile was all teeth now, sharp and knowing. “You always did get prettier when you were pissed off. All flustered and red. Used to drive me insane.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“Yeah you are.” He leaned closer, the heat of his body radiating through the scant inches between them. “Can hear it in your voice. Little hitch at the end of your sentences.”

Jimin’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He looked away for a second. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Jeongguk tilted his head, the devil horns catching the light again, and Jimin wanted to rip them off his stupid head and throw them across the room. “Or do you just not want to admit that four months apart did absolutely nothing to get me out of your system?”

Jimin barked out a laugh. “Get over yourself.”

“Get over yourself,” Jeongguk mimicked, pitching his voice higher in a terrible impression that made Jimin see red.

“You’re such a fucking child!”

“And you’re deflecting.”

“I’m not doing anything. I came here to have fun with my friends, not to get cornered in the kitchen by my ex-boyfriend who apparently can’t take a hint.” Jimin jabbed a finger into Jeongguk’s chest again, harder this time, feeling the solid muscle beneath his t-shirt. “You had your chance to talk to me four months ago. You had a hundred chances, actually, and you blew every single one of them. So you don’t get to stand here looking all—” He gestured vaguely at Jeongguk. “—and act like I’m the one who’s still hung up on this.”

Jeongguk’s gaze dropped briefly to where Jimin’s finger was pressed against his chest before returning to his face. “Then why are you so angry?”

Jimin let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, screw you. This isn’t about me being angry. It's about you acting like you still have some claim to me.”

Jeongguk’s expression flickered with something dark, something possessive that made Jimin’s stomach clench in a way he absolutely did not want to examine. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to say it. It’s written all over your face.” Jimin stepped back, his shoulder blades bumping against the counter. “You see me dancing with someone else and suddenly you’re all up in my space, calling me sweetheart, trying to—what, exactly? What’s your endgame here, Jeon?”

For a long moment, Jeongguk just stared at him. The kitchen noise faded to a dull roar, the party continuing around them as if nothing was happening, as if Jimin’s heart wasn’t threatening to punch through his ribcage.

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk finally said, and the honesty in his voice caught Jimin off guard. “I saw you walk in and I couldn’t—I just couldn’t not talk to you.”

“Well, you’ve talked to me. Congratulations.” Jimin pushed off from the counter, ducking around Jeongguk’s arm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find my friends and actually enjoy this party.”

“Jimin-ah.”

“I don’t wanna talk to you.”

He made it three steps before a hand closed around his wrist.

The grip wasn’t tight or forceful—just Jeongguk’s warm fingers wrapped around the delicate bones of Jimin’s wrist, and his body reacted before his brain could catch up. His steps faltered. His breath stuttered. Every nerve ending in his body zapped to attention, hyperaware of that single point of contact.

“Let go,” he said, but it came out weaker than he intended.

“Turn around.”

“Jeongguk—”

“Turn around, Jimin.”

The command in his voice sent a shiver cascading down Jimin’s spine. He turned, slowly, and found himself chest-to-chest with his ex-boyfriend, close enough to count the individual lashes framing his dark eyes.

“What,” Jimin managed, trying to inject venom into the word and failing miserably.

Jeongguk didn’t answer with words. Instead he moved forward, and Jimin moved back, and then his wings were crushed against the kitchen wall and Jeongguk was right there, bracketing him in with both arms, caging him against the cool plaster.

“Baby,” Jeongguk murmured, and the word landed like a punch to Jimin’s gut. “Wait. Just wait.”

“I don’t want to wait, Jeongguk, I want to go find Taehyung and get drunk and forget this conversation ever happened.”

“Liar.” Jeongguk’s nose brushed against Jimin’s jaw, and the contact was so featherlight, so devastatingly gentle, that Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut against his will. “You don’t want to forget. You’ve been thinking about me all night. That’s why you danced with Namjoon-hyung, isn’t it? Wanted to make me jealous.”

“I didn’t—”

“It worked.” The confession came out low and rough, vibrating against the sensitive skin below Jimin’s ear. “Watching you with him—watching anyone touch you—makes me want to lose my fucking mind. You know that, don’t you? You’ve always known that.”

Jimin’s hands came up, pressing against Jeongguk’s chest with every intention of shoving him away. But his fingers betrayed him, curling into the worn leather of his jacket instead, holding on instead of pushing.

“This is a bad idea,” Jimin whispered.

“Probably.”

“We’re at a party. Anyone could walk in.”

“Let them.”

“Jeongguk.”

“Say my name like that again.” His lips traced a path along Jimin’s jawline, never quite kissing, just skating over heated skin. “Fuck that, say it however you want. It’s my favorite sound in the world.”

Jimin’s head fell back against the wall with a thunk that should have hurt, but right now, every ounce of his awareness had narrowed to the warm mouth that was now pressing open kisses down the column of his throat.

“You’re so fucking frustrating,” he managed, the words hitching. “You ignore me for four months and now you’re—ah—”

Jeongguk’s teeth grazed his pulse point, just barely, a tease of pressure that made Jimin’s knees buckle.

“Now I’m what?” Jeongguk asked, pulling back just enough to meet Jimin’s eyes. His pupils were blown, the dark brown nearly eclipsed by black. The devil horns sat askew on his head, and Jimin wanted to laugh at how silly he looked, how absolutely ridiculous they both looked, an angel and a devil making out against a kitchen wall at a house party like something out of a lousy rom-com.

“Now you’re being an asshole,” Jimin breathed.

“Yeah.” Jeongguk’s hands found Jimin’s hips, fingers digging into the bare skin exposed between the hem of his sheer top and the waistband of his shorts. “But you like it.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.” His grip tightened, and Jimin’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking friction that wasn’t there. “You always liked when I got a little mean. You know. When I stopped being so careful with you and just took what I wanted.”

Jimin’s breath caught. “You don’t get to want anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t seem to matter.” Jeongguk leaned in again, this time pressing his lips directly beneath Jimin’s ear, where the skin was impossibly sensitive. “My body doesn’t know the difference. Still wants you the same way it did fourth months ago. Still wakes up at 3 AM thinking about you. Still—”

“Stop,” Jimin gasped, but his fingers were twisting in Jeongguk’s jacket now, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. “Stop talking.”

Before Jeongguk could say anything in response. he grabbed his face with both hands and yanked him forward, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was more teeth than lips, more desperation than finesse. Jeongguk made a sound against his mouth—surprise, maybe, or relief—and then he was kissing back with equal ferocity, one hand sliding up to tangle in Jimin’s long blonde hair while the other pressed flat against the small of his back.

The kiss was messy and hot and tasted like cheap vodka and the cherry lip gloss Jimin had reapplied for good measure in the Uber. Jeongguk’s tongue swept against his bottom lip, demanding entry, and Jimin granted it without hesitation, letting his ex-boyfriend lick into his mouth like he was starving for it.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk panted when they broke apart for air. “Fuck, Jimin-ah.”

“Shut up.” Jimin pulled him back in, unwilling to let the moment end, unwilling to think about what this meant or what would happen tomorrow or whether Hoseok and Taehyung were looking for him. All he wanted was this—Jeongguk’s mouth, Jeongguk’s hands, Jeongguk’s body pressed against his so completely that he couldn’t tell where he ended and Jeongguk began.

Jeongguk’s hands slid lower, cupping the backs of Jimin’s thighs, and then he was lifting—actually lifting, like Jimin weighed nothing at all—and Jimin’s back hit the wall again as his legs wrapped around Jeongguk’s waist instinctively. The new position aligned their hips perfectly, and Jimin couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped when he felt how hard Jeongguk already was, the thick line of his cock pressing against the front of his jeans. The booty shorts did nothing to hide Jimin’s own arousal, which was rapidly becoming embarrassing.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” Jeongguk growled against his throat, thrusting up experimentally, drawing another broken moan from Jimin’s lips. “Since the second you walked in with those wings and that fucking top. Do you have any idea what you look like?”

“Mm, I had a pretty good idea,” Jimin managed, his nails digging into Jeongguk’s shoulders through the leather jacket. “That was kind of the point.”

“Yeah?” Another thrust, harder this time, and Jimin’s head thunked against the wall. “Wanted everyone at this party to want you?”

“Just wanted you to see what you gave up.”

Jeongguk pulled back, his expression shifting from possessive lust to something that looked almost like pain. The change was so sudden it gave Jimin whiplash. “I didn’t give you up. You broke up with me.”

“Because you left me no choice.”

“I know.” The admission came out shattered, barely audible over the distant thump of bass. “I know I fucked up. I know I should’ve—fuck, Jimin, I should’ve done a lot of things differently.”

“Oh, come on, we’re not doing this right now.” Jimin shook his head, his blonde waves sticking to his damp forehead. “We can’t talk about this while I’m wrapped around you like—like a fucking koala.”

A surprised laugh burst out of Jeongguk, and the sound of it, so painfully familiar, made Jimin’s chest ache. “A koala?”

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

“Cute.” Jeongguk’s thumb traced small circles on the outside of Jimin’s thigh, a soothing motion that contrasted wildly with the obscene press of their hips. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute,” Jimin pouted. “I’m a vengeful angel who came here to ruin your night.”

“Mission accomplished.” Jeongguk kissed the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the tip of his nose in a gesture so tender Jimin’s heart stuttered. “My night is thoroughly ruined. I can’t think about anything except bending you over this counter and reminding you exactly why you used to beg for it every single night.”

Heat pooled low in Jimin’s belly. “I don’t remember that.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Jeongguk’s hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, grinding their clothed erections together in a rhythm that made Jimin see stars. “I remember, though. I remember everything. Even the little whimpers you let out before you—”

Jimin’s face burned. “You’re imagining things again.”

“Guess I’ll just have to prove it.” Jeongguk’s mouth found his neck again, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin just above his collarbone, and Jimin’s protest dissolved into a gasp. “Is that okay? Can I prove it to you, baby?”

Four months of trying to move on, four months of telling himself he was over it, four months of ignoring Jeongguk whenever he saw him from afar and pretending he didn’t still have photos of them together buried in his camera roll—all of it crumbled.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say, and then louder, more certain: “Yes, okay, yeah, just—not here. Someone’s going to walk in.”

Jeongguk pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes dark and wanting. “My place is fifteen minutes away.”

“Your place? Your place where Yoongi-hyung might be?”

“He’s probably working overnight.”

“Maybe.” Jimin’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “If he’s not, I guess you’ll just have to be quiet, then.”

Jeongguk scoffed. “I’m not the one who has trouble being quiet.”

Before Jimin could retort, Jeongguk was lowering him back to the ground, steadying him when his legs wobbled. He grabbed Jimin’s hand, interlacing their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world, and tugged him toward the kitchen doorway.

“Wait,” Jimin said, digging in his heels. “My wings are crooked.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care. I spent two weeks and twenty dollars on this costume.”

Jeongguk turned, and for a moment he just looked at Jimin with an expression that was so full of fond exasperation that Jimin forgot how to breathe. Then his hands were on the harness, adjusting the straps across Jimin’s shoulder blades efficiently.

“Better?”

“Better.” Jimin smoothed down his top, which had ridden up during their wall encounter. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They slipped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, which was somehow even more crowded than before. Jimin caught a glimpse of Taehyung across the room, deep in conversation with Seokjin-hyung, and made a mental note to text him later so his friends wouldn’t worry.

And then Jeongguk was pulling him toward the front door, and they were out in the cool October air, and Jimin was laughing—actually laughing—as they stumbled down the porch steps and onto the sidewalk.

“What?” Jeongguk asked, glancing at him.

“Nothing.” Jimin shook his head, blonde hair catching the streetlight and spilling gold across his shoulders. The wings rustled with the movement. “Just—this is insane. We’re insane. We hated each other like ten minutes ago.”

Jeongguk made a grumbly sound of disagreement. “I never hated you.” His thumb stroked across Jimin’s knuckles. “Couldn’t hate you if I tried.”

They rounded the corner of Jackson’s street, and Jimin’s laughter died in his throat when he spotted the familiar shape parked at the curb.

The motorcycle.

Oh no.

“Absolutely not.” Jimin planted his feet on the sidewalk, yanking his hand out of Jeongguk’s grip. “No way. I’m not getting on that metal death trap.”

Jeongguk turned, eyebrows raised. “It’s a fifteen-minute ride.”

“It’s a fifteen-minute ride to the emergency room when you inevitably crash and we both die.”

“I’ve never crashed!”

“That’s what everyone says right before they crash.” Jimin crossed his arms. “I haven’t been on that thing since—since before. And even then I hated it. You know I hated it.”

Jeongguk’s expression softened. He stepped closer, close enough that the streetlight caught the silver in his earrings, the earnest set of his jaw. “I know, baby. But the buses stopped running an hour ago, and I’m not calling an Uber when my bike’s right here.”

“Then we’ll walk.”

“It’s thirty minutes on foot and you’re wearing heels.”

“They’re boots with a heel, there’s a difference.”

“Jimin-ah.” Jeongguk reached out, hooking a finger through one of the strings crisscrossing Jimin’s chest. He tugged gently, reeling him in. “I’ll go slow, I promise. You can hold onto me the whole time.”

Jeongguk’s dark eyes were earnest, and Jimin found his resolve wavering.

“If I die,” Jimin said, snatching the helmet from the bike’s storage, “I’m haunting you forever.”

“Deal.”

The helmet was warm when Jimin pulled it over his head, and it smelled like Jeongguk. Jimin’s wings made the process awkward, the harness digging into his shoulders as he maneuvered the helmet into place.

Jeongguk reached over and helped him buckle it, fingers brushing Jimin’s chin. “There. Not so bad, right?”

Jimin frowned a little. “I feel like a bobblehead.”

“Cutest bobblehead ever.” Jeongguk kicked the engine to life, and the bike rumbled beneath him, a low growl that vibrated through Jimin’s bones. “Get on, baby. Hold onto me.”

Jimin swung his leg over the seat with considerably less grace than Jeongguk had managed, his booty shorts riding up even higher and the cold leather of the seat pressing against his bare thighs. He settled behind Jeongguk, the engine humming between them.

“Put your arms around me,” Jeongguk said over his shoulder. “Tight.”

Jimin’s arms wrapped around Jeongguk’s waist. The jacket was smooth under his palms, and underneath it he could feel the warmth of Jeongguk’s body, the slight give of muscle when he squeezed. Muscle that had definitely gotten more defined in the four months they’d been apart.

“Ready?”

“Not even a little.”

Jeongguk laughed, low and warm, and then they were pulling away from the curb and into the empty street.

The October air whipped past them, cold enough to make Jimin’s exposed skin prickle, and he pressed himself tighter against Jeongguk’s back without thinking about it. His thighs hugged the outside of Jeongguk’s hips, and the vibration of the engine traveled up through the seat in a way that was definitely not helping his current situation.

Jeongguk kept his promise. He drove slow—slower than Jimin had ever seen him drive—and took every corner with exaggerated care. The streets were mostly empty this late, bookstore and coffee shop windows dark as they passed through the downtown area and into the neighborhood where Jeongguk’s apartment was.

Jimin closed his eyes behind the helmet visor.

By the time Jeongguk pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, Jimin’s heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the motorcycle.

The engine cut off, and the sudden silence was deafening.

Jimin scrambled off the bike, his legs shaky and his hands fumbling with the helmet buckle. Jeongguk was there immediately, gentle fingers replacing Jimin’s clumsy ones, working the strap loose.

“See?” Jeongguk murmured, lifting the helmet off. Jimin’s hair was a disaster, blonde strands sticking up in seventeen different directions, and Jeongguk smoothed them down with careful hands. “Safe and sound.”

“I’m never doing that shit again.”

“That’s what you said the first time I took you on it. And then you asked me to take the long way home.”

“I did not.”

“You literally begged me to drive past the river so you could see the lights.”

Jimin’s face heated, because he did remember that. The memory surfaced unbidden—a warm summer night, Jeongguk’s back against his chest, the bridge lights reflecting off the water like scattered jewels. He’d been so happy that night. So in love it had scared him.

“That was different,” Jimin said quietly.

Jeongguk’s hands stilled on his hair. “Yeah. It was.”

The parking lot was silent except for the distant sound of traffic. Jimin stood there for a moment, unsure of what to even say next.

“Come on.” Jeongguk’s hand slid down to cup Jimin’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Let’s go inside.”

They walked through the parking lot hand in hand, and Jimin’s stomach twisted with a complicated knot of nerves and anticipation. He’d been in this building a hundred times before. Had a key to this apartment once, back when things were good, had spent countless nights curled up on Jeongguk’s couch watching terrible horror movies and eating ramyeon.

The familiarity of it made his chest ache.

Jeongguk led him up the stairs to the second floor, down the hallway with the perpetually flickering light that the landlord never fixed. His apartment was at the end, and the faded number sticker was peeling at the corner, just like it had been since Jeongguk moved in.

“Yoongi-hyung better actually be out,” Jeongguk muttered, fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket.

“Is he still working at the radio station?”

“Yeah. Late shift on weekends, usually.” The key scraped against the lock. “But you know him. He could be home anyway. Dude never has a schedule.”

Jeongguk was still fumbling with the keys when Jimin stepped closer.

Maybe it was the adrenaline from the motorcycle ride, or maybe he just didn’t want to wait another second—he pressed Jeongguk against the door. Jeongguk’s breath left him in a surprised rush, his back hitting the wood with a muffled thump. The keys jangled in his hand. “Jimin—”

“Shut up.”

Jimin kissed him.

It wasn’t like the kiss in the kitchen—all teeth and fury and months of pent-up frustration. This one was slower, deeper. Jimin’s fingers curled into the lapels of Jeongguk’s leather jacket, and he kissed him like he was trying to memorize the shape of his mouth all over again.

Jeongguk made a sound against his lips—half groan, half whimper—and the keys clattered to the ground.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk breathed when Jimin pulled back. “Fuck, okay, hold on—the door—”

“Then open it.”

“I’m trying, baby, but you’re distracting me.”

Jimin just smiled in response.

Jeongguk stared at him for a heartbeat, something blazing in his dark eyes. Then he was bending down, snatching the keys off the floor, and jamming them into the lock with considerably less finesse than before.

The door swung open.

They stumbled inside together, a tangle of limbs and wings and eager hands, and Jeongguk kicked the door shut behind them. The apartment was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the living room curtains. Jimin registered familiar shapes—the lumpy couch, the overflowing bookshelf, Jeongguk’s photography supplies scattered across the coffee table—before Jeongguk was on him again.

His back hit the hallway wall for the second time that night, and Jimin let out a breathless laugh. “You must have a new thing for pinning me against walls.”

“I have a thing for you.” Jeongguk kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the sensitive spot below his ear. His fingers traced the delicate strings crisscrossing Jimin’s chest. “You’re so beautiful.”

Jimin’s breath hitched.

“So fucking beautiful, baby.” Jeongguk pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, and the intensity in his gaze made Jimin’s knees weak. “My angel.”

“Jeongguk—”

“I mean it.” His hands framed Jimin’s face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “You walked into that party and I forgot everything except how much I missed you.”

Jimin’s throat tightened. “You didn’t act like you missed me.”

“You think you’re the only one who wanted to make someone jealous tonight?” Jeongguk leaned his forehead against Jimin’s. “And then—I saw you with Namjoon-hyung and I wanted to punch a wall. And I didn’t know how to say any of this without sounding like the world’s biggest hypocrite.”

“You are the world’s biggest hypocrite.”

“I know.” Another kiss, this one pressed to the tip of Jimin’s nose. “I know I am. I know I fucked everything up. I know I pushed you away when I should’ve pulled you closer, and I know I have no right to be jealous, and I know—”

“Jeongguk.”

“—I know I should’ve fought for you. I should’ve done a million things differently. I should’ve told you about the exhibition. I should’ve told you how scared I was that I wasn’t good enough. I should’ve told you every single day how much—”

“Jeongguk.”

“I love you.”

Jimin’s heart clenched.

It was like a physical sensation that stole his breath and made his fingers tighten on Jeongguk’s jacket. “You love me?”

“So much it hurts.” Jeongguk’s voice cracked on the last word, and he pressed another kiss to the corner of Jimin’s mouth like he couldn’t help himself. “So much I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t do anything except think about you and how badly I fucked up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared, baby.” Jeongguk’s forehead dropped to Jimin’s shoulder, his breath warm through the sheer fabric of the top. “You were so done with me. The way you looked at me that night, I—it felt like I’d become a stranger. Like everything we’d been through together didn’t matter to you anymore. And I knew. I knew I deserved that look. I deserved to lose you.”

Jimin’s throat tightened. His hand slid up from Jeongguk’s jacket to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the soft, dark hair. “You didn’t lose me.”

“Didn’t I?” Jeongguk lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. The tip of his nose was pink. His lips were swollen from crying. He looked wrecked. Beautiful and wrecked. “I haven’t touched you in four months. I haven’t held you.”

Jimin’s chest ached.

“What were you afraid of?” he asked quietly.

“That you’d say no.” Jeongguk’s hands came up to cup Jimin’s face, thumbs brushing the high bones of his cheeks. The touch was trembling. “That I’d tell you I love you, and you’d look at me with those cold eyes again.”

“I was angry.”

“You had every right to be.”

“I was so hurt.”

“I know.” Jeongguk’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I know, baby. I know.”

Jimin kissed him.

He couldn’t help it. The words were too much. He kissed Jeongguk to stop him from saying anything else that would make Jimin cry, and Jeongguk kissed him back like he understood, as though he needed the contact as much as Jimin did.

The kiss deepened fast.

Jeongguk’s hands slid down Jimin’s body, tracing the curves of his waist, the flare of his hips, the bare skin of his thighs. His palms were hot through the thin fabric of the booty shorts, and Jimin arched into the touch, a soft moan escaping his throat.

“Bedroom,” Jimin managed between kisses. “Yoongi-hyung—”

“Is hopefully out and won’t be back till morning.” Jeongguk’s lips trailed down his neck, sucking another bruise into the skin. “But yeah. Bedroom. Good idea.”

They stumbled down the hallway together, shedding pieces of their costumes as they went. The devil horns went first, knocked off Jeongguk’s head when Jimin pushed him against the bedroom door. The wings came next—Jeongguk’s fingers working the harness, the white feathers pooling on the floor like fallen snow.

“I liked those,” Jimin protested weakly.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” Jeongguk’s mouth was on his collarbone now, teeth grazing the delicate skin. “I’ll buy you a hundred pairs of wings. Whatever you want, baby.”

“That’s impractical.”

“Don’t care.”

The bedroom door swung open, and they tumbled inside. Jeongguk’s room looked exactly the same as it had four months ago—bed unmade, posters taped to the walls, laundry basket overflowing in the corner. The familiarity of it made Jimin’s chest tight.

And then Jeongguk was backing him toward the bed, and Jimin stopped thinking about anything else.

The backs of his knees hit the mattress, and he went down willingly, pulling Jeongguk with him. The sheets smelled like Jeongguk’s laundry detergent, and Jimin buried his face in the pillow for a moment, breathing it in.

“You okay?” Jeongguk asked, hovering above him. His leather jacket hung open, his t-shirt rumpled, his hair a mess from Jimin’s fingers. He looked wrecked already, and they hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Yeah.” Jimin reached up and tugged at the jacket. “Take this off.”

Jeongguk obeyed immediately, shrugging out of the leather and tossing it somewhere behind him. The t-shirt followed, pulled over his head in one fluid motion, and then Jimin’s hands were on bare skin.

The tattoos looked even better up close.

Jimin traced the dragon winding up Jeongguk’s forearm again. He’d been there when Jeongguk got this one—had held his hand in the tattoo parlor and made fun of him for flinching. The memory surfaced and then dissolved as Jeongguk’s hips settled between his thighs.

“Your turn,” Jeongguk murmured, fingers finding the bow at Jimin’s sternum. He tugged it loose with agonizing slowness, the sheer fabric parting to reveal more skin. “Been thinking about untying this all night.”

“Pervert.”

“Takes one to know one, baby.”

The bow came completely undone, the sheer fabric falling open to reveal Jimin’s chest. Jeongguk’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight, his gaze dragging slowly from Jimin’s collarbones down to the soft planes of his stomach. The top was essentially useless now, just scraps of white material hanging off Jimin’s shoulders, and Jeongguk made a low, appreciative noise in the back of his throat.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this.”

Jimin’s hands came up instinctively to cover himself, a flush creeping up his neck. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Jeongguk’s smile was all teeth, predatory in the low light filtering through the blinds. “Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

“Maybe I do.” Jeongguk dipped his head, lips brushing the curve of Jimin’s pec.

Jimin’s breath stuttered when Jeongguk’s mouth found his nipple, tongue swirling over the sensitive nub before teeth grazed it. His back arched off the bed, a whine escaping his throat.

“Jeongguk—”

“You like that?” Jeongguk murmured against his skin, breath hot. He sucked harder, pulling a whine from Jimin’s chest, his hand coming up to pinch the other nipple and roll it between his fingers.

“N-no.”

“Liar.” Jeongguk bit down gently, then soothed the sting with his tongue. “Your body’s telling me a different story.”

Jimin’s hands fisted in the sheets, hips squirming. The attention was too much and not enough, pleasure sparking through his nerves like electricity. “You’re so annoying.”

“Mmm.” Jeongguk switched sides, giving the other nipple the same treatment. “You’re so responsive. Always were. Used to get hard just from me playing with your chest for hours.”

“I did not—”

“You did. Remember that time in your dorm room freshman year? Your roommate was out and I had you on your back for hours. Just my mouth on your nipples. You came twice without me even touching your cock.”

Jimin’s face burned. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Jimin tugged at Jeongguk’s hair, dragging him up for a messy kiss. Their tongues slid together, wet and hot, and Jimin bit down on Jeongguk’s bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss.

“You’re so full of shit,” Jimin panted against his mouth.

Jeongguk laughed, the sound warm against Jimin’s chest. “Maybe. But you’re hard as fuck right now, so I must be doing something right.”

Jimin’s face burned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Jeongguk sat back on his heels, surveying Jimin with dark, hungry eyes. His gaze traveled from Jimin’s flushed face down to his heaving chest, the sheer top still hanging off his shoulders, the obscenely tight shorts. His fingers hooked into the waistband.

“Wait—” Jimin started, but Jeongguk was already pulling them down.

The white lace underneath made him freeze.

Jimin watched the emotions flicker across Jeongguk’s face—surprise, appreciation, and then something more dark and possessive. His jaw tightened.

“Jimin-ah.” His voice came out low and strained. “What the fuck is this?”

Jimin cleared his throat. “Lingerie.” He tilted his chin up defiantly, even as his pulse raced. “I bought it last week.”

“For tonight?” Jeongguk’s fingers traced the edge of the lace where it sat low on Jimin’s hips, delicate white against flushed skin. The material was sheer enough to show everything—the curve of his cock, the swell of his ass. “Were you hoping to get lucky?”

“Maybe.” Jimin shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as his breath came faster. “Halloween only happens once a year. Figured I should be prepared.”

Something dark burned in Jeongguk’s gaze. “Prepared for who?”

“I don’t know. Anyone interesting.”

The sound Jeongguk made was barely human—a low growl that vibrated through the mattress. His grip tightened on Jimin’s hips hard enough to bruise.

“Anyone?” The word came out sharp. “You came to this party dressed like this, wearing this underneath, hoping some random stranger would see it?”

“I didn’t say stranger.” Jimin’s pulse thundered, but he pushed harder. “Could’ve been anyone. Namjoon-hyung seemed kinda interested earlier. I don’t know, there were a lot of options tonight.”

“The fuck there were.”

“You don’t own me, remember?” The bratty words spilled out before Jimin could stop them. “You made that very clear four months ago. So if I want to wear pretty lingerie and go home with whoever I want, that’s not really your business, is it?”

Jeongguk stared at him for a long, tense moment. Jimin’s heart hammered against his ribs.

“Turn around.”

Jeongguk’s voice had gone low, rough at the edges. Jimin’s pulse skittered recklessly.

“No.”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows rose. “No?”

“You heard me.” Jimin propped himself up on his elbows, chin tilted in defiance. The ruined top slipped off one shoulder entirely, pooling around his wrist. “I don’t take orders from you anymore. You’re not my boyfriend, remember? You’re just—just some guy who happened to corner me at a party.”

“Some guy.” Jeongguk’s jaw tightened. The muscle in his temple twitched. “That’s what I am now?”

“That’s what you’ve been for four months.” Jimin let his legs fall open a little wider, let the white lace ride up higher on his hips. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly how the sheer fabric looked against his skin. “So if you want something from me, you’re gonna have to ask nicely. Or better yet—” He smiled, sweet and poisonous. “—stop talking and fuck me already.”

The growl that rumbled through Jeongguk’s chest was practically feral.

He moved fast—faster than Jimin expected—one hand closing around Jimin’s hip while the other grabbed his wrist. The world spun, mattress shifting, and suddenly Jimin was on his stomach with his cheek pressed against the rumpled sheets.

“What the f—” Jimin started, but the word dissolved into a yelp when Jeongguk’s palm cracked against his ass.

Heat bloomed across Jimin’s skin, radiating outward from the impact point, and his whole body jolted like he’d touched a live wire.

“You wanna run your fucking mouth?” Jeongguk’s hand soothed over the stinging spot, his palm warm through the lace. “Fine.”

Jimin’s breath came in short, sharp bursts against the pillow. His cock was so hard it ached, trapped between his stomach and the mattress, and the sting of Jeongguk’s palm was already fading into something more and warm and pleasant that thrummed through his nerves.

“That all you got?” The words came out breathier than he intended, but he pushed forward anyway. “Even Taehyung could spank me harder than that when we fight over who gets to eat the last ramyeon packet.”

The second smack landed harder, lower, right where his ass met his thigh. Jimin gasped, fingers scrabbling at the sheets.

“Fuck—hngh—Jeongguk —”

“Still talking shit?” Jeongguk’s voice was pure gravel, and Jimin could hear the smile in it even though he couldn’t see his face. “Guess I’m not doing this right.”

“Or—hah—maybe you’re just weak.” Jimin’s voice cracked on the last word, betraying him completely. His hips shifted involuntarily, grinding against the mattress, seeking friction. “Maybe four months without me made you forget how to actually—”

Smack.

Jimin moaned. It would’ve been embarrassing if he had any brain cells left to be embarrassed with. The spanks were starting to blur together, heat building across his skin until his whole ass felt like it was glowing.

“You were saying?” Jeongguk’s hand rested on the small of Jimin’s back, thumb tracing idle circles just above the waistband of the lace.

“I was saying—” Jimin swallowed hard, trying to find some scrap of composure. “—that you’re being really slow. Anyone else would’ve been inside me by n—”

Two smacks in rapid succession, one on each cheek, and Jimin’s words dissolved into a long whine that was definitely going to haunt him later.

“Anyone else.” Jeongguk’s weight shifted on the mattress, and then his chest was pressed against Jimin’s back, his lips brushing the shell of Jimin’s ear. “You keep talking about other people and I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Jimin gasped out.

“Wrong answer.”

Jeongguk’s mouth latched onto the side of Jimin’s neck, right where his pulse hammered closest to the surface, and sucked hard.

Jimin felt it everywhere. The sharp sting of teeth, the wet heat of Jeongguk’s tongue, the pressure that was definitely going to leave a mark visible from space. His eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones.

“Stop—” he managed, but his hand came up to grip the back of Jeongguk’s head, holding him in place. “Fuck, Jeongguk, I have class on Monday—”

“I don’t care.” Jeongguk pulled off with a wet pop, surveying his work with obvious satisfaction. “You’re gonna walk into that lecture hall covered in my marks and everyone’s gonna know.”

“Hngh—hah?”

“That you’re mine.”

Jimin’s stomach flipped. He shoved at Jeongguk’s shoulder weakly, not actually trying to dislodge him. “Possessive much?”

“You have no idea.” Jeongguk bit down on the same spot, gentler this time, just enough pressure to make Jimin squirm. “You think I’m playing? Think I don’t mean every word of this?”

“I think you’re talking rubbish,” Jimin twisted beneath him, trying to flip onto his back, but Jeongguk’s weight pinned him in place. “I think you had four months to say any of this and you didn’t. I think you’re only acting like you care now because you saw me with someone els—ah—”

Jeongguk’s teeth found a new spot, higher on his neck, and worried the skin until Jimin’s protests dissolved into breathless whimpers.

“You done?” Jeongguk asked against his throat.

“Not even close.”

“Good.” Another bruise sucked into existence just below Jimin’s jaw. “Neither am I.”

Jimin’s fingers twisted in the sheets. He was going to look like he’d been mauled tomorrow. There was no amount of concealer that could fix this. He was going to have to wear a big scarf indoors, and everyone in his classes was going to know exactly what happened.

“I don’t—ah—I don’t like hickeys,” he lied through his teeth.

Jeongguk laughed, low and dark, and the vibration traveled straight to Jimin’s cock. “Bullshit. You fucking love them.”

“I don’t.”

“But Jimin-hyung,” Jeongguk’s teeth scraped his shoulder, then soothed the spot with his tongue. “You used to bruise so pretty. Used to beg me for them too.”

Jimin’s face heated. “I did not—”

“You did.” Another bruise, sucked into the skin just above his collarbone. “You can’t tell me you forgot the time you had to wear turtlenecks to class during finals week because of how much I’d marked you up. Professor Kim asked if you were sick and you turned so red I thought you’d pass out.”

The memory surfaced with embarrassing clarity. Jimin groaned, covering his face with his hands. “That was mortifying.”

“It was kinda hot.” Jeongguk pulled his hands away, pinning them gently to the mattress. “Knowing everyone could see the evidence of what we did.”

“Aish, you’re such a caveman.”

“Yeah, well. You bring it out of me.” His hands slid down Jimin’s sides, gripping the lace-covered swell of his ass and squeezing. “Fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”

Jimin opened his mouth to respond, something sharp and deflecting, but then Jeongguk was spreading him open and leaning down and—

“Oh my god.”

The first lick was gentle, almost exploratory, a flat stroke of tongue over Jimin’s hole through the thin lace. The fabric did nothing to dull the sensation; if anything, it heightened it, the rough texture catching against Jimin’s sensitive skin as Jeongguk’s tongue worked him over.

“Jeongguk—wait—”

But Jeongguk didn’t wait. He tugged the lace to the side, then, baring Jimin’s skin to the cool bedroom air, and then his mouth was right there, wet and insistent, tongue circling Jimin’s rim with deliberate slowness.

Jimin’s elbows gave out.

He collapsed face-first into the pillow, a muffled groan escaping as Jeongguk ate him out with single-minded focus. The sounds were obscene—wet and slick and punctuated by the occasional low hum of appreciation that sent sparks up Jimin’s spine.

“Taste so good, baby,” Jeongguk murmured against his skin, the words vibrating through him. “Missed having you fall apart on my tongue.”

“Sh-shut up.” Jimin’s voice came out strangled, wrecked. His fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white. “Just—ah—just do it, stop talking—”

“Doing what?” Another long, slow lick that made Jimin’s toes curl. “This? Or this?” His tongue pressed in, just barely, just enough to make Jimin’s hips jerk forward seeking more.

“You’re such a fucking tease.”

“You like it.” Jeongguk pulled back just long enough to land a light smack on Jimin’s ass, watching the flesh jiggle. “Your cock’s dripping all over my sheets, baby. Think that tells me everything I need to know.”

Jimin couldn’t even form words anymore. His vocabulary had shrunk to monosyllables and broken moans, each stroke of Jeongguk’s tongue dismantling another layer of his composure. The pillow was damp where he’d been drooling, and his hips kept twitching backward, chasing Jeongguk’s mouth like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive tonight,” Jeongguk murmured, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in. His thumbs spread Jimin open wider, holding him exposed, and the vulnerability of it made Jimin’s cock throb. “Always love when you get this desperate.”

“Not—ah—not desperate,” Jimin managed, but the protest shattered when Jeongguk’s tongue pressed inside.

It was actually inside now, fucking into him with shallow thrusts while his thumb circled the sensitive rim. Jimin’s back arched so hard his spine could’ve cracked, and the sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a moan.

“God, listen to you.” Jeongguk’s voice was wrecked, barely holding together. “You have no idea what that does to me, hearing you fall apart like this.”

Jimin’s fingers scrabbled at the sheets, desperate for purchase. His thighs were shaking, the muscles jumping under his skin. “Jeongguk, I—I need—”

“What do you need, baby?” The question came out muffled, spoken directly against Jimin’s hole. “Tell me.”

“More. Just—more, please, I’m so close—”

“Already?” For some reason, Jeongguk didn’t sound mocking. He sounded awed. “Okay. Okay, baby, I got you.”

His mouth sealed over Jimin’s hole and he sucked.

Jimin’s orgasm hit him like a freight train.

He came with a broken cry, hips grinding down against the mattress, his cock pulsing as he soaked through the lace and onto Jeongguk’s sheets. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through him while Jeongguk kept licking him through it, gentle now, soothing instead of demanding, drawing out every last tremor until Jimin was limp beneath him.

“Holy shit,” Jimin breathed into the pillow.

Jeongguk kissed his way up Jimin’s spine, lips trailing over each vertebra. “You okay?”

“Give me a minute. Or an hour. Maybe a year.”

A warm laugh ghosted across Jimin’s shoulder. “Take your time.”

Jimin floated somewhere above his body for a while. The sheets were slightly damp beneath his cheek with tears, and his limbs felt like they’d been replaced with jelly. Jeongguk moved behind him—the snick of a bottle cap, the slick sound of lube being squeezed onto fingers.

“Gonna stretch you now,” Jeongguk murmured, pressing a kiss to the small of Jimin’s back. “That okay?”

“Mm.” It was all Jimin could manage.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes. Yeah. Okay.”

The first finger slid in easy, Jimin’s body still loose from his orgasm. Jeongguk worked him open with the same single-minded focus he did everything else—methodical, patient, thorough. By the time he added a second finger, Jimin was already squirming again, oversensitive and somehow still hungry for more.

“You’re taking it so well,” Jeongguk said, and his voice had gone soft around the edges. “Fuck, Jimin-hyung, I missed you so much.”

Jimin twisted onto his side, almost dislodging Jeongguk’s fingers. “Hey. Look at me.”

Jeongguk met his eyes. His lips were swollen, shiny with spit, and his gaze was so eager and sweet it made Jimin’s chest ache.

“I missed you too,” Jimin whispered. “Even when I felt like I hated you and I wanted to key your motorcycle. I missed you.”

The laugh that burst out of Jeongguk was warm. “You were gonna key my bike?”

“I thought about it. Taehyung talked me out of it.”

“Remind me to send him a fruit basket.”

Jimin glanced back. The sight of Jeongguk’s cock straining against his jeans made his mouth water. “Why are you still wearing pants?”

“Because I was busy.” Jeongguk popped the button on his jeans, shoved them down with his boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already leaking at the tip. “Better?”

“Much.” Jimin reached back with grabby hands. “Come here. Want you closer.”

Jeongguk leaned over him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “You sure you want to keep going? I know you just...”

“I didn’t ride a motorcycle for the first time in four months just to tap out after one orgasm.” Jimin twisted to glare at him, though the effect was probably undermined by his sex-tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips. “Get going.”

Jeongguk’s fingers slid back inside him, two at once this time, and Jimin’s whole body shuddered.

“There you go,” Jeongguk murmured against his shoulder blade. “Taking me so well, baby. Got such a pretty hole.”

“Don’t—ah—don’t say it like that.”

“What should I call it then?” A third finger pressed in alongside the other two, the stretch making Jimin’s breath catch. “Your perfect little ass? Your greedy pussy?”

Jimin’s face burned. “Jeon Jeongguk, you’re so foul.”

“You’re the one clenching around my fingers.” Jeongguk curled them just right, and Jimin’s vision whited out for a second. “Fuck, look at you. You feel that?”

Jimin couldn’t answer. His mouth had stopped working again somewhere around the second knuckle. The squelch of lube was obscene, and his thighs were trembling again, but Jeongguk was just—just taking his time, stretching him open with a kind of patience that bordered on sadistic.

“Remember the first time we did this?” Jeongguk’s voice was perfectly casual and conversational. “You were so nervous.”

“You were—hah—you were huge. I thought you were gonna split me in half.”

“Still might.” Jeongguk’s fingers scissored inside him, and Jimin’s hips jerked. “You’ve gotten tighter. Four months without me, right? Nobody else been in here?”

The edge in his voice made Jimin’s cock twitch against the mattress. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The fingers stilled. “Jimin-ah.”

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

Jimin buried his face deeper into the pillow, mumbling something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Jeongguk’s free hand came down to squeeze his ass. “Couldn’t hear you.”

“I said no,” Jimin snapped, humiliation and arousal tangling in his gut. “No, nobody else has been inside. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” His fingers started moving again, picking up a rhythm that made Jimin’s toes curl. “Fuck, I knew you were still mine. Knew it the second you walked into that party.”

“I’m not—ah, fuck—I’m not yours just because I haven’t hooked up with anyone.”

“You’re mine because you don’t want anyone else.” Jeongguk’s thumb rubbed slow circles around Jimin’s stretched rim. “Same reason I’m yours. Been four months and I couldn’t even look at another person without comparing them to you.”

Jimin’s heart squeezed. “That’s—nngh—that’s really pathetic.”

“Totally pathetic.” Jeongguk pressed a kiss to the small of his back. “Wanna be pathetic together?”

“Ask me again when you’re not knuckle-deep in my ass.”

Jeongguk laughed through his nose, and his thumb finally stopped its idle tracing. For about three seconds.

Then two fingers became three.

Jeongguk’s middle finger crooked just barely, just enough to graze somewhere that sent a jolt up Jimin’s spine. The stretch itself was this impossible thing, this pressure that bordered on too much while simultaneously being nowhere near enough, his rim fluttering against Jeongguk’s knuckles in little involuntary pulses that he couldn’t control any more than he could control the sound that leaked out of his mouth. Jeongguk’s fingers were patient, methodical, spreading him open with a slowness that was almost cruel. It let him feel every millimeter of skin giving way, every ridge of every knuckle as it passed through the tight ring of muscle, the lube making everything filthy and slick so that the only friction was the friction Jeongguk wanted him to feel. The third finger twisted and Jimin’s prostate lit up like someone had pressed a live wire to it, a glancing brush that made his cock jerk against the sheets and his hands fist in the fabric hard enough that he could’ve sworn he heard a thread pop.

“There,” Jeongguk murmured, more to himself than to Jimin. “Right there, yeah?”

Jimin couldn’t answer. Jeongguk had barely been in his life for a couple of hours again and he was already doing something to Jimin’s brain chemistry that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Then Jeongguk’s fingers slid out.

The wet sound was so vulgar that Jimin’s face burned. His hole clenched around nothing, suddenly empty in a way that made him want to sob.

“Think you’re ready,” Jeongguk said after what felt like hours. “Wanna get on top?”

“Huh?” Jimin’s stomach flipped. “You want me to ride you?”

“Mm. Wanna see your face.” Jeongguk flopped onto his back, his cock standing thick and flushed against his stomach. The sight of him sprawled out like that—all tattoos and muscle and hungry dark eyes—sent a fresh wave of heat through Jimin’s belly. “C’mere, angel.”

Jimin swung a leg over Jeongguk’s hips, positioning himself above that thick cock. Up close like this, he could see every detail: the vein running along the underside, the bead of precome glistening at the tip, the way Jeongguk’s stomach muscles tensed with anticipation.

“Lube,” Jimin demanded, holding out his hand.

Jeongguk fumbled for the bottle, squirting a generous amount into Jimin’s palm. Jimin wrapped his slick fingers around Jeongguk’s length, stroking once, twice, watching the way his ex-boyfriend’s jaw went slack.

“Ah—hn—fuck, your hands are so soft.”

“Moisturizer.” Jimin pumped him again, slower this time, twisting at the head. “You should try it sometime. Your calluses are insane.”

“From the gym.”

“I know what they’re from. God, I used to feel them on my hips for days after we—”

“Jimin-ah.” Jeongguk’s voice cracked. “If you don’t get on my cock in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“So impatient.” Jimin clicked his tongue, but he was already rising up on his knees, lining Jeongguk’s tip up with his entrance. “Some things never change.”

The first press of blunt pressure made his breath hitch. He’d forgotten how big Jeongguk felt—or maybe his body had just gotten used to being empty. Either way, the stretch was intense, that burn radiating through his pelvis as the head of Jeongguk’s cock popped past his rim.

“Ngh—” Jimin’s thighs trembled. “Oh, fuck.”

“Take your time.” Jeongguk’s voice was strained, his hands gripping Jimin’s hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. “Don’t rush. I got you.”

“You say that like you’re not two seconds from busting.”

“I’m not—” Jeongguk’s hips twitched involuntarily, pushing another inch inside, and they both groaned. “Okay, maybe I am. It’s been—hah—four months, okay? Give me a break.”

“Four months and you still can’t last.” But Jimin was sinking down, taking him deeper, the stretch making his eyes water. “God, you’re so—ah—so fucking big, what the hell—”

“You love it.”

“I love—hnngh—I love being able to walk normally.” Jimin’s thighs burned as he lowered himself another inch. “Which I definitely won’t be able to do tomorrow.”

“So dramatic.”

Before he could give a reply, Jimin bottomed out with a gasp, his ass flush against Jeongguk’s hips. The fullness was staggering, that deep pressure that made his eyes roll back. “Oh my god.”

“Shit.” Jeongguk’s voice was barely a whisper. “Shit, Jimin-ah, you feel—you feel like—fuck—” His hands slid from Jimin’s hips to his waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above his hipbones. “Feels like you were made for me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jimin breathed out fondly.

Jeongguk’s hands roamed up Jimin's sides, thumbs tracing the ridges of his ribs, the dip of his waist. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide they'd swallowed nearly all the brown. “But you’re just—you’re so—” He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you even know? Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”

Jimin’s thighs trembled with the effort of staying still. The fullness was consuming, a deep ache that bordered on too much, and Jeongguk's rambling was making his head spin. He flushed, a little embarrassed. “Probably like I’m getting railed within an inch of my life.”

“Don’t get shy on me now,” Jeongguk murmured, sliding his thumb into Jimin’s mouth and watching his lips close around it. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Always have been.”

Jimin’s face heated. He bit down on Jeongguk’s thumb, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make his point. “Sh’up.”

“Can’t.” Jeongguk’s thumb slid out, trailing spit down Jimin’s chin. “Been so long, baby, let me have this.”

“Jeongguk.” Jimin whined.

“Mm?”

“Stop talking.”

A laugh burst out of Jeongguk. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

“And stop apologizing. Fuck me already.”

Jimin lifted his hips, the drag of Jeongguk’s cock against his walls making him shudder. He rose until just the tip was still inside, then dropped back down in one fluid motion that punched the air out of both of them.

“There,” Jimin panted. “That’s—ah—that’s better.”

“Do it again.”

Jimin did. Again and again, finding a rhythm that made the bed creak and the headboard tap against the wall. His thighs were burning, muscles screaming in protest, but the pleasure outweighed the pain—that deep, grinding fullness every time he sank down, the way Jeongguk’s cock dragged against his prostate with every stroke.

“Look at you.” Jeongguk’s voice was reverent, his eyes tracking the bounce of Jimin’s body. “So fucking beautiful. Take whatever you need from me, baby.”

Jimin’s head fell back, blonde hair cascading down his spine. “You feel—nggh—you feel so good—”

“Yeah?”

“So deep. So fucking deep. Can—hah—almost feel you in my throat.”

Jeongguk’s hips punched up to meet his next stroke, and Jimin saw stars. The new angle hit something devastating inside him, and his rhythm faltered, hands scrabbling at Jeongguk’s chest for balance.

“There?” Jeongguk’s grin was wicked. “Right there?”

“Don’t—don’t get cocky—”

“Too late.” He thrust up again, hitting that spot with unerring accuracy, and Jimin’s arms gave out. He collapsed forward, chest pressed against Jeongguk’s, their sweaty foreheads bumping together. “Got you, baby. I got you.”

The new position put Jeongguk in control. His hands slid down to grip Jimin’s ass, fingers digging into the plush flesh, and he planted his feet on the mattress for leverage. The first real thrust made Jimin’s mouth fall open, a silent cry caught in his throat.

“Shh, shh.” Jeongguk kissed the corner of his mouth. “These walls are thin. You gotta be quiet for me.”

“Can’t—ah—can’t be quiet when you’re—”

Another thrust, harder this time, and Jimin bit down on Jeongguk’s shoulder to muffle the scream.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk hissed, hips stuttering. “That’s—yeah, do that. Bite me. Mark me up. So everyone knows I’m yours too.”

Jimin bit down harder on Jeongguk’s shoulder, the salt of sweat bursting across his tongue as Jeongguk’s hips drove up into him with a rhythm that was nothing short of punishing. The headboard slammed against the wall in staccato bursts—thump-thump-thump—and somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, Jimin hoped Yoongi-hyung really was working late because there was no way anyone in a three-apartment radius wasn’t hearing this.

“Jimin-ah—” Jeongguk’s voice cracked on the upstroke, his fingers dimpling the flesh of Jimin’s ass hard enough to leave little half-moons from his blunt nails. “You’re squeezing me so tight—”

“Maybe you’re just—ah—maybe you got bigger.” Jimin’s teeth released their hold on Jeongguk’s shoulder, leaving behind a vivid imprint that would darken to purple by morning. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, palms planted flat on Jeongguk’s chest, the sweat-slick skin sliding under his fingers. “Does it have a correlation with your ego? Is that a thing?”

Jeongguk’s laugh came out breathless, punched from his lungs by the vise grip of Jimin’s body. “You’re such a brat.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah.” The word dropped into something softer, something raw that flickered behind Jeongguk’s blown-out pupils. “Yeah, I fucking do.”

He thrust up hard, a snap of his hips that drove his cock so deep Jimin felt it in the back of his throat. The sound that escaped him was something between a gasp and a keen, his head snapping forward, blonde hair curtaining his face as he braced himself against the onslaught.

“There he is,” Jeongguk murmured, voice gone low and rough like gravel coated in honey. “There’s my pretty baby. Look at you taking all of me so well.”

“Don’t—nngh—don’t call me that—”

“Pretty baby? But you are.” Jeongguk’s hips rolled in a filthy grind, the coarse hair at the base of his cock rasping against Jimin’s stretched rim. “Prettiest in the whole fucking world. Came to that party looking like sin wrapped in angel wings just to drive me insane.”

He wasn’t wrong. The thought surfaced through the haze of pleasure—Jimin had spent two hours on his makeup alone, the subtle shimmer on his cheekbones, the glossy pink of his lips. He’d imagined this exact scenario a dozen times while getting ready: Jeongguk seeing him, wanting him, losing his goddamn mind over him.

But—well. He hadn’t imagined this.

“You’re so—hngh—so full of yourself,” Jimin managed, voice hitching on every other syllable. His calves were pressed against Jeongguk’s shoulders, thighs burning from the stretch, and still he wrapped his legs tighter, feet digging into Jeongguk’s upper back. “Still thinking I dressed up for you.”

“Didn’t we already establish that you did?” Another deep grind, and Jimin’s eyes rolled back.

“I dressed up for anyone who’d appreciate it.”

Jeongguk’s rhythm faltered, a flash of something dark crossing his features. “Careful.”

“Or what?” Jimin’s mouth curved into a smile that was all provocation. He clenched deliberately around Jeongguk’s cock, watched the way his ex-boyfriend’s jaw went slack. “What are you gonna do, Jeon? Spank me again? Call me names? You already did all that and I’m still—mmph—still not impressed.”

“Not impressed,” Jeongguk repeated, voice flat with disbelief. His hips stilled completely, buried to the hilt, and Jimin’s protesting whine was entirely involuntary. “Not impressed, he says, while he’s dripping.”

“That’s—that’s just basic biology—”

“Basic biology.” A humorless laugh. “Right. And the way you’re clenching around me like you’re trying to milk my cock is just reflexes, I guess.”

Jimin’s face burned. “You’re so crass.”

“And you’re a lying little brat who can’t admit he missed this.” Jeongguk pulled out slowly—agonizingly, torturously slowly—until just the tip remained, stretching Jimin’s rim to the edge of too much. “Tell me you missed it.”

“No.”

Jeongguk pushed back in. One fluid stroke that buried him to the hilt, and Jimin’s back arched.

“Tell me.”

“N-no—ah, fuck—”

Another withdrawal, another thrust. The rhythm was punishing now, each snap of Jeongguk’s hips driving the air from Jimin’s lungs in punched-out little gasps.

“I can do this all night,” Jeongguk said conversationally, as though he wasn’t rearranging Jimin’s insides with every stroke. “You know I can. Remember that time during spring break when we didn’t leave your apartment for two days? Yoongi-hyung thought we’d died.”

“We basically—hah—basically did die—” Jimin’s nails raked down Jeongguk’s chest, leaving pink lines in their wake. “You fucked me so hard I couldn’t walk straight for a week—”

“And you loved every second of it.” Jeongguk’s thumb found Jimin’s bottom lip, pressing down, parting his mouth. “Just like you’re loving this. Just say it, baby. Say you missed my cock and I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Jimin’s tongue darted out, licking the pad of Jeongguk’s thumb. The salt of sweat burst across his taste buds, and he watched Jeongguk’s pupils dilate further, watched the muscle in his jaw jump.

“Make me,” Jimin whispered against his thumb.

Something snapped behind Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

The world tilted.

Jeongguk moved fast—always had, one of the perks of dating a guy who treated the gym like a religion—and suddenly Jimin was on his back, legs hooked over Jeongguk’s shoulders. The new angle drove his cock impossibly deeper, and Jimin’s vision whited out for a solid three seconds.

“Fuck— fuck —Jeongguk—”

“What happened to all that attitude?” Jeongguk’s grin was sharp, predatory, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Sweat gleamed on his temples, at the hollow of his throat, tracing rivulets down the intricate ink of his sleeve. “Or was this what you wanted, baby? Wanted me to fold you in half and use you?”

Jimin was folded nearly in two, knees by his ears, completely exposed and held open. His cock bounced against his stomach with every thrust, leaking steadily, the white lace still clinging to his hips.

“Yes,” he gasped, because lying felt pointless when Jeongguk was literally inside him. “Yes, fuck, wanted this, wanted you—”

“Knew it.” Jeongguk punctuated the words with a brutal snap of his hips that made the headboard slam against the wall. “Knew you were still mine. Still needed my cock to feel full.”

Jimin’s nails raked down Jeongguk’s back, leaving red lines in their wake. “You’re so—ah—so fucking arrogant—”

“And you’re so fucking wet for me.” Jeongguk’s hand snaked between their bodies, fingers wrapping around Jimin’s neglected cock. The touch was electric, his calloused palm dragging over the sensitive head in time with his thrusts. “Look at you, leaking everywhere. Making a mess on your own stomach.”

“It’s—nngh—it’s your fault—”

“Damn right it is.” Jeongguk’s thumb swiped over the slit, collecting the bead of precome there, then brought it to his mouth. His tongue darted out, tasting, and the sight made Jimin clench so hard Jeongguk’s rhythm stuttered. “Fuck, you taste good. Forgot how sweet you are.”

“You’re so—hn—weird.”

“You’re the one who came to a Halloween party in lingerie hoping your ex would rail you.”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t hoping—”

“Jimin-ah.” Jeongguk’s hips slowed to a dirty grind, the coarse hair at his base pressing against Jimin’s rim. “We both know you wore this for me. Same way I wore the devil horns for you. Same way we’ve been playing this game all night.”

“’s not a game.”

“Then what is it?”

Jimin’s throat tightened. The truth was right there, pressing against his teeth—it’s me still being in love with you, it’s me not knowing how to stop, it’s me being terrified that you’ll hurt me again—but the words wouldn’t come. Not like this, anyway.

“It’s—ah—it’s complicated,” he managed.

Jeongguk’s expression flickered, but then he was leaning down, pressing their foreheads together.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmured. “Just for tonight. Just let me make you feel good. We can figure out the rest tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

It wasn’t the closure Jimin had spent four months craving, but it was enough for now. Enough to let his body go boneless against the mattress, enough to stop thinking and start feeling.

Jeongguk took full advantage.

His hips picked up speed, driving into Jimin with a rhythm that was punishing and perfect, each stroke aimed directly at his prostate. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and slick in a way that made Jimin’s ears burn with embarrassment even as his cock drooled onto his stomach.

“Hear that?” Jeongguk’s voice was wrecked, barely more than a rasp. “Hear how wet you are? How much your tight little body loves taking my cock?”

“Jeongguk—”

“Sounds so fucking good, baby. Could listen to it forever.” His hand tightened around Jimin’s length, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts. “Could stay inside you for hours. Days. Never wanna pull out.”

“You’re so—hah—so fucking—hngh—crazy—”

“Damn right I am.” Jeongguk bit down on the junction of Jimin’s neck and shoulder, hard enough to leave teeth marks. “You’re mine. This hole is mine. This cock is mine.” He squeezed for emphasis, and Jimin’s hips jerked. “These pretty sounds are mine. Everything.”

Jimin wanted to argue—wanted to point out that ownership was a shitty foundation for a relationship, that Jeongguk had forfeited any claim to him four months ago—but his brain had short-circuited somewhere around the third direct hit to his prostate. All that came out was a broken moan.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Jeongguk’s lips traced his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Stop thinking so hard. Just feel it. Feel me.”

“I—ah—I can’t—”

“You can. You’re doing it, baby. Taking me so well.” His tongue darted out, licking the sweat from Jimin’s temple. “You always take me so well. Best I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” A particularly deep thrust made Jimin’s eyes cross. “Never been with anyone who fits me the way you do.”

Jimin couldn’t respond. Words had abandoned him entirely, replaced by a vocabulary of gasps and moans and the wet slap of skin on skin. His second orgasm was building at the base of his spine—that telltale pressure, the tightening in his balls, the way his thighs had started to tremble.

“Close,” he managed, the syllable punched out of him. “Jeongguk, I’m—I’m close—”

“I know, baby. I can feel it.” Jeongguk’s hand sped up on his cock, twisting at the head on every upstroke. 

“Look at me.”

Jimin’s eyes were squeezed shut, his whole body wound tight as a bowstring. The command floated through the haze, distant and muffled, like someone shouting underwater.

“Jimin-ah. Look at me.”

“Can’t,” Jimin gasped. “Can’t, it’s—it’s too much—”

“You can.” Jeongguk’s thumb traced the edge of Jimin’s jaw, featherlight against all that brutality. “Open your eyes, baby. Want you to see who’s making you feel this good.”

The sob that tore out of Jimin’s throat was embarrassing. Absolutely mortifying. He’d blame it on the overstimulation later, on the four months of celibacy, on the way Jeongguk’s cock was hitting places inside him that hadn’t been touched in far too long.

“Pretty baby.” Jeongguk’s voice was wrecked, rasping at the edges. “Come on. Let me see those eyes. Those pretty brown eyes I couldn’t stop thinking about for fucking months.”

Jimin’s lashes fluttered. The ceiling swam into focus first, and then Jeongguk’s face, hovering inches from his own.

It was a mistake.

Jeongguk looked absolutely destroyed. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his lips swollen and spit-slick, his cheeks flushed that deep rose color they only got when he was close. The silver hoops in his ears caught the streetlight filtering through the blinds, glinting with every snap of his hips.

But it was his eyes that did Jimin in. Those big, stupid, beautiful, expressive eyes—blown so wide the brown was nearly swallowed by black, and yet somehow still soft. Still tender. Still looking at Jimin like he was the most precious thing Jeongguk had ever seen.

“There you are,” Jeongguk breathed. His thrusts slowed, turned deep and grinding, the coarse hair at his base pressing against Jimin’s rim with every roll of his hips. “There’s my angel.”

“Don’t—ah—” Jimin’s voice cracked, splintered into a moan. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Jeongguk leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. Their noses bumped. Their breath mingled, hot and damp and intimate. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Came to that party with your wings and your sheer top and your pretty blonde hair, looking like you fell straight out of heaven just to ruin my life.”

“Wanted to—hngh—wanted to ruin your night, not your life.”

“Same thing.” Jeongguk’s lips brushed the corner of Jimin’s mouth. “You ruin me every time I look at you. Ruined me for anyone else since the day we met.”

Jimin’s heart clenched. “You’re so goddamn cheesy.”

“You love it, though, don’t lie.”

“I love—” The word caught in his throat, dangerously close to something he wasn’t ready to say. “I love—ah, fuck—I love your cock, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

His hips snapped forward, a sharp thrust that drove the air from Jimin’s lungs, and then he was picking up the pace again—faster now, more urgent, his composure fraying at the edges.

“You love my cock?” Jeongguk’s voice had gone gravelly again, the words punched out between thrusts. “Yeah? You love the way it fills you up?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, I love it—”

“Love the way it stretches you open? Makes you feel so full you can’t think?”

Jimin’s nails raked down Jeongguk’s back, leaving furrows in the sweat-slick skin. “So full—nngh—so fucking full, Jeongguk—”

“You’re so beautiful,” Jeongguk whispered, and it wasn’t dirty talk anymore, wasn’t part of the game. It was just the truth, laid bare between them. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Pretty eyes, pretty lips, pretty little body taking my cock so well. Don’t know how I went four months without this. Thought I was gonna die.”

“You’re so—ah—you’re so overdramatic—”

“I’m serious.” His hips slowed to a deep grind, rotating in a way that made Jimin’s toes curl. “Thought about you every single night. Jerked off—fuck—thinking about the sounds you make—.”

“Jeongguk—”

“Like that.” His voice cracked. “Exactly like that. Say it again.”

“Jeongguk—”

“Again.”

“Jeongguk-ah—Jeongguk—ah—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby. I know.” His hand sped up on Jimin’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so tight. Gonna milk every drop out of me, aren’t you?”

Jimin’s head thrashed against the pillow, blonde hair sticking to his damp cheeks. “Inside—please, inside—”

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up? Want to walk around tomorrow with my cum dripping down your thighs?”

The image sent a bolt of arousal through Jimin’s core. “Yes—yes, fuck, I want it so bad—”

The eye contact was too much. The pleasure was too much. Everything was too much, and then it was cresting, crashing over Jimin like a wave, and he was coming with a hoarse cry that was half Jeongguk’s name and half incoherent noise.

His release painted his stomach in thick white stripes, pulse after pulse while Jeongguk stroked him through it. His vision went fuzzy at the edges, his whole body locked in a rictus of pleasure, and through it all he could feel Jeongguk still moving inside him, still chasing his own end.

“There you go—fuck, there you go—so pretty when you come—” Jeongguk’s hips stuttered, losing rhythm. “Gonna—Jimin-ah, I’m gonna—”

“Do it.” Jimin’s voice was wrecked, barely audible. “Come inside me, please.”

Jeongguk broke.

He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his whole body going rigid as his release flooded Jimin’s channel. Jimin felt it—the hot pulse of it, the way Jeongguk’s cock throbbed inside him, the wetness spreading and filling him up. The sensation tipped him into oversensitivity, his spent cock twitching weakly against his stomach.

“Fuck—” Jeongguk’s hips kept grinding, little thrusts that milked the last of his orgasm. “Fuck, Jimin-ah—”

“I know.” Jimin’s hands came up to cradle Jeongguk’s face, thumbs wiping the sweat from his cheekbones. “I know. I got you.”

They stayed like that for a long moment—Jeongguk still buried inside him, both of them breathing hard, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat. The streetlight outside cast pale stripes across the ceiling, and somewhere in the distance a car alarm went off.

Then Jeongguk laughed.

It was a weak, breathless sound, muffled against Jimin’s collarbone. “We’re so stupid.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I’m so stupid,” he corrected himself. Jeongguk lifted his head, and his eyes were wet at the corners, and Jimin’s heart did that complicated squeezing thing again. “I should’ve—fuck. Four months. I wasted four months.”

“We needed it.”

“Did we?”

Jimin considered the question. He thought about the person he’d been four months ago—hurt and defensive and waiting by his phone for texts that never came. Thought about the person he was now—still hurt, still a little defensive, but definitely a little stronger. More sure of what he deserved.

“Maybe.” He pushed Jeongguk’s hair back from his forehead. “Maybe we needed to grow up a little. Both of us.”

“Did it work?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

Jeongguk’s smile was slow and crooked. “Deal.”

He pulled out with a wet sound that made them both wince, and Jimin immediately felt the slow trickle of his release starting to escape. The sensation was filthy and intimate and made his face heat all over again.

“Don’t move,” Jeongguk said, already rolling off the bed. “I’ll get a towel.”

Jeongguk disappeared into the bathroom, and Jimin heard water running, the creak of the cabinet door. He stared at the ceiling, tracking the familiar crack in the plaster that he’d memorized months ago, and tried to figure out what the hell he was feeling. He lay sprawled across the damp sheets, the white lace still clinging to one thigh. His body felt hollowed out and impossibly full at the same time, Jeongguk’s cum cooling on his stomach and trickling slowly from between his legs.

The bathroom light clicked off. Jeongguk’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, washcloth in hand, his expression softer than Jimin had seen it in months.

“Hey,” Jeongguk said quietly.

“Hey.”

“You’re still here.”

Jimin’s lips curved. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know.” Jeongguk crossed to the bed, kneeling beside him, and the warm washcloth dragged gently across Jimin’s stomach. “Thought maybe you’d come to your senses. Realize this was a terrible idea and make a run for the hills.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a terrible idea.” Jimin hissed when the cloth dipped lower, cleaning the mess between his thighs with careful strokes. “But I’ve never had much sense when it comes to you.”

Jeongguk’s throat bobbed. “Jimin-ah.”

“Don’t get emotional. You just came inside me. If you start crying, I’ll start crying, and then we’ll be two idiots crying in your disgusting sheets.”

A slightly wet laugh. “Okay, baby.”

Jeongguk continued cleaning, his touch careful and reverent. The lace panties were beyond saving, so he eased them down Jimin’s legs and tossed them toward the laundry basket.

“Those were expensive,” Jimin mumbled.

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I mean it.” Jeongguk tossed the washcloth aside and climbed back onto the bed, pulling Jimin against his chest. “I’ll buy you anything you want. Wings. Lingerie. A whole fucking costume shop.”

“I don’t want a costume shop.”

“What do you want?”

There was silence.

Then Jimin turned his face into Jeongguk’s chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. “I want to not be scared anymore. I want to trust you. I want—" His voice cracked. “I want this to be real, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk put the towel down, and his arms tightened around Jimin. “It is real.”

"You ignored me for four months."

“I know.” A kiss pressed to the top of his head. “And I’ll spend the next four years making up for it if you let me. I’ll spend the rest of my life.”

“That’s a long time.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

“You’re really not.”

“Okay, maybe I’m not,” Jeongguk grumbled. “But I’ll learn.” Another kiss, this one to his temple. “For you. I’ll learn patience. I’ll learn how to talk about my feelings. I’ll learn whatever I need to learn.”

Jimin’s eyes burned. He blinked rapidly, refusing to cry. “Why are you saying all the right things?”

“Because I mean them.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

Jeongguk was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted, tilting Jimin’s chin up so their eyes met. “Remember the first time you came over here for a date? When we’d only been dating a month, and I made us ramyeon?”

Jimin did. He remembered the way Jeongguk had burned the noodles, remembered laughing so hard he’d snorted, remembered thinking oh no, I’m really falling for this idiot.

“Yeah.”

“I knew then.” Jeongguk’s thumb brushed his cheek. "Knew you were it for me. I knew I wanted to keep you forever. I just—got lost. Got too in my own head about not being good enough.”

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Jeongguk-ah.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Still doesn’t feel that way, sometimes. But I want to try. I want to try being better. I want to be someone you deserve.”

Jimin kissed him.

It was soft, a question and an answer all at once. Jeongguk kissed him back with equal tenderness, his hand cradling the back of Jimin’s head like he was something precious.

They broke apart slowly, foreheads resting together.

“Okay,” Jimin whispered.

“Okay?”

“Okay, you can try. We can try.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “And I’ll try, too.”

Jeongguk blinked. “Hm?”

“Yeah, me.” Jimin huffed out a laugh. “I’m not pretending I handled everything perfectly. I should’ve told you what I was feeling instead of expecting you to figure it out. I shouldn’t have—you know. Tried to test you.”

A flicker of guilt crossed Jeongguk’s face, but Jimin nudged his nose against his.

“I’m serious. If I’m upset, I’ll tell you. If I need something, I’ll say it. No more hoping you’ll magically read my mind.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” Jeongguk teased softly.

“Shut up.”

A grin finally appeared on Jeongguk’s face.

“But if you shut me out again—”

“I won’t.”

“If you do—”

"Jimin-ah." Jeongguk’s voice was fierce, his grip tightening. “I won’t. I swear on my bike. I swear on everything.”

Jimin snorted. “Wow, you’re using your bike as collateral?”

“It means I’m serious.”

“Mm.” Jimin pretended to consider it. “Still not getting on that thing again, though.”

“Liar. You had so much fun on it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You were holding onto me so tight. I could feel you smiling. It was so cute.”

“I will smother you with this pillow.”

Jeongguk’s laugh was bright and warm, filling the dark bedroom like sunlight. He pulled Jimin closer, tucking him against his chest, and Jimin let himself be held. The sheets were definitely going to need to be washed, and he could feel a little bit of Jeongguk’s cum still leaking out of him in a way that was going to be deeply uncomfortable in about ten minutes.

But Jeongguk’s arms were solid around him. His heartbeat was steady under Jimin’s ear. And for the first time in months, the hollow ache in Jimin’s chest had started to ease.

“We should shower,” Jimin mumbled.

“In a minute.”

“The sheets are nasty.”

“I’ll change them.”

"Jeonggukkie?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Halloween.”

Jeongguk’s smile was blinding. “Happy Halloween, Jimin-hyung.”