TOP TIER

and it wasn’t like your loathing wasn’t returned by the boy. almost secondary to your decades of academic rivalry was your competition on who despised the other most. in middle school, jeongin had picked a fight with you because for the first time in almost three months, you’d scored higher on an exam than he had; he’d stopped you after school before you could even step foot out of the front gates, got in your face about how he’d always hated you, and, at thirteen years old, declared you his mortal enemy, as if you’d murdered his entire family and were preparing yourself to obtain world domination or something along the same lines.

to you, up until then, the rivalry you’d shared with yang jeongin had been all in good fun, just two incredibly intelligent students working hard at academics and trading the first and second spots in the class ranking. to you, up until then, you’d been having fun studying as hard as you could and anticipating exam results, excited to see if you’d swapped with the boy. to you, up until then, it had been a gentle motivator to keep you on track and engaged in your academics.

but he’d embarrassed you, hurt your pride and dignity as he yelled at you in front of your schoolmates for taking the top score, his top score. when he’d finally finished, a smug smile on his face and looking proud of himself for causing visible distress in your features, he left you crying silently, face burning and hands shaking. your friends at the time had come to your aid, small comforting hands rubbing stripes down your blazer-covered arms and glaring angrily after him, spitting sharp words of malice.

from that point on, it was a serious rivalry, one that was tangible and carried real weight with it. the whole school, including teachers, knew about it within days of jeongin’s one-sided yelling match and everybody was left reeling in the effects of it. come exam season that first year, tensions were so heavy that they were practically crushing the student body, including the two of you embroiled in that almost deadly competition, and yet despite that, you’d heard the whispers about betting pools going around: who would get the top spot in the class rank? you or jeongin? from what your friends had been told by others, most students were betting on jeongin because he’d had a longer streak of getting the highest grades.

that, unsurprisingly, had pissed you off beyond belief. not only had he gone out of his way to personally destroy your dignity, but now you were being faced with the trickle-down effects of his less than polite actions. only a small handful of your fellow classmates supported your potential to beat him out for the top spot. with your friends as your witnesses, you’d sworn then and there that the highest grades were going to be yours that exam season.

the second you’d gotten home, you put together an intensive revision schedule, hardly even allowing yourself time to do anything other than study. your parents, hard as they were on you about academics, tried to tell you that taking time for yourself and focusing on things outside of school were important, but you didn’t listen, couldn’t listen, not when your reputation at school was riding on it.

so you axed anything that would distract you from studying. you didn’t watch television or movies, you kept away from books, you locked every app on your phone that wasn’t conducive to your productivity or important in some way. you lost hours of sleep and vital nutrition, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. you didn’t even care after, when you were on the very brink of exhaustion, because it had all paid off. you’d gotten the highest grades of the season and even though you’d worked yourself to death, looking over to jeongin and seeing the visceral anger on his face, his ever-sharpening jaw grinding, his skin going taut against bone, and his eyes and eyebrows narrowing. you were treading dangerous waters, but it didn’t matter when he had publicly embarrassed you in front of everyone. what was a little bit of revenge?

and that’s how things continued for the rest of your secondary school careers: you and jeongin vying for the top rank in school, the exhilarating rush when you bumped him out of first place, the smugness you felt when he’d glare you down in class and in the halls. by the time for you to graduate and go off to university rolled around, you’d secured yourself as the final top student of the class, leaving with the highest honors and enrollment at one of the most prestigious colleges in the country.

for years, you’d looked to graduation as your escape from yang jeongin. for years, he had terrorized you and your dignity, pride, and reputation. for years, you had longed to be free of him and what he symbolized in your life.

with that escape right around the corner, just out of reach but quickly approaching, freedom had never felt so good. for the first time in a long time, you no longer felt pressured to do well in academics and you didn’t feel guilty going to bed before three in the morning. you could breathe easily when doing things other than studying, things you enjoyed and things that helped you relax after a long day. university would be a whole new world for you, but you wouldn’t be competing for a top rank the way you had been for almost your entire life.

at least, that’s what you thought until jeongin announced that not only had he been admitted into the same university as you, but that he’d be majoring in the same field as you. just when you thought you’d finally escaped the clutches of devil incarnate yang jeongin, he’d waltzed in to continue to fuck your life up for four more years.

and fuck up your life, he did, even if not necessarily on purpose. whether by complete coincidence or genuine spite, he was in every single one of your classes, save for a select few (thank you, introduction to visual arts and chemistry one), leaving you to deal with him every single day for hours at a time. the classes you shared together, he took pride in antagonizing you, keeping it so subtle and lowkey that nobody noticed it: going out of his way to sit next to you so he could annoy you during class, making snide remarks to you on campus, purposely asking what you’d scored on an exam or essay when he knew that he’d received higher marks.

to say you were livid was the understatement of the year. truly, you swore you’d never been so angry before. you were glad, then, to find respite in your new best friend, felix, who had beat jeongin to the seat next to you in world masterpieces one day. he’d remarked that you seemed tense and upset when the other boy sat next to you and took it upon himself to ensure that you no longer had to deal with him, at least for one lecture. when the person in question realized that his self-assigned seat had been taken, he’d seemed genuinely angry and when you made eye contact and simply smiled, your eyes narrowed dangerously, he’d seemed furious as he made his way to the other side of the lecture hall.

world masterpieces, for once, was enjoyable. from that day forward, felix had made a point of meeting with you before class so you could walk together and find seats together in the lecture hall. you’d always sit at the end of the back row and felix would take the seat next to you, leaving no other open seat except beside him and in front of you — neither was a very good seat to bother you from, so jeongin stayed away, as much as he simmered in anger at having his in-class entertainment taken away. and things continued like that for the rest of your first semester of university: any classes felix shared with you, he made sure he was there as a buffer to keep jeongin off your back.

presently, just a few weeks into your second semester of your first year, felix is lounging in your bed, flipping through one of your textbooks as you rifle through the tiny closet in your dorm. with as much as he’s over, you’re glad you got a double room all to yourself; not having a roommate to explain yourself to makes it a whole lot easier to let him come over whenever he wants, even though you aren’t fucking.

“why do you even want to go to this party anyways?” felix questions, glancing up at you as you slip into your nth outfit combination of the evening. “you know he who shall not be named is going to be there, right?”

one of the fraternities on campus is throwing a party tonight at their house and said fraternity is the home of several of felix’s friends. you’ve met them a few times and they’ve always been nothing but kind to you; chan, the president of the fraternity, is likely your favorite (next to felix, of course), always going out of his way to be a gentleman and, in turn, saving you the best drinks and jello shots when his frat threw a party.

unfortunately for you, jeongin also runs in this circle of friends, having latched on to minho and somehow charmed the rest of them into liking him enough to keep him around and let him into the damn chapter, which means, by chapter rule, he has to be at these parties for fear of being reprimanded or kicked out. felix has sworn up and down the wall that he never spends any time with the boy and doesn’t really like him all that much, but you have your suspicions because felix, as much as he may deny it, is a complete people pleaser and wants everyone to like him (you’ve told him it doesn’t really bother you as long as he doesn’t bring it up, but he gets defensive about it, swearing his undying loyalty on team y/n).

you shrug in response to his question, turning to look at yourself in the mirror from all angles. “i know, but you’ll be there, too… and so will chan. i trust the two of you to keep me away from him or protect me if he decides to try something.” you turn towards him, gesturing at yourself. “yes or no?”

felix looks at you again, this time wearily; he knows that when jeongin is involved, you get competitive and though it might have flown easily high school when it was just academics, now it involves everything else and that doesn’t make for smooth sailing. the boxed bleach blond gives you a once over and nods his head. “i think it might be the best yet.”

it’s the honest truth because felix would never lie to you and while he’s excited to party with you, there’s a small piece of him that just wishes you’d see reason and stay home, watch a movie, go out to get food or something. jeongin drives you to your absolute limit and then some, and if he’s on his bullshit like he usually is, felix knows he’s going to end up being the one to take care of you in the morning when you’re hungover and practically incapacitated. the way you turn to look at yourself in the mirror and smile, though, is enough to make him sigh and go back to skimming the textbook of yours he’d nicked from your desk.

“okay, awesome,” you say, giving yourself another spin to admire your outfit. “i’ll wear this then. thanks for your help, lix!”

hours later, you find yourself in the basement of the frat house, felix on one side of you and chan in front of you. the music is horribly loud and the press of bodies around you is suffocating and hot, but you don’t really care. you can’t really care when your best friend’s arm is slung around your shoulders and chan is scooting ever closer, trying to give room for people to pass behind him. someone off behind the bar calls felix’s name, likely jisung, and he looks over at you, almost as if asking for permission to leave your side for a few moments; he doesn’t like the idea of leaving you unguarded, but you nod and tell (nay, practically shout) at him to go ahead.

as he slips away from you into the crowd, chan takes his place. he smiles down at you, his signature big, toothy grin, and you can’t help but smile back because it’s contagious the way he looks at you like that. it’s dark and the only light comes from the strobes positioned by the dj booth, but chan somehow still manages to look absolutely mesmerizing in the flashing green and purple lighting. you converse a bit, leaning in close to hear one another over the music, about anything you can possibly think of; he asks how classes are going (though this is entirely against party etiquette because the entire reason of coming to a party to get drunk is to forget about school, but you let it slide because he’s cute) and you ask him how he’s settling into his new life as the fraternity’s president.

“oh,” he says, though it seems to be mostly to himself. “you finished your drink!”

you look down at the red solo cup in your hand, noticing the distinct lack of alcohol in the top cup, having stacked the drinks you’ve had so far to keep track (four and counting). “it seems i have!”

“you want me to go get you another one?” he questions, dark puppy dog eyes sparkling down at you. he seems almost genuinely concerned that you’ve finished your drink and it makes you want to giggle, so you do. as you go to answer, he makes the decision for you. “actually, take my cup. it’s still full. i’ll go and get myself another drink.”

your fingers brush when he passes the plastic cup to you and maybe it’s just the alcohol, but the contact feels something akin to electric. you stare up at him, wide eyed and waiting — for what you don’t know.

“wait right here for me?” he asks, puppy dog eyes back on you and you swear you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so bad in your entire life.

“yeah, okay,” you say, even though you’re immediately kicking yourself because you want him to stay with you. he smiles down at you again and you watch as he disappears into the darkness and the crowd, wishing he’d just taken you with him or asked one of his friends to bring him another drink.

however, you stay still, awaiting his and felix’s return dutifully, sipping from your fifth cup of the night and doing your best not to look out of place, though it likely doesn’t matter because nobody’s really paying attention to you anyways. at least they aren’t until someone bumps into you, spilling their drink all down your shirt, but even then, it’s only the immediate people around you and it doesn’t keep their attention for long before they’re turning back to friends or lovers or their choice lay of the night.

you, on the other hand, are drunkenly rounding on the asshole who ruined your outfit. “what the fuck is wrong with you? you’re not even gonna apologize?”

but it’s a moot question because in the strobe lights of this stupid, gross frat house basement, you come face to face with yang jeongin. suddenly, you’re wishing you were a few drinks deeper because as gone as you might be now, you’re not gone far enough to deal with him. of course he’s not going to apologize because he lives to make your life as terrible as he possibly can.

there’s that smug grin on his face, equal parts enraging and tantalizing, and his dark, brushstroke eyes glimmer differently than the way chan’s do.

“oops,” he says, voice light and airy. he sounds the way a cat looks when you catch it doing something it’s not supposed to. “my bad.”

“yeah, your bad, yang,” you say angrily, brushing rivulets of alcohol from your skin. it’s leaving red stains in its wake and you don’t really appreciate it. “get out of my way.”

“what if i don’t want to?” he questions and you want to beat the shit out of him right here, right now. you don’t care who’s watching, you don’t care if it’ll get you blacklisted from this frat house. he’s being an asshole and you’re not going to stand for it.

“i’m not even gonna bother asking you nicely again,” you say, glaring up at him and resisting the urge to lay hands on him. “get the fuck out of my way.”

you don’t even let him get another word out before you’re shoving past him, trying to let the crowd swallow you whole as you make your way towards the stairs at the far end of the room. they take you upstairs and, with the permission of one of the other frat boys, the second staircase takes you to the top floor where the bedrooms are. it’s infinitely cooler up here and quieter; your ears ring with the sudden change in volume, but you’re thankful for it because you can finally hear yourself think.

you’re significantly more sober than you were ten minutes ago, at least mentally. you still stumble and your head is still swimming, your mind trying desperately to keep in time with your body’s movements, but you know you need to get to the bathroom.

i need to wash up what i can, you think to yourself, moving in the direction of the bathroom door. let felix know what happened… oh fuck… what about chan?

in your anger, hazed by alcohol, you’d totally forgotten about chan. was he back from the bar now, wondering where you were? why you’d suddenly disappeared? was jeongin explaining what happened?

as you’re fumbling with the doorknob, someone sidles up behind you and opens the door for you, clearly far sober than you claim to be. the warmth of their body against your back is comforting and you revel in it for as long as you can before you step into the dim bathroom, lit singularly by an led lamp.

“not gonna thank me?”

jeongin, it seems, is not in the basement explaining your sudden departure to his friend and fellow frat brother. no, instead, he’s followed you up here to antagonize you further. you stop in your tracks, eyes closed and arms braced on the counter, trying to brace yourself for however this encounter’s going to end up.

“no. why would i?”

his shoes click against the tiled floor and the door closes behind him. “well, for one, i helped you get in here when you were clearly struggling. i think that warrants a little bit of gratitude.”

“you spilled your fucking drink on me, which i’m willing to guess was on purpose. otherwise, i wouldn’t need to be up here and i wouldn’t have needed anyone’s help because i wouldn’t be in this situation.”

you round on him for the second time tonight, though this time, you’re a lot closer than you expected to be. jeongin stands a few inches away, but he’s bent over at the waist, coming close to leveling himself with you. his face is so close to yours, in fact, that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin and you can smell the alcohol on it. just a few centimeters and your noses would brush.

“but i helped you nonetheless,” he says, not even acknowledging the proximity of your faces. “come on, what happened to your manners, huh?”

“you’ve never deserved any of my manners,” you quip back, backing yourself against the counter, cold stone pressing into the small of your back. if you were stupid, any drunker than you are now, you’d think he’d done all this on purpose: spill his drink on you, get you alone, fluster you with flirting. “again, you spilled your drink on me and again, i’d seriously venture to say that it was on purpose.”

“and if it was?”

in the near blinding sunset orange of the lamp, you swear jeongin looks almost… beautiful. hell, you might even go as far as saying he looks ethereal with dark, cat like eyes and sharp features with smooth, soft skin. you’ve never seen him up close and personal like this before; at least, not since he’d matured and really grown into himself.

you find a part of you that wants to kiss him, what with him leaning so close to you and all. so you do.

jeongin doesn’t even seem surprised by your action, more like he was expecting it, like this was his endgame all along. even if it was, you can’t bring yourself to care because you’ve never been kissed so good in your entire life — not that you’ve been kissed much. his lips are smooth, unmarred by cracks and rough skin, and his mouth is hot against yours. he tastes mostly of alcohol, but you also catch the faintness of something cool and minty, which is all you could have possibly hoped for. he nips at your bottom lip, getting just enough of a reaction out of you to slide his tongue into your mouth and letting you reciprocate.

without even thinking about it, you instinctively wind your arms around his neck, one of your hands slotting carefully into his hair, which is way softer than you’d ever expected it to be. his own hands, unwavering and searing hot, rest on the small of your back, pressing you into his body like he can’t get you close enough. he kisses you with carefully practiced expertise and you wonder where he learned to kiss like this between all the studying and sports and extracurriculars; not that any of that matters because what it boils down to is he’s a great kisser and his tongue is all but down your throat, taking your breath away.

when you finally retreat for a quick respite, jeongin chases after your lips, equally as breathless as you are and reduced to nothing but a sensitive shell of your academic enemy. his nose nudges against your own and his fingers curl into the base of your spine in an effort to get you back to him, and you can’t find it in yourself to deny him, so you kiss him again, but shortly.

you pull away a second time, but only enough to say “i still fucking hate you” before you pull him back in, fingers tugging at the hair at the base of his neck.

this kiss is hotter than the last and you get lost in it all so easily, somehow forgetting your real, genuine decade of hating jeongin with every fiber of your being simply because he’s kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before, the only way you’ll ever want to be kissed again. so caught up in the heat of his mouth, you almost miss the way his hands slide from your back to your ass, squeezing at the flesh there.

he’s the one to pull away this time, muttering a quick “jump.” you do and he seats you on the edge of the counter, lips brushing against yours. “if you hate me so much, why are you all over me then? huh? doesn’t make any sense.”

you practically whine, trying to pull him back into you. “kiss me again. please.” it’s almost a fucking whimper and you’ve never felt so debauched before.

jeongin laughs darkly and, in contrast, sweetly indulges you, kisses you once, twice, three times, each with more sensuality and heat than the last before he’s pulling away, trailing his hands from your back to your thighs, pawing at the plush expanse of them. his fingers dig into the fabric of your jeans and you’re suddenly acutely aware of the fact that only a thin layer of textile separates his palms from the skin of your legs.

you’re suddenly acutely aware that you don’t mind that fact. on the contrary, you want the heat and feel of his hands against your skin; you can feel them through your clothes, but it’s not the same and it doesn’t even compare.

so you do the only thing you can think of: you pull him in for another kiss. this time, though, your hands slide from his shoulders over his chest to the elastic hem of his hoodie emblazoned with the university seal. your fingers, still feeling light and not entirely your own, curl tightly into it and tug, rousing jeongin from whatever alcohol induced haze you’re sharing with him. you feel him smirk against your mouth as he mimics your steps, letting his hands dip underneath the sweater you’re wearing, and finally, you’re met with the feeling of his skin against yours. his fingers splay across your stomach, his palms scorching against your skin.

it’s a divine kind of bliss, you think as you tug at his sweater’s hem once again in an attempt to rid him of it, to be burned by him like this when he’s spent so much time burning you in other, less physical ways. you have so many years under your belt of his intentional, meticulous antagonization, leaving you angry with him and all the anguish you’ve gone through because of him, so this should feel wrong, off limits, but it doesn’t. maybe there’s a small part of you that hopes your relationship changes after this, at least a little bit. now that you’ve had a taste of him and experienced the unbridled physical heat of him, you don’t know if you can go back to hating him the way you have.

finally, finally, something gives and jeongin pulls away to pull his hoodie over his head and it doesn’t take any coaxing from you to convince him to take off the plain white shirt he’s wearing underneath it. no, he looks you dead in the eyes before he’s pulling it off too and you’re met with the soft, smooth, warm expanse of this part of him. he’s slim, which you’ve known, and he’s toned, which you’re learning about for the first time, but even so, every dip of him, every curve looks soft and gentle. you can’t stop yourself from reaching a hand out to touch him, drunkenly mesmerized by just how beautiful jeongin really is.

“well, come on, pretty girl,” he says once he’s finished peeling his shirt off and thrown it to the floor. when you look at him a little confused, his dark eyes roll and he smiles a bit, letting his hands tug at your sweater. “it’s only fair.”

you let him, maybe too easily, pull the knit thing up and over, leaving your hair a little mussed and staticy, and you feel a little self-conscious about the situation now. he doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he leans back in to kiss you and coax you out of the shirt you’d worn underneath your sweater. his hands are hot on your cheeks as he all but pulls you into him; suddenly, you don’t really care all that much anymore. he pants lightly into your mouth, chasing your lips when you pull away to take off your shirt and you swear it looks like his world stops when he hears the soft shuffle of your shirt when it drops to the floor next to him.

his eyes open then and he takes all of you in that you’ve been gracious enough to reveal to him, and as much as you expect him to go back to selfishly taking your breath away, you can’t say you’re too surprised when his mouth finds the underside of your jaw, the side of your neck, your collarbone, the skin just above the smooth hem of your bra. you can’t even be mad that somewhere along the way, he’s left darkening hickeys and other marks in his wake because he’s working almost expertly at you, hitting all of the right buttons as his breath fans hot and wet against your skin, his fingers working deftly to get your bra off.

“damn,” he mutters to himself once he’s finally slid the offending garment off of you.

in an effort to play coy, you smile and lean back a little, letting him get a full look at you. “like what you see?”

you can tell it takes everything in him not to laugh at you for such a cliche line because you’re trying not to laugh either, but he recovers quicker than you expected him to. he straightens up, leans in, continues his winding, teasing trail of kisses and bites across your chest before he answers. “you might be a lot prettier than i give you credit for.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to even think about replying before his lips, slick with spit, close around one of your nipples. his tongue works over it, your skin pebbling up under his careful attention. in rhythm with himself, one of his hands comes up and his fingers pinch and roll the nipple that isn’t in his mouth. it’s such a minuscule pleasure that he’s offered you and still, you’re melting against him, knees knocking against his hips, back arching to get more of him on you, and your fingers curling desperately against his shoulders, his spine, his neck, anywhere you can reach. when he switches sides, it’s equally as devastating and as it draws a gasp out of you, you tug on his hair and he groans, which only makes you repeat the process.

“fuck, how are you so good at this?” you say when he finally moves on, dragging his lips down the rest of your chest and then across your stomach. he’s still leaving traces of himself on your skin in the form of bites and hickeys, and you’re losing yourself in the feeling of it all.

“just because i was studying my ass off doesn’t mean i wasn’t doing other things too, y’know?” the way jeongin says it sounds so condescending, like he knows that you weren’t doing other things over those years, but when he stands back to his full height and comes nose to nose with you, his hands sliding from your thighs to your belt loops, it doesn’t matter so much anymore because it doesn’t seem like he’s judging you at all. his fingers pluck aimlessly at your belt loops as he looks at you. “wanna keep going?”

the relief that floods through you when he asks is honestly astounding and it takes all of your willpower to not come off as too eager. he’s kissed you too hot and left too many marks littered across your skin to stop now, not when you can feel the way your panties are sticking to you. you whimper a small yes and pull him in by his cheeks to kiss him, letting him handle you however he pleases, too lost in the feel of him to give too much thought to it.

he slides you gently off the counter and starts working at getting your jeans off your body. once he’s got the button popped open and the zipper down, he helps you slip out of them as his kisses move down your body once again. this time, though, he has access to the expanse of your skin underneath the pants and he’s making the most of it all. he presses two of his fingers to your underwear, smiling deviously when he feels it.

“yeah? you hate me, hm?”

you want to feel embarrassed, to melt right into the floor, but instead you mewl at him, already going weak in the knees. fuck, he hasn’t even done anything yet and he’s got you ready to cry out for something, anything. your hips try to press down against his fingers, to get some sort of friction, but, in typical yang jeongin fashion, he laughs at you and pulls his hand away entirely. there’s something dark in the way he looks at you, completely different from any other look he’s ever given you before and… you don’t hate it. rather, it sends anticipatory shivers through your body, raising goosebumps along your arms.

“please, jeongin,” you say, bracing yourself against the counter. you just want him to touch you so badly; you’ve never needed someone to touch you this much before and it’s absolutely burning you from the inside out, leaving you a shell of the girl who thought she was going home with the fraternity president up until maybe fifteen minutes ago.

“looks like i need to teach you how to have a little patience,” he says, which definitely hints at this not being a one-time thing (you hope… desperately). still, his fingers slip under the hem of your panties and pull them down in one fluid motion, his eyes trained on the dark wet patch you’ve left behind, a damning piece of evidence of your arousal. and for the first time ever, yang jeongin kneels on the floor before you, that dangerous glint still in his eyes as he looks up at you, embodying some heavenly ascension and your downfall all at once. it’s a beautiful sight.

once again, he grants you no reprieve, not a single fraction of a second to anticipate his next move or to think of something to say. no, like just mere minutes ago, his mouth finds you in your most intimate places and your knees almost buckle. his lips are hot against your clit and his tongue feels like heaven as he makes a show of licking up as much of your slick as he can. when he pulls away, you can see your wetness on his chin and lips, and when he makes a show of cleaning that off himself, of diving back in with some animalistic fervor, you just about fucking die because there’s no way your mortal enemy of years is eating you out.

one of his hands comes to rest on the back of your thigh while the other moves up, up, up still until his fingers are prodding at your lips. without even a second thought, you open your mouth and let them in, sliding your tongue over his spindly, boney digits. when you realize he’s looking up at you, his mouth still sucking harshly at your clit, you moan, any form of coherent thought entirely cast out of your head.

he shouldn’t be this hot, his fingers dripping with your spit as he brings them back down to his level, but he is and it’s absolutely ruinous. he pulls away from your pussy a second time, chin and lips still coated with your slick. as his spit-soaked fingers trail agonizingly slow, feather light from your clit to your entrance, you keen, your knuckles going tight as your fingers curl into the edge of the counter, looking for something to hold onto. you’re grateful for this because when he finally sinks his fingers into you, stretching you just enough, your knees genuinely almost give out and it shows. oh, it shows.

“barely even done anything,” he says, voice dripping with noncommittal condescension. “barely given you anything and you’re still trembling. who knew you’d be such a needy little whore, huh?”

the name comes from him like it’s absolutely nothing, a regular part of his vocabulary and you want to reprimand him for it, to tell him not to call you names like that. he knows, though, that you like it because you clench desperately around his fingers. denying his accusation would be useless because he’s got the proof to throw right back in your face. he’d do it too, get off on the fact that he’s got you wrapped so tightly around his finger right now that you’re a mess for him so easily. so you nod, trying fruitlessly to get him to move.

“yeah?” he says, almost mocking your whimpers and laughing when you nod again immediately, seeking his approval. “i want you to say it out loud. if you can even do that much, seeing as you’re already going dumb from so little… are you a needy… little… whore?”

he punctuates every drawn out word of your new title with a thrust, finally giving you what you’ve been craving so desperately. you almost sob, but you’ve still got a bit of dignity left so you do your best to bite it back, trying to steel yourself and level your voice.

“yes!” you answer and even though it doesn’t come out with a sob, it sounds more along the lines of a whimper, which you know will drive his ego up even higher. you don’t care, can’t care, not when he’s got two fingers buried in your pussy and expertly seeking out the spot inside you that makes you see stars. “god, yes. please, please, jeongin!”

“there it is.”

he finally grants you more of the friction you need, letting you roll your hips against his touch. his fingers thrust in and out of you, curling easily to press against that elusive spot, and eventually, he bows his head in to start working at your clit again, nipping and sucking. he chuckles into you when you moan or whimper, and his free hand keeps your hips pinned back against the cabinet. every little thing he does has your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your thighs, shaking violently, threatening to close around jeongin’s head. one particularly strong thrust, timed perfectly with his tongue playing with your clit, has you on the absolute verge.

“fuck,” you keen loudly, suddenly incredibly glad that the party is two floors away and nobody is up here to hear you moan brokenly. “jeongin, i- fuck, i’m gonna come.”

he pulls his mouth away from your pussy, leaving you to whine at the loss of his heat. his fingers press a little bit deeper, a little harsher into your cunt, making up the difference. “then come.”

it sounds like a demand, an order, and who are you to deny him? especially when he’s been fingering you like nobody’s ever fingered you before and given you the best head of your entire life? especially when he’s kneeling between your legs looking so fucking ethereal and unreal? so you do, letting your orgasm rip through you, your pussy clenching around his fingers and your throat letting out the most debauched, pornographic moans you’ve ever heard, all while jeongin watches from between your legs, seemingly proud of his work.

“good fucking girl,” he says when he finally pulls his fingers from your cunt. they’re absolutely covered in your cum and he makes a spectacle out of slipping his digits into his mouth, sucking them clean and tasting you once again. “taste so good. wanna try?”

his clean hand grips your jaw and pulls your lips to his. you let his tongue slip into your mouth without him even having to ask and you can taste yourself on him. the moan you let into his mouth is so airy and debased that it doesn’t even sound like you.

when he pulls away, there’s the biggest grin on his face. the loss of his warmth leaves you reeling once again, desperate to have him on you in whatever way you can, but you realize that his hands are working at getting his pants down and all is okay. you help him with the belt and the button, and when he shimmies out of his jeans, you can see the dark wet patch on his boxers. some part of you wants to make a joke about it like he’d done to you earlier, but you hold back on it out of fear for what he will (or won’t) do. instead, you watch intently as he pulls down his underwear and his cock, the tip red and smeared with precum, is released.

your mouth waters and you feel proud that you’d been the cause.

entranced, you don’t even put up a fight when jeongin’s hands find their way to your hips and turn you around, bending you over the counter. you can see him in the mirror behind you, head tipping back when he sees the way you’re dripping down your thighs.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

it’s rhetorical, but you start to laugh anyways when he slides his cock into you without warning, breaking your giggle suddenly. he fills you so nicely and you can’t help the way you moan at the feeling of being stuffed so well. when you’d see his dick just moments ago, it was big, but you could never have accounted for just how big it actually is and the way it feels buried to the hilt inside of you.

“jesus,” he says, mostly to himself. “feel so fucking good around me. like this pussy was made for me.”

“move, please.” they’re the only two words you can think to say. he’s stretching you just right, but you want him to do something, you need him to do something.

it must be a good enough plea on your part because he complies. his hands press bruises into your hips as he sets a wild pace, thrusts absolutely brutal as he fucks you over a sink in a frat house bathroom. your hands are scrabbling across the countertop, searching for anything to find purchase on as you whine and cry into the tile. you don’t know how long you’re going to last, but you want to draw this out for as long as possible because his cock feels too good inside of you to not do everything you can to stay in this moment.

“getting fucked so good you’re crying?” jeongin questions, his voice rough. he pulls you up sharply by the back of your neck a bit, making you look at him in the mirror. “see that? you’re crying. so much of a cock hungry slut that you’re sobbing over it.”

you give him what he wants. you sob more, louder, nodding at him. you don’t care if it’s blowing up his ego because you’re so gone in the pleasure of it that it doesn’t matter. if jeongin says you’re nothing but a whore begging to be fucked by him, who are you to tell him he’s wrong? especially when it’s entirely true.

the pace he’s set is cruel, unwavering, but you meet all of his thrusts as best as you can, moaning at the way his cock drags against your walls. the whole thing feels world-ending like the second you come, the entire universe will cease to exist. it’s a little dramatic, sure, and it might just be the alcohol still in your system, but jeongin is breaking your back like it’s fucking nothing.

he pulls you up the rest of the way, his chest pressed seamlessly to your back and his hand crosses to the front of your neck instead, keeping you pressed against him as you look at each other in the mirror. the change in angles is devastating and your thighs shake with the effort of trying to stay upright. his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are narrowed sharply with the same edge as his jawline.

“bet chan can’t fuck you like this,” he growls directly into your ear, maintaining eye contact through the mirror.

you shake your head in denial, opening your mouth to answer but moaning brokenly instead. “d-don’t know. n-never been with h-him.”

“but you were thinking about it tonight,” he responds, landing a particularly sharp thrust that has you arching against him. “bet you thought you were gonna sleep with him tonight, yeah? let him have his way with you?”

you shake your head again, not willing to provide a verbal answer. he’s right, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“that’s too bad because he’s practically head over heels in love with you.” his voice is smug and the smile on his face is pure self-satisfied when he watches your eyes widen in the mirror. “how do you think he’d feel about his crush getting fucked by someone else in the house that he lives in?”

you want to answer, you do, but the pleasure jeongin’s unleashing on you is almost violent, especially when he brings his free hand down to circle your clit with his fingers. all you can do is shake your head and sob out loud, fat tears falling down your face as he watches you intently, like he wants to commit this all to memory.

“think he could fuck you like this? huh? have you so desperate over his cock that you’re crying even before he starts moving?” his words are downright deadly and you’re just about ready to collapse against him.

you shake your head.

“no?”

you shake your head again.

“who can then? who’s fucking you like this? who’s got you whining like a bitch in heat for him?”

out of nowhere, jeongin’s hand comes down harshly on your clit and your knees almost buckle underneath you. it stings, but in all the right ways and you’re tempted to not answer just to get him to do it again, but you don’t think you’ll keep standing if he does.

“you!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and reaching a hand back to claw at the nape of his neck, anything to get him closer to you. “only you.”

“good answer.”

he slaps at your clit again and you fall forward against the counter, sobbing desperately into the tile. the only words pouring out of you at this point are broken pleas. you don’t even know what you’re begging him for at this point, but you want to fill the silence, no matter how dumb you might sound. in any case, you can probably guess that he’s proud of the fact that he’s fucked you completely stupid, what with the way his hips are snapping into yours impossibly faster.

“you gonna come?” he questions, almost pseudo-sweetly. all you can do is moan in response. “yeah? come on then, pup. wanna feel you come on my cock. you can do it.”

with a few hard thrusts and jeongin’s fingers working at your clit for the last time, you finally come undone. your vision turns white and you go limp against the counter, cheek pressing into the refreshingly cool countertop as you moan out for him. it feels like it lasts forever, the way you’re experiencing the most intense aftershocks. you’re so far gone that you almost miss watching the face of ecstasy that passes over his face as your cunt squeezes around him dangerously. just as he’s about to come, he pulls out of you, leaving you to whine at the loss of him once again and clench around nothing as he jerks himself off a few times before he comes across your ass and lower back.

his arms come to rest on either side of your shoulders as he leans over you, dripping sweat as he tries to catch his breath. you’re still boneless and limp, practically hanging on for dear life to the counter, when he successfully recovers.

he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead, and takes a second to close his eyes, draw a breath, ground himself. without even a word, he moves to grab a washcloth from a drawer and runs it under warm water. when he drags it across your skin in an effort to clean you up, it feels heavenly, but entirely too soft after the scene you’ve just been through. like fuck, jeongin blew your back out and starting offering the sweetest aftercare ever without even saying anything. surely this is all just a fever dream.

“i didn’t hurt you too much, did i?” he finally questions, helping you stand and then sit on the counter.

you’re incredibly shocked by the gentleness he’s regarding you with, not touching you anywhere too harshly as if to keep you from cracking like a porcelain doll. it shouldn’t shock you more than him bending you over the counter and fucking you into next week, but it does. but you don’t mind this so much either.

so you shake your head again and smile hazily at him, raising a hand to brush away some of the hair that’s fallen back into his eyes. “no, i’m okay.”

he smiles at that and it might be the first real, genuine smile he’s given to you after years of knowing him. it’s a stunning smile, you think, wide and reaching his eyes, so much so that his eyes turn into what you can only liken to brush strokes from a calligraphy pen.

and you want to see it more.

“okay, cool,” he says. “if that changes, let me know.”

there’s a beat of silence as you stare at each other in the led lights of the bathroom, your hands still in his hair and his focus still on you entirely. you want it to last, you really do because this seems too monumental, too sweet for it to just be a singular instance.

“here,” jeongin finally says, bending down to retrieve your clothes from the floor. “let me help you put them back on.”

when all is said and done, you look the same as you did when you left the basement, but this time, jeongin has offered you his sweater in reparations for the alcohol still staining the back of yours. you look at the two of you in the mirror, at the way he looks standing behind you while you wear his sweater and it feels you with a strange sense of comfort.

“can you make it back home?” he questions, smoothing out some of your hair that hasn’t settled back into place yet.

“um… maybe. i only live across the street in the dorms, but-”

“that’s my hall, too, so… let me walk you home?”

you wonder how much of it is because he’s worried for your safety and how much of it is because he wants to spend more time with you. considering your own sudden change in feelings towards him, you suppose it doesn’t really matter. you smile and this time, you nod, and you love the way his eyes sparkle, even in the dark, when you tell him yes.

your phone is full of worried texts and missed calls from felix and chan, and you’re glad to see them so concerned over your wellbeing, but you can’t bear to tell them what you’ve really been up to; felix will be confused and chan… well… you shoot them both a quick text, telling them that you met with one of your friends from another class and she needed help getting home, so you’ve been caught up with taking care of her.