jade;

He sat down at a table across the room, pulled out a textbook he knew he wasn't going to read, and watched you for the next two hours.

When he got home, he rushed to his bedroom. He had spent the entire time at the library observing you; the image of you leaning over that library table, your shirt gaping, burned into his brain. The soft curve of your breast peeking through. He'd jerked off to that memory four times since midterms. Four times, each session longer than the last, his hand wrapped around his thick cock, stroking until his balls tightened and he spilt rope after rope of cum into a wad of tissues.

That became his routine. Every day, he found an excuse to be in the library at the same time you were there.

He'd sit far enough not to be obvious but close enough to see everything. He memorised the way you bit your pen when you were thinking, the way you stretched your arms above your head when you'd been studying too long, the way your shirt rode up just enough to show a sliver of stomach.

His friends noticed.

Wooyoung caught him staring one afternoon and elbowed San. "Holy shit, he's actually drooling," Wooyoung whispered, loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

"Suck my dick," Mingi muttered, not taking his eyes off you.

"You wish." Wooyoung retorted, rolling his eyes at his friend's creepy staring.

"What would you even say to her?" San asked, leaning in. "'Hey, I know I've never spoken to you, but I've been fapping off to you for three weeks.' Want to study together?"

"Fuck off."

Hongjoong, ever the sensible one of the friend group, sighed. "If you're that obsessed, just talk to her. She's friends with Seonghwa. I can set something up."

Mingi's heart hammered; he looked like a kid in a confectionery store mixed with one caught with their fingers in the cookie jar as he stared at Hongjoong. "Set something up how?"

"I'll tell Seonghwa you need tutoring. He'll recommend her. She's like, top of the class. Then you get private sessions with her. Easy."

It really was easy. It was terrifyingly too simple.

A week later, Mingi sat in his dorm room, which smelled like stale energy drinks, his favourite Jo Malone cologne and regrets. He lay sprawled across his bed, phone clutched in his hand, when Seonghwa texted Mingi with a time and an address.

Hwa: 'She says she can help you with your assignment. Be on time, and don't fuck this up, asshole.'

He'd been half-hard since reading it, and now, two hours before he was supposed to meet you, Mingi lay in bed and let his mind wander. His hand drifted down to his sweatpants, palming his half-hard length.

He imagined what it would be like to have you beneath him. To feel your legs wrapped around his waist, your mouth open against his, your fingers digging into his back. He wondered what sounds you'd make — soft little gasps or needy moans?

Would you let him fuck you slowly, or would you want it rough?

Would you want his cum inside you?

The thought made his cock twitch, already hardening. He imagined gripping your hips, pumping into you, feeling his release build until he couldn't hold back anymore. Thick, hot ropes flooding your pussy, leaking down your thighs, marking you as his.

"Fuck," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

He was getting hard just thinking about it. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, fingers wrapping around his shaft. Already slick with precum, he started stroking — slow at first, then faster, his breathing ragged.

In his mind, it was your hand wrapped around him. Your palm sliding up and down his length, your thumb circling the tip, spreading the precum. His room filled with low groans and sharp gasps as he continued jerking off. He imagined you stroking him until he couldn't take it anymore, until he begged you to let him come, and when you finally whispered, "Go ahead. Show me how much you want it." His hips bucked into his fist. Precum dripped onto his stomach. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, that familiar ache that meant he was about to unload.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck–"

He came hard, his back arching off the mattress. Cum pumped out of him in thick, white ropes, splattering across his stomach, his chest, pooling in his navel. He kept stroking through it, milking himself dry, until his arm was soaked and he was panting like he'd run a marathon.

When he finally opened his eyes, he stared at the mess he'd made.

Get it together, he told himself. You're about to see her. Don't fuck this up.

Mingi showed up at your flat thirty minutes early due to a mixture of nerves and lack of choice. Wooyoung had kicked him out of their shared dorm because he and San were "conducting important musical research" that apparently required privacy and a locked door.

"You're not staying here," Wooyoung had said flatly, blocking the doorway. "Go study or something."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"Literally anywhere else."

Hongjoong had passed by on his way out with a smirk and a stack of composition notebooks under his arm. "Heard you're getting tutored by Seonghwa's friend. The hot one from the library."

Mingi's face burned as he fidgeted with his clothes slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Hongjoong clapped him on the shoulder. "Try not to drool on the textbooks. They're expensive."

The rest of the walk to your flat, Mingi replayed their teasing in his head. He hated that they knew. Hated that they could see right through him. But more than that, he hated that he couldn't stop thinking about you long enough to form a coherent sentence.

When you answered the door, his brain short-circuited. You looked soft, comfortable, real, and his cock twitched in his jeans despite the fact that he'd just jerked off not even two hours ago.

You lived in a small studio near campus. "Hey," you said, stepping aside. "Come in."

As Mingi followed you further in, his eyes darted around the room, and he noted the walls were covered in posters of bands he didn't know. Polaroids of you and friends smiling, fairy lights draped over the window, and stacks of books on every surface.

It smelled of vanilla and laundry detergent. Mingi stood in the middle of the room, feeling too big for the space, while you cleared a spot on your desk.

"Seonghwa says you're struggling with the experimental design section," you said, pulling out a chair.

"Yeah." He sat down, trying not to stare at the way your jeans hugged your thighs. "I just– it's hard to focus." With the intensity of his stare, he's shocked he hasn't burnt a hole in your pocket. His eyes snapped back up to your face as you spun around.

You smiled at him, and it made his chest tight. "That's what I'm here for."

The first hour was torture.

You sat across from him, leaning over the desk to point at diagrams and equations, and every time you moved, your shirt shifted. He caught himself looking at your chest more than the paper. You were wearing a simple cotton top, nothing special, but he could see the outline of your bra underneath. His palms started to sweat.

"Experimental design relies on proper variable isolation," you said, tapping the textbook. "If you don't control for confounding factors, your results are meaningless."

"Right," he said, not registering a single word.

He'd been answering questions mechanically, half his brain on the work, the other half imagining what your skin would feel like under his hands. You must have noticed because you paused mid-sentence, looked up at him, and raised an eyebrow.

"Mingi. You're not listening."

"I am," he lied.

"You're staring at my boobs."

The words hit him like a slap. His face flushed neon red. He opened his mouth to deny it, tried to form an apology, but nothing came out. You didn't look angry. You looked amused, lips curving into a slow, teasing smile.

"You know, you're not as subtle as you think." You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms under your chest, pushing your breasts up slightly. Mingi's mouth went dry. "I saw you in the library. You always sit at the same table, don't you? The one with the direct sightline to my spot."

"Fuck," he breathed.

"Yeah." You laughed, soft and mocking. "You're kind of a pervert, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," he managed. "I didn't mean to– I just– you're really pretty, and I–"

You held up a hand, cutting off his stammering. "It's fine. I know how to fix this."

Your eyes sparkled with something that made his pulse race. "I have an idea. For every question you get right, you get a reward. A touch. Something simple. You tell me what you want, and I'll let you do it. Consider it motivation."

Mingi's brain short-circuited. "A touch?"

"On the honour system. You answer correctly, you get to cross one of your fantasies off the list. But you have to keep studying. And you can't cum. Not until the end. Deal?"

He nodded, barely able to speak. "Deal."

The first question was simple. You slid a worksheet toward him, and he scribbled the answer in seconds. When he looked up, you gestured at your hand resting on the table.

"Go ahead. Claim your reward."

He reached out slowly; his fingertips brushed your knuckles. The contact sent a jolt through him. He took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your palm. It was soft and warm.

"That," he said, voice low. "Wanted to know if you'd let me."

You let him hold it for a full minute before pulling away.

"Next question."

He answered it correctly again. This time, he got braver, his fingers sliding up to graze your neck before he leaned in slowly.

Mingi leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of your throat. He lingered, breathing in your scent — vanilla, coffee and a hint of something spicy — before pulling back. You shivered, and he felt a surge of pride.

By the third correct answer, he was bolder. "Can I touch your thigh?"

You spread your legs slightly in answer. He slid his hand onto your knee, then slowly upward, fingers grazing the denim of your jeans. Your breath hitched. He squeezed gently, feeling the muscle beneath.

The fourth question was harder. He had to think, to recall details from the textbook he'd barely read. Something about factorial designs that he should have known but had completely blanked on. You were watching him, waiting, and his mind went blank.

"Give me a second," he muttered.

"Take your time."

But he couldn't focus. Not with his hand still resting on your thigh, not with the memory of your neck against his lips, not with the way you were looking at him — patient, amused, knowing.

He guessed wrong.

You smiled softly and shifted back in your chair. His hand slipped off your thigh, landing on empty air. You stood up, stepping away from the desk entirely, folding your arms.

"Wrong answer. No reward." Your voice was teasing but firm. "Try the next one."

Mingi groaned, running a hand through his hair. "That's cruel."

"Study motivation, remember?" You sat back down, but this time you kept the chair a few inches farther from him. "You have to earn it."

He gritted his teeth and flipped to the next page.

I'm going to get every single question right, he swore to himself. And by the end of this, I'm going to have you underneath me.

Two hours later, Mingi had answered fifteen out of twenty questions correctly. His hand had mapped the curve of your calf, the dip of your waist, the soft skin behind your ear. He'd kissed your palm, your wrist, the hollow of your throat. Each touch left him harder, more desperate, his cock aching against the zipper of his jeans.

By the time he reached the last question, he was sweating, his breathing shallow. You closed the textbook and set it aside. "Last question."

He was barely listening. His eyes traced the line of your collarbone, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. He wanted to taste you. Wanted to feel you writhe beneath him.

"If you get this right, you get your last reward. Anything you want."

Mingi's head snapped back up to your face. That definitely got his attention. "Anything?"

"Within reason." A small smile played at your lips as you tapped your pen on the cover of the textbook.

You asked the question — something about p-values and statistical significance — and this time, Mingi didn't hesitate. The answer came easily, pulled from a corner of his brain that had actually absorbed your teaching.

"Correct. Sixteen out of twenty, a passing score." You leaned back, crossing your arms. "So. What do you want?"

Mingi stood up. His chair scraped against the floor. He rounded the desk, grabbing your hips and pulling you to your feet. Your body pressed against his, your warmth seeping through his clothes. But his hands trembled slightly, his heart hammering against his ribs. He'd never done this before, never been this close to a woman's body like this, and the anticipation was almost unbearable.

"I want you to ride me."

Your eyes widened, but you didn't pull away. "Here?"

"Here." He guided you toward the edge of your bed, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. "Right now."

You straddled him, your thighs bracketing his hips. The heat of your cunt pressed against his clothed cock, and he groaned, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your tits through your top.

"You sure?" you whispered.

He answered by kissing you hard and desperately, his tongue sliding against yours. But his hands were shaking. His heart hammered so loud he thought you might hear it. He wanted this more than anything, but he didn't know what the hell he was doing. Every move felt like a gamble.

Instead of rushing, he pulled back, breath coming in short gasps. "Let me–" He swallowed. "Let me taste you first. Please."

He didn't wait for an answer. He slid off the bed, landing on his knees in front of you. His fingers found the button of your jeans, but they fumbled, clumsy with nerves. A frustrated laugh escaped him. "Sorry. I'm–" He didn't finish. He just focused, finally getting the button undone, pushing the denim down your thighs.

You shimmied out of your pants, and Mingi's mouth went dry. Your panties were dark at the centre, a damp patch glistening in the low light. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down, slowly revealing your cunt inch by inch. The sight of you bare, slick, and waiting for him made his cock twitch painfully.

He leaned in, pressing a tentative kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another, higher. His nose brushed your curls, and he inhaled your scent — musky, sweet, intoxicating. His tongue darted out, tracing a line up your slit.

You gasped, your hips shifting toward him. Encouraged, he parted your folds with his thumbs and pressed his mouth to your clit. He licked experimentally, then with more confidence as your moans grew louder. He circled the sensitive nub with his tongue, flicking and sucking, learning what made you squirm.

But he wanted more. He wanted to feel you clench around his fingers. He slid one hand up your thigh, fingers teasing your entrance. "Tell me if it's okay," he mumbled against your skin.

You nodded, breathless. "Just– go slow."

Mingi pushed one finger inside you; the heat and tightness made his head spin. He pumped it gently, then added a second, stretching you, curling them to find that spot that made your back arch. Mingi watched your face — eyes squeezed shut, lips parted — and felt a surge of power mixed with nervous wonder. He was doing this. He was making you feel good.

Your wetness coated his fingers, and he kept working you, alternating between licking your clit and tonguing your folds, until your thighs trembled and your moans turned into desperate whines. He pulled his fingers out slowly, wiping them on his own jeans before standing up.

"Okay," he said, voice rough. "Now, ride me."

He sat back on the edge of the bed, his cock straining against his jeans. He freed it with trembling hands, and a bead of precum oozed from the tip, thick and viscous, more than you'd expect. It dripped down the shaft, glistening. He pumped himself once, twice, spreading the slickness, then guided you forward.

You positioned yourself over him, the head of his cock nudging your soaked entrance. Mingi's breath hitched. He was so hard it almost hurt, the pressure building in his balls already. He gripped your hips, steadying you, trying not to thrust up.

"Slow," he repeated, more to himself than to you. "Go slow."

You sank down, inch by inch, and Mingi's eyes rolled back. The heat of your cunt, the silkiness of your walls — it was overwhelming. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, fighting the urge to come right there. A groan tore from his throat as you took him fully, your hips flush against his.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you rocked forward, and he felt another wave of precum leak from his cock, mixing with your wetness. He shuddered, fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck, Mingi. You fill me so good," you whispered.

He couldn't speak. He just nodded, his hands trembling as you began to move; a slow, rocking grind that stole every thought from his head. You rode him with a rhythm that started gentle, then built, your hips rolling in circles while he gripped the sheets and tried not to come immediately.

The pleasure was overwhelming. Every sensation — the clench of your cunt, the slap of your thighs against his, the sight of your tits bouncing in front of his face — pushed him closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, that familiar ache that meant he was about to erupt.

"Fuck, I'm gonna–" He couldn't finish the sentence. His hips bucked upward, burying himself deeper as his orgasm ripped through him. Thick ropes of cum shot into you, pumping again and again, flooding your pussy with hot, white fluid. His body shuddered with the force of it, his hands digging into your hips so hard he'd probably leave bruises.

You gasped, your rhythm faltering as you felt the torrent of semen filling you. It leaked out around his cock, dripping onto the sheets, your thighs, his stomach.

But Mingi wasn't done. As the aftershocks faded, a new hunger flared in his chest. He needed more. Needed to feel you come on his cock while he controlled the pace.

He flipped you onto your back before you could react, your legs falling apart as he hovered over you. His cock was still hard, still slick with his cum and your wetness. He lined himself up and slammed back inside you, a guttural curse ripping from his throat.

"Oh God," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Mingi–"

He didn't answer with words. He fucked you hard, deep, each stroke driving his cock into your sopping cunt. The bed creaked beneath you. Your moans filled the room. He leaned down to kiss you, swallowing your sounds as he pounded into you. Your nails left lines of red down his back.

He could feel your walls clenching around him, hear your breath hitching. You were close, so close, and he wanted to see you fall apart.

"Come for me," he growled against your ear, his fingers trailing down to rub firm circles against your clit, causing your back to arch further into his chest. "Come on my cock."

That was all it took. Your body arched, a sharp cry escaping your lips as your orgasm crashed over you. Your pussy milked him, squeezing and fluttering, and Mingi groaned, burying his face in your neck as he came again — a second, weaker orgasm that still spilt another hot pulse of cum into you.

When it was over, he collapsed beside you, both of you panting, sweaty, tangled in each other. The sheets were a mess, soaked with sweat and cum. He stared at the ceiling, his heart hammering.

After a long silence, you spoke. "Mingi?"

"Yeah?"

"That was insane. Where the hell did you learn to fuck like that?"

He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at you. A nervous laugh escaped him. "I, uh... didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that was my first time."

Your eyes went wide. "What? No way. That was your first time?"

He nodded, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "I'm a virgin. Or, I guess, was a virgin."

You stared at him, then burst out laughing — not mocking, but genuine, surprised laughter. "Holy shit. You're kidding me."

"I'm not."

"Mingi– You let me take your virginity for a study session, and you fuck like that?" You reached out, running a hand through his damp hair. "You're a natural, I guess."

Mingi grinned, pulling you closer. "Lucky guess.”

It started innocently enough. sitting on the lounge chair of the hotel room balcony, feeling the heat trickle against your skin. the weight of your sunglasses pushed on your nose as sweat dripped down onto the pages of your book.

the midsummer heatwave was knocking the energy out of everyone, including your, typically energetic, boyfriend, mingi. fresh out the shower, his short black hair was messy, spiked over his head as he opened the balcony door. he had slipped on his matching set of a striped shirt and shorts, the buttons hanging dangerously open.

your eyes were begging to tear away from the words on the pages, catching glimpses of mingi sitting in the comfort of a plush chair opposite from you. you hadn't spoken a word, something unsaid lingered in the air.

as beads of sweat started to run down the side of your neck, you couldn't help but use your book as a makeshift fan. the view before you surely wasn't helping. mingis eyes had shifted closed, hands resting on his lap as his head was leaned back into the chair cushions.

maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the need.

but something in you snapped. nothing crazy, yet, just a floodgate of something seeping out of you. so, you pressed your book shut, and got on your feet.

mingis eyes didn't open just yet, he was basking in the sun, it hugging his features so beautifully in this warm morning. as you stood before him, you let your other hand grip the metal railing next to mingis chair, the other holding onto his shoulder blade. his lips twitched at the sudden touch, but melting into it as your familiar warmth neared him. speaking in a mumbled tone, he muttered:

"isn't it a bit too hot to cuddle hm?" you chuckled lightly, your hips now laid on top of his, chest pressed up on his.

to admit, it was definitely not making the heat go away, more so making it worse. but you couldn't possibly tear yourself off your delicious boyfriend now, his tan toned arm now tight around your waist. you just craved being close, just being here together like this.

the trip so far had been mostly you inside, alone, reading books, since mingi was on a business trip. having these little moments together was certainly more and more rare, so you had to take what there is to take.

"but it's so comfortable like this isn't it?" you asked, tracing shapes into the exposed skin of mingis collarbones. his low laugh rumbled in his chest as he nodded, eyes still hung close.

"mhm, you could say that"

you weren't sure how long you sat there, unmoved, before something started to change. maybe it was the subtle changes in your seating position, or the way your eyes were wandering, but you couldn't help but feel a new type of heat rise in your body.

your both hands laid against mingis sweat sticky chest, your thighs spread around to straddle his. looking up to see his eyes still closed, light breaths passing his lips, you let yourself experiment a bit.

your hand slid down his torso, hanging onto the buttons that remained closed a little longer then supposed, accidentally popping one open. the newly exposed skin glistened in the sunlight, making your cheeks burn red like you've never seen him like this before.

you could feel his breath catching a little, making you pause for a moment before resuming. your other hand traced down to meet the other, slowly opening the last two remaining buttons. with slow but sure movements, you moved aside the light fabric, flashing his toned chest to your vision.

you couldn’t help but feel your mouth salivating at the sight of his exposed chest, the ridges of his muscles, the light hairs below his bellybutton, all the way to to his perked brown nipples. it was all too much.

you didn’t even notice your hips moving at first, your body taking over into an animalistic state. the fabric of mingis shorts was riding up dangerously high, the skin of his toned thick thighs meeting yours as you humped down on him like a dog in heat.

you felt a grin tug on mingis plump lips, his lengthy tongue slipping past to wet the surface before he spoke in a low voice:

" tsk, now now, that's not cuddling now is it angel?"

your breath hitched, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop moving against him, hands now eagerly tugging on the remains of his shirt that hung on his chest. mingis grip on your waist adjusted a bit, both his large palms now resting against your hipbones, guiding your movements.

"couldn't help it" you mumbled, face merely inches away from his. a smirky grin appears on his lips, before he bites down into them, pulling you closer on his lap. you fall forward slightly, your hands now laid above his chest, fingers directly on his perky nipples.

"don't you dare stop now then, even if you're caught, you dirty girl"

even if you wanted to, you couldn't. the feeling of the heat radiating from mingis body, his scent, his presence. the way his eyes were slightly opened now, that dark gaze burning into your skull as you worked your hips against him. you felt your brain melt away as you eased more into it, upping the pressure as mingis hands guided you back and forth.

as you moved, you could feel tension rise below you, the hardness of mingis cock firm against your clothed pussy as you grinded with need. a twitch rippled through mingis body as your hips met up with the sensitive spot of his tip through his flimsy shorts, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“thats it baby, faster f’me, go on”

his hands are eager to pull and push you faster, the slickness of your pussy seeping through your clothes, leaving a wet patch on his shorts. moans tear past your lips as you lean forward to lay youe forehead on his shoulder, fingers digging into his chest muscles.

“min- so good.. fuck..”

raking your hands down his torso, your nails leaving behind a red trail as your chest heaves. you’re burning up, the heat of the summer air and the burning sensation of your body against mingis driving you near passing out, but it felt so worth it.

“yeah? gonna cum untouched like a fucking virgin are you baby?”

mingis words twist your gut, his pitying tone making a new wave of arousal slick down your thighs. he just smirks knowingly, beginning to thrust up into your grinds.

you shriek, digging your nails into his stomach as the new sensation takes over. you may as well be naked from how much you can feel the imprint of mingis cock in his pants. you can feel the thick shape of it, every ridge, every vein running down its sides. and its making you lose it faster then you want to.

“p..please.. d- da.. mghm min..” your words stutter as you hold onto him, teeth grazing his exposed shoulder blade.

“mmm what was that, say that again” his words sharp as his hips slow down a bit, waiting your answer.

your cheeks flare, gulping, you try again:

“please.. please daddy more!” you muster the courage, shaking as mingi chuckles against you, picking back up his page.

“that’s a good girl, always so obedient for me”

you feel the tightness in your abdomen come scarily close at his words, your body tingling with every grind, every thrust. raising your head from his shoulder, youre met with his gaze again, eyes clouded, lips parted in a smirk while low groans tear out repeatedly.

his palm smacks your right cheek before pulling on it again, spreading you open while grinding up into you, and you feel yourself lose it.

“need to.. need to cum now daddy mgmh! m coming”

mingis face dives forward, closing you into a kiss thats almost all tongue and teeth, sucking your sounds into his mouth. you pant, repeating his name like a mantra as his cockhead grinds against your clit with ease.

“thats it, cum on daddy just like this, attagirll baby” his voice mumbles against your lips, you feel him smile into it with that devious grin.

and it completely undoes you. you feel the band inside you snap, the overwhelming heat of your body peaking as you hold onto mingi for some stability, his hands on your hips grounding you.

the wet patch is even more imminent now on mingis shorts as you lean forward to his shoulder again, hanging on like a ragdoll. his hand caresses your back, soothing the burning skin as you come down from your high.

after a minute or two, you leaned up again, meeting his attentive gaze, and that never ending smirk. you raise a brow.

“now, why are you still grinning now, what’s so funny?” mingi chuckles, running his hand down your side, the other below your chin.

“oh nothing, just imagining how you’re gonna walk once we’re done on this balcony” you smack his shoulder, pretending to be hurt.

“oh? don’t think i’m not going to have you holding onto that bar for dear life while i stuff your pussy full, you know i’ll do it.”

and with that, you knew your knees would remain wobbly, and your body heated for the rest of this damned heatwave.

• Everyone notices before either of you do.

• The members are constantly exchanging looks whenever the two of you are in the same room because the tension is painfully obvious.

• Mingi is usually confident and playful, but around you he suddenly forgets how to act normal.

• He’ll walk into a room completely relaxed, spot you sitting there, and immediately become awkward.

• The two of you make eye contact a lot.

• Like a lot.

• You’ll glance across the room and catch him already looking at you.

• Then both of you immediately look away and pretend nothing happened.

• Mingi gets ridiculously happy whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

• It doesn’t matter if the joke wasn’t funny.

• If you’re laughing, he’s smiling for the next twenty minutes.

• He remembers every tiny detail you tell him. Your favourite drink, the snacks you like, your favourite colour, that random story you mentioned three months ago.

• Meanwhile, you’re exactly the same.

• The two of you basically collect information about each other without realising it.

• Whenever you’re hanging out in a group, Mingi somehow always ends up sitting beside you.

• Not intentionally.

• At least that’s what he tells himself.

• The members absolutely do not believe him.

• San once points it out and Mingi nearly chokes on his drink.

• Physical touch is accidental at first.

• Your hands brushing when reaching for something.

• Your shoulders bumping together.

• Both of you immediately freezing afterwards.

• Mingi apologises every single time even when there’s nothing to apologise for.

• “Sorry.”

• “Mingi, you literally just touched my sleeve.”

• “Right. Sorry.”

• Neither of you are very good at flirting.

• Most of your conversations end with one of you getting flustered and changing the subject.

• The members are suffering.

• Especially Wooyoung.

• He’s tired of watching two people who obviously like each other dance around it.

• Whenever you compliment Mingi, he’s done for.

• Completely done for.

• He’ll stare at the floor, smile to himself, and replay your words for the rest of the week.

• “You look nice today.”

• Congratulations.

• He’ll be thinking about that until next month.

• You both secretly look for each other in every room.

• It’s become a habit.

• A comforting one.

• And even though neither of you have confessed yet, everyone can see where it’s heading.

• Because every time your eyes meet, both of you smile automatically.

• Soft smiles.

• Shy smiles.

• The kind that make it impossible for anyone around you to miss what’s really going on.

Your eyes blurred as you clicked the ‘Complete Booking’ button that blared brightly on your screen, you scoffed.

“Why do developers make their apps look like gambling software,” You mumble to Wooyoung who was stood next to you, rolling his eyes playfully “So many buttons jumping out at you! like im betting on whether i make it home or not,” You giggle, amused at your own joke.

Wooyoung nudges you.

“Y/n, don’t be so morbid.” Wooyoung looked at you, sighing into the cold night air. His breath creating a visible cloud of steam. You gasped.

“Oh Wooyo its so cold!” You slurred, leaning into him “Maybe I’ll make soup, or ramen, or-“

“You will go to bed, like you promised,” Wooyoung pretends to glare at you but he can’t hide the small smile that creeps onto his lips at your intoxicated form.

You huffed “Party pooper,” You mumbled under your breath.

Wooyoung gasps “What was that?” He says, playfully offended.

You shake your head as if to say nothing, but you couldn’t help the very telling laugh that left you. The moment was quickly stolen by the noise of an engine ripping through the street.

“I hate when people do that with their cars,” You tut “Such show offs,”

Wooyoung only laughs as he watches the car come down the road “Looks like your taxi doesn’t it? Same number plate?” He squints.

You don’t bother checking, just nodding as you stumble over your own feet. You wriggle out Wooyoung’s grip towards the taxi. He attempts to chase after you but your drunken self had already made a run for it, yelling a quick ‘Bye see you soon!’ as you beelined for the taxi.

You giggled to yourself, thinking about getting into bed. You throw the door to the taxi open without caution, barreling into the backseat. You throw your bag down and groan as your heel gets caught in the door momentarily. After a few seconds you managed to free yourself, finally making yourself comfortable in the seat.

In the drivers seat, he watched.

You swing the door open and he winced, the thought of needing to get his car serviced again flashing before his eyes.

“Yunho man what have i told y-“ He stopped himself.

That…that wasn’t Yunho.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled to himself “H- Hello?” he said, trying to get your attention, but you were too busy trying to clamber into the backseat of his car to even notice he said anything.

He didn’t even dare to turn around, god knows what people are like these days, he couldn’t risk losing his precious life, and worse, his even more precious car.

“Ma’am?” He says again, a little louder.

No response.

He watched you tug and tug at your foot to get in, probably the slowest struggle he has ever witnessed, he stifled a laugh, because how can he laugh at someone so vulnerable? Very unlike him. He managed to connect the dots, realising you were very very drunk and no amount of calling out to you was going to get your attention.

He held his breath as you got in, the smell of alcohol taking over his vehicle, beneath that he caught a whiff of perfume, a sweet, sultry vanilla scent, that otherwise would have probably had him drooling.

“Okay I’m ready,” You slurred loudly “Off we go!”

For the first time Mingi looked behind him, he opened his mouth to say something but closed it immediately, realising he couldn’t find the words.

You were beautiful, definitely one of if not the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Your skin glowed under the dim light of the car, your lipgloss slightly smeared, probably from the struggle he had to witness as you were fighting your way into his car. Your hair rested on your shoulders, it was messy, but in his opinion it made you all the more charming. He was in awe to say the least.

His gawking was quickly cut short by a hand waving across his face.

“Hello?!?” You exclaimed “I asked you a question,”

He snapped back into reality as he locked eyes with you. “I..uh..yeah?” He managed to choke out.

“My address,” You turned your phone to him, tapping the screen furiously on the same spot to show him where your house was, only thing was, your phone had died quite a while ago and you were yet to realise you were showing him a blank screen.

Mingi furrowed his brows, but he didn’t question you, he was a little intimidated, some would say scared, but Mingi would say nothing ever scares him.

Maybe just you, or drunk you.

“Sorry what’s your name?” He blurts out. Honestly, he was asking for both practical purposes and his own personal curiosity. He couldn’t just let you leave without figuring out the identity of the woman who had just crash landed into the back of his car.

“Oh Y/n, should be…on the app,” You squint at him “Though, you don’t look like a taxi driver,”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, he needed to find a way to respond without entering creep territory.

He only shook his head. “Listen, you cli-“

You gasped loudly “Fucking creep!” You cried out

Mingi panicked, putting his hands up defensively “No! No! i promise I’m not! I am here for my friend!” He defends himself.

You point an accusatory finger at him “How dare you..” You slur drunkenly at him “How dare you lie to me, you don’t have friends..”

Mingi cocks his head in confusion, and slight offence. “I have many friends thank you.”

You shake your head disappointed “Do they know you come out at night to take women?” You scoff at him.

Mingi’s mouth opens in surprise, stuttering out a response “No! Because i don’t do that!” He explains “You practically threw yourself into the back of my car! I am not a taxi, i tried to tell you!”

You crossed your arms as you leaned back into his seat “Thats a terrible cover up story,” You tut “You just saw me, all beautiful and all me..” You nod to yourself “And you were like ‘target aquired’” You say, imitating a man to the best of your drunken abilities.

Mingi gasps “Oh no i did not!” He argues “I drove down here because i am a good friend, and my best friend is somewhere drunk out of his mind around here! and i need to pick him up!”

You roll your eyes “So where is my taxi?”

Mingi throws his hands up in exasperation “Why would i know?! I didn’t book it!” He sighs “You got into the wrong car and now you are arguing with me! This is my car!”

You take a minute to let the situation sink in, which obviously, takes a little longer than a minute in your state.

Your ego didn’t let up though “Okay, okay i got into the wrong car, don’t get angsty with me,”

Mingi raises a brow “Oh so I’m the angsty one,” He grumbles “I will literally pay for you to get a taxi, and make sure you actually get into it, not some strangers car,”

“Because you know loads about stranger danger don’t you,” You glare at him “You are the stranger danger, i don’t even know your name.”

Mingi rolls his eyes “Mingi,” He looks at you “My name is Mingi. Now will you let me book you a taxi so you can yell at the actual taxi driver instead?”

Your shrug “Least you can do, you know, to make up for the attempted kidnapping.”

Mingi goes to retaliate but he stops himself, deciding to concede in this little argument. He pulls out his phone to book you your own taxi, he would offer to drive you home, but he didn’t want to come off poorly, and figured you may be more comfortable in an actual taxi.

“Okay so you live…where?” He looks at you, you begin to raise your finger to start up another argument about his intentions but he is quick to cut you off “Don’t even start,” He glares at you playfully, stifling a laugh “I need your address for the booking,”

You grab his phone, putting in your address as best you can, he chuckles as he watches you before taking his phone back.

“Don’t follow me to my house,” You mumble.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” He sighs as he finishes the booking “Done, should be here in a few minutes.” He looks at you “You can wait in here until it comes,” He pauses.

You look at him, really look at him this time. You were sobering up by the minute, albeit, still very drunk, but definitely in better condition than before. You can’t help but stare at his features, the way he smiles, the way his eyes sparkle as they catch the night light, the way his hands gently grip the back of the passenger seat as he swivels his body round to speak to you. And his lips…gosh.

“Don’t drool,” He breaks the silence

You scoff “Over you? get over yourself.” You adjust yourself in your seat awkwardly,huffing and puffing dramatically.

He laughs, turning back to face the wheel, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you wait.

Well comfortable for you.

Mingi, on the other hand, was going through 101 ways to ask for your number without furthering the creep persona you had built for him in your head. He needed to know if you got home safe…and if you potentially wanted to let him take you to dinner.

You wouldn’t need to get a taxi if he picked you up, saves you from getting into the wrong one too. At least thats the reasoning he used in his head.

“The taxi.” He broke the silence. He mentally face palmed at his lack of ability to form a full sentence “I mean the taxi is like 30 seconds away,” He glances back to you.

You nod, gathering your things “Uh..Thank you,” You say quietly “I..i erm,” You fumble your words, trying to figure out a way to apologise for your behaviour, assure him that thats not who you are, usually anyway.

“It’s okay,” He hums softly “You made my night more interesting,” He chuckles, seemingly reading your mind. You sigh in relief.

Then a pause.

“Woulditbeweirdifiaskedforyournumber?” He spits out, faster than you can process.

You furrow your brows, your disoriented form barely catching a word he said “Huh?”

“Can i have your number?” He says loudly, far louder than he wanted to, “T- To make sure you get home safe…and all that,”

Your eyes widen in surprise, as if you hadn’t spent the last half hour bickering with this man in an egregious, drunken attempt to flirt with him “Yeah, yeah of course,” You fumble around, reaching your hand out so he can hand you his phone, which he does immediately as you punch in what you pray is your phone number.

He smiles softly “Thanks.” He mutters as he takes his phone back “I think the taxi is outside, please get home safe, and please get into the right car,” He laughs.

You laugh with him as you open the door to step out. “Can’t make any promises Mingi,” You smile as you shut the door.

Mingi sits for a second before rushing out the car, he at least had to witness you get into the right vehicle, otherwise he wouldn’t forgive himself. He jogs after you, which only took a few steps for his large figure to catch up to you.

You yelp when you see him behind you “Mingi?”

“Shit sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you” He breathes “Just thought i should probably walk you to the taxi, make sure its the right one,”

You nod, struggling to hide the smile that played on your lips. “Very gentlemanly of you, a little less kindnapper-y of you,” You joke. He feigns offence as the two of you walk.

You both locate the taxi, Mingi opens the door for you, confirming the booking with the driver as you climb in, successfully this time.

“Take care Y/n,” He smiles “I’ll send you a message,”

You nod. “Thats if i didn’t give you the wrong number too,”

He laughs “I reckon we will find each other again,” He shuts the door to the car. You wave as he waves back, the car driving off into the distance.

He walks back to his own car, a stupid smile plastered across his face. However, the joy is short lived before he hears his name yelled across the street.

“Mingiii!” A voice exclaims.

He looks up to see two bodyguards dragging a familiar figure out the club. Mingi rolls his eyes.

“Oh my fucking god Yunho.” He mumbles to himself, as he takes the other male from the bodyguards, apologising profusely.

“Okay so whatever anyone says Min, it wasn’t my fault,” Yunho slurs, feet dragging across the pavement as Mingi pulls him towards his car.

Anyone else see Hongjoong in a biker helmet... Yeah me too. I will be temporarily in psychosis if you need me.

His back hits the wall with a quiet thump as soft pants leave his lips, his breath fanning over your face. He groans at the contact with the wall.

“You okay Min?” You ask softly with a smirk, moving his hair out of his face. He just looks at you, his eyes glazed over and his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. He gulps as he garners the strength to give you a small nod.

His large hands are spread across your waist hesitantly, like he’s not allowed to touch, like he can’t believe he’s actually holding you.

You lean in again, kissing him, his breath hitches but his body adjusts quickly, his hands pulling you closer to him to deepen the kiss, your hand tangled in his hair, you pull once.

You pull again, and there it was.

A noise, almost inaudible, but present, a cross between a whine and a whimper. You smirk against his lips, you feel him tense up as the sound is tugged out of him, he wasn’t even aware he could produce such a sound.

“Its okay,” you whisper softly “relax.” you mutter against his lips, he sighs shakily as he chases your lips, aching for more.

He manoeuvres his head, unconsciously pulling against your hand to recreate the feeling of you tugging on his hair. You can only smile against his lips, you decide not to torture him by making him ask, instead, you give him what he wants, whether he even realises he wants it.

You tug again, a little harder, and it happens again.

He whines into your mouth, his hands shaking against your back, you do it once more, and his knees buckle slightly, you can only chuckle softly.

“Oh you liked that..” you taunt him, usually he would have a retort ready to go, but he could only pant quietly against your lips.

You give him no time to catch his breath as your lips move swiftly to his jaw, trailing kisses along his neck and jawline. his hands grip your hips so tightly you’re convinced there will be a bruise, you find his pulse point and your lips latch on, you suck experimentally, testing the waters.

A groan leaves him, you continue.

“W- wait..” he says quietly, you suck the spot ever so gently, with enough power to leave a mark, but not enough to satisfy. “Please..” he whispers.

You pull away, looking at him with concern.

“You okay?” You ask genuinely.

He closes his eyes with a nod “Dizzy” he lets his forehead fall against yours “‘m so dizzy,” he whines.

You grin “that’s okay, ive got you,” you cup his face, he meets your eyes for a second before getting embarrassed and burying his head in your neck.

You pull him up again so he’s looking at you.

“I can stop,” you say.

He shakes his head weakly “N- no…please don’t,” he whispers almost desperately “please don’t stop.”

You smile, kissing him passionately. He responds quickly, his hands finding the confidence to explore your body, like hes trying to memorise your form, your lips find his neck again, you can feel him pushing against you, as if he’s trying to move you away, as if it’s too much. But the pretty sounds leaving his lips as you mark his neck say otherwise.

You pull away eventually, his hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed and his lips slightly swollen, he looked totally debauched.

You’ve barely got the door behind you before Wooyoung presses his lips to yours. Your brows lift high, hands reaching for his chest, back flat against the wooden door behind you, you were expecting at least a short conversation first. Maybe a small discussion on how this actually goes. You suppose he isn’t the type to need one, he already knows how this goes, he does it on a daily basis. 

“Wait, wait,” you push on his chest, but all it really does is push you farther into the door. “That’s it? You just bring me in here and start making out with me?” 

Panting, his brows furrow, hands lowering where they’d taken root on your hips. “Yes? What else is there to do?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug your shoulders, arms stretching on either side of you. “Talk about it? I don’t want anyone to know you went down on me.”

“I’m so gross and nasty that no one can know you hooked up with me?” he teases, amusement in his eyes. “I won’t tell anyone, Virgin. It’s just a favor, a one-time thing.” 

So close, you’ve never noticed his eyes are two different sizes, like the angel and devil on his shoulders control each half of him. His eyes that are usually a warm, glazed amber are deepened to a woody, husky brown, but still soft, not impatient, not brash. 

“Okay,” you blink, swallowing. “I’ve never hooked up with anyone before. Every guy I’ve ever fucked was my boyfriend, longterm.”

“If you don’t want to do this, then we don’t do it,” he says honestly. Then he grins like he just remembered, “I’ve got another appointment after this, anyway.” 

Your skin burns, cheeks flaming, the tips of your ears threatening to melt your skull. You should hate each word he just said, you should hate that he’s fucking someone after he hooks up with you, but part of you finds it reassuring. That this, whatever was about to happen, was casual. A one time thing. A favor. Something inside you enjoys that you’re taking precedence, though, that he was putting off his own pleasure to tend to yours first.

“No,” you shake your head, certain. Despite the slight discomfort, the newness of it all, you’ve already imagined how this goes, you’ve already pictured his head between your legs. “I want to do this.” 

He nods, eyes dancing over your features, you can only assume he’s checking to see if there’s any part of you that physically doesn’t want him. But he won’t find any proof in your quickly rising chest, the flush on your skin, your dilated eyes. 

“Good,” he whispers, leaning close to you again, so close his lips brush yours. “Because I really want to see how fast I can make you cum.” 

His lips meet yours again, hands heavier on your hips now, using his grip on your shorts to push you flat against the door. You gasp, hands finding purchase on his shoulders, balancing yourself on your tippy toes to reach his mouth. 

He uses your parted lips to push his tongue past, and his rhythm, not frantic, controlled in a way that makes you feel how badly he wants this, how badly he wants you. You don’t know if anyone has ever kissed you like this, with such purpose, intent behind it that wasn’t half-assed. If you have, it’s been a long, long time.

He explores your mouth like he could get lost in it, hands sliding up to your waist, tucking beneath your top, hands roaming your skin just to feel. He dips down below your chin, lips pressing along your jaw and your head falls backward, hitting the door with a thump. Neither of you pay any mind, especially not as he shifts his hips, slotting one of his legs between yours, trapping you between him and the door, lining you up with his thigh. 

You choke on a whimper, hips instinctively twitching against him. 

“Yes,” he encourages, his breath hot on your neck, one of his hands finding purchase in the hair at the back of your neck. “Do it again.”

You roll your hips again and heat spreads like wildfire, stimulation bubbling inside your gut, reaching each nerve ending. Even through your shorts, his pants, your clit catches mercifully against the fabric, forcing a staggered sound of pleasure from your throat.

One hand hits the door behind you, nails clawing at the wood while the other reaches for his hair, fingers tangling in his roots. His lips move softly, rhythmically down your neck, never once moving his strong thigh, never twitching, never shifting. 

“Use me,” he whispers into your neck, breath cooling the area where his mouth had just been. “Do whatever feels right.” 

Your hand that’s in his roots pulls. He groans, head tipping back, dark eyebrows knitting together, his face so blown out in pleasure it makes a sharp noise escape your chest. Your eyes widen, silencing yourself with your lips smacking shut and he’s quick to shake his head no.

“Let me hear you,” he leans in close again, teeth grazing your jawline, making your hips snap against his thigh. “Wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make.” 

“Wooyoung,” you arch into him, fingers tightening in his hair again. “Oh my god.” 

You get it now— he’s barely done anything and you get it now. There’s an air about him, or maybe his saliva is laced with heroin, but the moment his hands touched your body something inside you relaxed. He’s never been shy about how much he loves sex, and you personally know six women who have had nothing but good things to say about his skills, all of which you’ve ignored because it never pertained to you, you never cared. Now, experiencing it for yourself, with all of your clothes still on your fucking body, you understand.

He smiles into your skin, you can feel the stretch of his lips, his teeth against your neck. He reaches for the hem of your top, lifting it upward, folding it over your bra, and takes a second to explore the stretch of skin across your stomach, the indent of your spine with his hands. 

“So soft,” he murmurs, then pulls away, taking a good look at you, eyes zeroing in on your chest. “Damn, you’ve been hiding these.” 

Your cheeks burn, you ignore how badly you want to cross your arms over your chest. “Shut up.”

“What?” His eyes find yours again, a smirk on his lips. “I can’t appreciate?”

“If you’re gonna use your mouth, use it between my legs, not to speak,” your back arches again, impatience radiating off of you. 

“There she is,” he smiles all teeth, eyes flaring with amusement, thumbs tucking into your shorts. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me.”

“I’ve been here, just waiting for you to do something that actually feels good,” you quip, rolling your hips toward him. 

He chokes on a punched, disbelieving laugh. “Right. Sure.”

He doesn’t fumble with the laces of your shorts, quickly untying them, you arch your back off the door to help him get them down your thighs. He sinks to his knees, lifting one of your legs to shimmy your boot out of your shorts, leaving them hooked around the other one. 

Looking upward, his brows tie in, letting out a long, groaned, “Fuuck.” He meets your eye again to taunt, “You soaked through your panties, baby. Thought you said you were waiting for me to do something that actually feels good?”

“Shut up already, fuck,” you hiss, bending yourself toward him, itching for him to finally touch you where you need him. As much as he had to convince you to get you in here, the tables have turned too quickly for your liking. 

His fingers dance along your skin, up the backs of your thighs until he throws one of your legs over his shoulder. Looking down at him, he keeps your eye while he presses his mouth softly to your inner thigh, then another one, inching closer, then another one, so close you could feel his breath on your underwear. 

“Stop fucking teasing,” you nearly whine, voice raw with impatience, and the leg that’s over his shoulder begins to shake. The anticipation is eating you alive, it’s right where he wants you. 

He laughs to himself before planting his final kiss over your panties, at the apex of your thighs, directly above your clit. You whimper, the knee holding you steady threatening to buckle. His other hand softly lands over it, holding it straight. He smirks, “How am I gonna eat you out if you can’t even stand up straight?” 

Your chin tilts toward the ceiling, eyes closing, a harsh breath escaping your lungs, a whine wanting to crawl up your throat. “Please,” you mumble, without looking at him. 

His tone is taunting as he asks, “What was that?”

“Please,” you whine this time, back pushing off the door, rolling your hips toward him. You look down again and he’s wearing a shit-eating grin like he’s proud of his ability to get you in this state, begging for him. 

He presses another kiss over your panties, this one perfectly over your clit. A verbal breath escapes you, a soft noise of pleasure. Then his tongue pokes out from between his lips, and he licks a stripe over the fabric, along the seam of your center. 

“Fuck.” You twitch like a livewire, hands reaching for his hair, fingers tightening in his roots. “More, take them off, Wooyoung.”

His hand that was holding your knee reaches upward, tugging the thin fabric covering you to the side. He groans at the sight— a true, full-chested, shameless fucking groan. 

“So pretty,” he whispers, not even looking up at you, and it’s all he says before he leans forward, sticking his tongue out to collect every ounce of wetness from bottom to top. 

Your fingers curl in his hair, hips bucking toward his face, a moan just as shameless ripping from your lungs. Both of his hands go to your thighs, your panties tucked away, he flattens out his tongue to lick over your clit. 

“Yes,” you nod, jaw dropped, holding his eye as he softly but intentionally flicks at your clit with his tongue, slowly adding more pressure, circling it just right. “S-shit, Wooyoung.” 

He groans into you, fingers sinking into your thighs harder, burying his fucking face between your thighs. His tongue drops down to your entrance before licking his way back up, circling your clit, closing his lips around it, making noises that should be embarrassing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, eyes squeezing shut. There’s no testing the waters, he doesn’t need to try to figure out what you like, he uses his tongue at a perfect pace with perfect rhythm like he already knows how your body works. 

He lifts your leg off his shoulder, stretching you wider, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking harshly. Your toes curl in your boots, a shrill sound piercing through the room, hands leaving his hair to find the door again, clawing at it, needing to find purchase in something, anything— it feels too fucking good, and it’s too fucking soon for your stomach to be filling with warmth. Your moans heighten in pitch, breath heavier, the leg hanging from his strong arm shaking like a fucking leaf, it would be mortifying how quickly he’s pulling you to the edge if you weren’t so focused on how good it feels. 

With your shoulderblades against the door you roll your hips into him and he meets your movement like he expects it. You watch with lips pried open, and then experimentally roll them again, and he follows your hips with his lips suctioned to your clit. Holding you steady, he watches you while your hips pick up speed, grinding yourself against his face like he was only there for you to use. His eyelids flutter, dilated pupils beneath them like he was enjoying every second of it, like the whole reason he kept you against the door was so you would ride his face. 

“You want me to fuck your face?” you ask, breathless, then you hiss a strangled moan when he nods his head, his nose bumping against your clit. “F-fuck, do that again, do that again.”

Shameless moans and staggered breaths pour from your lips in symphony, fingers back in his roots as he nods his head in rhythm with your hips, his nose hitting your clit perfectly with every stroke. The warmth in your stomach amplifies, abdomen clenching, both of your legs shaking now, your breath catching in your throat. 

He doesn’t stop, nor does he speed up, he keeps the same pace, the same rhythm, you think he can taste your fucking orgasm, it’s so close. You don’t want it to be over, you don’t want to finish but you have no choice with his hands on your body and his nose sliding over your clit. 

Euphoria looms, muscles growing taught, you swear your heart stills in your chest before your orgasm hits like a tidal wave. Your back launches off the wall, curses flying off your tongue, you ride his face like it’s yours and he eats you through it, never once faltering. 

You don’t know how you missed his hands leaving your thighs, the movement was lost somewhere in nirvana, but as one hand travels behind his tongue, two fingers slipping inside you, your body ignites all over again. 

“No,” you whisper, voice shaky beyond belief, eyes wider than saucers. The pleasure was too much, your orgasm hasn’t properly ended yet and his fingers curl perfectly, pressing, massaging against your walls. You’re shaking your head in panic as you stammer, “W-Wooyoung, I can’t– I’m not–”

He finally pulls back for air, his chin soaked in you, eyes hazy. “Give me one more, baby, you can do it again. One more.”

Your legs are shaking, knee threatening to buckle, wobbling where you stand. The rest of you is rigid, high off euphoria, stuck somewhere between foreplay and post-orgasm bliss. “I can’t!” you shriek, hips twitching beyond control, your breath staggered, body in fight or flight. “It’s too much.”

His fingers pump into you steadily, curling into your walls, he gives you only a moment of reprieve before his tongue is poking out between his lips again. 

“F-fuck you,” you grit out as his tongue flicks at your clit, and it makes him smile. The pleasure hurts, overstimulation bleeding into something hot. “You’re– you’re s-such a– fucking asshole– ah!”

The last word is broken by a sharp moan, stars blinding your vision, another orgasm creeping up too quickly for you to breathe. You could shift tectonic plates with how hard you’re shaking, nails surely leaving crescents in the door behind you, your eyes squeeze tight with your jaw pried open as he brings you close to the edge for the second time.

“I’m g-gonna, I’m gonna cum,” you manage to get out, and it’s the last reserve of air in your chest before another orgasm rocks through you. He must be able to tell that you’re legitimately about to cry, because lets you come down slowly, slipping his fingers out of you after pressing one last kiss to your swollen, buzzing clit. 

You deflate into the door, chest heaving, legs still shaking hard enough to shake the entire house. He takes time kissing your thighs after lowering your leg to the floor, your knees, hands roaming your skin, laughing under his breath when your legs don’t let up. 

“Why are you laughing?” you finally croak, running a hand through your hair.

“I think you should sit,” he looks up at you through his brows, pride in his grin, his chin still soaked. “I’m scared that if you try to walk, you’ll fall.”

“Don’t look so smug about it,” you mutter but reach for his shoulders anyway, lowering yourself down to the floor slowly. Around the mid-way point you feel the loss of strength, but you’d rather die than fall in front of him, so you let your nails sink into his shoulders instead.

He sucks in a sharp breath, but reaches for your hips, not touching but holding his hands out, just in case you tumble. You land softly with your knees spread, boots sprawled out behind you, and you quickly reach for your underwear, moving them back into place, then slide your top back over your bra.

Looking up at an uncharacteristically quiet Wooyoung, his eyes are glued between your legs as he sits back on his calves. Heat spreads, shame, need, you aren’t sure. “I’m not fucking you,” you remind him.

“I know,” he nods, eyes sliding back up to yours. He licks his bottom lip, his chin, “Just taking one last look so I can remember the time I ate virgin pussy.”

Your jaw drops as you reach forward to smack his arm, “I am not a fucking virgin!”

“Not anymore,” he smirks, wiping the rest of you off his chin with his thumb. “Everyone’s a virgin before me.”

“I can’t believe I just let you do that,” your palms find your face, shame spreading. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Disgusting, maybe, but skilled? Absolutely,” he teases, voice playful. He sucks on his thumb, and then the two fingers that were inside you before musing, “I just made you cum twice and you thank me with insults?”

“Why should I thank you?” You rip your hands from your face that’s scrunched up in revolted confusion. “You asked, and I let you. You should be thanking me.”

“Fair,” he nods, bottom lip folded over. “Thank you for letting me eat your pussy.” Oh, your ears fucking burn. His head tilts back like he’s daydreaming, “Taste so sweet, coulda eaten her for hours. Same time next week?”

This can’t be real. He can’t be real. You shake your head, pushing yourself up from the floor, “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Boring,” he frowns, uncurling his legs from beneath him, his arms stretching behind him. He watches as you try to shove your shaky leg through your pant leg, “You sure you don’t want another one as a parting gift?”

There’s a pang in your gut, arousal mixing with shame, an ugly cocktail prickling at your skin. “Please forget this ever happened,” you look at him earnestly while lacing up your shorts. “This never happened. Okay?”

“Whatever you say, Virgin,” his head falls to his shoulder, cocky amusement radiating off him. “Remember this the next time you have sex and he doesn’t play with you first. Remember how easy it was for me to get you begging.”

Right. He had a point to make, something to prove, and he did. With you. Easily. The words send butterflies swarming through your stomach, a firework show of sparks up your spine and you fucking hate it, how easy it was for him, how easy it was for you to let go. You don’t answer, you reach for the door handle behind you and rip it open instead, he has someone else to fuck tonight. Another name to scratch off his list.

You can’t believe your name is one of them.

Your heart is pounding against your chest as you walk down the hallway, thighs still trembling, you think adrenaline and shame might be the only things keeping you upright. Your ex boyfriend is upstairs, and you just came twice on another man’s face. Wooyoung’s fucking face. Reaching for the handle at the end of the hallway, you let out a verbal sound of frustration before pulling it open.

This should feel liberating. People your age do this every single day, casual sex is normal, but it’s not normal for you. You thought that you could step into Unscripted’s shoes for a night, you thought the two of you might be one person, but you were wrong. This doesn’t feel good. Maybe you chose the wrong person, maybe if you had hooked up with someone else you’d feel better, possibly even proud of yourself for letting go of the strict rules you made for yourself.

Doubtful. You’re a relationship girl for a reason, hooking up with someone you have no ties to just feels… hollow. But that’s how you felt every time you slept with Yeonjun, too.

When was the last time your blood boiled with so much arousal?

You can feel it in your fingertips, mixed with the anger, the shame, you can feel your body itching for more. His fingers inside you, they were enough to make you finish, but they weren’t enough to fill you.

You bee-line for the bar, you need something to take the edge off. Ignoring the naked people on the couch, you refuse to look to see what the fuck they’re doing now, you walk behind the bar and grab a bottle of vodka, pouring at least three shots into a crystal glass. Your fingers are trembling, breath short, body tight with stress. What if people find out? What if your friends find out, all of who have already fucked him? No, he promised not to tell anyone, and you most certainly won’t tell a soul. You take a long sip from the glass, almost choking on the taste, the burn, but it’s necessary. 

You need to stop the panic before it spreads. Is the feeling really anxiety about what you’ve done, or is it just terrifying that a man actually took care of you for maybe the first time in your life? He did exactly what he said he was going to, without expectation of more, and made you feel better than anyone has ever made you feel. Your thighs are still fucking trembling and you didn’t even have sex.

The way he looked up at you, the way he purred so pretty… you send the rest of the glass of vodka back and your body racks a full shiver. That wasn’t about you, that was about proving a point. It wasn’t about you. But is that even possible? Can someone really put that much effort into pleasing a partner if it isn’t about them?

You leave the glass on the bar, making your way through the basement, ignoring the smoke and the people and the laughter and the sound of ping-pong balls bouncing. You’re wearing your shame like a cloak, keeping your head down as you walk up the staircase, back into the screaming living room vibrating with bass. The music has since shifted to house, a bright beat, accompanied by lights and bodies and a maze you need to push through.

All you’ve had is long-term boyfriends, but none of them have made you feel a fraction of what you felt in that room. In that room, you felt wanted, needed, you felt so fucking sexy. Like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered, your body an instrument to be played, he was on his fucking knees to coax you to orgasm. You can’t remember the last time Yeonjun laid down on the bed to attempt to make you cum.

You need to get out of here before you go back down there.

Wooyoung hears your scoff of frustration at the end of the hallway, and he can’t help the way it makes him laugh. Head tipping back, he laughs from his chest, because that’s the only reaction he could have imagined you to have. You just came on his face twice, yet you’re still stuck in your eternal irritation.

He picks himself up, makes sure there’s nothing on his shirt, then leaves the room. He plays eeny-meeny-miny-moe on the doors, then pushes the one he lands on open. To his surprise, not only is he right, but she’s still there, sprawled out across the bed, playing on her phone. 

Her head whips toward the door, smiling, turning on her side when she sees him, “Finally. You’re lucky I didn’t leave.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He shoots her an apologetic smile, closing the door behind him. “Had to take care of something real quick.”

“Take care of me,” she whines, throwing her phone across the bed, sinking deeper into the mattress, legs prying open. “You promised.”

If his dick wasn’t already rock fucking hard, then it would have jumped at the sight. It still jumps, pressing against his nylon briefs, begging to be let out of his jeans. His hands go to the neck of his tee, tugging it over his head, throwing it at the end of the bed as he walks toward her. “You know I will, baby.”

He can’t kiss her yet, he knows he can’t. So he pulls her by her ankles to the edge of the bed, unbuttons her denim shorts, and kneels.

He meant it, everything he said to you about this being for his pleasure, something he enjoys. You thought he was bluffing, lying, but this is where he loves to be. Of service, on his knees, hearing the sweet song of pleasure that’s like a hymnal in his honor, he adores it. Gets off on it.

Except he’s not hearing it, because he’s too busy thinking. He uses his hand, making her arch, her cries louder, borderline pornographic, he grinds his hips against his jeans, or tries to, he’s starved. He works harder, not in the mood to drag it out, he stills his mind, his body, working at the same pace, using the same pressure until she’s clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking on either side of his head.

“Wanna ride you.” She stops him with a hand on his chest as he crawls over her, and who would he be if he denied a woman of anything? So he lays down beside her, grabs his wallet from his pocket before he shimmies his jeans down his legs, and rolls the condom from his wallet onto his cock. 

She watches like she wasn’t expecting it. But Wooyoung’s had too many experiences, made too many mistakes to not at least put on a fucking rubber.

It’s routine, the dirty talk, his hands on her body. It’s a rhythm, the way she bounces, how his hips snap upward to meet her. It’s a dance, lips, tongues, hands, angles and stretches, the background music cries, moans, grunts, curse words filling the air. 

He wonders if you regret it. You didn’t stay– part of him thought, maybe part of him hoped you would ask for more. That you were curious if he could use his cock as well as he used his mouth. It wasn’t the plan to make you cum twice, but the first one was too quick, and the second was even quicker, he felt like he was in that room for ten minutes, tops. 

He isn’t finished after he fills up the first condom, and to his satisfaction, neither is she. On all fours, Wooyoung behind her, his hands on her hips, fingers sliding up her spine, taking root in her extensions, it was like he had an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

It really was like looking up with a virgin. How timid you were in the beginning before you finally gave in, losing yourself to the pleasure, the way you shook with relief, euphoria… he’ll see that in his dreams tonight. He thinks that’s what has him hooked; knowing what he could do, a physical proof of his own skills.

At a ninety-degree angle, he feels like he’s piercing her. She wails, nails clawing into the bedsheets, toes curling, legs lifting to kick at his thighs, he gets proof of his skills every other day. She clenches around his cock a second time, and he focuses on following, brows furrowed, hips angled.

After tying the second condom and throwing it in the trash, he’s beat. She throws her clothes back on and kisses him goodbye, and it dawns on him that he never got her name. Shame. She was a pretty good fuck. He stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting his chest rise and fall until it evens out. He still feels like the scratch isn’t itched, he doesn’t know if his balls have more to spill, or if it doesn’t have to do with sex at all. Did he turn in his assignment before he left the house?

He finds his jeans, pulling out his phone, and on top of the bed, butt-ass naked, he scrolls. He finds your profile after some digging, but he doesn’t follow you, and you’re private. He clicks follow, the button turning to requested, and then he wonders if you’re still at the party. Maybe you re-thought your decision, and were curious about what else he can do with his hands or his mouth. He could probably make you cum without even touching your cute little clit. 

He dresses himself, then passes the series of half-opened doors, those who didn’t mind people who took a step inside and watched the show. The same people who were on the couch, fully having sex now, those that Wooyoung can’t judge because he’s been one of those people his sophomore year. With his hands in his pockets, he makes his way upstairs, and it’s too cloudy, too loud, the multicolored lights too blinding for him to make out any faces at all. 

Oh, well. He’ll try to find at least one of the guys from his frat, instead.

His walk is pointless until he finds San, currently taking a body shot off of a new round of women in the kitchen. He’s shirtless now, and Wooyoung isn’t sure if the sheen on his skin is from sweat or liquor.

“Woo!” he yells, grinning wide. Definitely liquor. “You’re next!”

He looks at the island, the girl laying on her back, and his brows furrow before realization sinks in. “Yunjin?”

“Wooyoung!” she throws an arm out, manicured nails clasping around his wrist. Her top is over her bra, shorts rolled down beneath her belly button, splayed out for anyone who has eyes to see. “Pour him a shot, Sannie.”

“Is Virgin still here?” he finds himself asking, doing his best to sound curious without any ulterior motives. “I mean– your roommate.”

“Nooo.” Yunjin pouts, shaking her head. “She texted me that she wasn’t feeling well, so she went home. Why do you call her that? She’s not even a virgin.”

Wooyoung shrugs, “Close enough.”

Yunjin thins her eyes. “You’re rude.”

“And you’re drunk,” he argues back. “Enjoy Sannie tonight.”

“I will!” she calls after him, and he’s sure none of them watch as he turns, heading for the living room which is a fucking maze, but it’s the only way to the front door. He drank, he fucked, he’s over it. He’s ready to lay his head down and go to sleep– after making sure he turned his assignment in.

He slips through bodies, going through his usual motions. Winking, scouting for next time, making promises he may or may not keep, all of them pretty, all of them hammered. It skeeves him, the idea of hooking up with some piss-drunk girl who won’t remember his name tomorrow. When he fucks, he’s remembered, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

He finds Mingi lounging on a couch by the door. His hair is a little fucked up, most likely by the girl he’s sitting next to, pretty, olive-toned. Wooyoung recognizes her, and it’s for reasons Mingi wouldn’t enjoy hearing if he's planning on getting laid.

“Hey, baby.” He shoots a wink to the dark-haired woman, then looks at Mingi. “Yunho still here?”

“Oh my god, scandalous.” Mingi’s eyes flare with excitement. “Guess who he went home with?” Wooyoung shrugs, as if to say tell me, I guess. “Virgin.”

Wooyoung’s jaw drops. Mingi laughs, “I know, scandalous, right? He’s had a thing for her since the cuff party.”

“Like, went home together, as in they’re fucking right now?” Wooyoung asks, head shaking in disbelief.

Mingi shrugs, “That’s what it seemed like, I don’t know.”

“Ain’t no way,” Wooyoung laughs under his breath. “Good for her. Didn’t think she had it in her.”

He doesn’t really believe it. There’s no way that you have four bodies in total, and you not only hooked up with Wooyoung tonight, but you’re also hooking up with Yunho. There’s just no way. It’s too out of character, too bold, too… un-virgin-like. He’s going to have to think up a new nickname.

“I’m heading out.” He dips his chin toward Mingi, reaching out a hand for the older man to clasp. “See you.”

He doesn’t wait for Mingi’s returning see you before he turns again, the area around the front door sparse, less bodies, more space to walk through. He doesn’t spot Yeosang’s SUV where he parked it along the street, and he wonders if you and Yunho took it back to the house with the rest of them. 

“Need a ride?” He hears from feet away, a woman’s voice, one he knows.

Minatozaki Sana. He grins, skipping toward the SUV her head was hanging out of, realizing too late that it’s filled with people he’s had sex with. “Ladies,” he announces, nodding his head, looking in through the windows. “Seems we all have something in common.”

“Not me,” the dark-haired one says from the backseat. “Get in or don’t, I’m tired.”

Wooyoung doesn’t think twice about climbing into the backseat, sitting on the end, next to Momo. The drive is quiet for the most part, Sana focused as she drove, Nayeon in her passenger seat. In the back was the dark-haired woman, Momo, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu who was sitting on the dark-haired one’s lap. A tight squeeze, but Wooyoung has fit in tighter, like Chaeyoung, sitting beside Momo.

She pulls up at the curb of his frat, parking the car, and not a single head turns to Wooyoung. It doesn’t feel hostile, though; every woman in this car was well aware who Wooyoung is when he fucked them. 

“Goodnight, ladies,” he teases as he climbs out of the passenger seat. He winks before closing the door, pointing at the tattooed, dark-haired woman in the middle, “Chae, text me later.”

The car erupts as he jogs away, and he smirks to himself, kinda wishing he could listen. He opens the front door with purpose and the living room is empty, the kitchen empty. He wonders if they’re in Yunho’s room. He doesn’t know why he’s tip-toeing up the stairs, or why he feels like he’s doing something wrong. He’s just curious.

He passes his room, tip-toeing further, praying to fucking god he doesn’t step on one of the squeaky parts of the floor. He just wants to know. He presses his back to the wall beside Yunho’s room, craning his head closer to the crack, straining to hear anything. A moan, a grunt, a whimper. Anything. 

But there’s nothing.

“The fuck are you doing?” 

He jumps, clasping a hand over his mouth, eyes almost falling out of their sockets. Hongjoong eyes him from across the hallway, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, completely confused.

“Nothing, fuck,” he mutters as he jumps away from Yunho’s door. “I wanted to see if he was still up.”

“No, he went back to that virgin girl’s house, the one you guys are always talking about.” He’s using his hand as he speaks, clearly annoyed like he’d just woken up. “I heard someone creeping, I thought we were getting robbed by one of your scorned hookups.”

“I don’t have any scorned hookups, asshole,” Wooyoung scoffs as he walks past him, towards his room. “They all know very well that I’m romantically unavailable.”

“Not all of them,” Hongjoong looks over his shoulder. “Trust me.”

“Virgin!”

Your brows furrow, head turning every which way in the midst of the maze, bodies surrounding you, none you recognize. It’s like a fucking nightclub and you’re in someone’s house. Can’t they get fined for this?

A hand on your wrist has you whipping around, ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off. Blonde hair greets you, sticking to his forehead, a loose tee leaving another sliver of skin before his baggy, wide-leg jeans. You yell over the music, “Do you have any shirts that fit you?”

“I like them this way!” Yunho yells back, his grin wide. “Are you okay?”

Your head tilts, brows furrowing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Your blood that was boiling minutes ago seems to settle, slowing into something calmer. The heat shifts from arousal to the comfort of vodka, a warm blanket, like a hole was drilled into your head, setting the pressure free. 

He shakes his head, his shoulders relaxing. “Nothing. You look pretty.”

“Thanks, so do you,” you smile, head tilting, giddy all of the sudden. “I mean, not pretty, you look–”

“No, I’ll take it,” he cuts you off, still holding onto your wrist. “I like pretty. Yunjin was looking for you, but do you wanna dance?” You glance around to the crowd, it really is like a fucking nightclub. People are grinding, jumping to the music, like the beat was hypnotizing them all. You start to shake your head, but Yunho cuts you off, “Don’t say no.”

Your lips flatten, caught in the act. “I’m not a dancer!”

“Liar,” he yells back, his smile impossibly wider, brighter. He tugs on your wrist, dragging you further into the crowd and you giggle as if you weren’t just tweaking the fuck out. “Follow my lead.”

Finding an open spot between bodies, thighs still twitching and lacking their full strength, you follow his lead. His hips sway from side to side, and he watches as yours try to mimic his, focused. He pops a brow, “Follow my lead, don’t copy me.”

“What the fuck else does follow my lead mean?” you bark back, standing straight again, hands on your hips, unmoving.

“Your body is as stiff as your attitude,” he yells, shaking his head as he removes your hands from your hips, replacing them with his own. Your arms shoot upward, bent over your chest, eyes glued to where his hands swallow your hipbones, moving you closer to him, shifting you slightly to the side so your shoulders line up. “Now do it again.”

You bend your knees, arms lowering, eyes lifting to see him. He grins, “Try actually moving to the beat, Virgin.”

“Do you have to call me that, too?” you frown, but listen, waiting a beat to start swaying your hips again. “I’m suffering enough right now.”

“That’s what they all call you, San, Wooyoung.” Your cheeks feel hot at the sound of his name, that same burning kissing up your spine. Your back arches into the movement. Yunho grins, “There you go, you’re learning.”

Yunho’s leg between yours… if you lowered yourself just a little, you’d be transported to fifteen minutes ago, when you were grinding yourself against Wooyoung’s thigh. Is the mere mention of his name going to send you free diving into your memories for the rest of your life?

Yunho’s hands find your hips again, leaning close to your ear. “He’s here.”

“I know,” your brows furrow. I spent fifteen minutes with him in a sex room. “I saw him.”

“Is that why you stopped dancing on the counter?” Yunho pulls back, hands sliding up to your waist, keeping you moving. “Not a dancer, my ass. Who cares if he’s here? Let him see you.”

“Why would I stop because of Wooyoung?” you ask, running your hands through your hair, arching into Yunho’s touch, letting the music guide you instead.

Yunho’s brows furrow. “Wooyoung?”

Your smile is lazy, “Who else?”

“Your ex.” Yunho’s fully confused now. “Are you drunk?”

“Oh!” Your eyes blow wide, smile dropping. “Yes, yeah, I drank… I drank a lot.” Right right right, tonight started off with you worried about seeing Yeonjun. “I didn’t want to see him, it’s not that I didn’t want him to see me.”

“I saw him with another guy.” Yunho’s lips snag to one side. “Is that why you broke up?”

You nod. “Caught ‘em in bed together.”

Yunho’s jaw falls open, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say in a sigh, head tipping backward, and somewhere deep inside you, you mean it. “At least I don’t have to marry him anymore.”

Yunho laughs, his grip on your waist tighter with your head dipped backward. “You don’t want to get married?”

“When I’m old enough,” you’re smiling as you bring your head upright, reaching for Yunho’s biceps. You think the vodka might be hitting you now. “I’m not old enough yet, just wanna have fun.”

“Are you having fun now?” Yunho sounds playful, teasing. He pulls you closer to him, your abdomen against his. “Dancing?”

You bring one hand up to his neck, palm grazing his soft, sweaty skin, wondering if he’s anything like Wooyoung. Does he view sex the same way? Something casual, fun, like a hobby? If he found out that your boyfriend never cared enough to make you finish, would he get on his knees for you, too?

There’s still an ache in the pit of your stomach, space Wooyoung’s fingers had left, you want more. The thrum beneath your skin that you’re confused, maybe even disgusted by, has the wires of your brain tangled, like all the rules you made for yourself no longer exist, a wall broken down. 

You nod, eyelids heavier, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Yunho’s different from Wooyoung, softer, kinder. Like he’s capable of more than one night with a woman, he’s capable of feeling, he’s interested in knowing. He looks at you like he’s curious, like there’s more to you than the girl with a boyfriend, the girl who got cheated on, the Virgin. 

Wooyoung was just interested in seeing how fast he could make you finish, and Yeonjun was just interested in getting you out of his bed so Beomgyu could take your place. Yunho seems to be interested in you.

“Do you want something to… take your mind off the situation?” His cheeks turn a dusty rose color, clear under the lights that flicker white. His lips curl, “Or is dancing enough fun?”

“Is it bad if I do?” you find yourself asking. “Want a distraction?”

The distraction is for two completely separate purposes, you think.

He shakes his head, smile growing, leaning closer to you. “Is it bad that I’ve wanted to kiss you since the night of the cuff party?”

“I wish you had,” you whisper. “Trust me.”

He smiles before leaning in, pressing his lips to meet yours, and there’s a fraction of the haste Wooyoung used. It’s slow, a curious exploration, like he isn’t sure if you’re fully okay with this and he doesn’t want to push you too far. Your hand on his neck slides up into his hair, the other glued to his bicep following as his hands lead down to your hips, keeping you moving to the music. 

He tastes like beer, but there’s a sweetness to it, like he was chewing gum, or took a shot of something flavored. Your tongue slips between his lips, tasting him, bending toward him, you’re sure he can taste your desperation, your need. The part of you still left unsatisfied.

“You taste like vodka,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips still touching yours.

You smile, a breath of amusement tumbling off your lips, “Caught.”

He kisses you again, harder this time, using his height to tip you backward. Your hips tilt toward him, arms hooked around his shoulders, meeting his pace with a need of your own. His hands sneak around you, taking two fistfuls of your ass, grinding you into him and it forces a sharp gasp from your lips, a streak of red-hot warmth up your spine.

You’re too aware of the people around you. You need more, and you need it now, but you don’t need extra eyes watching it all unfold.

“Yunho,” you whisper through your panting.

“Mind all empty yet?” he muses, smiling.

Yes, this is about you. This is about you.

“No,” you bite your lip, pecking his lips again. “Gonna need more than that, I think.”

“Don’t worry,” he leans in close, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “I’m good at making pretty girls go dumb.”

“Let’s go,” you blurt, hands finding his wrists, holding onto them. “Jen will stay out late, I wanna go, let’s go to my apartment.”

“Are you sure?” His brows raise, raising his arms you were still holding onto. “You– are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You’re nodding rapidly, and maybe you’re trying to convince yourself, too. “You said you wanted to be my distraction, right?”

“I do, but you’re–”

“I’m fine,” you drop his wrists. “I promise. Let’s go.”

He nods, hands finding your shoulders, turning you around before he guides you through the crowd. With his height, he can see where to move, where the small pockets of space are, and there’s a part of you that kinda enjoys not having to think, that likes just being guided in the right direction, without having to figure out for yourself what it is.

“Those are my friends,” he says in your ear, guiding you toward four guys standing together. All pretty small, there’s one with bright, orange hair, a blonde one, a taller one with dark hair, and one you recognize from the night at the Penny.

The blonde sees you and Yunho first. “Good timing, if you’re looking for a ride.”

You can hear Yunho’s grin behind you, “We are, but it’s to her place.”

The brunette stares you down, brows knitted together like there are many pieces floating around and not one of them is being put together. You keep a small smile on your cheeks, not in the mood to explain.

Yunho puts his elbow on your shoulder, pointing at each one of the men in front of you. “Hongjoong, Yeosang, Seonghwa, Jongho.”

You nod, storing the information for later, and introduce yourself. Jongho asks, “Don’t they call you Virgin?”

Your lips flatten. “Unfortunately.”

The three other heads look up to Yunho, confused, maybe concerned. Yunho quickly fixes the misconception, “She’s not a virgin, Wooyoung came up with it.”

Then there’s a chorus of ah’s like that just makes sense to them or something. And knowing Wooyoung, you guess it makes sense to you, too. Fuck. You don’t want to think about him right now.

“Guys!” Another man approaches, massively tall like Yunho, but thicker with muscle. His hair is dark, short, choppy, in a hot way. The sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose are really doing something for you. He asks, “Have you guys seen Sannie?”

“I heard there’s a stripper pole in one of the side rooms,” Seonghwa responds, his voice cool, calm. “Check there.”

The man pushes his sunglasses over his head, and you realize he’s noticed you, standing small in front of Yunho. His eyes thin out as he asks, “Is this Virgin?”

Your lips flatten again. Does everyone know now? Is this becoming a thing?

“In the flesh,” you respond, then ask, “Who are you?”

“Mingi,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re really cute.” He looks up at Yunho. “She’s really cute.”

“I know,” Yunho says from behind you, matching Mingi’s tone, filled with giddiness. They must be close. Yunho turns to the rest of the group, “Are we going? Can we go?”

“Please,” Hongjoong says, already making for the front door.

It’s like they’re split down the middle, the introverted ones and the extroverted ones. Although, you don’t really think Wooyoung is extroverted, you think he might just be a whore. Fuck. You did it again.

Yeosang’s SUV is parked at the end of the driveway, you give him your address for him to put into the GPS after squeezing into the backseat, knee bouncing. In the crowd, with his lips, his hands on you, you were certain you wanted this. A thousand percent certain. Now, it’s more like… five hundred percent.

The ride to your apartment is quiet, Jongho already asleep by the time Yeosang dropped you off, even if the drive was only seven minutes long. Hongjoong looked like he was drifting, too, his eyes half open. You thanked Yeosang and climbed out, Yunho following you up to the second floor.

Your kitchen still had remnants of your pregame scattered across it, and you can only imagine what your bedroom looks like. Then it dawns on you that you had another man’s mouth on you an hour ago. 

“I’m gonna go freshen up,” you tell Yunho, hoping your smile doesn’t look nervous. You point to your door, “My bedroom is right through there.”

You skip into your bathroom, immediately turning on the shower and undressing. The water may be hot, but it might as well be ice cold with how reality is pouring over your head, and there’s a man in your fucking bedroom. A man you barely know. 

And you made him come here.

You shower quickly, washing the remnants of Wooyoung off of you, and then swish some mouthwash around, removing him from you completely. You feel better after, but there’s still a level of uncertainty that you can’t shake. 

In your towel, you walk back to your bedroom, and he’s poking around on your shelf, looking at all of your figures, your trinkets, your music albums. “Hi,” you say from the doorway, and he jumps back like you scared him. 

“Fuck,” he clutches his heart with a laugh. He points to your figures, “You like Jujutsu Kaisen?”

“No, I just love Gojo,” you tease, stepping into your room. “Have you seen the new season?”

“Yes,” his smile spreads, excitement in his eyes. Like a puppy. “Still don’t understand the Culling Games, though.”

“Then you aren’t reading enough Reddit threads,” you respond, tone snarky. His eyes sink down to your towel, your bare feet. Your lips scrunch to one side, heartbeat picking up, “Will you be mad at me if I maybe changed my mind?”

His face immediately bends into concern, “No, fuck no, are you kidding? Do you want me to go? Yeosang is definitely still awake, I can ask him–”

“No,” you interject. “I don’t know if it’s weird, and I understand if not, but… you don’t have to go. I just don't want to… do anything until I know you a little better, if that’s okay.”

He walks toward you with a genuine smile, one so comforting that it makes the unease in your chest disappear. “Of course that’s okay, it’s not weird at all. You’re lucky I saw the Gojo figures, though, ‘cuz I might have left if I didn’t know I’d be sleeping beside them.”

“Don’t fucking rob me.” You raise a finger between your bodies in warning. “I paid, like, four hundred bucks for the prison realm one.”

“Let me take a picture and I won’t,” he argues, raising a finger back at you. “Do you want me to step out while you change?”

“Oh.” You look down at your towel then back up at him. “Sure, whatever, that’s fine.”

He does step out while you change into a pair of shorts and a tee, clean ones you got from the clean pile of laundry in the corner of your room. That pile was growing smaller by the day. You climb into your bed, calling him back in, and he joins you so comfortably it’s almost like he belongs here. He radiates comfort, kindness, nothing like the fuckboy energy Wooyoung gives off, or the detached energy Yeonjun has. 

“Wanna watch TV? We can order a pizza or something,” you wonder, looking over at Yunho lounged out next to you, his arms behind his head, jeans still on his body. “I might have an old pair of Yeonjun’s sweatpants or something.”

You crawl off the bed without waiting for an answer, digging through your drawers. Finally finding an old pair of dark green sweatpants that were absolutely Yeonjun’s, you throw them at him, and he catches them swiftly as he sits up. “Are these from Urban?”

You shrug from the floor, “I dunno. They look long enough, though.”

Yunho stands, unbuckling his belt, then unzips his jeans. You know you should give him privacy, but he’s in briefs, and even soft– even soft he would probably tear you apart. He hears your intake of breath, looking up, then a smirk tugs at his lips as he pulls the sweats up his legs. “Are you peeping, you fuckin’ pervert?”

“I’m sorry!” you squeak, cheeks flushing, quickly looking away. 

“You can look,” he says coolly, his voice a genuine threat to your wellbeing. “I don’t mind.”

You still ache. “I’m just happy I got a warning.”

He laughs at that, from his chest, genuine. “You think you need one?”

You still don’t turn your head. “I know I do. I need… preparation for that.”

“Why so shy?” You hear the bed squeak like he’s laying back down, and reluctantly, you turn your head. He’s on his side, head propped up on his hand, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “First time seeing a dick in real life? Don’t tell me you’re really a virgin.”

“No, asshole,” you scowl, standing up, even though you know he’s joking. You press a knee to the mattress, crawling toward him. “Yours is just terrifyingly large.”

“Terrifyingly?” He grins, laying on his back as you crawl closer to him, the upper half of your body leaning over him. “I think you’ll be able to take it, when you’re ready. I’ll prepare you.”

“We were supposed to be hooking up,” you frown, sitting back on your calves. “I feel bad making you wait.”

He shakes his head, “I’m patient, and I like you. I don’t mind waiting.” His face drops after he realizes what he just said. “I know you just got out of a relationship, please don’t get freaked out. I mean I like you in a friendly way, not in a serious way, I’m not trying–”

You laugh, head dipping forward. “You basically just met me, Yunho.”

“I had a lot of time to snoop in here,” he answers, looking around your room. “I can tell you’re cool.”

“You can tell from my four hundred dollar Gojo figure?” You pop a brow, still laughing a little.

“That, and your music taste, and your other anime figures,” he grins. “Great music taste, great taste in anime, terrible taste in men. Besides me, of course.”

You laugh again, then decide to shut him up by leaning down, pressing a kiss to his lips. His hands come up to your cheeks as you kiss him deeper, moving your hair out of the way, shifting so you can crawl over him easier. Your tongue splits his lips and his knees bend, hands moving to your hips, shifting you forward to what you presume is away from his length.

You stop kissing him before it gets any heavier, and press your forehead to his. “You’re cool, too. For waiting.”

“Wooyoung is the only asshole in our frat,” he looks at you, his eyes honest, warm. “He shouldn’t represent the rest of us.”

The evil part of you hopes he represents them in the one area it matters.

“Let’s order pizza,” you smile, crawling off his torso.

Mingi's naked back barely rests against your clothed chest, like he's trying his hardest not to fully put his entire weight on you. The two of you are sitting on your shared bed, your own back against the headboard. Your right hand carefully drags along his pecks, a quiet sigh escaping the larger man's lips as your fingers make contact with his nipple. Placing your palm flat against his chest, you push him back to lessen the space he had set between you. 

“Relax, baby. You're not gonna hurt me.” You breathe out. Mingi hesitates but eventually caves into your touch and leans back until his shoulders lay just above the swell of your breasts, the back of his head coming to rest against your shoulder. 

This wasn't initially how you had expected your night to end. It had started with the two of you cuddled up on your couch, Mingi mindlessly switching between channels to find something the two of you could watch. The man had eventually given up as he randomly chose a channel, and the two of you stilled immediately. They were talking about sex. Kinky sex. 

The two of you had been so shocked at the sudden switch that you just sat there, staring at the TV like it was some foreign thing. And oh my god, they started talking about orgasm denial and someone being in charge of when you get to cum, and the tension just grew so thick.

“Why deny it, though? Why stop when it feels good?” Mingi had asked as he broke the silence. His voice filled with uncertainty but also a hint of curiosity. 

Feeling a bit more brave, you followed up with, “I mean, it can also feel good. Think of it like not wanting the pleasure to end. You like the feeling of cumming, right?” Mingi nodded.

“Well, some people find similar pleasure in allowing someone else to be in control of their orgasm. The pleasure is always there, but never enough to tip you over the edge.” You continued. You finally turned to your boyfriend, who looked deep in thought, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. 

The taller man shifted his gaze back to yours. “H-have you done it? To someone, I mean.”

“Been in control of when they cum? Yeah, I have.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Do you maybe, uhm, want to do it? With me?” Mingi's eyes were looking straight into yours with an expression you couldn't really pinpoint. The familiar heat of a blush forming across your cheeks.  

“You want me to… be in charge of when you get to cum?” You asked, confusion spread across your face. Mingi wanted you to prolong his orgasm? 

So here you were, back against the headboard of the bed with a black t-shirt you had stolen from your boyfriend earlier, paired with a simple pair of grey sweats. Mingi, though, is fully naked. The taller one cupped both sides of his face and turned his head to the side in embarrassment. His legs were slightly parted, his cock already half-hard from the anticipation, lying against the top of his thigh. 

“None of that, baby.” You tsk as your hand grabs the bottom of his chin, pulling it back until he's looking straight ahead. With both of your hands free, you take each of his in your own to slowly remove them from his face. 

Mingi finally allows himself to look up, eyes quickly finding yours through the mirror you had purposefully placed at the edge of the bed. And Mingi groans, loudly. He's so fucking embarrassed, but it's also so fucking hot cause it enables you to see everything. He's so exposed like this, body completely pliant against your touch, face flushed as your fingers graze against the softness of his skin—his cock already twitching with interest. 

Your left hand trails down to the lower part of his stomach, moving it in a circular motion dangerously close to the base of his cock. Mingi whines as your lips find his temple, placing a soft kiss on the flushed skin. 

“Look at you, baby. So obedient, so pretty.” And the man cannot help but let another whine leave his parted lips. Your eyes never left each other through the mirror in front of you—your own gaze dark, filled with lust in contrast to Mingi's half-lidded, pleading eyes. 

You continue to kiss down his cheek, all the way to the sensitive patch of skin just below his ear, giving it a small lick before resuming with your lips. The hand previously on his stomach is daringly inching closer to his groin, light fingers dragging across the skin where his thigh meets his torso. The silver-haired man shifts a bit, hips bucking oh so slightly against your touch. His cock is already filling out perfectly against his thigh: long, thick, with a head so pretty you could spend hours wrapping your mouth around it. 

“P-please—ah—touch m-me.” Mingi lets out a whimper, hips chasing the touch of your hand to move it just a bit closer to his length. 

He's so gorgeous like this. Face flushed, body not able to stay still because he's already so turned on he doesn't know what to do with himself. Large hands are gripping the sheets next to your thighs because you hadn't allowed him to touch. To just lay there and look pretty while you help him. And fuck, is he pretty. 

“Where, baby?” you tease. 

“Here?” Your index finger mere millimeters away from his already leaking cock.  

“Or maybe here?” and Mingi whimpers the second he feels your other hand graze his nipple, taking the nub between your index and thumb to give it a soft pinch. 

Mingi is panting now, allowing his eyes to close because even if you're not touching him where he wants to, at least you're touching him. And fuck, his nipples are so sensitive. 

A whine of protest leaves his parted, spit-glistened lips as the familiar heat of your hand disappears from his thigh. You make a show of slowly tracing it up his abdomen, ab muscles clenching and unclenching as you trail further up. All the way until your hand meets his throat, right below the jaw where it meets the neck. There's no real pressure, just enough claim, and Mingi gasps at the feeling. 

“Open your eyes, Mingi.” A stern tone in your voice as the tips of your fingers dig just a little further into his skin. Mingi opens his eyes at that, already too far gone to disobey your orders. 

“Look at you. So needy—so desperate, and I haven't even touched your cock yet.”

“Already so wet for me, baby. Look at it." You divert his gaze in the mirror down to his hard length, tip already flushed red as it now rests further up his stomach. A small pool of precum is pooling right below it, a few drops falling down the side of his hip. More precum spills out as he takes in the obscene sight in front of him. 

“Your eyes will stay there. The entire time. You will not look away, baby.” And Mingi just nods shamelessly, small whimpers escaping the taller man.  

“So good for me, baby,” you trail off, lips finding the familiar sensitive spot right below his ear. 

“This is all you're good for, right? To just lay there looking all pretty for me.”

Mingi is now a whimpering mess, pants coming out in fast breaths as his brows furrow slightly from the lack of physical stimulation. 

“P-please.” He manages to breathe out, and you know what he's asking for. You know you're not here to tease him. But, fuck, does he look amazing like this. 

With a faint hum, smiling as you continue nibbling at his neck, your hand moves from his nipple to finally trail down and grab his cock by the length. Mingi throws his head even further against your shoulder, back arching and hips buckling because you're finally touching him. He's fighting everything to keep his eyes open because he wants to be good. He wants you to praise him the way you always do. He never wants this feeling to stop. 

You can feel a drop of sweat against your lips, more pooling from the sides of his hair, running down to trace his chiseled jaw. 

“Ah—nngh—ah!”

Mingi can't stop making noises. He can't help the pants that leave his lips, mixing with the faint whimpers stuck in the back of his throat. His mouth is now open, lips formed into a soft O shape, and he remembers to look back at his cock. 

He groans loudly. His cock twitches against the palm of your hand as you grip it with more pressure, your hand fully enclosed around it. You give it a light tug upwards before loosening your grip, pressing the palm of your hand against his leaking tip while circling it around to gather his own wetness to use as lube. 

Mingi's chest is heaving up and down, a mixture of whimpers and whines escaping his lips the more you press the palm of your hand against the tip. The noises are obscene. He's leaking so much precum, and the movement of your hand fills the room with squelching noises. 

With your hand still firm against his neck, you start circling the tip of your thumb and middle finger to vary the pressure against his skin. A faint chuckle leaves your lips as another batch of wetness forms at his tip. 

“Doing so good, baby. So wet and so submissive. Not a single thought in that pretty head of yours, hmm?” And Mingi just nods, but at this point he doesn't know to what because he can barely hear you over the ringing in his ears because he's so fucking turned on he doesn't know where to go. Your hand finally starts stroking his length with the exact pressure you know he loves.

It's all just too much. Your lips trailing soft kisses along the side of his neck, fingers still applying various amounts of pressure against his throat, and he can't help but let tears escape his eyes as he whines. Your thumb finds its way back to the tip of his cock, pressing it flatly against his slit as you gather more of his arousal. And he just can't help but buck into the touch because you didn't forbid him from moving. 

But now he's shaking his head side to side, desperate whines leaving his lips because your hand just left his throat, and he's so mad because why would you do that? Until he feels said hand press against his lower abdomen, pushing him into the bed, preventing him from shamelessly rutting into your hand around his cock. 

“N-no—please—fuck, ah.”

“Please, p-please.” And Mingi just can't stop the incoherent blabbering of 'please' because he misses your hand around his throat; he misses the pressure. But he doesn't know how to say it. So he just bares his neck, dark, lustful eyes making contact with yours. 

Knowingly, you shoot him a smirk. 

“Poor baby. That desperate to submit, huh? So desperate for my control?” The silver-haired man can't do anything besides nodding because his voice is already gone. 

The hand on his cock picks up in pace as your hand finds its way back to his neck, applying just a tad bit more pressure than you had before. Not nearly enough to disrupt his airflow in any way, but enough to make a claim. 

With his chest still moving up and down, gasps escaping his lips while he lets his drool shamelessly run down to his chin, your hand tightens its pressure around the head of his cock. Playing a little bit with it as you flick your wrist in a way that has Mingi seeing stars.

He's so embarrassingly close so fast. And he's just mumbling incoherent things along with the whimpers that can't help but form, and you're stroking him so fast, so tight, and so good, and the pressure around his throat is making him so deliciously lightheaded. His abs can't help but clench as he nears his orgasm, and it's right there; he can feel it, and he's too far gone to remember why the two of you are lying there in the first place.

He feels your touch disappear before his brain registers it in the mirror. 

“N-no. P-please—nngh—please. Why'd you s-stop—fuck, b-baby please—” And Mingi is just wiggling around, thrusting his hips uselessly into the air, into nothing. His head is moving frantically from side to side against your shoulder. 

More tears form in the corner of his eyes as he lets out a mixture of whimpers and cries of pleas. He's shaking against your clothed chest, and you can see the veins of his neck popping out from the desperation of needing to cum. He's gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles have gone white, and you just watch him through the mirror as he keeps pleading for your touch. 

“You didn't think you'd get to cum that fast, hmm?” You tease. Mingi has calmed just a little bit from the disruption of his orgasm, but the pleads never leave his lips. 

“I-I'll be so good, baby, I-I—please.” 

His eyes meet yours in the mirror again. His face has gone a deep red, lips swollen from the abuse of his own teeth, silver hair sticking against his sweat-soaked forehead. The inner corners of his brows raise up, glossy eyes staring into yours as he begs. 

The man is larger than you, but right now he looks so small. So desperate. So fucking submissive. Because all he can think about is cumming. 

“So pretty like this, Mingi. So gorgeous. So perfect, only for me.” You breathe out, gaze never leaving his as your hands find their way back on Mingi's body.  

A deep groan leaves his lips as you cup his pecs, giving them a light squeeze before trailing one hand down the side of his abs. Mingi's breath hitches, and the other hand finds the hard bud of his nipple, circling it with the light touch of your finger. 

“You want to cum?” You ask, hands inching dangerously close to his throbbing length. Mingi nods.

“Words, princess. Use your words.”

“Y-yes. Nngh—ah, fuck—” Your index finger gently drags along the tip of his cock, precum sticking to the tip of it as you continue dragging it down his length. 

Mingi is whining uncontrollably again, eyes now fixed on your smaller hand against the sheer size of his cock. A faint whimper escaping his lips along with his usual whines. 

Hand still fixed on his nipple, the tip of it being rolled between your thumb and index finger, your hand finally grips his length. Mingi groans in pleasure as you pick up your speed, his own hands coming to grab the arm that is moving at a dangerous speed. But he doesn't pull you away; he just cries as he takes what you're giving him. 

His whines have grown into small whimpers again, and he moves his head up and down, like he can't decide if he wants to rest against your shoulder or get a closer look at what a fucking mess he is. And he can feel himself getting closer again, the familiar tightness in his balls as his abs clench from the heat spreading across them. You're touching his nipple at the same speed as your strokes, and he's so fucking sensitive because you've been playing with the same nipple for what feels like hours, and it's so red and swollen from the constant abuse. 

“Close?” You ask, kissing the tip of his ear before you softly bite down on it, tongue lapping at the soft piece inside your mouth. 

“Nnghh, y-yes—ah.” 

And Mingi is nodding frantically again, hands gripping your forearms so tightly it'll definitely leave a bruise. 

“Such a good boy, baby, so good.” 

And he's so close. It's right there again, and he finally thinks you're gonna let him cum because he can hear faint praises against his ear along with soft kisses. 

But then the feeling is gone, again. 

“No-o—nngh, a-ah—f-fu—ahh,” and Mingi is crying again. 

He's gripping your arm, shaking it while mumbles of 'please' and 'no' fill the room. But this time you don't drag it out; your hand instantly finds its way back to his swollen, achingly hard cock. The tip is flushed fully red, veins popping out faintly along its length from the stimulation and its lack of it. 

“I need you to count down for me, baby, yeah? I need you to be a good boy so you get to cum.” You purr against his ear. 

Mingi is too far gone to coherently produce a sentence, but the man nods, and a faint 'p-promise' can be heard between pants and moans. 

You pick up the speed, making sure to gather as much precum around the head to use as lube. 

“I want you to count down from five, princess. All the way down to zero, oka—”

“N-no. C-can't. G-Gonna—ah—cum.”

You slow down the pace and loosen the grip slightly around his length, the other hand gripping the familiar space just below his jaw. 

“Count, Mingi.” Your fingers applying the tiniest bit of more pressure against his throat, “Either you count, or you don't cum at all.”

And Mingi can't have that. Not when he's been so close for what feels like hours. He's been denied the pleasure of cumming two times, and he's sure he'll explode if he doesn't get to cum now. 

“F-five.” He manages to breathe out. Your pace quickens. 

“Fou—ah—f-four.”

“Nnnghhh—c-can't—”

"Yes, baby, you can. Look at you. You're doing so well. Just a bit more.” You encourage him, the thumb on his throat softly caressing the side. 

“Ah, t-three.” His eyelashes flutter. 

"Two‐o."

“One—mmmh—one.” 

Mingi is shaking. You whisper sweet nothings in his ear, how good he is, how pretty he is, but Mingi can't hear. He's completely gone—his focus on counting being the only thing stopping him from cumming right this second. His eyes, eyelids almost fluttering shut, are fixed on your hand moving up and down his cock through the mirror. A glossy sheen covers his eyes, tears falling unbeknownst to the man as they settle where the previous tears had dried. 

“Z-Zero—ahh—” and Mingi's vision turns white. 

Thick, endless amounts of white ropes hit his stomach as Mingi finally gets to cum. With his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, his mouth opens in the form of an O. A low moan escapes his parted lips but just as quickly turns into loud, needy whimpers. 

His lower body jerks, trying to ride out his orgasm as his upper body spasms, twitching from the sheer amount of pleasure. His ears are ringing, and he's so sensitive because you're still stroking him loosely, but he can't stop cumming. Warm cum is filling up in between the lines of his abs, threatening to spill down the sides of his waist from the clenching and unclenching. He's panting loudly in between whimpers and whines. 

He can make out a soft voice purring in his ear the second his body starts to calm down, but he can't hear a word of it. Mingi blinks, his body still shaking from the aftershocks of his orgasm. He looks up at the mirror and sees the obscene view that is himself. Ropes of cum reaching all the way up to his chin, chest heaving up and down as he bucks his hips into the cold air. 

Both of your hands are rubbing across his chest, smearing the cum around as you calm his nerves. He looks down where he meets your finger, the tip of it dipped into a small pool of cum that had formed by his belly button. 

“So good for me. Such a good boy.”

Mingi almost goes cross-eyed as he follows the sight of your cum-soaked finger, slowly but surely inching closer to his face. 

“Look in the mirror and open wide, baby.” You demand, though no real threat, as it leaves your lips sounding softer. 

And Mingi does what he's told. Body completely spent, heaps of sweat trailing down various parts of his skin. He closes his lips around your finger the second it reaches inside his warm, wet mouth. 

"F-fuck," you breathe out at the scene, and Mingi just moans. And it's so humiliating and so dirty, but he couldn't care less because he just had the best fucking orgasm of his life. 

So the two of you just sit there, eyes never leaving each other in the mirror as Mingi continues sucking contently on your finger. If you notice his spent cock twitch in interest from tasting his own release, he pretends he doesn't see it all while hollowing his cheeks around your soaked digit. His previously glossed eyes filled with newfound lust

Song Mingi has always been known to be the sexy, charming, deep-voiced tall rapper from ATEEZ — blessed with a plateable ass, thick thighs, and a nose bridge higher than any mountain’s peak. And well… he is also your boyfriend.

It was just like any other day, except that Mingi’s latest dance challenge video had been looping in the back of your mind for the past six hours. The way his ripped jeans clung to his thighs, the way his muscles flexed as he moved, damn him for posting that right before your shift. The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the door, and the absence of his usual booming laughter or off-key singing made it clear he wasn’t home yet. You kicked off your shoes, tossing your bag onto the couch with a sigh.

The fridge hummed softly as you grabbed a water bottle, leaning against the counter while scrolling through your phone absentmindedly. Your thumb hovered over the video again, you’d watched it at least fifteen times already. The comment section was a warzone of thirst, half the replies just keyboard smashes, the other half poetic odes to the way the studio lights caught the sweat glistening on his exposed thighs. You knew those thighs intimately, the way they flexed when he lifted you against the wall, the warmth of them under your palms when he pulled you into his lap, but seeing them on display like this, shredded denim barely holding together, made your teeth sink into your bottom lip all over again.

You flopped onto the couch face-first, muffling a groan into the cushions. Sleep. You needed sleep. The couch smelled faintly of Mingi’s cologne, something warm and woody that lingered in the fabric no matter how many times you washed the throw pillows. It didn’t help. Neither did squeezing your eyes shut, because all you saw were those damn thighs, the way the material had torn just slightly at the seams when he—

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. You didn’t need to look to know it was probably another Instagram notification about the video. The universe was mocking you.

The rhythmic drag of your hips against the cushion had you teetering on the edge, breaths coming in shallow pants when the front door clicked open. You didn’t hear it, too lost in the pulse between your legs, the way your thighs trembled as you chased that sweet, sharp release. Mingi’s voice cut through the haze like a blade, rough and amused. "Baby, I’m hom—" His words stuttered to a halt as he took in the scene: you, flushed and breathless, thighs clamped tight around the cushion, hips still subtly rocking as the realization slammed into you.

With a huff, you rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling fan, its lazy rotation doing nothing to cool the heat prickling under your skin. This was ridiculous. Embarrassing, even. You’d seen him shirtless a thousand times, hell, you’d peeled that shirt off him yourself last night, but there was something about the way he moved in that video that refused to leave your head.

You pressed your lips together, shifting against the cushions as the heat in your body refused to settle and the faint trace of his cologne still lingering like a tease. It was too much.

Your hand reached for the nearest cushion, fingers digging into the soft fabric, pulling it closer and pressing it between your thighs, rocking against it slowly at first, seeking some kind of relief. The pressure felt good, grounding yet frustrating all at once. Your breath hitched as you moved a little faster, eyes closed, imagining it was something, someone else entirely. In your mind, it wasn’t the soft fabric anymore, it was Mingi’s thigh. Firm, warm, the smooth skin stretched over muscle, those long legs you couldn’t stop picturing.

Mingi’s gym bag hit the floor with a thud, his eyebrows shot up, lips parting in a slow, wicked grin as his gaze dragged over you, the flush on your face, the way your thighs were still clenched desperately around the cushion. "Well," he drawled, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. "This is a fucking welcome."

He thudded against the hardwood as he stalked toward you, each step deliberate, predatory. You didn’t move, couldn’t, really, your body locked in place under the weight of his stare. Mingi crouched in front of the couch, his knees cracking audibly, and you caught the sharp scent of his sweat mingling with that damn cologne. His thumb hooked under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Been thinking about me, huh?" he murmured, his voice dropping into that gravelly register that always made your stomach flip.

His thumb slid down from your chin, dragging lazily along your bottom lip before tugging it free from between your teeth. Mingi’s grin widened as his other hand settled on your knee, warm and heavy, fingers pressing just hard enough to make your pulse jump. "You didn’t even wait for me," he teased, voice dropping lower as his grip tightened. "Didn’t even fucking text."

"I—" you started, but his laugh cut you off, low and rough, vibrating through the space between you like a physical touch.

"Let me guess," he murmured, leaning in so close you could feel his breath against your lips, warm and tinged with the mint gum he always chewed after practice. "You watched the video." His free hand slid up your thigh, fingers tracing the seam of your sweatpants where they bunched around your hips. "How many times, baby?"

The heat in your cheeks burned hotter, and you tried to squirm away, but Mingi’s grip was iron. "Fifteen…," you mumbled, and his grin turned feral, eyes darkening as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

The number hung between you like a confession, and Mingi’s grin widened until his teeth glinted in the low light. "Fifteen," he repeated, voice husky with something between disbelief and raw satisfaction. His fingers curled around your thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt through you. "Fuck, you’re greedy." His thumb swiped over your lower lip again, this time pressing down just enough to make you open for him, and the groan that rumbled out of his chest was filthy. "Could’ve called me. I would’ve come home sooner."

The words died in your throat as Mingi’s thumb pressed harder against your lip, his other hand sliding up your thigh with deliberate slowness. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, honeyed tone that always unraveled you. "All worked up over a fucking video." His grin was all teeth, predatory and pleased, as he hooked a finger under the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them down just enough to expose the flushed skin of your hips.

The whimper that escaped you was embarrassingly high-pitched when Mingi’s fingers finally—finally—dipped beneath the damp fabric of your panties. His calloused fingertips dragged through the slick heat between your thighs, and your hips jerked off the couch instinctively. Mingi’s chuckle was dark, curling around you like smoke as he pressed you back into the cushions with his free hand, his breath hot against your neck as he dragged his fingers through your folds, slow and deliberate. “You’re fucking soaked.”

His fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you gasping at the loss, your thighs trembling with the effort not to chase his touch. Mingi leaned back on his heels, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips as he wiped his fingers on his sweatpants with deliberate slowness. "Nuh-uh," he tutted, tilting his head like he was scolding a misbehaving puppy. "You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?"

Mingi’s hands gripped your hips with sudden hunger, fingers digging into your skin as he effortlessly lifted you off the couch. The room spun for a second, your breath catching in your throat. In one fluid motion, he yanked your sweatpants down your thighs, then hooked his fingers into your underwear. With a low, impatient growl and a sharp rip, the delicate fabric tore apart under his strength. He tossed the ruined panties aside without a second glance.

He pulled you forward, settling you directly onto his thick thigh. Mingi leaned back against the couch, spreading his legs wider to give you full access, his smirk dark and dripping with satisfaction.

A soft gasp slipped from your lips as the solid heat of his muscle pressed right against your bare, dripping core. The rough fabric of his sweatpants dragged deliciously against your sensitive skin. Fingers scrambling for purchase on his broad chest, you rolled your hips experimentally, and a low, rumbling groan escaped him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice velvet-rough. One large hand slid up your spine and tangled firmly in your hair, tugging just enough to arch your back. “Use me, baby. Ride my thigh like you’ve been fantasizing about.”

His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head back until you were forced to meet his gaze, dark, amused, utterly in control. "You wanted this," Mingi murmured. "So fucking bad you couldn’t even wait for me." His grin was lazy, predatory, as he spread his thighs wider beneath you, the rough fabric of his sweatpants dragging against your bare skin.

His other hand slid down your spine and gripped your ass, pressing you harder against his thigh. The rough fabric of his sweatpants dragged perfectly over your clit with every desperate roll of your hips.“Look at you,” he groaned softly, lips brushing your throat. “Soaking my thigh like a needy little thing.”

You whimpered, grinding down faster, but it still wasn’t enough. Mingi chuckled darkly at your frustration. “Can’t get there on your own, baby?” His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing firm, slick circles that made your back arch sharply. The added pressure was devastating. Your moans grew louder, thighs trembling around his as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.“That’s it,” he whispered hotly against your neck. “Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

The orgasm hit you like lightning. A broken cry tore from your throat as intense waves crashed over you, your body shaking uncontrollably on his thigh. Mingi kept his fingers moving, drawing out every pulse until you were whimpering, oversensitive, and completely spent against his chest.

"Fuck—" The words broke from your lips in a desperate gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as aftershocks ripped through you. His fingers refused to stop, relentlessly circling your oversensitive clit in tight, merciless strokes that made your hips jerk uncontrollably. “Too much— Mingi, stop—”

Before you could catch your breath, he slipped his hands beneath your waist and lifted you as though you weighed nothing. Your knees sank into the couch cushions on either side of him as he yanked you forward, forcing you to straddle his face.

“Mingi—!” Your surprised cry melted into a broken moan the moment his tongue dragged a slow, filthy stripe up your dripping folds. His strong hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his low, smug laugh vibrated straight against your core.

“Stay still,” he growled against your soaked skin, before his mouth sealed over you completely. His tongue worked you with devastating precision, broad, wet strokes followed by teasing flicks, his nose pressing perfectly against your swollen clit with every movement. The new angle was overwhelming, deeper, more intense. Every lick and suck pulled fresh whimpers from your throat as you trembled above him, fingers tangled desperately in his hair.

You whimpered, thighs trembling violently around his head as Mingi devoured you with relentless precision. His tongue moved in lazy, sinful circles before flicking sharply over your swollen clit, each stroke pulling desperate, broken sounds from your throat. His thumbs pressed hard into the soft flesh of your hips, the dull sting only feeding the fire building inside you.

“Fuck—Mingi—I can’t—” The plea came out shattered, your fingers fisting tighter in his hair as your knees shook.

Mingi only hummed deeply against your soaked core, the vibration ripping through you like electricity. He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, eyes dark with hunger. “You can,” he said, voice low and commanding. “And you will. Give me one more.”

Then, his mouth was on you again, tongue pressing deep, then curling, sucking, devouring. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth filled the room as he held you down, forcing you to take every second of it. Your second orgasm hit harder than the first, slamming into you without mercy. A raw cry tore from your throat as your body convulsed, thighs clamping around his head while pleasure tore through every nerve.

Mingi’s arms encircled you the moment your trembling legs gave out, hauling you down onto his lap. The couch groaned under your combined weight as he pulled you flush against his chest, his breath still hot, his lips still glistening with the taste of you. His laughter rumbled through you, warm, smug, unbearably satisfied as you sagged against him, boneless and spent.

The hard, insistent press of his cock against your thigh made you whimper. You were still shaking, barely recovered, when Mingi tangled his fingers in your hair and yanked your head back. His mouth crashed into yours in a messy, demanding kiss, all teeth, tongue, and raw need. He tasted like you, and he kissed you like he was starving.

You clutched at his shoulders as his free hand slid down your spine, gripping your ass and grinding you against the thick bulge in his sweatpants. The rough fabric dragged against your sensitive, bare skin with every roll of his hips. He broke the kiss with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to smirk at your dazed expression.

“Still with me, baby?” he murmured, thumb brushing tenderly over your cheekbone even as his other hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.

Your reply came out as a whine, half-muffled. "Mmm'still here," you slurred, your eyelids fluttering like you were fighting off sleep. Your limbs felt heavy, boneless, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Mingi’s chuckle vibrated against your cheek, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine.

"Good," Mingi growled against your temple, his grip tightening possessively around your waist as he shifted beneath you. His voice dropped into that rough, honeyed register that never failed to send shivers down your spine. "Cause I’m not fucking done with you yet."

His arms tightened around your waist. In one smooth, powerful motion, he stood up from the couch, lifting you effortlessly with him. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips as he held you flush against his chest, your bare core pressed firmly against the hard line of his cock straining through his sweatpants.

Mingi didn’t head for the bedroom.

Instead, he turned toward the bathroom, carrying you down the hallway with long, confident strides. Each step made his hardness grind against your soaked, sensitive pussy, drawing soft whimpers from your throat.

You buried your face in his neck, still dazed. “Min… where are we—”

He cut you off with a low chuckle, nipping sharply at your earlobe as he kicked the bathroom door open with his foot. The loud thud echoed off the tiles as he carried you inside. The lights flickered on automatically, bathing the room in a warm glow just as your back met the cool marble counter.

Mingi crowded you against it instantly, the edge biting into your hips. His hands were impatient, one yanking at the hem of the oversized shirt you’d stolen from his drawer that morning. With a sharp rip, the fabric tore at the collar. He tossed the ruined shirt aside without hesitation, his other hand already stripping off his own top.

His pupils were blown wide, dark desire swallowing the warm brown of his eyes as he drank in the sight of your fully bare body pressed against the sink. His gaze then flicked downward to his own thigh, to the glossy, slick sheen you had left on the dark fabric of his sweatpants, and his grin turned feral.

“Well, damn,” Mingi murmured, voice thick with amusement as his fingers traced the wet spot you’d made. “You really ruined my favorite sweatpants, baby.”

His laugh was low and husky, sending heat curling low in your belly. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and shoved the sweatpants down his hips with deliberate slowness. The fabric caught briefly on his hard cock before dropping to his ankles. He kicked them aside carelessly and stepped closer, pressing the burning heat of his bare thighs against your spread legs.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he pressed your back against the shower tiles. The cold marble made you gasp at first, but it quickly warmed under the rising steam and the heat of your bodies. Your arms locked around his neck, fingers tangling in his wet hair as he pinned you to the wall with his hips.

The hot spray hit your back a second later, making you moan into his mouth. Mingi swallowed the sound greedily, kissing you deep and messy, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes that left your legs trembling around his waist as he reached between your bodies, lining himself up, and pushed inside you in one smooth, brutal thrust.

The moment his thick cock slid deep, the breath was punched straight out of your lungs. There was no teasing, no slow buildup, just the overwhelming stretch of him filling you completely. Your head fell back against the tiles with a thud as he slammed his hips forward, the force hard enough to make the wall rattle, the steam clinging to your skin as Mingi’s hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. “Fucking hell,” he growled, the word rough against your throat as he pulled back just enough to snap his hips forward again, the angle sharp enough to make your toes curl.

Hot water cascaded over both of you while Mingi fucked you against the wall. One hand slid up to tangle roughly in your hair, yanking your head back so he could scrape his teeth down your exposed throat. “You take me so fucking good,” he rasped, hips snapping up into you relentlessly. “Always so tight for me.”

He adjusted his grip, lifting you a little higher against the tiles. The new angle made his cock drag perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. Your nails raked down his shoulders, leaving red lines he only groaned at approvingly. The wet slap of skin against skin echoed loudly, mixing with the roar of the shower and your broken moans.

Mingi’s rhythm was merciless now. Deep, hard strokes that had the shower tiles shaking behind you. Water streamed down his back and over your joined bodies, making everything slick and slippery as he drove into you.

“Shit— Min—” you sobbed, clinging to him as pleasure bordered on overwhelming. “Yeah?” he panted against your neck, voice wrecked. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

He shifted one hand under your ass, the other bracing against the tile beside your head as he fucked you even harder. His lips found yours again in a messy, desperate kiss, swallowing every moan while his cock dragged along your walls with devastating precision.

Your thighs started trembling around his waist, that familiar coil tightening rapidly in your core. Mingi felt it, the way you clenched around him, and let out a low, filthy groan. “You close again?” he growled, teeth grazing your bottom lip. “Come on, then. Come on my cock like a good girl.” His pace turned punishing, hips slamming into you relentlessly as steam swirled thickly around you. The pressure built unbearably fast until it shattered.

You came hard with a sharp, broken scream of his name, your walls pulsing tightly around him. Mingi cursed loudly, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you through it with short, erratic thrusts. With a deep, guttural groan, he slammed into you one final time and came, spilling deep inside you while holding you pinned against the shower wall.

Your body went completely limp against his chest, forehead pressed to his collarbone as you gasped for air. The hot water had turned your skin pink, thick steam swirling around you both. Mingi’s arms stayed locked around you, strong and steady, keeping you upright while his breathing slowly evened out against your temple.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice rough with satisfaction. His lips brushed your damp hair. “You good, baby?”

You gave a weak nod, fingers still trembling where they clutched his shoulders. Mingi chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. He pressed a kiss to your temple, thumbs tracing lazy circles on your hips.“Liar,” he murmured, amused. “I can still feel you twitching around me.”

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the steady roar of the shower. Mingi trailed soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder, still buried deep inside you as he held you close.

Eventually the water turned lukewarm against your back. He reached behind you and shut it off, the sudden silence filled only by dripping water. His nose brushed your temple as he inhaled deeply, arms still locked around you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Should take you to bed,” he murmured, voice low and rough, but he made no move to pull out yet.

Your eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion. Mingi finally wrapped a warm towel around your shoulders, drying you with surprisingly gentle hands before sliding an arm under your knees. He lifted you effortlessly against his chest.

The movement jolted you for a second. You caught a glimpse of his sharp jaw and wet lashes before your head lolled against his shoulder.

Mingi chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he carried you out of the bathroom. “Knew you’d crash,” he whispered, smug and fond, pressing a kiss to your damp hair while his bare feet padded down the hallway.

The bedroom door creaked softly as Mingi nudged it open with his hip, carrying you like you were something precious. He lowered you onto the bed with careful hands, letting your body sink into the familiar sheets. The comforter was warm as he drew it over your bare shoulders, tucking it gently around you.

The mattress dipped as he climbed in behind you. Without hesitation, he pulled you back against his chest, wrapping you up in his arms. His lips brushed the nape of your neck in a slow, tender kiss, a quiet contrast to the way he’d taken you earlier.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispered against the nape of your neck, voice low and warm. His fingers continued tracing slow, soothing patterns over your hip, grounding you in his embrace.

You hummed softly, already drifting as exhaustion pulled you under. Mingi pressed one last gentle kiss to your temple, then settled behind you, pulling you closer until your back was flush against his chest.

“We don’t have time.” He growls in his low deep register, his hands finding your face before his lips press into yours. You’re pressed on time, he’s annoyed, you can feel the heat still coming off him and he’s still sweaty from the performance. He pulls you back, turns you toward a table with a mirror on it. He bends you over, your palms flat on the desk in front of you. You watch him in the mirror, pulling your dress up and over your hips, his hands fumbling to get his pants down too, all in a rush. You know he just needs to relieve some stress, some pent up aggression, and you? You’re happy to oblige.

“You look so pretty tonight I’m going to try not to mess up your makeup too much.” He says, and you feel him. Hard and thick, his large hands parting your legs, more as he slips the head of his cock against your entrance. You gasp as he starts to sink into you, you’re wet but Mingi is large, thick. You’d think you’d be used to it by now, but it takes your breath away, as he presses all the way forward, his mouth falling open with a grunt as he fills you completely.

“Mingi!” You gasp, “Fuck.” You don’t really know what else to say. Your brain short circuiting from the sudden feeling of fullness. You feel it in your throat, like you’re gagging on him, and you struggle to grasp onto the flat top in front of you. He starts to move, not too fast, but hard. He knows how to use his hips and the way he rolls into you steals your breath, and punches a sound from you with each deep stroke. “Fuck!” You cry as he holds you down by your hips, the desk beneath you shakes with every single thrust. He grunts and growls and his eyes sear into the mirror, watching as he wrecks you.

“Keep quiet.” He growls, “Just take it for me.” You gladly accept, though every thrust makes you whimper or whine. You bite your bottom lip to muffle yourself, or at least attempt to. Your eyes water, the edge of the table beneath you starts to bite, you know you’ll have a bruise or two but for now it feels good. To have Mingi pinning you down beneath him, his cock gliding in and out of you, hitting that spot with every stroke. The next thrust is harder, as if it’s a test, and you fail, your moan coming out of you loud and involuntary. He doesn’t miss a beat. His hand reaches forward cupping around your mouth, he groans as you clench around him, “Look at yourself, baby.” Your eyes water as he continues rolling his hips into you, but you look.

You see yourself jolting forward with every thrust, tears starting to roll down your cheeks, Mingi’s large ring adorned fingers pressing hard into your mouth. You see him, looking down at the place where the two of you connected, watching as his cock sank in and came out soaked in your arousal, wet and creamy. He groans at the sight and then he looks at you. His gaze is direct and searing into you as you moan against his palm. His cock twitches at the sight, at the sounds coming from your pussy, he’s close. You arch against him, clench around him, you beg for him to let go without words. He shudders, a feral growl ripping from his chest as he presses forward, letting go, his hand clenching over your lips as you let out a muffled moan. Your own orgasm crashing over you, both of you shaking and panting as he pulls his hands from your mouth. You both take a minute as he pumps his cum deep into you, your legs shaking. When he finally pulls out of you it’s a mad dash to dress.

“Mingi-ah!?” A voice muffled behind the door searching for him as you both try to regain some type of composure. Mingi’s appetite is relentless, his energy never ending, so it’s hard for him to pull away. Especially because it’s you. His fingers move to wipe away smudged lipstick and you look up at him. His anger seemed to have gone, now he just looked soft.

“You wanna talk about it?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, right?” He asks and you nod.

“You still shined Min, it’s just a little hiccup.” He nods, unsure but smirking anyway. “I know you have to go. We’ll talk when you get home.” He nods.

“I’m happy you came back to see me after that.” He smirked, I think I just needed to see you.”

“Mingi-ah!!” San called for him again closer now.

“You should go.” You sigh.