❁

minho's room smelled of his cheap wood cologne, the blinds half-closed against the late-afternoon glare. thick, sluggish light grazed the rumpled mattress.

the no comeback season was really driving the three of you insane, keeping you with nothing more to do than rotting at home and stared at the ceiling.

you were lying on your side, wearing an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that rode high on your thighs with every twitch. your thumb flicked mindlessly across your phone screen, scrolling through endless, cute cat videos.

jisung was on the floor, his back jammed against the edge of the mattress, knees spread, head thrown back against your calf as if your skin were the only cool spot left in the whole apartment. minho sat backward in the desk chair, arms crossed over top rail, chin resting on his biceps, watching both of you with that bored cat face that always meant he was scheming.

"i'm rotting away," jisung muttered, voice nasal and slurred. he rubbed his hot cheek against your shin. "if we don't do something right now, i'm gonna lose my mind."

minho clicked his tongue, staring down at him, deadpan. your eyes flicked back-and-forth between them, suddenly interested. you set your phone facedown on the sheets to give them your full attention.

“define ‘something’,” minho drawled, blinking lazily. “your ideas usually end in a catastrophe, so… yeah.”

jisung scowled, his lips pushing out into a heavy pout before he snapped his head around to look you up and down. your breath hitched when his dilated pupils locked onto your frame.

he was already half-hard just from being near you, from rubbing against you like a needy dog begging for some skin to skin friction.

"we could…" he swallowed hard, gaze dropping to your mouth. "we could fuck."

you let out a dry, incredulous puff of air, reaching blindly for your phone again. you shook your head, shooting minho a sidelong glance before looking back down at jisung.

“how original, sungie,” you scoffed, the memory of him proposing the exact same chaotic nonsense in your shared kitchen months ago flashing behind your eyes.

minho shifted in the chair, suddenly locked in. you couldn’t miss the way his palm dropped heavy against the crotch of his sweatpants, fingers curling lazily even as his face remained entirely impassive.

"no, seriously!" jisung scrambled up onto his knees, surging away from the floor.

before you could move, his hands slammed flat onto the mattress on either side of your hips, caging you in with an eager, heavy heat that made the temperature in the room rise instantly.

his hot breath washed over your lower stomach, piercing the thin cotton of your shorts and lingering like a brand. your teeth sank into your bottom lip as a familiar, heavy ache built deep inside you, sparked entirely by the desperate hunger in jisung's eyes.

“the three of us could… y’know. like always…" he flicked his glance toward minho, then back to you, the tips of his ears flushing a furious, dark red. "only that this time could be… a competition.”

you arched an eyebrow, entirely thrown. your phone slipped from your fingers, sliding forgotten into the bed.

“a competition?” you murmured, your gaze tracing the hard line of his jaw. “what the hell are we competing over?”

“over… over who can leave you more wrecked."

your lips parted, but no sound came out. your eyes snapped to minho. he was slowly raising a single eyebrow, a small, crooked smirk cutting across his mouth. 

“go on…” minho encouraged softly, his gaze pinned to the boy kneeling between your legs.

"yeah," jisung licked his lower lip, a heavy pulse visibly hammering against the skin of his throat. "you and me. let's see who can make her come the hardest. who leaves her trembling. and…” he looked back at you, eyes bright and wild. “you decide who wins."

a heavy shiver raced down your spine, the static tension tightening until the air felt difficult to draw into your lungs.

the humid heat clung to the nape of your neck as you dropped your elbows against the mattress, propping yourself up. the movement caused your sleep shorts to ride up sharply, biting into your flesh. you squeezed your thighs together with a slow, deliberate friction, flashing them a confident, teasing smirk.

"and what’s my cut?" you asked, your voice dropping into a low, challenging hum.

minho stood up from the chair with a slow motion, the wooden backrest groaning in protest. he rounded the bed and leaned his weight against the mattress edge, looking down at you with a dark, wicked amusement.

"we're both working to make you cum until you can't talk," he shrugged, like he was discussing the weather. "i think you're already winning."

jisung nodded so frantically he nearly choked on his own spit. you had never seen him look this unhinged, this thoroughly feral for approval.

“please, just… let us do it,” he whined, his lower lip trembling in a practiced, pathetic pout that he knew you were powerless against. “i wanna- i need to make you feel good. let me beat him. just that. please…”

each ‘please’ come out high and fractured, hitching on a desperate sob. he leaned down, pressing an open, wet mouth straight through the cotton of your shorts against your hip. his hand was shaking visibly as it clamped around your bare thigh.

you let your head fall back against minho’s pillow, exhaling a long, shuddering breath as his woody cologne enveloped you.

"fine," you said simply, eyes sliding shut. "the second one of you starts acting like a jealous kid and ruins it, i'm throwing you both out. got it?"

“deal!” jisung yelled, already clawing at the hem of your shorts with clumsy, desperate fingers.

minho didn't say anything. he simply climbed onto the mattress, his heavy knees sinking into the sheets as he crawled up to hover beside your head.

he stared down at your mouth through heavy-lidded eyes. you tried to hold his gaze, letting a slow, provocative challenge curve your lips as you reached up to yank his t-shirt over his head.

he let you strip him, letting your fingernails drag slow trails across his ribs, but the second his fingers wrapped around your wrist, the message was silent and absolute: he decided when you moved, and how.

down below, jisung tore your shorts and underwear down in one clumsy pull, his hands trembling so hard he could barely manage the elastic. the cool rush of air from the bedroom fan hit your bare, slick core directly, pulling a sharp gasp and a shiver out of your chest.

jisung let out a ragged, strangled noise at the sight of you, wide open and glistening on the sheets.

“damn, you… you're already soaking wet.”

“s-shut up and put your mouth to work, sungie,” you snapped, your voice half-choked by embarrassment and the sudden, violent spike of heat between your legs.

and there was no need to repeat it.

he settled himself between your thighs, planting his palms flat against the mattress and digging his thumbs deep into the soft meat of your hips. he paused for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes drinking in your swollen, slick lips, before lowering his face and dragging his tongue upward in one long, flat, punishing stroke.

the sudden contact tore a raw, dirty moan straight from your throat. jisung groaned in response, a deep, vibration that shot straight up your spine. your hands immediately tangled in his messy hair, your fingers curling into the roots to anchor him there.

and right in that exact moment, minho blocked out the rest of the world.

he leaned over your face, capturing your mouth in a heavy, bruising kiss. his tongue invaded instantly, sweeping over yours while his teeth grazed your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. his hand clamped firmly around your jaw, forcing your head still, dictating every agonizing inch of the angle.

you clawed at the back of his neck, trying to wrench control back, trying to set your own rhythm against his mouth. minho just let out a low, mocking chuckle directly against your lips, pulling back a fraction of an inch to let you gasp.

“relax, darling. enjoy your reward,” he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogant ownership that made your stomach violently flip.

below, jisung sucked your clit straight into his mouth with a wet, obscene pop that made your hips buck off the mattress. he slurped at your slick greedily, his pelvis grinding uselessly against the cotton sheets in a pathetic bid for friction he couldn't reach.

“like that- fuck, ji… just like that.” you breathed, your vision swimming as he drove his tongue deep inside your wet heat in short, erratic bursts before pulling back to suck on your folds like he was starving.

his saliva and your juices dripped off his chin, thick and shining, but he was too far gone to care. every time you whimpered, he answered with a desperate, muffled ‘mmh’, entirely at your mercy.

but minho wasn't about to let you focus on just one of them.

he tightened his grip on your jaw, forcing your face around to face him entirely. his thumb dug cruelly into your cheek, demanding obedience.

“open you mouth. wanna use it.”

it wasn't a question. it was an order. and the unadulterated filth of it sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.

you parted your lips without a second thought, yielding completely. minho slid his boxers down with his free hand, freeing his heavy, already-throbbing length, a thick bead of precum glistening at the blunt tip.

he dragged the hot head across your lower lip, painting you with your own saliva, before nudging it past your teeth.

“suck it slowly. just wanna feel your tongue.”

you slipped your tongue out, catching the heat of him, and he pushed forward. not deep down your throat yet, just enough to fill your mouth, stretching your cheeks. your saliva pooled heavily at the corners of your lips, spilling down over your chin.

and down below, jisung slammed two fingers straight into your soaked heat without warning. they slid home effortlessly, dripping wet, and he crooked them upward instantly, seeking that deep, sensitive spot with zero hesitation.

when he hit it, he pressed down hard, his thumb relentless against your clit as his mouth sucked harder, pulling a ragged, choked sob from your chest.

"that's it," he said, his voice low, raw. "good girl. let him eat you out while i use your mouth."

jisung whimpered around your folds, utterly destroyed by the praise, even if it wasn’t for him. he shoved a third finger inside you. the impossible stretch tore a high-pitched cry from your lips, your hips driving down against his hand like you were trying to bury yourself on him.

minho began to move his hips, slowly, deliberately, stretching your jaw with cruel, unhurried precision. each heavy thrust made your eyes water, your throat tightening around him on pure reflex until a thick line of drool slipped down your neck.

he tilted his head back, looking down past his own body with half-lidded, glazed eyes.

"look at her, hannie," minho drawled, not even bothering to look at your face. "can’t even talk. bet she’s dripping down there for you right now."

you dug your fingernails deep into minho’s thigh, moaning a filthy, muffled agreement around his shaft, and he rewarded you by pressing in deeper, your nose brushing the coarse hair of his lower belly.

you tried to endure it, hot tears of overstimulation spilling down your cheeks. when he finally pulled back just enough for you to drag in a ragged breath, you coughed, a thin trail of saliva smearing across your chest.

"s’too much- you know i can’t take it all," you spat, breathless, still smiling even if your face was a mess of tears and saliva.

"you accepted the competition," minho shrugged, completely unmoved. "rules are rules, honey."

jisung pulled his fingers out with a wet, obscene snap, holding his dripping hand up to the dim light like a trophy. then, with a trembling gasp, he shoved his fingers straight into his own mouth, sucking them clean while his eyes rolled violently back into his skull.

“shit- you taste so good… please, let me… i need you to come on my tongue. i need to win this, jagi…”

he spread your thighs wider as he spoke, his gaze never once breaking contact with yours. slowly, he folded your knees back toward your chest before burying himself inside you all over again, this time without an ounce of mercy. his tongue flattened against your clit while two fingers plunged deep inside you in a steady, precise cadence, the rhythm of a man who knew every inch of your anatomy by heart.

the orgasm began to build in your lower belly, heavy, hot, and suffocating. your moans turned ragged and broken. you never bothered to hold back when he worked you over like this.

minho filled your mouth again, far faster this time. he wasn't pulling any punches. he wanted a raw, brutal face-fucking: short, punishing drops of his hips, the wet echo of your throat swallowing him down, your hand going completely limp against his hip because you had long since lost the ability to control the angle.

and he knew it. he could read the surrender in the way your jaw went slack and the way your chest heaved desperately for air between thrusts.

“good job. take it all, darling. wanna hear you beg for my cum,” minho muttered, his voice dark and entirely unbothered.

jisung sped up his fingers, mercilessly drilling that sweet spot inside you while his mouth clamped down on your clit with bruising pressure. that was the exact moment the final thread snapped.

you shattered against minho’s shaft with a muffled cry, your thighs clamping tight around jisung’s head as your walls milked his fingers in violent, spasming waves. but he didn't let up. he kept licking straight through your peak, whimpering into your heat, drenched to the bridge of his nose, until your nerves were so hypersensitive that you finally yanked his hair with a raw, breathless, ‘stop, stop, fuck-’, half-laughing, half-shaking.

minho slipped out of your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva stretching from your lower lip to the blunt head of his cock. he looked down at you, his breathing barely altered, his dick red and gleaming with your spit.

"one point for hannie," he drawled shortly. "my turn."

your heart skipped a beat when you saw him gesture for jisung to shift out of the way. your core was still throbbing raw from the aftershocks, but minho looked entirely determined to finish breaking you.

jisung backed off reluctantly, his mouth swollen, chin slick, and eyes glazed over. he wiped his face with the back of his hand and knelt right beside minho, his thick, weeping cock straining hard against the waist of his boxers, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

"that doesn't count as the end," jisung protested, his voice cracking high and frantic. "i can still…"

"she came," minho interrupted. “my turn to make her fall apart. you can have her again later.”

he grabbed your hips and flipped you over in one effortless sweep. you found yourself pressed face-down into the mattress, your chest flat against the sheets.

with a smooth shove, minho yanked your hips upward, spreading your knees wide. your shredded shorts were still clinging desperately to one ankle, so he ripped them the rest of the way off and kicked them into a random corner of the room.

his large hand dragged slowly up your spine to the nape of your neck, pressing your face deeper into the pillow. it wasn't brutal, just heavy enough to establish who held the leash.

you arched your back anyway, offering yourself up, deliberately provoking him.

"put it in, min…" you commanded, your voice a husky, ruined. "if you want to win… you’re gonna have to fuck me right."

minho settled his weight behind you without a word. the heavy head of his cock teased your soaked entrance before he slammed his hips forward, burying himself to the root in one swift, unyielding stroke. the air rushed out of your lungs in a long, shattered groan. he filled you completely.

the stretch burned viciously right where jisung’s fingers had just been. minho didn't grant you a single second to adjust; he clamped his hands over your hips and began sinking into you with a deep, rhythmic brutality, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing loud and filthy in the room.

“ah… ah, fuck!” you couldn’t keep quiet, every single thrust dragging a raw noise from your throat as the mattress groaned and the wooden headboard hammered rhythmically against the wall.

jisung scrambled up toward your head, his hands shaking as he shoved his boxers down. his cock pressed right against your cheek, thinner than minho’s, but  just as hard, leaking at the tip. he stared down at you with desperate doe eyes.

"can i...? please, use me. i wanna feel your mouth. even if it’s just for a second. i'm begging you..."

you parted your lips with a slow, wicked smirk, and jisung let out a ragged, encouraging gasp.

without wasting a second, he slid into your mouth. he was infinitely more careful than minho, almost shy. you sucked him eagerly, addicted to the way his voice broke into higher, sweeter notes whenever you pressed your tongue against him.

“baby, fuck- s-slow down… i’m- oh my god…” jisung whined, eyes squeezed shut, tongue slipping out of his mouth as the heat of the room crawled under his skin.

behind you, minho was pacing himself, taking his time with long, dragging strokes. he pulled his cock almost entirely free before sliding back inside until his heavy balls slapped hard against your clit.

a heavy hand slipped around your stomach, sliding down to find your swollen clit, rubbing it in merciless time with his hips. your eyes fluttered back as his pace turned jagged and unforgiving.

"look how wet she is," minho muttered down to jisung, his voice a low, controlled hum. "it's dripping down her thighs. she loves being used by us."

"i-it's... ah-" jisung choked on the rest of his sentence because your hand clamped firmly around the base of his cock while you pulled him deeper, making his knees buckle. "fuck, i'm gonna... no, not yet, please don't make me come yet-"

minho leaned across your back, his chest plastered flush against your shoulder blades. without warning, he sank his teeth hard into your shoulder right as he drove himself deep inside you and held himself there, throbbing.

“tell me, darling… who's fucking you better?”

"y-you," you spat out against jisung's cock, drool smearing across his skin. "you, minho, you- ah, fuck!"

“good,” he murmured, straightening up.

this time, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking just enough to snap your neck back, and he fucked into you harder, faster. the altered angle drove him straight into that impossible sweet spot that makes you lose your mind.

jisung pulled out of your mouth, completely overwhelmed, leaving him kneeling there jerking himself off while he watched your wrecked face, high-pitched whimpers spilling from his chest.

“minho…” he cried out, his eyes full of tears. “wanna touch her… let me touch her again-”

"then do it. rub her clit and make her come again," minho ordered, making it sound less like a command and more like a cruel favor.

jisung collapsed beside you, shoving his hand between your lower abdomen and the mattress. he found your swollen clit and went to work, rubbing it in clumsy, desperate, frantic circles while minho pounded into your cunt without mercy.

the dual work tore you apart. the second orgasm slammed into you twice as hard as the first, wrapping your spine into a trembling arc as you screamed into the pillow, your toes curling hard against the sheets.

minho kept his grip on your hips, refusing to let up through the contractions, dragging the peak out until tears streamed down your face and a thick trail of saliva dripped onto the bed.

when you finally went slack, minho pulled out. the sudden, hollow emptiness made your head spin. he flipped you onto your back instantly, your legs spread wide, your core dripping and swollen. kneeling between your thighs, he dragged the head of his cock across your puffy lips without entering, fixing his gaze on jisung.

“finish what you started, hannie. clean her up.”

jisung didn't need to be told twice. he threw himself between your legs like a starving animal, burying his face to lap up every drop of minho’s mess, your juices, and his precum, shoving his tongue deep inside to drink you down.

you grabbed a handful of his hair, shamelessly grinding your sensitive cunt right against his mouth, begging for more.

minho crawled up beside your head, locking a hand in your hair and shoving his cock straight into your mouth in one brutal, fluid motion. he fucked your throat deep and hard while jisung ate you out below.

your cries came out muffled, vibrating frantically around minho's shaft. he stared down into your eyes with a hungry, dilated gaze. you stared back, tear-streaked and defiant.

he dragged his thumb across your cheek with tenderness while continuing to choke your mouth.

"your chance to call the shots is over," he whispered just for you. "now you come when i tell you to."

jisung shoved two fingers back inside you, opening you up further, curling them against your sweet spot while his tongue hammered your clit. combined with minho stretching your throat, the heat in your lower stomach spiked with violent speed.

your third orgasm hit you without warning. dirtier, heavier, your whole body locking tight. you came right across jisung’s face with a breathless cry. he groaned loudly, happy, swallowing whatever he could catch while his free hand jerked his own cock to chase his own release.

minho pulled out of your mouth and, with a fast shift, hoisted your legs up over his shoulders. he drove into you deep, keeping his eyes locked on your ruined face. every thrust dragged a broken ‘ah’ from your lips.

jisung crawled up, his hand cupping your breast, pinching your nipple while he captured your mouth in a filthy, messy kiss choked with your own fluids, his hot breath ghosting over your lips.

“you're so… so perfect like this… please, give me permission to come… i need it-”

“come on her tits,” minho commanded, never looking away from your eyes. “now.”

jisung didn't last another three seconds. he huddled over your chest, pumping himself twice before he shattered with a long, pitiful sob, hot ropes of cum splattering across your breasts, your collarbone, and the hem of your rolled-up shirt.

he collapsed entirely, his forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder as he panted like a dying man.

minho fucked you harder now, the mattress squeaking a violent, furious tempo. sweat rolled down his jaw, dripping hot onto your chest right over jisung’s cum. his thumb ground mercilessly into your clit, precise and cruel.

“one more, sweetie. give it to me.”

"i… i can't," you sobbed, your abdomen cramping tight.

“yes, you can. come on,” he urged, his voice cracking. “let me feel you milk me dry.”

you came again, weaker, shivering, a dirty whimper breaking past your lips. the sudden clench of your walls pushed minho right over the edge. he buried himself to the hilt, going entirely rigid, his jaw locked so hard the veins in his neck stood out.

he came inside you with a low, controlled growl, his hips delivering three final thrusts as he emptied himself. you could feel the heavy weight of him filling you up. when he finally pulled out, a thick white thread followed his cock, sluggishly trailing down your thigh.

for a long, heavy minute, the room was dead silent save for the ragged sound of your collective breathing.

jisung used the hem of his own shirt to clumsily wipe your chest, pressing soft, desperate kisses to your skin as a quiet apology for the mess. minho collapsed heavily onto his side beside you, one arm slung over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in slow, deep waves. his free hand found your thigh and stayed there, heavy and possessive.

you lay trapped in the middle, legs still parted, minho’s cum slowly leaking out, jisung’s face pressed against your ribs, and minho’s thumb drawing lazy circles into your skin.

"so…" you rasped, your voice completely shattered, a dry, hoarse laugh catching in your throat, "who won?"

jisung’s head shot up instantly, his eyes bright, his lips swollen.

“i make you come first. and you came twice with me!” his face lit up with a cocky grin. “and i touched you while he-”

"i won," minho muttered from beneath his arm, his voice vibrating with a smug certainty. "she can't even close her legs. i won."

you exhaled a slow, defeated breath through your nose. then, inch by inch, you shifted, leaning over to gently bite at minho’s bare shoulder before tugging on jisung’s hair to drag him down for one last slow, lingering kiss.

“it’s a tie,” you lied, a small, exhausted grin across your lips. “you’ll… just have to have a rematch as soon as my legs stop shaking.”

jisung made a delighted, high-pitched noise against your mouth, while minho finally lowered his arm, casting a dark, smoldering look your way before pulling you flush against his side with an unquestioned ownership.

The stadium is sweltering hot, the crowd is screeching between innings, and if one more guy spills beer on you, you might actually lose it. You usually love baseball games, and have so much fun shouting for your favorite team and eyeballing the hot players in their tight pants. Usually.

Maybe you just haven’t had enough to drink. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be having fun with your friends, leaning into them and whispering about the game, or more commonly, the players you have a massive crush on.

Or maybe you’re sitting there thinking about your date from last night, the guy who talked way too much and didn’t ask a single question about you. You didn’t even want to go, he was a friend of a friend, and you owed her a favor, and he was kind of cute, so you figured, why not? Big mistake.

You haven’t sworn off dating, but your recent string of bad dates has become particularly exhausting. You love your friends, but there’s a part of you that wants to go to these games with somebody else. A partner. Preferably in a romantic capacity. 

There’s a group of guys on the right of you, and Mina keeps leaning forward, trying to make jokes with them. They laugh and joke back, and you try your best to laugh and play along. You catch a few of their faces when you glance over, and Jesus fuck, they’re all good-looking.

Your friends are on the other side of you, definitely drunk, and having the time of their lives. You resort to actually watching the game, trying to focus on something to drown out the chaos around you. A batter on the other team strikes out, so terribly that you almost feel bad for them.

“Ouch…that’s embarrassing," you mutter under your breath.

“It’s one strikeout,” a voice from next to you says, almost annoyed. “There’s plenty of game left to play.”

You whip your head to see the man sitting next to you, smirking as he sips his beer. There’s a Giants hat on his head, which makes you laugh. They’re losing pretty badly right now.

“Giants fan?” you ask, as if it isn’t obvious.

“I take it you’re not,” he observes.

“I don’t really have a favorite,” you say honestly. “But there’s at least 5 more teams I’d pick before the Giants.”

He scoffs at that, but you catch a faint hint of a smile as he turns back to watch the game. He’s really, really handsome. You turn to your friends to hide your smile as you sip your drink. 

You make snide comments as the game goes on, and he dishes them right back at you. One of the players on your team drops a ball, and you let out a groan.

“That’s your guy?” the man whispers next to you. 

“Hush,” you say back, because it’s the only thing you can think of without making prolonged eye contact and stuttering over your words. You try to hide your smirk but can’t deny the flirty edge that the conversation has. 

You’re only half listening to Sana drone on about how she hates her new boss when the giant screen above you flashes pink. Bold words appear on screen.

KISS CAM.

The camera bounces around from couple to couple, a series of cheers echoing throughout the crowd. Sometimes it’s cute, like when the people on screen are obviously dating, but half the time it looks so awkward when random strangers pucker up just because of a little attention from the camera.

It takes a second to register when your face pops up on the screen.

Your face. And the man next to you. The man you met today, the man whose name you don’t even know.

“Do it!” you hear your friends laughing beside you, egging you on.

You turn and see his friends doing the same, patting him on the back and hollering at him. You make eye contact with him and can’t help but laugh. 

You give him a shrug. “Why not?” you say. It’s harmless. Plus, he’s stupid hot, and you’d be dumb to turn down a kiss from a hot stranger, even if it is in front of thousands of people.

“Ah, what the hell.” He sighs, smiling, and leans forward.

Your lips connect, and you hear the crowd erupt around you. You feel the sound vibrate through your seat more than you can hear it. His lips are so warm and soft, and everything fades away for a moment. It’s tender, surprisingly so. 

You break the kiss first after a few seconds. Four seconds? Or ten? You lost count, honestly. You pull back in time to see his eyes flutter open. He smiles at you, warm and genuine. God, he is really handsome.

The crackle of the announcer over the loudspeakers catches your attention, and you remember where you are all at once. You feel your chest tighten, suddenly very aware of what had just transpired.

“I’m Seungmin,” he says, and you snap out of the panic you were about to enter. 

You introduce yourself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“That’s one hell of an icebreaker,” he jokes. You both laugh, turning your eyes towards the field before the embarrassment sets in again.

You find it increasingly hard to keep your eyes off Seungmin as the game continues. He bumps your elbow every time he leaps out of his seat to cheer on his team, and you have to pretend you don’t notice. You smell his cologne when he leans in too close to make a snide comment, and you have to roll your eyes to avoid making eye contact with him. Trying to act cool, like he doesn’t do anything to you, is pure torture.

The game ends 6-5. You didn’t pay too much attention to the score, just enough to tease Seungmin when the Giants slipped behind. It didn’t matter though, they ended up pulling through and winning tonight.

“I never doubted them for a second,” he says smugly.

“You probably should have,” you say back, laughing.

Your friends get up to leave, and you turn to follow them, collecting your empty drink cup as you walk out. Just then, you feel a tug on your wrist.

“Wait! Uh…can I get your number?” Seungmin asks, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Your eyes light up as you look back at him and nod. The two of you exchange numbers, ignoring the way both of your friend groups snicker and tease behind you, before going your separate ways. 

The whole walk back to the train, your friends talk about the day, their plans, and their lives, but you’re not really listening. It’s hard to when your mind is full of the handsome stranger you’d just met minutes ago. And you especially can’t stop thinking about the kiss.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mina says, nudging your shoulder. 

You shrug your shoulders and turn to stare out the window. “Just tired. We had a long day.”

She doesn’t buy it, leaning closer into your space to get a better look at your face.

“Are you thinking about the Giants guy?” she says, definitely teasing you. You shoot her a glare and roll your eyes, but you feel your face grow warm and hope it doesn’t show.

You get home, you shower, eat some leftover pasta that’s been marinating in your fridge, and collapse into bed. By this point, you’ve mostly convinced yourself that today was a one-off. A funny story to bring up at dinner. “Remember that one time…” your friends will say. That’s just what happens. You meet someone fun at an event, and then life takes over.

But as soon as your head hits the pillow, your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Unknown: giants won btw. in case you needed a reminder.

You roll your eyes before saving the contact and typing a reply, smiling to yourself like an idiot.

You: a whole text JUST to brag? Seungmin: just making sure you knew Y: I was THERE S: yeah but did you watch or were you distracted Y: no idea what you’re talking about S: mhm… Y: congrats on the win, don’t let it get to your head!

You find yourself checking your phone more than you’d like to admit over the next few days. Your heart skips a beat every time you get a notification on your phone. Sometimes, he says good morning and asks about your day. Sometimes he just sends a dumb meme with absolutely no context. Or provides commentary for whatever game is on that night. 

Today’s message from him starts differently than usual.

Seungmin: hypothetically You: hypothetically… S: if I needed a date for a wedding Y: okay… S: would you go with me? Y: what’s in it for me? S: you get to feel REALLY GOOD about yourself for doing a favor for little old me S: and a free trip to Jeju…

Your eyes go wide at that.

Y: it’s in JEJU!? S: yeah my cousin’s loaded or something Y: hypothetically it would be a yes S: okay great! S: another hypothetical… Y: mhm S: ….i told my mom i was bringing my girlfriend? Y: you have a girlfriend? S: NO no no i don’t have a girlfriend, that’s the problem Y: i see… S: so uh would you also hypothetically pretend to be my girlfriend? Y: you can’t tell your mom you were lying? S: it’s…complicated. i’d rather not be lectured or have her try and set me up with all of the bridesmaids

You’d also prefer that, but you don’t mention it.

Y: hmm…hypothetically one weekend wouldn’t kill me S: oh my god you’re a lifesaver Y: hypothetically? S: super not hypothetically. very realistically actually Y: okay fine. when is it? S: next weekend Y: you’re good at planning things S: please? Y: if i say yes too fast does it make me look like a loser for not having any plans already S: if you say yes too fast it makes you look like an absolute saint for saving my ass Y: would you look at that! i’m free

You close your eyes, excited for the upcoming weekend. But not too excited. That would be too obvious.

The airport is crowded and much too noisy for this early in the morning. Seungmin finds you easily, waving you down by the check-in counters. He’s taller than you remembered, cleaned up nicely, but definitely sleepy.

“Hi, stranger,” you say as you walk up to him. He greets you with a sleepy smile, and you notice how cute he looks bundled up in a hoodie and his tousled hair.

“Ready to lie to my whole family?” he says, laughing, like he can’t believe he’s about to do exactly that.

To be honest, you’re not sure. You hardly know this man, but if there’s a chance you continue seeing him, the last thing you want to do is put on a false persona or lie about your guys’ history.

By the time you settled into your seats, Seungmin insisted on getting the window seat, and you had a couple of hours to get your story straight.

“How long have we been dating?” you ask as the plane steadies after takeoff. 

“Sorry?”

“In your hypothetical world that you told your family about. How long have we been together? Where did we meet? We need to get our story straight!”

“Ahh okay. So, we’ve been together four months.”

“Specific, believable, I like it. How did we meet?”

“The truth. Baseball game kiss cam. I literally couldn’t make it up if I tried,” he laughs.

“Okay, fair.”

You talk about his family and what to expect for the rest of the flight. Every family has its drama, quirky relatives, and secrets. The flight wasn’t long enough to cover everything, but you feel confident you know who to avoid and who’s safe to talk to.

The plane lands, and you find yourself hoping they like you. Hoping that after all this, Seungmin still likes you too.

The hotel is massive, spewing bright neutral colors and modern accents. You’re still marveling at the lobby, looking at the ginormous chandelier above you, when Seungmin waves a keycard in front of your face.

“C’mon, I want to shower before dinner.”

And the room is just as nice as the lobby. It’s large, with a balcony facing the ocean attached. You’re high up enough where the noise from the street won’t bother you when you try to sleep, which you’re grateful for. The giant king bed sits in the center, surrounded by beautiful artwork.

Giant king bed.

One bed. Singular.

You set your stuff down, frowning at the arrangement. “It’s a little soon to share a bed, don’t you think?” You try to come off as playful, but your heart is beating faster at the thought of sleeping next to a man you hardly know.

“I know, I’m sorry. I should’ve mentioned that.” His apology is sincere, and you can tell this weekend is already stressing him out.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m just joking. I guess they wouldn’t really have believed us if you asked for separate rooms anyway, right?”

He relaxes his shoulders at your comment, nodding in agreement and putting down his stuff. He disappears into the bathroom, and you take the time to flop down onto the bed.

Everything’s going to be fine. People share beds all the time. Sana has slept in your bed more times than you can count after a night out, and you’re perfectly fine with her crowding your space or snoring in your ear.

You’re still thinking about a thousand different ways this weekend could go wrong when Seungmin comes out of the bathroom, showered and dressed. 

“We have a couple of hours to kill. Wanna go for a walk?”

And so you slip your shoes back on and head back down to the lobby.

The fresh air feels nice and warm with a hint of sea salt. The two of you make your way down to the beach and start to walk along the shoreline. Seungmin kicks off his shoes and rolls up his pantlegs before heading closer to the water.

You follow suit, slipping off your sandals and skipping towards the water. You flick a bit of water up with your toes, and it lands on him.

“Hey!” he shouts, laughing, flicking it back at you. You squeal and run, holding your pants up to keep from dragging them through the water.

The wet sand sticks to your feet as you pretend to run, only getting a couple of yards away before two arms wrap around you to stop you in your tracks. Your shrieks turn into laughter as you twist in his grip, trying to get away. Your feet kick in the air as he lifts you a couple of inches off the ground. 

“Put me down!” you cry out. He carries you a couple of steps before putting you down. You playfully push him, both of you still laughing. You notice the wrinkles around his eyes as he smiles, and your heart swells with joy. Just joking around like this just feels so comfortable with him. 

The two of you keep walking down the beach, commenting on the beautiful view or the temperature of the water.

“Thank you for coming,” he says after a while. “I know it’s weird and we barely know each other and—”

“Seungmin.”

“Uh…yeah?”

“Hush. I’m having fun.”

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeps walking, and you watch his worried face disappear into a smile.

The sun starts to set before he suggests you head back to change into clothes for dinner. You agree, and he loosely wraps his arm around you as you walk back to the hotel.

The rehearsal dinner is held in a banquet room just off the hotel’s main lobby. The room is draped in white fabric and well lit, the kind of setup that would cost at least three or four times your rent. You hardly have any time to admire it before you’re shuffled through conversations, meeting Seungmin’s relatives.

“This is my girlfriend,” he says about a dozen times before you have to remind yourself that that’s not actually true. You feel your heart flutter every time a relative comments on how cute the two of you are, though.

His aunt whispers something in his ear that makes his ears go red. His uncle tries to get the two of you to take shots with him before Seungmin eventually whisks you away from the conversation.

There are a few toasts, most of which drone on forever, with Seungmin fidgeting in his seat. You want to ask if he’s okay, but you have a feeling that he isn’t up to talking about whatever family-related issues are causing his stress.

“Almost done, I promise,” he says low in your ear as he guides you to what you’re hoping is the last group of people.

There’s a woman in a long white dress, not quite a wedding dress, standing at the front of the room towards the podium, accompanied by a tall man in a suit. You’re guessing the bride and groom.

“Seungmin!” The bride says warmly. “I’m so glad you came!”

“Hi, Yuri. Congratulations.” His voice is flatter than you’ve ever heard it before.

“Cousin!” his cousin exclaims as he pats him on the back. Seungmin introduces him as Jiho, his mother’s sister’s son.

“You must be the girlfriend! I’ve heard about you,” Yuri says. She flicks her eyes up and down, as if she’s assessing you. You’ve gotten it from most of his family members, but she’s been the most obvious one to do it tonight. Probably bride confidence, or one too many glasses of champagne.

“All good things, I hope,” you say, sipping on your glass of wine.

“We’ll let you get back to it,” Seungmin says quickly, leaving you almost no time to wish them a good evening before he guides you out of the room and to the elevators.

“Are you okay?” you ask. He’s noticeably stiffer, adjusting his clothes like they’re too uncomfortable now.

He makes eye contact with you and seems to realize that he’s sending a million different distress signals. “I’m fine, sorry. It’s just family stuff.”

You nod your head in understanding, not wanting to push it further. The elevator dings and you step into it, feeling the warmth of his hand on the small of your back.

“Do you think they suspected anything?” you ask as he unlocks the door to your room, trying to be lighthearted.

“Never, you did perfect,” he says, with a genuine smile you haven’t seen since earlier on the beach.

You sit on the bed, letting Seungmin use the bathroom to shower and change into pajamas first. This is possibly the strangest first date you’ve ever been on, if you can even call it that. You text your friends back, updating them on the day, and lock your phone before they can barrage you with questions you don’t feel like answering.

“All yours,” he says, stepping out of the steamy bathroom. He’s drying his damp hair with a towel, fully in his pjs, but he looks so handsome like this. You stop yourself from staring too hard before you take your turn getting unready from the day.

By the time you come out of the bathroom, Seungmin’s not in the room. You notice the balcony door is slightly open and see a figure standing outside, leaning against the rail. You slide the glass door open and join him outside.

“All good out here?” you ask.

“Yeah, just…thinking.”

“About?”

“I’m really glad you came with me.” He turns to look at you, sincerity written all over his face. He gently grabs your arm and pulls you in for a hug.

He smells so nice. You get a whiff of his shampoo mixed with his laundry detergent, but then catch something else underneath it all. It’s just Seungmin. A man you hardly know who has managed to weave his way through your every thought in just a few weeks.

You pull back a moment, offering a smile, and he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. Your pulse quickens, the way it always does when he looks at you like that. 

“Can I…?” he starts, tipping his head down slightly, and you know what he’s asking.

You answer by closing the gap yourself.

It’s soft, much softer than the first. There’s no crowd counting down, no friends drunkenly cheering you on–just you and Seungmin, under the moonlight in a quiet moment. He wraps one arm around you to pull you tight against him, and you snake your hands around his neck to ground yourself. The ocean’s waves crash in the background faintly, and you feel the nerves from before fall away. It’s more comfortable than you were expecting, not that you were expecting anything.

When he finally pulls back, he keeps his forehead against yours. If he loosens his grip on you, you might fall over. You hope he doesn’t.

“Ready to lie to more people tomorrow?” he laughs sheepishly.

You laugh, kissing him again in response. If there’s something still unsaid between you, it can wait until tomorrow.

The morning is a bit of a blur. You get dressed and make your way over to the venue, a beautiful building that seems like it was made just for weddings. Seungmin is antsy the whole time, holding your hand through it all like letting go would mean certain death. The ceremony is beautiful, and you sit right beside him through it all. It’s been a lovely weekend being a plus one at a wedding for people you just met yesterday.

At the reception, you’re standing near the edge of the dance floor waiting for Seungmin to come back from the bar when Yuri comes over to you.

“Hi!” she says brightly.

“Congratulations again,” you say. “The ceremony was beautiful.” “Thank you so much.” She glances around, maybe looking for someone. “It must be so weird for you to be here.”

“Yeah, maybe a little,” you shrug. “I don’t know many people, but Seungmin’s been the best at introducing me to everyone.”

She takes a sip of her champagne. “You’re brave for showing up to your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend’s wedding. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it.”

Her voice replays in your head. Your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend's wedding.

Your head tilts sideways, and your heart sinks to the floor. Maybe you misunderstood her. “Sorry, what?”

Yuri’s face flickers with surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. He must not have told you…”

Your heart feels like it’s going to fall out of your ass. You excuse yourself, setting your glass on the nearest surface and high-tailing it out of there. You pass the bar on the way and catch Seungmin’s surprised face when you don’t stop.

The elevator doors close, and you realize how fast your heart is beating. Who cares if the bride is his ex-girlfriend? You certainly don’t have room to be jealous, he isn’t actually yours to be jealous over. Still, it would have been nice to get a heads-up.

You throw your shoes off when you get into the room and head straight for the balcony. Your stomach starts brewing something nasty, and you feel like you might throw up if you don’t get your breathing under control soon. The breeze feels nice against your face, and the ocean serves as calming white noise as you take deep breaths.

The balcony door opens behind you, and you hear slow footsteps behind you. You don’t turn around.

“You could have told me,” you say, trying not to cry.

“I know,” Seungmin says as he approaches the railing next to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why are you even here?”

“I’m here for my cousin, and my mother would have thrown a fit if I didn’t come.” You scoff. “But still, I should have told you. I just didn’t know how.”

You stay silent for a moment. “I get why you didn’t.” The words surprise you as they come out of your mouth. But it’s the truth. You do get it. “It still would’ve been nice to know.” “That’s fair. I really am sorry.”

You both fall quiet for a moment before you break the silence again. “She’s marrying your cousin?”

He laughs for a moment and nods his head. “Yeah. Like I said, family drama.”

“I’m really sorry, that’s a lot to handle.”

“It’s fine. It was years ago. We dated in college, they got together after we broke up. I’m pretty sure there was some overlap, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Do you…,” you start to ask a question, but hesitate. You’re not afraid of the answer, per se. You’re afraid of the insecure girl bottled up deep inside, afraid that revealing her means showing your true feelings. Leaving everything out in the open, vulnerable. 

“Do you still love her?”

“No.” He answers quickly and without hesitation. It eases the butterflies in your stomach, but now he knows. He knows that you’d been thinking about it, that you care. 

You nod slowly, accepting his answer. He takes a step closer, grabbing a hold of your hand as it dangles by your side. The air on the balcony shifts as he takes a step closer, dragging his hand up your arm before resting it on your cheek.

“Let me show you.” It’s a request that you gladly accept with a nod as he leans in to kiss you. It’s gentle yet passionate, showing you he means what he says. 

He walks you backwards back into the hotel room, sliding the glass door behind you as he guides you back into the room. The lamp lights are on, and your shawl and heels are kicked to the corner as you try not to trip on them. The fan humming does little to mask the noise of your heavy breathing between kisses.

Seungmin’s hands are everywhere. Cupping your face, sliding down your neck, gripping your waist, making good on his word. He kisses you deeper, tongue sliding against yours as he backs you further into the room.

He guides you down gently on the bed, and you can feel how hard he is through his dress pants. It makes the heat between your thighs grow, your mind suddenly filled with nothing but want. He snakes a hand behind you to unzip your dress and pull it down.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he says, kissing down your body. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

You’re left in your lace bra and panties, and his mouth comes down hot against your body as he leaves open-mouthed kisses all the way down. His hands cup your breasts, and you let out a moan when his thumbs brush against your nipples.

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe out as you pull him closer.

He unhooks your bra and drops it to the floor. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue around it. You tug at his hair in response, basking in the feeling.

Your hands fight with his shirt buttons as he crawls back up your body to kiss you again. He takes off his dress shirt and peels off his undershirt, exposing his lean torso. He looks so hot all disheveled like this.

You reach for his pants next. “Off,” you demand. He sheds the rest of his clothes quickly, cock springing free. It’s hard and bright red, already glistening at the tip. You reach down between you to give him a couple of strokes, and he lets out a deep moan at your touch.

He hooks his fingers into your panties and rips them off next, grabbing at your thighs to spread them wide. You’re soaked, you can feel it. He stares in awe.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters before situating himself between your thighs.

He places a kiss on your inner thigh before dipping between your folds, licking at your entrance. He works his way around your sopping cunt, and you feel the heat in your belly grow.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you moan as he moves to pay attention to your clit.

He hums against you in response, sending shockwaves through your whole body. He finds a rhythm that makes your head spin and your muscles tighten as you head barreling towards your peak.

“I’m gonna—fuck, Seungmin!” You cry out, hips bucking and shaking against him as you come in his mouth. Your body is trembling, and he slowly works you through your orgasm.

You pull him back up once your body stops shaking and taste yourself on his lips. You kiss him sloppily, not bothering to stop for a breath. “Need you, right now.”

He positions himself at your entrance, pausing for a breath. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, feeling like you’re going to explode if he waits another second.

He pushes in slowly, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. You feel the stretch inch by inch, feeling so perfectly full as he bottoms out. He drops his forehead against yours when he’s fully buried inside you.

“I could stay here all fucking night,” he moans. “You feel so fucking good already.”

“Seungmin, please move.”

He starts with slow, steady thrusts that quickly turn rough and passionate. The bed creaks below you in time with his movements. You wrap his legs around him, making him hit deep inside. You let your nails rake at his back, and he lets out a deep moan.

As soon as he angles his hips and hits the sensitive spot inside you, you’re seeing stars. His movements quicken, and the room is filled with the slapping of skin against skin. You feel the heat come back, about to bubble over once again.

One of his hands slips between you, thumb making circles around your clit in time with his thrusts. You feel your body squeeze around him, cunt pulsing, and your vision whites out.

“Holy shit, Seungmin!” you cry out his name over and over as he fucks you through another orgasm.

He follows moments later, the feeling of you clenching around his cock throwing him into his own orgasm. His hips stutter as he buries himself deep inside you, choking out your name as he comes. He collapses over you, and both of you try to catch your breath.

After a minute, he rolls over next to you and pulls you close, tracing circles on your back. Your skin is slick with sweat, and you feel sticky, but it all feels so right.

“Please stay,” he whispers against your hair. “After this weekend. I want to take you out. Properly.”

You nuzzle your face deeper into the crook of his neck. The balcony door is still cracked open, letting in a gentle breeze that cools your warm skin.

“I’d like that,” you say, looking up to give him a gentle kiss. 

It may have been a weird weekend, but you have no regrets. Not when it brought you here, on an island in the middle of the ocean, in the arms of a ridiculously dorky, handsome man.

a/n: thank you all so much for your support! sorry again if this feels rushed, i had so much fun writing it i've just been SO busy!!

permanent taglist: @11racha @jisuperboard @kloversung @sourtae @binniebb @b4echo @hanjinology @eyyyylucieeee @bbyyuuu @viisstrayy @starlostjisung @stryscribbles @miniseungkimcami @embobema @sssoulesss @awkwardlyshawna @fuzzylard @0omillo0 @jup-exe @jaziona92 @cassie264 @chikmentendies @inlovewithstraykids

It's not like you and your boyfriend decided that you wanted to hook up with his bandmates.

…it is something you've talked about, of course. Jeongin knows they think of him as a baby - both of you, really, since you're dating him - but he's been a man for far longer than they care to admit. You can see it in the wandering eyes, in the way that Changbin takes a too-big swig of his water when Jeongin's hands flex just right, or the way Felix's fingers sink into the muscle of his biceps for just a little too long to be friendly. They all know that something has changed, that Jeongin's innocence has long since been shed, but no one dares to say it out loud, because saying it out loud makes it real. And none of them seem to want to let go of their sweet baby Ayen-ah just yet.

So yeah, sometimes dirty talk involves his bandmates, involves Chan catching the two of you on the couch and being "so disgusted", involves Minho finding the two of you pressed into a corner of a practice room with the low beat of their new song thrumming through the "accidentally" unlocked door and teasing both of you. He won't admit it, but you know it makes him come faster, makes a new kind of heat thrum under his skin. It does just the same for you.

In short, you're both shamelessly into it. Because, despite his maknae title, Jeongin is a freak.

It's greatly assisted by the fact that you are, too. You're down for anything and everything he's wanted to try, just as he's accepted every weird thing you've wanted to try with open arms. Sounding, pegging, shibari…there's really a small amount of things you've haven't tried, mostly for the sake of protecting his career or simply because some things are hard 'no's for one of you. 

It's a Saturday night when the first "incident" happens. Well, Jeongin calls it an "incident". You've been calling it a "divine intervention", because you were about to cave under the tension between Jeongin and his bandmates and ask one of them to sleep with the two of you anyways.

The night is young when it begins - the sun hasn't even started to kiss the horizon when the concert starts, six o'clock p.m. sharp. Despite Jeongin's insistence that he gets you a barricade ticket himself, you had ticketed long and hard for this concert, and bought yourself a seat instead.

"I don't want to be standing the whole time," you had told him when he whined, "plus, if you're patient, I'll see you backstage, won't I?"

"And the hotel?" he asked, pouty lips upturning hopefully.

"And at the hotel." you promised, because it's impossible to say no to your boyfriend when he uses those big, pouty eyes and perfect smile on you.

When the big screen on stage flickers alive, the intro video blaring through the stadium, the familiar flood of adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you're screaming despite yourself. No matter how many times you see them on stage, no matter how many times you watch them sing and dance their hearts out, you'll never get enough. They have something magnetic about them that forces a whole crowd to their feet and to jump and scream and dance. It's a powerful feeling, to be swept away in their performance. You always feel jittery after a concert, the energy in your body endless once the final note rings out. You could fight god or build a pyramid with your hands, in these moments.

Instead, you take that boundless energy out on your boyfriend.

Like every show, your boyfriend somehow gets impossibly hotter. You don't get your phone out - other Stays will record more than enough fancams for you - but it feels like it's pretty damn obvious who you're staring at, jaw-dropped. Stays joke that living with Chan has made him more of a menace, and while you know from experience that Jeongin's the real freak of the two, you're inclined to agree that his stage presence is becoming more and more Chan-like everyday.

Assisted by the stylists, of course. You think you could kiss all of them on the mouth for the outfit they've put him in tonight. His first outfit is obscene - a tiny white cropped tank top, so thin you can see the sharp lines of his body through it. It's so short that a sliver of his back peeks out when he's standing still, and you know he's bending over on purpose when the tank top practically rides up his entire back. Every single outfit is entirely unfair, like it was made entirely to tear you apart from the inside out. Even in the cutie little sailor outfit he looks amazing, and you think it's frankly unfair how badly you want to jump his bones right now. You really think this might be it for you. You might die here in the crowd at your boyfriend's concert.

Naturally, all of them look fine tonight, but only your boyfriend really captures your attention. His tongue flicks out and he winks in the direction of your seat, that smug bastard, and you scream with every other person in the stands near you as he does. You hate falling victim to the fan service of the k-pop industry, but when it's your boyfriend, you have no real reason to stop yourself from swooning over him. Even knowing about the new hair ahead of time, seeing it for yourself in the days leading up to the first show, didn't protect you from being obsessed with the way the light catches on the silver strands, on the way that droplets of sweat cling to his hair and make it stick to his forehead. 

The rest of the concert is a blur of scream-singing and drooling over your insanely hot boyfriend - who sweats so much into his shirts that they;'re practically a different color by the end of the night, absolutely glued to his skin. You're picturing peeling it off of him the entire time he's on stage. The sun dips down below the horizon but that doesn't stop them, the music still shaking the floor and sending shockwaves through your whole body.

By the time you're guided out from your seat, still clutching your lightstick to your chest with hearts in your eyes, you're so hyped up on adrenaline that you almost miss the manager you're supposed to be looking for standing at the top of the stairs. He gives you a polite nod when you walk towards him, and then guides you discretely backstage. For the most part, you follow the crowd - down the stairs, around the bend, past the banners one last time - just to slip out from the sea at the last moment, doing the practiced dance of quietly slipping into an "employees only" hallway without being detected. No controversies for you tonight, please and thank you.

You're forced to wait with the staff members outside of their changing space (you wonder briefly if you and Jeongin perhaps weren't so quiet during one of your previous green room escapades) while everyone gets out of their hair and makeup. Once they're out of their stage outfits they're technically allowed to just go back to the hotel and do the act of washing off the makeup themselves, but it is nice, sometimes, to fully let someone else handle something after a concert. Especially on a hot summer night, when even the sun setting couldn't pull the heat from the humid, sticky air. Everyone was wearing a layer of sweat so thick it was practically a second skin, so you, too, would let someone else do the hard work if you could.

…well, that's what you try to tell yourself, when impatience begins to overtake your body. The neediness that could've been excused as excitement from the concert before pulses in your abdomen, a slow, curling heat that tortures you from the inside out. You see flashes of your boyfriend again - a droplet of sweat rolling down his neck, the ridges of his abs when his fingers danced up his stomach and took his shirt with it, the way his eyes thinned to slits when he smirked and rolled his hips - and you're forced to squeeze your thighs together awkwardly while standing, hoping that it's not too obvious that you're vying to jump your boyfriend's bones the second you get your hands on him. Reputation be damned, you want to press him against a wall and kiss him senseless until there are no thoughts left in your heads but each other.

The boys start to filter out slowly, lazily - minus Jisung and Hyunjin, who still seem to have that post-concert adrenaline pulsing under their skin and are bouncing off the walls - and when Jeongin makes eye contact with you, freshly changed into another too-tight shirt and a pair of sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips, you know you're both in for a long night tonight. His thumb hooks into the waistband as he "adjusts" them, pulling them just low enough for the band of his boxers to peek out and a sliver of his abdomen to be visible when he shifts his arm across his body to "stretch" (read: tease you). He looks at you with hooded eyes and a lazy grin, the kind that means trouble, as he saunters over to you like a predator creeps up on prey. The heat in his gaze holds you pinned in place, watching, enraptured, as Jeongin's tongue dips out to wet his lips.

When he reaches you, he leans forward slowly, just slow enough to be a tease, and kisses you. The kiss isn't filthy, but the message behind it is a promise of more later. When he pulls away, you're both grinning, and if anyone else were paying better attention they would see the way that Jeongin has the subtly shift his pants over his crotch to hide his rising erection.

"Hotel?" he murmurs, voice gravelly from singing on stage, and you nod, fingers dancing up his arm to link yours through his.

It looks like an innocent move from afar, but your fingers dig into his biceps, practically feeling him up in front of everyone. You feel the way he tenses under your fingers, sending you a sideways looking. A warning that you ignore, too caught up in the way his biceps pull the shirt taut around them and the way his arm twitches in your hold.

"Behave." He breathes out quietly, not even looking at you.

Your fingers sink in harder, drawing a little hiss out of him, and you know you're in for a good night when his jaw tenses tight. The ride home is going to be a long, fun drive.

– – –

Hyunjin is bored.

There's nothing left in this hotel for him to do. He can't go downstairs and use the pool, because if he gets recognized they all have to move hotels, plus he'd also just get in trouble for wandering in the hotel in the first place. He could work out in the gym, the only public space they're permitted to use in these hotels, but Hyunjin doesn't want to work out, especially after a concert. He knows that Chan and Changbin do sometimes, to burn that excess energy, but the idea of doing more work right now has Hyunjin's nose crinkling. And he could sketch or paint, the art supplies shoved haphazardly into his suitcase staring at him from the corner of his eye, but the idea of sitting still right now also drives him up the wall.

It's partially due to the half-chub that he's been rocking since the first beat of the show. He's embarrassed to admit it, but every show makes that familiar burn of arousal boil under his skin. There's something about performing on the stage, dancing and singing in perfect sync with his bandmates, that gets him going. It's his personal aphrodisiac, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because a post-show nut followed by a steaming hot shower and then a faceplant into the hotel sheets is probably the best feeling in the world. And a curse, because he doesn't actually want to jerk one out right now. 

Sure, he's horny, but there's a difference between being horny (physically) and being horny (mentally). Mentally, Hyunjin wants to busy himself with other things. He needs to be in the mood to jerk off, and while his bandmates looked a little too good tonight, Hyunjin's lingering sense of guilt about jerking off to his bandmates is a little too strong tonight, strong enough to outweigh the arousal that's settling into the back of his mind.

Okay, so maybe there is something for him to do in the hotel, but Hyunjin really, really doesn't want to do it. What he wants to do is explore the city to get his mind off of…other things. It's late, and with a mask and a hat, he knows he would blend right in.

But he doesn't want to go alone. First and foremost, a night out alone is boring in his opinion, especially in a new city. If he wants to try some food out here, the nicer restaurants probably won't seat him if he's on his own. Plus, he has no one to coerce to take photos of him so he actually has content to post on his social media. He supposes he could probably ask staff (he should probably ask staff if he's allowed to leave at all, but he pushes that thought aside), but then he loses some of the freedom of a city at night, forced to continue putting on an idol face for a couple more hours. Yeah, no thanks.

He also just loves his members and would spend every waking hour with them if he could, but you won't catch him admitting that. 

He runs through the options in his head. Felix would usually be down to explore and his quieter post-concert energy would be a nice match to Hyunjin's adrenaline rush he's still riding out, but Felix looked absolutely exhausted after the show. Hyunjin assumes he's already crashed and snoring on his bed. Seungmin never wants to explore, and Jisung and Minho are probably…busy, so that eliminates both of them. Chan and Changbin are good options, but concert nights are one of the few nights Chan might actually allow himself to rest, and Changbin and him took the double room, so Hyunjin risks waking Chan up if he goes to get Changbin.

That leaves Jeongin, and likely you. Hyunjin lights up at the idea. Jeongin is a far better personal photographer than most of the other members anyways, plus he gets to hang out with his little baby maknae and his equally cute partner. While Jeongin wasn't always down to hang out with his hyung, Hyunjin knows he could convince you to explore, and if you're going, well, Jeongin isn't going to not go. Hyunjin grins evilly, already deadset on convincing the two of you to come join him tonight. Using you against Jeongin is an evil ploy, but one that all of the members are familiar with, and Hyunjin isn't above a little bit of coercion to get his way. 

Usually Chan would be in charge of all of the extra room keys, but the group (in an attempt to get Chan to actually rest during tour season) agreed that they would rotate responsibility, to minimize one person being extra tired because someone lost their copy of their room key every night of the tour at weird, odd hours (cough cough Han Jisung). 

So Hyunjin doesn't even have to go knocking to get to the babies, because it's his turn to be on key duty. He's sure he can pawn off the responsibility to someone else before he's out the door, or he can just hope that no one forgets their keys until after he's back. He decides it's a problem for him of the future, the him that's already convinced the two of you to explore. I'm a genius, he thinks to himself, tongue caught between his teeth as he shuffles through the room keys for Jeongin's. 305, 306, 307…aha! Hyunjin grabs room 308's keycard and his phone, all of skipping down the hall towards the maknae's room.

He doesn't even think to knock as he scans the keycard. He's seen Jeongin in all states of undress before, and he doesn't quite consider the fact that you could be changing in there. Really, he doesn't have a single thought in his head as he cheerily barges into Jeongin's room, mind already thinking about all the places he wants to drag the two of you to visit.

"Hello children, I'm here to take you on an adventure-"

Hyunjin's voice trails off as the door clicks closed behind him, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing uselessly. He swallows big, the sound too loud in the quiet of the room, suspended in time for a moment as he stares at the two of you.

He can't tell where Jeongin ends and you begin. Jeongin has you pressed into the sheets, body curled over top of you, sweat making his skin glisten. His hips have gone still, but they were jackhammering into you when Hyunjin walked in. There's a constellation of bite marks and hickeys across your chest, and scratch marks litter the upper part of Jeongin's back like a map (exactly where it would be hidden by his stage shirts, Hyunjin hopes). Jeongin's hair is mussed, clearly tugged at, and if Hyunjin looks hard enough it looks like there's purpling hickeys littering his upper inner thighs too, somewhere that Stay would never see at the next show.

"I- you-" Hyunjin stutters uselessly as the two of you look at him, cheeks a bright pink and getting pinker.

You stare at him for a moment, studying him. His shoulders are up in surprise, there's a flush crawling down his neck, his finger is shaking as it points between the two of you, but you notice one thing that makes the corner of your mouth twitch up into a smirk. 

No matter how embarrassed he seems, Hyunjin can't stop looking at the two of you. His eyes dart between your faces, to where the two of you are connected, to the arch of your back, to the ridges of Jeongin's abs. A normal person would've looked away by now. Would've apologized, said something about forgetting this ever happened, would've walked out of the room with a hand over their eyes and not come back for the night. 

But Hyunjin was glued in place, shamefully staring at the two of you. Maybe out of disbelief, but you can tell by the way there's a tent forming in his shorts that there's more than disbelief in his darkened stare. 

"Dirty hyung, didn't even knock." Jeongin starts, tapping your shoulder twice - a confirmation on his end and a question. 

You tap back twice - a solid yes, your shared nonverbal green - as you continue his sentence. "Jinnie's such a pervert, hm? Look at him, he's leaking in his shorts. You were hoping you'd catch us, weren't you?"

"I wasn't- I didn't mean to-" Hyunjin flushes further, stammering as he glances nervously between the two of you.

There's confusion written on his face - why haven't you kicked him out yet? Why were the two of you looking at him like that? - and that just won't do. You glance up at your boyfriend, raising an eyebrow, and he sighs dramatically. He pulls out of you with a wet pop!, the sound so slick and gross and nasty that it has Hyunjin's cock twitching in his pants despite himself. 

Oh my god, Hyunjin thinks, almost drooling at the site of Jeongin's cock, coated in both of your juices, he's so big.

Certainly bigger than anything Hyunjin's ever taken. He's not certain he's ever really given Jeongin's cock a good look before, but he's confident Jeongin must be a grower, not a shower, because Hyunjin feels like he would remember if he'd seen that beast before.

"I should…I should go…" Hyunjin says, making no move to actually leave, eyes still locked between Jeongin's legs.

Jeongin laughs at him, low and mean, as he stalks over to where Hyunjin is. He crowds into Hyunjin's space until Hyunjin's backed up against the door, curled so far in on himself that he's forced to look up at Jeongin. His breath is short, caught in his throat, and Jeongin plays a dangerous game as he leans in and in and in and-

Clicks the lock behind Hyunjin's back.

"Now's your last chance to pretend you don't want this," Jeongin says, looking down at Hyunjin, watching the way his pupils swallow his irises as he stares up at Jeongin, "Nothing to say, hyung? Not interested in a different kind of adventure tonight?"

It's mean, to call back to why Hyunjin was here in the first place. Hyunjin looks so small - like a mouse caught in the teeth of a very satisfied cat - and it sends a spike of arousal shooting up your spine. The two of you had talked about involving one of his members, but this was an even better scenario than you could have ever conjured in your head. 

You drag yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed, a mix of your arousal and Jeongin's leaking from between your legs.

"C'mon, Hyunnie," you coo, spreading your legs wide so Hyunjin can see the mess between them, "We're asking so nicely, y'know. We could be meaner."

"He'd like that," Jeongin says, still staring Hyunjin down like a predator, "Perverted little things like him don't want to be treated nicely."

They're talking about me like I'm not even here, Hyunjin thinks distantly, and he tries to speak, tries to defend himself, but all that comes out is an indignant little squeak. It's a pathetic sound, and it's practically a confession that you're not wrong about him.

"Oh poor thing, you must be so overwhelmed," you say, faux concern dripping in your tone, "Jeongin, give him some space, won't you? C'mere, baby."

Jeongin gives Hyunjin one last look over before backing up like you asked, hands raised in mock surrender. Hyunjin watches with wide eyes, cock one touch away from exploding in his pants. You're both so hot like this, so in control that every single one of his senses is locked on to the two of you. 

"Baby? You going to come here?" You ask, and oh, are you talking to him?

Hyunjin must look like a fool, mouth parted and blinking at you rapidly like he can't believe his ears. Jeongin rolls his eyes and lifts a hand, beckoning him over lazily.

"C'mon, you heard them," he says, eyes bored and mouth curled into a smirk, "You can't be stupid already, right? You can listen."

He nods rapidly, head bobbling on his shoulders as he stumbles over to you. His limbs don't feel like his own, awkward legs bumping into each other as he stops in front of you, standing between your parted legs. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for another order. 

"So good for us already, aren't you, baby?" you ask, a rhetorical question, giggling when he nods anyways, "God, you're so cute. Isn't he so cute, Innie-yah?"

"So cute," Jeongin responds, voice closer than Hyunjin remembers, "Would look even cuter on his knees."

Hyunjin doesn't even register listening until there's a dull throbbing in his knees as he clunks to the ground. He's eye level now with your gaping hole, but he doesn't look. He keeps his eyes on yours, revelling in the way you smile down at him sweetly as he drops to his knees. 

A hand comes to run through his hair and he trills, a satisfied sound in the back of his throat, leaning into the hand. You bring a hand to run a lazy circle around the rim of your entrance, and Hyunjin drools as more of the nasty mixture of lube and juices leaks out of you. He wants to taste so bad, but he already knows that he can't do that without your permission. Without both of your permissions. You were kind enough to let him stay at all, and he refuses to miss out tonight just because he got greedy. 

"We use the stoplight system," you say quietly, voice serious, "Do you know the colors, baby?"

Hyunjin hums an affirmative, and the hand in his hair tightens its hold.

"Say them for us," Jeongin says, tone stern, "And from now on, if we ask you a question, we expect a verbal response. Got it?"

"Got it, I got it," Hyunjin whimpers, the stinging on his scalp making him leak even more into his pants, "Green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop."

"Good job, baby." You coo, just as Jeongin says:

"Good slut, knowing his colors."

Both of you have such a condescending tone, like you're talking to a stupid baby who doesn't know anything, and it makes Hyunjin squirm a bit. The hand in his hair tightens even more, and Hyunjin settles, the message clear - speak when spoken to, don't move unless asked. He can do that. He can be good for you two. His cocky stage presence feels so far away right now, a skin he puts on for shows that he thought he could maintain in the bedroom, but under the weight of your gazes, Hyunjin can't even remember what it feels like to be in charge. His entire life zeroes in to this moment: him on his knees, Jeongin's hand in his hair, your fingers creating a perfect V and spreading yourself open.

You watch his face carefully, catch the exact moment that he realizes that Jeongin has already came inside of you, eyes widening and drool slipping out of the corner of his mouth when a perfect white pearl of cum pulses lazily out of you. 

"I'm going to die," he wheezes, because it's true, "You two are going to kill me."

Jeongin chuckles, the hand in his hair loosening to run through it soothingly. He scratches at the undercut gently, lowering himself down behind Hyunjin to hook his chin over his shoulder.

"That's not a safeword I'm hearing, hyung," he murmurs, and Hyunjin whimpers, "Are you okay with kissing?"

Hyunjin barely gets a breathy "yes" out before Jeongin's big hand is grabbing his chin and forcing his lips on Hyunjin's. Hyunjin moans into the kiss, and you watch with a quiet reverence as his cock twitches once between his legs, a glob of precum darkening his sweatpants at the tip. The angle looks awkward at best, but Hyunjin's fingers still clench against his thighs as Jeongin finds a way to deepen the kiss, tongue carving its way into his mouth. 

He feels your foot run up his thigh, the pressure of it moving higher and higher and stopping just short of where he needs touch the most. The whine the lack of stimulation pulls out of him is loud enough for it to break his kiss with Jeongin. A fragile trail of spit stretches between their mouths, only broken when you beckon Hyunjin towards you and he practically falls forward into your lap.

"Careful," you coo, greedy hands reaching down to pull him up to you, "I just want a taste, baby. Come here."

He settles into your lap, your hands pressing him down by the thighs when he hesitates to put his weight on you and then slipping under his shirt to guide it off. Jeongin takes it from you once you get it off of him, taking it to god knows where, but Hyunjin couldn't care less, because your mouth is on his, and it's heaven. Your kisses are different from Jeongin's - softer, but no less in control. While Jeongin uses sharp, brute force to keep his control, Hyunjin finds that your presence is more subtle. He listens to you because it feels natural to. The way you hold yourself, the way you say things so simply and kindly, makes the idea of not listening to you seem like an impossibility. Jeongin is in control because he gives you no choice, but your control feels like surrender. Hyunjin thinks that if he pushed it you might cave, might let him hold the idea of control in his hands, but he doesn't want to, not when you look at him like that for being good.

Hands sneak around his waist, dance down his stomach until one of them finds his cock through his sweatpants. The pressure is gentle at first, testing, a deep voice chuckling from behind him when his hips buck up desperately into the touch.

"Patience, baby," Jeongin says behind him, pressing a gentle kiss to Hyunjin's neck, "Hold still for me."

And Hyunjin does what he's told, because he's a good boy. He lets himself be sandwiched between the two of you, Jeongin's bare chest warm against his back as he toys with his cock, your mouth sweet and gentle against his as you explore every crevice of his mouth with your tongue. He feels unreal, his mind fuzzy and his body floating. He wonders if he's asleep, if his horny brain has conjured this fantasy up to torture him, but then your teeth sink into his lower lip, and the sting of pleasure-pain is so real and perfect that Hyunjin knows that this is reality.

Jeongin gets bored of playing with his cock through the sweatpants, grabbing Hyunjin by the hair and pulling him away from you, much to both of your chagrins. You let go of Hyunjin's waist as Jeongin guides him to stand again, though it's on shaky legs, and he has to lean back into the easy strength of the boy behind him to keep himself upright.

You slide off the bed to fall to your knees in front of Hyunjin, fingers coming to toy with the waistband of Hyunjin's sweatpants. The way you look up at him has Hyunjin shivering. Even on your knees, Hyunjin feels like he's at your mercy, glued to Jeongin, whose wandering hands have found a home just above the waist of Hyunjin's pants, teasing fingers pushing into the soft skin there just to hear the way Hyunjin hisses when they do.

"Can I take these off?" You ask him, looking up through your lashes, and shit, Hyunjin would have to be actually insane to say no.

He nods his head, struggling to swallow his spit as you frown up at him. You don't say anything else, but keep tracing the waistband. Hyunjin wonders if you're teasing, but then one of Jeongin's hands pulls back, just to land hard on his ass. Hyunjin stumbles forward a bit at the contact, your hands and Jeongin's other hand holding him steady.

"When we ask you a question, you're supposed to answer," Jeongin says, voice unamused, "Did you already forget? Touched your cock a little and you lost all your thoughts? I thought you were going to be good."

"I am, I am, 'm sorry, sorry Innie-yah," Hyunjin rushes out, an aroused shiver crawling up his spine at the way Jeongin was talking to him, "It won't happen again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It better not," Jeongin says, tone sharp, but he leans forward to press a soft kiss to Hyunjin's shoulder to balance it out, "Now answer the question."

"Yeah, yeah, you can- you can take 'em off," he slurs out, voice sounding fucked out even to him, "...please?"

"Good boy." Twin voices say, and there are fingers under his waistband tugging his pants and underwear down.

He almost feels embarrassed how hard he is right now, cock slapping against his abdomen and then hanging down slightly under the weight of his arousal. His underwear is soaked at the front, and you run a curious finger through his precum as you guide his boxers off his legs, making him flush an impossibly brighter pink when you bring the finger to your mouth to taste. You grin up at him toothily when he lets out a shocked sound, like tormenting Hyunjin was your favorite activity.

And maybe it was, because without any warning, you're leaning forward to wrap your lips around the head of Hyunjin's cock. Hyunjin practically shouts at the contact, but the sound is swallowed by a palm across his mouth from behind, firm and unyielding, even as Hyunjin's tongue darts out to taste it. Like salt and sweat and something that's distinctly Jeongin, and the taste makes Hyunjin moan into his hand.

"So loud," Jeongin chastises, though it holds no real bite to it when another little sound from Hyunjin's throat has him pressing his erection against the curve of Hyunjin's ass, "What are we going to do with you?"

"Hmm…" you hum around Hyunjin's cock, sending a spasm through him.

You pull off to speak, looking up at Jeongin over Hyunjin's shoulder, "I say we make him squirt once into my mouth and then once inside of you, yeah? I'm already stuffed full, only fair that you get a turn."

Jeongin rolls his eyes at you, which makes you laugh, but folds immediately anyways.

"You like being stuffed full," he complains as he reaches around to grasp at the base of Hyunjin's cock, guiding it back towards your mouth, "But shit, if you don't want this pretty cock inside of you, I'm not going to complain if I get to take it for a spin."

"He's got a good curve to him," you say as you surface for a gulp of air, "I think he'll fit inside of you just right."

Jeongin hums, cock still nestled between Hyunjin's ass cheeks, and Hyunjin feels it twitch when you dive back down around his cock. Shit, Hyunjin gets it, because you look so good down there, lips stretched to accommodate the size of Hyunjin's cock. He's not nearly as big as Jeongin, but he's still a pleasant weight in your mouth, the kind of size that will still have your jaw aching tomorrow. Your throat spasms around his tip when it bumps against the back of your throat, and Hyunjin feels fucking pathetic, because he thinks he already might come.

"When- where-" he manages to babble, voice caught between moaning and whimpering into Jeongin's hand.

His voice is muffled, but Jeongin can either hear him well enough or can tell from the way his body trembles in his hold what he needs, because he leans forward to tug at Hyunjin's earlobe with his teeth.

"Already? God, I should've known you were easy," Jeongin says, laughing when he feels the heat of Hyunjin's embarrassment in his skin, "You're supposed to be my hyung, Hyunjin-ah. You're such a bad role model, can barely last a few minutes when someone gets their mouth on you. How's that pathetic thing going to survive inside of me?"

The visual of it, the idea of being inside of Jeongin and feeling his entrance clench around him, is enough to have Hyunjin bucking backwards, trying to pull out of your mouth before he spills without permission. Jeongin doesn't let him, though, holds steady behind him and lets you keep ravaging Hyunjin with your mouth. He makes a frantic sound against Jeongin's hand, and Jeongin sighs dramatically, pulling his hand away.

"What." He says, feigning boredom.

"You have to stop, you have to- please, I can't hold it back, I can't!" Hyunjin wails, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, "I'm going to- I can't-"

Words start to fail him, helpless little babbles and sobs clawing out of his throat as you just suck harder, bobbing down as far as you can take him. He's writhing in Jeongin's strong hold, his one hand and body pressed into him from behind enough to hold him still. The salty taste of precum gushing out of him fills your mouth, but he's good, and no matter how much it hurts, he won't come - can't come - without your permission.

Jeongin lets the moment drag a little longer, holds Hyunjin steady for a breath more, before raising an eyebrow at you. You pull off of Hyunjin, much to his chagrin, and bring a hand up to rapidly jerk at his length. Hyunjin's mouth falls open into a little 'o', eyes rolling back at the sensation. You cock your head at Jeongin, a silent question, and his mouth presses into a line as he thinks.

"You think so?" he asks you, and you nod, "Okay. Whenever you're ready, then."

Hyunjin feels caught, stuck between two people who know and love each other so much that they don't even have to talk to communicate. It makes this moment feel even more sinful, like something he was never supposed to be part of, and if he were allowed to come, he would've exploded all over your face in that moment. 

His time's not far off, though, as you lean forward to press gentle kisses to the head of his cock as you jerk him off, "When you come, I want you to come all over my face. Can you do that for me, Jinnie? Cover my face in your cum, make me all messy and gross with it?"

He nods again, mouth useless and full of cotton. Jeongin's hand reels back again and Hyunjin knows it's coming, so he panics, choking on his own wails as he struggles to get the words out.

"I can, I can," he manages, and feels Jeongin's body freeze behind him before the hand comes down, "'m good, 'm so good for you, I can do that. Whatever-hngh-whatever you want, I can do it, promise."

"Good boy," Jeongin says, "I'm going to count you down, okay? When I get to one, you can come."

"Okay, okay, thank you thank you thank you-" Hyunjin sputters, the hand on his cock speeding up a bit.

He can't look at you, can't peer over his shoulder at Jeongin, because he knows it'll be enough to push him over. He squeezes his eyes shut instead, head falling back to lay uselessly on Jeongin's shoulder. 

"Five."

Your wrist twists at the head of his cock, right where his sensitive glans are, squeezing just a little tighter on the way up because you can tell he likes it.

"Four."

Jeongin's fingers press into his hips, hard enough that if Hyunjin was in the right mind he would be worried about the bruises that were surely going to form tomorrow, about how the hell the stylists are going to hide them when his one outfit has a perfect blue button-up that rides up too high.

"Three."

You lean forward to suck on the head of his cock once, tongue dipping into his slit to gather more of his precum on your tongue. 

"Two."

Your free hand comes to roll his balls in your palm, grinning slyly as the tears finally spill over and Hyunjin's cheeks are coated in salt.

"One and a half…"

"Jeongin." You chastise as Hyunjin sobs harder, but if Hyunjin had his eyes open, he'd see the cruel gleam in your eyes, too.

"One and a quarter…"

He's going to die. His cock is going to fall off in your hand and he's never going to be able to experience anything like this ever again. The two of you are going to ruin him for anyone else forever.

"One."

He thinks he screams. All he knows is that Jeongin presses forward into his back and brings his hands up, lightning fast, to tug at Hyunjin's nipples, and then he's gone. Floating in a sea of bliss, body completely weightless and useless as he comes and comes and comes. He might black out. He's not even sure. All he knows now is the feeling of release overtaking his body, and the solid weight of Jeongin's chest behind him.

When he comes down, he's still standing, but barely - he thinks the only thing keeping him up right now is the way Jeongin digs his hands into his hips, anchoring him to reality. Without them, Hyunjin thinks he would float off into space and never be found again. He thinks he could ride that high forever.

He lets himself open his eyes, and regrets it immediately, because oh, you're still there, on your knees, face coated in his release. It's so much too, more than Hyunjin thinks he's ever come in one go. Some of it is splattered across your eyebrow, dripping down onto your cheek, but most of it coats your cheeks and your lips. If he had been aware of anything around him when he came, he would've seen the way you stuck your tongue out and caught some of the release in your mouth, but that's okay. He'll taste it on you later when you kiss again, the way his taste clings to your tongue.

You grin up at him once you can tell he's slightly lucid, a hand coming up to rub gentle circles into his hipbone.

"Do you think you can get to the bed, baby?" you ask, gentle and genuinely soft, the softest the two of you have been since Hyunjin stumbled in on you.

"You still owe us one more, you know," Jeongin says, nipping at Hyunjin's neck absentmindedly, "I want one too."

"You're going to kill me," Hyunjin says again, voice raspy, "Oh my god. Oh my god."

He lets himself be guided to the bed anyways, watching the way you don't even consider moving to wipe his cum off of your face. You position yourself at the headboard, and Jeongin guides Hyunjin to lie between your legs, face right in front of your entrance.

"Watch."

It's the only warning Hyunjin gets before Jeongin is in his vision now too, both of you above him. He thinks you're going to kiss - and shit, he wouldn't complain about getting to watch the two of you makeout - but instead, he chokes on a moan when Jeongin leans forward and licks a stripe up your cheek.

He cleans you up carefully, reverent but also greedy. His tongue darts across everywhere where Hyunjin's cum is, filling his mouth with his salty taste. Hyunjin can't take his eyes off of the two of you. 

"Holy shit." He murmurs, mostly to himself, but it makes you giggle anyways. "Tickles," you giggle quietly, and laugh fuller when Jeongin retaliates by lightly biting your cheek, "Hey now, watch yourself."

Jeongin must send you a withering look, because you stick your tongue out at him. Hyunjin can't tell from his position, but he can tell that your face is now free of cum, Jeongin's tongue quick and efficient. Your face still feels gross - your boyfriend just slobbered all over you - but it was certainly worth it to watch the way that Hyunjin's eyes widened and traced the path Jeongin's mouth took across your skin. 

Jeongin leans forward to kiss you, obscuring your vision of Hyunjin, and you realise that he's collected some of Hyunjin's cum in his mouth, pressing it into yours as he kisses you. You make a content sound against his mouth, gladly swallowing more of Hyunjin's cum. 

"Thanks for sharing, Innie." you joke.

"You're welcome," Jeongin cheekily replies, then starts digging through the bedside drawer, "Now where the hell did the lube go?"

"You're the one that threw it across the room after you opened me up," you remind him, grinning when he sends you a side-eye, "Don't give me that look, it's true! But I packed extra anyway. There should be some in the front pocket of that bag over there."

He gives you a mock salute and trots on over to go digging through your bag. While he does, your focus drops back down to Hyunjin, who is still obediently splayed on his stomach between your legs. His eyes are unfocused and droopy, a tiredness after his first orgasm settling over him. You want to put him in a jar and keep him in your pocket when he looks like this, impossible cute for a guy who does body rolls and teases Stay with winks and kisses on-stage.

You bring a hand down to gently run through his hair instead (you can put him in your pocket another day), melting when he presses into your hand with a content little hum. He blinks up at you slowly, like a sleepy kitten, and you feel arousal pulse through you like a tidal wave. You want to ruin him. You want to watch the way his eyes roll back as he comes a second time, then a third, then a fourth, until he has absolutely nothing left to give.

"You're so cute," you coo, "I can't wait to watch Innie take you."

"It'll never happen if I can't find this stupid lube," Jeongin laments from across the room, contents of your bag now strewn across the floor, "Which pocket was it again?"

"The front one," you yell, then focus back down on Hyunjin, "Can you do something for me, sweet thing? You can say no."

"Of course," Hyunjin slurs, "Can do anything for you."

"That's our good boy," you say, tone dripping with fondness, "I'm feeling needy, after watching you feel so good from my mouth. Can you return the favor, baby? Make me feel good now?"

It's all technically a question, but Hyunjin knows better. Knows that you knew he would say yes, knows that your unbearable kindness is just a face for the real beast that lies waiting under your skin. The hand in his hair isn't just a comfort, it's a reminder that he's below you. That you can pet him like he's just a little animal below you, because he is. He's lesser than you, he's yours to use like a toy and not complain.

"Please." Hyunjin breathes out anyways, desperate for a taste of you.

You use the hand in his hair with a firmer grip now, pulling him towards your leaking entrance, Jeongin's cum drying around the rim. Hyunjin leans forward to lap at it anyways, moans loudly when he tastes it on his tongue.

The taste isn't great - the lube isn't flavored, and it has a sort of acridic taste to it - but Hyunjin could care less, because your thighs twitch around his head when his tongue dips inside of your entrance. All he can think about now is making you feel good. You watch in amusement as he rocks his hips forward into the bed, sure that he's not even aware that he's humping the mattress like an animal while he's eating you out.

He's sloppy about it, all spit and slick as he drools all over your entrance, but it still feels good. Hyunjin's head game was actually pretty notorious amongst the group (or, rather, Han Jisung got head from him one time and made sure it was everybody else's business), but you were surprised by how good it actually felt. 

It doesn't take much to drag you dangerously closer to your edge, especially when Hyunjin slips a finger in alongside his tongue. You would chastise him for doing that without asking, but your instructions in themself were vague - "make me feel good" really could mean anything - so you save your meanness for later, when it will be harder for Hyunjin to hold it together under both you and Jeongin.

Speaking of Jeongin, your idiot boyfriend is still fumbling around for lube, cursing and muttering to himself. Funny that this man thought he would be a priest, you muse, because now he's walking around buckass naked looking for a bottle of lube so that his friend can fuck him up the ass.

"Am I doing good?" Hyunjin pants out, looking up at you with glossy eyes, "Am I making you feel good?"

"Making me feel so good," you moan out, "Keep that mouth on me and make me come, yeah? Let me use that perfect face of yours, pretty boy, make you just as dirty as me."

You look past Hyunjin, and let the hazy pull of pleasure part your mouth into a tempting little 'o' just as Jeongin looks up to say something to you. Your tongue darts out across your lips, and you let your head go heavy, tilting it to bare your neck to him. 

Whatever Jeongin was going to say dies on his tongue. You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, pupils expanding as he zeroes in on you. His eyes flick down - to your lips, then to the length of your neck, glistening with sweat in the low light, then down to where Hyunjin's head is bobbing, making out with your entrance - and his cock drips a fat glob of precum onto the floor. He's frozen in place, fingers twitching at his side like he wants to reach for his cock, but knows that he shouldn't if he doesn't want to come.

"Fuck." He breathes, so quiet you almost miss it.

You just give him the same look he gave you earlier at the venue - hooded predatory eyes, like you're going to eat him whole - and he scrambles to come join the two of you on the bed, bottle of lube clutched but forgotten in his hand.

He all of jumps you when he gets on the bed, sliding next to you and burying his face in the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. Unlike him, you don't have any rules or contracts protecting you from marks, so he doesn't even hesitate to sink his teeth into your skin, making you hiss. His tongue licks a stripe up your neck, tasting your sweat on his tongue, and he groans at the taste, sucking over your pulse point in a way that's surely going to leave a mark.

Hyunjin hasn't slowed down a bit since the bed dipped with new weight. If anything, he goes faster now, motivated by the sight above him. He feels wild, completely out-of-body, and it just makes him want to give the two of you more. Every little piece of him, right here in this bed, until there's nothing left of him but pleasure. 

"I'm going to come, and you're-fuck!Y-you're gonna take all of it, 'kay?" you tell Hyunjin, voice wobbling as your oncoming orgasm curls in your stomach, "Be good and make me come, let me cover your face-shit, fuck, I'm-"

Your voice breaks as your back arches, hips jolting up from the bed as your release coats Hyunjin's face. It's powerful enough that some of it gets in his hair, and you'd apologize if he didn't give you the most dazed, pleasure-filled gaze from between your legs. His tongue lolls out, pretty and pink, and as the taste of you hits his tongue he moans, pitchy and needy.

It's all too much and not enough. Hyunjin feels so greedy, leaning back in to lick at you again, to clean up the mess that ended up on your thighs and not on him. He needs it so bad that he doesn't hear you hiss in oversensitivity and tell him to stop, doesn't hear the cruel way that Jeongin mocks his desperation, doesn't hear anything until there's a strong hand in his hair that's yanking him back. He cries out, eyes flying open (when did they close?) to pout up at the two of you, freezing when he sees the stern looks on your faces.

"Stupid hyung, so fucking needy that he can't listen anymore," Jeongin hisses, hand tugging hard on his hair again just to watch the way that tears fill his waterline, "Did you even hear us? No? Words, pervert hyung, or we'll leave you here like this, all desperate, to hump a pillow like a dog."

It's an empty threat - Jeongin's so hard that his dick might actually explode if he doesn't get in on the action soon - but it's enough to have Hyunjin crying again, lip trembling as he pleads up at you both.

"Please, I'm sorry, hyung's sorry, Innie, Innie-yah-" his eyes flicker over to you too, sniffling as he stutters your name and cries up at you both, "Please? I didn't mean to not listen, I didn't mean to, I'm good, I can be-hic!-can be so good for you, please?"

"Come sit up here," you say, voice flat as you pat your lap, "Back to my chest. Don't even think about touching me or yourself."

He nods, clambering up carefully as Jeongin slips in front of the two of you. You bring your legs to your chest, back against the headboard, and leave just enough room between your legs for Hyunjin to slot himself. Your one hand comes to squeeze at his shoulder, and when he tries to tilt his head back to look at you, your other hand comes up to grip his jaw cruelly between your fingers, snapping his head back forward.

He feels your breath, hot on his ear, as you lean forward to speak. "Watch."

He doesn't understand, not right away, until Jeongin pops the bottle of lube open and generously coats three of his fingers. And then Jeongin rolls over and presents himself to both of you, ass high in the air and face in the sheets as he brings his index finger around to tease his winking hole.

Hyunjin's mouth feels dry as he watches Jeongin, his little baby maknae, press a slim finger inside of himself and let out a dreamy sigh at the feeling. When did Jeongin get so hot? Well. Hyunjin's known Jeongin's hot for a while, but he hadn't ever pictured just how good he would look facedown on the mattress, back arching as he fucks himself with his fingers. His muscles ripple as he fucks into himself, and Hyunjin wants to trace the ridge of each one with his tongue.

Hyunjin doesn't even realize he's leaning forward, desperate to see the show closer, until the hand that was holding his jaw drops to his neck and tugs him backwards. You don't put any pressure on his neck - choking's not the kind of thing you test on someone whose limits you don't know, especially when you can't see their face - but the simple act of your hand around his throat makes Hyunjin go entirely pliant in your hold. You file that fact away for later as you feel his pulse jackrabbit under your fingers, leaning forward to tug just a little harshly at his earlobe with your teeth. 

"He looks so good like that, doesn't he?" you ask, "Spread open like a whore. Bet you just want to stick that pathetic little thing in him, don't you? Hump him like a dog until you breed him full?"

Jeongin slips in a second fingers just as Hyunjin's eyes roll into his skull and he moans, the image of fucking into Jeongin, bending over him and just letting instinct taking over. He wonders what kinds of sounds he could punch out of Jeongin. If Jeongin would even make a sound, or if he would just lay there, acting uninterested while Hyunjin lost his mind inside of his tight heat. Would he tell him he was good? Would he tell Hyunjin he was dirty?

A third finger joins the other two as Hyunjin squirms in your grasp, cock leaking and red between his legs. He needs something, anything, to touch his cock, so hard now that it hurts. But you just laugh in his ear, eyes still latched on to Jeongin, who's scissoring his fingers apart in a way that makes his hole make a nasty squelch! every time it tries to close around the intrusion. Hyunjin wants to eat him out too, wants to see what kinds of sounds Jeongin makes when his tongue is inside of him, wants to feel Jeongin's thighs try to crush Hyunjin's head between them.

"God, are you drooling? Jinnie, you're so cute," you coo from behind him, and Hyunjin jolts as your hand on his shoulder slides up to wipe at a line of spit on his chin, "Need something in that mouth of yours? I know, it's hard for a stupid thing like you to keep your mouth closed when Jeongin looks that good in front of you, isn't it?"

He whimpers, thighs pressing together to try and alleviate the ache in his cock. It doesn't work, but two of your fingers come to press against his lips, and the world gets a little hazier as he sucks on them dumbly. It's messy, and he can feel even more spit smearing across his chin as he drools all over your fingers, but the weight of your fingers in his mouth has settled the restless need for anything, his squirming at a minimum not. He tenses when Jeongin curls his fingers to press into his prostate and lets out a pretty moan, but he doesn't whine, doesn't try and pull from your grip to get to Jeongin.

"Do you think you're ready, Yennie?" you ask, rolling Hyunjin's tongue between your fingers as you question him, "I know Jinnie is. You should see his cock right now, it's a mess."

Jeongin slips his fingers out of himself, humming unhappily at how empty he feels as he gets up on his knees to face the two of you. You slip your fingers out of Hyunjin's mouth as he moves. His hair is a mess, silver spikes standing straight up on one side from how his cheek was smushed into the sheets, and it's the cutest thing you've ever seen. Even as he clambers over Hyunjin, straddling his thighs and rutting their cocks together once, twice, just to pull a reaction from the man below him, you still can't help but think that your Jeongin just looks so adorable.

You tell him so, and he huffs.

"You're supposed to say handsome or hot."

"They don't have to mutually exclusive," you argue, "You can be adorable and devilishly handsome-"

"That's not how that works at all-"

"It absolutely is-"

"Jeongin, you're insanely hot!" Hyunjin pipes in, interrupting both of you, "Now can we please get on with it?? I need…need you. Please?"

It was a bit of a bratty move, the kind of thing the two of you should probably punish him for, but he gives Jeongin the saddest, wettest puppy dog eyes he's ever seen and Jeongin's sending you a look that says "I'm going to fold like a pathetic loser." 

You sigh, but give him a slight nod, fine with that for now. For the most part, Hyunjin's been good anyways. It's not like you haven't already tortured him enough. Making him just watch Jeongin get off was torture for you, too, who would've loved to see Hyunjin's longer fingers stretch your boyfriend open. Maybe another time, you think, watching with interest as Jeongin grabs the base of Hyunjin's cock and aligns it with his entrance. Far more important things were going on right in front of your eyes.

"I'm going to ride you now," Jeongin informs Hyunjin, staring down at him through slitted eyes, "And you're going to sit there and take it. You try to fuck up into me and I stop and you get to watch while I get myself off. Am I clear?"

Before Hyunjin can answer, you butt in too, voice smooth and even, "And don't even think about coming without permission. You don't come until one of us explicitly tells you to, got it?"

"Got it," Hyunjin murmurs, eyes transfixed on where Jeongin rubs the tip of his cock over his entrance, "I'll be good for you. For both of you."

"Good boy." Jeongin croons.

That's the closest to a warning that either of you get that Jeongin is going to move, dropping down until he's already taken all of Hyunjin inside of him. Hyunjin's cock isn't small by any means - it sits right around average, with an upwards curve that you think will press into Jeongin's prostate just right - so you gasp in surprise when Jeongin sinks all the way down in one clean movement. Jeongin's mouth falls open into a silent scream and his back bows, his three fingers not enough to have prepared him to take Hyunjin that easily. Sweat builds at his hairline right away as he pants, head lolling forward as he holds himself there for a moment, trying to get used to Hyunjin's size.

Hyunjin isn't faring much better, mouth uselessly parted and making gargled sounds in his throat. He chokes through a moan when Jeongin clenches around him, still not moving, and you chuckle meanly behind him, the movement rippling through him.

"He hasn't even moved yet," you remind him, fingers dancing around his sides to come knead at fat above his hips, "How are you going to survive when he really starts riding you?"

He doesn't know. Hell, Hyunjin doesn't know how he's survived anything the two of you have done tonight. Every brush of your fingers, every heady look Jeongin has given him has pushed him closer and closer to insanity, and to the sureness that this must just be a crazy wet dream.

Hyunjin hopes he doesn't wake up.

He hopes this especially so when Jeongin finally does start to ride him, albeit slowly. He circles his hips carefully, a motion that has Hyunjin's cock stirring up his insides, before slowly raising himself up, until only the tip of Hyunjin's cock is inside of him. He clenches around the head of it, grinning when Hyunjin whimpers at the feeling, then drops down quickly.

This continues for a while - an endless bout of teasing, pleasurable torture, the slow glide up enough to keep Hyunjin from getting anywhere near the edge but still so tight that he was throbbing hard inside of Jeongin - until Hyunjin's crying again. Jeongin leans forward to lap at his tears, mixing them with his spit as his tongue swipes across Hyunjin's cheeks. It makes the angle of Hyunjin's cock inside of him change, which just makes Hyunjin sob harder. 

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it hurts so good. Your hands slide up his side slowly, until they land on his chest, kneading the flesh there as Jeongin presses sloppy kisses to his cheeks instead now, still slowly riding him. Hyunjin's fingers twitch at his side, useless, caught between the desire to reach out and touch and the desire to be good.

He begs - whines and whimpers of your names mixed with "please" over and over and over - but he's not even sure what for. For more? For less? For the two of you to give him everything? For you to take it away? He's not sure, just sure that he's babbling and pleading, hiccuping little sobs torn out between sounds.

His voice gets louder when Jeongin finally gets bored of the slow ride, when playing with Hyunjin wasn't enough to satisfy the heat curling in his own belly. Hyunjin drools as he watches Jeongin's own cock bounce against his stomach, leaking and so big. Hyunjin clenches around nothing, cock twitching, at the idea of taking Jeongin inside of him. He's not even sure he could fit something like that inside of him, but he'd be damned if he didn't try if he was given the chance.

"Hey, I'm here too, you know," you say from behind him, snapping Hyunjin out of his fantasies, "Does it feel good? Is Jeonginnie making his hyung feel good?"

"Yeah, yeah, it feels good," Hyunjin slurs, words thick with arousal, "Innie's makin' me feel-hngh-feel so good. Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

Jeongin groans as Hyunjin babbles up at him tearily, mouth open as he moans between words. The room is so hot, the air thick with sweat and sex and need, and you can tell Jeongin's getting close. You open your mouth to say something-

Knock knock knock!

The sound is quickly followed by Jeongin's phone buzzing twice from the desk - the only people who can push through his do not disturb his hyungs and you - and you laugh lowly behind Hyunjin as Jeongin rolls his eyes, hips slowing down again. The knocking comes from the wall across the way from the bed, where you know Chan and Changbin's room is. Normally, no one is the wiser to what the two of you are getting up to, masters of sneaking around the others at this point (or being just quiet enough that they play the noises off as something else), but with one (1) Hwang Hyunjin pressed between the two of you, you have a new factor to worry about. 

You open your mouth to say something, to tell him to be good and quiet down, but Jeongin's faster and knows something you don't, having felt the way Hyunjin's cock jolted inside of him at the sound on the wall.

"You like that they can hear you, don't you, hyung?" he says, followed by his hips picking up speed again, "Like that Channie-hyung and Changbin-hyung know just how much of a slut you're being for us."

Another loud keen pulls out of Hyunjin's mouth, to which he slaps a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the sound.

"We can't have that," you tell him, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand back down to the sheets, "Sing for us, pretty boy. Put on a show for Channie and Binnie, we know you want to."

When Hyunjin lets out a wet little "no!" at your statement, Jeongin slows down again, grabbing Hyunjin's chin so he has to look up at him.

"Color, hyung?" Jeongin says, sitting fully still on Hyunjin's lap now as he studies his face.

From behind, you can see through his hair the way that the tips of Hyunjin's ears go bright red, and can feel the way he swallows thickly against you. He shivers and takes just a little too long to answer, so you press again.

"Baby, we can't continue if you don't give us your color," you tell him softly, the softest your voice has been with him in a while, "We need to know if you're uncomfortable. If you want to stop-"

"No, please!" Hyunjin blurts out, wide eyes looking up at Jeongin frantically, "I'm…I'm green, green, please don't stop!"

You can tell he's embarrassed by his answer by the way that Jeongin grins down at him, clearly amused by his answer. Hyunjin tries to shrink backwards, but you're there behind him, and there's nowhere for him to escape to. His face is flushed a brilliant scarlet, and his head has fallen backwards onto your shoulder so he can stare up at the ceiling at not at either of you. He's so embarrassed he thinks he could cry. He thinks he probably will.

"You have such a pretty voice on stage," you murmur softly, mouthing lightly at his neck, careful not to bite down or leave any marks, "Can you sing for us now?"

"And for the hyungs on the other side of the wall," Jeongin reminds him, hips finding an even faster pace than before that punches a few moans out of him, too, "Give them a show."

It's the last coherent thing he says before he starts to ride Hyunjin impossibly fast, aiming to pull the most obscene sounds he can out of the man. You would almost laugh at the concentration on Jeongin's face if Hyunjin wasn't absolutely losing it in your lap. Broken little moans, pitchy sounds that they can likely hear on the other side of the wall, wails that they certainly can. His hand flails outwards, needing something to ground him, and you grab his hand, lacing your fingers through his. The angle is awkward, but he squeezes you like a lifeline anyways, babbling a few "thank you"s to you before Jeongin rolls his hips just right and he loses his ability to form coherent words again.

He tilts his head, eyes hazy, and fixes you with a needy look. There's tear tracks staining his flushed cheeks, drool drying to his chin, and spit coating his lips like gloss. You don't know what he's asking for, can't tell, when the only sounds he can manage to get out are sobs and moans, and the sobbing gets louder as he looks up at you pleadingly.

"Kiss him," Jeongin demands, voice thin as he tries to steady it while he rides, "He's earned a reward, duh-don't you think-kuh!"

He mumbles out a little "shit" as he watches you do just as he asks, tilting your head down to meet Hyunjin's lips. It's messy, Hyunjin's mouth permanently open as Jeongin clenches around him, using Hyunjin for his own pleasure. It's all spit and clacking teeth and broad sweeps of the tongue, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You try to swallow some of his sounds, but even muffled by the press of your lips, Hyunjin is loud. There's no denying what's happening in here anymore, and you won't be able to look Chan or Changbin in the eye for the next few days after this, but it's worth it when you pull away and see your boyfriend, chest glistening with sweat, fucked out on his bandmate's cock.

You can tell Jeongin's trying to act unaffected, but it's written all over his face just how good it feels. His eyelids flutter every time he angles his hips down just right and presses Hyunjin's cock against his prostate, and his cock is leaking so much that there's a puddle of precum forming on Hyunjin's stomach, dripping down onto the sheets. His arms shake as he holds himself up, leaning back to get a better angle. He's chasing his own pleasure now, pent up from being denied his second orgasm for so long, silver bangs glued to his forehead with sweat and lip bitten raw from trying to hold back the sounds that threaten to spill out of his mouth. 

"I-I'm going to-hngh-gonna come on this fucking cock, and w-when I do, you can-ahn!-you can cuh-come," Jeongin grits out, words hard when your prostate is being nailed with every thrust, "G-got it, slut?"

"Got it got it, I got it," Hyunjin says, eyes rolled back into his head as Jeongin focuses on making himself come, "Thank you Innie-yah, thank you, feels so good, feels so-"

He cries out and loses track of his sentence, too far gone to care to try and remember what he was trying to say. You wonder if he even knew he was speaking at all, so fucked out that you think this second orgasm really might kill him like he said it would.

"Yeah? You gonna fill him up?" you say, locking eyes with Jeongin as you speak, "Make him nice and full, fill up your dongsaeng until it takes? Until it's leaking out of him?"

Both of them moan in unison at that, Jeongin trying to glare at you for riling him up further, but a glare doesn't quite land when you're moaning from the cock in your ass and frantically chasing your orgasm. You can tell they're both close, and you open your mouth to tease further, but-

Knock knock knock!

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Two things happen at once - Jeongin's back arches and he comes all over Hyunjin, covering his chest and stomach with his release, and Hyunjin screams, the loudest sound he's made all night.

"Call out for them as you come," you say, knowing Jeongin gets overstimulated fast and Hyunjin needs to come now, "Call out for your hyungs as you come."

Hyunjin cries out your name in surprise, wide eyes straining to blink up at you, but your hand finds his throat again - no pressure, just there - and he has no choice but to follow your orders.

"Channie-hyung, Bin-hyung, hyung hyung hyung-"

And then he's coming too, hips finally bucking off the bed once, twice, as he fills Jeongin up. Both you and Jeongin watch him with gaping mouths as he arches and comes. It feels like you've got an angel pinned between you, Hyunjin looking ethereal under the low lights with his kiss-swollen lips parted and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Once he rides out his high he fully collapses back into you, taking deep, heaving breaths through his mouth. Jeongin slides off of his cock carefully, both of them hissing from sensitivity, and you snort as Jeongin wobbles off to the bathroom on unsteady legs. He flips you off over his shoulder, ears pink, and you just giggle into Hyunjin's hair.

"What's so funny?" Hyunjin slurs, clearly still out of it, head finding your shoulder again so he can peer at you through hazy eyes.

"Nothing, baby," you coo, pressing a kiss to Hyunjin's forehead, "How are you feeling?"

He thinks for a moment, blinking up at you emptily, then hums, "Good. 'nd tired. Don't wan' to ever move again."

You laugh at that, nodding, "Me neither, baby. We can let Jeongin do all the work, hmm?"

Jeongin comes back in with a damp washcloth as you say that, rolling his eyes, "I was the one with a cock in my ass a few seconds ago, but whatever. That's fine, make me do all the work."

He wipes Hyunjin off carefully, reverently, gently scrubbing at the remains of your dried release that still clings to his face. Hyunjin makes a sleepy, content sound once he's clean, and once Jeongin wipes himself off, you motion for him to switch places with you.

"I need to clean off, too," you murmur and Jeongin nods, a sleepiness settling in his bones now, too, "He can stay tonight, but we'll have to wake up early then."

"Hyung already knows what we were up to," Jeongin whines, but concedes anyways, "...I'll set an alarm."

"Set three, you and Hyunjin are both snoozers," you call over your shoulder, and he grumbles, settling onto the bed with Hyunjin and his phone in his hand, "Or maybe five. Thanks, jagiya!"

You catch a glance of yourself in the bathroom mirror and a very dishevelled you blinks back. There's an imprint of teeth on your shoulder that are already blooming a brilliant red, and marks littered across your body that are varying shades of purples and reds. You press into the one over your pulse point and hiss quietly. That one will certainly not be easy to cover, and you're sure the two of you are going to get a lot of shit tomorrow from the rest of the band. Usually, Jeongin keeps it below the collar ("so the hyungs don't think I'm a slut", in his words), but you think that having Hyunjin here tonight made him just a little more feral.

You wash your face and brush your teeth, stretching as you stroll back into the room. 

You smile softly at the sight in front of you - Hyunjin, curled into Jeongin's chest, fast asleep. A glance up at your boyfriend's face shows that he's already conked out too, mouth open and head tilted back. You press a kiss to his forehead and click off the lamp, slipping into the sheets with them. You'll worry about how awkward things are going to be in the morning. For now, you let the sweet lull of sleep overtake you, too, curled up next to your boyfriend and his bandmate. You fall asleep to the quiet sounds of their snoring, echoing in the little hotel room.

i hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ < ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ > ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴡᴏ

"sung — please, i really, really have to —"

"alright." he leans in closer, his lips brushing yours, "i didn't keep you in here to make you cum on my fingers anyway."

he eases them out of you and you sigh in relief, but he doesn't step back. he kicks your towels into a corner — long forgotten on the floor, still wet from your earlier shower — and grabs your hips. he turns you and bends you over the sink in one fluid motion. your cheek meets the cold surface and you gasp when his hand fists into your hair, keeping you still, exactly where he wants you.

"jisung, wait — i have to pee," you finally manage to blurt out. it's embarrassing how your pitch rises on the word, and you feel your face grow hot.

he laughs. "that's not my problem."

"no, i'm serious."

"so am i," he says, lining up the head of his cock with your entrance. "you know what you have to say if you really want me to stop. but you don't want that, do you?"

you whimper. not at his words, but because he's pushing inside in one long, swift stroke that leaves no room for you to breathe.

"fuck," he groans against your shoulder, "still so tight. it's like this pussy never learns how to take me properly."

your hands are gripping the sink, scrambling for purchase while your body struggles between pleasure and the unbearable pressure. everything inside you is too full, too stretched, too much.

"jisung, i can't hold it, i'm gonna…"

he tightens his grip and tugs your head back, desperate to hear every plea.

"good."

then he starts moving with slow, deep strokes. the kind that push you right to the edge, aimed straight at that spot that has you clench around him.

"you feel that? how full you are? how bad you need to let go?"

you whimper again, mumbling i can'ts between the jostle of your body against the basin.

"you can." his hand slides down your stomach, pressing low. "and you're gonna make a mess either way, so why don't you stop fighting it? c'mon baby. just piss on it."

your whole body feels taut, stretched too thin and begging for release. still you're holding back; it's impossible to give in. too filthy. you've never thought about it before — the possibility of it, the instinctual need to just let go — but with every stroke of jisung's cock the pressure builds. it pushes you dangerously close towards the edge, a dull pain throbbing in your core and radiating outwards until all you feel is tension.

he must feel how close you are, the fluttering of your walls around him and the firm swell of your tummy underneath his fingertips.

"baby," he kisses your nape, "just let go. let go for me."

he pulls out almost all the way, then drives his hips forward — so deep you can't do anything but listen to him. everything inside you tightens and unravels at once, your body crying out in release.

it takes a second before you feel it. the warmth of it, the wetness, the rumble of jisung's groans against your back when the mess hits his thighs.

"fuck," he babbles, "fuck, baby, you're soaking me — oh my god —"

you've never felt this kind of pleasure before. this kind of relief. it keeps pulsing in sharp bursts every time he thrusts into you. you feel it run down your legs and onto the floor. it's humiliating; the sound of jisung's thighs hitting the back of yours so slick and wet it makes your sore cunt ache for more.

jisung grabs your hips to hold you in place, locks his eyes on the mess in front of him. "holy fuck," he moans, awestruck, "you're still going — baby, shit, that's so hot —"

he's losing himself in it, voice breaking off into a string of stuttering moans as he buries himself deeper. hot, messy ropes of cum paint your pussy and he collapses against your back.

for a moment your whole world shrinks to nothing but the sound of your heavy breaths synchronizing as the pleasure slowly fades.

"….holy shit," jisung sighs again.

"holy shit."

he lifts his head, peppering a trail of kisses down your spine. "next time," he whispers into your skin, "you're doing that on my tongue."

he should be asleep, he knows that.

jisung’s muscles ache like he’s ran a marathon—not a horrible analogy when taking into consideration the ungodly amount of dashing across the stage he did tonight. he always over does it, but he can never seem to do any less. he likes the ache, the way his right hand twitches slightly from how tight he has to hold his mic. likes hearing his beats blasting through his in ears. but what does he like more than anything?

his audience.

the cheering, the familiar syllables of his name echoing through stadiums, the way the fans fucking scream.

he really can’t help it, the way it seeps into his veins and pushes him throughout the rest of their stage. jesus christ, it just feels so fucking good. it’s moments like that when he gets it, gets why people like being in the spotlight.

jisung’s never usually one to be fully confident in his body—cheeks to big, never quite lean like felix, never enough muscle to rival changbin—but hearing the cheers and the chants make him feel like someone else. it leaves him bouncing off the walls with unbridled charisma and an ego bigger than chans (if that’s even possible).

and once the group takes their leave from the stage, ushered into the green room by staff? that shit sticks with him for hours.

so much so that he can reminisce on it with ease later in the solitude of his hotel room, hand shoved down the front of his boxers as his wrists burns with that same ache the rest of his body shares. he’s came once already, but that just serves to make the glide easier, the feeling richer with each stroke of his palm. his nerves are alight, never having fully cooled after the performance he’d given.

if only stay knew… what would they say? would the label him a freak? some stupid horny perv who gets off under what he can only describe unconditional praise?

his hips buck into his hands at the same time a moan falls half choked from his plush lips.

fuck, he’s gonna come again. jisung lets his grip tighten around the base of his dick in semi-desperate attempt to stall the inevitable.

he can still hear it, the way they’d screamed when he’d teased the barest peak of his abdomen, flashing that pretty tattoo on display before letting his shirt fall back into place. he can hear it, and he’s so close, so fucking close to—

riiiing

jisung’s entire body locks up, frozen.

riiiing

who in the hell is calling him at this hour??

riiiing

with the hand not currently painted white and sticky with the aftermath of his previous release, jisung reaches a shaky hand out to where his phone is buzzing on the nightstand.

riiiing

…..

your name slips so easily off his tongue when he sees it lighting up his screen. something about the familiarity of it sends his hips stuttering into the tight fist of his hand.

he should press that little red button at the bottom of his screen, or at the very least toss his phone to some forgotten place on the mattress and let it ring out. it’s late anyways, you’d just take it as him being asleep and carry on with your evening. his fingers twitch around his cock as his thumb hovers over the ‘accept’ button.

bottom lip caught between his teeth, jisung’s already slush of a brain seems to melt even more. honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if his brain slowly started seeping out of his ears, leaving him nothing but a stupid horny mess with no purpose other than—

“holy shit, sungie! do you even *know* how good of a performer you are?!”

jisung blinks once, twice. his thumb must’ve slipped. fuck. he should just end the call now and talk his way out of this when he doesn’t actively have his hand down his pants, but somehow the words “…ya think so?” is tumbling out of his mouth instead.

the question is small, timid almost. shy in a way that doesn’t at all match his current predicament. people on the internet did always mention how striking his duality was, maybe they were right.

he can vaguely make out what sounds like a scoff on your end of the line before you’re hoping back into your own flavor of praise.

“what the fuck do you mean ‘do you think so’? we’ve talked about the whole fishing for compliments thing, ji,” a moment of silence. jisung swallows so hard it feels like his throat is constricting. “…if i wasn’t so awestruck i would hang up on you and toss my compliments at the wall instead. you’re lucky you’re performance was so good, because seriously, ji, how the fuck do you even do that?”

your words go on and on, but they all started fading together whenever his hand started its drag again, the movement being slower now, more tentative. your voice is a beautiful drone in the background of his pleasure, not dissimilar to how the crowd had buzzed during his rap chorus. he manages to pick up a few things though, it’s so fucking hot when you get really in the moment and watching move on stage like that is actually insane, ji are some of his favorites.

he offers no response to your praise, to preoccupied with digging his thumb into the head of his cock and letting out a breathy sound he prays passes as a hum of acknowledgement.

the next time he tunes into your awe filled ramblings, he almost regrets it.

“you really are incredible, jisung. my little rockstar.”

where as everything previous had taken the path to his head, inflating his ego to no bounds, that comment went straight to his dick. he can’t help it this time, the whiny moan that forces it’s way from his throat as his hips force themselves forward into his fist. he doesn’t even think about it, what little filter remained being thrown to god knows were as he chases his peak.

rockstar. my rockstar.

he was so busy letting that name spin in his head like a broken record that he couldn’t even be bothered to register the way your voice had trailed off, letting his little gasps and shattered breaths echo on the otherwise quite line without a second thought.

“…jisung?”

oh. oh fuck.

jisung scrambles for his phone with his free hand, the device long having been laid beside his pillow so the sweet tune of your voice could feed straight into his ear.

“fuck. sorry about that- i, uh, stubbed my toe.” if his other hand hadn’t been pumping down his length with reckless abandon, he’d have half the mind to slap himself upside the head. “i’m gonna like, go now. bye!” he hangs up before you can get another word in.

and that’s how he reaches his second release of the night—head tilted back into the pillows with his phone clutched in one hand and his dick in the other, thumb and forefinger pinching hard under the head as he spills yet another load into his boxers.

oh, and your name on his lips, of course.

because he’s yours after all, isn’t he? you’d said it yourself in full confidence. he’s your little rockstar, so it only feels right to sing a sweet call of your name as he simmers in pleasure and fading adrenaline.

[a/n 2]: are we so back or what??!? what do we think??? im assuming my writing will get better over time, cuz it’s a muscle in my brain that i havent worked in a good long while, but i’m sure it’ll get better guys trust 🙏🙏 i really do hope you enjoyed, and to my darling 🪼 anon: i hope you enjoyed my attempt to bringing your request to life :D

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound barely made it through the steady spray of water, but Jisung heard it anyway, faint beneath the rush, beneath the dull ringing still left in his ears from the concert.

His hands stilled in his hair, shampoo slipping slowly down the side of his neck as he listened.

Nothing.

Nothing?

He frowned, blinking water out of his lashes, already halfconvinced it had been the pipes, maybe the room settling, or his brain finally giving out… it was past midnight, and he had barely made it through the hotel room door before peeling himself out of his stage clothes and stepping under the hottest water he could stand.

Then it came again.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered, even though whoever was on the other side definitely couldn’t hear him. “Just a sec…”

He rinsed the rest of the shampoo from his hair in a hurry, dragging his fingers through it until the water ran clear, then reached blindly for the handle and turned the shower off.  

He frowned as he pulled a towel from the rack, dragging it over his hair first before wrapping it around his waist, still trying to make sense of who the hell would be at his door this late.

It couldn’t be room service, at least not yet. He had ordered as soon as he got back from the arena, barely listening while one of the staff members warned him it would take at least an hour because half the team had apparently had the same idea. And that had been, what, thirty minutes ago? Maybe less.

And it didn’t make much sense for it to be one of the members either. None of them had looked capable of doing anything other than showering and collapsing by the time they made it upstairs, all of them dragging themselves down the hall with the same dead look in their eyes, already dreaming about food, beds, and whatever pathetic handful of hours they could steal before morning.

He dried himself quickly, just enough to stop water from dripping all over the carpet, then pulled one of the white hotel robes over his shoulders and tied it loose at the waist. His bare feet made no sound as he stepped out into the bedroom and crossed toward the door, leaning in to look through the peephole.

His manager stood on the other side, phone pressed to one ear, a black gift box tucked casually against his side, and Jisung stayed there with one hand braced against the door, staring at the distorted shape of him through the glass as if it would start making sense if he looked at it long enough.

It didn’t.

He blinked, shook his head a little, then opened the door just enough to peek out, one hand staying at his chest to keep the robe closed against his damp skin.

“Hyung?” he asked, concern finding its way into his voice “Is everything okay?”

His manager looked up from the call, took in the confused crease between Jisung’s brows, and gave him a small nod that was probably meant to calm him down, even though nothing about the situation was calming.

“Yeah,” he grumbled into the phone, already sounding like he regretted every choice that had led him there. “I’m handing it over now.”

Jisung’s eyes dropped to the box.

His manager lifted one finger when Jisung opened his mouth, asking for patience he very clearly did not have, and turned his attention back to whoever was on the other end. Jisung could not hear much over the distance between them, only the faint rush of a voice coming through too fast and too bright for that time of night, but he saw the exact moment whatever was said made his manager close his eyes and breathe out through his nose.

“No,” he stated flatly. “I’m not saying that.”

The voice kept going…

“I’m also not saying that,” he added, pulling the phone slightly away from his ear like the distance might make the conversation end faster. “You can tell him yourself.”

Jisung blinked.

“Yeah, no,” He added already lowering the phone. “I’m not getting involved in this. Goodnight.”

He ended the call before the person on the other end could argue, slipped it into his pocket, and held the box out.

“This got delivered for you.”

Jisung’s eyes fell to the matte black packaging before lifting slowly back to his manager’s face. “For me?”

“Mhm.”

He took it carefully, fingers closing around the smooth edges while he searched the surface for a label, a name, anything that might explain it, but there was nothing except the ribbon tied neatly across the top.

His frown deepened. “Is that even allowed?”

His manager let out a quiet laugh. “Normally? No.”

“What is it?”

“I have no idea.”

“You didn’t check?”

“I don’t usually open other people’s presents, Jisung.”

His mouth parted, ready to argue, then closed again because, fine, technically that made sense, which was annoying…

“Well…” He looked down at the box again, thumb brushing absently over the ribbon. “Who sent it?”

His manager stared at him long enough for Jisung to understand that he absolutely knew and had absolutely no intention of making that his problem.

“As I said,” he told him, already stepping back from the door, “I’m not getting involved in this.”

“Hyung.”

“No.”

“You can’t just give me a suspicious box and leave.”

“I can, actually.” He lifted one hand in a lazy goodbye, already turning down the hallway. “I’m going to bed.”

“But…”

“Goodnight, Han.”

“Thanks?” he mumbled though the words barely made it past the doorway.

He nudged the door shut with his foot, the lock clicking softly back into place, and turned the box over in his hands once, then again, his frown deepening when he found nothing on the outside except the smooth matte packaging.

There weren’t many people who knew where he was staying tonight, not outside the team, anyway, and they were already half-dead somewhere down the hallway, sleeping or trying really hard to.

Fewer still could get a package anywhere near his room without someone checking it, questioning it, clearing it through staff and security and whatever other invisible layers sat between him and the rest of the world while they were on tour... Cause gifts didn’t just appear at their doors. They definitely didn’t get placed directly into his manager’s hands like a special delivery.

Jisung looked down at the ribbon again, and the answer settled before he had to chase it very far.

Of course.

A smile pulled at his mouth  “Unbelievable.”

He carried the box back to the bed and sank onto the edge of the mattress, setting it carefully against the sheets before reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

what did you do?

The reply came so quickly he knew she had been waiting.

Me?

Jisung breathed out a laugh through his nose.

don’t do that

do what?

baby…

what 😇

He stared at the emoji for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he tried not to smile harder than he already was.

you’re so annoying 🙄🙄🙄

He sent the message and hit the call button before he could give her the satisfaction of dragging it out any longer.

The screen rang against his palm, his own damp, half-lit reflection staring back at him from the glass until the call connected and her room replaced his, soft and dim and warmer than the sterile hotel lighting.

She answered after a second, the camera wobbling as she picked up her phone and settled back into bed. Her eyes lifted to the screen first, sleepy and bare and already warmer when she saw him, and whatever annoyed thing he had been ready to say got caught somewhere behind his teeth as she pushed herself up against the pillows, hair falling messily over one shoulder.

“Hey, rockstar.”

God, how he missed her.

It came over him quietly, almost embarrassingly fast, the sound of that stupid nickname in her sleepy voice. It had been weeks since he’d seen her in person, and every video call seemed to make the distance worse instead of better.

He loved seeing her… He did. Loved talking to her, loved listening to her talk even more.  Loved that she still waited around after a long day and stayed awake just so he could get a glimpse of her before she fell asleep. But lately, these calls had started to hurt in a way he didn’t know what to do with, because she was right there, close enough for him to see the faint crease on her cheek from the pillow, close enough to see the way her eyes crinkled when her smile grew, and still too far away for him to reach through the screen and be where he actually wanted to be. Beside her, smoothing his thumb over that mark on her cheek just to annoy her. Kissing the corner of her eye until she laughed and shoved him away with that little embarrassed sound she made whenever he got too sweet on purpose. Pulling her closer when the shirt slipped loose down her shoulder the way it was doing now.

The collar stretched wide, sleeves falling too long over her arms, the fabric worn soft from too many washes and the faded print suddenly familiar enough to make his gaze stay there. That piece of black scrap hung off her like it had never really belonged to her in the first place.

“Nice shirt.”

Her gaze dropped like she had only just remembered what she was wearing, fingers pinching the loose collar where it had slipped down her shoulder. “Oh, this old thing?”

He leaned back against the pillows, phone warm in his hand, as the box sat beside his thigh on the sheets. “Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound as pleased as he felt. “That old thing. Where’d you get it?”

She hummed, glancing down again like the answer required actual thought. “My boyfriend gave it to me.”

“Oh, did he?”

“Mhm.”

“He sounds very generous.”

“He is.” She nodded, mouth pulling into a smile. “Very generous.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he laughed. “Good taste too.”

“I mean, obviously.” Her brows lifted, and one lazy hand slipped out from under the blanket to gesture at herself.

“Yeah I can tell…” The laugh left him quietly, more fond than he wanted it to be. “He’s a very lucky guy.”

“He is,” she agreed, settling her cheek deeper into the pillow. “And he is handsome too.”

“Is he?”

“So handsome.”

Jisung looked down, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand, but there was no point hiding the smile when she already knew exactly what she was doing to him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“What? So now I can’t brag about my boyfriend?”

“Right.” He nodded slowly, letting the game sit there for a little longer before his gaze drifted to the box beside him.

“So does this very generous, lucky, handsome boyfriend of yours also get suspicious packages delivered to his hotel room in the middle of the night?”

Her eyes lifted, “No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She tucked her mouth against the blanket, the smile still there underneath. “I don’t think his staff would allow that.”

His mouth twitched. “Oh?”

“Mhm... He has some crazy fans, you know. Serious security concerns.”

“Serious security concerns,” he repeated, staring at her.

“Very serious.”

“Right.”

“I mean… Imagine if anyone could just send things to his room,” she added, finally looking back at him with an expression so carefully innocent it was almost impressive. “That would be dangerous.”

“Very dangerous.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded along, slow and patient, thumb brushing over the edge of the box. “So whoever sent it would have to know where he’s staying.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“And know who to talk to.”

She nodded.

“And be convincing enough to get his manager to bring it to his room himself.”

That was where she lost it. He saw the exact moment her face started to betray her, the tiny lift at the corner of her mouth, the way her eyes went bright while she tried to keep them wide and clueless. The longer he looked at her, the worse it got, until she had to press her lips together like that would do anything.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

“Maybe?”

“It could happen.”

Jisung laughed then, reaching for the box, lifting it into frame so she could see it. “How did you even manage this?”

Her eyes dropped to it immediately before snapping back to his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ahhh, you’re so annoying. Stop playing…”

That broke her properly. She laughed into the pillow, soft and muffled, shoulders curling in like she could hide from him after all of that, and Jisung just watched her with the phone balanced in his hand and the box resting against his knee, the hotel room suddenly feeling less empty than it had a minute ago.

When she lifted her face again, she was still smiling.

“What?” she asked, too sweetly.

He gave her a look.

She shrugged, small and shameless. “I just asked nicely.”

“You asked nicely,” he repeated.

“Very nicely.”

“Apparently.”

His thumb brushed over the ribbon while he weighed it between both hands.

“So,” he said, “What is it?”

She blinked at him. “You want me to tell you what it is?”

“That’s usually how questions work.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

He looked up at her. “You don’t think you will?”

She shook her head, mouth tucked into the blanket again.

Jisung gave the box a careful shake. Then another, closer to his ear, frowning when whatever was inside shifted with a dull, strange weight instead of rattling properly. Nothing sharp, nothing loose, just something soft and heavy settling back into place.

“That tells me nothing.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Mhm.” She looked far too comfortable, eyes bright over the edge of the blanket as she watched him turn the box in his hands. “Maybe stop trying to guess and open the damn thing.”

He ignored her, obviously, giving the box another shake like it might suddenly decide to give him a useful answer.

“You’re not going to figure it out like that.” She laughed quietly.

“Give me a hint.”

“No.”

“Not even a small one?”

“Nope.”

“Come on.”

“Nooo.”

He looked back at the screen, eyes narrowing even though the smile was already ruining it. “You’re being such a brat today,” he muttered.

Oh….

Her eyebrows lifted at that.

And that was all it took, barely anything at all, just the smallest shift in her face, and Jisung felt it land low in his stomach before he could pretend he hadn’t noticed.

He pressed his lips together around the laugh trying to get out, suddenly very interested in the ribbon under his fingers.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Oh…. aghmm nothing….” He choked out “You heard wrong.”

“Did I?”

“Bad connection,” he offered. He glanced up at her, then immediately wished he hadn’t, because she was looking at him like she knew exactly how fast he would fold if she pushed even a little.

“I said you’re being very sweet,” he tried, the lie coming out with a grin.

Her eyes narrowed. “Jisung.”

“Yeah?”

“Open it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pathetic, honestly.

One soft little order through the phone and his hand was already on the ribbon, like his body had skipped right over the part where he was supposed to pretend he had any dignity left. He tried to tug it loose with one hand at first, the box balanced awkwardly against his thigh, but the ribbon only tightened under his thumb and made him huff out a quiet laugh.

“Hold on”

She watched him through the screen while he reached for the nightstand and propped the phone carefully against the lamp, shifting it once, then again, until the camera caught him sitting on the bed with the box in his lap and the robe loose around his waist.

He glanced at the screen. “Can you see me?”

“Mhm.”

He sat back with both hands free now, suddenly a little too aware of the angle, of her eyes on him, of the stupid present waiting under his fingers.

He worked the end loose with his thumb, the ribbon slipping free all at once after making him struggle for no reason at all. It slid off the box throwing it on the sheets beside his knee.

Then he lifted the lid slowly, mostly because she was watching and because he knew she would make fun of him if he got impatient now. He looked inside to find black tissue paper folded neatly over whatever she had gone through all this trouble to hide.

“Very dramatic.”

“You’re welcome.”

He huffed a laugh and peeled the paper back, something tucked underneath, wrapped again in more dark paper, because of course it was, but beside it sat a small bottle that made his fingers pause.

Not because he didn’t know what it was.

Because he was pretty sure he did.

He picked it up first, turning it toward the lamp, then toward the camera, squinting at the label like there was any way to make this less obvious if he read it slowly enough.

“Baby…What is this?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

He looked back down at the bottle, turning it once between his fingers. The liquid inside moved thick and slow, clear against the plastic, clinging to the sides when he tilted it before sliding back down.

He worked the cap open with his thumb and brought it to his nose without thinking, and the scent hit him immediately, sweet, artificial, unmistakable.

His eyebrows shot up. "Strawberry?"

"Your favorite."

He grinned then, sudden, stupid and wide, feeling like a little kid who'd just found his favorite snack in his lunchbox. But the smell had some weird effect on him… burrowing past his thoughts and landing straight in his gut. It brought back the memory of her skin after they'd showered together, the way she'd taste when he kissed down her stomach. His mouth watered as he swallowed, his body remembering before his brain could catch up, blood moving heavy and stupid to his dick.

"Why did you send me lube?" he asked, looking up at the screen.

"Open the rest of the present first… Then you can ask questions."

Jisung glanced down at the box still sitting on the bedspread. The rest of the tissue paper still folded over whatever else was inside. He set the lube down carefully on the nightstand, right where he wouldn't knock it over, and reached back into the box.

The second item was wrapped in the same dark tissue, heavier than the bottle had been, dense and solid when he lifted it out. He peeled the paper back slowly, frowning as the shape emerged in pieces, it was something rounded and irregular.

He turned it over trying to make his brain categorize it. It looked like... what? A sculpture? Some kind of weird stress ball?

The color was slightly translucent, pinkish-peach, detailed with folds and contours that seemed anatomical but his brain refused to register. There was texture to it, soft ridges and a specific arrangement of shapes that his eyes tracked without understanding, following the curve of something that looked like…

Oh.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His hand tightened around it without meaning to, fingers sinking into the soft silicone, and the realization hit him all at once like a physical slap.

It was a toy…

but not just any toy….

A pocket pussy, a fleshlight, whatever the fuck they called it, something designed to be fucked… to mimic the exact shape of…

He looked up at the screen, mouth actually hanging open, and she was watching him with smug satisfaction written all over her face, her eyes bright and her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"Y/n," he asked, and his voice came out rough.

"What?" she asked, filled with innocence, though her cheeks had gone pink, the color spreading down her neck to disappear under the collar of his stolen shirt.

"Is this what I think it is?" He held the thing up toward the camera, gripping it tighter than he probably needed to.

"What do you think it is?"

"It's a…" He stopped, glanced at it again, turned it over to see the entrance from another angle, the soft pink folds molded in perfect, obscene detail. His face burned so bad right now. He could feel it, hot from his cheekbones to his ears, and he dragged his free hand over his mouth, laughing under his breath because he didn't know what else to do.

"You're so fucked up."

She smiled then, and shifted against her pillows. "You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that." He answered too fast, the words tumbling out.

He looked back down at the toy in his hand, turning it over again, thumb tracing along the outer edge where the silicone met the hard plastic base. It didn’t feel cheap or generic.

It was detailed... Too detailed.

The kind of detail that came from scanning, maybe molding? Definitely from replicating something real… His brain snagged on that thought and wouldn't let go.

"Wait, is this…"

There was no way…

Her mouth opened like she had something clever ready, something smug and annoying enough to make him lose his mind a little but a laugh slipped out instead, quiet and breathy, her cheeks going warmer as she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked back at him through the screen like she was trying very hard to pretend she wasn't affected by this too.

But she was, he could see it now, the way her chest moved a little faster, the way her eyes kept dropping to his hands like she couldn't help herself.

Jisung looked back down at the toy, turning it over in his palm, and the thought hit him so hard he actually felt dizzy with it.

There was no way. There was absolutely no fucking way she had just gone out and gotten a mold of her pussy made for him. That was insane…That was porn star shit. That was the kind of thing guys joked about wanting but never actually expected because who the hell would actually do that.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, and his thumb was already tracing the entrance, feeling how soft it was, how the material gave under pressure.

Before he could talk himself out of it he was pressing his index finger against the opening, feeling the resistance, the way the silicone yielded and then wrapped around him.

The sound he made was embarrassing. A low, broken hum that started in his chest and died somewhere in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut for a second because it felt… it felt like her. The texture, the tightness, the way it gripped his finger when he pushed deeper, sliding in up to the second knuckle. He could feel the internal ridges, the specific contours that matched her body, the places where she was usually tighter, usually softer, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily, his cock throbbing against the robe.

"Fuck," he breathed, opening his eyes to look at her, and she was staring at him with her mouth open, her eyes dark and wide, hand gripping the pillow hard enough to whiten her knuckles.

"Did you just…" His voice came out wrecked, and he cleared his throat, still working his finger slowly in and out because he just couldn't stop… his body was overriding his brain completely.

She laughed, but it was shaky, breathless "What do you think?"

"I think…" He pulled his finger out slowly, watching how the material clung to him, how it tried to suck him back in, and he groaned, low and guttural, dragging his hand over his mouth. "... I think I'm gonna die”

"Does it feel good?" she whispered, her hips shifting under the blankets like she was trying to get friction where she needed it.

"Yeah…" He pressed his finger back in, deeper this time, feeling the texture, and his head dropped back against the headboard, a whine escaping his throat and he couldn't stop the way his hips kept twitching upward like his body was already trying to fuck into something that wasn't there yet.

"Jisung"

She had pushed herself up higher on her elbows, the blanket slipping lower, and her hand had disappeared somewhere beneath the edge of the frame. He couldn't see where, but he could see the way her arm moved, the subtle shift of her shoulder, and his brain supplied the image immediately… her fingers sliding down her stomach, slipping under the waistband of whatever she was wearing under his shirt, finding herself wet and swollen from watching him lose his shit.

“Tell me what it feels like."

"It's…" He choked, pushing his finger deeper just to feel the give of it, the way the ridges inside dragged against his skin. "It's tight… It's so fucking tight, baby, it feels exactly like… " He cut himself off with a gasp, his hips jerking again, cock throbbing. "Like when I'm pushing inside you … you know? when you're already wet but you're still… still squeezing…"

The image hit her hard, her own fingers slipping lower, finding her slick. She was soaked, her underwear useless by now. She imagined his fingers inside her instead of that stupid toy, and her hips rolled against her palm so hard she had to bite her lip to keep herself from moaning too loud.

"Ji…" she breathed. "You're making me so wet.”

Jisung's eyes snapped back to the screen. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Yeah…" she laughed, breathless, her hand moving in tight circles under the blanket. “And am fucking dripping.” She pushed the fabric down with her knee, exposing her legs, her fingers glistening where they moved between her thighs. "Watching you finger that thing like it's me…"

"Shit," he groaned, fucking his finger deeper into the toy. "I wish it was you… wish I could feel how wet you are,…"

"Soon," she promised, her head falling back against the pillow, fingers working faster. "But right now you're going to get that toy nice and ready, aren't you?”

"Yes… yes baby" he nodded fast.

"Get the lube," she ordered, her voice dropping to that rough register that made him stupid. She shifted, the phone wobbling as she adjusted her position.

And then he heard it… a soft, filthy sound, wet and rhythmic, unmistakable.

"Can you hear that, baby?" she asked. " Can you hear how fucking wet I am?”

He whined, high and desperate, “Oh my fuckin…”

"Prep it, just like you would prep me," she interrupted. The slick sounds of her fingers didn't stop, filling the call with how badly she wanted this.

He grabbed the bottle nearly dropping it, his knuckles turning white.  "I'm gonna make it so wet.” He whimpered, pouring the lube until it overflowed his palm. "I want it to be exactly like you…"  He moaned, long and broken, his cock throbbing untouched against his stomach as he coated his fingers.

"That's it," she murmured, "Doesn't that feel better?”

"Yes," he whined, tightening his grip, pumping his fingers inside once, twice, his wrist twisting at the end the way he knew she liked. "Yes, but it's not… it's not the same, I need …."

“But, doesn’t it feel good?”

"So good," he breathed, pushing deeper, feeling the tight ring of silicone give way around his fingers. He let his head loll to the side, eyes fluttering shut, the heat of his own palm, the way it felt like her even though it wasn't warm like she was. "Baby, it's so soft…"

He pulled his fingers out slowly, watching how they were coated in clear lube, how the toy gaped slightly where he'd opened it, and he poured more directly into the entrance, watching it pool inside.

The sound of her fingers fucking into her cunt matched the rhythm and wetness at his hands.

He pushed three fingers in at once, groaning at the stretch, "Fuck, baby, please…”

"Please what?" she asked.

"Can I fuck it?” He choked, fucking his fingers in deeper, making it wet and messy “Please, I need to fuck it…"

She laughed, soft and breathy, “You wanna fuck it, baby?"

"Yes," he whined, his face burning, "Need it so bad…"

"Show me first," she murmured "Is it ready?"

He obeyed, working his fingers, scissoring them, stretching at the entrance until it yielded properly. The sounds were obscene, the lube dripping out onto his palm "yes.. yes… so ready. Please…."

"Shh," she soothed, "It´s okay baby… you can fuck it..."

He froze, his eyes snapping to hers through the screen. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "But take it slowly.”

He withdrew his fingers, watching how the lube stretched between them and the toy's entrance, filmy and clear, before snapping apart.

He shuddered and pushed the robe wider, exposing his stomach, his hips, his cock where it rested heavy and flushed against his skin. He wrapped his lube-slick fingers around himself and the contact made his hips buck upward immediately, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. He was throbbing, hot, the skin sensitive and flushed dark pink at the tip where precum beaded and mixed with the clear lubricant. He worked his hand down his length slowly, spreading the mess, watching himself through heavy-lidded eyes.

"God…," she breathed, her eyes fixed on the way his fist fucked his cock. "Look at you."

"Don't… say tha…”

"You're so so pretty Jisung… ahhhgg I miss you so much… miss your pretty cock too”

"Stop," he gasped, his hand tightening around himself without meaning to. "Stop saying shit like that, you know it makes me cum…"

She laughed, breathless, her own fingers moving deeper now.

He groaned, his head falling back, his hand working himself. "Can I put it in?”

"Okay," she murmured, and her voice had gone soft and fond.

His throat was too tight for words as he reached for the molded silicone with shaking hands. He held it against his tip, angling it toward the camera so she could see everything,

“Yeah baby let me see… just like that”

The lube was cool, shockingly so, and he gasped at the contact, his cock throbbing where it kissed the pink folds.

"Just the tip," she commanded him.

He obeyed, dragging himself through the entrance, not penetrating, just sliding through the slick texture, feeling the detailed ridges catch against his sensitive head. The sensation made him so fucking dizzy, it was soft and it gripped him with just enough resistance to make his thighs shake.

"Ngh…" He choked, his hips twitching forward, seeking more. "Baby, please, I can't…"

"You can… I know you can…."

He forced his eyes open, finding her through the haze, and the sight nearly broke him,  he could see her hand moving between her legs, her fingers shiny and slick, disappearing inside herself before circling back up to her clit. She was flushed down to her chest, her nipples visible through the worn fabric of his stolen shirt, her mouth parted as she panted.

"Fuck," he whimpered, his cock throbbing against the toy, leaving smears of precum mixing with the lube. "You look… shit, you're gonna make me cum before I'm even inside…”

"No you're not," she said, "You're going to push in slowly… And you're going to tell me how it feels while I fuck myself and pretend it's you."

He sobbed, as he pressed forward, feeling the tight ring of silicone catch around him and he stopped there, shaking, his knuckles white where he gripped the base of the toy.

"Oh god," he gasped, his head falling back, Oh fuck, y/n, it's… it's so tight, it's pulling me in, I need to go deeper, please…"

"Not yet," she breathed, and he heard the wet sound of her fingers speeding up, plunging deeper. "Stay there. That's how I feel when you're first pushing inside me, isn't it? When I'm squeezing around you, trying to pull you deeper even though I'm not ready yet?"

"Yes," he whined, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, seeking more depth, more heat. "Yes, exactly like that…”

"Look what you do to me," she commanded.

He dragged his head up and found her watching him.

"I'm so wet," she told him, her voice breaking slightly. "Mmh… thinking about your cock... bout you inside me…”

"Fuck," he choked out. "I want to be inside you. I want to feel how wet you are…"

Her hips buckled against her hand. "Sink in slowly…. Inch by inch."

He nodded, desperate, and pushed forward. The silicone gripped him, dragged against him, the internal ridges catching on every sensitive spot as he sank deeper. It was torture, pure and simple, the tightness, the texture, the visual of himself disappearing into something shaped exactly to feel like her.

"mghhhhh…" He stopped halfway, his whole body trembling, sweat beading on his forehead. "I can't… it's all too much, I'm gonna fucking cum…."

"But you're doing so well," she encouraged, her own fingers working faster, deeper. “You want to fuck it hard, don't you? You want to just pound into it until you cum?"

"Yes, please, let me fuck it, let me…"

"Not yet," she gasped, and he could tell she was close now, her thighs tensing. "Bottom out baby… Let me see you fill it up."

He groaned and pushed forward until his hips were flush against the base, his cock buried to the root, the sensation was overwhelming.

"Fuck," he gasped, his eyes rolling back. "Oh fuck, baby, I'm… I'm all the way in, so so deep…"

"Good," she panted, her own rhythm faltering, her breath coming in short gasps. "Now fuck it… let me watch while I…."

She broke off with a moan, her fingers circling faster, her hips lifting off the bed. He watched her, watched her face go slack with pleasure, and felt his own control fraying to nothing.

That was all the permission he needed. He pulled back and slammed forward, the wet slap of flesh against silicone filling the room. He cried out, his hips snapping forward again, and again, chasing the friction, the release, the perfect tightness that was almost her, almost enough. The toy gripped him differently than his hand did, tighter, more resistance, the ridges inside dragging against his sensitive head with every thrust. He could feel the lube squelching around him, messy and obscene, dripping down his fingers where he held the base.

"Jisung," she gasped, her own fingers matching his rhythm, plunging deep. "Yes, just like that…. Harder baby… Fuck…”

"Ohhhh noooo," he sobbed, his pace stuttering, becoming erratic. "I'm so close…"

"Noo, no, not yet," she gasped, though her own voice was climbing. "Wait for me. Just… keep fucking it just like that, don't stop…"

He groaned, his hips working faster, harder, the toy gripped tight in his fist as he pounded into it. The silicone was warming up now, taking his heat, feeling less like a toy and more like her with every desperate thrust. He could hear the wet sounds of her fingers on the other end, frantic and messy, and he matched his pace to hers, fucking the toy as his balls tightened, his spine tingling with the warning signs of how close he was.

"Baby," she cried out suddenly, her whole body arching off the bed, her free hand gripping the sheets. "Oh fuck, baby, I'm…"

"Yeah?" he gasped, not slowing down, his hips snapping forward with desperate force. "You gonna cum? You gonna cum watching me fuck your pussy?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted, her voice breaking into a high, desperate keen. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm…"

He watched her fall apart, her body seizing, her fingers working desperately between her legs as she came. He could see it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her back arched, the way her mouth opened in a silent scream before the sound caught up. She was beautiful like this, wrecked, open, and he wanted to keep fucking her through it, wanted to feel her clench around him as she rode it out.

"Now!” she cried out when she could speak again, "Cum with me, baby…. Fill it up. Pretend it's me."

He slammed forward one last time and held himself there, buried to the root, his whole body going rigid as the orgasm ripped through him. It started deep in his gut, a white-hot pulse that traveled down his spine and exploded out through his cock. He spilled into the toy with a ragged cry, pulse after thick pulse, his hips jerking involuntarily as he emptied himself. He could feel it filling the silicone, hot and messy, overflowing around his shaft and dripping out onto his fingers. It was filthy, obscene, his cum mixing with the lube and leaking out of the toy's entrance, coating his length as he kept thrusting through the aftershocks, slower now, milking himself dry.

"Fuck," He slumped back against the pillows, the silicone still clutched loosely around his softening length. Through the screen, he could see her collapsed against her own pillows, similarly spent, her hand still resting between her legs, her eyes closed, and a satisfied smile playing at her lips.

For a while, all he could do was breathe. Badly, too. He was slumped back against the pillows, robe fucked up around his waist, one hand thrown over his face like that was going to help with any of the damage she had just done to him. His chest heaved, his skin was tacky with sweat and lube and cum, and his brain felt like it had been wrung out completely, left somewhere back around the part where she'd told him to fuck it harder.

And suddenly, amidst all the silence… he laughed.

"What?" She opened one eye at him through the screen.

"I don't even know what to say to you." He dragged his hand over his mouth. "I think my brain broke."

She lifted her head, her hair falling across her face "What, that bad?"

"No." He looked at her  "That good. That was... y/n, that was the hottest thing you've ever done."

“Yeah?” She laughed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on her stomach. "You liked your present?"

"Are you kidding?" He reached for the phone, bringing her closer to his face like that would somehow make this more real. " That was the filthiest fucking thing anyone’s ever done for me and somehow also the sweetest. Like who does that? You're actually insane."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's a proposal." He was grinning, stupid and smitten, his heart still hammering heavy in his chest. "Marry me. Can I marry you?”

She laughed, tucking her chin against her shoulder, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. “I get you a fake version of my pussy and suddenly you want to put a ring on it?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “You pull some pornstar shit like that and expect me not to start thinking about forever? Baby, be fucking serious.”

Her smile cracked wider.

“I’m not even joking. Actions have consequen…”

Knock, knock, knock.

Three sharp raps against the door, and they both froze. Jisung's eyes snapped toward the sound, then back to the screen. She had pushed herself up on her elbows, her eyes suddenly wide and alert as she remembered exactly where he was and what state he was in.

“Room service,” a voice called from the hallway, muffled through the door. “Sorry for the delay, sir.”

A/N: Hi loves 💕

First of all, thank you so much for bearing with me and being so patient while I finish the Hyunchan threesome smut. I know I’ve been talking about it for a while, and I promise it hasn’t been forgotten.

As some of you may have seen, lawyer life decided to attack me personally and I had a client get arrested, so I had to put my fandom activities on hold for a bit and go deal with real life... Very rude of real life, honestly.

That being said, the smut is pretty much done. I don’t want to promise an exact date because every time I do, the universe humbles me, but it mostly just needs revision now, so it should be ready soon.

In the meantime, I really hope you enjoy this one. It was so much fun to write, and I missed posting here more than I can explain.

As always, English isn’t my first language, so please be kind.

Shit, how did this happen?

You barely started the semester, everything went downhill in your life and you needed an immediate way out.

Someone recommended a plug. One plug, but they came in two.

Now you're sprawled onto somebody's couch, arms pinned above your head while they took turns in torturing you.

This is torture.

You want more.

“Shh, pretty. Open wide for me,” Hyunjin coos, knees planted between your parted thighs. He leans forward, cradling your cheek to your neck in a sensual touch. He goes lower, reaching the swell of your breast, “Jisung-ah,” he calls, not paying much attention to anything but your nipple poking at the thin fabric of your blouse. He tweaks it, circling the bud with his thumb.

You writhe, brain foggy and dizzy as the one above brushes the hair sticking to your face. “Han…” you whimper and he hums, smiling down at you like you were stupid. Maybe, at the moment you might have actually been.

“Easy baby,” he says, thumb and middle finger digging into your cheeks, forcing your mouth to form an ‘O’. “Just like that. Ah, ah– a little wider,” his voice is soothing, not noticing the blunt Hyunjin brings to your lips until Jisung clasps your lips shut around it. Forcing you to breathe in along a gasp as Hyunjin squeezes your tits.

Choking, you try to cough the smoke out but Jisung's mouth catches it before it gets the chance to air out. Soft lips wrapping themselves around yours, sucking in the burning smoke with an upside down kiss. You're hardly able to react – to kiss back – he doesn't care though, it's endearing the most. Spit spilling past your lips from the awkward positioning.

“Always such a good girl, look at you now.” Hyunjin says, “I was surprised when you came to us, y'know?” His knee presses harder against your core, letting a whine fall into Jisung's mouth. “You needed it badly, didn't you?”

The question fails to register, however you nod, compliant and putty to the haze that runs through your veins. You tug at your wrists when it gets hard to breathe, needing to break free from Jisung's assault on your lips. He bites onto the tissue, earning a wince from you as he pulls back. “Sorry,” he doesn't sound one bit apologetic, grinning foolishly. Smearing the droplets of blood with the pad of his thumb.

Hyunjin unbuttons your pants, zipper coming off with a swift glide. One second you're covered, the next cool air meets your bare legs. “What–” you blink through, staring down at Hyunjin between your curling legs. He pins them still, spreading you wider for him.

“Pussy so wet,” he comments under his breath, rubbing your clit over your panties. You're shaking, thrashing your head side to side at the sudden pleasurable sensation. It's all too much, the slightest touch feels tenfold with the high hitting you.

“I need to pee,” you excuse weakly, hopelessly trying to close your thighs. Needing an escape. He sighs, clicking his tongue.

“You don't,” he replies, pushing the fabric aside. “What you need is this,” his thumb finds your slick, shivering underneath the contact. “Jisung, fuck. Look at her, such a needy mess.”

The latter follows his friend's gaze, hand snaking to your sobbing cunt. Running two fingers past your arousal, tipping them inside before pulling back. “Look,” Jisung tells you, slapping your cheeks lightly to gather your attention. He parts his fingers, your wetness coating the digits in the dim lighting. The sight is nasty, juices sticky enough to create strings connecting his fingers with each scissor motion. He brings them to your lips, patting your mouth.

You turn to the side, whining a noise of disapproval. This is dirty — yet a part of you wants to fall into the mud.

He hums, bringing them to his lips instead. “Let me show you how,” you probably need someone to take the first step for you. So, he happily does. Obscenely sucking onto his skin, moaning shamelessly at the taste of you. The exit of his digits is messy, tongue probing out with saliva drooling onto his hand. “See?” he says as you watch him with that heavy gaze, eyelids slowly dropping in a trance. He inches towards your mouth once again, nails tickling your skin.

This time, you open up for him. He groans in response, feeling your warm tongue lap at his saliva. “Just like that, want to do this around my cock instead-” It's not a question and you know it, his other hand swiftly rolls off his sweatpants. Focus fully on the bulge straining his boxers, a sliver of his v line peeking from the fabric above and underneath his shirt. Tattoos, you try to read them in lazy blinks, eyes widening at the sudden sensation on your pussy.

“Ah–,” you cry out, searching for the culprit. “Hyun—” your sentence dies out as your mouth is filled to the brim, Jisung taking the opportunity to thrust right in. You strangle, spit gathering at the corners of your mouth with a gag. Your position has him hitting the back of your throat, esophagus tightening with a threat. He whines, hips stuttering at the tight squeeze.

The salty taste of skin and precum hits you a moment later, doing your best to try to breathe in through your nose. The attempts are futile with Hyunjin's lap onto the middle bottom of your body. He moans as your taste hits his tongue, inhaling your scent with his eyes shut. His own head is spinning, not quite grasping what he's eating right now but it's so fucking good. He can't do without it, swallowing your whole pussy with his mouth, his muscle slowly laps at your leakage. Drowning in your juices.

Hyunjin's rings dig into your thighs, the cool metal deliciously contrasting the burn on your skin, holding your trembling legs. He kisses you, sloppy and wet, separating with strings of saliva. He does it again, and again. Lips attaching themselves to your clit, sucking in lightly. His head is pushed back by Jisung, his fingers finding the roots on Hyunjin's scalp. Jisung's thrusts are shallow, using the tight squeeze throat to cockwarm rather than fucking in.

Jisung leaves a peck to your hip, pampering kisses further to your bud. Wrapping his mouth around it. He sucks harder, brimming tears to your eyes while Hyunjin teases your entrance, using Jisung's drool to ease his way inside.

You're losing breath, consciousness fading in with the wave of pleasure. Jisung finally jerks away, indulging in the huge inhale of air you take in, lungs expanding desperately in ragged pants. “Wait… wait–” you slur, lashes fluttering to catch yourself as Jisung climbs off you, hands gripping your shoulders to push you forward. The movement is brusque, the whole room spinning then it's suddenly perpendicular, strange colours clouding your vision.

Nausea hits you head-on, hunching forward in an attempt to get off the couch, however they plant themselves on either side of you. Caging you in the prison of their bodies. You glance up slowly, focusing your eyes to find an angel incarnated.

No, it's Hyunjin.

He gazes down at you, index finding your chin to tilt your face upwards. He sighs, shaky, looking behind your shoulder to Jisung. “Light another one,” he says and the other follows. Undoing your blouse, he slides it past your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. The smell of smoke fills your nostrils, then a sensation of something soft yet searing on your skin. Not quite registering what, but it feels good.

Jisung passes the blunt to Hyunjin, watching him take an inhale. Hyunjin breathes in, the smoke swirling in his mouth as he brings it to your exposed skin. His burning lips blow the vapour onto your flesh, tongue soothing the burn marks without much consideration paid to your small whines. They paint your skin, tracing the marks with their mouths before sucking down harshly.

A belt clicks, eyes closed tight when they take turns in kissing you. Tongues curling to form a mess at your chin, sucking in the air out of you before forcing you to inhale their own. Your fingers wrap around Hyunjin's arm, nails digging into his bicep as something hard slides between your legs. Hot, everything has been hot – but they don't compare to this.

“Fuuuck,” Jisung swears, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Baby, I could slip right in–” he shudders, pussy soaked enough to tease the tip inside on every shift of his hips. “You should try, hyung.”

“Yeah?” Hyunjin replies, heavy cock resting in his palm, aligning himself to nudge at your clit. Your thighs quiver, the dual sensation of them rubbing between your folds has you squirming for more. Aching from their endless teasing, your impending orgasm right there, if only one of them just– “Aah!” you cry at the sudden thrust, Jisung bottoming out fully on the first thrust with a loud squelch.

“Shit so wet,” he moans out, stilling inside completely to breathe in, hoping to regain composure. He snaps his hips forward, balls smacking against your cunt, the noise consistent and embarrassing. “You hear that?”

You're drooling, getting bent over Hyunjin as Jisung takes his fill, thighs shaking if it wasn't for Hyunjin supporting your limp body. Cute sounds huffing from your parted lips with each thrust, clawing at Hyunjin for balance. Jisung kneads your cheeks, spreading you wider to catch a better view of his cock splitting you open, juices overflowing past your labia down your thighs. You're gripping him so tightly, snuggly keeping him inside, not letting him draw out. His noises turn pathetic, biting at your shoulder to muffle his whimpers and groans.

It's too much, white clouding your mind as Hyunjin's fingers circle your clit in small motions, bringing you as close to the edge as possible before cruelly snatching it from you. Jisung pulls out, your hole gaping and begging for him to come back inside. “Not yet.”

“Why–” you demand in a sob, though it's quickly morphed into a moan as you're stuffed full once again. Hyunjin's cock moves inside you, throwing you onto Jisung's chest, the curve of his muscles flat against your spine with how Hyunjin drills into you. His thumb meets your clit again, pushing one leg on his shoulder to gain a better angle.

“This is how pussy should sound like, our pretty girl.” he says, voice breaking from your warmth alone. Your palm flies to your mouth, Jisung catches it before you're able to hide your moans, using your opened mouth to spit into it. You pause, the hesitation fading as quick as it came, swallowing his saliva obediently. Hyunjin's thrusts knock that one spot inside that has you all sensitive and gooey, hitting it over and over till you can't muster any thought other than them and the shape of their cocks and the swell of their lips against you.

Jisung gropes at your tits, thumbs twisting and pinching your nipples, pulling at them deliciously. You throb around Hyunjin, pussy spasming for release. To your dismay, he draws out, pushing the head between your lips before sitting back. He smiles at the tears that spill past your cheek, glancing at Jisung.

“Sungie.”

—

You’d learned early on that all it took was one flirty message, a suggestive emoji, or - on particularly stressful days - a shameless selfie with a "come get me" caption, and Jisung was yours. It didn’t matter what he was doing. Studying. Gaming. Waiting in line for boba. The moment his phone buzzed and your name popped up, he was one of Pavlov’s dogs. He’d blush to his ears, and then start moving, key already in hand. 

Today was a little different, to say the least. He simply texted, “y/n,” with nothing else. You replied with a single question mark, trying not to jump to conclusions but he usually wasn’t so stark. He responded quickly, though, and matter-of-factly.

spare room in 15 mins please.

Now you sat perched on one of the tables, slightly out of breath and legs impatiently swinging, heart threatening to escape from your ribs. The empty science classroom smelled faintly of antiseptic and whiteboard markers, but there was something oddly romantic about it, for the same reason poets fucked in graveyards.

When the door finally creaked open, he peeked in like he was expecting a trap, as if he hadn’t set it himself.

“Took you long enough,” you sighed.

He shut the door behind him and locked it with a quiet click. “I had to pretend I wasn’t speed-walking,” he mumbled, eyes already darting over you.

You leaned back on your hands, giving him a slow once-over. “You know, I was in the middle of something. I have two quizzes due tomorrow.”

He shrugged sheepishly, unable to choose between feeling guilty or not.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense but you were oh so impressed. “It wasn’t exactly a polite request.”

He stopped in front of you, hands settling on either side of your thighs, gaze piercing but unsteady, but his cheeks tinged pink.

“No,” he said softly. “But I knew you’d come anyway.”

He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across your cheek, warm and uneven. His hands moved and settled lightly on your hips, as if afraid to hold you too tightly like he craved. Then, with a quiet kind of boldness, he pressed a delicate, deliberate kiss to your jaw. He’d never say it out loud, but there was something about that spot that made it his favorite. Something about the way you’d tilt your head just slightly, letting him in. He was grateful you had worn a low tank top that day because he could freely nip at your collarbones and even squish his face into the little bit of cleavage that escaped.

You groaned contentedly as you threaded your fingers through his hair, guiding him closer. You could feel his hard-on through his thin sweats and your skimpy yoga shorts, a spot on him already damp in anticipation. You rolled your hips forward, earning a squeaky gasp.

He popped up suddenly, his fluffy bangs already a mess and his lips red. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper, on the verge of a plea. His eyes refused to meet yours, half not wanting to betray his desperation, half distracted by the teeny red marks he decorated on your chest.

“Y/n, I’ve thought about you all day a-and say no if this is too sudden but I c-can’t sit in another three hour lecture like this—“

You let out a gentle laugh as you tightened your grip in his hair, tugging so he finally met your eyes. It wasn’t that his request was funny - it was the way he still couldn’t believe you wanted him. Like it didn’t matter how many times you showed up or how often it’d be you pining for him, he couldn’t accept how badly you ached for him back.

“Jisung,” you drawled, “just ask.”

Your hand came around to cradle his plush cheeks, holding his gaze to yours. He was already a mess, lashes damp and glittering, lips parted like he was just barely holding it together. It made your heart skip.

“I said ask.”

He gulped. “Baby, can you suck me off? P-please, I—“

You kissed him, sweetly, almost innocently, and then pulled back just enough to flash him a smile that was anything but. His eyes fluttered, dazed already, and you took full advantage. You made sure to drag your hips along the length of him on the way down as you bounced off the table, quick yet shameless. He let out a choked moan, quickly gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You caught his wrists with a quick, confident grip, spinning him with a grin as you guided his back into the table. He didn’t even hesitate, hands now splaying across the surface behind him.

With a mischievous giggle, you knelt down, kissing him along the way and shivering slightly as your bare knees finally made contact with the cold floor. All the while, Jisung already looked wrecked, breathing labored and his eyes clamped shut.

You tug down his sweats and boxers, releasing his eager cock. It was already such a pretty sight - pink, leaking, and twitching against his surprisingly taut stomach. It made you practically giddy knowing how badly he wanted you.

“Ji,” you called playfully, squeezing at his thighs so he would look you. Once he did, his eyes were glassy and his cheeks tinged red. You giggled at the sight before you leaned forward and dragged your tongue from the base to tip, staring right at him through your lashes.

“Sh-shit,” he stuttered, throwing his head back. His legs shook as you gleefully licked him again but stopping right before you reached the tip. Instead, you put the flat of your tongue to the swollen head and slowly lapped at his precum. You made sure to be as lewd as possible, humming happily as you attempted to clean him in vain. Jisung tried to stifle a groan, not wanting to seem ungrateful but needing so much more.

You did smirk proudly a little before wrapping your lips around him. You paused at the tip for a moment, showing him care and devotion as you practically made out with it. Eventually, because he was trying his damnedest not to rut into you, you slid down softly, but only with so much pressure. It was still enough to make him gasp. You sucked deeper the more he shuddered, needing him to unravel properly first. Your hand stroked what couldn’t fit, slow and steady, spit running down your fingers and wrist.

“Oh my god, baby,” he whispered. “Oh my god—“

The echoes in the stark room seemed louder than usual, every motion and movement amplified, vulgar and wet. Jisung’s heart thumped painfully, nervous energy making his palms a little clammy. But if he was being honest with himself - and he absolutely wasn’t - the thrill of possibly being caught only made his pulse race faster. There wasn’t a sight in the world he loved more than you, all focused on him like he and his dick were the only things that mattered, and he so badly liked the idea of showing that off.

You paused to breath, sliding your swollen lips off, spit clinging him to you in a salacious sight. You looked beautiful all red and sweaty and unbecoming but you didn’t have permission to stop. Bravely, he laced a hand through your hair, pulling you closer. You messily took him in once again, drooling down his shaft. He whimpered, pathetically and loudly, at the sudden touch. You blinked at the gesture, caught between protest and pride. His hips twitched forward hopefully, creeping towards his high.

“Don’t stop—please, don’t—“

He fucked your mouth, accidentally. He was distracted by his own desperation. Your mouth was so warm, so quick. He could feel his tip hit the back of your throat, but you never faltered. Your eyes rolled sinfully, one hand stroking him torturously while the other pawed at his balls.

“You’re so good,” he whined. “You’re always so good. I-I can’t last any longer.“

Jisung struggled to breath as his movements grew frantic. You only matched his deprivation. His knuckles turned white as they held harder in your hair. His entire body tensed before he shot, flooding your mouth with his cum.

Like a saint, like an angel sent down to test him and he failed miserably every time, you drank every drop. You swallowed everything, a content grin sparkling across your face and in your eyes.

POP!

After you released him, with your sore tongue and red lips, you lapped at him, humming to yourself and not wasting anything. All the while, your hand still stroked him evilly slow. He gaped at you, on the verge of actual tears.

“B-baby,” he stammered. “You’re too much.”

You didn’t look at him and spoke to twitching cock. “I like making you cum. I like how big and long it is. I like it when it scratches my throat—“

He groaned, his heart pounding violently in his chest and down below.

“I like when the way it tastes,” you sang as he was melted into a simpering disaster once more. “I love the way you taste, Sungie.” He was going to sob. That nickname signaled nothing good from you.

“Wanna taste?”

He laughed. He actually guffawed stupidly as you rose to meet him. You held his face with loving gentleness, his mouth parting instinctively. You spit him down his throat before kissing him. It was clumsy, hungry. Breaths gasping, moans vibrating deep within one another, teeth grazed, hands entangled in his hair and his hands latched firmly to your ass. You broke away quickly, taking his bottom lip with him.

“I want you to come inside me.” You batted your eyes as if you had only asked him for the time.

Jisung couldn’t decide how to react. He could either cry where he stood, half naked and dick twitching, or fuck you on the floor without another word being uttered. He sighed your name, a neutral position as he head spun.

You already made up your mind. You pushed him off and slid onto the table with the air of gleeful nonchalance, legs blissfully open and face only faintly flushed. You merely sat, as if waiting for a bus. It drove Jisung nuts. He scrambled over to you, head and arms before his feet, frantically peeling down your shorts and panties once his shaking hands found you. He could’ve came right there seeing how soaked you were already. Ever the gentleman, he stuck two fingers inside you first to get you comfortable. They sank into with a squishy, wet sound.

You moaned, high-pitched and greedy. “N-no, I said cum inside me.”

You grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to taste you on his own digits. You’d think that was all he’d be permitted. You grinned wide at the obscenity of it all.

You took advantage of how far gone he was already and handled his slippery cock yourself. It twitched pathetically in your hand, searching for you. In a quick movement, you wrapped your legs around him and sank fully into you.

“Put a baby in me, Ji,” you whispered as he fell onto you. “They’d be so smart, right? They’d take after their daddy.”

His only response was a high, repressed moan muffled against your chest. He was too pussy-drunk to even kiss or bite at your tits. All he understood was that your warm cunt fit perfectly around him and it was his duty to fuck it. His hips moved on instinct, the rest of his body shaking.

“Fuck, I’m yours,” he mumbled. “All of me…every drop—“

His breaths were labored and loud, echoing across the room, probably ringing enough that he could heard be outside. He didn’t care. He was entranced, whining; he could feel his leftover cum leak from you as he slowly pushed into you. He allowed himself a peek and it only made him bury himself deeper, bottoming out until your hole overflowed unto the shiny surface.

“S-so fucking good—“

Your back arched when you felt him finally hit your sweet spot. You helped him along by jerking your own hips, so your cervix hit his tip dully inside of you. 

The sensation made him lose what little control he had. His fingertips dug bitingly into your hips and pushed you flat unto the table. You were startled by the sudden cold on your back, but you didn’t really have time to register much - his movements got faster. He was sloppy and volatile, concentrating only each strangled moan of his name as you let him pound into you.

“D-don’t stop,” you gagged, barely audible above his own groans. “This pussy is yours. Use it.”

He wasn’t lasting much longer.

Mercilessly, he threw one of your legs over his shoulder, so he could frantically pick up the pace even more. He was panting, whimpering like hell was a sopping wet cunt and a pretty girl screaming his name.

He was overwhelmed by all his senses. You were tight, choking him; your breasts bounced in time to his frenetic pace; your hands gripped his hair like your last tie to reality; the room was symphony of moans, splashing holes, and cut-off names and curses. His chest was warm with the comfort that only his cock got the honor of fucking you senseless.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he babbled against your sweaty skin.

You kissed him - down his jaw, across his chest. His breath hitched and his pace stuttered.

“Fill me up, Jisung,” you gasped. “Cum, please. Pretty please.”

He was ruined. Your mouth was favorite thing about you. Every movement was crazed and messy and starved. He desperately rammed into you through broken moans. The wet sounds of your bodies resounded in the empty classroom as he chased you, his hips irregular and cruel. He finally thrust hard one last time, deep against your cervix, grinding his seed.

Your orgasm ran into you at the same time, your poor cunt spasming around his cock. Every muscle in your body tightened and clung to him. Heat radiated from your tummy outward.

But Jisung didn’t stop. Not even as he erupted and spilled amply again, he kept thrusting into your ruined hole, unable to think straight. Each pulse agressive and needy.

“I can’t stop,” he cried. “You’re so full, you have to be full. I’m sorry.” His whimpers made up for everything.

He dropped his head once more to your shoulder once his own body failed to continue any longer, heaving lethargic inhales. He slowed gradually, sniffling from the sensitivity. He carefully unwrapped you from around him and eventually pulled out with a wince. You were left to ungracefully flop on the table as he barely held himself up with his arms.

What a mess.

You two were sweaty, achy, panting. His glasses were crooked, possibly permanently, useless in front of watery, glassy eyes. You saw stars in the fluorescents. You were both flushed, across faces, chests, in the tips of ears. Hair was damp, his curls frizzy from the friction. Together - exhausted, but happy.

“There’re,” you began, “baby wipes in my bag.”

“I don’t think I can walk,” he admitted with a thousand-yard stare.

You propped yourself up with difficulty - you were slippery. “I did the most work. My bag is on the floor.”

his hand finds your shoulder, its warmth bleeding through the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. his fingers gently curl around the curve of your arm. they move with a deliberate, soothing motion, the kind of thing he does when a member is having a panic attack or breaks down after an intense performance. but his hand doesn't move away this time. it lingers, thumb stroking in a slow, deliberate path down your arm.

"i heard you calling out my name… thought you were having a nightmare."

the dream. your face burns, and you're grateful for the darkness shielding your expression from him. the way he'd positioned you, his hands firm on your body, not unlike now…

his hand slides from your shoulder to the side of your neck. his palm covers the column of your throat, not pressing, just resting there. you desperately try to control the frantic beating of your heart, and you know he can feel your pulse jumping against his skin.

"are you okay? i could hear you through the walls."

you shiver. your room doesn't share a wall with his. his is down the hall, past the bathroom, on the other side of the dorm.

"chan-ah…" you whisper, but he answers the question before you can ask it aloud.

"i was walking by to get some water. then i heard you."

it's a flimsy explanation. you both know it is. he ignores the nickname he begrudgingly allows you to use sometimes, despite you being a year younger than him, hand softly squeezing your throat instead. there's none of his usual teasing, just the heavy tension hanging in the silence between you.

"i've heard you before," he admits. his thumb brushes along your jaw and there's no doubt he feels the way your breath hitches in your throat. "other nights. you think these walls are thick enough? you think no one can hear you?"

embarrassment washes over you. you think back on the nights you touched yourself thinking about him, muffling your whimpers in your pillow as best as you could, sure no one could hear —

"chan, you should leave."

before it's too late, you want to add, but the words fizzle out before they can reach your lips. there's too much at stake… the fans, your career, the company, this family of eight men you've become a part of. you won't jeopardize that.

"i can't stop thinking about you." there's a rawness to his voice, as if someone is dragging the words out of him. "it's driving me fucking crazy. i asked ji to work on the new track because your voice gets stuck in my head all day, and all i can hear is the way you moan." his hand moves up, fingers tightening in your hair, firm enough to pull at your scalp. "countless times i've stood outside this door and walked away, trying to be the better man. but not tonight. i won't walk away now."

"chan —"

"shh." he shifts, rolling you onto your back and throwing a leg over yours, caging you in. "go back to sleep, then. you were saying my name so prettily. let me hear it again."

"it's not - we can't —", the words come out jumbled as his hands push under the hem of your shirt. the friction of his rough callouses against your skin make your core clench. "the members…"

"are asleep." his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts, hovering there. "it's three in the morning, no one's going to wake up. they won't hear you. unless you're too loud… which you might be. because you get loud when you think about me, don't you? no need to be shy now."

you think of him standing right outside your door, his ear pressed to the wood. listening to every desperate, needy sound you made as you touched yourself thinking of him.

the thought should horrify you. instead, a hot pulse of arousal throbs between your legs, and you hate yourself for it. your body is responding to this – to him — like an over-eager dog keen to please its owner.

chan squeezes, just once, relishing in the way you arch into his hands.

"there she is. i knew you'd feel like this. so soft."

he tugs up your shirt, bunching the fabric above your sternum. cool air washes over your bare skin, your breasts exposed to the dark room, and you instinctively try to cover yourself. chan catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, holding them there against the pillow.

"don't hide from me." his gaze travels down your body, and even in the dim light you see his pupils are blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "you have no idea how many times i've imagined you like this."

his free hand cups your breast, thumb dragging across your nipple. you bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound but a soft whimper manages to escape. chan smiles a small, crooked smile — nothing like the bright grin he shows on screen — and does it again, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger until it stiffens.

"let me hear you." he pinches harder, switching to your other breast and giving it the same treatment, his voice taking on that same gentle tone that guides you through your parts in the studio. "just like that. you sound so sweet."

you turn your head to the side, unable to look at him. this is wrong. he's your leader, your co-worker, your friend, your family — and he's touching you, and you're letting him. you're not fighting hard enough. you're not fighting at all.

his mouth finds your neck and the wet heat of it shocks you. he grazes your skin, sucking and biting hard enough to leave a mark chaeyoun will have to cover up tomorrow while loudly complaining about your lack of self-control. but it doesn't matter, not when chan grinds down between your thighs and rolls his hips into yours.

"say my name again. say it like you do when you're touching yourself. when you're thinking about me fucking you."

he licks a stripe up your neck and a sob catches in your throat. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. you feel how wet you are, how obvious your arousal is, and there's no hiding it from him anymore. his fingers drag through the slick mess between your legs and the noise he lets out is almost a laugh.

"so fucking wet." he circles your clit with two fingers, "all this from a little touching? or were you this wet just dreaming of me?"

your underwear is pulled down your thighs, your knees, off one leg and left dangling around the other ankle as he dips down and hoists your thighs over his shoulders. he wastes no time, tongue licking a fat stripe up your slit.

"chan," you gasp, and his grip on your hips tightens in response.

"again."

he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.

"chan - hnng, ah, don't stop —"

"again."

you cry out when two of his fingers thrust inside you. he doesn't waste time being gentle, curling them to find the spot that has you chanting his name over and over again.

"that's it, baby," he coos, and you barely register the pet name between the feeling of his fingers fucking you open and his hot tongue lapping at your clit. you can already feel something building in your core, a coiling tension threatening to snap. it's too much, too soon. it shouldn't be this easy for him.

"just let go. i've got you. i'll always have you."

his words push you over the edge. the sudden wave of your orgasm overtakes you, thighs clamping around his head, and you bite down on your own arm to muffle your cries. chan works you through it with relentless fingers, sucking on your clit until you're shaking and overstimulated. your arousal drips down his hand, pooling beneath your hips. your legs twitch on the sheets but chan doesn't give you a chance to breathe. his fingers start moving again before you've come down, fucking into you with a wet squelch that makes you jerk in his grip. your whole body is trembling now, every nerve ending on fire, too sensitive and raw.

"no, 's too much, please, chan, i can't…"

"you can," he grunts, withdrawing his fingers only to push three back in, stretching you until the burn makes you sob. his thumb grinds against your swollen clit without mercy. "you owe me that much."

there's something desperate in his voice, cracking at the end of each phrase, and you realize he too has been burning up with need for months and months.

"do you know how many times i've jerked off thinking about you?" the words spill out faster now, as if the dam has broken and he can no longer contain the flood. "in the studio. in the shower. in the living room when the others had their own schedules. in my bed with my hand over my mouth so no one would hear me saying your fucking name —"

the wet, obscene sound of his fingers fucking you open fills the room, and your second orgasm builds just as sudden as the first one. you shake your head wildly, but your cunt is clenching around his fingers, sucking him in deeper.

"i used to steal your underwear." the confession comes out in a low growl, almost ashamed, but he doesn't stop. his fingers work you so expertly your vision starts bleeding white at the edges. "from the laundry. the ones you wore to practice… i'd hold them to my face and breathe you in and imagine this, you underneath me, imagine you crying on my cock the way you're crying now —"

you moan, cunt spasming around his fingers. a gush of wetness splashes against his palm, dripping down your thigh and thoroughly soaking the sheets beneath you. the orgasm is bordering on painful in its intensity and you can barely breathe, chan's gaze in the dim morning light almost too much to bear.

this time he lets you come down, slowly pulling his fingers from your swollen pussy and bringing them to his mouth. you watch in a haze how he sucks his fingers clean. his eyes fall shut and a shiver runs through his whole body. he licks between his fingers to lap up every drop, and when he opens his eyes again they're glassy and unfocused.

"not enough." he grimaces, snapping back into reality. "i need - i need more. i need to be inside you. i can't… i can't fucking think anymore —"

he shoves his sweats down and you hear the fabric hit the floor somewhere in the dark. you're unable to move, boneless and spent and still trembling. your aching cunt clenches around nothing.

then his cock brushes against your thigh and panic rises in your chest at the thought of him being inside of you. at the sudden understanding of this being real, and not some dream or figment of your imagination.

"wait —" you try to scoot backward on the mattress, but his hand grabs your hip and drags you back down. he wraps a hand around himself and strokes, and you hear the wet sound of it, feel him bump against your entrance. "chan, if we do this, we can't go back."

there's no need to elaborate. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air between you, and chan lets out a desperate sigh.

"i know. and i don't fucking care. i spent months caring and it didn't get me anywhere. i'm gonna go mad if i don't get to feel you now."

he steadies himself and pushes, one long, brutal thrust that steals the air from your lungs. he doesn't give you time to accommodate the stretch of him, the way he fills you so completely radiating through your whole body. your hands fly up to grip his strong biceps, nails digging in hard enough to hurt, and you faintly register the sound of your own voice — a string of broken, desperate sounds you can't seem to stop from spilling out.

"oh fuck," his forehead drops to your shoulder and he breathes the words against your skin. "oh fuck, you feel perfect, baby - i knew it, i knew you'd feel like this —"

his hips pull back and snap forward again and again, and the force of it pushes you up the mattress. the way he moves is raw and desperate, as if he's trying to reach something so deep inside of you he has to drive himself further with every thrust.

"eight months," he grits the words out between strokes, each one punctuated by the wet slap of his hips against yours. "eight months of watching you walk around the dorm wearing nothing but a towel after every shower. eight months of you bending over in front of me during practice. eight months of you smiling at me like that, as if i'm not losing my fucking mind —"

his hands grab your thighs and push them wider, folding you nearly in half, changing the angle so he can reach impossibly deeper. the new position lets him grind against that sweet spot, his pubic bone pressed to your clit. you're not even trying to fight the familiar build of another orgasm this time, your body surrendering entirely to his.

"tell me you're mine," he pants, pressing his mouth against yours. his lips are soft, almost gentle despite his desperation. "promise me."

your body arches into him, cunt fluttering around his cock when he snakes a hand between your bodies and finds your clit again. your hands reach around his back, pulling him in closer.

"i'm yours, chan," you gasp into his mouth, not wanting to put an inch of space between the two of you.

he lets out a broken moan, cock throbbing and spilling deep inside of you. your nails drag a path down his back, deep enough to leave marks, but he holds you closer as your cunt milks him to the last drop.

you lay there sweaty and panting, the sudden quiet of your room no longer tense. you're sure he's fucked you so hard the bed left a dent in the wall, but you no longer find it in yourself to care about what the others might've heard.

chan kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, anywhere he can reach without having to pull out just yet and you giggle, feeling him smile against your skin. he's still holding you when you drift off into slumber again, his strong chest pressed against your back, as if he's always been there.

At first he slipped a tracking device on your car.

It’s just to make sure you get home safely, kitten.

Then he started driving past your apartment occasionally, then weekly, then daily. He learned which lights belonged to your unit and which windows you liked to leave open. His favorite days were the ones where you exercised in the living room, dressed in biker shorts and a sports bra, completely unaware of your audience.

It felt wrong—the first time his cock twitched while watching you. Invasive. But the guilt faded quickly. He convinced himself anyone with eyes would react that way to you and he has to be the one to keep an eye on you.

To protect you from them, kitten.

One evening after confirming you were gone, Felix let himself into your apartment. The electronic lock took less than a minute to hack.

The first camera went into the living room. The second overlooked the kitchen and dining area. The third was on a bookshelf across from your bed.

Obviously.

He meant to leave immediately after placing them, but curiosity pulled him toward your dresser. The top right drawer was the first he opened and held exactly what he was looking for. He ran his fingers along the lace panties, smiling softly at the various shades and imagining how they’d look against your skin.

He took a red pair for himself.

Back at home, he was alerted to your arrival by the tracker and promptly darted to his computer to view the cameras.

It was surreal enough being there himself. But seeing you in your home now, hearing the sound of you moving throughout was entirely new, and fresh. And fuck, he wished he was there with you. Wished he could just tell you how much he wanted to be with you. Every waking moment.

His eyes followed you through the apartment on the cameras, but lost you when you entered your bathroom.

That felt like too private a place to watch you, kitten.

He had to have some standards.

He maximized the camera feed, letting the image of your room fill up the entire 45-inch monitor.

You returned a while later with a towel wrapped around your body and a bottle of lotion in your hand. His eyes darted to the windows in your room, making sure they were closed.

Can’t have you exposed and vulnerable, kitten.

You sat at the edge of your bed and dried off, giving him glimpses of parts of you he’d never seen before. Thighs. Stomach. Tits.

His cock stirred beneath his sweats.

When you finally let the towel fall completely, he leaned back in his chair, pulse racing as he watched you moisturize.

He would have given anything to be the one doing that.

You stood and turned around, showing your ass to the camera. His hand flew to his cock, gripping it through his sweats as if that would stop it’s longing to be inside of you. He kneaded the length of it with his thumb as you returned the towel and bottle of lotion to the bathroom.

He used the time while you were off screen to pull down his sweats and boxers. He didn’t care what you were about to do. If you sat there and scrolled on your phone or went to sleep, he wouldn’t stop stroking his cock until he came with his eyes locked on you.

He spat into his hand then grabbed his hardened cock, slowly stroking it as you came back into frame. His brow furrowed when you climbed straight into bed without putting on any underwear or pajamas.

Is that how you always slept?

He could only hope.

You pulled out a Kindle from your nightstand and leaned back against the pillows. You bent your knees and his heart stopped at the sight of your cunt, peeking out from between your thighs. He gripped his cock tighter.

You propped up the device and after a few swipes, became impossibly still as you read.

What are you reading, kitten?

He wished he knew.

But he got a good idea fairly quickly when you started to rub your thighs together. And when you pinched your nipple between your fingers, he was certain it was of the smut variety.

The thought of you reading sexually explicit content and touching yourself (while he watched you with his cock in his hand) sent even more blood rushing to his already painfully erect appendage.

He rubbed his thumb across the tip of his cock, smearing the precum as you continued your own movements. When you released a soft moan, the sound came straight for his soul.

But hearing it through the speakers wasn’t enough. He needed the sound closer. He grabbed his headphones and put them on before maxing out the volume.

He needed to clearly hear every sound that fell from your lips, every rustle of your sheets.

Felix squeezed his cock harder as he stroked it, watching closely as your hand snaked between your thighs, fingers rubbing circles around your clit. He was suspended in disbelief at what he was seeing. At how gracious you were to bless him with this presentation on his first night with you.

It was almost like you were touching yourselves together.

He could so easily picture himself on the bed with you, face between your thighs, nuzzling his nose against your cunt, inhaling your scent.

Bet you smell good, kitten.

You spread your legs further apart, plunged your fingers into your cunt then brought the back out to spread your juices around your clit. Your hips started to move as your breathing grew shallow.

He stroked his cock faster.

You moved your hand back up to your tits, cupping one and pinching the nipple, then moved it back to your clit. A soft whimper of frustration fell from your lips.

I could do both for you, kitten.

You worked yourselves up together, moaning and groaning as you both pleased yourselves. You returned your fingers into your cunt, slowly fucking yourself, then picking up speed, smacking your palm against your clit.

He gripped his cock harder, stroking from tip to hilt furiously. He wanted to know how his cock would feel inside you. Your cunt gripping him. Your juices coating his thighs.

He grunted at the thought.

He leaned back in the chair, teeth gritted as you rolled over. You placed the Kindle on your pillow and kept your right hand between your legs, fingers still driving into your wet cunt.

And the sounds it made, kitten.

Your hips bounced against your hand as you let loose on the bed, eyes still on the words giving you so much pleasure.

Was it possible to be jealous of an electronic device? Because he sure fucking was. Fuck that Kindle. Fuck whoever wrote that story. He was desperate to be the one making you feel like that.

Felix couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. And as far as he was concerned, even blinking was a waste of time with you in front of him like that.

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, fighting off his release.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck me, please.”

Was that dialogue from the story?

Dare he believe it was meant for him?

Because he did.

He imagined mounting you from behind, plunging his cock into you, pounding your cunt until he filled you with his cum.

He couldn’t hold back anymore and neither could you.

Come with me, kitten.

He groaned as you cried out. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, carrying him through his orgasm as cum spurt out the tip of his cock. It went everywhere—the floor, his desk, the keyboard. He didn’t fucking care.

When your hips stopped writhing against the bed, you flipped over onto your back and slipped your fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself.

His cock twitched.

He looked down at it with furrowed brows as if it had a mind of it’s own.

Not yet.

He would wait for you to fall asleep. He wanted to cum while imagining himself standing over you, waking you up with his warm cum drenching your angelic face.

You made your way to the bathroom again and he finally stood to clean himself up, too.

Felix was happier than he’d been in a while.

No longer did he ever have to spend his time without you.

how was that? 🫣 i could see a part two eventually but that's it for now.

thanks for reading!

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the number printed in small, almost sterile font. The kind of font that makes the whole thing feel less like a joke and more like a service someone, somewhere, expects to be used.

Your TV is on but you aren’t watching it. Your phone has no new notifications, just the glow of the screen reflecting faintly against your fingers as you keep staring at the number like it might change if you wait long enough.

You told yourself three times now that you’re not actually going to do it.

On the fourth, your thumb moves before your thoughts can catch up.

The line rings once.

Twice.

Then, “Thanks for calling. Please listen closely as our menu options may have changed."

Your heart starts to race anyway, like your body forgot this is still just a phone call.

"Press 1 for Channie. Press 2 for Lino. Press 3 Binnie. Press 4 for Hyunnie. Press 5 for—"

Click. You pressed 4, causing the recording to cut-off mid-sentence.

Silence rushes in right after, too sudden to feel empty. It feels intentional, like you just interrupted something you weren’t supposed to touch.

You stare at the phone. The name Hyunnie sticks in your head longer than it should. Softer than the others. Less like a label, more like something said too many times in the dark.

As you sit and wait for the call to connect you begin to have second thoughts.

Your thumb hovers near the screen, like it might still give you an easy way out. Like you could just cancel this and pretend you never got curious in the first place. The flyer suddenly feels a lot less funny than it did at the bar.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Maybe this is exactly the kind of thing normal people don’t actually do.

The ringing continues anyway, pulling you forward whether you’re ready or not.

Then the line clicks.

For a moment, there’s only breath on the other end. A soft shift of sound, like someone leaning closer to a receiver.

Then his voice settles in, smooth and practiced, like it’s already decided what shape this call is meant to take.

“Hi there,” he says smoothly. “You found me.”

Not rushed, definitely not robotic. He sounded warm in a way that feels intentional.

Your thumb is still hovering near the screen, like your body forgot to commit even though you already did.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s noticing the hesitation without calling it out directly. “You still with me?”

At this point, all he could hear was you breathing softly through the phone. “Mmm,” he hums, not disappointed, not surprised. “That’s okay. You don’t have to perform for me.”

The word lands strangely in your chest.

Perform.

Like he can hear the version of you that tried to show up a minute ago and decided it wasn’t worth keeping.

You swallow. “I… pressed the wrong thing,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you meant it to.

A quiet exhale through the line. Almost a laugh, but not at you. “Pressed the wrong thing,” he repeats. “And you’re still here.”

It isn’t a question, but it still makes your stomach tighten.

“I can transfer you back to the menu if you want,” he adds, easy. “Or you can stay with me for a bit.”

There was no pressure in his tone. Just options, like he laid them out like expecting you to choose. You glance around your dark room, the phone light pooling across your hands, picking out the lines of your palms.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” you admit.

There’s a brief silence, but it doesn’t feel like emptiness. It feels like he’s listening. “Then don’t say the ‘supposed to’ stuff,” he replies. “Just say what’s real for a minute.”

He then pauses.

“And if what’s real is ‘I don’t know,’ that still counts.” Somewhere behind his voice, there’s a faint rustle, like he shifts his body. “So,” he says gently, slipping back into that practiced warmth without making it feel like a switch. “What made you call me tonight?”

That should be an easy question; unforunate for you, it isn’t.

Your throat feels tight in a way that makes you suddenly aware of how quiet your room is, how loud your own breathing sounds when no one is talking over it.

“I don’t know,” you say again, softer this time, like if you lower it enough it might become acceptable.

Its silent on his end for a second.

“Mmm,” he hums. “That’s usually the most honest answer I get.”

Something about that makes your shoulders loosen without you meaning it to. “I guess,” you start, then stop.

Try again.

“It was a joke.”

“A joke,” he repeats, like he’s turning it over carefully.

“Yeah. My friends…” You exhale through your nose, embarrassed before you even finish the sentence. “They gave me the number. Said it was for emergencies.”

“And tonight felt like one?”

“…Maybe.”

There’s a soft sound on his end, like he nods even though you can’t see it. “Okay,” he says simply. “We can work with maybe.”

That makes you huff a quiet laugh before you can stop yourself.

“Good,” he adds, and there’s something lighter in his tone now. “That means you’re still here with me.”

The way he says with me shouldn’t matter, and yet it does.

You shift on the bed, pulling your knees closer without really thinking about it. The room feels less like it’s pressing in on you now, though nothing about it has actually changed.

“I guess I just…” You trail off, searching for something that doesn’t feel stupid the moment it leaves your mouth. “I didn’t really think I’d actually call.”

“Mmm,” he hums again. “So you’re surprised you did.”

“Yeah.”

“That happens a lot,” he says finally. “People don’t usually call me because everything’s going great.”

That earns a breath of a laugh from you again, quieter this time. More honest. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask.

“No,” he says, easy. “Just true.”

Somehow that does make you feel a little better.

The silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Less like a gap. More like a shared space neither of you are rushing to fill.

“You can hang up whenever you want,” he adds after a moment, tone still steady. “Just so you know.”

“I’m not trying to hang up,” you say before you can overthink it.

“Good,” he replies.

Like that answer was more than enough.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Over the next few days, you don’t mean to call again.

That’s what you tell yourself later, framing it as a choice you carefully made instead of a craving you simply couldn't ignore. But it doesn’t feel like a decision when your fingers already know the number, sliding across the screen with a quiet familiarity you don’t question anymore.

The second time, it’s late.

Same bed, same oppressive quiet, same cold phone glow, except this time, the hesitation is gone. You want this.

He picks up almost immediately. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks, like he’s settling into you.

“Hey,” he says, softer than before, like the sound itself is meant to land closer.

“Hi,” you answer, your own voice sounding small, breathy.

“You came back,” he says.

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the friction of your sheets against your legs and the silence of the room pressing in around you. “Is that weird?”

A faint exhale comes through the line, a ghost of a smile maybe. “For you, maybe,” he murmurs, “not for me.”

Something warm and tight coils in your lower belly, a subtle, unwanted pulse that makes you shift instinctively against the mattress.

“I had a long day,” you admit after a moment.

“Do you want to talk about it,” he asks, the tone shifting, becoming more focused, “or do you want me to take you out of it for a while?”

The phrasing catches in your throat. Not fix it. Not solve it. Just… take you. The implication of surrender makes your nipples harden against your thin shirt.

“…Out of it,” you whisper.

There’s a brief pause on his end, like he’s acknowledging the shift before stepping into it with you. “Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Okay.”

The change isn’t sharp. It’s gradual, controlled, like he’s adjusting the distance between you and everything outside the call.

“I’m going to need you to slow your breathing down for me,” he says.

You do it without thinking, then realize you’re following.

“Good,” he murmurs, and you swear he can hear the way your breath hitches. “Just like that.”

Then he pauses, “You’re still holding onto your day.”

You hesitate. ".....Yeah."

“Alright,” he says, like that answer is expected. “Let it go a little. You don’t have to carry all of it in here.”

The room around you feels heavier when he says it, like you’re only noticing it now because he told you to stop bracing against it.

His voice stays steady and controlled. Close in a way that isn’t physical but still feels like attention fully turned toward you.

“Stay with me,” he says. “Just listen for a bit.”

And you do, not because you’re told to.

Because everything else in the room starts to feel further away the longer he speaks, until it stops competing for your attention at all.

Another pause follows, thick and heavy with anticipation. It feels as though he is reaching through the phone, waiting for you to stop resisting the pull.

“I’m going to take this slow,” he says, his voice smoothing into a practiced, deliberate warmth that makes it harder to think clearly. “And you’re going to tell me if anything doesn’t feel right, okay?”

The boundary only sharpens everything. Not because it stops what’s happening, but because it defines it. Makes it real in a way the flyer never did.

“…Okay,” you whimper.

“Good,” he replies immediately, like he was waiting for that exact answer.

A small shift on his end. You can hear it in the sound of him settling in, the subtle change in proximity through the speaker, like he’s no longer halfway between roles and is fully present in this one.

“Then listen to me,” he says, softer now. “Don’t rush ahead of me. Don’t try to figure out where this is going.”

Your breath catches slightly at how easily he holds your attention without raising his voice.

“Just stay with my voice for a bit.” Close your eyes, and just listen.”

You close your eyes, and the world vanishes. The room, the phone, the lingering stress of the day, it all dissolves, leaving nothing but the dark and the heavy, velvet weight of his voice filling the void.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with a quiet satisfaction. “Just the sound of me. Nothing else matters right now.”

“I want you to start by noticing where you’re still tight,” he directs, his voice a low, steady hum. “Your shoulders… your jaw… the way you’re gripping the phone. Let it all go. Just melt into the mattress for me.”

As you follow his lead, your body feels heavy, almost liquid. The relaxation is so sudden it feels like a drug, leaving you raw and hypersensitive. Every brush of the sheets against your skin feels amplified, an electric current humming just beneath the surface.

“Good girl. Just like that,” he whispers.

The praise hits you like a physical touch, sending a sharp, sudden jolt of heat straight to your core. You let out a shaky exhale, your hips giving a small, unconscious twitch against the bed.

There’s a pause, and it feels like he’s listening to more than just your silence now. Like he’s tracking the way you’ve changed without you needing to explain it.

“You don’t have to hold yourself together in here,” he says after a moment, voice low and even. “Not with me.” The words settle in a way that makes your breathing slow without you meaning to force it.

He pauses, and the silence is thick, charged with an unbearable tension. You find yourself arching your back slightly, craving a touch that isn't there, your body instinctively searching for a way to bridge the distance between you.

“Now,” he says, his voice smoothing out into a command that leaves no room for doubt. “I want you to take your free hand… and I want you to touch yourself. Not there. Not yet. Just… start with your collarbone. Slowly.”

Your breath hitches. The request is simple, but the authority behind it makes your heart race. Slowly, trembling, you lift your hand and let your fingertips graze the sensitive skin of your neck, sliding down to your collarbone.

“Mmm, just like that,” he hums, the sound vibrating through the phone and settling deep in your belly. “Slow. Deliberate. Feel how warm your skin is. Feel how your heart is beating for me.”

As your fingers trace the line of your skin, the intimacy of the act, guided by a voice from the dark, makes you feel exposed and cherished all at once. You aren't just touching yourself; you are touching yourself for him.

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice growing more focused, more hungry. “Slide your hand down. Over your chest… feel your nipples hardening under your touch. Tell me how they feel.”

“H-hard,” you whimper, your voice barely a thread of sound. “They’re… aching.”

“I know they are,” he replies, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. “I can almost feel them. Now… keep sliding down. Don't stop until you reach the place where you're the warmest.”

Your hand trembles as it slides lower, passing over the curve of your stomach, feeling the erratic flutter of your pulse. The air in the room feels thick, humid, as if his presence has physically manifested beside you. When your fingers finally brush against the damp heat between your thighs, you let out a broken moan, your hips instinctively lifting to meet your own touch.

“There it is,” he whispers. “You’re soaking for me, aren't you? I can hear it in your breath. I can hear how desperate you are.”

The bluntness of his words strips away the last of your inhibitions. You slide two fingers deep inside yourself, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, the friction of your own skin combined with the commanding weight of his voice guiding every movement.

“Faster,” he commands, his voice dropping to a low, guttural rasp. “Don't be gentle. I want you to feel every bit of this. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers stretching you open, my thumb grinding against your clit until you can’t think of anything but me.”

You obey instantly, your movements becoming frantic, your breath coming in short, jagged moans. You are no longer just touching yourself; you are reacting to him, your body a puppet dancing to the rhythm of his voice. The tension in your belly coils tighter and tighter.

“Look at yourself,” he whispers, though you keep your eyes squeezed shut, seeing only the dark heat of his tone. “Imagine me watching you. Imagine me leaning over you, my hand replacing yours, forcing you to take every inch of me while I tell you how good you feel.”

That image is the trigger. The mental picture of his weight on you, the imagined scent of his skin, and the actual, physical friction of your fingers colliding. You feel the first wave of the orgasm crash over you.

“Yes… give it all to me,” he moans, his own voice sounding strained, as if he’s fighting his own release on the other end of the line. “Come for me, baby. Right now.”

Your body arched, your muscles started clamping tight around your fingers as you peak. The release is blinding, a flood of warmth and pleasure that leaves you gasping, your chest heaving as you slowly collapse back into the mattress.

The silence that follows is heavy, but not empty. It settles between you and him like something that doesn’t need to be filled right away, lingering in the space his voice just occupied.

All you can hear is your own breathing, slower now, uneven in a way that gradually starts to even itself out.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice softened again, the edge of control easing back into something steadier. “Just stay there for me.”

There’s a pause on his end, like he’s checking that you’re still there, still present in whatever this has become.

“You’re okay,” he adds quietly, not quite a question, not quite reassurance either, just something he states like fact.

The room feels different now, not lighter exactly, but less sharp around the edges. Like you’ve come down from somewhere too loud to name and are only now noticing the quiet again.

“Take your time,” he says after a moment. “I’m here.”

And then, a beat later, softer, “Get some rest.”

The line clicks off.

For a while, you don’t move. The phone stays warm in your hand, your body still carrying the echo of his voice in a way that makes the silence feel less absolute than it should. Eventually, you set it down, but even then, it doesn’t feel like the call is fully gone yet.

It’s only later, when the room has fully gone quiet again, that it starts to settle in differently.

Not the intensity of it. Not the way he spoke to you, or the way you followed his voice like it was the only steady thing in the room.

It’s the fact that you did.

You stare at the ceiling, suddenly too aware of your own skin, your own thoughts returning in fragments you don’t know what to do with. The confidence you had on the call feels borrowed now, like something you put on and forgot to take off properly.

Your phone sits beside you, face down, like it might still be listening.

A heat creeps up your neck slowly, not from what happened exactly, but from remembering how easily you stopped overthinking when he told you to. How quickly you followed. How little resistance there actually was once you let it start.

You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket up a little higher than necessary, as if that changes anything.

It should feel ridiculous.

It does, a little.

But it also feels… real in a way you don’t want to name too directly.

Because somewhere between his voice telling you to relax and you actually doing it, you stopped feeling like someone who was just making a joke call.

And that’s the part that sits with you longest.

Not what he did.

What you let happen.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The next time you call him, you hesitate longer than you expect to. Not because you don’t want to. That part is worse, because you do. It’s just that now there’s a layer of awareness sitting on top of it, like you’ve seen behind the curtain and can’t fully unsee it. You almost hang up twice before it connects.

When he answers, there’s a small pause before he speaks, like he’s already noticed something different. “Hey,” he says, easy as always, but slower this time, like he’s listening closer.

“Hi,” you reply, and your voice comes out tighter than you meant.

“You’re thinking a lot,” he says. It isn’t framed as a question.

Your stomach drops slightly at how quickly he clocks it. “I’m fine.”

“Mhm,” he hums, unconvinced but not pushing yet. “That doesn’t sound like ‘fine.’”

You shift on the bed, suddenly hyper-aware of your hands, your posture, the fact that you’re even here again after last time. “It’s just…” You stop, then restart, quieter. “Last time felt kind of…” You trail off, immediately regretting starting.

“Intense?” he offers, calm.

The word lands too accurately. You don’t answer right away, and that silence is enough confirmation. He doesn’t laugh or tease you, which somehow would’ve been easier. Instead, he exhales softly, like he already understands exactly where your thoughts are stuck.

“Hey,” he says, voice softening. “You don’t have to make it weird.”

You start automatically. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cuts in gently, not harsh, just certain. “A little.”

That should make it worse, but somehow it doesn’t. Your shoulders loosen by a fraction without permission. “I’m just… aware of it now,” you admit finally.

There’s a pause, then his voice shifts again, subtle but deliberate. Not leaving the role, just adjusting how he holds it. “That’s normal,” he says. “First time people stop overthinking, they usually overthink the fact that they stopped overthinking.”

A quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

“There you are,” he adds immediately, like he’s been waiting for that sound.

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you know me.”

A brief silence follows, but it isn’t tense. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I don’t need to act,” he says. “I just listen.”

That lands differently than it should. You stare at the ceiling, suddenly less defensive than you were moments ago. “…I didn’t know I’d call again,” you admit quietly.

“I figured you might,” he says simply.

That certainty tightens in your throat in a way you don’t fully understand yet. “And?” you ask, quieter. “Is that… bad?”

A small pause. “No,” he says. “It just means you’re still figuring out what you want from it.”

Another pause, then softer: “We can take it slower tonight if you want.”

The words should have created distance, but instead they loosen something in your chest you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I don’t know,” you admit after a moment, and it’s honest in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“That’s fine,” he says, steady and unbothered. “You don’t have to know yet.”

You let out a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling as if it might organize your thoughts into something less messy. “It’s just weird,” you add. “I didn’t think I’d actually call again after… last time.”

He doesn’t interrupt. The silence he gives you feels intentional, like he’s letting you finish without rushing where it goes. “I get that,” he says eventually. “A lot of people do that the first time. They overthink it afterward more than they do in the moment.”

That makes something shift in you, because it’s too accurate to ignore and too calm to feel like judgment.

“You’re not weird for it,” he continues. “You’re just aware of yourself now in a way you weren’t before.”

You swallow at that, because it sounds uncomfortably close to the truth. “I don’t really know how I’m supposed to act on these calls,” you admit, quieter now, like you’re testing whether honesty makes anything worse.

“You don’t have to act,” he says. “That’s kind of the point.”

You exhale through your nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“It’s not about easy,” he replies. “It’s about not making it harder than it needs to be.”

There’s a pause where you almost fill the silence again, but don’t. He notices anyway. “You’re still trying to perform a little,” he says gently, not accusing, just observant.

Your stomach tightens, because he’s right in a way you didn’t want to recognize. “I’m not performing,” you say, but it comes out weaker than you mean it to.

“Mhm,” he answers, not arguing. “Then stop trying to sound like you’re okay with everything if you’re not.”

That lands softer than it should, because it isn’t pushing you away. It’s pulling you back into the moment.

You go quiet for a second, then finally admit, “I just don’t want it to be… awkward.”

“It already is,” he replies, and there’s something faintly warm in it, like he’s smiling without needing to perform it. “You’re just trying to pretend it isn’t.”

That makes you huff a small laugh despite yourself.

“There,” he says immediately. “That’s better.”

You roll your eyes again, even though he can’t see it, but your shoulders drop a little anyway.

“I’m not good at this,” you admit.

“At what?” he asks.

“Talking like this.”

“You don’t need to be good at it,” he says. “You just need to stay here with me.”

The way he says it doesn’t feel like instruction. It feels like permission. And somehow, that’s what you keep coming back for.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Over the next few weeks, the calls stop feeling like something you have to talk yourself into.

They start happening the way habits do, without ceremony.

Sometimes you call him late, when the room is already dark and your thoughts are too loud to sit with alone. Those nights, his voice settles into you quickly, guiding you out of whatever spiral you’ve fallen into without asking too many questions. He doesn’t always push for conversation. Sometimes he just stays with you, talking low and steady until your breathing evens out again.

Other nights are lighter.

You tell him random things you wouldn’t normally say out loud, like how you think you’d be better at sleeping if your brain didn’t insist on replaying every conversation you’ve ever had at 2 a.m., or how you once considered moving to a different city just because you liked the way it sounded when you said it out loud. He listens like it matters more than it should.

And sometimes, it shifts again.

There are calls where the tone changes without needing explanation, where his voice drops into something more intimate and intentional, when you don’t have to pretend not to understand what that means anymore. You stop overthinking the role you’re supposed to play in it.

You just follow the rhythm of his instructions, the moans, the way he holds your attention without ever needing to raise his voice. Those calls leave you quieter afterward, more aware in a way that lingers longer than you expect.

But even those don’t feel separate anymore.

They all blur together eventually.

One night you’re talking about something you wanted to be when you were younger, and he hums thoughtfully like he’s actually picturing it. The next, he’s teasing you for overthinking your own sentences again, and you catch yourself smiling at the sound of it before you can stop.

You’re talking about nothing at all when the thought comes out before you can smooth it back down. “Do you ever think about doing something else?”

There’s a pause on his end that feels different from the usual ones, not uncertain, just… measured. “Something else?” he repeats.

“Like,” you hesitate, suddenly aware of how personal the question sounds now that it’s already in the air, “not this. Just… anything else.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You shift slightly on your bed, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said it, but he doesn’t let it drop.

“I do other things,” he says eventually, careful but not defensive.

“That’s not what I mean,” you reply, softer now.

Another pause, longer this time. Then his voice changes slightly, still calm, but less performative than usual.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “Yeah.”

That answer sits between you for a moment longer than it should.

You don’t rush to fill it. Instead, you let it settle, like you’re trying to understand what part of him exists outside the version that answers you like this.

“Would you stop?” you ask quietly.

It comes out more honest than you intended, less casual than you meant it to sound.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and in that silence, for the first time, it feels like you’ve touched something real behind the role he plays. “I don’t know,” he says finally.

For some reason, that answer stays with you longer than any of the others ever have.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

After that call, something changes in the way you think about him. Not in a dramatic way, not all at once, but quietly, in a way that doesn’t announce itself. You still call him the same way, still fall into the same rhythms, but now there are moments in between where he doesn’t feel like just a voice you reach for at night.

He starts existing in the gaps of your day.

You’ll be doing something ordinary and catch yourself wondering what his voice would sound like in response. You’ll pause mid-thought sometimes, realizing you’ve started conversations in your head you don’t actually plan to finish out loud. It doesn’t feel strange anymore, just familiar in a way you don’t fully examine.

The calls continue the same way they always have, but they also don’t.

He still meets you where you are. Some nights are light and easy, you talking about nothing in particular while he listens like it matters more than it should.

Other nights slip into that steadier, more intentional tone where the rest of the world feels further away and you stop trying to explain why you called in the first place.

And sometimes, you catch him in moments where he sounds less like the version of himself he presents and more like someone slightly off-script. Not enough to name, just enough to notice.

“Hyunnie?”

There’s a pause on his end like he wasn’t expecting you to say his name. The pause wasn’t long, but different enough to register.

“Yeah?” he answers.

Something about it tightens in your chest for no clear reason.

You almost don’t ask the question. You almost let it pass like you usually do with thoughts that feel too personal to keep out in the open, but you don’t this time.

“Do you ever think about me when I’m not calling?”

The silence that follows isn’t dramatic. It’s just longer than usual.

When he finally speaks, his voice is still steady, but more careful than before. “Yeah,” he says simply. “Sometimes.”

That should have been enough. It wasn’t.

Because now it changes shape in your mind. The idea that there is a version of him that exists in between you, just like there is a version of you that now waits for him more than you want to admit.

You don’t say anything for a moment. Neither does he. Instead of breaking it, he lets the silence stay with you.

“You’re quiet,” he says eventually, softer now.

“I’m just thinking,” you reply.

“About what?”

You hesitate, then let it come out before you can overthink it. “That I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

There’s a pause, then his voice comes through gentler than before. “You don’t have to do anything with it,” he says. “Not yet.”

But the way he says yet makes it feel like he already knows that isn’t going to stay true forever.

The change is small at first, so small you almost don’t trust yourself for noticing it.

It isn’t that he stops answering. He still does. It’s just that sometimes there’s a little more space before he does, like the world on his side of the line is no longer arranged around the exact moment you call.

At first you tell yourself it means nothing. People get busy. That’s all this is.

The calls still happen, still fall into their familiar rhythm, but you find yourself listening a little differently now. 

Waiting a fraction longer before you speak. Noticing when his voice takes a second more to settle into place, like he’s stepping into the only version of himself that you recognize on the other side of the phone.

“Hey,” he still says, like nothing has changed.

But sometimes it sounds slightly farther away.

You don’t ask about it.

Instead, you adjust without realizing you’re doing it. You stop calling at the same times. You wait longer between calls, telling yourself it’s just because you’re busy too, even though the thought of not calling doesn’t actually stick.

And when you do call, it feels slightly more intentional on both ends. Like it was less automatic. More so as if you were eager to talk to each other.

One night, after a pause that lingers just a bit longer than usual, you ask him if everything is okay.

There’s a small shift before he answers, subtle enough that you almost miss it. “Yeah,” he says. “Why?”

You hesitate, then decide not to make it bigger than it is. “Just wondering.”

“Mmm,” he replies, like he accepts that without needing more. But the answer doesn’t fully settle you this time.

After the call ends, you stay where you are longer than usual. Phone still in your hand, screen dark now, like you’re waiting for something that already finished.

You don’t know why it feels different yet. You just know it does.

It starts with a missed call.

You don’t notice it right away. You only see it later when your screen lights back up after hanging up.

You call back.

The line rings once, then drops into the familiar system.

“Thanks for calling. Please listen closely as our menu options may have changed.”

You wait, already knowing the rhythm of it now.

“Press 1 for Channie. Press 2 for Lino. Press 3 for Binnie. Press 4 for Hyun—”

You press 4 before it finishes.

The line cuts again, clean and immediate. It used to feel like a choice when that happened. Now it feels like recognition.

There’s a pause after, longer than you remember it being before. Not silence exactly, more like waiting that doesn’t resolve quickly.

Then the line connects, but not in the same way.

“Hey,” he says. It’s still his voice, but it takes him a second longer to arrive in it.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, even though you don’t fully know what you’re apologizing for.

A small pause. “You’re fine,” he replies, but it lands softer than before. Slightly distracted, like he’s somewhere else and choosing to be here anyway.

You sit up a little straighter without meaning to. “You missed my call.”

“I saw,” he says.

That should have been simple. Not for you though.

Because there’s no explanation after it. Just a quiet space where something used to come next.

“You okay?” you ask, slower now.

A beat too long. “Yeah,” he says again, but this time it sounds like something he’s saying while doing something else at the same time.

And you realize, faintly, that this is the first time the call feels like it had to catch up to him. Not the other way around.

You don’t know what to do with that yet, so you don’t push.

Instead, you just stay on the line a little longer than usual, listening to the space between his words start to feel slightly less stable than it used to.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The next time you call, it doesn’t connect the way it used to.

The menu starts as expected. The same voice, the same polite distance.

“Thanks calling. Please listen closely for our menu options—”

You don’t wait for it to finish.

You press 4.

Nothing follows.

Not him, not the shift you’ve come to expect, just a pause that stretches too long before the system quietly resets itself and begins again.

You try once more, faster this time, like speed might matter. It doesn’t.

The menu returns exactly as it was. 

After a while, you stop reacting to it. You just let it play through, listening without interrupting, like that might make it behave differently.

It doesn’t. Eventually, it disconnects without ever leaving the recording behind.

No voice. No transition. Just the drop into silence.

You try again later.

And again.

At some point, the attempts stop feeling like decisions and start feeling like repetition you’re no longer fully present for.

Morning, midday, night, the timing stops mattering. The result doesn’t change.

The menu always starts.

You press 4 less urgently now, sometimes not at all. Sometimes you listen to the full thing just to see if anything inside it shifts. It never does, but you keep checking anyway, like the outcome might revise itself if you witness it often enough.

There’s a moment, days later, when you realize you’ve stopped expecting him to appear in it. You’re still calling, still listening, but the anticipation has thinned into something quieter, less hopeful and more habitual.

One time, you don’t press anything at all.

You just let it run and when it ends, the silence that follows feels different.

And when you hang up, you don’t call back right away. Your hand stays still over the phone for a moment longer than it needs to, like it hasn’t caught up to what your body already understands.

He isn’t coming back to the line.

You set the phone down, and this time, the silence doesn’t ask you to try again.

For a moment, you keep the phone in your hand even though there’s nothing left on it to read or replay. Then you set it down like you’re returning something that was never really yours to hold. The room doesn’t change after that, but you do, in small ways you can’t quite name yet. You stare at nothing for a while before you finally let your eyes close, and even then, you don’t reach for anything.

He moves slowly through the rooms, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants while soft instrumental music plays overhead. There aren’t many people here, surprisingly, despite a few tourists and a few groups of what appears to be university students sketching sculptures in their notebooks. Hyunjin figured that once the rain hit people would be pouring in here to escape it, but he was thankfully proven wrong. He prefers it this way.

He walks further down, his shoes lightly tapping against the floor, pausing at a massive oil painting. It’s depicting a man kneeling waist-deep in dark water beneath a giant golden sky. His eyes study it for a moment before drifting down to read the plaque, mouthing out the words salvation through suffering to himself. His eyes flicker back up to the painting, head tilting slightly as he traces every single detail before deciding that it seems just a tad bit dramatic. In his professional opinion, (which should be taken with a grain of salt), people tend to romanticize suffering too much. If someone is drowning, maybe they should be helped instead of allowing it to happen and calling it beautiful.

But that’s just his opinion.

He snaps a quick picture of it, sending it to the group chat before slowly walking into another room. More oil paintings line the walls in massive frames, all revolving around grief, isolation, longing—human suffering presented beautifully enough that has something pulling deep in his chest. He stays where he is for a second longer, studying each piece thoughtfully until his eyes drift down to focus on the reflection staring back at him through the glass protecting the painting. And although the reflection staring back at him appears familiar, there’s something distant there.

Hyunjin barely recognizes himself at times. He’s not the same guy he once was when they first debuted, full of passion and determination and life. As the years went on, the weight of everything got heavier on his shoulders, and he was stuck in a constant loop of exhaustion. It’s not that he hates his job—he loves his fans, the members, and performing more than anything. But he just hates that he has to feel so miserable sometimes when he’s supposed to be doing something he loves.

Even now, there’s some moments where he catches himself feeling strangely disconnected from the version of him everyone knows. He’s heard it all—the idol, the visual, the beautiful dramatic one. People think they know him because they constantly consume bits and pieces of him on a screen, but that’s exactly that—they think.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he’s went live. He used to be more active, going on random Instagram lives and sending numerous texts and pictures off Bubble. But lately, he hasn’t had the energy too. It feels performative, in a way, but everything is performative in his world.

He just wishes he could stop being what people want him to be and not care what people say about it.

Most days, he feels like a collection of carefully selected fragments pretending to be an actual person. Therapy helps. Medicine helps. Having a good support system helps. But sometimes, it’s not enough, and he needs to do things for himself to help clear his head, like take a however month long hiatus and do a solo trip to Italy.

Maybe that’s why he likes Italy so much. Maybe that’s why he likes art galleries so much. Nobody here expects anything from him.

Hyunjin tears his gaze away from his reflection, stuffing his hands back into his pants pocket before heading towards the next room. This one focuses on fractured intimacy. There’s paintings of lovers facing opposite directions, hands nearly touching but never quite reaching, bodies close physically but emotionally miles apart. He feels it instantly because, unfortunately, he understood this kind of distance too well.

He moves on before the feeling settles too deeply.

Hyunjin drifts through the next room half-focused, his thoughts scattered all over the place. One second he’s thinking about sketching, another second he’s thinking about finding another small restaurant near the river tonight. He’s thinking about anything, desperately trying to distract himself from the heavy feeling in his chest. He’s thinking about anything, until he can no longer think at all.

His entire body comes to an abrupt stop, like something inside him physically locks. The room suddenly feels colder, the weight on his shoulders grows heavier, and he feels like he might pass out on this sleek marble flooring.

At the far end of the gallery stands a woman beneath soft overhead lighting. She’s wearing a yellow dress with a cream-colored raincoat, dark curls falling over one shoulder, hands gripping onto the strap of her purse as she studies a painting in front of her.

For one second, Hyunjin’s brain refuses to process what he’s seeing, not because he doesn’t recognize her, but because he does instantly. In fact, every nerve ending in his entire body recognizes her before logic can even catch up with him.

No. There’s absolutely no way that she is standing a few steps away from him right now, at an art gallery in Italy. There is absolutely no way.

His brain scrambles for even more explanations, as he mentally talks himself out of a panic attack that may or may not be brewing. Lots of people have curly hair and a round face. Lots of people give off the exact same aura. He just drank too much wine at lunch, and that’s why he’s currently hallucinating her standing in front of him. Yeah, that must be it.

Only it isn’t. Because before he could even blink, she had shifted just slightly, now giving him a perfect view of her face, confirming what he already knew was true.

Y/N.

Somehow, she looks exactly the same, yet completely different all at the same time. Her hair is shorter than he remembers, darker than he remembers, falling down to her shoulders. She’s wearing minimal makeup, yet she’s still naturally so pretty, staring at the painting in awe. Gold rings line her fingers, catching the light in the room. She looks more mature, more settled into herself, and Hyunjin is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s currently ogling at a very much real Y/N in the middle of a very much real art gallery full of very much real people.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

His heartbeat slams violently against his ribcage, and he has to remind himself to breathe so he doesn’t actually pass out. He closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head back and forth before opening them again, his eyes widening once he realizes that he’s not hallucinating and she’s still painfully real, standing in front of him again after four fucking years.

And god, she’s still beautiful. The kind of beautiful that sneaks up on him before he can even emotionally defend himself.

He feels rooted to his spot, gawking, staring, still trying not to pass out. She doesn’t move for a second, and Hyunjin thinks he has to be hallucinating her, only for her to shift a little closer towards where he’s standing, and then reality comes back.

A quiet shriek escapes his mouth as he instantly steps behind one of the marble columns near him, shielding his view from her. He stands there for a second, breathing heavy, his stomach flipping so hard that it actually makes him dizzy.

This is insane. Actually insane. It’s been four years—four years of zero contact, of living lives in two completely different worlds, and somehow, seeing her for less than twenty seconds already feels catastrophic to his nervous system.

He pushes his back against the column, shifting himself so he’s more hidden. He feels calmer now that he can’t see her anymore, but that only lasts for five seconds before he’s peaking around the column again just to see that she’s still there. She’s still there, still looking at paintings, still completely unaware she’s currently ruining his emotional stability from thirty feet away.

Hyunjin knows he should leave. He should just turn around, pretend he didn’t even see her, and leave. That would be the normal thing to do, the healthy thing to do. But instead, he stays frozen exactly where he is, watching her, noticing every single movement and detail about her, just like he did when he saw her for the first time four years ago.

He notices the way she shifts her weight while she’s thinking. He notices the tiny line appearing between her brows while reading the plaque beside the painting. He notices the absentminded way she tucks her curls behind her ear. He notices everything—and it feels so unfair.

How can four years disappear instantly like that? How can his body remember someone this much after so much time apart?

He remembers her so vividly that it’s actually insane. He remembers her voice, her scent, her smile. He remembers how calm he felt around her, how right it felt being near her. He remembers how she sounded calling out his name as he made her cum on his cock.

His chest aches suddenly. He’s torn between a constant battle of leaving or following her until he may or may not develop the confidence to actually approach her. His mind screams at him to leave, the red flags going off in his head. But Hyunjin had never listened to himself in the first place, so why would he do that now?

He leans his head over to catch another glimpse of her, his eyes widening as he sees her walking into the next room. Panic shoots through him instantly, and before he could even blink, he’s already following her, hiding behind another large column.

He peaks over, noticing that she stops before another enormous painting. He doesn’t even bother to look at which one, his interest in all the art surrounding him diminishing instantly. He’s way too distracted by the fact that Y/N is real, standing ten feet away, breathing the same air as him for the first time in years.

His heart pounds harder the longer he keeps watching her. He should walk up to her and say something, and not keep hiding behind European architecture like a fucking stalker. He should, but he can’t.

What if she feels nothing for him now? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with him? What if she rejects him?

He can’t do it. He just can’t.

A large group of tourists suddenly moves in front of him, blocking his view from her completely. Hyunjin shifts immediately, trying to keep her in sight, feeling a surge of panic flow through his body as he searches the room. It feels like forever when everything finally clears, his shoulders relaxing instantly. Yet that didn’t last long, as he desperately tried to find her, only to realize that she’s gone.

“No, no, no,” He mumbles to himself like an insane person, moving quickly into the adjoining room, his eyes scanning faces in panicked desperation, hoping one of them was hers.

He moves into another hallway. Nothing. He begins circling rooms twice. Nothing.

He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling his stomach drop. Somehow, losing sight of her after finding her again feels devastating already, and it makes him feel insane. Maybe if he would stop being a fucking coward all the time and actually went up to talk to her whenever he first saw her, he wouldn’t be here searching the gallery pretending he isn’t searching the gallery.

He had to have hallucinated her. There was no way that she disappeared that quickly, like she just disappeared into the walls like a fucking ghost. He definitely would have seen her from how quick he rushed into the nearby rooms looking like a mad-man. He’s surprised they didn’t kick him out.

Hyunjin’s face suddenly heats up in embarrassment. Why did he allow himself to act like that in public? At an art museum, of all places? Over a girl he fucked four years ago?

Except she wasn’t just an insufficient fuck, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Sure, the sex was amazing, but that was also part of the problem. It was so amazing that it’s quite literally ruined everyone else for him, and part of him is bitter for that. There’s no denying how compatible they were sexually, but it was also emotionally. And that’s what’s been fucking with him the most.

Hyunjin runs his fingers through his hair again, taking a deep breath before pulling his phone out to text his driver he’s ready to leave. Normally, he would spend all day at an art museum, but right now he thinks he just needs to go back to his hotel and contemplate his entire life.

The rain falls steadily outside by the time he steps out of the museum. He didn’t bring a coat today, didn’t really think he would need one. But just like his emotions are all over the place, so is the weather here, apparently.

He spots his driver waiting for him, leaning against the car with an umbrella over his head. Hyunjin hurries over towards him, jogging through the rain, not even phased at how wet he seems to be getting. Honestly, it’s kind of nice, somewhat cooling his skin and helping his body calm down.

He gets into the back seat quietly. His clothes are sticking to his skin now, his hair falling in front of his forehead in damp waves. He combs it back once before slouching back in the seat, turning his head to watch the rain drops slowly falling down the window.

He tries not to think about her, he really tries. But his mind ends up going there anyway, replaying the scene over and over in his head like a broken record that just won’t stop playing.

She looked so beautiful. Her skin looked perfectly sun-kissed, eyes still so blue and hypnotizing, hair so pretty and soft. He couldn’t see her body well from the raincoat she had on, but he just knew the pale yellow dress would be hugging her so perfectly and have him falling to his knees immediately.

It’s wild how deeply she still affects him even after all this time apart. They spent one night together, yet it felt like he had known her his entire life. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he had to let her go.

Hyunjin was always a private person, introverted at best. He always kept to himself, never opening up to anyone first unless he trusted them, which was why when he found himself opening up to Y/N, it terrified him.

It still terrifies him, because he knows if he could see her again, he’d fall in even deeper.

He tries to focus on the rain again. He distracts his mind by counting the raindrops on the window, making mental bets on which raindrop would fall first—anything to prevent his mind from spiraling.

That doesn’t last long, though. Because as soon as he steps into his hotel room and strips off his wet clothes, he’s already plopping down onto his bed with a dramatic groan before grabbing his phone.

Chan answers the call after two rings.

“Well, well. Florence finally bored you?”

“I think I hallucinated Y/N in an art gallery.”

The words came out so fast and so frantic that Hyunjin wonders for a second if Chan actually understood what he said in the first place. He bites his bottom lip softly, nervously tapping his fingers against his chest. The silence is so loud he pulls his phone away just to make sure he didn’t accidentally hang up.

“Well, good evening to you, too.”

Hyunjin rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, “I’m serious. I’m starting to go insane because I keep thinking about it.”

“Like, you actually saw her?”

“I mean, I think so,” Hyunjin replies quickly, another groan falling from his lips as he pinches his temple with his fingers, “I don’t know if I actually did or not. That’s what’s frustrating me.”

Chan immediately starts laughing, and Hyunjin narrows his eyes even though he can’t see him, “Stop laughing at me! I’m literally spiraling right now and you’re making fun of me!”

“I’m not making fun of you, Hyun,” Chan replies through another fit of laughter, much quieter this time, “It just sounds a little crazy, is all. Like what do you mean you think you saw her? Walk me through it.”

Hyunjin drags a hand down his face. This is giving him a headache already. “I was looking at paintings.”

“Mhm.”

“And then I saw this girl.”

“Incredible start.”

“She turned around, and I swear to fuck it was her,” He breathes out, feeling his heart race a little just thinking about it again, “Now that I think about it more, I’m certain it was her. And holy fuck, she was beautiful. I feel like I’m losing my mind right now.”

Chan exhales slowly through the phone, and Hyunjin feels a little embarrassed at what he just said, but whatever. He can’t take it back now. “That’s… strange.” He replies after a few more seconds of Hyunjin mentally freaking out, only adding on to that feeling.

“Strange?” He laughs incredulously, “Chan, I literally forgot how to breathe for a second. I’m still trying to catch my breath.”

“Okay, so you saw Y/N,” Chan spoke, voice softer, “Then what? You went and talked to her?”

“Well… not exactly,” He replies, already dreading this conversation because he knows Chan won’t be able to live this part down, “I kind of hid behind the giant columns and watched her from afar. And then I kind of followed her around the gallery. Kind of.”

Chan bursts out into laughter again, the sound so loud that it had him wincing as he pulled the phone away from his ear. “Hyunjin… you fucking idiot! Please tell me you did not just stalk this poor girl in a contemporary art gallery.”

“I panicked!” He defends himself, poorly, might he add, as the laughter on the other end only seems to be getting much worse, “I’m not good at this shit, okay?! She was looking at art so prettily! That’s intimidating!”

“That’s the most pretentious thing you’ve ever said.”

Hyunjin falls back onto the pillows behind his head with a loud groan, “I think something is deeply wrong with me.”

“Yeah,” Chan agrees quickly through another chuckle, causing him to glare at the screen, because why is he agreeing with him? “We established that years ago, unfortunately.”

Despite himself, Hyunjin laughs weakly, his eyes trailing over towards the rain-streaked windows. Part of him had always secretly wondered whether she carried their ending around the same way he did. Maybe she didn’t—maybe she healed properly while he kept romanizing unfinished things.

I guess he’d never know that because he couldn’t bring himself to go talk to her.

“She looked really good,” He admits quietly, watching the rain patter softly against the window, “She looked… so pretty. Just like I always remembered.”

Chan hums knowingly, “You’re an idiot. And you’re screwed.”

“I know.”

He listens to the rain for another second before a thought suddenly comes to mind. He sits up immediately, “Wait.”

Chan sounds suspicious already, “What?”

“You still talk to Kat.”

He’s quiet on the line, and Hyunjin hates how he can feel his heart beating even louder against his chest. “I do,” He drawls the word out, already seeming to know where this is going.

“Ask her if Y/N’s in Italy.”

More silence. And then—

“Oh my god.”

He’s laughing again, and Hyunjin grunts into the phone in annoyance, running another hand through his hair, “Chan, I’m serious! Text her right now and ask her if she’s in Italy.”

“Hyun, you do realize how insane you’re acting right now, right?” Chan chuckles in disbelief, “You haven’t seen this girl in four years and now you’re spiraling in an Italian luxury hotel because you think you saw her admiring paintings. You sound lovesick.”

Hyunjin presses both hands over his eyes, “Hyung, please. When do I ever ask you for favors?”

“All the fucking time, actually.”

“Please!”

Chan sighs dramatically over the line, “Fine. This is humiliating for you, you know that?”

“I know.”

“You could’ve just spoken to her and not stalked her like a fucking creep.”

“I know,” He swallows thickly, “You don’t understand.”

“No, I understand perfectly, actually. You’re terrified.”

That shuts Hyunjin up instantly. Because unfortunately, it’s true.

He’s terrified of rejection. He’s terrified of indifference. He’s terrified of discovering he’s carried this thing around for years only to realize she let it go completely.

And where would that lead him?

Chan sighs again after a few moments, “I’m texting her right now, okay?”

Relief floods through him embarrassingly fast, “You’re the best, Channie baby.”

“Ew, don’t call me that.”

Hyunjin laughs quietly, a giddy feeling rising in his body once he hears Chan typing on his phone over the line. He’s 99.9% sure she was Y/N, but having a verbal confirmation from her best friend would just be the icing on top of the fucking cake. If he gets confirmation that she’s actually in Italy, maybe he won’t feel so insane about it.

Another idea hits him all of a sudden, and he’s putting Chan on speaker before swiping out of the call, his fingers working fast to click on the Instagram app. He’s clicking on the search bar before he can think any better of it, typing in a username that he remembers from years ago when he first found her account, only hoping she didn’t change it.

His eyes light up instantly once he realizes she didn’t. And then he’s clicking on her profile.

“What are you doing?” Chan’s voice startles him for a second.

“Nothing.” He replies quickly, guiltily. His eyes widen once he sees her first post, and he wastes no time in clicking on the picture so he can see it better.

He heart falls into his ass once he sees it.

“Oh shit,” He breaths out, gawking at her most recent photo from a day ago. It’s a thread, a collection of ten pictures, the first picture being of her smiling in front of Brunelleschi’s Duomo.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, because what else can he say?

“Oh my god,” Chan says knowingly, “Are you stalking her right now? Seriously?”

“It’s public information,” He defends himself weakly, swiping through the rest of the post. Pasta, wine, a picture of a stray cat resting on a bench, another selfie. He stares at that one a little longer, unable to stop himself.

God, she’s so fucking beautiful. His heart hurts.

“That’s exactly what stalkers say.” Chan’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and he ignores him, quickly exiting out of that post to glance at the rest of her profile.

Coffee shops, books, Kat, (lots of Kat), the gym, weddings, yet there’s no engagement posts or anything that hints that she has a significant other. He hates how relieved he is from that.

Something about seeing pieces of her life condensed quietly into photographs makes his chest ache. She kept existing this entire time, but somehow, he never let himself imagine it clearly.

He’s clicking on one of her highlight reels she posted titled “Italy 🇮🇹” before he can stop himself. And his heart is falling into his ass once again.

The first one is of a window from a coffee shop while the rain pours outside. The second is of a piece of artwork from a different gallery he didn’t recognize. And the third… the third is a mirror picture she took of herself, wearing the exact same outfit he just saw her in. Her coat wasn’t on, showing off her curves so perfectly, the dress hugging her just right. It looked so pretty against her skin, her smile sending shivers down his entire body.

Holy fuck.

“Holy shit,” He covers his mouth with his hand, the raining pouring down harder now.

“What now?”

“She’s here,” He strains out, his heartbeat climbing, “She is literally here. In Florence.”

“Yep, she is.” He replies, but before Hyunjin can ask what he means by that tone, his phone is binging with a text from Chan. It’s a screenshot of a string of texts. He opens it quickly.

Chan: Random question

Chan: Is Y/N in Italy rn?

Kat: why

Chan: Hyunjin thinks he saw her and now he’s acting mentally unstable

Kat: OH MY GOD

Kat: WAIT, ACTUALLY????

Chan: Yep. He hid behind a column, apparently. Embarrassing 😳

Hyunjin groans immediately, “Seriously?! Why would you tell her that?!”

“Because it was funny.”

“It was not! You’re evil!”

“I’m correct.”

Another screenshot comes through, and Hyunjin mentally prepares himself before he opens it.

Kat: she’s in florence, rn

Kat: she’s been going to art galleries all week too, lol

Chan: That is horrifyingly romantic

Kat: don’t encourage him

Hyunjin’s stomach flips again. He really could run into her again. The possibility alone sends nervous energy rushing through him immediately, but things are different now. Now, he’s older, more established, with more freedom to do what he pleases. For the first time in his career, choosing someone wouldn’t automatically be impossible. And somehow, the universe drops Y/N directly into Florence while he’s finally at a point in his life where he maybe can choose her properly.

The timing feels cruel. Or maybe hopeful. He genuinely can’t tell.

“You’re being quiet.”

Hyunjin stares at her profile again, “I’m just… processing. I can’t believe she’s actually here.”

“Yeah,” Chan hums in response, “Kat said she’s there for another week.”

Hyunjin blinks, “Another week?”

He hears Chan curse silently over the line, and his eyes narrow, “It seems you know entirely too much information.”

“I do not.” His response is quick.

“You literally know her travel itinerary.”

“Okay, now that’s a little dramatic. Let’s simmer down.”

Hyunjin lets out a quiet scoff, pointing at the phone accusingly, “You and Kat are scheming, aren’t you?”

“We are absolutely not.” Again, another quick reply.

“I think you’re full of shit. Shitty shit shit.”

Chan sighs dramatically, and Hyunjin can just see his eyes rolling, “Ooookay. Maybe Kat mentioned she was doing a solo trip to Italy months ago.”

“Months ago,” He repeats the words, nodding his head slowly, “And then, somehow, I end up in Italy at the same exact time?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Hyunjin flops backward onto the bed, groaning dramatically, “I hate all of you. Especially you.”

“No you don’t.”

Unfortunately, that’s true.

His phone pings again with yet another screenshot. He sighs, knowing he’s about to be embarrassed again, but opening it anyway.

Kat: wait, does he like her???

Chan: Catastrophically so

Kat: omg I KNEW IT

Chan: He’s currently staring at her Instagram profile in silence like a widow in a period drama

Kat: don’t let him scare her, omg

Chan: Too late, he already hid behind a column

“You are unbelievable!” Hyunjin chokes out, completely mortified.

This is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet, underneath all the teasing and embarrassment and panic, hope starts blooming somewhere dangerous inside him. For the first time in years, Y/N doesn’t feel unreachable anymore, and he wants nothing more than to finally grab ahold of her.

His thumb hovers over the message button on her profile. He hesitates for a second, biting the inside of his cheek. The rain falls even harder outside, and he’s distracted by the sound for a split second before his thumb inches closer.

“Chan?”

“Yeah?” His reply is instant. He hesitates again, but only for a second.

“If I message her right now… is that insane?”

“Maybe,” He replies after a few seconds, and Hyunjin swallows thickly, “Do you want my actual opinion?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. The silence is answer enough.

“You’re in Italy to take a break from everything. You’re there to do things you enjoy, escape reality for a bit, clear your head, rest. You’re there to take care of yourself,” He speaks slowly, softly. The room grows very still around him, save for the relaxing sound of the rain that’s doing very little in quieting down his head right now.

Hyunjin swallows thickly, his eyes focused on Y/N’s smiling face illuminating quietly on his phone screen, his thumb still hovering.

“But, I think if you leave Italy without trying to talk to her, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You wanted to choose her years ago,” Chan exhales softly through the speaker, his fingers twitching in front of him, “And now, nobody’s stopping you except for yourself.”

The bathwater has gone lukewarm, but Y/N still doesn’t move.

Florence at night still feels like it’s holding its breath outside her hotel window. The rain is still tapping lightly against the glass, pulling her more into a euphoric calm that she’s been longing to experience for a while now. It’s quieter than New York in a way that almost feels wrong, like the world forgot to keep moving.

Three days ago, she arrived in Italy alone. Normally traveling alone in a foreign country would terrify her, but Italy has always been on her bucket list and she was in desperate need of a long break. And by long break, she means an entire summer off she barely knew how to use in the first place—an entire summer off from fluorescent ceilings, trauma alerts, and the constant low hum of the ER.

She had told herself this trip was about rest, but rest is a loose concept when your entire nervous system has been wired to anticipate chaos. Even now, immersed in bath water with a shit ton of lavender scented bubbles, her body still feels half-alert, like she’s just waiting on someone to call another code. Yet, instead, the only thing calling her right now is her memory.

And Hyunjin. Of course.

Y/N lets out a sigh, leaning her head back against the porcelain behind her. She hadn’t meant to think about him this much in Florence, but museums do that to her. There’s just too much beauty in one place, and it all leads back to him.

Earlier today, she stood in front of a Renaissance painting for an uncomfortably long time. Not because she was trying to understand the meaning behind the painting, but because it made her think of him. She could picture him standing there, his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, his head tilted to the side as he studied every single detail. She knew he loved art, and he loved to create his own. And every time he would post one of his works on social media, it had her heart warming instantly.

He was so talented, in every way, shape, and form.

At first, she used to look forward to his posts, even having her notifications on so it would alert her whenever he posted. Seems excessive and a little stalker ish, she knows, but she was holding on to every little thing about him, desperate to connect with him, in some way. Even if that was through his artwork he posted on social media for millions of people to see.

She admits she did that for a few months before convincing herself that it was unhealthy behavior. Constantly pinning after an idol who was completely unattainable was unhealthy behavior. And she had to stop it before she buried herself deep into a flunk she’d never get out of.

She stopped listening to Stray Kids. She stopped outwardly supporting them. She stopped following them on all social media, and even canceled her Bubble subscription. It was all just a constant reminder of what she had with him, which was one, insignificant night where she came around his cock twice and then laid in bed with him afterwards like it meant everything.

And it did mean everything. It still means everything, no matter how hard she tries to convince herself otherwise. That was the problem with Hyunjin. He made everything feel like it mattered more than it should—even silence, even absence.

Y/N shifts slightly in the bath, staring at the condensation slowly sliding down the glass. It’s been four years since that night she spent with him, four years since Hyunjin became real and not a fantasy version of a man she projected meaning onto—just him.

She still remembers thinking this can’t actually be happening. Even now, she can’t believe it had actually happened. Because even then, she had been a fan, a Stay—the kind that knew too many music video details and had once argued online about dance formations like it mattered personally.

Hyunjin had been her ult bias. The word feels childish now, but it was true then. She had known his face before she knew his voice, known his stage presence before she knew how softly he spoke when he wasn’t performing. And then somehow, he had ended up in her world, in her bed, fucking her like he owned her just to tell her he couldn’t choose her.

She didn’t expect him to. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t want him to.

Y/N closes her eyes in the bath, sighing softly. It had messed with her for a while, but she eventually moved on, where she learned to separate emotion from action so effectively that sometimes she worries she might never fully turn it off.

It worked, mostly, but the human brain is not a system that respects change. Hyunjin didn’t stay in the past like she expected him to. He stayed in the quiet moments between shifts, on nights when she got home too late and the apartment felt too big, on subway rides when she had nothing else to think about, and stupidly enough, when someone in passing mentioned k-pop.

That’s when it came back. And even now, lying in a bubble bath in Italy, she finds herself thinking about him again.

Her phone buzzing on the toilet seat beside her makes her jump, knocking her out of her thoughts. She wipes her hands off with the towel hanging up beside her before leaning over, seeing that Kat was currently calling her. She smiles, answering the call and putting it on speakerphone before slouching back into the bathtub.

“Hey.”

“There she is!” Kat’s voice booms through the phone, always so bright and cheery, “My Italian girl. Professional eater of pastries.”

“I had one pastry today,” She rolls her eyes, shifting a little in the bath, the water sloshing around her lightly.

“Yeah, key word, today. Tomorrow you’ll probably have about five more.”

“I think you’re just jealous that you’re not getting any.”

“Very true,” She sighs. Y/N laughs softly, sinking deeper into the bath, the back of her head getting wet. “How are you doing, my girl?”

“Hm, kind of tired right now,” She admits softly, running her hands against her thighs, moving the bubbles around, “I walked like 20k steps today. My feet hurt so fucking bad.”

“I’m so glad I’m not there to massage them for you. Can’t bribe me with Taco Bell tonight.”

“I could fuck up ten cheesy roll-ups right now.”

Kat laughs, and Y/N lets herself relax into the sound, twirling the bubbles around with her fingers. It’s quiet for a second after that, but the silence is comfortable. It’s always comfortable with her. Kat is one of the few people who still makes her feel like her life isn’t split into before and after versions—even if she’s always known too much, even if she’s always been suspiciously good at reading between lines Y/N never explicitly drew.

“Sooo,” She drawls out suddenly, her tone shifting just slightly. Y/N’s body reacts before her brain does, and she narrows her eyes at the phone still sitting on the toilet seat. That tone is never good.

“No.” Y/N says immediately.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” She quickly defends herself.

“You didn’t have to.”

Kat laughs in disbelief, “You always do that thing where you act like you can predict my thoughts.”

“Because I can.”

Kat sighs on the phone, and Y/N knows that’s whatever is about to come out of her mouth isn’t going to be good. “I’ve been texting Chan today,” She finally admits, and Y/N stills slightly.

“Ooookay,” She replies, a little confused as to why she’s telling her that, “You talk to him most days. Why are you telling me that?”

It’s quiet again, uncomfortable, this time. Too uncomfortable. She’s about to ask the same question again when Kat’s voice stops her.

“He mentioned something interesting.”

She tenses up even more, goosebumps forming on the back of her neck despite the warm water surrounding her, “Okay. That’s super vague and I don’t like it.” She hates it, actually.

“He’s in Europe.” She blurts out suddenly.

“Who?” Y/N asks, still confused and slightly on edge, because why is she making this so dramatic? “Chan? Why are you telling me this, Kat?”

“No, not Chan. Hyunjin.”

She blinks, wondering where this conversation is headed, “Okay. That’s nice for him. Europe’s big, you know?”

“I know geography, thank you very much,” Kat scoffs in fake annoyance, “He’s in Italy. Hyunjin is in Italy.”

Y/N sits up completely in the bath now, the bubbles falling down her chest. Her heart felt like it was about shoot right out of her chest. Hyunjin is in Italy? At the same time that she is?

Kat has known everything without technically knowing anything for four straight years, which is honestly terrifying. Y/N had never explicitly said that her and Hyunjin had hooked up, partly because of the NDA, but mostly because whatever existed between them had always felt strangely sacred, like exposing too much would ruin it completely. But Kat had figured it out anyway, probably because Y/N had cried over one man exactly once in her entire life.

And unfortunately, it was very obvious which man that was.

“And?” She squeaks out, trying to appear unaffected when she’s anything but.

“And nothing,” Kat replies lightly, but there’s something underneath it now, “It’s just… very interesting timing, is all.”

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N laughs out lightly, shaking her head as she forced herself to relax back into the bath.

“Sure.”

“I’m not going to run into him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Sure.”

“Kat.” She calls her name, an edge to her voice. Her phone suddenly goes off again, and she sighs, leaning over to glance at the screen, fully expecting Kat to be screenshotting her a thread of texts or an article about it or something.

Her entire body goes rigid once her eyes land on the notification displayed across her lock screen.

Instagram. DM request. From hynjinnnn.

For a second, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s imagining it. That exhaustion just finally caught up to her in Italy and her brain decided to hallucinate the one person capable of psychologically ruining her from a whole other continent.

Kat’s still talking through the speaker on her phone, but Y/N isn’t comprehending anything she’s saying, hurriedly clicking on the notification and going straight to his profile, just to confirm it’s actually him.

It is. Of course it is. And somehow, it makes this ten times worse.

Her thumb hovers over the request, then she presses accept before she can overthink it too much. The first message loads instantly.

hyunjin: Hi.

It was simple, too simple. Y/N blinks at the message, once, twice, and then there’s more popping up almost immediately.

hyunjin: This is either a terrible idea or fate, and I genuinely can’t tell

Jeongin…when you first met him, he was shy — always wearing a sweet smile on his face that deepened into the cutest dimples. That is how you remember him and that is what you thought he is always like. You still remember how your own anxiety radiated off you at the thought of meeting your best friend’s friends. However Felix, being his bubbly self, did everything he could to make feel comfortable — comfortable enough that you eventually started coming to their practice from time to time. At first, you didn’t want to get to know them, mostly of the fear that they might not like you, but that fear faded quickly, forgotten the first day you ever spent with them.

Like Felix, they all were nice to you. Some more quiet than the others, but they always intended to make you comfortable and included — from Chan, making you feel included in every conversation, to Minho making sure your plate is always full, to Changbin always putting smile on your face with his stupid jokes, to Hyunjin who you share your love for art with, to Han who secretly shares his sweets with you, to Seungmin whose bickering and nagging keeps you occupied most of the time, but with his and all of your new friends’ doings, it still couldn’t make your attention even a little waver away from him.

He is all the same — quiet, but after some time you have realized that maybe it is just you. With the others he is open, he is more himself and you? You keep your eyes on him. The beginnings were difficult for everyone — always careful with their words and actions, till they finally saw the small weight on your shoulders fall off. You didn’t even realize how truly you were nervous around them, but they actually were just acting careful around you, so they wouldn’t scare you off. Even him, but with him, you have never truly got close enough.

You were staring, awfully so and you wonder how the others didn’t picked up on it yet or even him. Maybe somehow they did, maybe they just didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe they were just clueless. He was nothing, but kind to you, walking around you slowly like in waiting, but you always did nothing, but stare. He also, not like the others, didn’t touch you — not even a slight push nor a hug. You do know about his small dislike of someone touching him and you do respect it, keeping your hands to yourself, while also imagining what it would feel like to have his on your skin.

You wonder if he maybe did notice your eyes on him, nonmoving, glaring, but after some time you started to notice the small changes between you two. You don’t remember, when it was the first time you truly noticed them, but you do remember the time, when he got you a drink you have requested. You remember how his fingers wrapped around the cold can, leaving small imprints — you remember, when you went to take it, your own fingers didn’t even reach where his once were. Even just this lingering memory makes you shake, air getting stuck in your throat. Such a small gesture — simple, but it meant so much more for you. It also fully started your little obsession, with his hands.

You have never touched them, not even that time, too careful and trying to be respectful and with that you never truly appreciated, how nice his hands are. You for quite a while didn’t even realize yourself how much time you have spent looking at them. You always liked hands, you even had a particular picture of perfect pair of hands and he had them. It is almost one of the first things you notice on a person and not just in a certain way — how they hold a pen, phone or even how they squeeze at you, when you go shake your hand with theirs. However there was also a one way you like them the most — how they would hold you, grip at you or even pinch you. You didn’t want to think about him and his hands in that way, because you thought it was wrong, even pinching yourself every time it crossed your mind. Your skin was tender at the end of the day and even the slight sting couldn’t stop you and at one particular night, when you were on the brink of sleep, you decided to not hold yourself off any longer.

Your mind was already fuzzy, exhausted. You could feel the world around you turning into black spots before your very eyes, but you knew that it mostly wasn’t from the need for sleep. You couldn’t close your eyes, mind swirling, thoughts a mess, before every black spot before you formed into one solid picture. Him — right on top of you, caging you, body pressed against yours. His hands — trailing over your body, gripping, pinching your skin between his fingers. Your breathing has turned into quiet gasps as you followed his imaginary movements with your own hands. Oh, how would they feel running through your hair. How his fingers would pinch lightly at your peeks. How would he use them on you — pushing, scissoring, moving so fast, curling just right, till they reach the one delicious spot inside you and you just know it would be so good. He would know perfectly what to do to you — you would let him do anything and everything to you…You would let him wrap his hands around you, till your skin would turn tender. You would let him wrap them around your neck, your hips, your thighs, everything. You would let him fuck you onto his fingers, cunt leaking all over him, squeezing tightly, because you knew it would be too delicious to stop…You are a mess and a one thing that didn’t help was that he had finally started to feel comfortable around you.

You felt so dirty, yet you couldn’t stop, not when the thought of your hands replaced by his brought you to such ecstasy that it made your eyes roll back into your head. When he for the first time touched you — shivers of delight ran down your spine, world around you swirling. It was so simple again, but it being him was everything, but that. Shock — sparks alighting on the spot and you did nothing, but stare dumply at him, yet again he didn’t seem to notice.

One day, when you were outside in a small garden, it had happened. That night was warm, small wind blowing through your hair as you so desperately tried to put them behind your ear to take a small bite of Minho’s amazing cooking. You were frustrated, huffing lightly as your hand came to wrap around the small strand of hair, that kept getting inside your mouth every time you would try to take a bite. You were almost ready to rip it out of your head, till you felt a small graze of fingers against your temple and like your body knew, you froze. Standing before you, looking down at you, was Jeongin and for a split second you caught his gaze — staring, he was staring right at you…your lips. The food in your spoon almost fell off, watching him slowly and precisely put your stubborn hair behind your ear, before turning back around to the conversion he was having with Hyunjin, like nothing had happened.

Like he didn’t just touch — like he didn’t do something so intimate, right in front of the others, like he didn’t just stare at your lips….

Your appetite didn’t return, it just turned into something way more different. The first time he ever laid his hands on you…Maybe you were thinking too much, but you never have felt such a rush, when Felix did it for example. So simple, yet not. For the rest of that night, like every other, you couldn’t stop looking, thinking, dreaming about those hands. Everything he did with them was something so mesmerizing and you were absolutely smitten. That night is treasured deeply in your heart and how much you didn’t expect him to do it again and again.

You tried to keep your distance, even if it didn’t mean much since you kept looking at how his fingers moved — so elegantly that you truly couldn’t do anything about your staring, but he…he seemed to only move closer and closer to you since than. When he first sat beside you, your body almost froze, like you were certain a small move would make him move away. Maybe you did want that in some way, because his whole presence made your mind shut off — mumbling, muscles spasming yet frozen and you truly wonder how you could even press down on the buttons of the controller you were holding. The game you were playing with Felix was quickly forgotten, his whining and shouting, nothing but a background noice, but one sentence ringed in the air.

“Let me try.”

Your head didn’t turn to him, body so still you didn’t know if you should just fall over so the ground could swallow you whole. He never truly spoke to you and you have to wonder again how is it that he has you wrapped around his finger this much…that’s right his finger, the one touching yours. Your eyes stared down on the controller in your hands as he came to grab it from your grasp, hands momentarily wrapping around yours. His hands — so big and warm were almost galloping yours and you couldn’t fight against the small sigh leaving you. His touch was again so brief that you thought it was just your wild imagination, but it did happened and you did find the last bits of strength to look up at him.

He was smiling, dimples showing seemingly sweet, but something in his eyes flickered briefly, when he trailed his gaze over your features before looking away. You were a mess, truly a mess and there is no other word better to describe yourself. Since than he did so many things with his hands, when he was near you — hands running through his hair, till you got a whiff of his lingering shampoo, his fingers tugging at the zipper of his hoodie, tapping against the glass of his drink, fingers pressing against his lips, when he was deep in thought and every time you looked — every time you noticed how his head would slightly tilt into your direction and every time you looked away in shame. Every time your eyes met his, you naively thought he was only glancing your way, only looking at his new friend — but, oh…how wrong you were.

────

Sweat — rolling down their flushed skin, chests rising in deep, rigid breaths, that you mirror lightly in your own way. You can see the exhaustion dripping off them, heads rolling back, muscles jumping, joints shaking as they slump down to the ground. You don’t know for how long you have been here, how long you have been lost in thought, but it was enough for them to feel their bodies screaming for relief. You tried to helped them the best you could, but you yourself didn’t see why you were even needed here in the practice room. Felix and the others, thought of you as a thing to lean on, a support and what kind be friend would you be not to stay…Even if you were just sitting on the couch watching — watching him.

Your best friend startles you a little, pulling you out of your thoughts as he flops down next to you, huffing, stretching. “Man, I am so tired–“ Felix whines to no one particular. However you do smile a little, when he turns to you to jokingly pout, before his lips part again to blow out puffs of air.

“We should take a break.” Says Chan, nodding at everyone, seemingly exhausted as well. The new comeback was a weight on everyone’s shoulders right now — nonstop practicing, trying to get perfect their dances that were already flawless. You had thought that maybe your presence might distract them somehow. However to them you were a calm presence, a shoulder to lean on. What they didn’t seem to realize, though, is that it was quite the opposite for you. It felt like torture in a sense…watching sweat drip down his face, trailing down his neck, pulling at his thin t-shirt in attempt to cool down a little, hearing the heavy breaths escape him between takes, the deep frown of concentration etched on his face as he danced.

You are more quiet than usual, fidgeting with your own hands, as your eyes travel from him to the others — no use whatsoever, because you still found yourself looking at him as he goes to sit down on the floor. “Want something to eat, before we continue?” Asks Chan, voice breathy and his question is already being answered by series of agreements.

You don’t know what time it is now, but you do feel small specks of exhaustion settling over you too. Still, as always, your mind and heart ignore the rest of your body, too occupied with the view infront of you. Jeongin had you mesmerized by his smooth movements, hair now slightly damp from the hours of practice and you couldn’t help, but wonder how much time had passed to get him like this — body sprawled over the floor, elbows holding his upper body up as he leaned back into the couch. Every time he would take a breath, his dark t-shirt would cling onto his chest. His head is rolled back, giving you a view of his long neck, your eyes following the prominent vein peaking from beneath the thin skin, Adam’s apple bobbing, looking good enough to bite and his hands…they keep twitching, like tapping into the rhythm of the music that already had stopped playing minute ago. You are distracted again, so much you don’t feel or hear the others moving around the room.

“Innie-ah, you coming?” Asks Hyunjin and that makes you turn away from him to the others, who look at their dark haired friend, who is still sitting on the floor. You don’t even realize, that they already moved to go get some food, your eyes meeting Felix’s and you do know he could see the way yours widened at the next words.

“No–“ Says Jeongin and you already feel a lump forming in your throat at the answer as he doesn’t even take a move to go with them. “Just buy me whatever.” He waves his hand lightly, your eyes flickering over the room back to him and you almost crumble, when he meets you in the middle.

You can feel the others now looking at you too in a silent question, which should be simple to answer in a sense, but you can’t help but almost stutter. You will be alone…alone with him, if you don’t go and you don’t know if you want that. No, you feel like your body needs that — feeling his and his presence only caging you in and the thought makes your seemingly exhausted body wake up from any kind of slumber it was in. Your body and heart speaks for you, but your mind screams at your answer.

“I don’t want anything — I will just wait here.“

Everything was said so fast and collected, but your gaze didn’t waver from his, because you physically couldn’t look away. You watch his eyes narrow a little, fingers twitching again and like a fly you follow the movement, almost blacking out at that, because he just saw you. He was you definitely looking and if you hadn’t turned away as if the sight of his hands physically burned you, it might have not look so obvious. You curse at yourself silently in your mind, glancing at the others, who nod at you in acknowledgment, before taking their leave and just as their presence started to fade, you feel his grow heavier — expanding, filling the space around you.

You are choking, thoughts a mess and for the first time you don’t think about anything and you just feel. You don’t hear, but feel the doors closing, the distancing footsteps, the way his breathing levels, the way his muscles stretch, when he goes to take a sip of his water. The way his fingers scrunch up the water bottle…You want to cry, scream, anything, because you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. You have never been so smitten, so mesmerized by someone and the worst part is that he might never know…

Jeongin swallows the last bits of water, before looking at you. Your legs are pushed up to your chest, sitting in the far corner of the couch, like you wanted to make yourself as small as possible. The dimmed light highlights the small frown on your face, watching silently, how you fumble with your fingers. It was quiet, nothing, but the small rustles of fabric from him, when he moves to stretch a little and the small hum of the air conditioning in the room. The small cold breeze does nothing for your heated skin, eyes looking down at nothing in particular, silently counting the seconds. You are pathetic — finally you have him alone with you and you can’t even do anything about it. You don’t even know what would you say…you don’t even know, if you are even capable of ever voicing your words out loud.

You don’t know if it is just you again, who feels the tension in the room, but you do feel how he suddenly turns his attention to you. You don’t move, his stare piercing through your body in a way that it is almost impossible for you to look back at him. You have no shield, no excuse — you can look at him, you are just not sure if you are capable of normally, without your emotions reflecting in your eyes. However you do see him from the corner of your eye stand up, pushing down his sweatpants that had ridden up his long legs. “Want some?” His voice cuts through the thick air and you can’t do anything, but nervously look up at him to know what he is asking.

In his hand is his now empty water bottle, fingers digging into the plastic little deeper than it is necessary. Your eyes meet his only, because he moves his occupied hand to his face to lightly flick off a small drop of sweat running down his jaw. At that you notice how your closed up throat is screaming in thirst, nodding slowly in plea, too scared to even open your mouth to speak. Jeongin mimicks you, before walking up to the small table in the corner of the room. You wonder why you both not just ignore each other, scrolling away on your phones before everyone gets back — you soak in each other’s presence.

You follow his every move, suddenly so confident with his back turned to you, watching muscles rip under his thin t-shirt. Everything goes slow around you, yet too quick at the same time, body twisting a little, when he turns back to you to give you your water. Your muscles spasm, legs falling down the couch in a sound way too loud in the silence of the room and you can’t help, but cringe at everything you are doing right now. You feel exposed under his eyes, even if he is just looking, even if his stare is always seemingly so nerve racking.

Jeongin stops right in front of you, making your frown disappear from your face so quickly you almost have a whiplash. Right before you is your water bottle, his hand wrapped around it — you go grab it slowly and unsurely. You keep your face straight as best as you can, but how can you, when your hand touches his…the reason you are so miserable. His skin is cold, kissed by the dripping water and you follow it, till it falls off the tip of his finger. You don’t know if you are moving so slow just to not crumble, hand lingering on his second too long that it seems intentional. However his touch — before you can melt into the leather couch any further is gone as his hand falls back to his side.

You feel your heart shatter not just from that, but also because you notice how your hands shake a little as you go to take a sip. The cold water though does nothing too ease your inner thirst, not when he is still standing before you…You swallow a little too hard, carefully glancing at him from beneath your lashes and your lips are left parted at the sight of him towering over you. He was always a bit taller than you, but from this angle you are even more intimidated. When did he move so close? You almost feel the material of his sweatpants grazing over you and you don’t move away from it nor into it — you are completely still, staring at him and he does notice the inner battle reflecting in your eyes. There is no use, you don’t have the strength to fight your emotions right now.

“Something wrong?” He asks you, voice smooth as ever, loud around you. You are completely drowning in his presence alone. Your lips go to press against each other, but your mouth is left open again, when you catch him following the movement. Goosebumps rise on your skin, words getting caught in your throat again, so you just decide to just shake your head, even if you are lying. Everything is wrong — with you and your obsession, kink, to the way he stands before you, talks, moves. How does he do it?

Your eyes travel away from him, just for a second to atleast blink, because it seems you can’t even do that, but then shock fills you. The move so quick and smooth you feel your mouth drying again, when he suddenly takes the water from you. Pathetically you want to chase the feel of his skin again, but you only look up at him in bewilderment. The way his fingers grazed over yours leaves a permanent burning sensation, that sends your stomach spinning. It seemed like he used your disbelief of such act to move closer, because your knee touches his leg briefly, but that isn’t the thing that makes you almost fall into unconsciousness.

It is the way he puts the rim of the bottle against his own lips, tongue sticking out for a moment and you visibly shiver at the thought of it being your lips instead. He takes a long sip of water, some of it rolling down to his chin, neck bobbing again. The way he makes everything look so good, should be illegal. Your mind shatter again, because he is drinking from the same bottle as you — he could have take a new one for himself. You knew how he is, when people get close to him, how he slightly pulls away from an unexpected hug, even if there is a smile on his face. He is definitely not smiling now…he is watching you from behind your water, small breath falling from him as he goes to wipe away the spilled water from his pink lips. “Sorry, thirsty–“ He shrugged, like that move didn’t just make you form into a puddle.

“It’s okay.” You mumble so quietly you don’t even hear yourself. You watch him relax his arms by his sides, also noticing, how he holds to bottle just with his fingers. You don’t know where to look right now, small silence between you two, before he so suddenly smiles down at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, nor it does last long as he tilts his head at you.

It was a silent question and you answer it by another wave of silence, not really sure what to do — if you want him to leave or let him get even closer to you. The quiet makes it hard for you to breathe, his presence and stare only intensifying it. You can see his own unspoken words circling in his eyes, yours nonblinking so you wouldn’t seem like a bigger mess than you already are. With his head tilted down at you, the move making your heart skip a beat, his lips form into a small frown. “You are always so quiet, when I am around…Did I do something?” Jeongin sounds sad, eyebrows furrowing lightly and you do nothing, but panic a little.

“No!” You say, voice a little too loud, making heat rush to your cheeks. With your now wide eyes you watch his frown deepen even more and you curse yourself for being like this around him.

“Really?“ He says, pausing a little, features softening, but his eyes hardening. “Then why do you keep looking at me?” You pause, breathing becoming short as you stammer to answer. He is only meaning now — not every day, every moment…You are again lying to yourself, but you have to, otherwise you would probably die on the spot. However the way he said it…no.

“I don’t look at you.” That is the most vile lie you have ever said and you are still looking at him, while you said it. You feel the world closing on to you at the thought of him noticing your nonstop staring — that’s it, you are only allowed to look at him from afar. Admire him, thing you will propably never have, but in some way you do wanted him to notice. In some twisted way, you want him to punish you for it…

Jeongin only hums lowly at your answer, gaze leaving yours, like in deep thought, before he twists his body a little to put the bottle onto the table behind him. Why does it feel like he is waiting? Maybe to see if you will crack? What if he did notice and now he thinks you hate him or something? Your mind is running wild, so distracted that you see him moving in the mirrors surrounding you, way before you feel him.

He humms lowly again, before he goes to sit right next to you, body so close to yours you do a double take to make sure you are seeing right. In the mirror you see him looking at you, feeling the hard glare on the side of your face, but you don’t meet it. You are baffled by everything he did so far — so out of character, so different from the smiley Innie you knew. For a moment think you think, that are dreaming. That you are only imagining his side touching yours, feeling every breath he takes. The small spasm of muscle, when he twists his body to face you a little more. However you see it and feel it, everything is happening so fast you can’t do anything about it yet again. His reflection — the smell of his sweat mixed with his perfume sends you into overdrive and when you see him move his right hand to you…you are left speechless again.

You let him, really you can’t even fight it, because you have been thinking about his hands, his touch every night and every day and now…now his hand comes to put your hair behind your ear. It is the same as before, but now his touch seems to hold a meaning, hand lingering on the side of your face. You let him trace his fingers over your jaw, all the way down to your chin, but he doesn’t make you look at him. You only watch him through the mirror, like you are not ready to face this reality of him touching you so intensely. His hair hides his gaze on your lips, but you do feel it, lips parting in silent gasp as he moves his hand back to your hair. Goosebumps rise on your skin, shivering, when he presses over the skin behind your ear, before you see him leaning closer, hot breath fanning over your ear.

“I know.”

That word…that word makes you freeze in your spot, panic, fear and something more striking you, head snapping to face him. He is close — his nose almost touches yours if you wouldn’t back away in on an instinct. Jeongin’s face is calm, hint of a smile on his lips at your state as your mouth keeps closing and opening. “What-“ You are in denial somehow, only to calm yourself down, but is it even possible with him being so close to you? You watch him remove his hand, with watchful eyes and with that his smile only widens, while you feel a lump forming in your throat. His leg is pressed against yours, reminding you of how close he still is to you and you almost whimper at the confident look you are given — he knows.

“You think, I didn’t notice?” His tone isn’t sharp, but it still does make shame and embarrassment reach you, because you have been caught. Jeongin doesn’t seem to be angry nor disappointed and that makes it all too worst, because he must already know the answer to why exactly you have been watching him. “You stare at me every time I turn away — hoping I won’t catch you, but I always do. So tell me…why and what is it you are looking at?”

You are ashamed. He already knows, but he still wants you to say it. His face is so close to yours, hand on the back of the couch and you know that if you would try to move away he will catch you — there is no way out of this. Though you don’t have the strength to admit yourself yet. “Nothing…” You whisper, head low, while he tilts his again.

“Nothing?” He repeats and now you hear a small hint of dissatisfaction.

“I…I am just looking nothing more, I swear-“ Liar — you are a horrible liar.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

You have never heard such tone leaving his lips before and you wonder if he is turning angry only because you won’t say it. How can you? You have been caught, but it is not like you were subtle about your actions to begin with. You are embarrassed to be acting like that — so desperate and pathetic, but you can’t control your needs and desires. You feel almost on the brink of tears just from how ashamed you are and you want nothing more than to run and hide, so you do. However you are only quick enough to sit up, hands immediately finding you, pressing you back into the couch and you do gasp out loud at that.

He doesn’t remove his hands from your upper arms, hold strong enough for you to see there is no use trying to escape. His fingers dig into you hard, but it is everything, but painful. You are forced to meet his gaze again and you quiver at the glare he sends you. “Talk, Y/N — can you even do that?” Jeongin leans closer to you, making your back press into the cushion, while he almost hovers over your body.

You don’t know what to do — cry, scream? In embarrassment, pain, but mainly relief, because seeing him like this leaning over your body sends shivers down your spine. “I am sorry–“ You whisper, gasping lightly, when he suddenly releases you from one of his hands to press against the spot next to your head, leather squeaking under his weight.

“Sorry for what exactly?” You almost shake your head, because you don’t particularly know the answer. You are sorry for everything, yet not, because your actions leaded to this. You don’t take your eyes off each other, chests rising so wildly they almost meet. Something then flickers in his eyes, features softening just for you to notice the change. “Sorry, that you don’t talk to me like you do to others?” You blink at the change of tone a little, his words striking small confusion, but you are no fool — he is being manipulative and it is working.

“I was trying to be…respectful.” That word sits heavy on your tongue.

“Respectful…” He repeats after you again. You let him turn you into nothing by a mess beneath his hands, melting at the way his hand travels up your arm. “You and I both know there is nothing respectful between us–“ Your state — wide eyes, lips parted, skin heated — your state makes him melt a little too.

“Us?”

Jeongin is shaking on the inside, because he knew — he wanted you to say it so bad, his grip tightens over your collarbones, thumb pressing into the bone. “Tell me, Y/N. Why are ypu acting so different around me — and don’t tell me you were only looking. I can see you mouthing the words…what do you want?“ It’s a demand, perhaps a plea for you to stop acting innocent.

“I don’t–“

He tsks at you, frown falling over his face, growing frustrated. “Why are you so scared…Did I do something to upset you?” Jeongin says, quietly, sounding so sincere, you stutter.

“No!” It comes out broken, ending in a pathetic whine. You can’t breathe, because it would make you breathe him in too. You realize your state at that…You can’t hide any longer, there was no use even at the start of this. “It’s me…” You confess, not fully, but he sees the way the invisible shield before you crack enough for him to press against you more.

Your legs are pushing against each other, his hand griping on to the cushion next to your head, while the other slides over your arm back again. You watch his eyes turn dark, making you tremble beneath him. Jeongin’s breath mixes with yours, gaze piercing through yours, till it suddenly drifts to your mouth. “Then tell — tell me, what you want and I will give it to you.” His words are like honey, but you hear something, that makes you choke…desperation.

“I can’t–“ You can’t move, breathe, but you do feel him and it is becoming absolutely intoxicating.

“But you do want to–“ His eyes meet yours again, small silence falling between you after that. You don’t answer, because it is so obvious — you need it, want it, you are just not sure if you can handle it. Your body battles with your mind as his hand comes to caress the side of your neck. You whimper, the sound so loud in the silence and so raw you have to close your eyes. His fingers tickle you and your breath turns into gasp, when you feel him blowing air on to the thin skin of your neck. That sound sends sparks of pleasure up his spine. You are too into everything to notice the slight shake in his movements, while his next words bounce off your skin. “Do you want me is that it? Or do you just want my hands?”

You don’t recognize him, he is completely dripping in sin and you are eating every last bit of it. With his lips so close to your skin, your eyes flew back open, staring behind him at the reflection of you two. “I…I want–“ You are speechless, watching him pull away a little to meet your gaze again, heart hammering against your chest as he puts his hands around your back to pull you closer. “I want everything.”

“Then take it.”

You pull your hands away from your chest to press them against his instead, gasping lightly when you feel his heart. “Please–“ Your hands grasp at his t-shirt, making it slide down his chest a little and your simple plea makes him snap.

Jeongin knew — he knew from the beginning. How your lips fell apart every time he would look at you. How your body stilled, every time he was near you and how you stared at his hands and everything he does with them. He firstly thought he was imagining it, thinking maybe, that you are too shy to approach someone new to talk to them, but he quickly realized it — you didn’t want to just talk, you wanted something more, him. The idea corrupted him, the idea of his friend’s best friend being so smitten by him to the point you would fall down to your knees the second he would touch you. Like now — pulling you closer to his heated body, eyes falling to your lips, that were always so delicious to look at. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to grasp the opportunity to finally talk to you, to feel you. He finally has you, where he wants and he wonders, what would Felix think about the way you are acting like now. So desperate, so his…

The racing thought, the realization that maybe somebody might walk in and caught you two in the act is something he never knew he wanted. His tongue swipes across his lips, mouth so close to yours now, that you feel it grazing you, your small gasp for air being then swallowed by his hungry mouth. It’s hard, all so knowingly desperate and he drinks your small sighs of pleasure with greediness. The feel of his lips finally on yours makes you delirious, letting your body fall onto his, lips pushing harshly against his. It is all spit, tongue and teeth, everything, but sweet, making your mixed drool roll down your chins. His hands roam then, sliding up your back, then down to your hips, before one of them tangles in your hair.

You cry out sharply, when you feel him tug at your roots, head rolling back, the new exposed flesh being immediately warmed by his mouth. Jeongin doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, running his lips over you — licking, sucking, nibbling and you let him take it all. “Finally you have said it–“ He mumbles across your skin, groaning into you. “If only you had said it sooner.”

“Jeongin–“ You yelp, when he suddenly bites the side of your neck, the pain quickly melting into pleasure. You panic, suddenly realizing your position and situation — the others can be back at any given moment, you know nothing about how far away they are and also their is a possibility of someone roaming around the building, even at this late hour. If someone wrong sees you, it would get you two into big trouble. However his kisses, touches quickly pull you out of your racing thoughts.

You trust him maybe more than you should, considering that you can feel the slight sting at the side of your neck. The small appearing mark doesn’t seem to stop him, it is completely the opposite. His hand finds the back of your neck, too weak to fight him, making him twist you to his liking. Jeongin licks a long straight line up your neck, before blowing cold air, sending shivers down your spine. You are already shaking, legs pushing against each other a little harder, smearing your already leaking juices. The action is not missed, hands falling to your thighs, pinching at your flesh. You are hot — sweat dripping down the side of your face, breathing fast. His mouth then meets yours again, in a kiss so sweet you can’t help, but whimper.

“Been thinking about your mouth for so long.” The confession makes you fist his t-shirt harder, almost ripping it. You feel yourself clenching over nothing, legs pressing against each other, his hands only increasing the pleasure.

Jeongin pokes his cheek with his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he leans away to look at you. Just your look — just your slick, puffy lips and glossy eyes make his cock twitch. The thought of you being so open for him like this, so trusting, is something that maybe he wants to show off. You are a problem…sweet, delicious, addicting, making him act like this, but it seems you are too drunk to even notice the effect you have on him. His fingers tug lightly at the material of your sweatpants, feeling the heat of your skin even through the layers of clothing. He watched you too — he thought about you and how you would look…Under him, on top of him, gasping, whimpering, pleading for more and more, till you are left crying in pleasure and overstimulation. He wondered how you would taste like. How you would sound like, when he would suck at your clit just right — he thought about your mouth and how it would be like to kiss you. How you would wrap your lips around his skin, his cock…His eyes then flicker to the closed doors briefly. He wanted you — all of you, but not right now. However he will give you exactly, what you want and need.

You are left puzzled for a moment, when he suddenly pulls away from you, feet hitting the floor. He sits back, lifting his lower half a little and at that you notice the outline of his cock pressing against his sweats. You bite your lip at the prominent outline of him, watching him spread his legs wider, before he lightly taps his thighs. “Come here–“ He says, leaning back onto the couch. Your desperation makes you not skip a beat, all shame leaving the room from seeing him worked up just like you are. You sit up, crawling your way up to him, but before you can sit, his hands find your hips. “No, like this.” His strength surprises you, letting him turn you around so your back faces him, lifting you up to sit you on his lap. You feel it — his chest rising under you, his breath on the side of your neck as he pushes your hair to the side, his cock pressing right against your ass as you come to sit between his open thighs. His lips find your skin straight away, hands running over your legs and you gasp lightly, when you suddenly lift your gaze to the mirrors infront of you, only finding him watching you the whole time. “I want you to see–“ Jeongin watches your eyes trace over his hands that lightly tweak at your thighs. “What exactly were you imagining?”

He wants you to say it, even if he knows it, even if he feels you shaking under his hands. Your eyes briefly close to savor the feeling, twitching on his lap, making you press your backside harder to his cock. You feel him chasing the feeling, hips lifting you up a little to make you bounce one more time. It makes you gush even more, legs opening and closing, trying to ease the ache between your legs. You are in haze, completely drunk of him and you don’t care about anything but his touch anymore. “Your hands on me…” You say, the confession making his hands stop at the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers grazing over your exposed skin.

His lips press against your skin, biting down a little, making you feel the smile on his face, before you even see it. The sight is so dirty — so everything, captivated by how his hand extends over your lower stomach. “Where?” Jeongin is teasing, getting off your frustration, watching a sweet frown fall on your face .

“Please, just–“ You move around on his lap, the another graze of your bottom half across his cock, making him hiss lightly, before you see him putting one of his hands back in your hair.

Jeongin tugs lightly, your head tilting to your shoulder, meeting his wild gaze in the mirror. “I can give you what you want, you just have to ask nicely.” You whine at that, few tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, glimmering in the soft light in the room.

You are done fighting against the last bits of your self respect, cunt clenching again, when his fingers on you travel lower, till you feel them dipping under your sweats. “Jeongin — I want your fingers, please–“ There is no time to waste if he wants to give you what you want and your sweet voice echoes around him like a siren.

He turns to look down at you, tugging your head so it faces his and he curses at the pout you give him. Your lashes are wet, bottom lip quivering and that action makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck–“ He kisses you again, briefly yet messily, moaning with you as his tongue rolls against yours, before he pushes away again, small string of saliva connecting you two. Both of his hands find your waist again, rolling the soft material between his fingers, tugging a little. “Take these off.” Your skips a beat at his words, shaking hands finding his.

You pull your sweatpants off, with his help, lifting yourself up a little and as you kick them off your legs, sitting back again, the feel of his cock is much more intense than before. You gasp as he moves a little so he is right between your cheeks, eyes opening wide at the sheer size of him. Your eyes then meet his again, but now in the mirror, following his line of sight to the dark, wet spot on your underwear. “Look–“ You already are — watching him and his hands traveling down your legs, the feeling making you press against him even more.

His hands are hot and heavy, gripping at the meat of your thighs, when you just a little bit close them at the sight of your juices coating your skin. Your smell is intoxicating, the feel of you trembling just as his finger dips lightly inside your thighs is addicting. Jeongin is staring straight on the wet spot infront of your black panties, low light hitting your slick skin just right. You jerk at the first ever touch of his fingers — they press against you, right over your puffy clit, the small move more than enough to make you moan. “Fuck, you are dripping–“ You whimper in response, looking down at how his fingers are getting coated with your juices.

“More–“ You say, already loosing your mind at how his fingers just keep pressing and not moving. Your hole clenches at the thought his fingers dipping into you. Even though if your tone is whiny, borderline desperate he takes it in a way that makes him snap a little.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you, with my fingers?” You are still having a whiplash from his sudden change of behavior, but you only lean more into it. You nod wildly, head turning to look at him, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours, because you suddenly feel him tugging at the flimsy material of your underwear. He pulls them to the side, making them snap a little when he releases them. Cold air kisses your slick cunt then, you shivering lightly, shaking, when his fingers just barely graze over you. You don’t even have time too look down, mind to hazy from the quick touch. You don’t even look, when one of his hands come to grip at the side of your neck — not when his other, coated with your juices comes to press against your lips.

“Open.”

Your lips fall apart in a gasp, making it for him all too easier to shove his two fingers inside your mouth, pressing them down at your tongue. Your mouth wraps around his digits instantly, sucking lightly the taste of your sweetness inside your mouth. But then you look — you see how his own eyes gloss over, mouth opening as you lightly bite down at the tips of his fingers. The look you give him makes his other hand travel to the front of your throat, making a loud sound escape you, when he suddenly rips his hand away from your lips, maneuvering your head back to face your reflection as he finally moves to touch you.

His already used hand comes to cup you, his palm digging into you, smearing your wetness all over your skin and his hand. “Soaked–“ Jeongin groans with you, hand on your throat squeezing a little and he can feel how that action makes your clit twitch under his fingers. Small, precise circles are made, him expertly moving the hood of your clit away to touch you more deeply — it is even better than you imagined. He is so mean about it too…Pressing you against his chest, with his hand on your throat, making you watch yourself in the mirror, while he plays with you. His rolls your bud between his fingers, pinching it lightly, the small pain just a low, addicting buzz. Your stomach twists, body burning and jerking over his cock, that he keeps pushing into you.

Your breathing is fast, matching his, eyes on yours reflection instead of looking down and the sight makes your stomach flip. It almost feels forbidden — you feel more exposed. Jeongin swipes his fingers over you, extending them to get every inch of you touched. He traces over your slit, each time his fingers dipping lower and lower, watching you clench over nothing. You feel blood rushing to your face, little bit self conscious of being in such exposing position and him still being clothed, while you are spread wide open, but everything is way too good to say anything about it. “So wet, that I could slide right in–“ You gasp when his ring and middle finger slide lower.

“Please — I want it–“ You keep repeating it, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder, but you only receive a tight squeeze to your throat.

“Then look.” You do — him helping you look back at your reflection, just as his fingers dig deeper into you. There is no resistance, you are so wet you can feel yourself dripping down on the couch. You twitch a little at the sensation, mind swirling. His long fingers slide inside you quick, too quick for you to breathe through it. However only your body knows its limits and you are not even surprised that you only suck them right in.

Jeongin is losing his mind over, how your velvety walls keep closing onto him — so soft and slippery. The thought of him sliding inside you instead is great, hips lifting both of your bodies in hopes he would get closer to your cunt, only making his fingers go deeper in you. You whimper, eyes almost closing at the way the tips of his fingers reach your cervix, palm of his hand grazing over your clit. His other fingers then hook around you, wrist twisting, before he starts to scissor his fingers inside you, searching. “You have touched yourself to this?” He mumbles lowly, lips against your neck. “You wanted this for so long, that you imagined it every time I would just barely touch you–“ No question — he knows.

“Wonder if I can make you squirt–“

A cry leaves you, when he suddenly at that curls his fingers inside you, palm moving against your clit. The idea of you doing that is unfamiliar. You have never done that, you have never even been close to it, but the way his fingers reach so easily to the one gummy spot inside you, tells you he might be able to do it way to easily. “Don’t stop — Jeongin-“ You moan his name, when he starts to trust his fingers inside you, curling them up each time they slide into you.

“You are…so–“ He is a little lost for words. The way your body reacts to his touch — hips lifting to chase his touch, your nails digging into his hand still holding your throat, though not clawing at it for him to stop — your other holding his, that keeps thrusting into you…He is drooling. Wet, nasty sounds fill the room, his fingers increasing on speed, but now more pushing against you so his palms keeps hitting your clit. You are moaning, gasping, music to his ears, however even if he knows that no one can hear you inside this room, he also knows that when you would go close enough to the door you could probably hear the filthy noises coming from you both.

Jeongin’s hand on your throat leaves you, making you gulp in air, but your mouth is only able to take in few breaths, before his hands clasps it. “Shhhh— you don’t want them to hear, right?” Your eyes widen at that, loud moans of pleasure turning into whimpers as you wildly shake your head. “Huh…still I bet you would like that–“ His words makes you clench down on his fingers, tips of them now just curling inside you, palm moving against you.

You are way too easy — you already feel you lower tummy rumbling in the way too familiar pleasure, moaning against his hand as he moves his other to push his thumb against you. You are starting be aware of everything around you — from the way he keeps whispering sweet, nasty nothings into your ear, hot air blowing against your skin. How he moans every time your hips press against his, how you both look like nothing, but sin in the mirror — where are you and what are you doing right now, knowing your friends might be back any minute. Your wildest dreams coming true — him fucking you with his delicious fingers, feeling every vein pressing against you…is all too much for your body to handle.

Then with one particular push of his thumb against your clit, fingers not losing any rhythm, scissoring, curling, you slide a little down on the couch. Your leaking cunt and sweat is making it too easy for you to slide off, but then his hand on your mouth comes to catch you before you could run away from the immense pleasure. He tsks again at your doings, small breath, like a laugh, leaving him, hand grasping your thigh, before hooking it around his. That only makes his fingers go deeper into you, hitting your cervix each time. You are huffing, choking to get air back inside your lungs as you start to shake around him.

Jeongin notices your change way too quickly, turning his head from your reflection to your tear stained face. “Gonna cum, baby?” The nickname makes you whimper pathetically, eyes barely open, but they don’t leave the mirror in fear he would stop. “You don’t even know, how much better I can fuck you, with my cock–“ Your breath hitches, pleading for him not to stop talking, his words just pushing you more and more to the edge. You have never knew, only dreamed about him talking to you like this — the words, even so unexpected, making you run hot, seemingly coming off way more natural than you would have thought.

You are shaking harshly, feeling heat washing over you, mewling at the way he keeps the delicious pace. Your head rolls to the side, teary eyes meeting his and he almost coos at the way you are having such a hard time to keep them open. Your legs keep closing, but he doesn’t let you move away, hand digging into your thigh so deep you know it will mark — and he does want to mark you with purpose, even though he decided that he would probably never let anyone get close enough to see it…though the mark on your neck says otherwise. You feel it — the burn inside you, the way your body keeps chasing the pleasure, face screwing up, mouth open and slick, droll running down your face.

“Fuck – I’m gonna–“ You start to breathe in series of gasps, gaze shooting back to the mirror and then back to him again.

With your sharp moan, Jeongin kisses you again, deep groan leaving the deepest part of his chest as he feels your body stilling. Your vision turns white, your ears ring, head rolling back in ecstasy as your hands fly to grasps his arm to ground your self. The orgasm is so strong it leaves you voiceless, silent scream leaving you, but then…it doesn’t stop — he doesn’t stop. His hand moves, but only so it doesn’t touch your twitching clit, only to start trusting his fingers inside you again with a movement so fast your cry rings in the room. “What are you – Oh, fuck!” You can’t see, your vision is blurry, eyes though still being capable to follow his line of sight.

Jeongin is breathing harshly, tongue poking out of his mouth, watching his fingers disappear inside you. He holds you down the best he can, moaning when he suddenly hears the wet sounds coming from your cunt. Your juices start to splash, your still hot cum leaking out of you and drooling down the couch and you panic at the foreign feeling bubbling inside you. It is too fast, too much — you try to warn him, run away from the intense feeling, but you are too weak to do anything other than tremble on top of him. You are overwhelmed, overstimulation high and you scream as the feeling comes over you. “Come on, just one more — do it, soak my fucking hand–” He silences you for your own good, fingers pushing inside your mouth again to quiet down the loud cry, as the feeling you were trying so hard to hold back wins over.

Before your eyes close, you see yourself squirt around his hand, your juices reaching all the way to the ground and table before you, making you scream in small horror and euphoria. You have never felt something so intense, something so pleasurable that it made you cry. Your body arches off his and Jeongin in his state of awe lets your legs fall shut, his hand still working you up. Everything is a blur for while for you, shaking and quivering, feeling your slick pooling on the couch under you. “Oh, my-“ His hand stills at your small whimper of overstimulation, fingers slowly sliding out of you and he has to push your legs apart to even free his hand.

Jeongin is marveled by the sight before him, eyes drifting over your reflection to you. You are covered in thin sheen of sweat, skin blooming under his touch and he has to stop himself from not going back to give you more. You are spent — done, you almost can’t even move, body slumped weakly against his. His eyes then drift back between your legs, that are finally moving apart, muscles spasming in your legs and exposed tummy. You have soaked everything — your legs, the couch, even the table before you and Jeongin has to bite back a groan at that. He watches you breathe through it, small whimpers still reaching his also ringing ears, however he then decides to lift you off his lap.

You moan in small protest, blinking away your now dried tears, while he stands to grasp the small box of tissues off the marked table. “Here-“ Still a gentleman, even after turning you into a complete mush. He is gentle now, atleast when he goes to wipe away your juices from your body for you, seeing you are too weak to even do it yourself. Your eyes trail over him, watching his eyes clear a little, but there is still that spark, still the reminder of what he did to you just now. You then look down to his still covered cock — he must have adjusted himself, when you weren’t looking, because you can only see just a small imprint of him. The tissues are little too harsh on your sensitive skin, jumping a little at the sensation, but his hand, now softly laying on your naked thigh, calms you.

You are sticky all over, the room hot from the thing you have done, but there is no shame now. Something about the way he cleans you so softly, touch so featherely, eyes bright, you realize that maybe there is something more about to it, then just lust. Though you could not think about it too long, because the silence between you is interrupted, when a loud sound of nearby voices is heard flowing down the hall. “Shit-“ Your eyes widened, scrambling away from him, just as he puts your underwear back over you and you do ignore how it stick to you like a second skin. You don’t look at him, too occupied of grabbing your sweatpants off the floor to notice his lingering stare. You push them up, just as you hear the voices of your friends right outside the door, eyes widening then, when you look to the wet spot next to you. No time to think — your hands push down your wild, messed up hair, pulling them forward, fingers grazing over the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, wiping away the loose spit coating your mouth, before the door opens.

“Hey.” You say, voice scratchy, coughing instantly and you can’t help, but cringe.

The others fill the room, each carrying bags of food that hopefully hides the smell of sex in the room. Your eyes meet Felix’s, who stumbles in last, whose smile still sits on his face, but then gives you a small look of confusion at your tone. “Hey? We brought you something–“ He beams a little as he nears you, while the others come to put the food on the table that thankfully wasn’t the one before you.

The wet spot is hot beside you, a burning reminder of a still fresh memory and you really have hard time to meet the eyes of your best friend at that. “Oh…that’s nice.” You say, eyes drifting away a little, when he suddenly comes to stand before you, eyes full of worry, while yours full of shame and you feel you sick of lying to him.

“Everything good?” He asks you like the sweet friend he is, but his close proximity makes you quiver a little, but you do try to keep the smile on your face, even though you still feel the ghost of his friend’s inside you.

“Yeah-“

“Hey, why is there–“

Your heart stops, head snapping to Hyunjin, who points to the spot next to you, before drifting all the way to the floor and table, while the others come to stand around him. Your mouth opens like a fish, mind crashing to scramble to answer atleast something, when everyone turns to look, but then a voice cuts in to safe you. “Oh, I just spilled some water.” Says Jeongin and no one other than you hears the small tone at the end of his sentence.

Everyone thankfully doesn’t say anything else, but you still don’t meet their eyes, heart beating fast, when you lean over to grab the box of tissues, eyes immediately falling on the rolled up ball of used ones, sitting right on top of the still wet, glass table. “I will clean it.” You say, immediately pulling out multiple of tissues to press them against the wet spot next to you. The light and your shadow thankfully hides the true substance of the liquid and how it slides over the leather.

“Okay, we will just eat on the floor, I guess.” Says someone, you don’t even care who, you only care that Felix and the others go away a little to let you drown in your own embarrassment. You will probably never let anyone sit on the spot ever again — in a twisted, sick way you have now marked it as yours. The rooms fills with chatter and laughter again, plastic bags rustling in the silent panic you are experiencing, before pair of piercing eyes, makes you look up.