#atz x reader

and when he gets invited to a big party once again, he tells his friends he’s “not in the mood” or when wooyoung comments about another girl looking at him, he says “already got someone,” even though they know he hasn’t slept with you. a little suspicious because mingi never turns down a party or a one-night stand. what’s worse than being teased nonstop by your closest ones: aww, the big bad boy has gone soft, isn't he adorable?

making out with him is messy and heated. he is so desperate, kisses lingering too long, biting your lip like he’s trying not to let you go. whines when you pull away, laughs breathlessly when you tease him about how horny he gets.

you’re not mocking him about it; you still curl into his side and melt under his touch. and still kiss him goodnight when you have to leave the party, so you just don’t let him take that last step.

mingi waits, patient in the way only someone completely interested and hooked can be, knowing that when you finally say yes, whenever that is, it’ll mean something.

because you didn’t give him your body right away, as every girl did before. you made him fall first, turned the one who was chases into the chaser, and now he needs you in a painfully obvious way.

FRATBOY!MINGI has been fed with only breadcrumbs for the past few months.

kisses that linger just long enough to make his head spin. your fingers brushing his wrist, his hands, the hem of his hoodie, and then pulling away right when he leans in. sitting too close on purpose, knees touching, whispering things meant only for him in crowded rooms. letting him feel wanted, but never satisfied.

a perfect little cat-and-mouse game.

mingi is visibly fascinated by it. he gets quieter around other girls, less interested, and less playful. all his energy funnels into you; every party ends with him finding you. every night ends with him asking you if you’re coming over, and you smiling, saying, “sorry, not tonight,” and you watch how his smile turns into a frown, muttering something like, “yeah, i think i’m not going either. next time, then?”

then comes the group project, and how you end up meeting san and wooyoung at the library, one of his closest friends, and mingi isn’t there yet, running late, and somehow the conversation drifts to him.

san laughs first, peeking from his laptop. “you know he’s down bad, right?”

you barely look up from your notes, not interested, but you are secretly nosy about it. “yeah, like i haven't heard that before. he just likes to talk about girls.”

wooyoung snorts. “no, seriously. he hasn’t touched anyone since you.”

that gets your attention as san nods, more serious now. “he turns girls down, like… actually turns them down. all he talks about is you.”

“or he likes bragging about body count, feeding his ego...typical men, no offence.”

wooyoung shakes his head, putting his hands in a ‘timeout’ like position. “nah, this is different. he doesn’t even brag about his sex life anymore…instead, he gets stupid when your name comes up.”

“he thinks you believe him that he will use you for one night, and that’s going to be it,” san adds as he notices you suddenly stopped writing with your pen, “and that scares him more than you saying no.”

when mingi finally shows up, slightly out of breath, eyes immediately locking onto you, as he puts your favorite sweet treats over your textbook, your heart suddenly does a whole 180-degree loop. you see it now, the way his face softens, and he wears glasses? the way his shoulders drop, looking relieved just seeing you there, and that boyish smile appears on his stupid, handsome face… it makes you feel things.

later, when you’re walking out together, he gently taps your shoulder, scared about such a simple thing, because he wanted to ask you out on a date. opening his mouth, closing it, and rubbing the back of his neck, and all that came was: “what’d i miss?”

and suddenly, he doesn’t look like a party animal at all, more like the shy and clumsy nerd. cute, you think, a total loser in the best way.

“nothing,” you say, hiding everything you learned about him, while leaning and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, and pulling back before he can react. “don’t slack off, tho. do your part of the project, okay?”

behind the corner, san and wooyoung watch him lift a hand to his cheek like he’s never been kissed before in his life, even if you kissed a million times already, blinking as you disappear down the hall.

yeah, he’s done for.

the moment mingi starts dressing like a normal person instead of a guy who forgets what shirts are, that’s when everyone knows — he’s serious about you.

FRATBOY!MINGI and you don’t even know if it’s because you’re both wasted, or because you tug his hand and try to pull him away from the crowd, clinging to him in a way you never have before. you’ve never been this affectionate, so obvious, and it finally clicks for him when you lean in and whisper, all soft and needy, “can we go somewhere else… just the two of us?”

mingi doesn’t even stand a chance, especially not with that face of yours, that voice, and the look in your eyes. he nods immediately, letting you lead him through the house until you find a bedroom, door lock included, thank god, and even better, untouched, clean sheets waiting.

and the second the door clicks shut, you’re onto him.

jumping into his arms like you’ve been waiting months for this moment, hormones spiking higher than mount everest, body buzzing, and he finds it insanely hot. for once, he is grateful for getting absolutely wasted because what do you mean the girl he likes finally gives him the whole loaf of bread, warm and fresh, instead of just the crumbs? and you, you're so beautiful that you make him wonder if he really wants to feel you physically, and not emotionally. but the fact that your hands are everywhere, mouths crashing together, kissing messy and desperate, saliva shared as clothes disappear piece by piece.

before he can even think, you’re both naked, his body pressed against yours, his cock lined up at your wet folds…finally going in his dream destination.

you’re nervous, but brave. a virgin who somehow knows more than you should, cheeks warm from the alcohol you drank just for courage. 

he is buzzing with adrenaline, the kind that makes his hands shake just a little when he realizes what this means. yeah, he’s had sex before, sure, had his first time with a pretty classmate of his a few years ago, but this is his actual first time with the girl he actually likes. the one he waited for without even realizing he was waiting.

“you sure ’bout it, baby?” he murmurs, mouth brushing your collarbone, breath hot as his hands tighten instinctively when you move, excitement and anxiety mixing in your body. he knows how important this is for you, and how you’ve been saving yourself for someone worth this moment. “’cause once i start… i won’t be able to stop. shit– never seen such a pretty pussy before.”

when he pushes inside, slow and careful, you feel the stretch immediately. he’s big, bigger than you expected, everything deliberate, meant to make you feel safe instead of rushed. clinging to his shoulders, whining and gasping as he takes his time, letting you adjust, easing himself deeper inch by inch, he’s completely focused on you.

when he finally starts moving, slow thrusts find a rhythm, creating a tempo both of you would enjoy. all you can do is pant and moan, angelic sounds mixing with the faint clinks of his chains and necklaces. your eyes sting with tears, overwhelmed by the reality since you’re really letting him have you. yes, him. song mingi, the infamous fratboy who’s been hopelessly in love with you for months, who’s proven over and over that he’s serious, that this isn’t another game.

and then he whimpers.

actually whimpers like all soft and broken sounds that spill from him, even though he’s the one in control. it’s absurdly hot, with him dominant, needy, praising you breathlessly while still feeding his own ego because he can’t help it.

that boy moves knowing exactly what he’s doing. the way his hips roll, so controlled, aware when to press hard, the way his body stays perfectly in sync with yours: it’s obvious he’s experienced. and yeah, he uses that as an advantage, not to show off, because he wants you to feel good, and special. every movement is intentional, every deep thrust of his body meant to pull another sound from you, another reaction or orgasm. it’s overwhelming because no one has ever put this much care into making you feel wanted, loved, cherished, and most importantly, desired.

what gets him, though, is how fast he loses himself in the pleasure you offer him. mingi’s never been like this before. never came so quickly, or felt so affected by someone else’s body, reactions, personality, hence their trust. and instead of him being embarrassed that he is no better than that nerd yunho, who has been throwing not-so-secret glances at you during classes, can’t even hold a conversation without saying something uncanny, a total fucking weirdo, and visibly a big simp for you… he just accepts it, meaning, he’s in deep, metaphorically and realistically.

from there, it blurs like the alcohol in your system. bodies moving in sync, positions changing every five minutes, by the time you realize how wrecked you are, you’ve already come more times than you can count. limbs shaking, head spinning, mingi still holding you, but he pulls back just long enough to look at you, eyes filled with so much love and lust.

“neither of us will probably remember a single thing in the morning,” he confesses, voice low and husky, “some random dude knocking on the door, waking us up… but fuck that. tonight, you’re mine.”

he cups your face, kisses you again, hands sliding down to your hips, tracing every curve. “so… i’m gonna make you cum again,” he whispers, thumb brushing your clit, with his dick still inside you at a faster pace, with this stimulation it will help you come faster. “at least once more before… yes, baby, i know you’re tired, but i want to have you… properly, without worrying about being in someone else’s house, okay?”

his fingers and cock work in perfect sync, teasing, and pressing, rubbing, until your legs shake. “fuck– yes… harder… please, m-mingi harder,” you moan, and then you are clenching around him, screaming his name as your stomach twists, “mingi, please, ah—!”

mingi groans, head dropping to your shoulder, body trembling as he holds and talks you through it.

he’s never heard anything like it. never seen a girl come so desperately, so loudly, so completely on his stupid, big cock. his hands grip your hips tighter, murmuring praise between ragged breaths: “shit… you’re so perfect… so fucking mine…”

FRATBOY!MINGI has never invited a girl back to his apartment before. honestly, he’s never left a party this fast, either. he helps you dress after he dresses himself; his movements are clumsy, slipping his jacket over your shoulders to show everyone that you are his. he wipes your thighs with something, the sheets maybe, he doesn’t even check. big hands stay firm on your waist, mouth trailing along your neck, pulling you back into him every chance he gets, and you can feel how hard he already is again through his pants. it frustrates him because he wants more but knows better.

he’s drunk, but he’s forcing his brain to work somehow, because one thing is crystal clear: he needs privacy, and can’t wait another second.

you expect the smell of cigarettes and spirt when the door opens. drunk people everywhere, couples making out, bodies pressed together in dark corners. instead, it’s quiet, and then you see someone.

standing there with a plastic cup in his hand, frozen like he’s been caught eating those godforsaken cookies from the jar. mingi’s mouth is still on your neck mid-kiss. your hands resting over his when NERD!YUNHO stares like he’s just walked into something he was never supposed to see, and so the cup slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor as he swallows hard.

mingi finally looks up, so annoyed and irritated, throwing him a sharp, territorial glare. “get lost,” he snaps. “the hell are you staring at?”

it doesn’t even register at first. the fratboy doesn’t recognize him, because in his head, yunho is just some awkward guy, a background character — a nobody. someone who shouldn’t look like that, so stylish and handsome that it makes you, his girl, stare for even more than a second.

and whose party was this again? yeonjun’s? he doesn’t know, or care.

mingi drags you toward the stairs, fingers laced with yours, already halfway gone. you follow behind him, but something makes you look back.

your head is still foggy, but you know exactly who it is now. the smart guy who helped you study for that impossible exam, the one who smiled nervously when you thanked him, since he stayed late explaining formulas when everyone else gave up. he was actually cute, you thought, and his ears went bright red when you complimented him on his academic achievements.

then you smile sweetly at him, mouthing a soft bye, as he’s still standing there, cup forgotten, watching you go with an expression he hopes you never see him with. looking nothing like the awkward nerd everyone assumes he is. and if mingi knew the truth, that yunho was your first, long before tonight, he wouldn’t be pulling you away so confidently.

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It wasn’t always like this. Harsh thoughts, even harsher stares. Whispers of curiosity and sly disgust. Questioning how you had a in that most girls would be fighting tooth and nail for.

There were moments, mostly when you were young, when life was simple, peaceful even. But now, as you ran through the crowded halls, no club, no place, no status to help you, you slowly started to come to a sense of acceptance that you were going to be invisible forever… a bookworm amongst the elite.

“Come on, one night.” You groan as you hear your best friend since childhood, Jongho, grumble through your phone. You were currently lying on your comforter, textbook after textbook scattering across the tops of your desk and bed. As you prep for… well, nothing really. Exams are over for the season. ‘I’m just getting prepared for next term,' you’d say, more to yourself than your friend… 'Can't be too ready…' Okay, now you were pushing it…

“Come on, it’ll be fun. The guys love having you around… No overly loud party. Just us all celebrating the end of exam week.” Jongho’s buttery voice made your insides turn. ‘Love having you around' the words replied in your head a thousand times. They probably only “like” you because they have to put up with you for Jongho's sake.

You hated how right your thoughts sounded right. You hated how you fell for their sirened words every time.

“Fine.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t win a fight with your teddy bear of a friend.

“Yes! Also…” His voice vibrated your ringing ears. “Seonghwa got you something.”

“Seong—” Your voice cuts off into a choking fit, saliva betraying you as you try to breathe. “H-hwa.. got..why would he..—Shit can't talk now. I'm about to go on, I'll see you later.”

And just like that, his goodbye was quicker than his hello, and you were stuck in the silence once more. Only this time you were stuck with the looming thoughts, Why did Seonghwa get you something and more importantly… You thought he hated you.

The walk over to the frat house was long and cold. The campus felt like a ghost town now that everyone had cleared out from the game earlier. The last play of the season, with some of the boys from ATZ frat house coming out on top. You've only ever been to one. When Jongho finally convinced you to show up for it to cheer him, Mingi, and Yunho on. But that soon led to you being cornered behind the bleachers by a group of popular girls that were determined to know how you were so close to all the ATZ boys.

How you… could possibly have anything they don't. They were all drop-dead gorgeous, tall with long thin legs, and had perfect faces that matched their perfect styles. They were the object of everyone's desire. People either wanted to be them or be with them… except you. You were nothing.

You didn't wear heavy, flawless makeup. You didn't wear tightly formed clothes. You weren't the it girl or the talented cheerleader… You were just… you.

The sidewalks that are normally filled to the brim with caffeinated, no-sleep, most likely on some sort of medication students were now mere echoes of your footsteps right up until the scuffs of your boots at the base of the frat house steps. You stared at the door for what felt like an eternity, questioning if you should just ditch and go back to the safety of your dorm surrounded by text books and fantasy novels…at least they wouldn’t judge you.

“You gonna stay out here all night, sweetheart. Or are you gonna come in.” The deep, almost sultry voice catches you off guard. It was only when you refocused your eyes that you noticed San leaning against the small porch fence with a lit cigarette in hand. His eyes were piercing and his smile subtle—being here for performing arts and a modeling/Image consultant program—he most certainly fits his major. "Well, are you?”

Heat flushed as you realised you had been staring at him for a little too long for your liking. “Y-yes. I’m coming.” … His smirk grew intensely.

Wrong choice of words idiot.

You huffed out a breath before walking straight for the front door, leaving Mr Perv outside to tend to his smoke. Upon walking in, you took in the strong stench of weed and liqour.. The gathering, as Jongho put it, must have started early. "Aye, there's the sweetest sweetheart!!" Mingi hollers from the couch as you rounded the corner.

“Hey.” You whisper out, holding your sides while your arms stay firmly crossed together.

“You need a drink. Let me get you a drink!” Mingi tries to sit up, but he stumbles, already half drunk. Hearing a crash, both Yeosang and Wooyoung come rushing out of the adjoining kitchen, one firmly holding a pot lid while the other holds a spoon.

"What's the damage?” Wooyoung shouted, thinking something was broken… Again. You couldn't help but crack a smile, watching the boys fumble and flail to get Mingi back on the couch.

“Only Mingi’s pride…” A smooth, roaring presence shifted behind you. His voice almost as dark as his slight smile. You knew it was him before you saw him. Shifting your head slowly, your gaze drags up, long elegant legs draped with loose black sweats, matching compression-T on the slickest waist before landing on piercing eyes. Eyes that made you hot. Eyes that made you go mad.

“H-hi Hwa.” You mentally cringe at yourself for using the nickname you always hear the boys use. It wasn’t something you called him. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Seonghwa seemed to notice your uncomfortability instantly, his pupils expanding at the idea of watching you squirm. So like normal Hwa fashion, he digs for more.

"Hey, Sweetheart.” That nickname... One that all the boys adopted for you and one you’ve grown accustomed to hearing. But when it slipped from Seonghwa’s lips, it was different. You knew it was because he wanted something. He only used it when he wanted something. He would rather use your name than slip into the sweetness of a pet name, and last time he called you that, you spent hours after helping him study. Or the time before that, you went with him to the library because he didn't want to go alone. As he put it. He knew he made you melt and he knew he could get anything he wanted if that one little innocent name slipped off his tongue.

“Y-you have something for me?” You hesitated while the taller man's eyes studied you. Only for a moment, never long enough to warrant warning. But just enough to have you redder than Wooyoung’s freshly dyed hair.

He leant down slowly, his lips barely scraping your ear. “Come with me.”

And just like that he was off, heading towards the staircase. You quickly followed behind, noting each door you passed. Yunho’s and Mingi's shared room, Jongho’s and Yeosang's…a bathroom. San and woos… He stops suddenly, almost making you bump into his broad back. You couldn't help but let out a quiet yelp, making Seonghwa turn his head slightly over his shoulder. "S-sorry..."

Your murmur was not unheard by Seonghwa, but he didn’t respond, instead, he smirked to himself slyly before slipping into the room he stopped abruptly at. You followed suit, trying to rub off the embarrassment off your face, but before you could shed away the redness, it only grew darker as your eyes landed upon the perfectly made grey bed in the centre of the small but cosy bedroom…

Seonghwa’s bedroom.

You’ve never been in his room before, heck, you were well aware of how much he hated others in here. Always saying others would make it messy. And from the last time San came into it, having his way with ruining the cosy sheets, Seonghwa officially made it clear that no one goes into his room unless he permits it.

"So... What was…” Before you could finish your sentence, Seonghwa quickly opens and closes a jewellery box that sat nicely tucked away on his desk. The voice made you silence yourself as you watched him turn around to finally fully face you.

“The guys and I have been wanting to get you a gift.” He rubs the soft velvet bag between his fingers while his eyes never left yours. “Something to show our appreciation. And we… Well, I came up with the idea to get you this.”

He pulled out a thin necklace with an unfamiliar-looking symbol hanging off it. The pendant was dark red, the gems in it gleaming in the small orange lighting of Seonghwa’s bedroom… it almost looked like a compass?

“It would mean a lot if you wore this.” You've never heard Hwa sound so soft before. His natural brooding nature always made him sound cold to everyone other than his brothers. But now, in his moment, he sounded like liquid sin. Honey mixing with all roses. He held the necklace, silently asking if he could put it on for you.

Of course, you listened. You always listened if Seonghwa asked. Holding your hair up, you turned around, giving Seonghwa access to your neck. His long arms wrapped around you as he unclasped the necklace, letting it lie coolly on your collarbone.

“I knew you'd say yes.” Seonghwa's voice was a whisper now, the feeling of his hot breath against your neck making you shiver. You had no idea how long you stood like that, just feeling him closely behind you. But when a booming voice echoed from downstairs, you knew it was probably a little too long for comfort.

“Dinner’s ready!” San’s shout cut through the quiet. You turned to face Seonghwa, and of course, his expression was anything but readable. Unlike yours, which you were sure was covered in pink, with wide eyes and a shallow breath.

“I—LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!” Mingi’s enthusiastic bellow cuts off your words before you could even speak them. A wave of sound crashing against the moment you and Seonghwa were experiencing.

Seonghwa stepped aside, gesturing towards the door. “Go on. I'll be down soon.”

You walked past him for the door, taking in the lingering scent of his cologne. A mixture of sweet vanilla, coffee and something faintly spicy. He smelled intoxicating. But you shook your thoughts, heading for the stairs, your fingers naturally gravitated towards the foreign object around your neck, feeling the cool metal settled snuggly against your collarbone.

I knew you’d like it.

His soft words played on loop in your head. The way he stood closer, the way you swore you could hear his heart beat quicken along with your own. The words swirled in your mind, a deciphering puzzle you couldn’t quite place. Yet, a warmth bloomed in your chest, a quiet satisfaction that the boys had thought of you, that Seonghwa had thought of you and felt the need to give you a gift personally… Maybe he wasn’t such a brooding bad boy like everyone lets out to be.

The night unfolded in a blur of loud chatter, liquor and food everywhere and a rhythmic thump of music that sits in your chest like it was born to be there. This wasn’t an average frat party by any means, there wasn’t a crowd of drunk people, minus Mingi, and an overwhelming amount of mistakes being made that many people would either regret or not remember by the morning. No, tonight was… intimate, filled with board games, competitive video games and casual conversations ending in bursts of laughter.

It almost felt domestic in a way.

Having Hongjoong lean against you, shoulder to shoulder on the couples' couch. Or helping Yeosang and Wooyoung finish up dinner before serving it to the hungry beasts known as your friends. The initial awkwardness melted away from this morning, having been replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You’d never admit it, but Jongho was right.

“Alright, who’s ready for a real game?” Wooyoung’s voice sliced through the relaxed atmosphere, a mischievous glint in his foxy eyes. He held up a strange, circular board, adorned with colourful squares and cryptic symbols. You couldn't help but tilt your head in confusion. “Truth, Dare, or Strike.”

“What's strike?” The thought slipped from your tongue before you could think. And oh how the smile only grew wider on Wooyoung’s face as he picked up the dice.

“So, you roll,” he explained devilishly. “Move your piece. Land on truth or dare, you pick a card from each pile.” He gestured to the purple and green stacks, letting you watch as Yunho and Yeosang shuffle them. “But if you land on strike…” He taps the board, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

“You pick a black card…” Seonghwa’s voice made you jump as you turned slightly to see him and Hongjoong come back from the kitchen after clearing the table. His voice was buttery and suggestive, sending shivers down your spine. But before you could loom with any unnecessary thoughts, Jongho picked up the dice and rolled, letting the game finally begin.

Jongho landed on truth, admitting he had a secret drawer of sex toys that the card had suggested. San, on a dare, did a surprisingly and gracefully tame handstand... Most cards you found weren’t all ‘bad’ or ‘raunchy’ but more classical truths and dares. Well, what would you even class as basic truth or dare? You don’t know. But Mingi was the first to pull a strike card, having to make out with the person next to him. Yunho to be exact… which he did a little too eagerly. You squirmed when you watched the two giants fight for whose tongue went in whose mouth… it shouldn’t have been that erotic, watching your two friends go at it… But…

“Your turn.” Jongho nudged you a little, making you snap out of your thoughts. Your eyes widened as you looked next to you, god you were staring, and you didn’t notice. You felt yourself grow pinker than Hongjoong’s pretty drink as you gulped.

“I uh… Let me just refill my drink. I’ll be right back.” You stood a little too quickly and fled to the kitchen a little too promptly, but you didn’t think too far as you slipped away from prying eyes. Once in the kitchen, you spotted San leaning against the counter, nursing a glass of something dark as he waited for something in the microwave. You ignored him at first, looking in the fridge for something stronger than your normal stuff. Just something to take off the edge, you know, something a little more…

“Having fun?” San’s voice was a deep whisper that you only barely heard over the music that still played in the empty lounge room on the forgotten TV.

“Uh yeah.. Yeah I’m having fun..” Your eyes never left the shelves in front of you, looking at all the rows of liquor.

“More than you expected, hmm?” San poured something into a glass before walking over to the fridge, his chest grazing your back slightly. This made you stiffen as he moved you aside, reaching for the freezer door and opening it. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Just simply watched as the man dropped a few ice cubes into the crimson drink. “Here.”

You took the drink in hand, ignoring San’s knowing look. How he was able to read people's minds still beats you. But nonetheless, you took it. “Don't tell Jongho. But yes, he was right.”

The sly smirk on San’s features beamed as he took a sip of his own drink. His eyes never left yours as he watched you take a gulp of your own, noticing you grimace slightly at the strong taste. “What the actual fuck is this?!”

"Damn, sweetheart, didn't think you'd react like that.” San laughed, a full belly laugh. It was deep in his throat as he covered his mouth with his hand. “You wanted something stronger, right? Doesn't mean it'll taste better.”

“Fuck me.” You choked, looking for some water in the fridge to wash it down. But San stopped you, reaching for a pink bottle of alcohol, he wiggled it in your face. “What now?”

Your groan made San's smile grow as his eyebrow cocked. His head tilting to the side slightly like a cat, “Shot this, and if you do…” he leant down to your ear, his lips grazing your lobe, “I'll tell you a very important secret.”

Your interest suddenly peaked as you eyed the bottle. “One shot?"

“Just one.” He clarified.

You thought for a moment, watching his dark expression twist with a hint of something you couldn't quite pick out. “Hmmm… Deal.” Nodding your head, you eyed him as he grabbed two shot glasses from the cabinet. This was gonna be interesting…

While San is perfectly distracting you, Hongjoong, on the other hand—with a devilish smile playing on his lips—swiftly flicked through the cards on the table in front of him. Yunho and Jongho joined him as Yun grabbed the truth and Jong the dare pile. Their fingers were nimble and quick, shuffling all the piles, replacing a few at the top with very specific cards. Hongjoong exchanged a knowing glance with Seonghwa, a silent understanding passing between them. The boy's plan was simple really… They had this idea for months now, long night discussions and other nights filled with a little more heated activities led to all the men here wanting one thing…

You.

It was only going to be a little push, a nudge even, that’s all they needed. Just to see if you'd actually break. See if you were on the same level as all of them. To see if you truly would be theirs. "Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Wooyoung’s voice was cheeky as he gazed at the cards Yunho and Jongho picked. The boys knew where you were standing on the board, you'd most likely land on Dare or Strike with your roll. But just in case you roll a really low number, Yunho took the liberty to look for a perfect truth card.

All three men were quick at finding what they wanted before placing the decks back as if they were never touched. Ironically, this was just as you finally walked back into the dining room, the clinking of your cup against the glass bowl filled with popcorn announcing your presence. San was close behind, and his stare was caught quickly by the two older men. Hongjoong nodded slightly, not enough for you to notice but enough for San to know the plan was going perfectly.

You sat down next to Seonghwa, not noticing he swapped spots with Jongho. Picking up the dice, you note the almost complete silence, like there was anticipation in the air for what you might roll. “Are you all holding your breath, or has the alcohol finally hit me?” You tried to give a little cheek, but you could have sworn all the boys were darker, more… predatory than normal…

“We are just curious what you might land on, sweetheart.” Mingi suddenly sounded way too sober for your liking. Your hand didn’t stop the shaking motion as your eyes narrowed at Mingi, but you chose to let the dice fly despite the odd feeling brewing in your stomach. They tumbled across the board, clattering to a stop…

"Six," Jongho casually announced, his expression never changing. But there was something, like the room let out the breath she thought it was holding, and as her little pawn landed on the square, she swore she heard a groan.

“Dare…”

A collective gasp—as if they didn’t just plan all this—quickly followed by a chorus of excited chatters filled the room. But your stomach only lurched, suddenly nervous at what the card might suggest. And if it was anything like the previous two cards… you were most likely done for. Reaching for the pile, your fingers trembled slightly. The card felt too cool, too smooth, too… heavy. You flipped it over away from prying eyes.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the card. “Nope. Absolutely not. I am not doing that.”

The group chuckled, half of them saying it can't be that bad while the others were curious what the card said. Jongho took the card from you, and what he read made his ears turn red. “Strip in front of the crowd.”

“Oh fuck yeah.” Mingi couldn’t help but hiccup out. Making your face deepen in the crimson that already pained it.

“No! I’m not getting naked!” You huffed with a slight twang of laughter. You loved your boys, yes. But getting bare in front of eight very hot men was not on your list tonight.

“Alright. You can pass, Sweetheart.” The crowd went quiet as Hongjoong spoke. “But that means you gotta pick up two strike cards this time.” It was like Hongjong's prayers had been answered, given he put the more... Harsher cards on top of the strike pile.

You go to grab the two cards, but the orange-haired male stops you. “But once you take these two, you can't undo it. You’ll have to do these cards.”

For a moment you questioned if getting naked in front of the boys for a moment was better than what these two cards could entail… but after another breath left your lungs, you knew you were willing to risk it. “I’m good.”

Picking up both cards, you stared at them. And in bold, stark letters it read. “Spit take and…Seven minutes in hell.” Your breath hitched.

A sly murmur bubbled under Wooyoung's breath as he whispered out, "Oh, these ones..”

Yeosang had to kick his foot slightly to get him to shut up. Luckily your shaky sigh covered up the young man's words, making him go unnoticed by you. You already knew what the first card was asking you, and that required you to roll to see how many people would participate. But it was the second card that had you more intrigued… “Go to a secluded room with the person to your left. And for seven minutes, they can do whatever they want to you.” with a little note on the corner, a smiley face with a speech bubble that says ‘remember consent is key’... as if that was the problem at hand right now.

Your shaky gaze suddenly snapped to Seonghwa, seeing him seated calmly beside you. And even though his expression was unreadable… His eyes were a different story. They were intense, dark and as they met your own, you noticed the lust dripping from them. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, almost like a silent promise. And in that moment, you knew. This man, with his quiet intensity and unsettling charm, was about to completely ruin you.

“Roll.” Was all Seonghwa said as he stood, picking up his beer to take a swing of it as he walked to the archway of the dining room. You froze for a moment, not really registering what was going on. It wasn’t until Jongho’s soft, warm hand squeezed your thigh that you finally focused your eyes and looked around the room.

“You okay?” His voice was whispered, but you simply nodded your head, standing up abruptly before snatching the dice off the table.

“I’m good.” You gave your best friend a smile before rolling the red dice, letting them skate across the table, but as they came to a halt, the numbers they landed on were almost too good to be true.

Five and three….

Everything passed like a blur as Seonghwa extended his hand out for you to take. You didn’t even hear the hollers and chants from the other men as your fingers intertwined with Hwa’s soft ones. San had whispered something into the older man’s ear as he passed, and you vaguely heard Jongho say they’ll do the rest of your challenge when you come back…

But all you could think about right now was how you let Seonghwa pull you through the house. Your legs felt strangely heavy as he guided you towards the studio just opposite the kitchen and dining room. He stepped inside first, holding the door open so you could slip in besides him. The soft lamplight cast his features in shadow, making him appear even more mysterious in the reddish, purplish lighting. The studio wasn’t small by any means, supporting a large desk, couch and even a mini fridge. Hongjoong spent most of his time here, the others rarely entertaining themselves with all the electronics that Hongjoong had set up meticulously. But now the room was going to be used for something other than soundboard production. It was going to be used for something far more… erotic.

You hesitated at the threshold, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you… anticipation, a hint of nervousness, and a strange, undeniable thrill of what-ifs and maybes. What could the Park Seonghwa possibly do in seven minutes?

“Come on,” he urged, his voice a low invitation. “Time starts now...”

You crossed the threshold, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft thud. And for a split second you thought you heard the lock. But you paid no mind as you felt the air thicken in your lungs, making it harder to breathe as you took in every detail of the room around you. All the while, Seonghwa never took his gaze off of you. Taking a swig of his beer, and his back facing the door, his burning presence filled the cramped space so much your body, soul and mind felt like they were oozing him… You could hear the way his throat worked as he swallowed more of his drink until he was empty, setting the bottle down on the edge of the deck with an anticipatory thump.

“You seem nervous…” He whispered, stepping closer until his chest grazed your back. “Why are you shaking, hmm?”

"I'm not shaking." You lied through your teeth, your voice trembling slightly. "It’s just… cold in here."

“Ah.” Seonghwa said softly, reaching out with his fingers to brush his knuckles gently across your neck. The contact felt like a jolt of electricity had suddenly coursed through your veins. “You know… Liars get punished in this room.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you whispered, not taking your eyes off the blank wall in front of you. Not daring to look back. To look at him.

Seonghwa stepped closer, his feet pushing yours apart so he could almost put his knee between your legs as his chest became snug to your shoulder blades. He leant down, his lips only just ghosting over the shell of your ear, and then you felt the hotness of his breath as he spoke, “Don’t play dumb now, sweet bunny.”

Oh, that was new…

The pet name sent shivers down your spine as his voice turned sweet, almost melodic. “I see the way you look at me. The way you clench your perfect fucking thighs whenever you're around here. You act all shy, but I bet there's a slut somewhere inside begging for relief. Did you think that necklace only meant we were friends?"

“I…I thought.”

“What? You were in some sort of safe zone? You aren’t what we want because you’re Jong’s best friend.” Seonghwa interrupted your words as you felt his hand move to the nape of your neck, his thumb pressing gently on your windpipe. "There’s nothing safe about the way we think about you. I’ve spent weeks imagining exactly what I’m going to do to you in this very room. And now, the rules say I can do anything."

Did he just say we?

“S-seonghwa what… Ah!” You gasped before you could even protest any thought or feelings, letting yourself feel his teeth latched onto your shoulder and hand tighten around your neck. He began to kiss you, slow and agonisingly soft, his tongue tracing the line of your ear, to your jaw, down to the patches of skin on your neck his hand was not covering.

"I’ve been so patient…” He practically moaned your name in your ear. “We’ve watched you walk around this house in those cute little outfits. Pastels, cotton. Argh… “ He groaned, rutting his hips against your ass. “You always look so soft, such a pretty bunny. You knew exactly what you were doing to us. Did it make you feel powerful, hmm? Knowing we’re all starving for you?"

Your brain was no longer processing what he was saying, no, all you could think about was how he held you. How he was touching you. How you could feel the outline of his straining cock on your backside and how he growled and begged behind you. “S-seonghwa, please.”

"Please, what?" he asked, stepping a little away, letting you feel slightly empty. His hand loosened on your windpipe before swinging you around until you were facing him. And oh, did his expression make you want to melt. His eyes blown out, his jaw clenched as he awaited you to finally answer him… finally give him something. Anything!!

“Do. Not. Stop.” You punctuated every word, letting him read each one from your lips. His mouth crashed onto your feverishly.. It wasn't a gentle kiss. No, it was an invasion. He tasted like a devilish mixture of bitter hops and lust. His tongue pushing past your lips to claim you with a desperate hunger. Holding you steady by your jaw, he tilted your head as he stood up straight, making you fight to keep your lips latched. He wanted you to feel what he had been feeling for months. Being so close to touch… but not close enough to call you his.

Any sweetness you thought might come out of the usually calm man vanished, leaving a new version of Seonghwa that made your skin burn for more. And just like that he pulled completely away from you, breathing hard. “Couch. Now.”

"What?"

"I said get on the couch. Legs open. Now." Gone was the cheeky darkness in his tone, now being replaced with something almost sadistic. A shiver of fear and excitement trickled down your spine.

You obeyed.

Your movements, ever clumsy as you scrambled onto the leather. The material was freezing against your fiery skin, but the heat radiating from Seonghwa was far more overwhelming. He did not wait as he moved into action. No, warning, not words. The thud was deafening over the music beyond the door as he fell to his knees. He was acting like a starved man on a mission, and nothing was going to get in his way with his reward.

Moving between your knees, his hands grabbed a hand full of your thighs, forcing them wide without a second thought. You felt his fingers dig into flesh and nails threaten to draw blood. Maybe starved wasn’t the word for the way Seonghwa acted in this moment… No, he was more like,

Insane. Drunk. Fanatical and fixated.

"Oh, look at you," he hissed, his gaze fixed on the dampness already staining your underwear that hid so prettily beneath your skirt. "So ready for me. After all that acting, all this being shy… you’re dripping like a whore."

He didn't waste time with more words. Not leaving any room for even a little yelp as he yanked your soft cotton panties to the side, exposing your aching cunt to the cool air of the room. He didn’t use his fingers first. He didn’t tease or linger. No, your head fell back as soon as you felt his thick nose push against your clit, letting him bury his face into your heat. The first lick was a long, broad stroke that made your back arch almost right off the couch. You’ve never felt such a feeling, something as delicious as someone's tongue lapping you up like it was their favourite meal. And you were his. As you let out a strangled cry, your fingers knotting in his hair, Seonghwa knew he was done for. He would eat you out every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner if you let him.

"You’re so sweet," Seonghwa mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled. "I’m going to eat every drop of you. I want to taste how much you’ve been wanting this, sweetheart." He became a man possessed. His tongue was relentless, flicking over your clit with a precision that was borderline cruel. Sucking on you intensely, his soft hums created the perfect vibration that made your toes curl and vision spot. The tension in the room changed with each jagged breath. The wet, rhythmic sloppy sounds of his tongue against your folds, the sharp gasps you couldn't suppress, and the heavy thud of your hearts against each chest were enough to make you both spiral.

"Open wider," he growled, pulling back for a second to slap your inner thigh as you tried to close them around his head, the sound echoing in the small room. "Keep them open for me, bunny. I want to see everything."

"I-It's too much," you gulped air in as you spoke, your head tossing back and forth as your eyes screwed themselves shut. “Seonghwa, I can’t.”

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that made your cunt clench. And that's when you felt it, the sudden intrusion making you yelp. He shoved two fingers tightly inside your wet hole as he began pumping them hard and fast, his thumb never leaving your clit. Your hips bucked without a second thought, almost having a mind of their own, chasing pleasure your body was so desperately desiring. "I want you to squirt for me, sweetheart. I want to see you lose control completely.”

"I... I’ve never done that," you panted, your voice breaking as you took in each thrust of his long digits. "I don't think I can."

Seonghwa’s gaze snapped up at you, a predatory smirk painting his features as his fingers seemingly became more frantic inside you. “Never?.. Oh, bunny. What am I going to do with you?”

He sat up straighter, his whole body towering your bent one. His lips grazed your ear, letting you hear the soft panting from him over the squelch sound. “I guess I'll have to be the first one to make that happen, huh? I'm not letting you off this couch until you're dripping all over me. Got it."

You couldn’t help but nod, letting him have his way, as he went back to his couched position. His tongue licked a strip up your cunt before settling on your clit. His fingers hooked deep, finding the spot that made your hip jerk and high pitch higher. He was relentless, abusing your sensitive flesh with a focus that was terrifying and utterly arousing. You could quickly feel the foreign tension build, a pressure in your lower abdomen that felt like a dam about to burst. Trying your best to settle your breathing, you glanced over his broad shoulders, and that's when you noticed the digital clock on the desk. The numbers glowing crimson in your spotted vision.

“H-hwa.” You choked out, your voice barely above a whisper as moans filled the void. “The time… Time. Fuck. Seven minutes is over.”

Seonghwa didn't even look up. He just growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing your inner thigh before he went back to devouring you. "Do I have to be blunt with you too, bunny?" His voice thick with lust, it sent a shiver down your spine. "And here I thought you were smart.”

Your eyes widened in shock when he looked up at you, his mouth and nose already glistening from your juices. You wanted to feel embarrassed, but Seonghwa’s tone was quick to distract you. “The clock doesn't matter. I decide when we’re done. And we are nowhere near done."

He sped up. His fingers were a blur, the sound of air being pushed out of your soaked pussy with every thrust creating a wet, slapping noise. He was punishing you now, his movements rough and demanding. He wanted… Needed you to let go. To feel everything all at once. To feel nothing but him.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," he commanded. "Squirt for me, you little slut. Show me how much you want the rest of us. Want me."

The unfamiliar sensation brewing in your gut finally snapped, leaving a white-spotted explosion to cloud your vision. Your body convulsed, your legs locking around his head as a torrent of fluid erupted from you, splashing across his face, his chest, and the leather of the couch. You sobbed, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as a long, high-pitched sound erupted from your chest.

Seonghwa didn't move. He stayed there for a long moment, letting your tremors subside while his face still pressed against your core. When he finally did pull back, though, he was covered in you. Your scent was heavy in the air, musky, sweet, and metallic. He wiped a stray drop from his lip and licked it off his finger, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. He looked hypnotised, completely consumed with the idea of you.

"Look at that bunny," he whispered, his voice dark as he massaged your thighs. "Look what you did for me."

Feeling accomplished, Seonghwa stood abruptly. You went to follow him without a thought, but he quickly reached out, landing a playful but sharp slap on your clenching cunt. The sting of it brought you crashing back to reality… Only slight. Watching him step away, leaving you shivering and vulnerable on the couch.

"Stay." Was all he said as he walked over to the desk.

Picking up his beer bottle, he took a long, slow swing of the last of his beer, eyes tracking the way your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. He looked down at the bottle, then back at you, a slow, cruel idea forming in his expression.

Your eyes never left him as he watched you. It made you feel hot, feel… seen. From always being the one to never be looked at. You not having a good enough status in school. Being the forgotten kid. Or the nerd, the outcast. The list goes on, from what you've been called in your life… but right now. All of Seonghwa's attention was on you. The Park Seonghwa. It made you feel desirable. Made you feel powerful.

"You like being watched, don't you?" he asked as if he were reading your mind, walking back towards you painfully slow. "You like the idea of being wanted, hmm? Want by me… by us?”

There it was again, the hinting of the other boys, only just a few feet away from this very room. It made you remember what San had said in the kitchen only twenty minutes ago.

"What kind of game, San?" You leant against the countertop with your arms crossed, still feeling the burn of the shot you just took. “If this is some kinda of floor shot again. I told Wooyoung a million times. No.”

San laughed, the sound vibrating against you while he stayed standing so close to you that your elbows were touching. "No, no… nothing like that….Without trying to freak you out."

“You're already freaking me out."

"Okay, okay.” San’s tone suddenly became serious. “There's a reason for that.” He points to the necklace on your neck. “And Seonghwa is gonna teach you later what the reason is. I just want you to know…”

San moves before you could think, hands on either side of you, caging you between his large body and the tabletop. “We all care for you. And we all want something. But trying to tell you has been difficult. We don't want to scare you away.”

You suddenly felt completely sober as you stared up at the man in front of you. Was he trying to say what you think he was? Did you just drink too much and now you're misinterpreting his words? "San… what are you trying to say?”

"Just be open-minded… Know that we all love you.” San leant down to your ear, whispering the last bit of his sentence, letting you smell the bourbon on his hot breath. "And the studio is soundproofed. No one hears a thing once that door locks.”

“I…” Your mouth became tacky while your mind drew a blank. This was what San was talking about. What he meant by all of them loving you…

“Tell me the truth, baby. Did you ever think about me while you fuck yourself on those pathetic pieces of plastic? Or maybe more than just me? What about the others? Ever thought about your best friend, huh? Dreamed of Jongho’s cock in you just as much as I dreamt of tasting this perfect pussy?"

You turned your head away, your face flushing a deep crimson. "I... What…."

Seonghwa has gone mad, not liking your answer. Gipping the neck of the beer bottle, he chuckled… a cruel, dark vibration from the pit of his chest. “I asked you a question, Sweetheart.”

This time the pet name that rolled off his tongue wasn't filled with any hint of sweetness. No, this time it was filled with nothing but mockery. He wanted to get under your skin just like you have him. Without a word, he took two large steps towards you before nudging your legs further apart with his legs.

“Answer me.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as he began ripping at your clothes until your lower half was completely bare and your shirt was discarded, leaving you in your soft pink cotton bra. His free hand gripped your ankle, spreading your legs open further to let him press the cold, rounded rim of the bottle against your wet entrance.

"Seonghwa, w-what are you doing?" You asked, your eyes widening as you felt the cold glass begin to slide inside you.

"I'm making sure you're paying attention," he replied bluntly. Pushing the bottle deeper, you could feel the cold sensation of the glass contrasting sharply with the heat of your overworked wall. "Does that feel good? Or is it too cold? Maybe you’d prefer something warmer. Something human, hmm?”

He began to move the bottle in and out, the glass creating a suction that made a distinct, wet popping sound every time it almost slipped out. The feeling was… bizarre, invasive and oh so fucking erotic. You were too focused on the sensation of the bottle to speak. It was stretching you the way you needed, filling you in a way that felt foreign and overwhelming in the best way. You let out a soft moan, your eyes fluttering shut. Seonghwa's expression darkened. Letting go of your ankle, he ripped your bra down, letting your breasts spill free. He watched them move as his pace quickened before giving them a harsh slap, the impact making you yelp in surprise and pain.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.” Your lips finally fell loose as your legs hugged tightly around Seonghwa’s firm hips. Leaning down, Seonghwa's teeth were bared on your neck, making sure he marked you anyway he could. Whether it was teeth marks, hickeys, or blood being drawn, he needed it all.

“So tight, filthy little bunny.” He hissed as he quickened his pace, his wrist growing almost tired at the odd angle of how he was holding the foreign object. “I bet you’re imagining it’s my cock, huh? Or maybe someone else's? Do you want all our cocks, baby? Come on, you can tell me. Don’t be shy now. Be a good girl.”

“H-Hwa… I.” Tears stained your face, stinging your red cheeks. You didn’t want to admit anything, your heart ached while your mind felt dizzy. The push and pull Seonghwa gave you was almost strong enough to give you whiplash.

“You can do it, bunny. Scream it out, let the others know exactly how you feel.”

And even though you shook your head no as he sank the top of the beer bottle deeper, pressing his thumb to your clit for firmer, you felt a fire brew in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew, he knew your answer. Like he could read your every thought. You weren’t just interested in the broody frat boy…. You were interested in his whole fraternity.

"YES!" You finally screamed as he gave your tits another love tap. The confession burst out of you like a physical weight as you squirted all over the beer bottle and Seonghwa’s hand. "I think about all of you! I want all of you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Seonghwa froze—the bottle still buried deep inside your abused cunt—a slow, terrifying grin spreading across his perfect features. There was a hint of warmth to it. Maybe even a slight show of sympathy. But over all that, he looked like an animal who had finally trapped his prey where he wanted.

"All of us," he repeated, his voice like velvet over gravel. "Good. That’s what I like to hear… But there is now one little problem...” He pulled the bottle out of you, throwing it somewhere in the room. If you weren’t so focused on Hwa your eyes would have checked to see if the glass would break, but luckily it landed on the carpet and no shatter followed. “You’ve been keeping a secret since we’ve been here…"

"What secrets?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"San," Seonghwa said, his eyes narrowing. "He told you something, did he. Fucker can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

You couldn’t help but bite your lip, the guilt written clearly on your face. "San told me, you wanted to… teach me... About the necklace. But what was it, I promise.” The silence in the room was absolute. The only sound was the faint hum of the equipment and the distant, muffled beat of the music from outside. You could see the way Seonghwa tensed slightly… he didn’t believe you. Not entirely anyway. His eyes were ice cold, focused with rage that made you want to shrink into the leather beneath you.

“Did you know I’d fuck you tonight?” He said so bluntly that it almost gave you whiplash. “Did he tell you we all like you?” The words came out slowly and dangerously. “What about that we rigged the cards so one of us could break you enough that you’d finally understand you are ours…”

“I…No..” Your mouth went dry as you tried to speak, but Seonghwa cut you off anyway.

He stood up, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving with fury. “Did he think this was a game? We had a plan.” Seonghwa passed for a moment, leaving you to worry. But before you could say anything, he grabbed you by the arm, his grip bruising as he hauled you off the couch, shoving you toward the mahogany desk.

"Hands on the desk," he commanded. "Now."

"Seonghwa, wait, what I—"

"I said hands on the desk!" he roared. You obeyed, your palms slapping against the cold, polished wood. You were trembling violently now, the reality of his anger settling over you. You heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of fabric and something like ripping plastic... Then the heat of him was behind you, pressing against your backside intensely. “I’m gonna have words with him later. But right now…”

His lips grazed the shell of your ear. “I need you to take a deep breath.” He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need to, grabbing your hips, with his fingers digging into the bones, he drove himself into you with one single brutal thrust that had your vision blurring. You let out a sharp cry, tears already staining your puffy cheeks as your head leaned back onto his shoulder. Seonghwa was so thick compared to the beer bottle. He seemed to stretch you beyond your limits. Well, that's what it felt like. He didn't give you time to adjust as he began to fuck you with a primal aggression. His body slamming into your pussy with a rhythmic, meat-on-meat thud that if you weren’t so turned on, you’d be embarrassed.

“You are even more perfect than I imagined,” he growled into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. I'm going to mark you so everyone down the hall knows who got you first.”

His declaration made your head spin. The knowledge that this was not just a one-time thing. That this was just the beginning of something you couldn’t even explain… and that everyone down the hall was just dying to join in. He was relentless. Every thrust felt like a challenge, a violent reassertion of dominance, of possession, that even though there was an agreement, he was going to show off what he could do for you. The desk creaked under the weight of your bodies, and the sound of your skin slapping together and panting breath filled the room. You could feel the friction building in the pit of your stomach, the raw, unpolished sensation of his cock deep inside you, driving you towards the edge. But something was missing… You needed something else... Something more.

"Please," you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the wood of the desk, leaving scratch marks in the varnish. "More. Seonghwa, please, give me more… I need..."

"What do you need, baby. Tell me what you want?" His voice was so soft compared to before, there was a caring tone lacing each word, and it only made you melt more.

“I want to feel you… I need to feel you when you cum in me.” You had no idea how you were speaking so freely, stocking it up to alcohol and the blindness of sex that made you throw your filter out the window. But it was the truth, you were craving to have him use you completely.

He reached back and slapped your ass, the sound sharp and echoing as he chuckled. The sting only fueled your desire more. And he did it again, harder this time, leaving the red imprint of his hand on your skin before pulling out for a moment. "Is this what you wanted? Be claimed. Be filled with me…"

He tore off the condom, showing it somewhere in the room, before completely trapping you against the desk, pushing off items he did not even bother to note, so he could make a perfect clearing just for your perfect body. “I told you there was a slut deep down somewhere. She just needed the motivation to come out.”

He didn't hold back this time. He increased the pace until he was a blur of motion on top of you, his cock slid in and out with a wet, squelching sound that filled the room as he hit right where you needed every time. You felt your vision spot and your throat itch from the screaming. But it was when he reached around and gripped your neck, pulling your head up so he could see your face as he destroyed you, that you swore you saw stars.

“Look at you, sweetheart.” He growled, “I want to see you. I want you to know exactly who’s doing this to you. Not San. Not any of the others yet… just me and me alone."

His mouth latched onto you, biting into your shoulder hard. His teeth sank deep into the skin, leaving a jagged, purple bruise. He moved to your neck, avoiding his hand as he sucked and bit until you were completely covered in hickeys that would take weeks to fade and be a bitch to cover. He was marking his territory, claiming every inch of you with a violence that was as much about possession as it was about pleasure. You felt his free hand leave your hip and snake between your legs before landing on your oversensitve bud. The friction was becoming intense, the heat between you nearly unbearable. And as Seonghwa felt your walls flutter around his aching cock, he knew you were done for.

“Come on, bunny. Be a good girl and come on my cock…” His tongue licked a strip of sweaty skin on your neck, “I’ll only empty my load into this cunt once you cum.”

"Seonghwa!" you aren’t even sure if you screamed, cried, or whispered. Your mind was so far gone as you felt your orgasm take hold. It was more intense than the first few ones this evening, a rolling wave of pleasure and pain that made your legs give out entirely. He followed you a second later. He delivered a final blow of his hips, stilling himself deep inside you as his body vibrated with the effort. Letting out a low, guttural moan as he filled you with hot, thick pulses of cum. You felt it all, the way it settled in you, the way it began to drip around his cock and down your dangling legs. It felt heavenly. He held you there for a moment, pinned against the desk, his weight crushing you as you both struggled to breathe.

The room fell silent again, but this time it was soft. Calm. and gentle, only leaving space for the sound of ragged breathing and the distant, ever-present bass from across the hall. Seonghwa didn't pull out immediately. He stayed buried inside you just a little longer, his head resting on your shoulder, his sweat dripping onto your back as he slowly kissed your shoulder blades, then your spine, and neck. When he finally did move, it was slow and deliberate. He withdrew with the sound of his cock popping out of your soaked pussy. He eyed the way his cum dripped out of you and the way you lay on the desk limp, your muscles twitching and your skin covered in his marks.

To him, you looked absolutely perfect.

Seonghwa stood over you, adjusting his clothes, while letting you take a moment to breathe. And then he looked down at you again, once he was done collecting your clothes he had thrown around the room, his eyes still dark, but the burning rage had been replaced by a quiet, smug satisfaction.

He had you, and he couldn’t wait to see the looks on the others' faces when they saw you completely and utterly ruined.

©Ja3hwa. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

You love your new apartment. At least, you love it in comparison to your last place, a nightmarish shoebox with horrific neighbours and peeling walls. But even your friends took care to fawn over your new digs while helping you move in, Wooyoung making sure that you understood how big of a moment this was for you. He even spied out the eye candy that lives just next door; he told you all about your new neighbour who smiled and waved awkwardly at him and San as they were hoisting your couch through the door. 

And he wasn't wrong– the man is beanstalk-tall and so fucking wide. A braver woman than you certainly would have hit on him by now, drawn in by the wide smile he gives you as he shoulders into the elevator behind you and exchanges good-natured, earnest pleasantries with you. You hope you answer his how's your week been with a smooth nonchalance that distracts him from the way you're smiling way too big to be passed off as anything near casual. He tells you silly stories about his job as a dance coach at the local studio and looks genuinely satisfied when he gets a laugh out of you. The pair of you comfortably settle into a place somewhere between 'just neighbours' and 'friends' lined with a flirtatious tension neither of you dares to bring up– and it works.

You even get to share some gentle mornings together, each of you out on your own balconies. You, with your cup of homemade iced latte and him rolling a joint on the too-tiny table he stuck out there for that sole purpose, his knees knocking against the underside of it nearly every time he shifts his legs. The first time you catch him, tongue halfway across the rolled paper, he has the wherewithal to at least look sheepish and he lets out a visible sigh of relief when you just laugh and take your own seat. You steal furtive glances over whatever book you brought out to watch him as he smokes, gradually sinking into his seat and you let yourself fantasize about him sneaking looks over at you in between tokes. It's fun to have a cute little puppy crush, you decide, even if it doesn't go anywhere, and Mingi's a great recipient. 

So of course he has to go and ruin it.

"When did you start smoking weed again?" Wooyoung wrinkles his nose as he pulls off his parka and lets you lock the door behind him. "Don't think I've seen you smoke since college. You’d better share, that's so-" 

You interrupt him with a frustrated groan. "I didn't Wooyoung- that's from next door," you stomp petulantly to your kitchen, leaving your friend to follow in your frustrated wake. "I didn't realize when he kept it to the balcony but whatever fucked up strain he smokes is seeping into the walls, I swear."

Wooyoung places the Chinese takeout he brought on the kitchen counter, shaking excess snow out of his hair. You hand him a plate and a pair of chopsticks and he lets out a faux-contemplative puff of air before he replies, "Well… he had to have like a flaw right? Inconsiderate stoner is annoying sure, but I bet I can whip him into shape." He grins wickedly and punctures his sentence by snapping his chopsticks at you. "Still hot, unfortunately. Saw him heading out on my way up and he manages to be enticing even in an extra-long puffer coat."

"Ugh, whatever," except it's not whatever because you know the coat Wooyoung's talking about and Mingi doeslook so adorable in it, especially because it's oversized and he pulls up the hood and smiles at you until his eyes disappear and nuzzles his face into the pulled up collar. "Whatever," you repeat, shaking your head like it'll shake out the image of Mingi all bundled up in his Winter get up. "It doesn't matter how cute he is-"

"Okay, so I said hot."

"It doesn't matter!" Maybe if you say it a couple dozen more times it'll come true. "Because there is nothing cute or hot about being an inconsiderate jackass. It's starting to get into my clothes, Wooyoung. I have a job where I need to maintain like, a modicum of professionalism. I can't show up smelling like weed."

"We're slipping into old man shakes fist at cloud territory here, princess," Wooyoung is gentle with you even in his teasing, knowing first hand how you can work yourself into a frenzy with little encouragement– or, on your worst days, no encouragement at all. "Like, you're not wrong, but let's reel it back before you commit full on arson on the building you're also living in."

The two of you have gradually migrated to the couch, letting episodes of a familiar sitcom drone on in the background. And having Wooyoung around is so lovely because no one else would let you whine like this, and before you know it the cups of hot and sour soup are empty and you're bitching and moaning about Mingi again. It doesn't help that it's nearing the time of night when he tends to spark up again, so you know the smell that had somewhat faded since this morning is about to come back with a dank vengeance. 

"I know it's lame or whatever to complain about someone lighting up in their own home," you mumble out around a bite of springroll, its crispiness doing wonders to settle you down. "I thought he was like a thoughtful guy though, you know? It's kinda disappointing. He really is just a man."

Wooyoung scoffs out a laugh, "Well, I could've told you that. I've definitely seen him scratch his balls in the elevator."

"Ew, stop, the illusion's already been shattered."

He only laughs as he grabs the two fortune cookies from the takeout bag and tosses one at you. He doesn't bother to apologize when you don't react quick enough to catch it, the crinkly wrapping paper hitting you square in the forehead. He's already munching away at his cookie, cheeks puffed out. "Mine says that beauty is often mistakenly valued above wisdom… so. A lie. Does yours say anything about fucking your sexy neighbour and stealing his weed?"

The air outside has settled at a bitter, bone-chilling cold. You've taken to wearing two pairs of socks most days in hope of conserving the heat as you trudge to the subway every morning. The scarf you knit last year that made you officially abandon your knitting needles has made a surprise reappearance in your daily rotation. And Mingi is still huffing away next door more days than not, stinking up your apartment like the worst Bath & Body Works candle imaginable. 

San suggested going to your landlord- and he nodded solemnly when you said absolutely not because you're no snitch. But you hate, hate, hate the way you still reek with the stuff even when you're blocks away, overpowering any perfume you own. You’ve also wasted a lot of your favourite perfumes.

You have to say something to Mingi. Directly. Direct confrontation. Oh god.

Your feet carried you to his door before you can reconsider. The door is normal, unassuming. Why wouldn't it be? It’s the same as yours, just six feet to the left. Did you expect it to look different? An evil, anxious bug in the back of your mind wonders if he's watching you just stare at his door through his peephole, wondering why his skittish neighbour is lurking outside his apartment. The visual is so harrowing that you finally commit to knocking before it can become a reality.

There's a moment of quiet– then, distantly, a crash, a cough and heavy footsteps that creep closer. And then he's opening the door, and there he is, tall but not quite imposing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion that only serves to make him even more endearing.

His expression brightens when he realizes it's you. You wonder, fleetingly, if he's doing this on purpose, because gosh, that smile nearly makes you forgive him right then and there. "Neighbour!" he chirps, like he really is excited to see you. Earnest, he’s really very earnest."This is new."

Right, you're crossing into untreated territory here and for a moment you feel a sense of embarrassment– but that fades quickly into indignation. He crossed that boundary first. His stink is in your home! "Yes, right, hi," terrible start. "Mingi, hi. Hi." Woof.

"…Hi?" If there is a god, he'd strike you with lightning and take you out with a swiftness.

"Hi, sorry," you shake your head at yourself like it'll physically snap you back to reality. "I hope you're not, like, busy or anything, I can totally come back later or tomorrow, even."

He's still smiling at you like that and he cocks his head at your words. "No, not busy. Just, y'know, winding down after work, yeah?" he says it like it's an inside joke. He settled into familiarity with you so quickly, you’ve allowed yourself to wonder before if that’s just what he’s like or if that’s what he’s like with you.

"Yeah," your hands busy themselves in the pocket of your oversized sweater- he brought it up himself, perfect, now you just have to commit. "Winding down, right- look, Mingi, I don't wanna be a shitty neighbour, really-"

"You're a great neighbour," he interrupts, not realizing he's super not helping.

"Oh! Oh, thanks, you've been… swell," swell?! "Except, there's just, it's really just this one thing, and I really wouldn't bring this up otherwise, and I'm not, like, judging or anything-"

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No, well not really it's just…" you're scrambling, that much is clear.

"Hey, I'm really sorry if I did something to upset you, I mean it, It’s just, I don't even know-"

"Mingi, you stink!"

Not great. He's staring at you in genuine shock, mouth in a little 'O' shape. You'd think he was actually frozen if it weren't for the shock of bright red that creeps up his ears. "Not like you stink," oh god, you've fucked this. Like really, actually fucked it. Royally. "Like, when you smoke. Inside. It stinks. It stinks up everything. It gets into my clothes. It gets into my hair, Mingi," you're whining now, a petulant child insisting she's right. But you are, of course, right, is the thing. "And I don't mind it, like, fundamentally and I meant it, I'm not judging you but god your shit's loud and I can't deal with it all the time, you know?" Your hands have come up to cover your eyes. Maybe when you take them down, Mingi will have disappeared and he'll have been a projection of your single, horny brain all these months.

And then Mingi starts giggling. Honest to god, giggling. "Oh, little neighbour," he coos at you and his hands, massive but purposely gentle, come up to grasp at your wrists and pull them away from your face. And he's still there. Obviously. "Shit," he sighs. "I'm sorry, little neighbour. I just– I run so cold, yeah? I'm real sensitive– like, when it's this nasty cold outside." You nod along and pretend not to notice that he hasn't let go of your wrists. His hands are warm. 

"I guess I'm a little nose blind to my own shit though, I really didn't think it'd be so bad," he chuckles at himself. "My friends joke about me reeking of the stuff but I thought they were just being assholes. Huh… guess I was the asshole the whole time, huh?"

You shake your head, almost on instinct. "No, really it's fine– I mean, I was getting mildly annoyed, sure," holy understatement. "But I wasn't about to rat you out or anything. Just... I don't know…" You're running out of gas now, turning sheepish and wrinkling your nose at yourself.

"Hey, hey," he lets go of your wrists and uses one big hand to ruffle at your hair like a cranky kitten. "You've every right to your annoyance, neighbour. I really am sorry. Listen, I'll uh, I'll start smoking like on the way to the grocery store and shit like that. Or I'll get a vape. Something, I don't know," he laughs out a breath and leans against the doorframe. "Really, I've been trying to be the perfect neighbour for you this whole time– turns out all I had to do to get you to finally knock is stink up the whole place, huh?"

You… you think that he might be flirting with you now. You can't be sure because you're still kind of reeling from your own faux pas. "The smell's not that bad," you concede. "I mean it's… a lot. I used to smoke kinda regularly, like, in college. It's just the sheer amount- I mean, my god, Mingi, you're a fucking chimney."

This time when he laughs, you let yourself laugh with him. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," he's smiling that bright, sunshiney, power the city for generations smile again. "Okay-" he claps his hands and you startle at the noise, making him laugh again. 

"An idea! I have an idea." You give him a worried look and he lays a hand on your shoulder that you think he means to settle you, but you feel heat spread all over. Was he always this touchy? "I owe you an apology, obviously," you go to interrupt but he carries on. "No, no, I do, you can't change my mind about this." The firey determination that sparks up in his expressive eyes all but confirms this. "So– let's stink up this floor one more time. I smoke you out, you can raid my fridge for whatever snacks you want and I'll even order you some candles to clear out the lingering scent. And then I commit to smoking out in the cold for the rest of my mortal, pathetic life."

Turns out Mingi is a very difficult person to say no to. Not that you tried very hard, of course. One glance at those puppy eyes and you crumbled. He's got a classic mid-2000's comedy on– he said it was one of his favourites and you wished you'd taken a picture of the way his eyes lit up when you quoted it back to him. You'd bonded over your favourite stupid bits from stupid movies. He's kinda nerdy, you've realized as he recites full scenes from movies you've not seen in over a decade. 

"Your couch is comfier than mine," you muse absentmindedly, head propped up by your hands, elbows on your knees. You're watching Mingi roll two joints in succession– the action not necessarily a new sight to you, but you've never had blanket permission to sit and stare at him while he does it. It's mesmerizing, like pretty much everything else he does.

"Yeah? Well, get as comfy as you'd like, little neighbour," his smiles are always so genuine for you. "Hope everything else is to your liking?" There's a twinkle in his eye too, a secret ask behind his words.

"Everything's good, Mingi."

"Only good?" He's pouting now. His most devious trick yet. You don't respond, you can't fall into his trap this early. Instead you take a sip from the canned iced tea you stole from his well-stocked fridge. He hums petulantly at your silence, and places one of the two spliffs into the ashtray shaped like an eight ball. He pops the other one into his mouth and rises to his full, staggering height. He's so tall he casts a shadow over you by way of the the sun setting through the window behind him. He stretches his arms over his head with an exaggerated grunt and the fabric of his t-shirt slides up at the waist, teasing you with a slutty sliver of skin. He's a little bit evil you're pretty sure now. You lean back and properly settle into the couch to shamelessly enjoy the view while he isn't looking at you.

He flops onto the- very large, very comfortable- couch next to you with a shocking level of grace. He's not quite close enough that any part of you is touching but he's certainly not far away. He fished into the deep pocket of a cargo pants for a lighter and he makes a slow purposeful show of flicking it on and bringing it to the jay lazily hanging out of his pouty lips. He breaths in deep, chest expanding and he lights it properly, eyes sliding closed.

He takes a few more slow pulls, smoke billowing out of pursed lips– and you let him because, wow, what a show. You do scramble to gain control yourself eventually. "You're smoking my apology."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, meeting your gaze again. You nearly gasp. He's already heavily lidded, a sluggish smile working it's way across his mouth. "Shit, my bad, pretty," he calls you pretty like it's no big deal. So you carry on, no big deal.

He finally gives up the joint for you and you feel very watched. He's following your every move now. He watches as you bring it up to your lips, pursing them, sucking in a deep breath and– heaving a deep, dry cough. He laughs heartily at your pain and you continue to nearly hack up a lung. The iced tea helps.

"Shut up," you full on whine at him, thrusting out a hand to shove at his chest and god dammit, it's rock hard. "It's been a bit, okay?"

He's still laughing but he puts his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry," he sighs dramatically and leans his head against your shoulder as you, very bravely, you might add, go to take another drag. "I'm really botching this aren't I, little neighbour? Hogging the weed, laughing at you, I didn’t even let you choose the movie." He pouts and nuzzles into your shoulder and if you knew any better you'd say he's making himself as pathetic as possible.

"Don't be pathetic, Mingi." He grins.

"I can make it up to you though," his voice has dropped, even lower than his usual bassy timber. "Just wanna be a perfect neighbour, y'know? Lemme make it up to you."

"You already apologized, Min. Nothing to make up."

"Please?" He mutters the single word into your shoulder and blood rushes in your ears.

"Hah–" you breath out a laugh you think makes you sound unaffected. You hope. "Thought you'd have a better tolerance than this." The quiet moment passes like wind through an open window, but the intimacy lingers in the air still, refusing to leave entirely.

He snickers like you're just that amusing to him. "Yeah– that's why I buy the strong shit. So careful with it, yeah? You're littler too. G'nna fuck you up waaay faster." He shifts so his head is in your lap, fully lounging against you like an Emperor in his throne. His long legs don't quite fit onto the rest of the couch like this, one is bent at the knee, the other off the plush sofa completely.

"You're good at making yourself comfortable quick, huh?" you say as you take another drag, almost doing it just to prove him wrong. But he's not wrong, it is, in fact, strong shit. You know you have to slow down if you don't want to be totally flying. 

He grins up at you. "Mm-hm," he nods. "We're friends now. Giving you a crash course in being my friend. This is a lot of it." He grabs at your wrist that isn't holding the spliff, his grip becoming familiar to you now, and brings your hand to his hair. You let yourself tangle your fingers into the dark locks and he visibly relaxes under the touch.

You know if you smoke any more of this space-age weed you won't recover before Monday so you lower it down to his lips– you don't quite understand this instinct, why you don't hand it to him instead but he doesn't so much as flinch. He wraps his plush lips around the filter but makes no move to grab it so you just have to carry on holding it as he inhales. 

"Careful, tiny," he's using that low, quiet timbre again. He clicks his tongue at you chidingly–"Can't have you burning yourself." The ember has crept only centimeters away from your fingers without you noticing and he, with a life-ruining gentleness, plucks it away and leaves the bud to burn in the ashtray. 

The smell is heavier here, because of course it is– you've followed it to the source, after all. Mingi was absolutely right, though, you're more sensitive to the stuff than you remember and you've settled into the high so nicely. It's floaty and warm, familiar like a family recipe. You're sinking into the couch, the weight of Mingi's head in your lap grounding you, tethering you directly to him.

You open your eyes not long after you realize you let them slip close at one point, lazily blinking as you struggle to readjust to even the low light of the cute lamps he has in multiple different spots of the living room. In the back of your hazy mind you register a mild gratitude for the fact that he too clearly understands the evils of Big Light. More than just a pretty face, you surmise.

You cast your gaze down to see how your neighbour is faring to find him already watching you, red-rimmed eyes almost too alert for your liking. He doesn't look away when you catch him– an eyebrow quirks in an unspoken challenge, daring you to look away, to cower first. You don't, not this time. Your fingers, once absentmindedly combing through his hair still. His eyes flicker to your lips, slow enough that you know you were meant to see it, leaving no room for you to misread his intentions now.

"All good?" he still manages to sound casual but only just– like his control is slipping, threatening to break free entirely.

“Yeah,” your voice is softer still, desperate to not disturb this precious little moment. The moment before… something. “All good.”

He studies you for another moment, searching for hesitation or something worse and when he can’t find it he hauls himself up in a gentle glide. You’ve noticed this about him– he’s consistently graceful for someone his size. He’s never abrupt, never jerky. There’s a composure to him that makes you ache to see it crumble and break. He’s next to you now, angled towards you, caging you in with his arms on the plush of the sofa cushions. “Tell me,” he pauses to wet his lips with his tongue and a smirk dances across his face when your eyes follow. Tease. “Tell me if I read this all wrong.”

You don’t need to answer verbally as your chin tilts towards him, an open invitation if ever there was one. His breath catches.

That first kiss is slow and deliberate, every movement drawing you into him more and more. There’s a distant thought that it feels like he’s trying to prove something to you but he steals it away. You’re leaning into each other with a neediness that shocks your hands into moving– one into his hair, already familiar with the touch and the other to a toned forearm.His own hands have found their way to you at some point, magnetized, to your waist. They grip without being harsh, your back arching into the touch only slightly, because you’re still consciously holding onto those last bits of sanity.

His lips press against yours even firmer then, a reward for wanting him as much as he wants you, control slipping away, strand by strand. Your hand tightens in his hair and he exhales against you, fingers gripping you tighter without crossing the line into harshness. He pulls away, only for a second, quick enough that you’re not sure it was even real, because his hand grips onto you before you can even process it, shifting you so his back is against the couch and your thighs are splayed across his, straddling him. You register with a barely contained shiver how thick his thighs are under you. 

He stills then for a second and you’ve parted from him just far enough to take this version of him in. Hair mussed (your doing), eyes red and glossy (half your doing, you choose to believe) and chest rising and falling in deep, purposeful breaths (definitely your doing, thank you). You freeze there, shocked by just how gorgeous he is like this, under you, lowlit and desperate and warm.

You bring a hand up to his jaw before reconnecting your lips to his, needier than before. Your lips work in tandem with each other as your tongues finally meet, delving the both of you into something that can only be described as hungry. His hands wander, as greedy as his mouth is against you, touching every bit of your back and waist he can, sending shocks of heat wherever they manage to brush against bare skin. Your teeth nip softly at his bottom lip in a challenge that you’ll later insist was an accident and you can practically hear his composure begin to splinter. He keens, whines against your mouth and you swallow the sound greedily and his palm flattens against your back to bring you close, close, closer. Your hips shift against his and the friction makes you lightheaded.

He pulls away with a petulant reluctance, forehead against yours, not willing to be any further away than that. He swallows and and sighs against you, hands planted firmly on your hips. His eyes are darker now, heavily lidded and gazing into yours with a fire you don’t recognize but you’re sure is mirrored in your own eyes. He huffs a laugh, half disbelief, half pride.

“Look at you,” you think he means to tease but he’s still breathless enough that it comes out straight up whiny.

“Me?” You smile wickedly and rock your hips against his– the firmness beneath the rough denim erases any doubt in your mind. He wants this, wants you. His own hips stutter, chasing you as his breath catches. “Look at you.”

He bites at his bottom lip, head falling back against the couch. His hands grip at your hips, more desperate than controlling, pulling you against him, closer still. He’s holding back as best he can, teeth still digging into his lip but these little grunts and whines are still escaping, taunting you.

You gasp as he surges forwards, hips properly and roughly rutting up into yours– the seam of your own jeans dig into you and you gasp, head dipping back. He takes this opportunity, lips against your neck with that same hunger, nipping, kissing, biting, surely leaving marks that you can’t possibly bring yourself to worry about now. No one will question a turtleneck in this weather anyway. You let him bite away, your hand finding it’s home in his hair once more in encouragement. Neither of you bother to pretend to have any semblance of control anymore and it’s so much more delicious this way; no more pretending, you’ve decided as you let a wanton moan out. He groans low in response and pulls away– you almost don’t let him, tugging at his hair in retaliation and his groan turns into a whimper. 

Before you have time to react he plants you back onto the couch, moving with newfound determination now, as he gets you to lie down, him kneeling between your spread legs. Your vision has blurred at the edges but he’s glowing, center-stage. He’s a mess. You can’t imagine you’re faring much better. 

Pupils blown, his hands grip at the meat of your thighs– he’s scowling at your jeans like they’re scheming against him. He’s half feral now, you think. He glides his hands up, pulling the fabric of your loose shirt shirt with them and he leans forward to press his forehead against your stomach. “You’re killing me I think,” he huffs, pressing devastating, gentle kisses against your skin and nosing against the plush of your stomach. You laugh, breathless but genuine all the same and brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Good way to go though, right?” you giggle and watch as he toys with the waistband of your jeans.

He looks up at you, eyes shining, pleading in an unspoken question, fingers inching toward the button. You nod minutely but he sees it all the same and wastes no more time. He’s frantic, fingers fumbling against the hardware as he undoes them, yanking them down until they hit the rug with a soft thump. Only your panties are between you and him now but he can’t seem to think that far. 

“Fuck, she’s wet,” he says, nearly to himself, eyes gleaming. His hands are on your thighs again, kneading incessantly. “Can I-” he starts, pausing to palm himself over his jeans, can’t help himself. “You gotta let me taste her. She’s begging for it. Need it.” He’s already lowered himself, half off the couch, spreading your legs even wider and nosing at your underwear. “Need it–” he repeats himself, half mindless before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your pussy through the fabric. He moans as soon as he gets that first taste of you, immediately addicted. 

You gasp and your hips jump up at the contact, chasing his mouth and he doesn’t fight it, chases you right back, hands at your hips not to control you but to ground himself. Your hand, still in his hair, it’s second home now, tugs gently at the strands, while your other hand finds purchase on the pillow next to you. He mouths at you, still over your panties, tongue out, practically drooling over you, soaking them through. “Tastes so good,” he hums against you, hands wrapping themselves around your thighs. “So good, fuck. So wet.” 

He pulls back, acting like it pains him to do so but he wants unfettered access to you, might really die if he can’t get it– he yanks your underwear down and doesn’t bother to spare them a second glance as they join your pants on the ground, too in awe, enraptured by your unobscured cunt to even consider looking away. His mouth is back on you before you can take a proper breath in, lips finally, mercifully, wrapped around your clit. You stutter out his name, begging for something– more, less, something that doesn’t even exist yet, you don’t know. 

“Holy fuck, Mingi,” you finally manage out somewhat clearly, around your own whines and whimpers. He hums in response, the vibrations cruel against your clit in a way the makes your head pitch back. He hips have a life of their own, grinding against the couch with abandon, can’t help himself. He pulls back and smiles listlessly at the whine you let out.

“S’good, yeah?” He soaks in your reaction, bites his lip as your hand tries to tug him back. He resists, barely, hands coming to your soaked pussy– he can practically hear her purring for him– to spread your lips wide for him. “She’s so pretty, baby, god–” Only then does he dive back in, one long lick against you that has you squirming. He’s focused on your entrance now, giving those wet, messy kisses again, tongue delving into you and his nose bumps against your clit in a way that has your head spinning. 

“So good, Mingi, it’s so good–” you babble absently but the praise gets to him still, hips grinding against the couch without his permission. You’re not sure who’s louder at this point, you or him. He brings his mouth back to your clit, suckling on it, freeing up space to tease you as with his fingers only brushing against your entrance, gathering the wetness there. He seems to be content to make you into as much of a mess as possible, revelling in every moan, every movement. “Please–” the word’s barely left your swollen lips when he plunges two fingers into your desperate, weeping pussy. 

The initial stretch from two fingers sends a shockwave through you and he has to use his other hand to properly hold your hips down. They’re skilled in their exploration, delving deeper than your own fingers could ever hope to. He’s on a mission, scissoring them inside you, stretching your gummy walls and finding those spots that make you keen. His mouth has travelled, never stopping, biting meanly against your thighs. “So fucking messy, baby,” he takes a moment just to watch; watch his own fingers diving in and out of you, nearly drooling at the sight. “Is that just for me? She loves me, huh?” He keeps talking directly to your pussy– it would be endearing if you weren’t so desperate to cum. 

You nod in response, not even totally sure what the question was, but he won’t break eye contact with your cunt. “Uh-huh,” you’re delirious but conscious enough to know that you’re delirious and that counts for something. Mingi is equally far gone, thankfully, wondering, hoping, that he’ll still be able to taste you hours from now. “S’all for you, Min.”

Another harsh bite on the inside of your thigh, soothed by his tongue and a kiss in that same spot. “You gotta come, okay? Gotta come for me, please, need it, need you to come on my face,” he’s babbling now, on the dangerous side of crazed, please’s and cum for me’s, even as he brings his tongue back to your clit. You’re faring no better, pieces of his name broken up by whines escaping and mounting in volume. Your thighs are pressed against the sides of his head and he thinks that this must be what heaven feels like– buried in pussy, suffocated by thighs. Perfection.

He knows you’re close, so close he can quite literally taste it. He hears it too, your sounds mounting higher and louder still. You know it too, can’t ignore it, with his tongue lapping at your clit and his fingers prodding at that spongy spot that makes you see stars. He wants it bad, working at you with a terrifying vigour. It only took a few more moments, a few more expert swipes of his tongue until you were there, cresting over that edge, your hand fisting in his hair and cumming with a broken wail. He works you through it, refuses to let up. Still pumping, licking, grinding. You’ve never had an orgasm last this long and Mingi is determined to keep it going, going, going– until you’re whining weakly and tugging his hair away from your poor, soaked pussy. Your eyes fill with tears at the overstimulation, a few slipping through and down your cheeks. When he finally does pull away it’s slowly, with one last kiss against your twitching clit like a goodbye. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy trying to remember how to breath like a regular human being. 

He crawls back on top of you, kissing against every bit of skin he can on the way back up– your thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, neck, until he’s face-to-face with you, noses brushing against each other. His eyes are half lidded and still hungry, the bottom half of his face shining, sparkling even with your own wetness, making him look like a sexed up kind of fairy. He brings his similarly soaked fingers up to tap against your bottom lip and you open your mouth without a word, not breaking eye contact as he slides them in, gliding against your tongue, the taste of you heavy. He smiles drunkenly as he watches you suck his fingers, tongue lapping at them and he lets a deep moan out from his chest. His forehead falls to your cheek and he lets his hips grind against you, your oversensitive pussy meeting rough denim and making you whimper around his fingers and gag slightly as they delve deeper. A dribble of spit leaks out from the corner of your lips and Mingi, nasty and unbidden, licks at it, licks all the way up your cheek, along the tracks your tears left, just tasting all of you.

He pulls back abruptly to strip away his own clothes, mostly because he think he might really, actually explode if these fucking jeans stay on for another second. His jeans and shirt are off, boxers halfway down when it registers to him that you’ve followed suit, sitting up with your shirt and bra gone and he can’t not be drawn to your tits. He’s only human. 

He’s kneeling between your legs again, knees digging into the carpet uncomfortably but he can’t begin to care about that as he kneads at your tits, mouth attached to a nipple, sucking and gently biting at it. You wonder, momentarily, how his jaw isn’t cramping up yet. “Mingi, baby, c’mon,” you pull at his roots until he lets your nipple go. He doesn’t quite move away– just looks up at you, resting against your chest, wet mouth still slightly agape and eyes shiny, wet with unshed tears. God. “C’mon.”

You pull him up to lay on the couch and he goes now without question, finally getting his boxers all the way off on the way– you could probably ask anything of him right now and he’d do it. And shit, he’s so hard you realize and he lays there. It’s massive, too– rock hard, throbbing to the point you think it must be painful. He’s leaking an absolute mess of precum against his stomach, his cock already slicked with it from when he was rutting himself into a frenzy in his jeans. “Oh, baby,” you coo at him as you kneel between his thighs, mirroring his spot from when he drove you to a mind blowing orgasm not even minutes ago. You wrap a hand around him and feel dizzy at the realization that your fingers don’t quite touch each other. 

He might have been designed in a lab specifically to drive you insane, you’re pretty sure. How else could a man like this exist, just walking the earth?

Your pussy throbs at the mere idea of his dick stretching your walls but you’re desperate for just a taste first, it’s too enticing; you lean forward and give the slick head a tentative, experimental lick, moaning lightly at the salty taste of him. His cock jumps at the sensation and in the back of your head you remember him saying that he’s sensitive when he was justifying not smoking in the cold– at least you know now he wasn’t bullshitting you. You suck at the head so very gently, just to rile him up and you know it works as he throws his head back and mewls. “Please, baby, just-please, you’re-you can’t,” he’s babbling again, near panicking at the idea of blowing his load before having you properly on his cock. 

You go to straddle him properly, for your own sake as much as his because you want it just as bad– you know you’ll have your mouth back on him one day, you promise yourself that much. Maybe even within the hour, who’s to say. “Oh, Mingi, you’re so hard,” you pout down at him teasingly because you can’t help it– he’s so pretty laid out like this, hands grabbing at you, plush lips kiss bitten and red.

He nods quickly– “So hard, need t’fuck you, baby.” And you know he’s not lying, he needs it, really needs it. “G’nna make you feel so good, yeah? You know I will, I will, I promise–please.”

You either take pity on him or his begging is driving you crazy, either way you use one hand to steady his dick as you drag your wetness along the tip of him and tease his dick along your entrance, your other hand steadying you against his toned chest. You last through a few more of his pleads before you truly can’t take it anymore and begin to sink down on him– the initial stretch of his ridiculous girth is maddening, your mouth dropping open as you take him deeper and deeper.

He’s panting heavily, using every inch of his barely there willpower to not buck up into you and make you take all of him– he lets you take him inch by agonizing inch, every movement making his eyes roll back into his head because fuck, you feel like actual heaven. He might cry. He’s probably actually going to cry, he realizes as you’ve taken just more than half of him, because you’re too warm, too tight, too perfect, what the fuck. And you’re still sinking down, taking more, more, ignoring the slight burn in your thighs because it’s worth it, he fills you so perfectly. You take more, a little more until he’s fully buried inside of you and you both let out synchronized, shuddering groans at the realization.

“Oh, god, god, pretty,” he wraps his thick arms around you all the way, noses at your neck because he needs to be as close to you as humanly possible. “Fuck you’re so wet, so tight, huh? I did that, yeah? Worked you up so good, needed my cock, didn’t you?”

He’s not really asking you questions, some small part of you understands that but you nod along to his words all the same, half because he’s right and half because you can’t think, mind wiped by his cock seated inside you, stretching you out to fit him perfectly, moulding you to him. “Yeah, so full, Mingi, baby, so good–” His hips twitch helplessly against you, begging silently for something, anything. And mercifully, you deliver. 

You pitch your own hips up just barely, just so, the mild movement already sending sparks up your body, a live-wire. He grinds back against you because he truly can’t not anymore, his hips tilting to yours, chasing in anguish and you gasp as the tip of him kisses against that spot deep inside you that makes you gush around him. 

He responds in kind, groaning his loudest groan yet, the sound wrapping around you and you don’t even recognize just how much you’re drowning in everything Mingi, every sense overtaken by him. It’s only those strong arms, hands gripping your waist again that anchor you against pure hysteria.

You start to grind against him, setting a deep, rolling rhythm that has him hitting spots in you that had previously remained untouched. He grinds up into you in tandem, can’t help it, his hands gripping at your waist with a bruising tenderness. His eyes are wet, a few tears rolling down his cheeks now and you feel an evil sense of vindication– it’s nice to know you can make each other cry. And he’s such a pretty crier, eyes wide, face flushed and eyebrows tilted up, he’s just so pretty. There’s not a lot of them, the tears, and you know you’d like to make him really cry one day– but fuck, you’re dripping around him now, as desperate for him as he is for you at this point.

So you have no more restraint left as you go to properly fuck yourself on him, the stretch delicious as you slide him in and out of you, hands on his shoulders to brace yourself but also feel up his built shoulders. “F-fuck,” he has you stuttering and crying out now, damn him, because he can’t just lie there and take it, it’s out of his control now, his hips canting up and chasing you every time you bounce or grind or tilt. “Fuck, Mingi, baby, god, you’re so big, so good,” and you mean it, every word– he is, in fact, so big and so good. So good that he does deserve you truly bouncing on him, you figure and you’re sure he’s ruined you for any other man now, as he buries his head in your tits, keening every time you land, burying him to the hilt. It’s delicious and it’s messy, he’s basically drooling against you as he mouths at your nipples until you know they’ll be sore tomorrow.

“Yeah, good for you,” clearly he agrees. “Made for you, I think– never felt so good, y’r stretched perfectly around me, pretty, just need you to ngh–” his eyes shut tightly as you clench around him, like he’s nearly at his breaking point. “Need it–” he insists, lost in the warmth of you, fully thrusting back up into you.

“Need what Mingi?” your words are breathless, whiny, desperate. “What do you need, baby? Tell me– anything, it– give you anything.”

Both of you are falling apart but desperately grasping at any modicum of control you can over each other; you mock him, he bites at your nipples; you clench around him, he uses his grip on you to slam you down further. The push and pull, the sick game becomes, eventually, little more than two messes, wet and sweaty, fucking into each other, pleading into each others mouths, looking for something, anything, neither of you understand what you need anymore.

“So fine, y’r so good,” he’s mumbling out incoherent praises into your mouth, as everything becomes tighter, hotter, wetter. “Fuck. Fuck.” His hips stutter as they thrust up into yours, grinding in this new cruel way on the up swing and your eyes nearly roll back into you head. “Fuck.”

“Are-” you start, then immediately stop as his hand comes back to your clit, already overworked and weeping, to rub it in precise circles. He doesn’t need to say it out loud but he’s close, rising to this insurmountable peak and he needs, more than anything he’s ever needed before, to bring you there along with him. “You’re nearly there, yeah?” he nods along, little yeah, yeah, yes’s escaping his spit soaked lips. “Me too, me too- need it, need you to make me come, make me feel so good, please Mingi, please, don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t stop, probably can’t at this point. His mouth, aimlessly kissing, biting, whatever against your tits and shoulders and neck, is letting out a nonstop stream of noises and mumblings– you make out a few of his praises, the good girls and the perfect pussys in the mix of it all.

“Can-” he struggles to speak, managing words only between these pathetic, high pitched whines. “Need’ta come, baby, need it, need it,” one thought of him coming inside of you, filling you in every way makes you cream around him, clench around him even more, before he even gets to properly ask, making his eyes nearly roll back into his head. “Can I? Please– inside? Inside you? Need to fill you up, make you feel so good, it’ll feel so good– pussy’s so good, so good it’s driving me crazy, really, really– c’mon.”

He might keep going forever if you don’t stop him, so you bring your hands from his shoulders to cup his face, that pretty, pretty face, trusting him and his strong arms to keep pace, dropping you up and down on his cock. “Want it, Mingi–” it’s whispered, an intimate promise, because you need him to know you need this as much as he does right now. “Want your cum, Mingi.”

And then you’ve lost any semblance of control over him, because now he’s thrusting up into with abandon, using his strong arm to bring you back down on him every time– one hand is still busying itself on your pulsating clit. His dick is kissing your g-spot with an almost cruel consistency too, he knows your body with a scary accuracy already, and a wicked, almost unrecognizable smirk spreads across his lips when he realizes you’re as close as he is. 

“Yeah,” and oh fuck, he’s growling as his thrusts grow sloppier and out of rhythm, but never shallow or unsatisfactory. If anything, the mindless state you’re both in has let him in even deeper on these thrusts. “Yeah, it’s good, yeah? And you want it, you need it– need my cum, need it in you, so deep in you, ‘s so deep– I need it too baby, I do, need it.”

Your legs are nearing a gelatin state, but motivation and his actual, physical help are keeping you going– and that pulsating, growing need in the deepest recesses of you. The primal, base need is growing– both to come all over him and make him come, to see him truly unravel.

You’re both so close, close enough to taste it, to know it’s already the best either of you have ever had, weed or no. And you’re both begging too, both begging each other to bring you right there, to the crest, both warbling out combinations of baby and please and need and cum and perfect and more and good and–

It happens in one moment, a chain reaction kind of moment, he bites down on your shoulder, hard, bruising, which, in turn has you clench around his cock, which makes him thrust into you, hitting you just right and your back arches, a bow pulled tight– and you cum in tandem, a rare phenomenon, satisfying in a way you’d never be able to describe. You’re shaking through your orgasm, the unreal pleasure sending shockwaves through your legs to your toes, enlongated by the feeling of Mingi flooding your cunt with wave after wave of his own cum, as he lets out a long, unbroken, almost melodic groan into your shoulder. He carries on with a few meeker thrusts, insistent on fucking his cum as deep into as possible in this deeply primal mindset you’ve taken him to. It’s unfair how good it feels, this warmth that reaches into you. He send a few more feeble jabs into you, whimpering meekly as he does, utterly undone. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering into your skin. You’d make fun of him if your thoughts weren’t made up of much of the same. “Fuck. Shit.

“Hah,” you huff. “Yeah. Fuck, shit and all that.” You can feel him softening inside of you but he makes no effort to move, and is still holding you tight. You don’t try to move either. He presses his forehead against yours, and you’re acutely aware of how sweaty you both are, of your weed-thick, heavy breaths mingling, but you can’t find an inkling of yourself disgusted by him. 

He smiles at you and it’s the same as before you thought you even had a chance with him– wide and distinctly Mingi. 

“Fuck. Really thought I needed the second joint before I’d be able to do that..” he giggles, rocking you back and forth like he’s not literally currently inside you. “Yunho owes me twenty bucks.”

“I don’t know who Yunho is,” you pull back to look at him properly, his pupils still blown, hair an absolute mess. “But please don’t say some other guys name when you’ve just cum in me, yeah?”

You weren't sure what was going on with you here lately, but seeing your boyfriend doing absolutely anything was driving you up a wall. It couldn't be your ovulation, you had just gotten off your period, so you just chalked it up to it being your hormones going crazy. Whatever it was, it had you wanting to jump Hongjoong's bones any chance you got.

Even now, while you were sitting across from him at the dining table, with your friends eating dinner. You wanted nothing more than to have him bend you over the table and fucking you into oblivion. It was all too much; the overwhelming fire burning in your belly had you wanting to cry in desperation.

"Y/n, are you okay?" The sound of Seonghwa's voice pulled you from your thoughts, head twisting to look at the dark-haired male.

"Hmm, oh, I'm okay, just thinking." You hummed, averting your attention elsewhere as your cheeks heated up, realizing you had been caught fantasizing. However, that heat only grew when you caught your ginger-haired boyfriend's eye, his eyebrow cocked in a questioning manner.

"What's got your mind so occupied?" Wooyoung was the next to ask, watching as you grabbed your cup and brought it to your lips. You took a long drink before finally pulling the cup away and setting it back down.

"Just a project at work." You lied through your teeth, and Hongjoong knew that because you had finished the preparation for that project just the other day.

Then the conversation continues without a hitch, but you were starting to get antsy, wanting your boyfriend's attention. Your socked foot brushed against his calf, letting it trail up to his thigh before he caught your ankle in his hand. A small, innocent smile tugged on your lips as you met his dark eyes, clearly giving you a warning.

You continued teasing him all throughout dinner, and Hongjoong tried to tolerate your nonsense, but he was damn near his breaking point.

Then finally, finally, Seonghwa and Wooyoung left the house, bidding the two of you a good night. And as soon as that front door latched, Hongjoong's hand was wrapped snugly around your throat, causing you to gasp. He tugs you closer to him, fingertip pressing into your skin and limiting your oxygen supply as his nose brushes yours.

"You know, you've been acting like a fucking bitch in heat these past few days," He growled, obviously fed up with your incessant antics the past week, his teeth flashing as his upper lip pulled back into a snarl. You whimpered, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as your thighs squeezed together, "since you wanna be fucked so bad, you're gonna take it, and I better not hear you begging me to slow down or stop."

"Y-Yes, sir." You choked out, lust-filled eyes flickering up to meet Hongjoong's as a dark haze fell over them.

—

"Don't stop now, princess, you're the one who wanted this cock," Hongjoong growled, delivering a sharp smack to the already red skin of your ass, pulling a pathetic squeak from your saliva-slick lips. Your thighs were starting to burn as you fucked yourself on your boyfriend's aching cock. He's already fucked his cum deep into your womb two times before now, and he was still as hard as a rock.

"J-Joong, I can't…" You breathed out as the smooth head of his cock brushed over your sweet spot, making your mind go blank.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue before he was sitting up, hands gripping the fat of your ass, pulling your hips flush against his, "can't even follow simple instructions, are you really that desperate, babygirl?"

"Joongie!" You nearly screamed when he began thrusting his hips up into yours, his cock abusing your sweet spot and making you see stars. Your nails dug into his shoulders as your jaw fell slack. The pleasure was so overwhelming, and you felt like you were going to tear at the seams. "'S too much, Joongie, please."

"Yeah, right," Hongjoong growled, pistoning his cock deep into your walls, and the loud squelching sounds that came from where you were joined were deafening. The mixture of your and his cum trickled down the inside of your thighs before smearing onto ginger-haired males with every thrust.

"F-Fuck!" You moaned out, eyes rolling back as you felt that coil in the pit of your stomach beginning to form. You felt like a mess, and you were sure that you looked even more like one, but that was the least of your concerns when you felt Hongjoong's cock twitch in your walls.

"Gonna fuck my babies into you, how bout that? You'd love it, wouldn't you, princess, hmm?" Hongjoong sneered against the skin of your neck as he bit and sucked marks into the sensitive skin, and your walls clenched around him, giving him all the answer he needed despite your needy whining. "Give you what your slutty little pussy has been asking for."

"W-Wait, Joong—" You choked back a moan when you started to feel a weird pressure build up in the pit of your stomach, threatening to explode at any moment. However, your pleas fell on deaf ears, and Hongjoong continued to bully his length into your gummy walls.

Then you were cumming, body slumping onto his with a broken cry, your release gushing out in waves, drenching Hongjoong's cock and the couch cushions underneath his hips. The ginger-haired male bit back a groan as you clenched down around him like a vice, milking his cock for all it was worth as he came.

"J-Joongie…" You whined into his neck as he continued to roll your hips against his, prolonging both of your orgasms. Tears that had been sitting in the corner of your eyes broke free and streamed down your flushed cheeks.

Finally, he let up on your hips, letting you rest against him, and your body melted against his, thinking that he was finally done. But you were rudely torn away from that hope when he was pulling you from his lap, a gasp caught in your throat. The world turned violently around you as he moved you to the side of the couch, bending you over the arm.

"Oh, you didn't think I was done with you yet, did you, princess?" He asked condescendingly, moving the tip of his hard cock through your fold, using it to collect his cum that had seeped out and pushing it back into your walls. He continued to tease you, relishing in the way you whined and begged, body trembling under his. Then he was pushing in with a sharp, powerful thrust, causing you to cry out, "I'm not stopping until you're properly bred, sweetheart."

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

seonghwa:

- barely notices it

- probably daydreaming about something

- but when he notices there's no feeling in his hand he panics

- softly lifts your head to retrieve his arm

you stir, feeling the weight of your head being lifted. you blink your eyes open and turn to find him looking guilty. "i'm sorry honey, rest up," he lays back down and pulls you close, "go back to sleep."

yunho:

- bro is immediately panicking

- do i wake them? do i suffer?

- he chooses that he'd rather suffer than wake you up.

- constantly flexing his fingers to make sure his arm doesn't go too numb

you stretch out your limbs and flip over, eyes landing on a very awake boy. he shoots up immediately and grabs his arm, flexing it to wake it up. "i'm sorry baby, go back to sleep," he breathes quick, "i didn't want to wake you but i might need to go to the ER." you giggle and force him to lie back down, this time making sure he's comfortable before drifting back off to sleep.

yeosang:

- he's fast asleep

- he doesn't even notice it

- bro is so chill

you adjust your position and wake up to the feeling of muscle beneath your head. you look, panic and turn over. "baby, i'm so sorry!" he's blinking his eyes at you, confused why you woke him up. in his dreamy state he flips on his back and draws you into his chest, and mumbles, "5 more minutes."

san:

- he's so happy

- not even a crane could tear that boy away from you

- omg they chose ME? hell yeah

- kinda creepy cause he's just watching you

hongjoong is the one to find you both on the couch, whispering to san, "you want some help?" he moves towards you both. "don't you dare," he whispers with a growl, using his free hand to pull you closer to him. hongjoong backs up.

mingi:

- panicking

- bro is so stressed he's going to wake you

- barely breathing

- barely alive

"baby?" he whispers so low he can barely hear himself. "ok princess, sleep well." he tries to fall asleep after but can't due to his arm. but eventually you turn, still asleep and cuddle into him. he finally breathes and hugs you tight.

wooyoung:

- oh he's so smug

- thought about waking you up to tease you about it

- but saw how content and sleepy you were and held back

- watching you like the yearner he is

"youngie?" you croak, stirring from sleep and feeling his burning stare. "yes darling?" he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "stop staring." "never."

jongho:

- tries to act nonchalant

- you're probably around the other members too

- they're teasing him about it

- but heaven forbid you try and move

you stir after hearing another round of giggles pass by the couch. when you catch on to what they're laughing about, he stops you. he uses his free arm to hold you down. "baby-" "no," he sterns, "you're right where you belong." and although his eyebrows are furrowed together, the kiss to your forehead is soft.

taglist:

You were currently lying on your back on the couch in the very spacious cabin Hongjoong had rented for a week and a half, and your body was not happy with the amount of moving you've been doing the past couple of days. Jet skiing, swimming, rock climbing, long hikes to gorgeous waterfalls and other breathtaking focal points— it was all a lot of fun, but even with the more relaxed day of board games and group painting on the back patio thrown into the mix, it wasn't enough rest for your body to not wake up this morning and immediately protest any ideas involving moving.

You drag yourself to the kitchen and take a seat at the island, watching the chaos of Wooyoung yelling at Mingi and Yeosang to get out of his cooking space or he'd hit them with the skillet he was using to make pancakes. Meanwhile, Jongho stole eggs from the plate sitting off to the side while the chef was distracted.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see Seonghwa walking into the kitchen with a sigh. He squeezes your shoulder in greeting with a sleepy smile before immediately herding Mingi and Yeosang back to the living room, distracting them with talks of the day ahead.

"So Yeosang, I ended up calling that place you mentioned with white water rafting and we're set to ride the rapids at 2!"

Seonghwa's voice floats into the kitchen from the living room and you turn your head in time to see Mingi cheer and a smile spread on Yeosang's face.

Rough water plus your tender body didn't seem like an equation that would work, and Seonghwa could tell from the face you unknowingly make.

"Not feeling it, doll?"

"Oh, sorry." You laugh sheepishly, "Didn't mean for it to show. I'm just a bit tired."

"That's fair. Don't worry about it, you can stay back today if you want, you won't be the only one anyway."

You furrow your brows in confusion as Hongjoong and San make their way down the stairs to join for breakfast. You do a quick headcount and come up short one person.

"Yunho?" You turn back to Seonghwa who nods.

"He's been in a mood all morning. Woke up with a scowl, I swear." Mingi chimes in from his spot on the couch, swiping through something mindlessly on his phone, "Told me to set his plate aside and leave him out of plans for today."

You frown at this news, a small inkling of worry wiggling it's way into your mind. You did notice that once you all came back in from the hike to the waterfall yesterday, he beelined it right to his room instead of staying downstairs to chat with everyone while dinner was made— but you chalked it up to exhaustion and him just wanting some time to himself. An assumption that was clearly wrong considering what Mingi just told you. You flip through yesterday in your head, trying to pinpoint what could've made him so irritable, but nothing comes to mind. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.

"Maybe you can check in on him, Y/N? He's always had a soft spot for you." Yeosang suggests, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yeah, maybe I will once you guys head out. Leave a plate for me, I'm gonna shower." You stand up and stretch a bit, groaning as you hear several cracks ring out from your body before you relax.

"You got it, grandma!" Wooyoung calls from the kitchen, breaking out into loud laughter when you give him a death glare.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply, you head back upstairs— hoping a long, warm shower would be the thing to help ease your muscles.

Half a playlist later, you shut off the water and step out of the wet chamber that had become your sanctuary for the past 50 minutes. The boys were really sweet giving you the room with the ensuite bath— at first you turned it down, but now you were grateful that it only took you about 10 steps before you could faceplant into your soft bed. You listen to the hustle and bustle outside your bedroom door of everyone getting ready to head out for the day, and though you don't mean to, your eyes slip shut. Perhaps it was the really warm shower, or the soft robe you put on, or the softness of the mattress underneath your body, but one moment you're resting your eyes and the next the house is dead silent. You crack your eyes open, a yawn leaving you as you sit up and glance at the clock on the bedside table.

1:32 PM. You must've fallen asleep. Shit.

No doubt the boys had already left for the rapids, meaning you were here alone.

Wait, no, Yunho. Yunho was also here.

Your brain replays Mingi's words from this morning and you glance at your door, knowing Yunho and Mingi's room was right across from yours. Yeosang did task you with finding out what was up with him, now is a good a time as any.

Once you put on some actual clothes, of course.

You toss on the first oversized shirt, pair of panties, and sleep shorts you find in your drawers then make your way over to Yunho's door, putting an ear to it and try to listen for any sounds.

Silence.

You knock softly and wait for a response.

"I said I'm good. Go without me." Yunho speaks loudly to make sure his message gets through the door.

The monotone tone of his voice was foreign, a frown forming on your face at how wrong it felt to hear him like that.

"It's me. I stayed back too. Do you want to hang out just us? We can watch a movie while we eat breakfast or something. I wasn't feeling too sporty after yesterday's hike so..." You trail off, rocking back and forth on your heels as you wait for a reply.

There's silence for a moment before Yunho replies.

"I'm good."

The rejection shouldn't sting as much as it does. He has the right to say no, but he's never once told you no when you've asked him to hang out. Yunho was always the one super excited to spend time with you, so for him to turn you down in such a disinterested tone felt like a slap to the face.

"Oh..." You reply, cursing mentally when your voice cracks, "Okay. Sorry."

You turn and walk away from the door, body on autopilot as you go back to your room and shut the door behind you. Now that you were there, you didn't know exactly what you wanted to do. Eventually, you settle on laying in bed and turning on the TV, no longer feeling hungry despite knowing a plate awaits you downstairs.

Who needs Yunho anyway?

You swallow down the sad lump in your throat. Whatever. You'd enjoy some time alone, there was too much testosterone in the house anyway. You're ten minutes into a random action film when you hear a knock on your door. Your eyes dart to it, confused as to who could be there since Yunho was shut up in his room. Maybe one of the boys changed their mind and came back?

"Come in." You call out softly as you sit up.

The door opens slowly and in pops Yunho's head, looking at you like a puppy who got into something it shouldn't have and was now pleading for forgiveness.

"Hey..."

His voice drips with guilt and you fight the urge to forgive him too quickly. He had been rudely dismissive, he couldn't just come around with his big eyes and pathetic tone and expect to be immediately forgiven. You give him a light glare as you pull your blanket more on you.

"Hi."

An awkward silence settles in the air, the only sounds being the car chase happening on the TV you had completely forgotten about.

"Can I come in?"

"Oh, am I worthy of your time now?" You deadpan and Yunho sighs softly as he closes his eyes.

"I deserved that."

You hum in agreement, turning back to the TV as Yunho steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. He was in sweatpants and a loose tanktop with a lollipop hanging between his lips. He pushes the lollipop into his cheek as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, watching the action scene with you for a moment before he speaks again.

"I'm sorry for brushing you off like that. I've just been...in a mood lately."

"Yeah I noticed, that's why I came to check on you. Are you not having fun?"

Yunho turns to you with widened eyes, as if even the implication that he didn't wanna be here was appalling.

"I am! I love being with all of you, you know that. It's just..." He trails off, averting his gaze back to the TV.

"Just...?" You echo, hoping he'll continue what he was about to say.

Yunho sucks on the lollipop for a moment before he pulls it out of his mouth and rolls the stick between his fingers, watching it glisten in the light from the TV.

"I have this...habit?" He tests the word out, making a face as he realizes it doesn't fit what he means, "Urge? Yeah, urge. An urge that I can't sate while I'm out here. I thought I'd be fine but it's starting to get to me and make me irritated."

You tilt your head, thinking over what Yunho is sharing. He has an urge he can't sate and it's making him moody. What kind of urge could have that big of a hold on him and his mood?

"Is it a gaming thing?" You ask, taking a shot in the dark.

Yunho huffs out a humorless laugh.

"I fucking wish. Would be easier to deal with if it was."

"Okay then, what is it?"

Yunho's cheeks start turning red as he puts the lollipop back in his mouth and rolls it around his tongue for a moment, thinking to himself before he responds.

"No judgment?"

"Is that even a question? You're my best friend. I wouldn't ever judge you, nothing you say will make me look at you differently." You say surely with a warm smile, scooting closer to put an arm around his shoulder.

Yunho gives you a grateful smile before he pulls the candy out of his mouth again.

"You know what an oral fixation is?"

The question makes your brain stutter for a moment as you blink at your best friend a few times.

Okay— that wasn't what you were expecting.

"Yeah...I do." You nod slowly, brows creasing in confusion.

Where was he going with this? You follow his gaze down to the lollipop and the gears in your head start turning. Yunho had been chewing gum, sucking on candies, and chewing on straws in his water bottles this whole trip. You didn't think much of it, but with this question it was starting to make sense.

"You have an oral fixation...and the things you brought to curb it aren't working enough?" You speak slowly, piecing it together as you go.

Yunho sighs deeply as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders as he nods his head.

"It's getting to the point where I'm getting irritable and I hate it but I also can't help it. I'm so used to having someone sate it that I never imagined it becoming this much of an issue for me."

Yunho runs a hand through his hair, putting the candy back into his mouth and bitterly biting at it.

"Self-soothing isn't working, and whoever you have sate it is obviously not here with us." You say, Yunho nods to affirm what you said.

"So...I'm almost scared to ask. How do you usually sate it?" You ask and a small smile tugs at Yunho's lips.

"I'm sure you can imagine the ways one can use their mouth on someone. I'm not picky as long as it's someone else's, can't explain why but my own fingers and stuff don't do it for me like someone else's fingers."

You nod in understanding, mind running a mile a minute as you process the information Yunho is sharing.

"So sucking on someone else's fingers could help?"

Yunho's eyes light up like a Christmas tree at the mere thought and you fight the urge to giggle at him.

"Absolutely." He confirms, "God, I'd kill for that right now."

The thought is one you shouldn't entertain, but you have at least 5 more days out here and you really didn't want Yunho to be miserable and in his room for most of it. So regardless of the warning bells in your mind, you still let the thought fall from your lips.

"Then you can suck on mine if you want."

You hear a loud crunch as Yunho bites straight through the lollipop, a chunk flying out of his mouth and to the floor but neither of you acknowledge it as your words hang in the air. He turns his head to you with a look of pure shock.

"W-What? You really mean that?"

His wide eyes hold a level of joy you've only seen when he's fresh off the stage or just ranked up in a game. There was no way in hell you'd take it back when he was looking at you like you held the answer to all his problems. You nod with a small shy smile.

"It's just fingers. A small favor if it means you'll go back to enjoying the trip. Plus it's only us home so no worries of the guys seeing it." You reason, shrugging a bit despite how your heart thumps against your chest.

"I owe you. So much. Seriously, thank you."

Yunho gives you a big hug, his gratitude is clear in how tight he squeezes and rocks you side to side lightly before he gets up to throw his lollipop stick away. You watch him for a moment before your eyes flicker back to the movie on the TV. The loud explosions and gunshots should serve as the perfect distraction as Yunho got his urges out of his system.

You lay back, propping your head up on two pillows so you can easily see the TV while comfortable. Yunho makes his way over, settling in the bed next to you and resting his head on your tummy as he curls into your side. It's a little amusing seeing such a tall man curl up on you like this, but he was clearly comfortable in how he hums in satisfaction and relaxes against the bed.

"Oh, I do want to warn you that I may drool a bit. So if you want me to like...move your shirt out the way so I don't stain it, just let me know." Yunho says as he tilts his head back to look up at you.

It isn't that you didn't hear his question, it's that your brain needed a minute to truly take in what Yunho's said. He's rested against your bare skin before, usually shoulders or putting his chin in your neck but nothing to do with your stomach. It felt strangely intimate but also the thought of spit soaking into your shirt wasn't appealing, it would be easier to clean your skin. So you nod to show it was okay and Yunho gently pushes your shirt up before resting his cheek on your bare stomach and facing the TV in front of both of you. His warmth was pleasant despite the odd circumstances that led here so you find yourself relaxing into the bed easily as you move your right hand to gently pet his head like you always do. You feel his cheek shift up as he smiles at your gentle affection, relaxing further into your side.

"Whenever you're ready." Yunho hums softly, eyelids starting to feel heavy with how comfortable he was.

He couldn't help it, the puppy jokes weren't too off base considering how much he likes it when you rub his head. There's a light flutter in your stomach as you slowly move your left hand to his face. Yunho parts his lips, gently taking your wrist and putting your pointer and middle finger into his mouth. The sensation was foreign, a bit weird considering you've never had someone do this to you before, but the content sigh that leaves Yunho as his lips wrap around your fingers makes you suck it up and endure the weird feelings that were settling into you. Instead you try to hone in on the movie in front of you, watching the main character make a speech to his team about whatever dangerous mission they were going to embark on.

Perhaps if you could've spoken to Yunho it would've been easier to take your mind off what's currently happening, but his mouth was occupied which means you were left to sit with only your thoughts and the soundtrack of the movie playing on the TV.

The former was extremely unhelpful.

No matter how much you try to focus on the high intense scenes playing in front of you, your brain chooses to focus on how Yunho's tongue gently swirls around the pads of your fingers with a practiced ease that made your stomach flip. How he sucks so tenderly and sometimes bites down softly before he swallows around them. How every so often you'll hear a slurp of him trying to keep his drool in his mouth and it makes your thighs clench involuntarily. How his thumb rubs circles on your wrist right over your pulse point which you're sure is broadcasting that your heart is racing. How his breathing has gotten slightly heavier and though his tongue's movements were lazy, his eagerness for your digits is clear in how he has yet to let go of your wrist, as if he's scared you'll pull his salvation away.

It was an agony you had no idea was coming when you agreed to something that seemed simple. Your mind wanders to how his tongue would feel elsewhere, with each swipe of his tongue a spark of arousal finds its way into your body until a dim fire is simmering right between your thighs. Thank God Yunho couldn't see your face at this angle, you can't imagine you were able to hide how you were feeling now, especially with your nipples annoyingly poking through your shirt in a way that your best friend would likely instantly notice the moment he looked up at you.

How would you get out of this situation in a way that wasn't extremely awkward? Logically speaking, you knew Yunho was respectful enough to not point out your hard nipples even if he did notice them. If anything he'd just thank you for the help and hug you before returning to his room and you both pretend this never happened.

But what if logic wasn't what controlled you in this moment?

A once small desire has bubbled into a bigger problem, gripping at your resolve and weakening it to the point of winning you over. It had been a while since you've gotten off, even longer since you'd gotten off with a partner, and you had been yearning for it for a while. You didn't think you'd ever put your best friend in the position of fulfilling that yearn but with each suckle on your fingers, he was looking more and more like the perfect fit for it. You squirm lightly with the next swallow around your fingers, clearing your throat to speak.

"How are you feeling?"

Yunho perks up, tilting his head back to look at you. You watch his gaze land on your tits before they lifted to your face, a haze in his eyes you've never seen before. He smiles at you, slurping before letting go of your fingers with a pop.

"Amazing. You?" He asks, voice dropped into an octave that made your heart skip.

That dangerous want rears its head harder than before, whispering at you to let the lines blur for just this one time. Who could pass up a tongue like that?

"I, um..." You trail off, voice light and airy, betraying your attempt to seem unaffected.

Despite your brain racing endlessly for the past 5 minutes, you can't form any words to exactly describe how you felt beside 'horny' and you'd rather sink into the ground than say that. Though it seems Yunho may be able to see your thoughts because the smallest smirk tugs at his lips as he takes in your current state.

He's seen that type of look too often to not know what you were feeling right now, but instead of calling you out on it, he gently pushes his hips forward against you. Something hard presses against your leg and your eyes widen as you realize exactly what's being pressed against you, your body tensing as the reality that Yunho is hard crashes into your already scrambled mind. You barely have time to assess how that makes you feel before Yunho pulls his hips back to their previous position, an almost playful twinkle passing through his eyes.

Despite the space he's put between you both, you can almost still feel it against your leg. As if an imprint has been left behind, like footsteps in fresh snow. Your leg twitches, itching to follow Yunho's hips and press against him again, to feel him— hard, thick, warm against your bare skin.

These new feelings for the man currently watching your face are almost overwhelming, your mind and body at odds between jumping his bones and remembering this was your best friend not a random guy you met on Tinder.

"You...?" Yunho repeats, tilting his head as amusement slips into his stare.

He was enjoying seeing you melt like this. A light annoyance starts forming words on your tongue, ready to sass Yunho, but then he takes your fingers back into his mouth. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he slowly drags his tongue between them before sucking them deeper in. Any words melt off your mind as he sits up and turns to face you, his free hand running up your forearm and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"You know when you offered to give me your fingers, I wondered if you'd feel it." Yunho muses, his speech is a bit slurred around your fingers but you understand him just fine, "Any time I get my mouth on someone, things tend to escalate. I'm really good with my tongue, at least that's what I've been told."

You swallow thickly, eyes trained on Yunho's lips as his breath fans over your hand and his tongue works your fingers like they would over a clit. You swear you go lightheaded for a moment at the thought of a tongue this precise being between your legs, and if you're picking up the energy Yunho is putting off as he stares a hole in your face, he wouldn't be against that idea.

"I didn't think it'd be this intense." You confess, heat flooding your cheeks as Yunho pops your fingers out of his mouth again, licking his lips.

"Fingers seem innocent enough." He agrees, "Until you realize where else it can lead."

His eyes trail down your body, as if he could see through your pajamas. Like he knows you were staining your panties as he sits beside you, thinking about his mouth and what it could do to you. Yunho sets down your hand, leaning forward until his lips hover right by your ear.

"If you want it, all you have to do is ask." He whispers, warm breath fanning over your skin, "I promise I'll make you feel good, but I'll warn you that I can be...insatiable, and I've been dying to have someone on my tongue. I can't promise I'll be able to control myself."

The arousal flowing through your body made you feel delirious, breathing getting heavy as Yunho's words go straight to your core. For a moment you mull over whether this is a good idea or not, but then you remember the taunting drag of his tongue on your fingers, the thick bulge he pressed into your leg, his fingers sliding along your skin and you nod without realizing it— your body coming to a conclusion before your brain can kick in to stop it.

"Please. Show me what else you can do."

A deep rumble of satisfaction leaves Yunho's chest as his soft lips drag over the shell of your ear down to your neck.

"Anywhere I want?" He whispers, lips brushing against your skin.

Automatically your head falls back to give him more space, craving more of him. Any opposing thoughts you may of had fade into the background, the need in your body burning bright enough to turn them to ash, leaning behind only the desire to chase the wisps of pleasure Yunho is giving you. You give him a quick nod as you lick your lips.

"Anywhere."

Yunho wastes no time in pressing his lips to your heated skin, trailing kisses to your collarbone before moving up to your jaw. His hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers gripping your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you as he bites down. You keen softly, hand flying to his shirt to grip it in your fist. You didn't pull him in or push him away, it was an anchor that kept you in the moment before you floated away under the greed on his tongue and teeth.

The sounds leaving Yunho's throat were new to you: guttural, gritty, deep, hungry. Something in them made your body go completely pliant under him as if a spell was casted over you, making you surrender to the man who was currently moving his mouth to your chest while his free hand creeps up your stomach to go under your shirt. You arch into his hand more as he cups and squeezes your breast, your nipple dragging against his palm as he gropes you. Your eyes flutter shut when his lips continue down to the neckline of your shirt. He's quick to move his hand from your hair to push your shirt up to your neck. He pulls back to look down at your now exposed chest, eyes drinking the expanse of skin he has at his disposal.

"How do you feel about marks?" He asks before wetting his thumb and circling it around your nipple, relishing in your soft whine.

"Keep them somewhere I can hide is all I ask."

Yunho nods in response before he lowers his mouth down and takes your other nipple into his mouth, a gritty groan leaving his throat as he finally sates the unreachable itch he's had for the past couple days. You arch your back lightly, rubbing your thighs together for some relief as Yunho takes his time circling his tongue around your stiffened bud.

When Yunho warned you about being insatiable, you expected him to be rushed or impatient in how he devoured you, but you couldn't have been more wrong. His tongue's swirls and flicks are calm, slow, intentional. While you compared insatiable to an all-consuming greed that would quickly overwhelm you— Yunho's greed showed itself in a patient game that built upon itself with each trace of his warm tongue along your skin until you're left panting, whining, moments away from begging him for more. He toys with your chest, switching between sucks, flicks, and swirls on one nipple and almost like he could read your mind he would switch to the other one when it started feeling neglected.

Sometimes his eyes would stay shut, savoring your skin against his lips with a slight raise of his brows being the only tell giving away his state of bliss. Sometimes you'd let out a whimper he really likes and his darkened eyes would lock onto yours, the intensity in them sending a pulse of pleasure down to your core, legs clenching together as your mind starts to slip into a fuzzy warmth.

"Y-Yunho-" You whine his name breathlessly, his next harsh suck at your skin making your body shudder underneath him.

"Mmm?" He hums low against your skin, eyes flickering to your face as he bites down hard enough to leave yet another hickey on the side of your chest where he knew you could hide it.

His hands rub at your sides, sometimes moving up to lightly pull at your nipples and roll them between his fingers but it felt like an afterthought compared to his mouth. Hot, precise, messy as he descends even further down your body, kissing and nipping at the skin on your stomach. Your reply is lost in the soft whimper you let out when one of his hands makes it's way to your legs, spreading them apart so he can rub at your inner thigh— nails lightly dragging down the sensitive skin.

"What is it, sweetheart? Talk to Yuyu." He coos sweetly, but the look on his face didn't match his tone at all.

A knowing smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, like he knew exactly what it is you wanted to say but couldn't get out of your fog-filled mind. Instead of words you settle on threading your fingers through his soft, black locks and pulling at them, making him groan deeply and his smirk only widens further. You kept playing into exactly what he wanted and you had no idea.

"Too much? Should I stop?" He tilts his head into your grip, hand slipping back toward your knee and you instinctively clamp your legs shut, capturing his hand.

"Don't you even think about it." You hiss between pants, the small bubble of irritation at his smugness breaking the haze in your mind just enough to get words out.

Yunho chuckles— a deep, honeyed sound that makes your thighs clench around his currently captured hand. Of course he notices and though he doesn't say anything, you can see the amusement in his eyes as his hand grips at your thigh as best as it can.

You've never seen Yunho so cocky or smug before and something about it made you itch to knock him down a peg or two.

"You know for someone who claimed they were dying to have someone on their tongue, you sure are taking your time messing with me. Makes me wonder if you really have an oral fixation or if you just wanted an excuse to sleep with me." You jeered while rolling your eyes.

The surge of brattiness isn't one you expected to come out of you but with how wet you were and the lack of Yunho moving to where you so clearly wanted him, it was only a matter of time. Yunho raises a brow at you as he pulls back from your stomach to sit up next to your hips, your hand forced to fall from his hair due to him going out of your reach. You wait for a retort, a scolding, a correction of some sort, but instead Yunho gives you a smile.

"Oh, am I taking too long?" He asks, eyes trailing down your body and taking in the sight of the many hickeys littering your tits and upper stomach.

The lack of bite back makes your response come out stammered, uncertain.

"Y-Yeah. Want more."

Yunho is quiet for a moment, his face unreadable, then he nods once and smiles at you.

"Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you want."

He takes the hand that fell to your side and kisses the back of it before setting it back on the sheets and your confusion only intensifies. You've never bratted your way into anything other than some sort of punishment— for a second you wonder if perhaps Yunho wasn't the type to respond to acting up and instead the type to give what you want when he's asked.

Strange. A small part of you was disappointed in his lack of response, but that quickly dissipates when you feel Yunho's fingers dip into the side of your shorts and panties. You lift your hips and let him tug them clean off your body, face growing hot as he pushes your legs apart and settles himself between them. His eyes stayed glued to your dripping wet core, a deep hunger in his gaze as his hands move to your hips and yanks you down to be more level with him.

"Look at you. So wet for me." He murmurs against your skin as he gently kisses up your inner thigh.

Your breathing quickens, thighs trembling as his tongue peaks out to swipe along your skin. His thumbs rub circles into your thighs as he continues his trail of kisses, making his way closer and closer to where you were aching for him. Soon his kisses lead him right to your pussy— you can feel his breath on your aching clit and your hips buck upward, begging for him to finally put his tongue where you've been imagining it since he started sucking your fingers. His gaze flits to your face as his grip tightens on your hips to keep you down, then without breaking eye contact, he flattens his tongue and licks over your clit slowly.

The same motions he made over the pad of your fingers are repeated over your clit but with more intent behind his actions— a deadlier precision to the swipes of his tongue as he takes in your reactions and adjusts to what makes your face twist in pleasure more. Which patterns make your thighs tremble around his head, how harsh and long he could suck before you start tugging at his hair— he read your body like a book until he developed the perfect routine to make your eyes roll into your skull, your hips fight his grip, and your cries bounce off the walls.

Meanwhile your mind was reeling from the pleasure coursing through your body. Yunho's previous warning that you used as a taunt turned into a reality you couldn't have prepared for. The continuous wind up from his tongue on your neck, then your chest, then your stomach and now your clit has left your body feeling tight, hot, seconds away from snapping before he's even been down there for too long. When he lets out a long moan into your pussy, the vibrations sending another pulse of pleasure straight up your spine, you know you're hitting your limit.

"Yu-Yun-" You stutter between whimpers, back bowing as the next drag of his filthy tongue makes you moan loudly.

Somewhere in your clouded mind you decide it would be a good idea to lift your head and look down at the man currently between your legs, licking at you like a sweet treat he couldn't bear to be separated from. His hair is a mess, thanks to your frantic hands, eyes closed with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he savored you on his tongue, skin lightly sheened with sweat. As if he can feel your stare on him, in that moment his eyes snap open— smoldering, dark gaze meeting yours and the heat from his stare sends a surge of arousal through your body that sends you crashing over the edge. The world goes white for a moment and you let out a loud cry as your orgasm rips through your body, trembling in Yunho's grip as your toes curl and he chooses that moment to slip a finger into you.

A whimper leaves your throat as your walls flutter around the digit, brain still returning to Earth as he keeps his tongue flicking over your clit, working you through your orgasm. As your climax subsides what was once helping you ride the waves of pleasure becomes overstimulating pumps of his finger deep inside of you and your hips try to squirm away from his insistent tongue still dragging filthy patterns over your now tingling clit.

"Y-Yunho, sensitive-" You force the words out of you, fighting against his grip.

But he doesn't pull away entirely like you expect him too. Instead he works a second finger into you, curling them against your still twitching walls as he pulls his mouth from your clit to speak.

"One more time, sweetheart?" He asks, a sweet lilt to his deepened voice that makes you clench on his fingers.

"S-Sen-" You start to repeat yourself but then he presses into that spongy little spot inside of you that makes your eyes cross.

"But you wanted more, didn't you?" He purrs, flashing a smile at you that didn't reach his eyes at all, a sadism seeping into his tone as his fingers pick up speed, "Weren't you the one rushing me earlier? Saying I was just using this as an excuse to fuck you?"

Yunho leans forward to hover over your trembling figure— amused eyes meeting your teary ones as you fight to get anything beyond whines and whimpers to come out of your mouth and fail miserably, only able to grip at his shirt with a pleading look. His smile only widens at how helpless you look beneath him.

"See, I would've let that be the end, but you just had to run that pretty little mouth. You had to rush me. Impatient little brat you are." He hums, lowering his head to kiss and nip at your neck again.

Your legs try to close but his body is more than effective at keeping you spread for him, his weight keeping you still enough that he can keep thrusting his fingers into your sweet spot. Your overtuned body tries to move away from the stimulation, but there was nowhere to go. He had you trapped under his big body, at the mercy of his ministrations that refused to slow down even as tears stream down your face.

"You wanted to cum so bad, didn't you? Well, go ahead." He husks into your ear, "Cum."

Your body responds to his words like a command, a second orgasm hitting you so hard you sob as it rolls through you, every nerve in your body feeling set alight.

"Good girl." He coos, kissing your jaw before swiping his tongue over your tears with a dark chuckle, "Now you're gonna keep cumming since you wanted it so badly.”

A third finger slips into your sopping wet heat and you thrash against him, more tears streaming down your face as the pleasure becomes almost disorienting at this point. His thumb on your clit rubbing circles in time with his thrusting fingers is what breaks you, the words jumping out of your mouth before you even realize it.

"S-Sorry! 'm sorry!" You yell between the sobs wracking through your chest.

"Hm? What was that, sweetheart?" Yunho asks, fingers slowing down just a bit, but that slight reprieve was enough to set off more apologies.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You ramble repeatedly, wet eyes locking onto his as he pulls back to look at your completely wrecked face.

"Oh, you're sorry? For what?"

His fingers keep slowing down gradually as he gives you a chance to fix your earlier mistake.

"F-For rushing you! For being a b-brat, I'm sorry! P-Please, please, I'm sorry-"

Yunho looks over your teary eyes, the annoyance from earlier long gone from them— all that's left is a desperate, pleading look of pure submission that makes his cock throb in his boxers. You were so pretty when you cried for him, even prettier when you submitted to him. His fingers finally come to a stop and you let out a deep sigh of relief as your body goes limp against the bed.

Your heart hammers in your ears as you try to catch your breath. Yunho pulls his fingers from your twitching heat making you whimper at the loss but also at how sensitive you were. You watch him bring his fingers to his mouth and groan deeply as he sucks them clean, a small bolt of desire still finding its way to your core despite your sensitivity. Yunho sits back on his knees for a moment and you watch his face as he seems to think over something. Your gaze naturally lingers down his body and you stop at the tent in his sweatpants.

Oh yeah. He didn't really get off, did he? The agreement was to sate his fixation and it seems to have worked considering his much happier state, but still...he didn't get to cum, and that bothered you more than you'd like to admit. He made you feel amazing, you wanted him to feel good too.

Yunho starts to get off the bed but you grab his arm before he can and pull him back toward you. He looks back at you with a questioning glance.

"Yeah? You okay? Was it too much?" He asks, concern filling his gaze as he crawls back to you and looks over your face.

There's your Yuyu. Sweet, caring Yuyu.

You ignore how the fondness in your chest morphs into something else for a moment, opting instead to move your grip from his arm to his shirt and continue pulling him until he hovered over you again with one hand holding him up. His confusion only deepens as you move him where you want him.

"Y/N? What are you...?" He begins to question, but when you lock your legs around his waist and gently roll your hips, whimpering at the stimulation that still felt a little too raw, he goes quiet.

Yunho's eyes widen as what you want suddenly clicks in his head. He looks down at where you're both pressed against each other before his eyes go back to yours.

"Oh you don't have to worry about me. You did your part, the fixation is sated. That's all we agreed on." Yunho assures you, a hand rubbing up and down your arm.

"I know, but..." You trail off, heat flooding your cheeks as you look away, stomach flipping as you continue, "I want to."

Yunho's brows raise in shock, not expecting you to actually want to go any further than this. His free hand turns your head back to face him, a soft expression on his face as he gently cups your cheek.

"Are you absolutely sure? You don't owe me this and I won't be mad if you change your mind. I just don't want you to regret this. I can always go rub one out in the shower like a normal person."

You burst into giggles at that and Yunho can't help the smile that makes it way to his face at your clear joy.

"I'm sure, Yunho. Very sure, just take it easy on me? Still a little sensitive." You run your fingers through his hair and he nods with a small chuckle.

He gently unwraps your legs from him so he can stand up to take off his clothes and you take the moment to throw aside the shirt that was still hiked up to your collarbone. When you turn your attention back to Yunho he's crawling between your legs again, stroking himself with one hand while he gets settled and the sheer size of him makes you clench around nothing. Good thing he used three fingers on you earlier, it was prep that you unknowingly needed for what was coming. Yunho starts to position himself when he suddenly goes still.

"Yuyu?" You call to him, tilting your head a bit as he lets out a sigh.

"I don't have a condom. I didn't pack any." He groans, anguish in his voice like it physically pains him to start pulling away from your dripping core.

But you clamp your legs around his hips to stop him and he meets your gaze with a raised brow.

"Are you clean?"

"Of course! I don't mess around with things like that." He balks, understanding why you asked, but still semi-offended you asked anyway.

"So am I." You say between amused giggles at his facial expression, "Just pull out."

Yunho blinks once, twice, before a familiar heat settles into his gaze again. He looks at you, spread open in front of him, completely bare and wanting him so much you were willing to forgo a condom. His cock twitches and your eyes flicker down to the movement, biting your lip as you spread your legs further to invite him in. He takes the invitation immediately, one hand settling next to your waist to hold himself up as his other hand lines himself to slide into you. He taps his tip against your clit a few times, relishing in your soft whimpers and how your hips jolt at the stimulation before finally angling himself and sinking into you slowly.

You keen at the stretch, forcing yourself to stay relaxed as Yunho carefully sinks into you with a soft hiss. Every nerve in his body begs him to fuck into you already but your words about taking it easy continuously ring in his mind. By the time he's fully sheathed inside of you, you feel full. Completely and utterly full, like he was somehow reaching your lungs and taking the air out of them. Yunho leans over more, eyes searching your face for discomfort and your breath catches in your throat.

The current energy was different than what crackled in the air in the beginning. Before there was a burning need in every motion between you two, greedily sating all urges and desires until nothing was left but satisfaction. Now, with him deep as he can be inside of you, looking at you with his usual caring, concerned eyes, his hand gentle on your waist— you find your heart leaping into your throat and your face flooding with so much heat you want to sink into the ground. Yunho just smiles once he sees there's no discomfort to be found and leans down to gently kiss your neck.

"I'm gonna move now, alright?" He whispers against your heated skin.

You bite down on your lip, cursing mentally at how your walls clench around him from his whisper as you nod in response, not trusting your words at the moment.

He pulls out halfway before rolling his hips back into you and your hands fly to his back, digging your nails into it as some lingering wisps of overstimulation run through your body, but at a level that leans toward pleasure over pain. You hide your face in Yunho's neck— your moans and whimpers spilling onto his slick skin as he keeps rocking into you slow but firmly.

Yunho grits his teeth as his eyes squeeze shut, fighting every instinct in his being as you unknowingly pull at every loose end he has, unraveling his resolve slowly. Each whine into his skin, each drag of your nails down his back, each sigh of his name when he rocks into your sweet spot, each clench of your walls around his cock. He pulls away from your neck, intending to warn you of what you're doing to him, but his words catch in his throat when he sees your face— your fucked out, blissful face. Parted lips, tongue lightly poking out of them as you breathe heavily, glassy, wet eyes giving him such a needy look it makes his cock twitch. When your eyes flicker down to his lips, he can't help but give you exactly what you're wordlessly pleading for.

Your lips meet in a soft kiss that Yunho intends to keep that way, until your fingers thread into his hair again and pull. His hips snap forward harshly at the pleasurable burn on his scalp, an instinctive action that makes you cry out his name against his lips and he decides he really likes how you sound when you're crying his name like that.

So against his logical mind's better judgment, he starts to fuck you harder— not plowing into you, just putting slightly more weight behind his thrusts, enough to make you bounce against the bed and the headboard to start gently knocking against the wall. When your reaction is to pull at his hair and claw at his back once more, his hips start rocking even faster, fisting the sheets beneath his hands as he breaks the kiss to focus on keeping his pace steady and deep in you.

He watches you fall apart yet again— soft whimpers becoming louder cries, wet eyes becoming overflowing, back arching into him, nails scratching at him in ways he knows will leave marks but he doesn't care. Not when you're singing his name so sweetly and looking at him like that. Not when you're gripping him like you never want his cock to leave you every time he pulls out until only his tip is in.

"F-Fuck, I'm getting close." He rasps, looking at where you two connect and biting back a groan at how wet his dick was and what a mess you've left on his hips.

"M-Me too, just a bit more, Yuyu." You pant before pulling him back into a desperate kiss, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

Yunho's hand cups your cheek as the kiss gets messy, with you bouncing from his thrusts it's hard to keep your lips locked but neither of you care as you get closer to your shared high. You feel a hand sneak between your legs to rub circles on your clit in time with his strokes and it only takes four circles before your eyes are rolling back and you're cumming around Yunho with a silent cry. Yunho has to stop moving his hips entirely to focus on not emptying his balls into you because the way you clench around him makes his body feel like you're begging for it, desperate to be filled with his warm load— but no, not this time. He had to keep to your request, so his fingers on your clit help you ride out the high. He cuts it dangerously close, barely pulling out with enough time to spill his seed all over your mound and lower stomach without even needing to stroke himself.

His large frame collapses a bit onto you and for a while you both lie there, breathing heavily. Eventually Yunho rolls off of you, relaxing into the bed as he stares at the ceiling. You turn your head to Yunho and he turns to meet your gaze, smiling softly at how cute you looked all worn out like this.

"Come here, sweetheart."

Yunho has called you that pet name more times than you can count, but this time it sets a flutter into your stomach and you dip your head into his neck to hide your face as heat rises into your cheeks again. Yunho laughs softly, pulling your body against him and putting an arm around you as you settle on his chest.

The cabin is quiet except for the credits rolling on the movie faintly in the background, but neither of you feel the need to speak. Despite the questions rolling around in both of your minds, you don't say a word. Instead, you let exhaustion take you under and before you know it, you're asleep on Yunho's chest. Yunho glances down when he notices your slowed breathing, pressing a soft kiss to your head before lying on the pillow again. He'd wake you up in a bit to clean up and eat, he did a number on you and you could take a few minutes to recuperate. Plus, he liked your weight pressing on him like this. A closeness he's had with you before but not exactly like this, though he didn't mind it at all. Matter of fact, he liked it.

Huh, who woulda thought? Certainly not Yunho.

He looks at your face one more time, trying to place a finger on the feelings blooming in his chest, but ultimately he gives up because his brain was not entirely here in the moment. For now, he would just hum a song softly as he traces shapes in your skin.

For now, he'd see this as a one-off favor that went a bit further than intended. Nothing more, nothing less.

For now.

please do not repost my works. thank you for reading!

You’re bundled up on your couch like a little blanket burrito, deep into an episode of Gachiakuta when you hear the familiar beep of the keypad on your door being unlocked. You don’t get up; you already know who it is given that only one other person has the code. The sound of him kicking off his shoes echoes down the short hallway, followed by the distinctive drag of his feet, that lazy shuffle he does when he’s exhausted.

“Fuck, baby, why’s it so cold in here?” Mingi’s voice carries from the hallway before he even rounds the corner. You hear him pause at the heating panel on the wall, and you can picture the exact expression on his face; that mix of concern and exasperation he gets when he thinks you’re not taking care of yourself properly. “Six degrees? Six? Are you trying to become a popsicle or something?”

“I have a heat pack and I’m comfy. Didn’t wanna get up,” you mumble from your cocoon, though the excuse sounds weak even to your own ears. The truth sits heavy between the words you don’t say; that you’d been watching the utility costs climb, doing the math in your head about what you could cut back on this month.

But Mingi knows better. He’s always known better.

You hear him drop his bag and outerwear near your bedroom door with a soft thud before his footsteps approach. Then he’s there, towering over your bundled form on the couch, his ashy silver-purple hair slightly mussed from the winter wind outside, cheeks still flushed from the cold. There’s something in his eyes—soft and a little sad—that tells you he understands exactly what you’re not saying.

“I’ll handle your utilities this month,” he says matter-of-factly, already reaching down to pull you up and closer. His long fingers work to unwrap your blanket burrito with practiced ease, and you want to protest but the words die in your throat when you see his expression. “And before you argue, I’m also ordering groceries this week.”

“Mingi, you don’t have to—” you start but his arms wrap around you, cutting off your protest.

“I want to.” He repositions you both on the couch, wrapping the blanket around your bodies together like a shared shelter, tucking it carefully around your shoulders. His warmth immediately starts to seep into your cold limbs, better than any heat pack. “You’re my girl. Let me take care of you, yeah? Now what episode are we on?”

The finality in his tone leaves no room for arguments but it’s the gentleness in how he holds you that really makes your resistance crumble. He settles back against the couch, adjusting you more comfortably against his chest and you feel the steady thump of his heartbeat through his hoodie.

He knew your scholarship didn’t cover much, the same way he knew rent wasn’t cheap in Seoul, especially not in a decent neighborhood close enough to campus. Even with your on-campus departmental assistant job, you deprived yourself of a lot of things simply to save money. You’d been so used to handling everything on your own, so accustomed to being self-sufficient since you’d moved here, that even after almost two years of dating, you still found it hard to let him do things for you. To let him in like this, past all those walls you’d built out of necessity and pride.

“I watched two without you, but I didn’t really pay attention,” you admit quietly, letting yourself relax against him, breathing in his familiar scent. “We can rewatch them.”

You don’t put up a fight because you knew how Mingi could get when it came to taking care of you, stubborn and immovable as a mountain. You knew that he knew exactly why you were sitting in the cold of your apartment rather than turning the heating on, counting every won and making sacrifices you thought he wouldn’t notice.

But he always noticed.

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

That conversation was an hour and those two rewatched episodes ago—episodes that neither of you pay attention to because you kept pausing to talk, to catch up on everything you’d missed in each other’s lives. He tells you about the comeback preparations, the choreography that was killing his back, the way Yunho and Seonghwa kept stealing his and San’s snacks. You tell him about the grades you received for the last semester, the remote job you were struggling with and wanted to quit, the way your neighbor’s cat had somehow ended up in your apartment last week.

But eventually the conversation had shifted, grew quieter, more intimate. The touches lingered longer. His hand on your thigh. Your fingers tracing patterns on his hand. The way he looked at you had changed too, darkened with want that had been building for weeks of separation.

Now the “Are you still watching?” screen on Netflix stares back at you both, forgotten and irrelevant.

You hadn’t seen your boyfriend since the end of December; nearly three weeks of your relationship sustained only through phone screens and late-night video calls that always ended too soon, interrupted by his impossible schedule or the need for sleep. You’d missed the solid warmth of him, the way he smelled like his cologne mixed with laundry detergent and something uniquely him. Missed the way his laugh sounded in person, richer and fuller than through phone speakers. Missed the weight of his gaze on you, the casual touches, the intimacy of just existing in the same space.

And as much as sitting cuddled up like this was great, as much as you wanted to savor this reunion, it was getting increasingly hard to keep things innocent.

Especially when his big hands started wandering from their safe position on your waist, rubbing slow circles on your stomach that gradually drifted lower. When his fingers started tracing the curve of your hip through your sweatpants, then growing bolder, gripping and kneading the soft flesh of your thighs with a possessiveness that made heat pool low in your belly, like he was reacquainting himself with the geography of your body.

“Mingi,” you breathed, half warning, half plea and you felt his lips curve into a smile against your neck.

“Mm?” The sound rumbled through his chest and into yours where you were pressed against him. “Just missed touching you, bonita. It’s been too long.”

“You’re distracting me from the show,” you murmur, though you make no move to stop him.

“What show?” His voice is already rougher, deeper than usual, vibrating against your back where you’re pressed against his chest. “It’s been asking if we’re still watching for like twenty minutes now. Just missed touching you, baby.”

And it had been. Too many weeks of aching for this, for the weight of his hands on you, for the heat of his breath against your skin. 

His face finds the curve of your neck, lips brushing against sensitive skin, and you can’t help the way you turn your body around to face him; a leg hooked over his hip as you tilt your head to give him better access. He takes immediate advantage, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point in a way that makes you gasp and arch into him. His hand finds your ass and when he squeezes, fingers digging into the soft flesh with a possessiveness that makes you shiver, you couldn’t help the small sound that escaped your throat.

“Missed you so fucking much,” he murmurs against your skin between kisses, and you can feel how much he means it in the way his arms tighten around you, in the way his breathing has already gone uneven. “Three weeks is too long. Way too long.”

“I know,” you breathe, fingers threading through his soft hair, tugging gently in the way you know he likes. “I missed you too.” You continue like you both haven’t gone longer without seeing each other.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges in that way that always made heat pool low in your belly. “You missed this too?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and shifted against him; feeling exactly how much he’d missed you, hard and insistent against your hip.

“Fuck,” he groaned, low and drawn out, his other hand coming up to thread through your freshly pressed hair, tilting your head back so he could access more of your throat. “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this. About you.”

His lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear and you gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “Baby, please—”

“Please what, mama? Tell me what you need.” His teeth grazed your pulse point and you could feel your heart hammering there, could feel how he paused to feel it racing under his tongue. “Use your words.”

“Need you,” you managed, breathless already and he’d barely touched you. “Need you so bad.”

The groan that pulled from his chest was pure satisfaction. “That’s my girl. Always so good for me when you remember to ask.”

One of his hands slides up under your sweater and shirt—his sweater and tshirt, actually, ones you’d stolen months ago—his palm hot against the small of your back, exploring skin he’s been denied access to for weeks. The other hand is still gripping your ass, pulling you harder against him and you can feel him hardening even more beneath you.

“Can I—” he starts, but you’re already shifting so you can straddle him properly as he sits up.

“Yeah,” you say, and then your mouths finally meet.

The kiss is immediately desperate, weeks of longing poured into it. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours like he’s trying to make up for lost time. Your hands cup his face, feeling the warmth of his flushed cheeks, while his grip your hips hard enough to bruise in the best way.

When his tongue traces your bottom lip, you open for him immediately, and the kiss deepens into something filthy and consuming. He tastes like coffee he must have had on the way over and underneath that, just him. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling harder now, and he groans into your mouth; a sound that goes straight through you, making you grind down against him.

“Fuck,” he gasps, breaking the kiss to look at you with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide. His hands slide under your shirt properly now, pushing it up, and you help him pull it over your head. The cold air hits your skin but you barely notice because he’s looking at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted.

“No bra?” His thumbs brush over your nipples that were already peaked and sensitive. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Missed these. Missed all of you. Missed seeing you like this.”

“You know I don’t like wearing any at home,” you admitted, gasping when he pinched lightly, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. “plus, it’s winter. Who’s gonna know with all the layers?”

“I know,” he grins as his mouth finds your collarbone, kissing and sucking marks into your skin that you’ll definitely have to cover up later, but right now you don’t care. Your head falls back as his lips trail lower, hands now cupping your breasts as he continues to pinch your nipples in a way that makes you whimper.

“Mingi, please—”

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “Gonna take care of you.”

He moves one hand to your hip to pull you flush against him and then his mouth is on you, hot and wet, tongue circling one nipple while his fingers work the other. You’re grinding against him properly now, seeking friction, and he’s meeting your movements, hips rolling up to meet yours.

The layers between you are too much, too frustrating. You need more, need him closer, need—

“Off,” you manage, tugging at his hoodie, and he pulls back just long enough to yank it over his head along with the shirt underneath. Then his hands are on you again, pulling you back flush against his bare chest, skin to skin finally, and the contact feels so good you could cry.

You kiss him again, slower this time but no less intense, pouring everything you feel into it. Love and want and need and come home and I missed you and please don’t leave again. His hands map your body like he’s relearning every curve, every sensitive spot that makes you gasp or shiver.

“Mingi—” His name came out broken, desperate.

“God, I love the way you say my name like that. Like you need me. Do you need me, baby?”

“Need you,” you whisper against his lips, and you feel him shudder.

“Yeah, okay, fuck—” His hands move to the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers dipping inside, and you lift up enough for him to slide them down along with your underwear.

The blanket has long since fallen away, forgotten on the floor, but you don’t need it anymore. Not with the heat building between you, not with the way he’s touching you like he’s been starving for it.

His fingers find you already wet, and he groans at the discovery. “You’re soaked. All this for me?”

“Three weeks,” you remind him breathlessly, rocking into his touch. “Three weeks of just my hand and thinking about you.”

“Fuck, bonita,” he breathes, circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes that have you trembling. “Tell me what you thought about.”

“This,” you manage. “Your hands, your mouth, how you—ah—how you feel inside me.”

He rewards you by sliding two fingers inside, and the stretch makes you moan loud enough that you briefly worry about your neighbors before you stopped caring entirely. He curled his fingers, finding that spot inside you that made your vision go hazy, and set a rhythm that had you clutching at his shoulders.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.” His thumb found your clit and you nearly sobbed. “Let me hear how good I make you feel. Missed these sounds so much. Used to replay the videos you sent me every night, you know that? Every night on tour, every night away from you, wishing it were my fingers inside you instead of yours.”

The image of him touching himself to videos of you made everything feel hotter, tighter. “Min, I’m—”

He works you open carefully, thoroughly, fingers curling to continuously hit that spot that makes your thighs shake, thumb still working your clit. You bury your face in his neck, breathing hard, hands gripping his broad shoulders for support as he builds you higher and higher.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs encouragingly. “Let me hear you. Missed those pretty sounds you make. It’s been too long since I’ve heard them in person.”

You’re close, embarrassingly close already but before you can tip over that edge, you pull back. “No, wait…want to come with you. Need you inside me.”

His eyes darken impossibly further and he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact. The sight of it, the hungry look in his eyes, nearly undoes you on the spot.

“Missed your taste too,” he says, voice absolutely wrecked. “Missed everything about you.”

You make quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down just enough to free him, and then he’s there, hard and heavy in your hand. He’s already leaking and when you stroke him once, twice, his head falls back against the wall with a thud, and the sight made your mouth water.

“Next time,” you promise, twisting your hand around him and earning a sharp hiss of pleasure. “Next time I want you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, don’t…don’t say shit like that right now or this is gonna be over way too fast.” He catches your wrist gently, stilling your movement. “It’s been too long, baby. I need to be inside you. Need it so bad.”

“Now,” you say, positioning yourself over him. “Please, baby, now.”

His hands grip your hips, guiding you as you sink down onto him slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. It’s been too long, and the stretch of him filling you is almost overwhelming.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Mingi’s head lifts off the wall slightly to look at you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “So tight. So perfect. Fuck, you feel like heaven. Missed this,” he gasps, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips and ass. “Missed you. Missed being inside you.”

You took him fully, settling in his lap, and paused to adjust to the stretch, to the fullness of having him inside you again after so long. His hands roamed your back, your sides, pulling you close so your foreheads pressed together.

“Okay?” he murmured, and despite the strain in his voice, despite how you could feel him twitching inside you with the need to move, he waited for your signal.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Then move for me, baby. Show me how much you missed this cock. Wanna watch you ride me.”

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, deep grinds that have both of you breathing hard. His hands guide you up and down, finding a rhythm together, relearning each other’s bodies. Every slide of him inside you feels incredible, hitting deep, the angle perfect from this position; it makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you cry out, he does it again, harder.

“There it is,” he praises, voice rough and breathless. “Right there, yeah? That’s the spot?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, right there—” 

“That’s my good girl. Taking me so well. Look at you.” One of his hands comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Look at how beautiful you are when you’re riding my cock. Wish you could see yourself. Wish you could see what I see.”

He leans forward to capture your mouth in another searing kiss, swallowing your moans as you ride him faster, chasing the pleasure building in your core. One of his hands slides between your bodies to find your clit again, rubbing tight circles that make you clench around him.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he breathes against your lips. “You feel so good, so perfect. Taking me so well.” His words make you clench around him and he groans, low and long. “Fuck, do that again. Love feeling you squeeze me like that.”

You did, deliberately this time, and his hips bucked up involuntarily, driving him deeper. The rhythm was getting faster now, more desperate, the slap of skin on skin mixing with your combined moans and the creak of the couch beneath you.

“More,” you whimpered and felt him smile against your skin.

“Greedy girl. I love it. Love you.” He nipped at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. “Love how you get like this for me. So needy. So perfect.”

The praise sends heat coursing through you, spurring you on. You grip his hair tighter, pulling his head back so you can kiss down his throat, biting and sucking marks into his neck the way he did to you, not caring about his upcoming schedule,if he had any.His hips start thrusting up to meet you, driving deeper, and the change in intensity makes you cry out.

“That’s my girl,” he groans. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

“Min, baby, I’m close—”

“I know, baby, I can feel it. Can feel you getting tighter. But not yet, okay? Just a little longer. Want to make this last.” His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your thighs shake. “Want to feel you for as long as possible.”

“Mingi…baby,”

“You can take it. You’re doing so good for me, mama. So fucking good.” His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your mouth to his for another messy, desperate kiss. “Just a little more. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded but even as good as it feels, the angle isn’t quite enough. You need more, need him deeper, need—

He seems to read your mind, because suddenly he’s shifting, movements purposeful and hungry with need.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, and then in one smooth motion he’s lifting you, pulling out only long enough to flip you both. Your back hits the couch cushions and he’s above you, those broad shoulders blocking out the world, making everything narrow down to just this, just him. “Want to see your face. Need to see you when you come.”

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half, and when he pushes back inside you from this angle, you both moan at how impossibly deep he goes. The angle makes you cry out; he was so deep like this, hitting spots that made you see stars. “Need to fuck you properly. Need to hear you scream my name.”

Then he was moving, and God, he wasn’t holding back anymore. Each thrust was hard and deep and purposeful, driving into you with a force that had the couch protesting beneath you, had you clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin.

“God, fuck, Mingi—” 

“Fuck, yes, just like that—” He’s panting, each word punctuated by a thrust. “So good, baby. Taking me so fucking well. Love watching your face when I’m this deep. Love hearing those sounds you make—”

The sounds you were making were obscene, high-pitched whimpers and moans that you couldn’t control, couldn’t hold back even if you tried. And from the way Mingi was groaning in response, he didn’t want you to.

This is what you needed. This intensity, this closeness, him taking control and giving you exactly what you’ve been craving for three agonizing weeks. Each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your vision white out, and you’re already so close, wound so tight you might break apart.

“Louder, bonita. Let the whole building know who’s making you feel this good. Let them hear who you belong to.”

“Mingi, fuckkk, Mingi—” His name was a chant, a prayer, the only word you could remember.

“Look at me,” he commands, and when your eyes meet his, the intimacy of it, the love and want you see reflected there, steals your breath. “That’s it, baby…that’s my girl. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you come.”

He’s driving into you with a force that has the couch protesting beneath you, the frame creaking, and you swear you can feel it shifting across the floor. But you can’t focus on that, not when he’s hitting so deep, not when his fingers find your clit again and start rubbing in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name like that. Say it again.”

“Mingi, please baby, I need…I need to—”

“I know, I can feel you,” he groans and he does look wrecked, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, lips swollen from kissing, eyes dark and desperate. His angle shifted slightly and you nearly screamed. “Right there? That what you need?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes, please don’t stop—”

“Not stopping. Never stopping. Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember your own name, until the only thing you can remember is mine.”

The couch was definitely moving now, you could feel it sliding with each powerful thrust, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when he was filling you so perfectly, not when every nerve ending was on fire, not when his fingers found your clit again and—

“Come for me, mama.” he commanded, voice strained with his own need. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart for me.”

It only takes a few more thrusts, a few more circles of his fingers, and then you’re shattering, back arching off the couch as pleasure crashes through you in waves. You cry out his name, clenching around him, and he fucks you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you’re shaking and oversensitive.

“Fuck yes, that’s it; fuck, you feel so good, so fucking good—” His rhythm falters, becoming erratic. “Gonna come, baby. Gonna…where?”

“Inside,” you managed, still riding the aftershocks. “Want to feel you. Want you to come inside me. Want all of you.”

That permission is all he needs. He buries himself deep with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his chest, and you feel him come, spilling hot inside you, face buried in your neck as his whole body shudders.

For a long moment, you both just stay like that, breathing hard, hearts racing, tangled together in the aftermath. His weight on top of you feels grounding, perfect, and you run your fingers through his sweaty hair, pressing kisses to his temple.

“Fuck,” he finally managed, voice hoarse. “Fuck, I love you.”

“Love you too,” you whispered, holding him close. “Missed you,” you whisper again because it’s all you can think to say, the truest thing you know.

“Missed you more,” he murmurs back, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

You stay like that for a moment longer, neither of you quite ready to move, to break the connection. When he finally did pull out, you both wince at the sensitivity, and he collapses beside you on the couch, immediately pulling you into his arms.

That’s when you become aware of something odd. The angle of the room looks different somehow. The TV seems farther away than it should be. You both turned your heads at the same time, taking in the couch’s new position; a solid three feet across the floor from where it started, leaving visible drag marks on your area rug.

There’s a beat of stunned silence as you both process this.

Then you both burst into laughter, the kind that shakes your whole body and makes your stomach hurt, the kind that’s contagious and impossible to stop. You bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking, while his own laughter wheezes out in that high-pitched way that always makes you laugh even harder. The shift from intense intimacy to this moment of absurdity is so jarring that it makes it even funnier. 

“Oh my god, baby!” you gasped between giggles, smacking his chest weakly. “You literally moved my furniture! You fucked me so hard you rearranged my living room.”

He was laughing just as hard, that beautiful, uninhibited sound that you loved, his whole face scrunched up with it. “Hey, hey now,” he protested, though he could barely get the words out. “That’s not just on me! That’s a team effort right there. That’s what happens when we’re both…we’re both putting in the work. Y’know, teamwork makes the dream work, baby. We should get a medal or some shit.”

You dissolve into fresh giggles, smacking him again. “You’re the one who was going at it like you were trying to drill through my floor! Like you were on a mission.”

“And weren’t you pulling on my hair like you were trying to scalp me?” He catches your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles, eyes dancing with mirth. “Besides, I’d say the results speak for themselves. When’s the last time regular sex came with a free furniture rearrangement service? I’m basically doing you a favor. Helping you redecorate. Very boyfriend of me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say but you’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt and he’s looking at you with such open affection that it made your chest feel warm and full.The apartment doesn’t feel cold anymore, hasn’t felt cold since he walked through the door. Not with him here, not with this warmth between you that has nothing to do with the heating he’d turned on earlier. 

“A little bit, but you love me anyway,” he says, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Even when I get too enthusiastic and redecorate your apartment mid-sex.”

“Especially then,” you admitted, snuggling into his chest. You trace idle patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat gradually slow under your palm. “Though I’m not sure ‘sex so good it moves furniture’ was on my list of relationship goals.”

“Well, it should’ve been.” He grins.

“We should probably move it back,” you say eventually, though neither of you make any move to get up. “And move to the bedroom before you’re ready for another round.”

“In a minute,” Mingi mumbles, his arms tightening around you as he settles his weight more comfortably against you, pulling the forgotten blanket from the floor to drape over your cooling bodies. “Not done holding you yet. Three weeks of missed cuddles to make up for. That’s a serious deficit, and besides, I kind of like it here. New perspective on your living room. Very feng shui.”

“That’s not what feng shui means.”

“Sounds like something someone with bad feng shui would say,” he teases, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “Next time maybe we should just use the bed like normal people.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest and into yours where you’re pressed together. “Where’s the fun in that, mama? Where’s the adventure? Besides, I’m pretty sure your bed can’t slide across the floor.” He pauses, then adds with theatrical seriousness, “Though I guess we could test that theory. You know. For science. Just think of all the other furniture we haven’t christened yet. The possibilities are endless.”

“Oh my god, stop,” you groan, but you’re laughing again, and yeah, you definitely missed this. Missed him. Missed this exact feeling of being completely comfortable and completely happy and completely yourself with someone who loved every part of you. Missed the way he takes care of you even when you don’t ask, the way he makes you feel safe enough to let go.

“Never,” he promised, kissing the top of your head. “Never stopping. You’re stuck with me forever.”

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 a lot of graphic wet dreams it’s the whole plot, so much dirty talk bc i headcanon he’s a talker, daddy kink (sorry), but freak4freak like mingi’s technically dom but they’re both dirty freaky, pervy reader pervy mg, dry humping, so much praise, oral (f rec), vaginal fingering, size kink he’s big, big dick!mingi (he knows it), fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, oral (f rec), unprotected p in v including creampie

It starts off like any other dream. 

You’re lying on your bed, comfortably spread out with the same old pyjamas you had on when you fell asleep - a t-shirt stained with hair dye and shorts that have worn elastic, sagging down over your hips. The air’s a little dense at first when you try to move, like you’ve been doing some heavy lifting and your limbs haven’t quite started to work again, and it takes you a moment to come into yourself, fighting through the haze.

Immediately, it feels more real than your dreams normally would. Smoking weed before bed means that you don’t often get any dreams at all, really, and your two best friends-turned-housemates are loud enough at all points of the day that your sleep can be interrupted at regular intervals. However, you can feel the softness of your sheets, the lilac floral set you put on when you got home from class, and you rub your feet against it. It’s nice, comforting, and so normal that you quickly forget what it is - a dream.

A soft brush against your side, and you feel like a fish out of water. There’s someone here with you. On your bed. It’s rare for San and Wooyoung to sit there, and this person definitely isn’t either of them. 

It’s blurry initially, so hazy that you can’t quite focus on his face, but his long limbs are splayed across your bed like he’s been here a million times before. The touch was his fingers, and his hands are big too, dexterous and clad in bulky silver rings and drumming a beat you can’t recognise against your skin. It’s too comfortable, familiar in a way that feels almost too vulnerable - it’s almost like you’ve dreamed about this before.

He speaks, and you can’t make out what he’s saying. His voice is a deep, gravelly tone, making you feel like you’re drifting asleep all over again. With insane willpower you blink rapidly, forcing yourself to look at his face. 

You finally see him. He’s staring at you like you’ve done something silly, plump lips curled up with the hint of a smile, and his hair is messy and dark and cascading over his forehead. You can just about make out two beauty spots on his honey toned face. He’s not wearing much, not really, clad in a tank top and baggy, below knee shorts for ultimate comfort, lensless glasses sitting on a sharp nose. 

He blinks at you rapidly, scrunching his nose into a silly face to get your attention, lips forming a line, and all you can think is pretty, pretty, pretty. 

“Are you listening to me, baby?” He says again, and you hear him this time, loud and clear. Baby. It makes a chill run through your body. He’s your type - steady, cool, teasing and big and… he’s so handsome, soothing your skin with his fingertips as if he knows you, has known you for a while and-

“Mingi,” You croak, unable to help yourself. It’s Song Mingi from your economics class, that tall, cool kid who’s always late to class but still really fucking smart, gets amazing grades; unlike you. He dresses really nice, chic, lots of bulky rings and these big chains, like the one he’s wearing now. You think you’ve heard San and Wooyoung say they were friends before, and if you think harder it’s like you’ve seen him drive San home before, but have you ever really paid attention? 

Song Mingi from your economics class who is your mutual friend and also… your boyfriend? Right, yeah. That feels right. “Sorry, honey. What were you saying?”

“I was saying,” He sing-songs, but it’s raspy, like he smoked just before he came over. “It’s always nice being here with you. You’re beautiful, you know that? But it makes me…”

His eyes move to your lips. You think you know what he’s going to say, and maybe it’s a little cliche, straight out of a show you’ve seen, but the butterflies still flitter in your tummy. 

You rub your feet against the blanket again - it’s exciting, sue you. “Makes you what?” 

Mingi’s leaning in before he speaks again, shuffling across your blanket until his breath is tumbling across your face. He’s closer now, but it’s not intimidating, it’s exciting. If you focus you swear you can smell him, something like cedar and vanilla, sweet but enriching and you want more of it, now.

His hand moves to your hip, just barely dipping underneath your sleep shorts. Is he going to kiss you? Even better, is he going to touch you? Your mouth feels dry, and his hands are a little calloused on your skin. He goes to the gym, you remember through the fog. San goes with him sometimes - it’s from the weights. You feel dizzy, head spinning, inching even closer.

“It makes me want more,” he breathes tentatively, “I want to do more with you, if you’ll let me.”

“I’ll let you.” You blurt, and he smiles. He wriggles his way on top of you, your arms closing around those broad shoulders - he is big. While your cunt starts to slick up dumbly at the first sign of a big, strong man, he finally kisses you, a sweet peck to the corner of your lips before a deeper, proper one, tangling his tongue with yours, and it feels so fucking real. Letting out a keen, you squirm underneath him, managing to pull away from his lips to speak. “I’ll let you, please,” you whimper against his lips, messy, “more, Mingi-”

He groans in disbelief, kissing you sloppy again, again, again, finally moving his hand down, cupping your pussy through your sleep shorts and balancing on one forearm. His lips slide against yours a little messily but it’s still amazing, making you whimper when his tongue moves against yours, more than igniting that fire in your belly. You can feel the pressure of his fingertips against your core, sure that nothing’s ever felt like this in your life. “So pretty. You sound so fuckin’ pretty, baby, saying my name like that, shit-”

His fingers slide underneath your shorts, and of course you haven’t got panties on. He meets your pussy bare, slick and sensitive under his touch, and he starts to rock against your fucking leg before he can even get a finger in.

He feels big, from what you can make out, pressing into your thigh. Big, hard, and god - does he leak too? Is he getting so worked up that he can’t help but soak a pool in his boxers? You try to reach down to them, but he pins your hands back to the pillow with one big palm.

You can feel the cold metal of his rings biting against your hole when he adds a second finger. He finds your g-spot effortlessly, curling his long digits upwards, and tap tap taps until your eyes cross. 

“Like this,” He murmurs, cheeks flushing. His lips part and his eyebrows knit in admiration when he looks back to your face and sees the way your own expression can’t be controlled in your haze of lust, mouth falling open, letting out a wrecked whimper. “Can you cum like this? Drench your fucking shorts and let me suck ‘em clean after?”

He talks frantically, viciously almost, fucking into your pussy faster, trying to give you more stimulation. It’s filthy and you can’t believe it’s happening to you, hurtling into an orgasm that you know is going to be unsatisfying because he hasn’t even brushed your clit but fuck, you want to be good. Is he doing this deliberately? His spare hand cups your breasts, palm jiggling the flesh with a noise of disbelief.

“I can! F-fuck, I can,” You hiccup, and he pushes your thighs back, uses his thumb and finger of his other hand to pinch your clit in such a way that you think you might cry. It would normally be not enough but it’s the sight of him, the way he pants on top of you from just humping your leg and wants you to cum so badly - you’re done for. 

Digging your nails into his shoulders, you seize, crying out - and you wake up in a pool of your own sweat. 

Your pyjamas are sticking to you, shorts drenched between your legs and you’re not sure where you are. For a second you think you’re still high, or even still dreaming, but now this is definitely real. 

Alone in your room, your chest heaves as if you’ve run a marathon, and when you slide your feet against your blanket it doesn’t feel as good as it did before. What the fuck was that? You just had a sex dream about a guy that you’ve spoken to maybe twice, and it was so real. The surroundings of your room feel like an entirely different dimension, even though you were just there, with him, with his scent and his large presence, almost too overwhelming.

Are you going crazy? Are you smoking too much weed? Probably the latter, but that doesn’t change how that felt. You groan, rolling over to reach blindly for your phone. Knocking over a few things on your bedside table, you finally find it, and the time reassures you. 

7:02. Still two hours until class, two hours to sort yourself out. 

It would be great if it wasn’t a Wednesday. Your first class is economics, where you normally sit just a few seats over from the main character of your all consuming dream. Can you ignore him for the whole class? Shit, could you just skip it? Did it really matter?

No, you’re close to failing that stupid class already. It’s too complicated, it just doesn’t go into your brain. It would be hard to get a tutor when everything costs money, too, and you’re committed to spending a large part of your student loan on getting high and ordering pizza with Wooyoung and San.

With yet another loud groan, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and bring yourself to go to the bathroom to wash up. In the mirror, your hair is sticking multiple different directions and you have that recently fucked look, eyes half lidded, t-shirt hanging off of one shoulder. 

Is this rock bottom?

“What’s up with you today?”

Wooyoung’s gaze feels like the sharpest daggers shooting into your face. Considering you walked from your house together and managed to converse quite well until you got to class, you’re not really sure what you did wrong. You even complimented him on his bleached hair that he did himself at midnight because it really did look good. Despite that he still doesn’t look happy, plump lips pursed in a scowl and fingers tapping on the table.

He sits to your left, and only three seats to your right is his seat. He hasn’t shown up yet, he’s always late, but you already feel like the class is getting a little too hot. You’re determined to persevere, despite the fact that your jeans feel too tight and even though you’re wearing them, it still feels like your legs are sticking to the plastic chair. 

Clutching the signature banana milk you always get from the vending machine outside, you grumble - even the delicious taste isn’t helping.

“Nothing. Nothing’s up,” You mumble, licking sugary milk and banana flavouring from your lips, “Woo, should we just go?”

“Baby, you’re nearly failing,” He coos, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. You don’t know why he’s talking, because he hasn’t even got a bag with him, only a single sheet of paper from your notebook and one of your sparkly pens. Looking at the big clock on the wall, you sigh deeply - he’s going to be here soon - and your friend nudges you under the table with his knee. The movement jostles your milk and you scowl. “What’s the matter? Seriously.”

“I’ll tell you later, but it’s fucking stupid and you’ll laugh.”

Wooyoung seems satisfied with this, grinning and ruffling your hair, but it’s then through messy strands that you see him. Well, the professor walks in first, but Mingi trails in behind her as if he’s got all the time in the world, and you frantically smooth your hair down. 

His chains jingle with his movement, and his bag hangs off one shoulder. He looks confident, prepared, probably with books and his laptop in the bag. He’s smart, you know he is, he’s top of the class, probably going to have a really stable analytical job after college that you’d never be able to comprehend. Thinking about it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl, and you wish Wooyoung knew what was going on so he could slap you awake.

You drink your banana milk diligently.

The professor begins the lesson while Mingi’s walking to his seat, taking no notice of him as she arranges her things on the stand, and when he sits down you realise no one’s sat between you this time. Low attendance, you suppose, looking around the entire room to see that not many seats are filled at all. He doesn’t even look at you when he sits down and throws his bag to the floor. You’re not sure why you expect him to, but you take the time to analyse him fully.

He never dresses casually. Shrugging off his leather jacket and letting it drape over the chair, the cheap plastic creaks with his movement, and the light glints off the bulky silver rings adorning his long fingers. 

It’s suddenly getting really hot now, and your banana milk is doing nothing to cool you. Your eyes scan over his hands and up his arms to his chest. His black turtleneck is tight on firm muscles and such a contrast to his silver chains, so pleasing to your eye. Mingi’s dark hair drapes over his eyes, but you can still see them, chocolate brown and striking and narrowing at you. 

At you? You blink, and no, really, he is looking at you, and you’re not sure what to do. He doesn’t give you a chance, thankfully, because he gives you a small smile and a little wave and turns to listen to the lecture. 

Wooyoung practically chases you out of class by the end of it, even launching your carton in the bin for you. You manage to get him to a bench outside and once he’s situated, you clear your throat. He has his head in his hands, waiting, foot tapping against the floor. He’s never been good with patience; San always teases him about the time you told him you’d tell them something in class the next day and he didn’t sleep all night.

“I had a wet dream last night.”

Wooyoung groans loudly, kicking you in the shin. You squeal, falling onto the bench with an affronted stare, and he scowls at you. “Is that it? I probably have a wet dream every other night!”

“Woo, listen- listen to me. It was about Mingi. Your friend, Song Mingi. Be honest, is it over for me?”

His eyes light up. His face straightens, and then he leans forward, and you know you’re done before he even starts laughing, but the noise is still so loud that it makes your ears ring when he’s off. Multiple people in the quad turn towards you both, making you scowl at your housemate. He claps a few times in joy before he’s done.

“That’s- that’s probably the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, baby,” He giggles, hitting your shoulder playfully. “Have you spoken to him? At all? You never come to our friends’ parties. Not one, actually, now that I think about it.”

The birds in the campus trees tweet a rhythm mockingly. Your eye twitches. Wooyoung’s lips curl again.

“Maybe once or twice, in passing,” You frown, voice soft and timid, “Woo, it’s not my fault. We don’t choose our dreams, it’s your subconscious or something. Y’know scientists have literally said that?”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” He’s still smiling, and you shake your head. He’s right, you don’t, but you’re still sure you read that somewhere. “I guess you’re right though. Maybe- oh my god, maybe you do have a crush on him or something, a repressed one, and now it’s coming to the surface because it’s time. Like fate or something.”

You hum, thinking, deciding that Wooyoung’s insane. “Still, it felt real. Like, insanely real, Woo. It was better than anything I’ve had in person, and now I feel like I’m seeing him differently.”

Wooyoung raises his eyebrows, but still rubs your knee comfortingly. You’re thankful that he’s still being nice despite finding it very amusing. “It’s just a dream anyway. I don’t think you have to worry about it that much, baby, you’ll forget about him in a few days. I’ve had dreams that have given me crushes before too.”

“What if I don’t? You don’t get how intense it was.”

“Well, then we can talk to him,” He nods confidently, nudging you. “I can put a good word in, get you your dream boyfriend-”

“That is literally the worst idea you’ve ever had,” You deadpan, shaking your head, “I have a solid two friends for a reason, I’m not a people person, I am just trying to get through college with zero problems. And he’s- Woo, he’s… cool. Like you two. I don’t get cool guys.”

“You got us, didn’t you?” He pulls you into his side, kissing your forehead, then adds, “and we love you. You’re our best friend,” It comforts you enough to quell your insecurities for a moment. He checks the time on his phone and whoops triumphantly, “let’s go home. San will be back from the gym and we can smoke and order food. My treat. Oh also, can I tell him?”

“... I don’t think I have a choice.”

“No, you don’t. There's three of us in this relationship.”

Despite the fact that you fall asleep in some form of a puppy pile with Wooyoung and San in the latter’s bed, it happens again. 

This time, you’re on the sofa in your living room. Mingi’s positioned underneath you, in a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants like an anime character you’d fantasise over, and you’re on his lap. 

What are these fantasies? 

Has your brain taken note of outfits he’s worn before?

You know it’s him from the size of his body and the way it feels, intense and all consuming, although you haven’t managed to see everything yet, still fuzzy at the edges with sleep. The sweat drips down your collarbone already, and he seems just as wrecked from the squirming he’s doing, moving upwards into your body while he pulls you down against him by your hips. His hands move up your oversized t-shirt, settling on your flushed skin.

“Feels so fuckin’ g-good,” He huffs, “even just- just like this,”

His deep voice makes your head spin, and when you see his face it feels like a relief. His cheeks are flushed, lips kiss bitten, and you place another few pecks on his lips for good measure. He’s yours, after all, your boyfriend. “Is your little hole wet? Can you feel it, b-baby, drenching these cute little panties?” He whines, nosing into the crook of your neck, licking over the skin, “Is it begging for me? F-fuck, talk to me, please.”

He babbles incoherently but you can make out that it’s filthy, and you can’t fucking believe it. Is he like this, really? Your hips grind down against him sharply, needing more, because he’s right. Panties drenched, too delirious to even think about it, your hands scramble against his shoulders. You can see everything in that t-shirt, the way his biceps bulge against the fabric and the way his chest clenches as he ruts himself against you, nipples poking through, tempting. He’s got that expression again - eyebrows furrowed, lips parted, but this time he’s looking directly down at where you’re connected, bottom lip slick with spit. The pressure of his cock against your core in his sweatpants is so much, and you can’t help it, eyes rolling back to your head.

“Want you, want you so bad,” You pant. It feels like the most honest thing you’ve ever said. He nods, thrusting harder. He wants more, wants you to say more, his hands pulling you down against him. It’s a dirty rhythm, a sinuous grind. “I want it so fucking bad, Mingi, you don’t even-“ you buck, whining, “-don’t even know how bad, please, please-”

“Yeah? Did you touch your little clit thinking about me?” He pushes you upwards, still letting you move against him but slipping his hand underneath his waistband to rub over his cockhead. He’s desperate too, teeth biting into his lower lip. He wants it just as bad. You feel wet, and you look down to see you’ve leaked right through your panties onto his sweatpants. Have you ever been this fucking wet before? “Did you think about my cock stretching you open, ruining you until you can’t even remember your own- own fucking name?”

“I d-did, fuck,” You can’t move, eyes fixated on where his hands move under the wet fabric. “Fuck, Mingi, baby, please show me, I’ll do anything, please.”

His hand pauses, and your gaze flits back up to his face. His eyes narrow at you, just like they did in class, and his teeth have released his lower lip so that he can smirk at you, teeth white as snow. It’s promising, but it’s like a threat, and your hands feel a little sweaty against his broad shoulders. 

“Really, pretty thing?” His voice is hopeful, and his other hand begins to move his waistband down. You see the beginnings of his dark smattering of pubic hair and almost shaking, you whimper, nodding eagerly. “You’ll do anything for me?”

“Anything, I promise, please, fuck.”

Your eyes shoot open on a particularly loud snore from San. His leg and his arm are both slung over you, head resting on your shoulder with a steady stream of drool pooling on your t-shirt. When you glance at him, he sniffles out a snore, nose scrunching up and thick eyebrows knitting together. He’s lucky you love him. 

Once you’ve spluttered yourself awake enough, the warm light of the desk lamp bathing the room catches your attention, and you see Wooyoung sitting on the chair by San’s desk. He’s eating something, and the smell of bacon is the next thing that you register, slowly unwrapping yourself from the older man to crawl towards the younger at the desk. 

He’s already clocked you, a smile pulling at his lips as he loads the fork. “Good morning, sunshine.”

You snatch the fork from his fingers, munching before you can even talk. Eggs and bacon, and you wonder who Wooyoung learned to cook from. You make a mental note to ask, because it’s delicious. After you swallow, you mumble, “time?”

“Nine in the morning,” Relaxed as ever, he stretches out on the chair with an overpronounced yawn. He’s still scrutinising you, and you know for sure that you haven’t gotten away with it. “Two nights in a row, huh?”

“How’d you know?” You raise an eyebrow. Wooyoung looks pleased with himself and takes the fork back from you, continuing to eat his meal. Is it your hair? Were you… God, were you making noise?! He still hasn’t said anything! “Oh my fucking- Wooyoung?!”

“All I’m saying is I’m surprised Sannie didn’t wake up with all that squirming,” He finally responds, and the mentioned man grunts in his sleep at being mentioned, always alert, but goes back to snoring almost immediately after. “Don’t worry, it was cute. I think you do have a crush. Subconsciously and all that.”

“I hate you,” You grumble, and he sighs, patting his lap. You still climb onto him, and he hums until you start to doze, stroking your hair in rhythm to San’s snores. It would make you laugh if you weren’t nearly falling asleep again, but every time your eyes flutter shut you see big hands and a sharp nose and those beautiful dark eyes. Sighing, you stretch your legs out to wake yourself back up, “Wooyoungie, I think I’m going crazy. I don’t even know the guy.”

“It’s okay,” He coos, and you can hear how amused he is. Still, he entertains it. “He’s kind, very loyal. Smart, as you know. Sometimes he’s a little unsettling, but it’s endearing, in a way. A little like you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Well, I love you both dearly, if that counts for anything.”

Still, this doesn’t solve your problem, “Wooyoung, what do I do?”

“I think it’ll surprise you how easy this is going to be.”

It is a surprise to find yourself done up in a cute dress at a party not ten hours later, San and Wooyoung on each arm. You knew they knew people, sure, but they’d been such good friends to you that they’d sworn to be by your side through college, so you’d never bothered to ask to be introduced to their other friends. 

From what you can gather, they’re not frat boys but normal college students, too - Wooyoung told you that the two guys that live here are some of their good friends, and that makes you feel a bit better about arriving uninvited. It’s quaint but well decorated, with music memorabilia on the walls, but you don’t get a chance to take it all in because the house is absolutely packed. 

San waves and hugs a few people as he walks through, and you see Wooyoung smiling at a group of people that you think must be in his dance classes, because they look as cool and sculpted as him. Still, they pull you through the throes of people into the kitchen, tipsy and stoned and honestly, a content smile on Wooyoung’s face that he finally got you in this position.

You’re not even sure who’s party this is, but the boys help themselves to drinks and San keeps a comforting hand on your lower back, leaning in close so that you can hear him while your other friend pours you a drink. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Sannie, I have been to parties before, I’m not a total shrew,” You tease. He pulls you into a sort of half-hug and you smell him, something earthy with a hint of jasmine, comfortable and grounding, familiar. Different to… you’re trying not to think about that.

The younger man hands you both the finished drinks, a concoction of something purple, and well, liquid confidence you suppose. You knock half of it down before you can think. He seems satisfied with this, but you hiss at the aftertaste, sticking your tongue out. “I’m definitely a smoker, not a drinker. This is fucking nasty. You guys drink this stuff all the time?”

“He does, I kinda hate it too,” San huffs, swirling his cup in his hand and watching the liquid move. 

Wooyoung scoffs, “that and you can’t handle your drink. You pass out after a few.”

San’s already flushed, but you swear he gets redder, shooting Wooyoung a dirty look with a too-cute pout before turning back to you. “Refresh me on the situation again by the way. You had a dream about Mingi? Song Mingi?”

Right, Wooyoung had caught him up over the course of the day while you napped and attempted to study. You lick your lips, trying to somehow clean yourself of the drink’s bitter aftertaste but only getting a mouthful of sticky lipgloss. 

“Two dreams,” Wooyoung corrects, pointing at San, smiling so wide you can see his teeth in the dim light of the kitchen. They’re practically shouting over the music, and you want to tell them to be quiet but you are in a quieter area.  No one can hear you, you hope, groups having filtered into the back garden, bedrooms and the living room. “And I think she liked him before. Fate, science - look, you had to be there. Anyway, we should go talk to him.”

“Wooyoung, I do not know this man.”

“We know him,” San smiles. He’s too easy. “Hey, this is cute! Is this your first crush? He’s a good guy.”

You swat him away when he tries to pinch your cheeks. “Not my first crush or my first party. You have literally met some of my exes. I also don’t think this is a good idea.”

“First, all of your exes were assholes so I didn’t like them and therefore they don’t exist. Second, you have to think it’s a somewhat good idea because you did come - to the party, I mean,” Wooyoung grabs your hand, pulling you to the back door. “I think they’ll probably be out here.”

Wooyoung’s right, about both things. All of your exes were assholes, men that only cared about getting their dick wet and their own feelings and not at all about yours. You’ve always thought it would be nice to have a man who takes notice of the things you like, the way you feel; the longer life dwindles on it seems to become less attainable. 

He’s also right that you came to this party with the idea that your friends were setting you up. You don’t expect them to be subtle about it though - a fact that daunts on you as they lead you through the kitchen.

As soon as the back door opens, you’re hit with the sight of what seems to be a much cooler, more private party. The smell of weed and the sound of softer, less overwhelming music are the first things you can process and yeah, okay, this might be more your type of scene. There’s a cute, shorter guy wearing flared jeans and a shiny tiara, chatting with a group of people enthusiastically; surely it must be his party. 

You’re pulled over to a section of outdoor seating where there’s a few people sitting down. There’s a small fire going, contained in a silver pit, and the warmth is welcomed on your skin, cold from the outside air biting at your skin in the cute dress you’re wearing. Really, you don’t clock him at first, but Wooyoung and San are eager to take you over to that area and there can only be one reason why.

“Yunho!” Wooyoung’s way too chipper, but Yunho falls for it, springing up from one of the chairs to wrap his arms around the shorter male. San’s hugging someone too, and from the corner of your eye you see it’s fucking Mingi, and you’ve never felt so betrayed in your life. 

“Fancy seeing you here, huh?” San says, way too exaggerated, and you hover in confusion as he continues, “we finally brought our cute friend, look.”

Cute friend? Suddenly all of the attention is on you. Yunho and Mingi are both peering at you, and Mingi is - he has to be assessing you, eyes scanning your frame. You can’t see them properly due to the sunglasses. Does he recognise you? You’ve only spoken once or twice before, in passing. He probably doesn’t even know your name. 

Yunho seems to know who you are, grinning from ear to ear and pulling you into a hug before you can even introduce yourself. You can’t help but laugh, throwing your arms around him while avoiding spilling your purple drink on his white satin shirt.

“It’s so good to meet you!” He shakes you happily. Mingi still hasn’t said anything, but he’s clutching a bottle of jagermeister and a cup with a different drink, looking at you as if he’s waiting for the moment. You try not to be uncool right in front of his eyes, smiling at Yunho politely. “Wooyoungie kept talking about you, all nice things, I promise. You have some good friends here.”

“I can’t really get rid of them, kinda like the plague,” You smile, and you’re glad Yunho detects your sarcasm and lets out a loud laugh, a bit too loud to be normal. He ushers you all to sit down, and when everyone’s situated the only available spot left is next to Mingi. 

How convenient. 

In your peripheral vision, you can see your best friends have already roped Yunho into a conversation, leaving the subject of your fantasies free and still fucking looking at you. 

Hesitantly, you sit down. The fire is nice you suppose, warming up your legs quite quickly, and you keep your knees firmly planted together and far away from him. The other three chatter away, preoccupied in such an intentional way that it makes your blood boil. It’s time to consider rooting through your bag in a way that looks like you’re doing something.

He says your name, and it feels like time stops. He’s speaking to you. This is the worst possible situation, how are you even meant to talk to him? Slowly, you turn to look at him. He’s in a black zip up jacket, bottle of Jagermeister in hand, sunglasses pushed down to the end of his nose. Those chains glint in the light again, and he leans forward, saying your name again, pushing the sunglasses onto his head. They push his hair back in the most delicious way that you shiver. No. Not right now. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re in my economics class too, right? You sit with Wooyoung.”

He knows you. “R-right,” You blurt, smiling nervously. “I am. Mingi, right?”

“You sit just a few seats over from me, with Wooyoung. I wanted to say hi to you, but to be honest, I never knew how,” He scratches the back of his neck. He’s cute, a little shy despite how big and scary he looks. Just like Wooyoung said. It feels like that makes it all even worse - he really is a dream, delightful traits rolled all into one. “It’s good to all get together though, right? I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before.”

“Oh, no. I don’t really get out much, to be honest. I’m a homebird,” You say, and cringe inside. What the fuck are you saying? You need to be cool. 

But Mingi only smiles, letting out an ‘ah’. “Me too, to be honest. I’m an anime in bed guy, but I live here, so I have to leave my room. It’s really sad.”

Not only is he actually so easy to talk to, but he reassured you quickly - he’s the same. Wooyoung was right again.

He lives here, though, which means… Wooyoung and San brought you to a party at Mingi’s house? This is some sort of next level interfering that you never even considered, but you have to act normal, so you clear your throat.

“You live with that guy wearing the tiara, then?”

“His name is Hongjoong,” Mingi laughs. “You don’t know who’s house you’re at?”

Fiddling with the clasp of your bag, you look down at your lap. “I told you, I don’t normally go to parties. I got dragged to this.” White lie. 

“It’s fine, I’m only kidding. Anyway, you know me,” He grins playfully. You flush, suddenly too warm from the fire, a little too awkward but also with such deep desperation in your belly. His zip-up slips from his shoulder and you see a bit of tanned skin that makes you inhale. “So you drink. You smoke too?”

You laugh. “Oh yeah, I smoke.”

Mingi’s eyes narrow at you again, perceiving you. Is he impressed? Flustered? He’s still smiling, like he knows something about you, but you’re not sure what. 

The conversation is interrupted by Yunho, who’s pulling a bong out from by the side of the table with a loud cheer. Wooyoung’s already dragging the bong from his lap. San has fallen asleep next to him, cheeks flushed and shoulders slouched over. Wooyoung doesn’t take any notice, giggling as he readies the pipe. He spills some weed on his lap but doesn’t look bothered. 

You point at San. “Is he okay?”

Everyone chimes in at once - “He does this”.

Mingi leans closer to you, and you manage not to tense up when he speaks easily, “What are you drinking?”

You motion at the plastic cup of Purple Concoction on the floor, and he sucks his teeth, shaking his head. While the others carry on, Mingi leans down and you immediately seize up.

“I’m not drinking jager,” you panic, “that’s way too-“

He chuckles and hands you his plastic cup, with a liquid not dissimilar in appearance to coke, and you want to laugh in his face. 

Is this like… inadvertently sharing spit? 

Reaching for the cup, you take a sip of the drink, and he watches you, waiting for your reaction.

It’s surprisingly nice. A lot better than whatever the fuck the guys gave you in the kitchen, and definitely not jager. It’s some sort of rum with coke and you hum at the taste, handing the cup back to him. He’s still watching you, keeping eye contact as you swallow the liquid down. 

When he lets you get this close, you notice the two beauty spots on his face from your dream, one by his eye and one on his cheek, and it makes your heart soar. He’s so cute, despite the way he dresses, rough and raw on the exterior and kind and gentle inside.

“Much better, right?” 

“Much better,” You agree. For a second, the ugly, rearing insecurity appears in your head again - what are you doing? He’s so out of your league. 

Before it can fester, Mingi clicks his tongue, taking a sip himself. “See, you should stick with me tonight,” he leans back, then smiles, “I’ve got the good stuff, and I’m cooler than San. He’s fallen asleep already.”

Stick with him tonight. Just as you think there might be something there, a little flickering of intrigue in his eyes as well as yours, the guy with the flared jeans rushes over out of nowhere.

“Mingi-ah, I’m so sorry, but someone’s throwing up in the living room and I need your help.”

The gentle voice brings you both out of your trance, and he immediately spins his head to the other man. Hongjoong, you think you remember him saying. Mingi all but rolls his eyes - does he look disappointed? - but swings his legs over the edge of the seat, leaving you with the nice tasting drink.

“Sorry, I better go,” He says, and Hongjoong gives him a look full of something that you can’t work out. Mingi looks awkward, eyebrows raising in expectation for you to say something, so you nod politely and he shoots you a grin. You think you’ll replay that grin forever, late at night when you’re trying to remember all of the angles of his face. “I’ll see you in class, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, licking over your lips. “it was really nice talking to you, Mingi.”

He shoots you a smile that looks a little too upset, but he’s off then, housemate in tow; Wooyoung wordlessly passes you the bong, eyes pink and limbs stretched over the sleeping San. It’s hard not to go over the events with the sudden silence and your clammy fingers wrap around the cup he left you, taking another gulp of the alcohol as it pops into your head.

Apologetic.

Hongjoong looked apologetic that he was interrupting you both, and you want to tell your friends and deepen that and make it more than it is; but you’re reminded that in reality, you’re just another girl Mingi was talking to at a party.

It’s been a couple days with no dreams now, which feels good, because you only saw him in passing again during the party. You have thought about him, in fleeting thoughts where you’ve gone over the events of the party, but it’s good not to let it linger. Just two dreams, that’s all it was, and you sit in economics class the following Wednesday with a relatively clear head and a nice skirt on, determined that you definitely do not have a crush.

Additionally, another decision - you will not fail this class. Two simple resolutions; last week was just a minor setback.

He walks in, and sits in his seat, and there’s actually people sitting between you this time. This is reassuring because you can’t focus on how his thighs fit in those jeans, or how nice his hands look when he types, or how his hair falls over his forehead in such a mysterious way-

No. You stare at your notes, flicking over the pages. It’s good to refresh before the professor starts, you think, and you really think it works when she begins her lesson and does a brief recap… before she starts talking about a test a few weeks after break. Huh?

“Since it’s the last week before fall break, I thought I’d give some of you a chance to study and get your grades up,” She explains, and you think you see her glance towards you and Wooyoung. Everyone groans, and she tuts, laughing. “This test isn’t that hard, I’m being really nice to you guys!”

You zone out again. Now you’re going to have to do a stupid test on something you don’t care about, and you’re either going to let yourself down or just not show up to do it at all, to be honest. You sigh and huff and puff, scribbling a doodle on your page.

To everyone, you included, the bell ringing after the rest of the boring lesson is a welcome sound. You huff when you put your books into your bag, you huff when you sling your bag over your shoulder, and you’re still huffing at Wooyoung as you both walk out of the door. 

That is, until a firm hand stops your path and a very clear, deep voice says your name.

Looking up, you see Mingi, lensless glasses on his nose again and that little shy smile on his lips, and the last few days of progression are forgotten. 

How could you ever forget how pretty he is? Love songs start playing in your head, intricate violins and piano, and it’s jarring how nervous you feel all of a sudden, uncertain of yourself. He’s so beautiful and he dresses well and he’s smart and kind and easygoing, but you still have that looming feeling of it’s never gonna happen, hopping from foot to foot in your boots.

Wooyoung keeps walking, pretending to be occupied on his phone, and you realise you’re staring at Mingi and not saying anything. “Mingi. Hi!”

“Hi, it’s good to see you again,” He seems a little flustered himself, fingers pulling at the collar of his t-shirt and you can’t help but smile. He’s so endearing. “How have you been since the party?”

“Good,” You shrug easily, like it hasn’t been destroying your nerves for the past few days, “I’ve been good. I- you’re good too, I hope?”

Inwardly cringing, you flush, but Mingi seems to find it amusing, lips curling up. “I’m great. Hey, listen, couldn’t help but overhear you’re not doing too well in economics, and well, I’m not too bad at it myself,” he snaps his fingers, and your eyes widen. No. “I can study with you for the test, if you want.”

“Is that a good idea?” You’re straight to the point, and Mingi offers a pout, confused, and you want to cry. “I mean, Mingi, I would just take up your time-”

“I want to study with you,” He seems to straighten up then, and you remember how big he is, towering over you. “No offence, but I know you’re not doing too well, and I want to help you,” He seems determined, and you can’t work out why, but he continues, “We could bump your grade up a little if you do well on the test.”

You let out a strangled noise, tapping your foot. “… Fine.”

“I- I could come to yours later on today? If you’re free, that is.”

You stare. That’s the second worst fucking idea you’ve ever heard, next to Wooyoung’s that got you talking to this tall, beautiful man in the first place. Why not the library? But you’re going to have to, aren’t you, because you can’t deny that face anything, and what other choice have you got? 

The idea of being in close proximity to him like that and being able to trace every single line and dot on his face with your eyes is anxiety and arousal inducing and he’s staring at you hopefully, waiting for an answer-

“Mingi, I’m bad at this class,” You blurt. He only tilts his head in question. “I could bring your grade down, distract you so badly by asking so many questions that you end up at the bottom just like me.”

He’s quick to respond, as if he can’t miss this opportunity. “That’s a bit extreme,” he breathes out a laugh, “very unlikely. Anyway, call it helping a friend out.”

A friend. Of course.

“Right, well…” You rub the back of your neck. 

It would be stupid to pass this up. If studying with him could really help your grade, and stop you retaking this dumb class, you’re sure you can reign in the horny demons inside of you for a few nights a week. You look down at the floor, but get caught at his legs. 

In the rips of his black jeans, you see a slither of muscled thigh. Your eye twitches.

Shit, can you reign it in? Fuck, you’re gonna have to. “Okay. I’ll work really hard. I’ll be a really good study partner, like, the best.”

“I know you’ll be good,” He grins, and god, did he mean the way that came out? He’s already pushing his phone into your hands for you to put your number in, and you send an emoji to yourself so that you have his too. “Cool. I’ll text you, let you know when I’m on my way.”

By the time he’s walked away, somehow Wooyoung is right behind you again, giggling in your ear about fate. 

But that’s how you find yourself in your room not five hours later, unfortunately not high and staring at Mingi, sitting contently in front of you. San and Wooyoung had greeted him in the hallway, mumbling too quietly for you to hear - to your dismay - and now you’re in your room. Your plushies and girly things would be embarrassing if he didn’t immediately pick up a fuzzy teddy bear and place it on his lap, cooing and pulling softly at his droopy ear. 

He’s so cute, and the more you think about it the more it’s got you scowling in your loungewear. A matching set, in the hopes that he’d think you look nice.

He’s talking about something, you think, but god you feel like you’re in those dreams you have again with how he’s on your bed and you’re dizzy with it - except you’re not. It’s real, he’s there, perched on your mattress next to you in a zip-up jacket and joggers for comfort with textbooks set beside his lap. He kicked off his shoes in your hallway, and he’s in a spare pair of San’s slippers, two sizes too small. 

You focus back in when he waves his fingers in front of your face teasingly, and all you can do is mumble sorry there’s no desk in my room.

“What? That’s fine, it’s better to be comfortable anyway,” He laughs, finally placing the teddy bear back in its spot. He pats his head. You want to scream. “Do you have any idea what you want to start with? We can keep it pretty basic at first and work our way up. She said the test won’t be too bad - if you actually listen to me, you’ll be fine.”

It’s said pointedly, with a little grin like he knows you’re not going to listen.

“Cool, cool,” You smile with way more confidence than you feel. Your entire body hums like a live wire at the proximity. “So I’ll be top of the class when the grades come out, right?”

He narrows his eyes at you playfully, grabbing a textbook from the pile. “Relax. I’m top of the class.”

Oh.

You stare at him, smirking like you’re not the slightest bit affected, even though you really are. He often rides on the line between confident and cocky, like he’s daring you to call him out. Like he knows something you don’t, always one step ahead.

Scooting a little closer, you scoff, accepting the challenge. You can play ball. “Top of the class doesn’t mean you’re good at tutoring. What if you can’t make me any better?”

Mingi glances up at you, playfulness in his eyes, that slow smile forming like it has all the time in the world. His jaw clicks when he speaks, “You’re being cheeky, y’know that? I guess I’ll have to show you what I can do.”

“That-?” You swat him, and he catches your wrist easily, making you gasp and pull back sharply. Heat crawls up your neck. “Let’s- okay, let’s just start.”

He chuckles, low and easy, satisfied at how flustered you’ve gotten. You wonder for a moment if he can feel it between you too, but he leans closer, resting his elbow on his knee as he opens the textbook between the two of you. There’s a decent amount of distance, but you swear you can feel the heat radiating from his thighs - you have to squeeze yours together to calm down. Not now. 

“You’re already not paying attention, are you?”

It’s hard to because he smells like warm cologne and something familiar, vanilla and cedar and you’ve smelled this before, you swear, in your dreams. His leg brushes yours like it’s no big deal, like you’re not looking at how much bigger than you he is, like he doesn’t notice how you shiver every time he gets this close. Does he?

He taps a paragraph on the page, saying something about how this part is important, and we should go over this too, but his voice is softer now, almost tender. “You’re not even looking at the book. What’s up? Have you really just got a mental block for this?”

No, you’re just too attractive and it’s overwhelming. “Yup, think so,” you exhale, rubbing your sweaty palms on your leggings, “hey, what if we smoke before we study? I think I might focus better.”

Mingi seems to consider it. He scratches a nail down the page in thought - you notice he’s got some letters painted on his nails, and you want to ask. Eventually he shrugs, shutting the book and throwing it to the side. Your jaw drops that he gave up that easily, but he’s rummaging through his bag all of a sudden with ring-clad hands before he pulls out a little plastic bag. 

“I planned for this.”

It’s your turn to grin. 

“I mean, if you insist,” You tease, nudging him with your foot, and Mingi chuckles, low and sexy. The thought pops into your head again - you and him. It’s so easy, bantering back and forth, the nerves only electrifying you more. You remind yourself very quickly that this is nothing more than a study session, or preparing for one at least. 

Passing him the rolling tray from your bedside table, because you’d be damned if you were rolling with his stuff, you settle back on your pillows leisurely. He immediately begins to roll, pulling papers out of his zip-up pocket, and you want to ask him things rather than stare at his hands. Get to know him. Sue you, he’s pretty. “What do you major in?”

“Music production. So does Hongjoong, that’s how we know each other,” He answers easily, and you’re shocked initially, but actually… It makes sense. He’s relaxed and sometimes shy, but he can ride the line between confident and cocky - like he has two personas, the Mingi you see and the Mingi you actually get. It’s fun. “What about you?”

“English, believe it or not,” You say, and Mingi hums. “So you make music?”

He licks the paper, sealing the joint. “I’m not surprised. You seem smart like that,” He seems confused on where to smoke it, but you pass him an ashtray and he throws you a thumbs up as he lights it, inhaling deep and filling your room with the funky-smelling smoke, “but yeah, I make music. I’m a rapper.”

A rapper? So he’s good with his tongue. You shiver, “Right.”

“Oh, do you? Write, I mean?” He smiles at his own joke, eyes already half lidded and a little pink, handing you the joint; you’ll never admit you giggled at it too.

You take a few diligent tokes, ashing in the tray when necessary. “I do, sometimes, but I don’t get much free time anymore.”

“Mm, I bet,” You’re already a little giggly, and you hand the joint back with a warm feeling on your cheeks and limbs feeling a little slower, less in control. “I could… maybe show you a song I made. Only if you show me something you wrote. That would be cool, I think.”

You can’t believe you’re in here smoking with him, and he’s telling you things about himself, too. You can build on this. 

No - you’re getting ahead of yourself again.

“I’d be down,” You smile softly. He hands you the joint again, another quarter smoked, his lips now with a permanent curve of bliss. He’s high, and he looks so pretty when he’s high, fixing his dark shaggy hair with long, ring clad fingers. He lays on his side in front of you, grabbing your teddy bear to hold at his chest while he leans on his hand, comfortable. There’s one burning question in your mind as you examine him, his zip-up slipping off his shoulder, “honestly, I’m surprised you don’t major in fashion. You dress really cool.”

That slow, lazy smirk forms again, ear to ear. You almost choke as you inhale, but you manage to keep it in. “You think I dress cool?”

You shrug, suddenly aware of how hot it is in your room. “I mean… yeah.”

“Thanks,” He says, then adds, almost too casually, “I think you’re really pretty.”

It lands harder than he expected. Your breath stutters, and he licks his lips, eyes widening like he thinks he’s gone too far. “Is that-“ he hesitates, “-okay? Can I say that?”

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah, you- yeah, you can say that.”

Now it’s his turn to look nervous, teeth worrying at his lip but this time like he’s trying not to smile too wide. He thinks you’re pretty? Really pretty? The compliment loops around in your head. You hand him the joint back, meaning to follow it up with a question but he simply puts it out in your ashtray, the finality causing you to pause. 

He moves into a sitting position with a quiet sigh, and rifles through his bag a little. Just as you’re about to speak, he pulls out his laptop - the screensaver is one of him, Hongjoong and Yunho from a holiday, you judge by the background of the shot, but he clicks away and types his password in too fast for you to examine it fully.

“Anyway,” He says, too deliberately normal, clicking on a file, “I’ve got some material from the professor. It should help clear things up.”

Just like that, he moves on like the compliment was nothing, like it didn’t linger between you. You assume you should too. 

Friends compliment each other, right? He’s already pulling the file up, dexterous fingers quick and practiced clicking on the pages he needs and your head spins pleasantly from the weed, rubbing your clammy hands on your legs again.

A few clicks of his cursor, and he motions you closer, utterly unaware of how intoxicating he smells this close - you’re pooling in your panties again. Your knees touch and this time it sends a shock through you, but you catch the gasp in your throat before it leaves. 

“Alright,” he says softly, voice deep, “take a look at this…”

Focusing on anything else feels impossible, but you push through it, determined - for him.

It’s only gotten worse.

Rather than the dreams just being sexual, now they’re something more homely and serious than your heart can handle. You’ve had no more study sessions, although you’re due one today, and you’ve had these godforsaken dreams almost every night. 

Mingi cooking you dinner in your kitchen, smelling of oil and something delicious. Mingi holding your hand, safe and sure, as you walk through the city at night. Restaurants with Mingi, him pouring you another glass of wine and giggling when your nose scrunches up at the taste.

It’s getting domestic rather than primal, and you’re not sure how to deal with it. It’s made you want him more, while the times you actually see him only remind you that he doesn’t see you like that. At least, not in real life.

To make matters worse, Mingi insisted you continue your study sessions - along with now sending you some motivational GIFs over text during the week to make sure you’re on top form, like that was meant to help your sick little crush - and now you find yourself sitting waiting for him in the library, heart already fluttering something stupid.

A carton of banana milk slides across the desk. 

You squeak and barely manage to catch it before it tips over, glad that the campus library is pretty much empty due to fall break and you can make however much noise as you like. The librarian would typically tell you off for saying one word, but she’s got her own nose in an old, weathered book, her eyes fluttering shut from sleep.

A big body drops into the seat across from yours, the weight of him making the table feel smaller. Mingi looks entirely too pleased with himself, nodding pointedly at the carton.

“That’s it, right?” He snaps his fingers, “that’s the one you like.”

You stare. It's the same exact one you get from the vending machine in the building where your economics class is every week, but given that you’re now on break you haven’t had a reason to go there. It had been hard, trying to do any form of studying without your banana milk, but… how could Mingi have noticed that you get this one? 

“How…” You shake your head. “How did you know?”

His eyebrow raises, looking confused, opening his laptop. 

“I always see you with one,” He says, as if it explains everything. Your gut clenches, and you feel something tingle in between your legs too, like all it takes is a carton of milk, making you feel nothing but desperate - it’s more than that, though. He noticed. 

A few clicks, and then he digs in his bag again, setting a carton of strawberry milk down for himself and a set of papers next to you both. Your heart flutters. “I brought worksheets too. I know, not really fun, but at least I can see what you know since you know… we weren’t exactly productive last time,” he tuts at you playfully, “bad influence.”

You gasp dramatically. “Excuse you. We studied after, and it was your weed.”

He nudges your ankle softly with his shoe. “And I brought you a banana milk,” he slides the papers over, “now do the sheets for me, you’re wasting time again.”

For him, you’d do anything. Your pencil scribbles across the paper as you write your name with a heart next to it, as if you’re not his only student. Mingi doesn’t notice - he takes the time to do something on his laptop. You wonder what, because he pulls his headphones over his head and starts working dutifully. It’s hard not to simply watch him at work and ignore what he asked you to do; he clocks in so quickly, eyes narrowing at the screen and lips mouthing words you can’t decipher. He’s comfortable in baggy jeans and a hoodie, chains and rings catching your attention but he looks amazing, like everything he wears is straight from a fashion show.

Shaking your head, you turn to the paper - but you read a total of one question before realising that you really have no idea what the fuck is going on in this class.

“Mingi,” You say finally, tapping your pencil on the page, “I need help.”

To your surprise, he pulls his headphones off his dark hair quickly and leans over to you, eyes flickering to your sheet. It takes everything in you not to kiss him then and there. 

“… That’s the first question,” He looks at you, taking in your blank expression, then exhales a laugh. “Okay, I’ve seen you in every class - do you just not focus at all?”

Flailing your limbs around dramatically, you groan, “it’s boring as hell. The lecturer is also boring as hell.”

He snorts, but instead of teasing you more like you expect him to, he pulls his chair around properly, close enough that your knees touch. A shiver wracks through your spine. 

“Alright,” he says gently, voice calmer, more soothing, “forget how she explained it. I’ll do it my way.”

He takes your pencil, fingers brushing against yours, sketching quick boxes and arrows across the page. 

“Okay,” he begins, “economics is just people making decisions but with maths.”

You blink. “I don’t think that’s correct.”

He grins, sharp nose scrunching, clearly pleased that you’re actually interested for once. “No, seriously. It’s people making choices because they want something and don’t have enough money or time for it. All we have to do is sound smart when we talk about it.”

He sketches two simple lines with your pencil, next to the questions on the sheet, a curve sloping upwards and another sloping down right next to it. You recognize it immediately, which makes you a little proud.

“Supply and demand,” You mumble, pointing at the page. His eyes brighten.

“See? You do know things,” He says softly, like it’s a secret. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans closer, and you remember the party, how close he was then, and you forget everything you’ve ever learned. Fuck.

“So this,” He taps the downward curve, your cat-shaped eraser bobbing comically on the edge of the pencil, “is demand. People want less of something when it’s expensive, more when it’s cheap - dramatic, but predictable, right? Of course we do.”

“And supply,” He continues, tapping the other line, “that’s the opposite. Producers are greedy. They’re willing to sell more when prices are higher.”

He freezes, glancing sideways at you. “You still with me? That’s like, basic basic.”

You nod a little too fast. It makes sense, but fuck, are you allowed to kiss him yet? He’s so patient, so kind, and so cute that even his fucking teeth are cute. “Yeah. I’m here.”

His mouth twitches like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he lets it slide and draws a small dot where the lines intersect.

“Equilibrium,” You say, and he nods.

“The sweet spot,” He murmurs, and you shiver. This has to be some sort of fucked up joke. “Everyone’s equally unhappy here. Price equals quantity demanded equals quantity supplied. No shortages. No surplus.”

He leans back just enough to look at you properly. You’re not confused, rather determined, staring at the sheet. 

He fiddles with the eraser, rings glinting in the light. “So what part loses you?”

“All of it,” you admit, “but especially those shifts…? Why do things move?”

His expression softens. You wonder if he’s finally realised you’re hopeless, but he starts speaking again, more determined.

“Okay, so,” He flips to a clean section of the page and starts again, slower this time, drawing the same silly diagrams and the same silly dots and scribbles. His plump lips curl in focus, making him look so handsome that your hands unclench and clench in your lap. “Think of demand shifting like your banana milk.”

Your heart flutters.

“You don’t always want it, right?” He says casually, like he hasn’t just seen you so viscerally. “Like if it’s hot outside, or you’re stressed, or the lecture was particularly boring, then you want it more. I bet you’d even pay more.”

He’s right, you think, but why does this all make sense now, with him? He rubs at the page with your cat-shaped eraser and shifts the curve, oblivious to your internal plight. “That’s a demand increase. Same price, more quantity demanded.”

You stare at the page, then at him. “You’re using me as an example.”

“Well,” he shrugs, too nonchalantly for how you feel looking at him. “You’re the first thing I thought of.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the paper. He’s still got your pencil so you can’t fidget, but you can smell his cologne, mixing with the scent of books in the library. It feels way too intimate and the furthest you’ve gone is your knees touching. You want more, but you have to focus.

“And supply, then… if things get cheaper, or easier to produce, you can make more so supply increases,” You try, quieter and uncertain, but he nods encouragingly. “I think this actually makes some sense when you explain it.”

Something unreadable flickers across his face - pride, perhaps. “Good,” he says, softer, “I want you to get it.”

You smile, taking a sip of your banana milk that has you humming with glee. Tasty. He mirrors you and takes a sip of his, sliding the worksheet back towards you, his fingers lingering just a second too long to tap on the words printed. He’s got the same letters written across his fingernails again. 

“Try the next question,” He nudges you. “I’ll stay here.”

It takes you a second to decode, but you start to scribble down things here and there, trying to make heads or tails of the question. Mingi is silent the whole time but you feel him watching what you’re doing, and you feel the weight of his arm when he lays it on the back of the chair behind you.

Within a few minutes you seem to have written something of note, and you slide the paper back to him silently. 

He clicks his tongue without saying a word and leans forward closer to the desk. Dark eyes narrow at the page and read over the few lines you’ve written, before he side eyes you with a satisfied smirk.

“Good girl,” It’s said teasingly, and he smooths your hair, too casual. Your tummy flips but his grin is content, unknowing, his eyes forming crescents, “see, I told you you’d get it. Try the next one.”

Somehow, it starts to seem easier with him around, and over time, he has to help you less and less. It doesn’t quell the burning in your gut, only igniting it to the point it starts to get unsufferable, and all you can do is try to ignore the flames. 

The next time he’s between your legs in your dreams is in your room again, and it feels so much more vivid now that you know more about him, about the way he speaks to you, the way he acts. 

“What a pretty fucking pussy,” He muses, eyes fixated directly on your core. He uses his thumbs to pull your lower lips apart, and you can see those letters on his nails. He watches your folds stick together with arousal once he lets go, groaning, running his fingertip up your slit - the contact makes you gasp, hips bucking tentatively for more. “Does she always get this wet?” he spits down on your mound, watching it drip, “fuck- fucking creamy, baby, shit.”

He lets out a little moan before he’s diving in. You can’t get any relief, trying to squirm away - his broad shoulders are spreading your thighs apart as well as pinning them, and his hands are still playing with your pussy while he tongues over your slit.

“Tasty too, good girl, mmf-“ he whines, moving to pull you closer by your ass instead, his rings biting into your skin. He says it the way he did in the library, and your cunt gushes so wet his lips click against it; the moan you let out is like you’re in distress, hand gripping onto the headboard. 

How does he know you like this? His lips suck over your clit and you wail, reaching down with your spare hand to push his head in. 

“Fuck, Mingi,” you gasp, writhing, “so fucking good, please-“ 

Yanking at his hair, you can’t help but grind your hips into his face. He doesn’t stop you, hands gripping you and pulling you in rhythm against his tongue, and you think he’s gonna make you cum already. It’s too quick, debilitating as you hump his fat tongue to your orgasm and you pull at dark strands, looking down your body to see dark, narrowed eyes staring right up at you and he groans deep against your folds, you’re so close, almost there-

This time you wake up horny but beyond fed up, almost ignorant to the throbbing between your legs. It’s quick and easy to make yourself cum with your fingers, sticking your hands down your pants to rub one out while thinking of soft lips and rapid rapper tongues, and after that it’s just another day of being haunted by him, you suppose. 

Except this time you have a study session at Mingi’s house, and you haven’t been there since the party. 

It may have been the excitement and nerves surrounding the plans that caused the dream, but you’re too tired to care about it, yawning over exaggeratedly and stretching the sleep away from your limbs. You’ve studied hard, had a few more sessions with him that weren’t romantically charged and watched countless videos online. You’ve even read some books, some that he gave you and some that you found yourself - you’re ready to impress him, glancing over at the many papers and folders in your bag.

However, despite the attempts to gain his praise, you’re beginning to accept that you’re doomed to a life without Mingi, or worse, a life with Mingi just as your friend. 

Every single time something appears to click between you, or you have what Wooyoung would call A Moment, something interrupts or distracts one of you. Then, the moment evaporates, and nothing happens. While you’ve been sitting on pins for days, waiting for something to happen - you’re also unsure something will happen.

You’re unsure if you’ve read the entire situation the wrong way, and he really is just a good, kind friend, and your insatiability has just driven you to blur the line between fantasy and reality.

When you finally get ready and go downstairs after doomscrolling on your phone, Wooyoung and San are both looking at you like the cats who got the cream. They’re standing in the kitchen, heads fully spun towards you while you hover in the doorway in your nice jeans with a tote bag on your shoulder. If it surprises either of them that you actually have books in your bag, they don’t say anything, only smiling wider when you bounce from foot to foot. 

You crumble first. “Okay, why are you guys staring at me?”

San answers your question with a question, sipping at his mug of coffee, “Where are you going?”

“You know where I’m going,” You scoff, crossing the kitchen to fill your water bottle up. Wooyoung parts from the sink to let you get there, but his smile doesn’t fall, so pleased your blood starts to boil. “It is not a big deal. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung says finally, and you groan, stomping your feet. “He’s wasting his time helping you study for a test you’re gonna fail anyway because he’s a good friend.”

You scrunch your nose up, “Wouldn’t you guys do that for me?”

“No,” they reply at the same time, and you screw your water bottle lid on, scowling.

“Wooyoung, you said he was kind. This is him being kind.”

“He’s trying to get in your pants, like, romantically,” San says, and you want to launch your water bottle at him. “Have you tried asking him? Kissing him, maybe?”

“He is tutoring me, Choi San.”

“You need to be tutored in more than economics if you’re this stupid.”

You gasp, affronted, “Since when could boys and girls not be friends?”

Wooyoung snorts, “Since the boy and girl in question both like each other and are being stupid about it.”

It pisses you off even more. They don’t know the situation you’re in, the moments the two of you have had where you think something might break through and every single time, nothing happens, and you’re reminded that it will never happen. It feels like they’re mocking you, and you mumble a “Whatever, goodbye,” that seems to be enough to placate them.

They wave you goodbye, and you choose not to tell them the extent of your hangout to avoid teasing - you’re going to his house. If they caught wind of this, they’d be buying wedding outfits and booking venues.

However, this could really prove catastrophic for you. The dreams were realistic already, but now if you have the information of what his bedroom looks like stored inside your brain, they’re only going to get worse - more variety, more realistic.

You think pathetic horny thoughts the entire walk there, nervous and excited at the same time, hands smoothing down your hair over and over as if the gentle fall breeze was going to make you look effortlessly cool. Not only are you going to his house - his room - you’re hyperaware of your body, of every movement you make, the ache between your legs that’s been lingering since you woke up; it all feels a little too much. 

When you knock on the front door, it swings open almost immediately.

“Mmm- hey, girl,” Mingi says, tall and looming, hair a little messy and curling at the ends, glasses on. His oversized tee is loose on his frame like he just woke up and threw it over his massive shoulders. He looks domestic, like he could be your real boyfriend - it’s exactly the version of him your dreams have been conjuring, and it’s getting to you before you’ve even walked through the door. “You’re right on time, look at that!”

“Hey,” Your voice is small, knees feeling weak.

He steps aside to let you in, and his place smells faintly like weed and, well, that scent of Mingi that you’ve been focused on since you met him. You can smell what must be someone cooking something delicious too, faintly, and when you focus you can hear his housemate tinkering around in the kitchen. 

His house looks different in the daytime. The sofas look lived in and comfortable and you can see the music memorabilia properly, rap album records and posters donning the walls. It seems they’re both very serious about this kind of stuff, and your brain betrays you instantly, noting everything for future dreams.

“Room’s this way,” he says, already turning down the hallway like he doesn’t see you taking everything in. You almost trip over a half-dead potted plant on your way.

His bedroom is smaller than you expect - you wonder if Hongjoong got the bigger room - and it’s neat but not too neat. His bed is made but the pillows are a little smushed, desk cluttered with papers with scribbled lines of writing, packs of rolling papers on his bedside table and empty baggies in the bin. A guitar sits in the corner, obviously well loved and with a large sticker on the corner of the body. He seems content with you looking around, trying to shuffle some papers into a neat pile until he flops down on the floor by his bed, patting the space next to him.

“We can spread out here,” he motions, brushing his hair out of his face, “I don’t have another chair for the desk, I’m sorry.”

You hesitate for a half second too long before joining him, back against the bed, knees bent. You’re so close that your legs touch again, and you shiver despite being used to it by now. He doesn’t move away.

“So,” he says, nodding towards your tote bag, “ready to actually pass this test? This is our last session.”

You grin, reaching into your bag. “I may surprise you.”

“Oh?” He raises a brow, smiling. “Now I’m excited. Don’t tell me you actually-“

You lay out your notes. You’ve not done a lot, but whether he was expecting something amazing or not it doesn’t matter, because the noise of awe he makes is all you need. Your colour coded, annotated tabs stick out from the textbook he gave you before, and his teasing expression drops, replaced with genuine surprise.

“You did.” He murmurs. “You actually studied.”

“Wow,” you say dryly, “you sound full of confidence in me.”

He laughs, shaking his head, flipping through a few pages, “no, not at all. This is good. I’m so impressed, y’know, you didn’t even care a few weeks ago?” his eyes scan your writing quickly, “you did elasticity? On your own? You didn’t even text me!”

You nod. “A demon came to me in a dream and taught it to me.”

Mingi pales, fingers paused on the tabs. “Please don’t joke like that.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “No, I actually just read the books you gave me and watched some videos online. It’s not too hard when someone explains it to you the way you need.”

Despite your last statement, a warm expression creeps over his face, pride softening his features. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit harder than they should. Your throat tightens, and you have to look back down at your notes so he doesn’t see the emotion spread across your face. 

“Okay,” he says, scooting a little closer, “let’s test you. Walk me through this one.”

He points to a practice question. You explain, a little slow at first because you haven’t talked about these things out loud before, but once you find your words it gets smoother. He listens intently, eyes on you, not the page; when you finish with a satisfied smile, he nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he says, “that’s it. Well done.”

“Oh,” you smile. “Really? That’s it?”

“You nailed it,” He confirms, and you swat at him again. Surely not. “I’m serious! See, it was always there. You just needed it explained in a way that made sense to you.”

Your knee nudges his when he shifts to point at another question, neither of you moving away. The room feels quieter, heavier, like the air has thickened. You keep going, question after question, and each time he needs to prompt you less and less. Sometimes he just watches you scribble away or think, stumbling over your words, his chin resting on his hand in a way that has to make the rings dig into him, expression soft and unreasonable.

At one point, you get stuck, frowning at a graph.

“Okay, wait,” you mutter, but he’s already there.

“Remember what we said about equilibrium?” He says gently, leaning over your shoulder. His arm comes up and behind you, on the mattress. He doesn’t seem to realise it, but it’s just like at the library, and you want to scowl at the effect he has on you. 

Your heart pounds, but you focus, staring at the page. “Equilibrium…”

“You already know this,” he points at the graph, finger dangerously close to yours, “you do, I promise. You’re just second-guessing yourself. Go with your gut.”

It feels like it means a million things at once. You glance up, and he’s closer than you expect - your breath stutters, and he continues looking at the page. His thumb flicks over a few of your tabs, considering.

“You know, it’s really cute that you put in this much effort,” he says absently, and your brain short circuits, stumbling out a few words that seem to make him snap awake. He finally looks at you, realises how it sounded and for a moment, neither of you move, looking at each other.

He laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think,” he says after a moment, “you’re gonna do way better than you think you are.”

The praise sits between you. He’s been giving you a lot of it, you think, and it feels like something unspoken is there. Neither of you reach for it, something that doesn’t surprise you. 

Instead, you sit shoulder to shoulder again, letting him show you how to understand economics as the sun dips lower and the room grows dimmer. Nothing happens again, and somehow that makes it worse, causing the knot in your tummy to tighten to an excruciating point. 

You’re really not sure what’s happening anymore. 

Dealing with vivid sex dreams about a man who doesn’t like you back is one thing, but dealing with them while said man is forcing you to study for a test is another thing. Still, if it hadn't been Song Mingi helping you you think you never would’ve studied, never would’ve bothered turning up for the test, and you would’ve been sitting on the same exact cheap plastic chair next semester resitting the entire thing.

You get to class a few minutes before the test starts, a mere few days after your last study session, Wooyoung in tow groaning about how ‘messed up the last minute test is’ - you don’t have the heart to tell him it was mentioned weeks ago and he just wasn’t listening so it can’t be considered last minute. You’re more focused on the crippling fear of you failing this test after all of the work you’ve done, the colour coded tabs and annotations that Mingi checked over to make sure you were on the right track, and you know that Mingi is never on time and so won’t be present to look over your notes with you. 

However, you walk into the room and see a carton of banana milk settled on your desk.

There’s only a few other people in here, you, Wooyoung and a few others, but a quick scan shows you Mingi is sitting in his seat and is doing very well at pretending to be occupied. He flips through a folder of notes, and you hover in the doorway, Wooyoung elbowing you frantically. 

“That’s-“ he gasps, “he- that’s-“

Your mind is racing yourself. Bringing one for you before when you studied was one thing, but he’s brought you one before the test that could determine your fate with this class, and he’s acting like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t shattered your heart into a million pieces that he actually fucking thought of you, unprompted.

Wooyoung continues spluttering behind you as you continue to your desk, waving at Mingi on his way, and you shoot him a look filled with nerves and want. He’s even put the straw in ready for you, so when you sit down, you take a grateful sip instantly. Mid-sip, Wooyoung snatches it from your hand to see a scribbled good luck note stuck on the other side, complete with a drawing of a chicken holding his own carton of milk.

“This is ridiculous,” He mumbles, running a hand through his newly cherry red hair, grabbing the paper between two fingers, “you two are playing a game that does not need to be played.”

“Whatever that means,” you sigh, snatching it back.

Avoiding staring at the side of your crush’s head, you look back down at the milk, contemplating while the class fills up. It’s not long until the professor comes in, and lays down the paper tests on everyone’s desks. Everyone looks nervous apart from Wooyoung, who just generally does not care, and Mingi, who you know is more than prepared. 

A few minutes go by while she talks, and when the class is allowed to start you look down at the questions and hang on… you actually know what this test is talking about. You shoot Mingi a look and he’s already staring at you, smiling with his teeth like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. It hurts your heart, but you smile back, shooting him a nod filled with everything he needs to know.

The test goes by like a breeze, banana milk aiding you along the way. You’re not convinced you’ve done amazing, per se, but you think you’ve done well enough to pass. The entire class pours out at the end of the hour before you have the chance to tell Mingi that you think you’ve done alright. Still, the professor tells you that she’ll upload everyone’s grades online later today, and you hope that you have the chance to talk to him later, for him to tell you how well you’ve done. 

Your mind runs with thoughts as Wooyoung yaps the entire way home. He talks about how hard the test was, how annoying the professor is, how you’ve probably done just fine with the star student’s help, and then he pauses in his tracks on the way home. 

“Speaking of,” he says, pointing a finger at you, “are you going to Mingi’s party tonight?”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat, and you lick your lips, swallowing hard, mouth suddenly feeling insanely dry.

He hasn’t invited you. If he hasn’t invited you to his party, then that definitely means that there’s nothing between you, that you really have just overanalysed things in your head. It feels like life couldn’t be any crueler to you right now.

You swallow again. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you say, and Wooyoung’s brow rises, red hair flicking around his jaw due to the wind. He sees right through you. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t invited.”

He scowls, “That’s fucked up, especially with how much time you spend together.” He mumbles, contemplating. The two of you start to walk again before he continues, his hands shoved in his pockets, “whatever, you’re coming with us anyway.”

“I can’t turn up there after he didn’t invite me. You’re deranged.”

“That is exactly what you did last time.”

He leaves no room to argue, and when you cross the threshold to your front door, San is perched on the sofa waiting for your arrival. He’s shoving food into his face, cheeks puffed out beyond belief but he perks up upon your return, eyes forming crescents and hands quickly moving to the TV remote to pause whatever he’s got on. Another soppy drama show, you think, since he looks flushed like he’s just been emotional over it.

“How did the test go?!” He shrieks, stumbling over bare-foot in shorts that show too much thigh. Wooyoung’s eyes linger on his bare skin and you scoff. 

“It went fine,” you say, walking in to collapse on the sofa next to the San-shaped dip, “I think I may have scraped a pass. Grades are out later.”

Unfortunately, despite you wanting anything but, you press play on the show that San’s watching and it engrosses you. The boys take themselves out to the kitchen, you assume to fix you all something to eat. From what you can gather, the show is an old one about some kids in school trying to become K-Pop idols. It does seem pretty emotional, but the only thing you can cry over right now is a tall rapper that doesn’t want you. 

It only takes a few minutes, but a loud, hysterical laugh from Wooyoung from the other room makes you sigh. Something’s happened, and you hear the telltale sound of feet clambering down the hallway to thrust his phone in your face, all bright smiles and too-red hair.

“Grades are out already,” He’s still laughing, motioning to the block letters, a number sixty on his screen, “how the fuck did I pass?”

San walks in laughing behind him, hands clapping on your other friend’s shoulders in glee, “I have no idea how you did it but I’m so proud.”

Your chest clenches. Shit. They’re out already? Either that’s a good sign for the class or a very, very bad sign, but you dig in your pocket and pull your phone out to unlock it. No texts from Mingi, not that you expected any, but you quickly open up your student portal and sign in, clicking through the pages you need to get to the class overview. 

It takes too long to load. Wooyoung drops into the San-shaped dip and San leans over him, two sets of peering eyes focused on your phone screen, and they’re both completely silent as they wait. You think San’s stopped breathing. The loading circle spins mockingly, over and over, and then the page loads.

Sixty-two.

Wait.

“Oh my god, I fucking-”

“You passed!” Wooyoung screams, shaking you by the shoulders. “Do you know what this means? Shit, baby, I’m so proud!”

You know what this means. You don’t have to resit that class, you don’t have to ever bother with a stupid economics class at all ever again, you never have to see that professor again, and you have Song Mingi to thank for it all. It feels like a joint achievement, if anything, and you want to text him and tell him and thank him but - should you? Is that okay?

San and Wooyoung bounce around the living room screaming and shouting so loud that you get brought back to reality.

“I fucking passed,” you breathe in disbelief, and San cheers again.

“Hell yeah, you did!” He hugs you, warm and grounding and so nice but not what you want at all. “We’re so proud. We’re gonna get drunk, and high, and go have fun at your boyfriend’s party-”

“San,” Wooyoung pauses, face suddenly straight, shaking his head solemnly, “not her boyfriend. In fact, he didn’t even invite her.”

San’s jaw drops. “He… what? But I thought you-”

“Yeah, I know.” Wooyoung grumbles. You want them to talk more, eyebrow raising, tossing your phone to the floor haphazardly. It’s already smashed enough, you don’t even think it could smash anymore.

“You know what?” You narrow your eyes, and both boys shake their heads too quickly. That’s weird. “Tell me what you know. Now.”

San waves his hand in your face, trying to calm you down, “Just that you two were getting close. I promise, that’s all I’ve been told.”

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Wooyoung shrugs, too easy. It makes you want to scream. “You’re coming with us anyway, baby. I couldn’t care less what Song Mingi thinks his guestlist is.”

“Hey.” San says, weak. “He is actually a really nice guy.”

You groan, flailing your limbs, and they finally shut up - or at least they start talking about something else.

By the time you get to the party, your head spins, more drunk than you ever have been, feeling nice in your pretty dress and your best boots. The boys had insisted that a strong pregame was essential to celebrate yours and Wooyoung’s results, and Wooyoung fixes your makeup for you at the front door, too sober for your liking, thumbs smudging your eyeliner perfectly.

It’s a little like you’re entering the lion’s den, preparing to be eaten, but your brain hasn’t let you fully understand who’s house you’re entering and the fact that you weren’t even originally invited, too tipsy to care. 

San swings the front door open like he lives there, cheering with a happy, intoxicated flush on his face at whoever he sees first, and you let him introduce you to a few people while you giggle along and smile politely. It turns out a few of these people already know who you are, from the boys mentioning you you presume, so it’s easy to mingle and drink a little more when they offer it.

Your head spins. A little embarrassed, you remind yourself it’s a damn celebration. You never thought you would’ve passed that class.

Wooyoung drags you along to the kitchen, forcing another drink in your hand, and you get an immense sense of deja vu. This time, he’s learned and it’s a rum and coke he places into your grip, while you feel present physically and not mentally. San catches up to you after a while, joining in on whatever conversation the other man is leading seamlessly, and you nod and hum along like you know what’s happening, swaying in your spot.

Two big, firm hands land on your shoulders, and Wooyoong’s eyes widen comically at the figure behind you. 

“You came!” It’s slurred, but you’d know that voice anywhere - Mingi, in front of you when you turn around, black tank top tight and cargo trousers baggy. You feel lightheaded for a different reason all of a sudden, eyes scraping down big shoulders, big arms and even bigger thighs, the way his body tightens at his waist, the way he slings an arm around you like it belongs there. He smells of tequila and bad mistakes, and in any other situation you’d question his behaviour but now, inebriated, you’re leaning in, inhaling deeply for more, letting him ramble on in that deep, soothing voice. “I’m so happy you came! I didn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come, I wasn’t sure-“ he hiccups, “I wasn’t sure you’d want to, y’know? It’s not your type of-“

“You’re right, she probably would’ve said no,” San manages for you, and you nod along. 

“They dragged me here again, ‘cause of my test results,” you laugh airily, and Mingi’s eyes widen, round and dark, his hands way too present on your body. He moves down to grip your waist, pulling you into him, and you clock that he’s as drunk as you are - you know that he’d never do this sober, but the warmth of his torso against yours is so nice that you can’t complain. You see Wooyoung trying to drag San away from the corner of your eye.

Mingi huffs out an impatient breath, staring directly into your eyes. It makes your thighs tremble and he raises an eyebrow as if to prompt you, “Your test. How did you do? Why didn’t you-“ he swallows hard, trying to catch his breath, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you invite me, for real?” You blurt, a bit bolder now that you’re alone - perhaps it’s knowing that Wooyoung can’t see you now, but definitely due to the liquid confidence flowing through you. He at least has the decency to look guilty at your words, one hand coming to the back of his neck.

“I- I’m sorry,” He says earnestly, bouncing from one foot to another, too full of energy and the tequila, “I should have. There was no other- no other reason, I just really didn’t think it’d be your scene.”

You frown. He’s probably right, but he doesn’t know that you’d do anything, go anywhere for him. “I- uhm,” you sip your drink, eyes flickering to the back door. It’s ajar, people milling in and out past you both but like before, the kitchen is quieter than everywhere else. You manage to look back at him, voice quiet when you speak, “I passed, Mingi. I managed to- well, I barely passed the class, but I passed. Thank you for-“

You’re cut off by his arms wrapping around you. He shouts with glee, shaking you around in his grip and causing your drink to splash a bit. If he’s bothered by the liquid leaking on his skin he doesn’t show it, pulling back from you with a huge grin that you can’t help but mirror, issues forgotten. He’s jostled your bag off your shoulder, and you scoop it back up as he gets noticeably more excited, smile growing wider. 

“Do you know how proud of you I am?” He gushes, eyes honest, and you melt. Your heart soars, and you smile so wide it hurts your cheeks - this is all you had wanted. Mingi pulls you back into another hug. 

This time, it lasts longer and he holds you close, letting you feel his warmth and you wrap your arms around his middle, content. It’s nice, his dark hair tickling your neck as he nuzzles into the crook there - you hear him take a deep breath, holding you closer, and it makes you feel satisfied, somewhat. If this is all you can get, this is okay, you’re sure you can deal with this.

But Mingi pulls away, and something in his eyes tells you despite the alcohol, he knows what’s going on, knows what he wants, knows that you’re feeling it too.

“I’m so proud of you, so fucking proud,” His chest heaves. He smells of tequila but beneath it, you can smell him, and it makes you lean in closer, head dizzy. “Can I just…?”

“Just what?” You ask, fingers curling around his forearms in the hopes it grounds you - it makes you worse, letting out a whimper at the feeling of his skin on yours that you can’t quite hide, “Mingi, t-tell me.”

He licks his lips, shaking his head as if to get rid of some of his thoughts, dark hair tousling and he looks so handsome, looking down at you over his sunglasses with uncertainty. It looks like he wants to say too many things at once, with no clue on where to start.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and your breath hitches. What? “I- I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”

Nodding before you can question why, when, what or how, Mingi leans forward, nose nudging yours, finally pressing his lips against you. It’s as satisfying as you always thought it would be, and he’s nothing but enthusiastic - he’s immediately letting his tongue push between your lips and into your mouth so far it pushes against your teeth, like he’s trying to swallow you whole. His fists grip into the fabric of your dress and pull you into him, moving down to grip onto your waist and keep you close, afraid you may try to run away now that he’s finally gotten you.

You kiss him back with just as much enthusiasm, placing wet, open mouthed kisses on his lips when he tries to pull away because you can’t help yourself - is this really happening, for real? He tastes of tequila, jager and Mingi, and you open your mouth in a jagged moan for more. 

When he sees how impatient you are, he cracks. He pushes you against the wall and forces his tongue back into your mouth, moaning, gravelly and deep from his chest; your legs start to tremble, and he reaches down with a strong arm and hooks one of your legs around his waist.

“Oh,” You moan at the way he moves you around easily, his heavy breaths spilling into your mouth. He’s impatient, fingers scrambling at the bare skin of your leg, touching you as much as he can in a split second like he’s still scared it’ll be over soon. He rocks forward with his hips and meets your core, clothed but you’re sure he can feel how wet you are just from being in his presence, finally feeling his lips against yours for real and not in a dream. “Oh, shit-“

“So pretty,” He murmurs, kissing you again, accidentally rutting against your cunt once, twice, before he forces himself to stop. You can barely focus, unbelieving that he’s real, right in front of you, touching you and kissing you like this - but you’ll be damned if you’re not getting answers. “So gorgeous, lovely girl,” he breathes, urgent, eager, “so smart, so proud, mm-“

He moves away again, sucking over your neck, and you take the moment to speak hoarsely, “Mingi, what- what is this? What’s… what’s going on here?”

“I-“ He freezes. His lips hover at your skin before he pulls away just enough to look at you, palms unclenching and clenching at your waist like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “… Isn’t it obvious?” He asks quietly. “Do I have to say it?”

There’s no smugness or cockiness in his tone anymore, only hesitation, like he’s standing on the edge of something and afraid he’ll fall if he says it out loud. You read his face for something, anything that tells you how he feels, but all you see is need, his eyebrows knitting together in pure desire - it just confuses you more. 

“No,” You say, even though it’s a lie and you wish you did know, kissing the corner of his mouth once again - hoping it channels the gentleness and encouragement that you need to show, not the nerves of wanting something so seriously that it feels like it may shatter your insides. It seems to work, because he kisses you again, rings biting into your thigh when he grips you firmer.

Hands moving to Mingi’s hair, you pull lightly at the strands, bringing him as close to you as possible. He groans at the slight pain, nose nudging yours as he devours your mouth, lips so plump and overwhelming that you try your best to kiss back but are left whimpering into his mouth. He controls it, just as you imagined he would, moving you this way and that; he nips at your bottom lip, prompting you to open your mouth and let him massage his tongue over yours, almost useless while he consumes you. 

You think your dreams are going to be way too vivid from here on out, overwhelmed with the knowledge of what he actually tastes like and how he actually holds you - unsure but desperate. He’s good at this too, and you curse yourself; he’s perfect, he’s everything, and this is probably going to be all you’ll get, a drunken kiss in his kitchen.

“We can set up the beer pong in here-” 

Mingi springs from you like he’s been burned. His cheeks are flushed, lips slick with a mixture of your spit and he spins around to see Hongjoong, looking just as guilty as he did in the last party when he interrupted you but without his tiara, jaw slack, shocked, round eyes flitting between the two of you.

“Or not.” He offers. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you two had finally-“

Mingi starts to babble loudly, drowning out the shorter man, hands waving and mouth making some incoherent high pitched noises that have your eyebrows knitted in confusion. Your chest is still heaving against his damn kitchen wall as you try to catch your breath, yanking down the hem of your dress and he continues babbling - you just about catch the end, when he says, clear as day, “There is nothing going on here.”

Your heart starts to race. Right. You knew that, really, but - well, for a second, you’d hoped that it really was going to be something, forgetting that you’re drunk and so is he and you’re still standing in his kitchen ramrod straight like you’ve been electrocuted. He didn’t even have the decency to take you away to his room - why would he bother, you think, damning yourself for letting your brain run away with hope and excitement. He could have hidden you away from prying eyes and Hongjoong, who seems to interrupt anything good you’ve ever been given by the world, but he didn’t. 

It was nothing. An accident, even. Something you shouldn’t have ever dreamed of.

Speaking of Hongjoong, he huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “It didn’t look like-“

“It was nothing,” You cut him off this time, voice a lot more stable than you feel. You don’t look at Mingi, but from the corner of your eye you see something written on his face, something guilty and upset and like he’s at war with himself, and you can’t be bothered to spend any more time trying to figure him out tonight. “It wasn’t anything. Hey, have you seen San and Wooyoung?”

Hongjoong nods, a small pout on his lips. “Living room. Seriously, sorry about that, I-“

“It was nothing,” You repeat, and he nods again, accepting it - finally. You hear some commotion as you turn your back, hushed whispers that again, you don’t have the energy to try to decipher.

Beelining towards the living room, you’re pleased that San and Wooyoung can tell just by the look on your face that you’re ready to leave. They spring up from the sofa, drinks discarded, arms coming to your frame to usher you to a quieter place - it ends up being outside, in their front lawn, and it happens before you even process it’s coming.

Gagging, your body folds, and you vomit right on your crush’s front lawn, just about avoiding your nice boots. Wooyoung stifles his laugh - not very well - and San elbows him behind you, unamused, hand rubbing up your back. 

“That’s alright, get it up,” He soothes. “Jeez, we shouldn’t have let you drink this much. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“I wanna know what the hell happened,” Wooyoung argues, and the other man sighs loudly in response, making him groan. “Fine. We’ll talk when we get home.”

The walk home is longer than you remember, made even worse by how your tummy still flips. You’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the kiss or Hongjoong interrupting or it being nothing or some fucked up combination of all of it but you hold back sobs the whole way home, arms enveloping your middle until you finally cross the threshold into your house.

The boys move quickly into the kitchen. Wooyoung still eyes you, unimpressed that he’s left in the dark but he starts to fill up three plain glasses of water, hopefully to calm all of you down but San simply waits, arms folded over a broad chest, eyebrow raised until you finally decide to speak.

“He didn’t…” You breathe. Your handbag drops to the floor unceremoniously, lipgloss and compact clattering out of the bag, and San moves to pick them up before you can even ask him to. Wooyoung moves to you, quick across the kitchen to put his arms around your frame. “I don’t think it’s like that between us. He- Mingi didn’t say he liked me, or anything, we just… Well, we kissed, but…”

Tears are starting to form in your eyes. San and Wooyoung share a look, and San appears bewildered, “What do you mean?” He shoves your things back into your bag, pushing it onto the table, eyes soft when he turns to you, “honey, I can’t put this any simpler. You are awful at economics, and the man offered to tutor you. Even Woo wouldn’t waste his time like that just for some sex.”

“It’s true,” Wooyoung says, hands gentle where they soothe over your shoulders, “I feel it in my gut that he likes you back. Really.”

“Then,” you sniffle, “why didn’t he-“

“Tomorrow, no alcohol, you and Mingi are having a conversation,” he urges, “all the cards on the table. I’m sick and tired of seeing you pining.”

You sigh, “It won’t solve anything. He doesn’t like me like that. He can’t like me like that, I know it.”

“Would you listen to yourself?” Wooyoung laughs, “he had his tongue in your mouth less than an hour ago. You’re drunk and sad, he was drunk and Mingi. You both need to get some sleep and talk tomorrow.”

Turning to San, you expect a different response, but he gives you the same look - slightly amused at your unneccessary plight, but very firm. Tomorrow, you’ll be embarrassed that you got so drunk over passing a test that you made out with your crush and cried in your kitchen to your friends, but right now you’re too tired and sad to care. He hands you your bag, items back in safely, and the other man ushers you to your bedroom, not minding at all that you’re sniffling and whining the entire way there. 

The pretty boots you chose for tonight are pulled off by Wooyoung while you sniffle and drizzle on the end of your bed. He doesn’t seem to mind, letting you mess up your mascara and your eyeliner in dark tracks down your cheeks until he sighs so loudly, seriously that it shocks you. He throws your boots on the floor by the door. 

“Promise me,” he says, and then storms over to place his hands on your shoulder. You think he’s still a little drunk too, but he says it with so much conviction that your tears stop in their tracks, eyes round and vulnerable as you look up at him. “Promise me that once you wake up in the morning, you will talk to the man.”

You sniffle, folding your arms over your chest like a child, “Don’t want to anymore.”

“Barefaced lie,” San snorts, and you blink through wetness to see him standing at the door. Was he always there? “Sweetheart, you’ve been making this entirely more complicated than it needs to be.”

Wooyoung pulls your dress over your head and slides a big, oversized t-shirt straight back over you - you think it’s one of his, the hem too stretched and the print a little stained with hair dye. “Tomorrow, full honesty,” He points a finger in your face that makes you go cross-eyed. “Promise me. No more lies. No more beating around the bush. Everything gets said.”

“I promise, Wooyo,” you garble, although now that you’ve stopped crying, all you can feel is exhaustion taking over your body. 

Your body hits your mattress before you recognise you’re falling, and Wooyoung tuts, covering you with your blanket. Everything’s so comfortable all of a sudden, and you feel a hand move a pillow underneath your head to support it - it feels like a damn cloud.

The last thing you register is San’s laugh and the sound of a camera shutter before you pass out.

It’s almost annoying this time, after the almost-confession. 

Mingi heaves deep, staggered breaths into your neck, wearing the same outfit from the party last night - baggy cargos, too many chains, a tight tank top. A bead of sweat drips from already damp, long, dark hair, down the tempting curve of his neck and you’re already won over, too desperate for him to care, reaching up to drag your tongue up his skin. 

“Fu-uck, that’s it,” He moans, deep, gravelly, hands determined where they pull down your shorts. You’re left in your panties, edges of your vision fuzzy with your dream and he’s quick to crowd into your space again, thick thighs forcing yours apart. He makes quick work of his trousers, undoing the button and forcing them past his ass just enough to rut his boxer clad erection against your pussy. “There, there you go honey, fuck, move against me-“

You do, writhing and bucking your hips to grind your swollen clit against his bulge over and over, letting him move from your neck to your lips. He kisses your mouth finally, and fuck you know what he’s like now, enthusiastic and all consuming. His tongue forces into your mouth just like it did earlier, when this was real. His lips are slick against yours because he’s so messy with it, desperate and bucking against you like he can’t get enough. 

You can’t, either, and with desperate fingers moving to his boxers frantically you beg, “Mingi, please, inside, wan’it-“

He groans, long and broken, rings biting into your skin when he grips your hips and pulls you down hard against him, “Yeah, want it inside, my girl? Can you take it for me?”

My girl. Your head spins, your hands scrambling for purchase against the sheets, his arms, anything, finally gripping wet strands and tugging. Mingi whines this time, too high pitched to be normal, and you struggle to direct his attention to you until his fingertips curl around the waistband of your panties and pull down. He yanks them off your ankle, your leg hanging in the air when he moves back over you and thrusts down again, into your newly exposed cunt, wet and wanting.

“Answer me,” He’s determined, rocking against you so steadily you’re worried you might cum from just this, “can you? Tell me you want me to fuck you, baby, please, tell me- tell me you can take it.”

“I can t-take it,” you cry out without a beat, and he nods, meeting your lips again, “inside, inside-“

It seems to work to convince him, and he leans back on muscled thighs. You take him in, the broad expanse of his shoulders and the way he tapers in at the waist, down to the beginning of his Calvin boxers. 

He pulls up the fabric of his tank top just enough to let you see it, the beginning of his happy trail, and it’s never gone this far before. You pull yourself up onto your elbows, excited but nerves going haywire, spread eagle and naked from the waist down, and he finally starts to pull at the waistband. 

Down, down, and the smattering of hair at his base has you gasping, toes curling where your legs lay relaxed over his, and you see the base, and then-

You wake up with shorts so wet that you know you’ve orgasmed in your sleep, and now you’re certain it’s gone too far.

Without needing to make yourself cum like every other morning one of these vivid dreams occurred, you have a clear head and can only think that something has got to give. Looking back on what your friends said last night, it feels right that you and Mingi should talk today, completely sober and with clear judgement. It’s probably the best move. 

You’d be embarrassed of your behaviour if you didn’t know that Wooyoung and San loved you no matter what, and also they know better than anyone that Song Mingi has been giving you a tough fucking time.

Although the idea has your stomach twisting a little with anxiety, it’s time to be brave, and you roll over to grab your phone… only to see that Mingi has had the exact same idea. 

[9:13am] mingi: hey, we should talk. should i come over?

You blink at the text. Sighing, groaning, and sighing again, it’s obvious you have to reply - it was only sent a half hour ago - so you send a quick okay and crawl out of bed. You’re hungover, sure, with a soft pain in the back of your head but the determination takes over anything else you feel. 

Everything feels a little melancholic as you walk around, back hunched over, but you have to know even if it hurts you. You do not want to go another day with any uncertainty. 

It only takes fifteen minutes for a knock at your door to sound. It’s given you time to get yourself ready, in another cute loungewear set with simple makeup and hair just barely brushed, and when you open the door Mingi looks worse than you feel. 

He’s dressed a lot more casually than normal, beanie pulled over his head tight and jumper oversized and hanging off of his frame. A fleeting thought asks you how big it’d be on you, and you shake your head, forcing it out of your brain. When you don’t say anything, he awkwardly tugs at his tote bag on his shoulder, pulling at the bottom of his beanie like he’s got too much energy in his body and doesn’t know what to do with it.

He looks so cosy and domestic that you think that you might just burst into tears in his face.

“It’s nice to see you,” your voice warbles, and Mingi scratches his neck awkwardly, pre-roll in his other hand. That tells you all you need to know. “Should we go to my room?”

“Yeah, I think that’s best,” He sighs, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him and you groan internally. He’s normally the picture of confidence, save for the few times you two have… well, you still don’t know. 

This is going to end worse than you thought it would, you think, perhaps even getting to the point where you can’t even be friends anymore. Still, Wooyoung made you swear you’d be honest to the man, and you try not to break promises, especially not when it’s one of your best friends.

Leading him up the stairs, you take him to your room, and he falls on the bed like it’s his own, pulling that same teddy he likes onto his lap, running a hand over his face in exasperation. When he pulls his beanie off, his hair springs up fluffy and brown and cute, and all you can do is hand him the ashtray wordlessly so that you don’t scream. 

He pulls out the same pink lighter you saw him have last time, burning the end of the joint’s paper off and waiting for it to level. You’re not expecting him to speak yet, settling on your bed across from him with your knees pulled up, picking at a loose thread to avoid staring at him, but he swallows hard and sighs.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you yesterday,” he says, and your heart drops. “I’m sorry. I should’ve- I should’ve talked to you first, explained how I feel. It’s been killing me. I especially shouldn’t have kissed you when we were both so drunk, but I-”

“I clearly enjoyed it as much as you,” Honesty, and you try to smile, but it doesn’t reach your ears. Mingi eyes you like he knows, taking the first drag of the joint. “It’s okay. I understand, it was just a drunken kiss and it’s not-”

“What?” Mingi laughs incredulously, “is that really what you think? Do you think I kiss people like that normally?”

You falter. Well, no, you’d hope not, but you hadn’t really had anything to go by.

A longer drag, and he eyes you again, before it seems to dawn on him and his lips curl up in amusement. His tongue drags over his teeth, eyes looking you up and down. Fuck. “You really have no idea, do you?” He hands it to you, leaning back on his hands on the bed, “I’m obsessed with you. Why do you think I asked to tutor you? I mean, no offence, but you were kind of a-”

“A lost cause, yeah, I know,” you inhale. Then, it clicks in your brain, and you blink at him. “Sorry, you’re obsessed with me?”

“For as long as I can remember,” honest, frank, straight. Your head spins, but you inhale a little more, trying to formulate your thoughts better. “Since before we even spoke. I thought that’s why the guys brought you to my party in the first place.”

Hold on. You ash the joint, handing the ashtray and the smoking stick back to Mingi, “Wooyoung and San knew?”

He shrugs. His cheeks are pink, from nerves or the weed you don’t know, but he carries on speaking like he needs to get it all out in one go or he never will. His eyes avert from you, fiddling with the long drawstrings of his sweatpants, “I don’t know about them. Hongjoong and Yunho knew, that’s why they were acting so fuckin’ weird.” He chuckles breathlessly. “Trying to sell me out, honestly, and this whole thing has been so embarrassing. I tried so hard to get close to you and then- then I fucked it up by not being able to tell you how I feel. I’m not very good at that.”

It makes you pause. Mingi, all along, has been going through somewhat of a similar dilemma as you - and suddenly everything makes sense. The banana milk, the studying, the way he spoke to you at the first party, the way he’s been speaking to you - you’re talking before you even realise you are. 

Honesty, Wooyoung said. You’ll stick to that.

“Mingi, this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve had a lot of these really frequent, vivid dreams about you in the past month or so,” you say, breathless, “some before we even started talking to each other."

As soon as it comes out of your mouth, you feel like dying. Mingi doesn’t stop smoking though. He even smokes more, inhaling longer, nodding with every word you say before he finally seems to process it. The flush seems to extend down to his neck, and he yanks at his jumper, pulling at the collar to get air - once the joint’s in your hold, he clears his throat, gulps a few mouthfuls of water down from a bottle he pulls from his tote bag. “I- That’s good to know. Normal dreams, or dirty?”

He’s… okay with it? He’s actually being way more casual about this than you thought he would be. This is the same guy that gets freaked out when he thinks about the concept of demons. You finish the joint and snuff it out, discarding the ashtray to your bedside table.

“A bit of both. Mostly dirty, but like, we were together in them. A little domestic,” You admit. He cracks a grin, showing those teeth that you fell for, and you can’t help but smile back. It is a little funny. A little crazy too, though. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

Mingi shrugs. “Not really, it’s not your fault. You must’ve just had a crush on me too. You know we don’t choose our dreams? Scientists say it’s just stuff from our subconscious, I read about it online.”

No way. You blink. You blink again, and he’s still there in your room sitting with you, the guy from your dreams, grinning crookedly and looking ever so delighted with himself. 

“Or,” He coughs. “It could have been the lines I was writing trying to manifest you in my life. Maybe it worked.”

“Mingi… that’s fucking crazy.”

He swallows hard. His eyes are a little red from the weed, but the flush on his cheeks is from solely nerves now, you know. “Well, I had to do something from a distance. You’re hard to approach - y’know, you seem shy - but you’re really cool. And so fuckin’ pretty, you must know that, right?” He huffs out a quiet laugh, embarrassed, “I’ve definitely had dreams about you, too.”

“It’s not shy,” You say softly. “I’m just awkward.”

There’s something fragile in the way he’s positioned now, something you haven’t seen in Mingi yet - something hopeful but hesitant, like he’s worried he’ll scare you off any second - it’s different to last night with no confidence from his rum. When his brows lift, eyes flickering with uncertainty because you haven’t said enough yet, you realise that you never ever want to be the reason he doubts himself again. 

“Mingi,” you say, steady even though your heart is racing, “I think I’ve been obsessed with you for a long time. Like, a long time. After this, you never have to doubt that.” You inhale, “Not having you was killing me. The dreams felt so real, and I fell for you so quickly but the way you acted around me… It was so up and down. I didn’t know if you felt anything at all, or if it was-“

He’s moving mid sentence to meet your lips with his, decisive and a little desperate. He tastes like weed and Mingi, enticing, and you melt into it, following his mouth without thinking - how did you hold yourself back from jumping him last night, when he’s real, here, in front of you? 

His lips are buttery, grounding against yours, and when you reach out to touch his arms he finally exhales and pulls you closer, yanking you onto his lap on your bed with his hands at your waist.

He mumbles against your mouth, words stumbling out between breaths, “I tried- I did try to tell you how I felt, I just- fuck, I don’t know how to-“

“I know,” You manage, and this time you really do. Two people circling each other, both too excited, too unsure, mistaking intensity for indifference. “I thought… I thought you just wanted something physical after last night, maybe, I didn’t know.”

“God, no,” He chuckles, throwing his head back for a second with closed eyes. “I just get so excited I don’t shut up, and none of what I say ever comes out right.“

“I understand,” Your hand strokes over his hair. It’s said with purpose this time - you really mean it. With Mingi, it was never fear; it’s excitement, pure and unfiltered, knocking everything else out of order, and now that he has permission to show it he can’t stop himself.

The kisses he lays on your neck prove it to you that this is possible, you and him. It’s possible and it’s happening right now, your thighs clenching around his and hands moving to roam down his body, over his broad shoulders and firm chest as he sucks on your neck. 

“Fuck,” Mingi breathes. “I feel like I’m dreaming. You’re unreal, baby.”

“I’m right here,” You laugh, because it’s insane he would say that to you, knowing that his mere presence has you feeling like you’re away with the fairies and has been for a while now. “I’m right here, Min, fuck, do you wanna- get this off, please-“

He pulls back and tugs his oversized jumper off by the back of the neck, launching it somewhere in the room and leaning back for you to follow his body - you do, chasing his heat, but with your eyes down. The removal exposed planes of tan skin, muscles that rival the ones you’d fantasised about. It’s soft to touch too, satin under your fingers as you slide your fingers down the muscles of his tummy.

“Pretty,” You murmur, and he shivers under your touch, breath hitching. “You are. I’ve- I’ve thought about how you look, but this is even better, Min.”

“Oh, baby,” He moans at your words, hands sliding under your shirt and onto your skin. He gives you a hesitant look, and you nod, before he’s sliding them upwards and cupping your breasts over your bra. He lets them sit in his hands for a bit, kissing over your jaw again before he slides his fingers underneath the lace. They’re a little cold, and when his fingertips hit your nipples you shiver, further collapsing into his hold, but he takes your weight easily. “So good, fuck, they feel so- can I- can you take your shirt off? I want to see.”

You pull it off over your head quickly, baring your bralette and Mingi’s palms situated under the fabric, and he moans, quickly sliding his hands out to look at them. He exhales, eyes fixated as he starts to pull at your nipples, and you don’t know if you’re just sensitive or if it’s because it’s him, but your spine arches into him with a gentle noise. 

“Fuck, so pretty, so pretty. Like that, that’s okay?” He murmurs, and you nod eagerly, making him pinch them again, on the line between pleasure and pain, “tell me more about your dreams. What was I like?”

His fingers flick over the nubs until they yank at the lace, hard and swollen, and he pulls your bralette over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up. You gasp when his head ducks down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, your hand going to dark strands to keep him there - but you remember he asked you something.

“You… talked a lot,” you admit, embarrassed but he hums around your nipple, encouraging. You whimper and continue, writhing, “You were nice, but- dirty. Pervy. Am I- was I right?”

Mingi pops off your bud. “Well, your dreams sound a lot more innocent than mine,” he grins easily, lips slick and cheeks pink, “I had you bent over my desk with one of my songs playing. So yeah, I guess I am a pervert.”

It shocks you so bad that you don’t make a noise when he moves you, pushing you back on his dark bedsheets and moving over your body. He’s so big above you, just like you imagined, using one strong arm for support and leaning down to kiss you filthy again. 

He tangles his tongue with yours again as he fiddles with the button of your jeans, eventually managing to flick it open and tug the zipper down. You wrestle out of the denim underneath him, giggling when it gets caught at your knees; Mingi lets out an amused huff, smoothing your hair down like he did in the library, fond. 

Eventually, you’re left in your underwear wanting him to strip, too, but he pushes your legs apart. “This- this is okay?” He asks again, against your lips, and moans when you nod, “I didn’t want to last night, when we’d been drinking. I wanted it to be special, baby, I-“

“I know,” you say, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, landing on his lips when his skin begins to heat in embarrassment, “but I think if you don’t fuck me soon I might die.”

“We’re not drunk now,” his breath is impatient, heavy, and his spare hand moves down to brush against your panties, where the cotton is slick between your legs, “I’m high as hell though, and this pussy feels wet. G’na let me touch it?”

Fuck. Your head spins, like the high is returning but stronger because it’s Mingi; you’re finally here, beneath him, his to touch, his to hold. “You can touch it,” you heave, “I wanna touch you too. Please, I think about it so much, I wanna- wanna see it.”

Mingi’s face crumbles in a desperate noise, but he doesn’t move from his position, kissing you again like he can’t get enough of it.

When he speaks, you can hear him holding back, voice strained, “Not yet, baby. Let me taste it first, yeah? Then you can, I promise.”

“Okay,” you breathe against him, squirming when he rubs his fingertips over your panties, right where your clit is. He feels the pudge and brings his thumb down over it a few times, firm, and you let out a strangled whine. You hope San and Wooyoung are out, but you didn’t even bother checking the house before you let your man in. Your man - your breath stutters, and all of a sudden you’ve stopped caring. “Okay, fuck, please Mingi, want you, touch me properly-”

His fingers hook into your panties and yank them down your legs. Your legs rest over his, relaxed, toes curling into his thighs when you’re finally exposed to him. Despite the insecurity biting at your gut again from being so bare and vulnerable in front of him, he quells it quickly, wiggling down the bed onto his chest to examine you closely.

“Look at that, doll, so fucking wet,” He murmurs, thumbs coming up to spread your folds. They stick together with your arousal, something you’d be embarrassed about if he didn’t moan so loud at the sight, plush lips parting and eyebrows knitting together. “Fuck. G’na eat it now, ‘kay? If you need me to stop just-”

You force him into your pussy by his hair, and he moans at the first taste. His fat tongue swipes through your folds, impatient, and he licks up to flick it over the pudge of your clit, spreading your arousal everywhere. It’s so sensitive that you whimper and writhe underneath him, but he doesn’t seem swayed, burying his face into your cunt and making out with it viscerally, messy, claiming.

It’s just like your dream - except better. He’s pulling you down by your hips, rings biting into your skin, whining into your folds but he’s messier - he sucks all of your arousal into his mouth and spits it back on your pussy just to lick it up again. Your pussy is clinging to his lips by strings of sticky arousal and he flicks his tongue over your clit to hear you moan loudly, incomprehensible. 

“You’re- how are you so fucking good at this, fuck, please, more-”

“Told you, I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he states matter of factly, lips brushing against you, and you can see your slick has spread all over his chin, up to his nose. He doesn’t look bothered - he looks like he enjoys it, voice slurred, eyes half lidded, tongue licking over his lips, down to his chin. “This pussy’s fucking pretty. Tasty, too. I’m gonna have to eat her all the time, okay?”

He rubs over your clit, looking up at you expectantly. He’s waiting for a response, but you can’t focus, legs twitching at the stimulation. “F-uck, Mingi-“

“Mm, what do you say, baby?” He says, voice lower, and you keen. He chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head, rubbing a little faster, your pussy making an embarrassing wet noise with his movements. “Are you gonna let daddy come and eat her whenever he wants?”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you babble, squirming, desperate for him to eat you again and he’s still fucking laughing at you, eyes full of admiration. “Yes, pleasepleaseplease daddy, you can eat it whenever- whenever you want!”

“Good giiiirl,” He hums, diving back in again. He’s just as vigorous and you’re panting, making way too much noise, gripping and tugging at his hair and bucking into his mouth when he groans in delight at the pain. 

“Haa, fuck, Mingi- baby, baby, ‘s so good-“

He slides his fingers inside, past the resistance of your hole, curling them up instantly. It’s a stretch so quickly but feels so good, you squeal, humping your hips down onto him. He’s trying to find your g-spot, and it only takes a moment of prodding and pressing for you to make an incoherent noise, hips bucking. He taps a few times, teasing it, and you can’t shut up, gripping the pillow, eyes crossing in pleasure. “Noisy girl. Cunt’s fucking noisy too, talkin’ to me. Can you hear that? She’s telling me I own her now.”

“Mingi- f-fuck, you can’t say-“

“What? Don’t you like daddy talking to you?” He’s suddenly over you again, wet mouth forming a lazy grin. His fingers still pump into you and you reach to grab at his wrist, silver bracelets jingling with his movements. Your eyes water, hips grinding a rhythm into him. “I think you do, ‘cause you’re made for me, aren’t you? Fuckin’ unreal,” he hisses, looking down at where your cunt leaks down his skin, “this hole clenches around me when I talk, askin’ me for more. My hole, yeah?”

“Can’t- can’t be yours if you haven’t fucked it-“

“Shush, pretty, don’t be cheeky,” His tone is firm, but he kisses against your lips with affection. “Gonna fuck it. Gonna fuck it so many times it remembers the shape of my cock and can’t cum on anything else, but I want you to cum like this for me first. Can you?”

You’re nodding before he finishes, riding his fingers, and his thick thumb reaches up to flick over your clit. “I can, fuck, daddy, I can!”

“Yeah, moan my fucking name as you cum, there’s a good girl,” He kisses you again, dirtier this time, swallowing your moans with wet lips. You can taste yourself, and it’s that which does you in, Mingi pulling away just quick enough to hear the broken whine of his name that falls from your mouth. He groans back at you, rubbing your clit slower through your orgasm to drag it out, fingers curling to let you feel the shocks from your special spot just once more. 

He’s too good. It’s like he knows your body already and you can’t understand it, but you let yourself cream and gush on his fingers with many babbled words and strangled noises until you’re eventually done. You think you see his fingers stick together when he pulls them out but he sucks them clean quick enough, offering you a crooked, toothy smile as if he just couldn’t help himself when you let out a shaky breath at the sight. He rolls off of you onto his side, leaning his head on his hand all satisfied.

“How was that?” He asks, cute as ever, and you think you see him fucking blushing. He’s so good, and fuck, he’s yours now. “Was it like your dreams?” 

Your chest is still heaving, but you lean over to give him a kiss in response. His hand smooths over your lower tummy and you swoon, too happy, too desperate all over again despite the fact his fingers have just been all over and inside your pussy. “Mm, it looked intense, I liked doing that to you,” He’s getting excited again too - you think you can tell now, when his voice starts to pick up, airy, “you’re so fucking pretty, look so sexy when you cum, I just wanna-”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you glance down to his sweatpants. Mingi is definitely still hard, although there’s a small wet patch on his clothed bulge that you think he’s created without realising and fuck, your pussy is throbbing again. You can see how big he is through the clothes, much bigger than you ever thought, ever dreamed of, and it must be aching. “Let’s do more. I wanna do more with you.”

Mingi definitely blushes now, but he’s climbing on top of you again with that look in his eyes again. “Yeah? I want to do more too, you’re so gorgeous when you cum. Do you think you can you do that on my cock?”

He’s a little impatient, pushing his sweatpants down with one hand and leaning above you with his other. You try to look down but he tuts at you, making you look back at his face straight away, and you link your arms over his shoulders. “Um- maybe? I’ll try, shit.”

“Think you will,” He kicks his bottoms off and wriggles out of his boxers, too, and when you look again he doesn’t stop you. He even leans back to make sure your view isn’t obscured. Desperate, you assume, but shit it is big. 

His muscled arm swings as he jerks it back to full hardness leisurely, and you were right, it leaks heavily in his palm. The lubrication adds to the sensation and he lets out a sigh. His cock is long but thick too, and there’s a smattering of dark hair at his base that makes you want to press your nose into it and inhale as you deepthroat him. You’re quickly distracted, though, because he shuffles forward and positions his cockhead at your hole. It tries to suck him in already, gummy and wet and pliant after your orgasm. 

He pecks your lips again, addicted, nuzzling you with his sharp nose. He looks so pretty on top of you, plush lips pillowing over your cheeks and your chin and your nose, his black hair tickling your forehead. Your belly burns - you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything this bad, and you’ve known that a while, but it’s real now, happening, not a dream although it still feels like one.

His tip catches in your folds again, and you feel him shiver on top of you but he doesn’t stop looking at you, kissing you again, over and over before he speaks hoarsely, “Condom?” 

You shake your head. No fucking way. You’re on the pill for health reasons, and you’ll be damned if you’re having anything between you and this man when you’ve finally gotten hold of him. “Raw, please, I’m on the pill, wanna- wanna feel you, all of it.”

“Shit, you are a fucking dream, baby,” he groans, finally, finally swiping his cock through your folds. You think he’s finally going to put it in but he uses your arousal to slick his cock, letting you feel the pressure of it against you. “Think it’ll fit? You’re- baby, you’re so fucking tiny down here, could barely get my fingers in- oh shit, trying to suck me in.”

You try to squirm, but he’s so overpowering you can barely move underneath him. There’s a burning feeling in your tummy like you need it or you’ll die, and he’s still playing with you. He swipes his cock through your folds over and over, watching the way his tip disappears a little into the slick mess. You can’t help it - “Mingi, please put it in!”

“Fuck, ‘m so sorry, baby,” He grunts, sounding like he isn’t the least bit sorry, repositioning himself on his knees so that he’s more comfortable. You see him pull at his cock, moving the foreskin down to expose the tip, leaking pearly precum that makes your mouth water, “‘s too fucking pretty, all creamy like that, hadta play a bit. Gonna take it all for me now? It’s not gonna be too big?”

“Mingi, please- please, I’ve thought about this for so long, just- please, oh my god- oh, oh-“

You’re cut off by the deep, gravelly groan he lets out as he finally pushes inside. It slides in easily from how soaked you are, but it’s still a stretch, so thick and hard that your pussy throbs and tries to gush around him, begging for more.

“Please,” you gasp wetly, and he gives you the first inch. It’s barely anything, not compared to the whole size of him, but you moan and he grins in satisfaction. His tongue licks over his teeth as he slowly starts to fuck the first inch in and out, over and over until you start to shake, hands scrabbling for his hips to push him further inside. “Please, Mingi, daddy, I want more, all of it, give it to me-“

He grunts, sliding all of his length home as he pushes your thighs further apart, letting the pits of your knees rest on his elbows. It’s then that he begins a sinuous grind, hips steadily rolling against your ass, jiggling the flesh upon impact. Your bed is creaking with his steady movements, a thud every second that has you worried your housemates can hear you but well, you decided a while ago that you were over that.

“That’s w-what you needed, yeah?” He coos, voice shaky from the way your pussy is clenching around him. Every time his hips roll backwards, your hole grips and clings as if you can’t bear to have him pull out, so Mingi shortens his thrusts - quick, deep bursts that almost pain your cervix when he hits it. It feels too good to hurt though, and you can’t help but push against his tummy, overwhelmed with sensation. He catches your hands, pinning them above your head and grinding his pubic bone against your clit. “I know, ‘s so good, just- baby, f-feel it, feel it. Gonna feel it for the rest of your life. Yours now.”

You feel dizzy. It’s so good, and he’s right - this is all yours now, finally, after everything. 

Mingi quickens his thrusts, hitting right where you need him to. His shoulders catch your attention, broad and rippling with exertion as he holds himself above you, wet, hot pants spilling from his lips with every movement and you can’t help yourself, you feel so full your eyes start to water. He’s throbbing inside of you, desperate to split you open with his teeth biting into his lower lip as he gazes down at where you’re connected. Your pussy drools, slicking up to your mound and over his pubes, up to his happy trail.

“S-so fuckin’ tight, so wet, so warm,” His voice breaks, palm moving to your lower stomach to keep you steady. It quivers under his touch, but he doesn’t notice, thinking solely with his dick. “Wanted to fuck you so bad. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long, feels too good, p-please, baby, I gotta fuck you harder-”

“You can, please, please,” You gasp when he does, shifting his knees to balance himself. His hips start move against you steadier, harder, cock pistoning into your pussy, abs rippling as he grinds himself inside of you. It’s everything you dreamed of and more, and it’s almost too much, too full, too big - you can’t help but whimper and scramble at his shoulders, squealing when he starts to rub over your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. It’s so swollen, so sensitive that you squeal as he makes contact, cheeks burning as your back arches into him - you’ve been waiting so long for this, and it’s ruining you, every thrust taking you apart and putting you back together again. 

Mingi’s just as affected. He drools wetly onto your bare shoulder, wrapping one arm around the small of your back and letting the other hand move to cup your breast. He’s flushed, warm and rutting into you like a mindless animal, but the whines falling from his lips are nothing but grateful. “H-How does it feel, baby, is it as good as you imagined?”

“Better,” you hiccup, because it is, “fu-uck, Mingi, so much better, s-so deep!”

“Yeah, pussy’s t-too fucking good,” He cups your head with his hand, pulling your body upright so he’s essentially holding you off the bed to fuck you. He can go harder like this, and you feel his balls slapping against your ass, lips drooling messily on your shoulder while he talks. You don’t think he could be quiet if he tried, and you can’t believe your brain got this so right. “So fuckin- warm, tighttighttight, I could fuckin’ bust now,” he babbles, “feels so good to fuck you open finally, thought about it- s-so much-“

“Baby, oh my god, ‘s so good,” you mewl, hands moving to his chest, cupping the ample flesh and scratching down further, leaving red lines in their wake. It only makes Mingi fuck you harder, thighs trembling as he drives into you over and over, and you realise he’s right - you are gonna cum around his cock, too soon to be acceptable. “Feels- you’re perfect, I can’t, I’ll- it’s so good I’ll cum, I-”

“Oh, honey,” Mingi groans, long and drawn out, “i-it’s okay, you can cum for me. I want you to cum as m-much as you can, okay?” he kisses you, messy and wet against your cheek, “as much as that little pussy lets you, soak my dick over ‘n over, please, baby.”

You hump yourself onto him, managing to push yourself over his shaft and he lets you, lets you fuck your hole on his thick length until you feel it starting to build, too fast, too sudden, too perfect. He holds you close, ruts into you just enough to abuse his cockhead against that spot inside of you and it doesn’t take much, only a few grinds over him until you’re shaking apart.

“That’s it, oh, good girl, my girl, all mine, so pretty,” Mingi babbles through it, and at the crest of your orgasm your lips part in a sharp noise. Your moan is strangled, almost pained, and he moans right back at you, moving one thumb down to your clit to rub over it and extend your orgasm as long as he can. Your walls flutter around him, gummy and soft and gushing so wet down to his balls that he can’t help the way he rocks forward, chasing the wetness - he only causes you to leak more, cumming so long that your pussy starts to force him out; he presses his hips hard against yours to keep himself inside.

“A-Ah, I,” you cry, unsure, still stuttering with the remnants of it, “so good, I- thank you, daddy.”

Mingi gasps, plush lips parting, cock throbbing inside you. “don’t fucking- don’t say that, I almost came,” all of a sudden, he pulls out, gripping his cock at the base to stave off his own orgasm. You see how slick his shaft is, drenched with your arousal and it looks so dirty, white cream moistening his tan skin and contouring the veins with wet mess. As if it catches his attention, he looks down too, groaning at the sight of your release before his eyes move to your body, raking down you unabashedly. You can’t fucking believe this. Was he always this obvious? “Fuck, I… baby, can I have you on your hands and knees? Always wanted-”

You’re moving before he can finish, shaky limbs pushing your body up to your hands and knees. Your back forms an arch that he runs his hand down with a noise of appreciation, and then you hear the sheets rustle where he walks on his knees towards you, impatient. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles, smoothing down the curve of your spine and down to your ass, where he seems to hesitate before he lands one firm slap. The flesh ripples as you cry out, but you don’t run from him - instead, you’re bucking back for more, and Mingi pushes his dick back through your folds once again. “Thought of this s-so much. Your ass, you grinding back on me, tellin’ me- tellin’ me how it feels. Thought of you too fucking much to be normal, baby, thought I was going insane.”

“Mm, Mingi,” you shake your hips, distracted, trying to entice him, and it works. His noise is almost pained, eyes fixated down on where your ass perks up in the air, and he’s sliding back in in one quick thrust. It’s deeper like this, and he hits your cervix almost immediately - this time he doesn’t wait, hips hitting your ass consistently. The headboard thuds against the wall again, too loud and steady to be anything else, incriminating.

Mingi hisses and pulls out right to the tip, “P-please, baby. Shake it on me, like I said, shake it for daddy, good girl.”

Perhaps you’re too obedient but he’s engrossed by it, cock throbbing inside you. You start to grind your hips before you can be embarrassed, moving yourself up and down on his shaft in such a slick slide your chest hits the mattress, hands forming fists on your sheets. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, scrambling for dear life - has anything ever felt this good outside of those damn dreams? You knew it, knew it had to be him, knew it was always gonna be him - “feels so good, please, please-”

Mingi gasps, hand coming to grip your hips, moving you against him, “You’re unreal. Fucking- oh my god, that’s it, just like that. My girl, my f-fucking dream, god, let me-“

He takes over. You’re thankful for it, because you’ve never felt anything so thick and long and veiny and so fucking perfect inside you - it’s like he’s made for you, carving his ridges and curves into your walls until you couldn’t possibly think of anything else. You’re glad you’re his now, because it’d be impossible to be anyone else’s, to even try to be after he’s given you a taste of what you could have. 

Mingi’s ravenous. Hands come to push you down, like he’s realised he can be rougher, and you’re forced fully onto your front before his teeth bite at your neck. His hips slap into you, sloppy, uneven, size forcing the cream you’ve created to form a ring around his base, and he whines at the wetness. 

“G’na cum, can’t hold it,” He murmurs, hands wrapping around your shoulders for purchase, pulling you back into him. “Can you- f’me, another- fuckin’ give it to me, girl, all for your man.”

His finger and thumb come to roll your clit, and you’re done for. Combined with the feeling of him aching so heavily inside of you you can do nothing more but babble nonsensically, eyes crossing and cunt clenching around him so deliciously that he roars, pressing deep. Bites turn into kisses, softer as he gets closer and he tries to keep the pace the best he can but it’s unnecessary; just feeling his weight on you, his skin, his chest against your front triggers your orgasm, and one hand shoots down to hold Mingi’s wrist right over your bud.

“That’s it, f-fuck, I can feel it,” He gasps, knees scrambling on the bed to get closer to you. He pushes deep once, twice more and then with a sharp whine you feel him too, the head of his fat cock erupting and filling you with more than enough proof that he likes you back.

“Mngh- it’s- fucking deep, I-“ You choke, and Mingi shushes you, voice shaky, pulling your hips back to get it even deeper as he pumps you full, breaths stuttering. Something awful flashes through your brain, something domestic and too serious but it makes your cunt throb, gummy and soothing around his shaft as he empties himself. 

Mingi chuckles, kissing the slope of your shoulder. “Maybe it’ll take, h-huh? Claim you properly. Will you believe it’s real then?”

“J-Jesus,” you stutter, squirming - how did he read your mind like that? - and he laughs again, finally coaxing his softening cock out of your hole. It feels stretched, and you know it is when he groans, elongated, thumb rubbing over the slick opening.

“Could fuck you again looking at that,” He muses, and you wriggle your hips, tempted - he huffs and gives you another smack, this time on your thigh, admonishing you. “Behave. We’ll have a spliff and we’ll go again.”

You roll over on your back, deflated, finally seeing him. He sits next to you on the bed, skin flushed, eyes half lidded. He’s just as fucked out as you but somehow more composed, eyeing you like he wants to laugh but he knows he can’t as he’s not much better.

“Weed and then more sex,” Your hand reaches up to smooth over his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, a smile pulling at his lips until he falls into you again. Limbs intertwined, you peck at his nose again. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Buying you banana milk and trying to be normal around you, actually.”

“Right, yeah,” You giggle, and he plasters himself to you closer. You’re both sticky and exhausted but it’s comfortable, the heat satiating rather than stifling. Nails trailing up his arm, he shivers, and you watch the goosebumps form - real. It’s real. “We have a lot of making up to do. We could’ve been doing this a while ago.”

Mingi’s eyes open, glinting. “You’re not leaving this room until it stinks, baby.”

“Okay, disgusting,” You shove at him, and he’s amused, finally rolling away to put some clothes on with a shake to his shoulders. Watching him as he moves, sitting on the edge of your bed, you’re unashamed this time - he’s yours to look at - and you hum as his back muscles flex, reaching down to pull his discarded boxers back up. When he stands, you see his thighs tense, and well, that ass… your eyes want to water. How lucky can one girl be?

Mingi stretches his arms above his head and turns to you, making you avert your eyes promptly to the blanket beneath you. “Pervert, I saw that. But, hey, are Wooyoung and San still in?”

You yawn, shrugging, finally reaching over for your own clothes. “Honestly, no idea. Stopped caring.”

“They can thank us for the show, and the many more to come,” Mingi grins, cocky, and you roll your eyes like you aren’t obsessed with him. With that, your phone starts to ping on your bedside table, three tones one after another, and you furrow your eyebrows. It’s quick throwing your clothes on before you check - a fresh pair of panties and a tee as your last pair of panties were ruined - and when you pick your phone up, he sidles in behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and kissing over your neck.

Nosy ass, you think, but you open your phone with a satisfied little smile, before it promptly falls at seeing that it’s your house group chat.

[2:13pm] wooyo: definitely still in baby

[2:14pm] sannie: Told you he’s a nice guy

[2:14pm] sannie: Do u guys want anything btw we’re ordering food

You splutter. “Oh my god-“

“How kind of him,” Mingi coos. “I think San’s nice too.”

“Mingi,” You scowl, but he doesn’t flinch, and when he plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek you can’t help but smile. “You know that’s not the point!”

“Oh, right. Ask him to get me some chicken. He knows what I like.”

“That’s still-”

“Baaaaby. Chicken, please.”

“Fine.”