#elylyyy

Roommate!Felix who happens to have a crush on you. It’s difficult not to, you’re just — so his type — he can’t describe it. It was innocent, really. He was merely looking for a shared apartment with someone and with much luck, he stumbled upon you. You, who shared a similar situation as his. Ever the kind Felix, he made sure to keep the space tidy and comfortable for you, trying not to scare off his pretty, new, roommate.

Roommate!Felix whose crush started developing the more he spent time with you. Completely normal interactions that he looked into way too deeply for his own good. You’re adorable, endearing, everything sweet and sugary. So beautiful when you walk down the stairs, groggy and yawning prettily. Opening your eyes to find him in the kitchen, offering him a tight smile despite your morning grumpiness.

Roommate!Felix who never missed a day to prepare you breakfast, everything ready by the time you leave your room. Somehow, he’s always spot on concerning your preferences. Milk in the morning makes you nauseous? Fine, he’ll get you some juice. Not up for something sweet—? Here's a salty treat instead.

Roommate!Felix who sulked when you jokingly asked him to stop feeding you so much, and that he’s the reason you’re taking on more weight — his meals’ a hard choice to refuse.

Why must he? He’s doing the bare minimum of being a considerate, and good-willing roommate!

Roommate!Felix who listens to your insecurities, holding you closer with ample comfort. Soothing you with gentle words, cradling you with the purpose of making you feel at home. Calmly disagreeing with any negative comment you tag your appearance as, though, he wishes he could do more than disagreeing. If you’d let him — he’d show you exactly how beautiful you are.

Inside-out.

Roommate!Felix who, with much guilt, allows those thoughts to become a usual occurrence. He shouldn’t — yes, he likes you — but this is too far, you’re still his friend. Someone he respects, someone he can’t permit himself from indulging in perverse thoughts of.

Yet, roommate!Felix keeps finding himself in situations that rushes the blood in his body.

Roommate!Felix whose small infatuation escalates into something deeper, more deranged whenever you’d pass by him. His gaze would hover on your figure minutes longer. Entranced, he’d swallow. Snapping out of it only when you sit across him or give him a confused look. Encouraging you to drink some water despite the fact that he’s the one whose mouth is dry.

Roommate!Felix who notices each of your gulps, beads of the liquid run down your pjs’ shirt, taking in how poorly the material attempts to hide your figure. You must’ve been thirsty. He breathes, hard. His breathing, and him. Pathetic, you’re just sitting before him and he's popping an erection.

You stand up, it’s the weekend, and you usually spend the Saturday together. Curving a brow when he makes no move to budge, tilting your head in confusion. “Aren’t you coming?”

He shakes his head, offering a smile. His lips twitch, difficult to keep the stance with the ache in his pants. “You go ahead— I… I’m still thirsty,” he excuses, pouring himself another glass of water. You nod, shrugging at his unusual behaviour as you plop onto the couch.

Roommate!Felix who uses your distraction on the TV to make his escape. Scrambling to his bedroom, he locks it. Breathing heavily, staring at the swell in his pants. There was no chance you wouldn’t have noticed that. Sighing, “Close call…”

Roommate!Felix who finds himself jerking off to the thought of you more than often. Needy cock leaking in his fist, drooling all over his skin with each of his tiny grunts of pleasure.

At first, it helped to relieve the pain. But the more he spends with you, the less satisfying his hands get.

He needs you.

Roommate!Felix who becomes awfully aware of your curves pressing against him during your movie nights. Snuggled comfortably in the other's warmth. His breaths are shallow, heartbeat creating statics in his ears. He holds the blanket closer, unfortunately, so do you. Scooting towards him in an attempt at battling the cold, his arms stay glued to his side, eyes fixed on the screen as if your boobs aren't mushed against him.

Roommate!Felix who wants nothing else than to bend you over and take you right there during the summers. Those tight shorts you wear — they make him insane. He's already losing it, day by day, you've got to be doing it on purpose. The soft meat of your tummy peeking through when you lean on the counter has him spiraling, fingers twitching to grab onto the flesh and stretch you wide on his cock.

Roommate!Felix who scolds himself as his imagination gets weirder by the seconds, hoping to ease his mind by avoiding you. Alas, he's the clingy one! The task’ harder than he had anticipated, soon finding himself in the confinement of your room, basking in your surroundings with an excuse of playing video games together.

Roommate!Felix who is tired of going on like this. Trying to make advances on you — at last — just to figure out that you're quite the oblivious type, taking his shameless approaches as him being overly friendly, patting him on the back with a giggle.

Do you even see him as a man? Or–

Roommate!Felix whose jaw twitches when you tell him that you're seeing someone. All proud in your gossiping about this lucky guy you met online. Pretending to give a fuck, why don't you see that he's right here!? Looking at you with those poor, puppy, eyes.

He almost gives in. Almost begs you on his knees to stay home tonight, to let him have you instead. He's been kind, considerate, and the best-est friend you could ever wish for. Why won't you notice him?

Roommate!Felix who has to hide his grin when you come back home upset, confessing that your date took the worst turn it could ever. You're so heartbroken, seeking comfort exactly where he conditioned you to.

Him.

Roommate!Felix whose brows knit as you confess what that guy said to you — about your body — letting the insecure tears fall. He's mad, mad that anyone would dare to look at you and say such nasty stuff. Mad that anyone would dare not to see your beauty, after all, you're his angel.

Roommate!Felix who calls you that as he cradles you. “Why're you crying over that jerk, angel? You're beautiful,” he'd compliment, an arm soothing your shoulder and the other gently patting your head. “So beautiful…” repeating the words with a sigh, lost in the sight of you curled up on the couch. In his embrace. His fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, he could nearly slip inside — no — now is not the moment for these thoughts.

Roommate!Felix who swears that there's electricity in the air, and that he's not the only person here feeling it. You've got to too, because his comment has your head lifting. Glassy eyes meeting him in a hopeful awe, “You think so?”

He nods, biting on his lip when his gaze drops to your inviting mouth, lungs refusing to take any more of oxygen for a second. “I know so.”

Roommate!Felix who kisses you that night, or perhaps you're the one who started it. But his hand quickly ends up in your pants, grinding his fingers on your sobbing cunt, lips attached to yours the whole time while you cream around his digits.

Roommate!Felix, who assumes he's made some progress in how you perceive him. Because you've started acting strange after the encounter. That night, you had separated and called it a mistake, a spur-of-moment type of thing — and that you weren't thinking straight — he's your friend!

He was hurt, extremely, if he had to be honest. Hurt to the point of rotting away inside of his bedroom for days. However, as he started to get out once again, the first thing you did was hug him. Unprompted, your chest squished against his, arms wrapped adoringly around his neck while you mumbled quick and soft ‘sorry's’, telling him just how much you've missed him. His pulse started beating erratically, both his heart and his dick. Unfortunately. You could probably feel it, with your chest on his and your thick thighs rubbing on his bulge.

It almost felt on purpose. No, you couldn't have thought of that. Sure that you're innocently excusing yourself.

But then, Roommate!Felix really began to grow suspicions with your change of attire, and attitude around the corners of the house.

First, it was how you'd call his name — Lixie this, Lixie that — calling him for the simplest tasks at hand. Praising him for every tiny achievement, soft lips pressing on his cheek alongside the compliments. An act of gratitude, you called it. It became too much for him to bear when you started walking past him semi-naked, the plush of your breasts evident through the thin shirts you wear at home, nipples poking at the fabric. Those tank tops… your arms, the way it rides up with every subtle movement — so tight on you — it could rip apart so easily…

Excusing himself once again, or else he might combust right here and right now. Lose all forms of self control, and do something he might regret later.

Roommate!Felix's whose last straw happens one evening, where you innocently decided that it was okay to put your hands all over him after you, again, innocently spilled soda at the both of you.

It was an accident! Really!

You just happened to shake the bottle a tad too much, then it exploded in your hands. You're a victim here! But since you're so nice, you tried to clean it up for him.

Hands moving flat on his stomach, so casually trailing lower to rest on his thighs as you lean forward. “Oh no,” you mumble, grabbing a tissue, “look at the mess I caused—”

“What're you doing—?” he hitches, voice cracking with a caress on his stomach, feeling the bumps of his abs contract underneath your palm.

“Helping you…” your tone resembles the gentle lush of spring, bringing a dizzy haze to his brain, that the situation almost escapes him. Ears flushing red when you climb up to him, crawling towards him. Your tits in front of his face — transparent with the sugary liquid seeping through — he has to close his eyes, taking a ragged, controlled, breath.

“Stop,” he mutters, face scrunching. You hum, confused. Letting out a surprised yelp when he grabs onto your wrist, pushing you back onto the couch so that your positions are reversed. His gaze is pained in restraint, eyes gliding over your taken aback figure. “Helping me? Are you serious– you're making it worse,” his words are harsh, but his tone holds no venom.

Your lashes flutter, feigning naivety. “What do you mean?”

He frowns, skeptical. “Do you seriously not realize?”

You shake your head, shrugging, but a faint smile tugs at your lips. That's enough to tell him that you're toying with his poor heart. He's hard. Believably so. “I wouldn't know… if you don't tell me, Felix.”

He sighs, watching you lift your leg, thigh resting dangerously close to his erection. The one you both noticed. “You've got to be messing with me…” he can hardly speak. “You can't– you can't just walk around half naked and touch me like this." He gulps, dragging his pupils up to hold eye contact. “I'm a man, you know?”

Roommate!Felix who observes you gulp, the rise of your chest falling up and down under his sudden shift in behavior. Your plan backfiring — or perhaps it's working as you intended — to puppet his brain to the point of snapping.

Roommate!Felix who ends up with your pussy sat prettily on his face by the next hour. Somehow, he convinced you to sit on his face. You were against the idea — till he practically begged you to — ending up indulging, that might've been the heavens rewarding you, or him for his persistent work.

Roommate!Felix who grips on your thighs, fingers digging and curling into the soft meat to push you further onto his face. Shoving his tongue deep inside, until he's the one seeing white from the lack of oxygen. He doesn't need it, not when he's breathing in your pussy, drinking and lapping at every drop you present him with.

You've already cummed twice!! And he's showing no signs of stopping yet, if anything, he's grunting against your clit. Wrapping plump lips around the bundle of nerves, he sucks on it harshly; groaning when you twitch above him, grinding down on his mouth.

Felix spreads your folds, spitting on them before lolling his tongue out. The contact is hot, wet sounds emerging from how he's crudely making out with your cunt. You yelp as his teeth nip at your clit, holding onto the couch's armrest for support with an overstimulated cry. You don't think you can handle it any more! He's not listening either!

Roommate!Felix who notes the abrupt clenches of your walls gripping on his tongue desperately. He can tell you're about to cum again. Your thighs shake around his head, legs giving out from trying to support your body upwards. Crushing him, just like in his dreams.

“Fuck,” he's the one to curse, the sensation washing over his body from pleasuring you is too much. You have no idea what you do to him. He laps at your clit, tip of his tongue circling your clit in tight-messy patterns, involuntarily noises vibrating through your core as your palms land on his thighs, unable to hold it in — you warn him, a plea to accept a brief pause — however, he doesn't care about that. He wants you to soak his face, to squirt all over and have him drown in it.

Roommate!Felix who's the most joyous as your juices splashes him, gaping his mouth wide to swallow everything. You squeal, attempting to stand away from him in embarrassment. Alas (luckily), he holds you in place, dragging out your orgasm with his dutiful mouth till you're left a trembling and sensitive mess.

Roommate!Felix who taps his tip against your lips, urging you to suck on it like a lollipop. Barely pushing the first inch in, teasing as he bumps it to the inside of your mouth, moaning at the sight of the bump forming at your cheek.

Roommate!Felix who shoves it allll the way in, just to slide out entirely. Repeating the act, leaking when strings of saliva connect to his base from how deep he's in your throat, then back to nothing. Taking pleasure in your choked gags and coughs as he hits the tightest part of the warm tunnel.

Roommate!Felix who you had never expected to be so shameless about his obsession for your boobs. Constantly grabbing and kneading the flesh in his palms. No matter if you're wearing clothes, a bra, or nothing at all. He'll walk behind you, glued to your back as he snakes his arms around your waist. Embracing you softly, face deep in the crevice of your neck. But then his fingers would inch upwards. Up, and up to the tight fabric around your chest. Thumbs playing, and tweaking with your hardened buds, disregarding the cotton's barrier. On some days, he might even suck on the fabric, wetting and smearing his drool across your shirt.

Roommate!Felix who you hadn't known to have such a high libido. He's always horny. Scolding him for it, but you did this to him? That's what he'd tell you in his defense. It's your fault for messing with his head, your fault for causing the strain in his pants, and your fault for being so sexy he can't seem to tear from you.

God — if he could get under your skin — he would.

Roommate!Felix who's actually a sweet boyfriend — if that's what he is — when he isn't fucking you dumb. He takes you anywhere, and everywhere he deems necessary. Bending you over the nearest surface with the purpose of spreading you open on his dick. Splitting your cunt with every hurried thrust, because he can't afford to let go! It feels too good! His pace gets shallow whenever he's closed, quick slaps of hips hitting the deepest corners of your pussy, drawing out the cutest fucked-out noises out of your mouth — core aching and crying from overstimulation — simply because it's the third time he's pouncing on you today.

Roommate!Felix who holds onto anything he can find. Your tummy, your thighs, the meat at your hips — you drive him insane. His hands are small in the doughy flesh, getting him stupidly close just by watching you jiggle with his movements. He thrashes, squirms, and cries from holding you alone, adding to his pleasure — his toes curl when you start to cry too. Pinching at your chewy cheeks, calling you out for your tears, and hoping to calm you down as if he wasn't in the exact same state.

Roommate!Felix who shows how much of a good partner he is by kissing each fragments of your skin, loving and squeezing the flesh — not out of lust this time — but for the reason that he's in love with you. No matter how pussydrunk he can get, he first started with a silly crush on his beloved roommate.

—

Ever since you started college, you’ve had one wish. One.

At every thanksgiving, every blow of candles, and every time the clock ticked 11 11. You would ask one single thing.

And that is for an improvement towards your sex life. Actually. To have one to begin with.

Having no experiences with guys, except once. Tragic. Extremely tragic one-time experience back in your senior year of high-school. Where you had this guy in your bedroom, kissing. It was hot, the way his lips brushed against yours was mouth watering. His tongue danced alongside yours, hands on your hips, fingers swiping underneath your shirt. Your back pressed against the desk when you accidentally bumped into your book collections. You hadn’t noticed at that time, frenzied by the heat of the moment, but he did. His body suddenly still, resembling a statue.

Mortified. You or him? Him because he found your disgusting stack of porn magazines scattered all over the floor. Or you because he found YOUR disgusting stack of porn magazines scattered all over the floor. Each sheet challenged the last in terms of vulgarity.

He had told you something that day, you can’t recollect what exactly. But you do remember the aftermath. And how ruined the rest of your year went, walking around with the title of ‘Femcel’ tagged to your back.

Now that you look back at it, it shouldn’t have been that controversial for a woman to be into this sort of content. But time has changed. And so did you.

Well, not really — but at least you're a player at hiding it. Now keeping your materials under your bed, drawers and closet. At first sight, your bedroom is the epitome of normalcy unless one digs in a shove deeper. Your book collections are filled with literacy media, and the art of photography. A mask, just like the one you put up at social interactions when you’re truly raging inside.

Nobody can know about the refuge you seek in your collections, touches, and laptop. Your beloved laptop — the one that holds many of your dirty secrets, and that you consult as soon as you return from a hard, hard day.

You can’t fumble this. College is a fresh start. Deciding to stick to your personal daily routine, within the blanket of your fantasies and delusions as soon as the sun sets, snuggly shielded from the outside world.

You’re almost proud of yourself for keeping up the act for almost a year now, and even having made some friends on campus. However, still no man. That’s your sole remorse, but perhaps it's for the better. Being around attractive guys gets you… strange. You’d rather not repeat the accident from years ago and increase the risk of being seen as a creep again.

—

Life is mocking you. It's got to be. You’re sure it’s laughing and pointing at you right now as you slam your fists on your professor’s counter.

“Ma’am, I can’t!” You protest, a bead of sweat rolling down your neck from how much you’ve been begging her for the last ten minutes.

She groans, tapping her heels against the tiles, rolling her chair in annoyance. “It’s just a project, miss. You've always aced them before. Why not now?”

“I can! I will.” You contradict yourself—but you have a valid reason! “Please let me change partners. I’m on my knees,” you whine, holding your hands together in a plea.

“For the last time. I can not do that. Your names have already been put together,” she replies, eyes serious and exhausted. Sinking back into her seat with a harsh intake of air.

“Pleeease,” you sob. Praying to whoever that is above, if there is someone, to hear your prayers, and to shake the mind of the middle aged woman before you. The middle-aged woman who is in absolute disbelief as we speak.

“Enough! This is worth your finals. Continue and I'll deduce your overall marks,” she snaps, rubbing her temples from an incoming headache. “You’re such a good student. What’s with you today?”

You press your lips together, arms falling to your sides in deflation. “Sorry. I understand...” It comes out as weak, defeated.

Wobbling your way back to your class, picturing yourself in an empty street—kicking imaginary pebbles and scrubbing in your misery.

How can you tell her that you absolutely cannot be paired with the Kim Seungmin from the baseball team, and the Yang Jeongin from the football team, because of how you act and how you think? And how you’re afraid of scaring them away and tarnishing your last bits of social reputation — since they belong to what you've been entirely avoiding ever since you stepped here.

The top hierarchy of the school.

A frathouse. Not just any, Stray Kids’ frathouse, the eight best athletes of the school. Being a weirdo to them, ruining your reputation, means being a weirdo to everyone who sets foot on this campus.

You're doomed.

You swear that you aren’t partaking in that. That you'll find a solution, anyhow, and get out of this situation. You swear—

Unfortunately, here you are: sitting across from Kim Seungmin.

Jeongin hasn’t arrived yet, having to meet his coach beforehand, to which you are thankful towards for giving you prepping time.

The silence is deafening, awkward. Your  sweaty palms flat on the wooden surface, trying your best not to constantly shuffle on the cushions of your seat, since the sound is embarrassing enough.

“So,” Seungmin breaks the silence, pen in hand.

His fingers absently click the edge, the noise loud in your head as you try not to stare at the length of them—how he uses his thumb to randomly flicker cap in a gentle rub.

“Yn?” he calls, snatching you from your intruding thoughts.

Your gaze snaps to his, breath catching unnecessarily. “Yes–?” You stammer, hoping that he didn’t catch on you gawking at his hands.

“You’re from Photography, right?” He asks, looking right at you.

If his aim is to make you even more nervous. It is working.

“Yes! How did you know?” You nod hastily, forcing a smile, voice raising a tad too much.

He blinks, brows furrowing. You can almost smell the embarrassment you’re about to face judging from his reaction alone.

“It’s written right here…” He points to the paper before you, underlining ‘Ln Yn: Photography Major’ with the tip of his pen.

You suck in your lips, smile lopsided. Cringing. “Right. Thought so,” you crisp out. If it was so obvious, then why ask?! 

“Anyway,” he mumbles, taking a breath. “The project. Do you have any ideas?”

“Right now? I thought we were supposed to wait for Jeongin,” you ask, confused from the sudden change of plans.

He glances over your shoulder, across the room, nudging his head forward. “He’s here.”

You face backwards to find Jeongin strolling forward, drink in hand.

The drink is cold, water droplets drip down his fingers. His grip on the cup is soft yet firm, the cup crumpling slightly under his hold. Weirdly attractive… No. Snap out of it, yn!

“Hey, what’s up?” he greets Seungmin first, shaking his hand with the free one. “Sorry, coach held me back,” he quickly apologizes, setting his belongings by the table before plopping down on the bench next to Seungmin.

Seungmin eyes him, raising a brow. “Looks more like that drink held you back,” he states, leaning heavy against the backrest, making himself comfortable. “Ain’t no way you lined up for that again.”

Jeongin scoffs, wiping the bangs sticking before his eyes. “Does it matter? I’m here now,” he replies, a tug of a grin forming when he finally notices your presence. “Oh. You are?” he asks, staring as if he was trying to decipher if he had ever seen you on campus before.

You’re about to reply when Seungmin cuts you, shallow annoyance grazing his tone. His tongue clicks. “I told you about her. She's the girl from photography,” he adds, hand aimlessly pointing at you.

It doesn’t seem to light any bulb inside his head, completely unaware of who you are. Now this is insulting. You’re a little hurt.

It’s okay… it must be because you kept it low at all costs. Avoiding guys like them. Not because of them, but you.

Their presences are a gateway towards cringe and awful interactions.

“Photography… I didn’t know that you preferred artistic girls. Your last girlfriend was pretty uncreative.” He says with an understanding nod, his smile never dropping.

You almost choke on your saliva. Your closed fist meets your lips, having to silently cough it out. The thought of you dating Kim Seungmin. He’s joking, it’s unreal. But tempting.

Your imagination betrays you, again.

You wonder if he would wait for you after your classes. Or if he would ask you to come see him after his baseball practice, all drenched in sweat from playing, asking you to hold his cap. His ungloved hand running through his wet hair as you stare in awe.

“You good, baby?” he’d ask you, waving his glove before you.

Calling you back to Earth.

A harsh sound. A snap of fingers, maybe.

“Hey— you good?”

You jolt up. Brought back from reverie with their stares glued to your figure. Skepticism to mild concern etching their expressions.

“All good— No worries…” you blurt out, clearing your throat to find your voice.

Jeongin hums, though he doesn’t seem to buy it. “I’m Jeongin. Yang Jeongin,” he introduces.

You give him a sound of acknowledgement, as if the entire campus doesn’t already know his name from being the goal keeper of the school. Being one of the most valuable members of the club, the youngest and the fairest. He’s known for attracting most of the fans and supporters, everybody rooting for his cheeky smile and cute dimples. And undeniably, the golden boy of the frathouse, introducing himself is stupid. But he's polite, you give him that.

“Back to the topic. How do we correlate our different majors?” Seungmin asks, looking at Jeongin then you, “Sports Science, Photography and… Business.” 

“The project's main idea is teamwork, right? Hmm,” Jeongin ponders, leaning forward onto the table. “Not clicking,” he mutters, resting his face on his palm, the other bringing his drink back to his lips. His plump lips, rosy and hydrated, seals the straw— sucking in the liquid. His Adam apple bobs with each swallow, some of the liquid catching at the corners of his lips.

You slip your hands under the table, fist bunching the fabric of your pants as they discuss the topic between themselves. Not bothering to ask you. You need to knock it out. And think. Properly this time.

Your focus drifts on the papers before you, the subject of the project. How does teamwork connect to you? To them. The careers they’ve been building. Your interests. Your interests?

Bingo!

“Uhm. I have an idea,” you interrupt, raising your hand from under. Nervous with how their chatter dies out, their full focus drawn to you. “You guys know how companies create merch for their athletes and teams. To promote them and stuff. They take pictures of them, and then bring them to the market to create cards for people to collect.”

They nod tentatively, intrigued by your statement. You squirm, not used to this. But you go on. “And sometimes, they have the coaches give statements about training and how the team cooperates to put on the magazines. I think...” your gaze shifts to Jeongin, lost in what you’re saying, “they teach that in Sports Science, coaching?”

He nods.

“So, what do you want to do with that?” Seungmin asks, noting down your ideas.

“I was thinking. Maybe we could create a magazine featuring the school’s athletic teams. If you’re okay with that,” you reply, hopeful.

They simultaneously smile, letting out an impressed ‘woah’.

“That’s actually a pretty solid idea,” Seungmin admits.

“That's cool,” Jeongin agrees, “You’re into sports? You don’t strike me as the type.” That last comment would have been snarky if it wasn’t situational. Choosing to ignore it.

“Ahh, not exactly.” you reply, coy. Who knew all these years of collecting players’ photocards would benefit you like this? How you used to fight day and night to get enough money to complete your sets.

You can’t help the tiny grin that curls your lips at their compliments, trying not to be too smug about this accomplishment. A small step is enormous for an ant. Progress is progress.

The rest of the session blinks by, the atmosphere easing up as you dive into the work. Soon, the cafeteria is less crowded, the students leaving one after another.

A vibration breaks your flow, attention shifting to where it originates.

“Oh, it's Chan. Said he is back to the dorms,” Jeongin says, phone in hand. Not giving any of you the chance to interfere, “I have to go,” he adds, already packing his belongings. He stands up, pulling his bag strap over his shoulder. “See you guys around?”

He's gone. Here you are alone with Seungmin again.

You glance around to find only a few students left, roaming the surroundings. Damn. How much time went by?

“You should go too. It's getting late,” Seungmin mentions, bringing the scattered documents from the hard surface together.

“Yeah, I'll get going then,” you reply, heaving from your seat, ready to turn on your heels in the opposite direction when he halts you.

“Wait, not so fast,” he sighs, standing up. “Give me your phone.”

You freeze. “What?” Why?! Does he know what's in it… is it obvious you're that type of person?

He squints at your bewildered expression, “To put my number in.”

To put my number in.

Oh. oh.

Those words will be engraved into your memory, forever. No matter the context, it doesn't matter when Kim Seungmin just asked for your number.

“Why do you keep zoning out? Do you have issues?” He grimaces at your slow blinking, as if you're entranced in some la-la-land.

“Your number? I couldn't possibly… I mean— I totally would but!” You reply with a laugh, waving your hand shyly to hide your abashed expression, rubbing the tip of your shoe nervously against the floor.

He scoffs, feeling the frustration bubbles behind his eyelids, hoping to dissipate it with a rub. Unbelievably unprofessional. “I need it to text you. To know when you're free for the next meet up. To create a group chat. Not to ask you out,” he inhales, letting out a big exhale. Gigantic even.

But not as gigantic as the hole you wish you to dig yourself into. Your head falls, closing your eyes momentarily. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Can I have it now?” He asks, his patience running thin.

Shamefully, you reach for your pocket, opening the contact app before handing it to him. He dials himself, the ringtone rings against your eardrums, shattering them. At least, it feels that way.

You avoided peeking at him all the way out, head hanging low. It was going so well.

You pray to wipe this whole interaction from your brain, to crash into a bus and suffer from amnesia. Taking back the oath of engraving into your memory forever. Should've known better than to think that, because this interaction will keep you up at night. For at least a few years if not forever.

You groan; slapping the heels of your palms against your forehead repetitively. “So embarrassing,” whining, in disbelief of what you had said back then. Shuffling with your cards to find the one for your dorm. The door clicks open and you're met with the sight of your roommate.

“You're back. I was just about to message you,” she exhales in relief, “I'm staying over at my boyfriend's tonight. Don't go anywhere and watch over the dorm.” Grabbing her shoes, putting them on. “Oh, and yn— feed my dog for me? You know where her food is,” she points to the top shelf in the kitchen before walking out of the door in a hurry, “thank you!”

She's gone. Her voice echoes down the hallway. Her audacity vibrates louder, booming.

You click your tongue, throwing your bag on the couch. Kicking the footing, only to hurt yourself in the process. This day can't get lamer. “What did I even do to deserve this sort of bad karma,” you sigh, rubbing off the sweat beads across your face.

You look down when you feel something lick at your ankle, Cassie, her dog. You're stuck in a loop where she goes out, tells you to watch over the dorm and her dog while she's busy getting laid. That one time when you hoped to object, she had told you “You never go out anyway. You're literally glued to your room.”

You hate that she's right.

“Stupid dog, stupid project, stupid boys,” you mumble in your misery just as your phone buzzes. You jump a millimeter. Startled.

A group chat has been made.

Seungmin:

hey

i put the notes we made earlier on my laptop, sending it rn

Unknown number:

so fast. are you that excited about the project??

Seungmin:

unlike you, i care about my grades

You assume the other number is Jeongin, fingers pressing onto the ‘save contact’ option. Then deciding otherwise, not yet, it'd seem desperate.

Jeongin:

yn, you here?

Seungmin:

she's probably spaced out as we speak

Jeongin:

i theorise she's ai

notice how she mostly talked when it was about studying

You gag, stifling out a laugh. What??

Seungmin:

yeah right

at least she's got brain and contributed 

something you can't relate to…

You lick the dry skin peeling at your lips, swallowing empty saliva. Thumb hovering across the screen.

You:

i’m not ai

Jeongin:

woah you're actually here

only ai answers when prompted btw

You pause in wonder regarding which approach to take in this situation. Something sweet, or perhaps mysterious?

“Hard no,” you mumble, shaking off the idea.

You spend the next few minutes mulling over how to reply. Overthinking it, staring at the last message as you plop down on your bed. Laying down on the sheets, holding a pillow comfortably on your stomach. Except that nothing is comfortable.

A ping knocks you out.

Seungmin:

there she goes again

i'm the business major student here but she’s the one taking business days to reply

we can see you reading those texts, you know that right?

You wince, fingers tapping against your screen for the simplest answer in the notebook.

You:

sorry

Seungmin:

whatever

Whatever.

when are you guys free?

Jeongin:

uhh

tomorrow? after practice tho

Seungmin:

me too

preferably after 6 p.m

what about yn?

You:

i have club activities after class

6 p.m works for me, might be a little late

Jeongin:

ok and where do we meet?

the cafeteria closes early on fridays

Seungmin:

felix will have people in tomorrow for his own project. he put props on the dorm first

Jeongin:

just asked chan hyung

he's out tomorrow, come to mine

Seungmin:

okay okay

Your heart rushes at the thought of spending the evening at Jeongin’s place, never having been to a boy's room before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to calm your giddiness. This is nothing to get excited about. 

Right…

You:

can someone send the room number

Jeongin:

i'll do it, wait

You roll onto your back, phone tight in your shaking fingertips. Watching the dots appear as Jeongin types in his dorm allocation.

Jeongin:

room 208

see u guys there

—

It’s 6:58 p.m.

Now 6:59 p.m and you’re standing outside of the dorm with 208 plastered on top. It’s the right one, you’re sure of it. Most of them frat dudes reside around those spaces, anyone could get out of their room and find you awkwardly staring at the grayish surface, knuckles itching to knock already.

You can't help the thought that this is a joke, and that they gave you the wrong dorm number despite every link proving otherwise.

You’re on the verge walking back to your place, fingers squeezing the strap of your bag when a hand reaches past you, swiping a student card in. The door clicking open. Jumping out of your skin as something broad and warm meets your back, getting caged by a body and the door. You wonder which side the door is, with how hard his chest is to your back.

Jeongin.

He surges forward, muscles grazing against you. His hair prickles at the skin of your nape. Cursing when he collides with you softly. Too close, way too close.

Your breath is stolen, in a torturous method as your lungs refuse to get back to work.

“You gon’ get in or not?” he asks your statue-like figure. He sounds oblivious to the proximity, tone shifting to mild irritation when you take too long to budge.

Urging you inside, rough hands instinctively wrap themselves around your shoulders to move you inside. “There you go,” he praises, the tone quiet enough to jolt your stomach. He takes you to the couch, sitting in the common room. “Make yourself at home.” he smiles, dimples flashing. He accommodates you so casually, you ponder how casual it is for people like him to bring others over.

You try to ease up as he visits the kitchen to fetch you something to drink, sinking deeply into the couch. Finally catching a breather. Well. You thought.

A door swings open, revealing a not-so-subtle semi-naked Chris.

Chris. Fucking Christopher Bahng Chan — basically the leader of their cult — house, emerges from his room, struggling to tug his shirt down in a rush. His pants hang low, v line flexing with each stride. Abs on full display.

Mouth foaming. Pupils fixing anywhere but his direction, clearly failing at doing so cause you make eye contact with his body first, then him.

He gets the shirt on at last, grabbing a bag off the couch when he notices you. Eyes you. His gaze drifts to Jeongin coming back from the kitchen with cans of soda, shooting him a knowing grin. Jeongin replies with a tsk, “She's here for the project, hyung. I told you about it.”

Chris shrugs, feigning innocence. “I didn't open my mouth.” His shirt is still slightly ruffled, showing a hint of milky skin. Your mouth runs dry. “But you, you did tell me only Seungmin was up for the project.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jeongin scoffs, handing you one of the cans. Though, his attention is on the older man as he drops on the couch carelessly, his legs spreading wide. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Why are you still loitering around?” Jeongin comments, his lip curling back at Chris.

You focus on the coldness of the can in your palm, and not on how your thighs are pressed tightly from trying to keep a distance from Jeongin’s. The temperature of his body seeps through the fabric of his pants, steaming on the exposed skin of your thighs, the fabric of your shorts had hiked up as you sat down earlier — questioning your choice of outfit for today. It’s hot. That’s why. Extremely hot, actually.

Chris’ grin never falters, humming in response. “You're right. I just happened to have noticed how flustered she seems. Thought I'd let you know,” he teases before swiftly escaping through the main entrance. Setting you up for your downfall with each syllable that left his mouth.

Jeongin shifts towards you, arms draped on the couch's backrest. Behind you. Holy shit. You hold your bag closer to your stomach. Almost hugging it. “Uncomfortable?” he asks, studying your face.

You shake your head in denial, giving him a tight — and unfortunately, very uncomfortable smile. He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, still facing you. “Wanna go to my room? There’s air conditioning there.”

Your expression contorts to subtle confusion, hesitant.

“I mean,” his eyes involuntarily skim across your attire briefly before snapping back at you. Your tank top hugs your form, thighs spilling out of your shorts, leaving little to imagination. “You must be feeling hot, right?”

Swallowing, your fingers twitch on the can, the condensation drizzling on your skin — much like the beads of sweat breaking on your back. “Uhm, I'm not sure—”

“You aren't?” he asks, cocking his head in a way that speaks he isn't buying it. Slit eyes observe you, as if he was taking in your appearance for the first time. His arm raises, tilting towards you, and you nearly flinch back. “Relax,” he whispers, the back of his hand making contact with your forehead. If you weren't breathing heavily before, you are now. Gulping excessively, the saliva runs dry fast enough to break world records. Create new records, whatever. You're sure that if he leans a blink closer, he'd hear your thumping heartbeat. He must be, because his attention lands on your heaving chest for a second. A period of a smile catching at his lips as he finally leans back down when the front door bursts open. Casual, just like that. Pretending that he wasn't gawking at your flushed state.

“Ever cared to knock?” Jeongin voices, loud in an attempt to seem annoyed at whoever is approaching.

“Didn't care yesterday, definitely won't today,” Seungmin replies, throwing his bag and himself on the opposite couch. “I'm dead,” there's a rasp in his tone, catching his first breath today. Lips parted, much inviting as he faces the both of you. His eyes travel to your flushed expression, your own focus on the label of the soda can, avoiding his gaze — much worse than the day before — then to Jeongin's act at appearing oblivious, pointless to someone who has known him for years. “What'd you do?”

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Jeongin sighs, and Seungmin curls a brow, leaning forward in your direction. Facing you.

“Is he messing with you, instead of focusing on the project?” his tone doesn't sound much reprimanding, if you had to be honest.

You shake your head, muttering out a quick no. He hums. “Sure seems that way.”

“He wasn't—” you let out, though you're well aware that he was. All three of you are well aware of that, the quiet tch of disbelief Seungmin lets out doesn't escape you either.

Jeongin sighs, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Hyung, it's too hot, yeah? Let's just go to my room.”

—

You’re inside a guy’s room.

You.

Inside.

A guy’s room.

Ahem. Yang Jeongin’s room to be clear.

Maybe those prayers did work, your endless begs for mercy getting paid off at last, or maybe it's the opposite.

It's hard to decipher hell from heaven in this context. He had said to come here because it was hot, but somehow, your skin flushes with heat despite the rumbling A.C. Eyes following and noticing every corner and spots of his room, from the posters to his unusual collection of shoes.

Okay, yeah. Didn’t picture him as a shoe enthusiast.

Sitting on the floor, you come to peek at his slightly ajar drawer, a thread of clothes inching out. The entire area smells like him — not like you were registering his scent, but his cologne is quite recognisable. A faint scent of boys and something floral. Sweet. Intoxicating. You sit a bit tighter, urging the unease out of your nerves.

Something nudges you, a pen. Flicking at your skull as if touching you would infect them with your disease — at least, in your perspective. You’re met with curious eyes, a dot of a grimace engraving Seungmin’s expression, but there’s also a hyphen of concern. “Focus,” he scolds you, as if he knew your thoughts inside-out. You wince internally. “Brought your camera?”

Nodding, you dart around to find where you had put it. “Yeah, it’s—uhm.”

You blink harshly, your soul nearly flying out when he closes some distance. His arm reaches behind you, prisoning you between his body and the edge of the bed. For a second— a second, you swear he looks at you, his gaze holding your widened ones before he gets hold of your camera on the mattress. A ghost of his breath fanning on your skin as he hands the camera before you. “Here,” he asserts, offering. You pick it up with a trembling hand, trying to tighten the muscles the best you can. To stop the tremor but it escapes none.

Though, they don’t mention it. You’re thankful for that.

Somehow, the rest of the conversation blurs with ideas. You had made a plan for the magazine, showing them the pictures you snapped, the sceneries, the flowers, everything usual and expected. They’re impressed, having shifted closer before you can realize so. To the extent of trapping you on both sides, trying not to think much about it as they lean down to take a better look at the screen.

You should’ve brought your laptop. Who told you to show them on such a small device?

“Hmm, noona you're talented,” Jeongin says, not giving you much time to react to the sudden honorifics, except for a fumbling heartbeat before Seungmin interjects.

“But,” Seungmin interjects, his index swiping on the digital screen, “have you ever taken pictures of people?” his voice ghosts on your skin, hot and heavy next to your ear.

“I—” memory hits you. Snapping people? No, not really. However, you did collect and analyse enough magazines to be confident about your skills. Though… “No.”

He hums in response, staring over your shoulder to Jeongin. Their eyes meet, a careful exchange that escapes your attention lingers. “Say,” the younger interrupts, “Do you want to try with us?”

Do you want to try?

With us.

“Try what?” there’s a hitch in your throat. Awfully aware that you’re being delusional—again. But they’re standing so close, it’s hard not to get the wrong idea. “To take pictures?”

“Of us,” he says, his breath merging with yours.

“I don’t know— I haven’t taken anyone’s picture like that before—” you hate yourself for stuttering. Gosh, you do. But you can’t find your voice. Not when Seungmin leans a breath closer, you urge backwards only to be met with Jeongin’s body.

“Hm, wasn’t that your idea?” Seungmin asks, his calloused hand finding yours on the camera, the roughness of his skin from training brushes on you. Pretending not to notice the shakiness in which you hold the object as he guides your thumb to the shutter. Your heart thumps. “To click us into memory, make a magazine, whatever you wanted to do.” His voice is lower, soothing and lighting the nerves in your muscles simultaneously. Somehow.

Would it be wrong to get turned on?

It's so sudden, too sudden. It's nothing, but at the same time it's too much for you. You who grasps on every tiny detail. It's like they're aware of that.

You can barely think, barely register what they’re saying. Perhaps you speak, but it comes off as inaudible, face flushing when the chest behind you stutters. A huff. Two huffs then a laugh. You blink, and they’re both cackling at your expression.

“Hyung, you’re so fucking mean.” Jeongin wheezes, his hands landing lightly on your back as he tries, and fails to seem sorry. “Look at her face, oh my god.”

Oh.

Seungmin sneers. “You started it, Jeongin-ah. Why are you blaming me?” he asks, a faint smirk clings to his lips.

Why did you come here? Right. Stupid project. What’s worse? It’s the coil in your stomach refusing to dissipate as they play right in your face.

You let out a weak, awkward laugh and drop your forehead into your palms. “That’s… really funny,” you mutter dryly. “Hilarious.”

Should’ve accepted failing the class.

The humiliation sinks in as their own chuckles die out. To say you got this dizzy over that — the built up teasing from the past hours participating in. Seungmin grazes your arm and you nearly jerk away from both of them. “Hey—” he starts when you refuse to even lift your head. You can barely hear him through your ringing embarrassment.

“It was a joke,” Jeongin clears, attempting to soften his voice. “Sorry,” he glances at Seungmin, silently signaling him.

“You good?”

Of course he’d ask that.

You nod way too hard. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure…? You don’t seem so–”

“I am,” you state. Feeling like an easy, bummed loser.

Your phone rings before any of them can start another sentence. For the first time today, you could kiss your roommate for existing. Snatching the opportunity like a lifeline, “I’ve got to go. Pet care-taker duties,” you excuse, scramble to your feet and grab your camera despite their growing confusion.

“Pet caretaker—?”

This is rash, but anyone would react that way right?

Perhaps not.

You’re on your way out when Jeongin’s fingers catch the hem of your top for a second in an attempt at slowing you. “Wait, hold on—” alas, it inches down and you gasp.

Jeongin’s eyes widen at the sudden action, yanking his hand back immediately. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him blush before, but a light pink coats his ears. “Shit—sorry.”

Seungmin coughs, clearing his throat. However, it does nothing at hiding his amusement. “The project, are you coming back tomorrow–?”

You gulp, indecisive with how your gaze darts to the corner of the room, plastering the image of his wall inside your mind. “I’m not sure. I’ll let you know,” and with that you leave the room, slamming the front door shut with the heaviness of your steps.

There’s a silence that whistles through the room. Seungmin turns to Jeongin, bobbing his head to his side. “Think we killed it,” there's a questioning undertone in his voice, a question he's seeking Jeongin for validation. 

Jeongin shrugs, resting back on his palms, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. His head hangs low, his bangs hiding his unusual flush, “–Don’t know. I thought it was funny.”

Seungmin nods briefly, eyeing the younger. “You know what's more hilarious?” he asks, shifting closer.

“What?”

“Your face, are you flustered? Ayen…” he teases, being annoying. “Did she fluster you?”

Jeongin grunts, pushing Seungmin’s head as far as possible. “Bro, no. What the fuck.”

“Hmm, okay. If you say so,” Seungmin mutters, replaying your reaction on loop. You hadn’t reacted exactly how he was expecting. Perhaps he was hoping you'd lean into it, rather than scrambling off so clumsily. The abashness of the younger ticked him off in a way he couldn’t muster. He found it funny, yeah — but it also bothered him in a way he can't explain. It's faint though, a fleeting coil that could escape him too.

Could he call that the beginning of jealousy?

Tsk. What stupid thoughts, he barely knows you. 

Not like it was a problem before, so why now?

—

You’ve decided not to go. To take a day off from seeing them, just one—to think about it and get your head straight, well conscious of how you’re overreacting it. One turned into two days, two turned into nearly a week of dragging this out. It’s mortifying, okay? You can’t control how you feel, nor how your cheeks warm up at the mere thought of what happened.

The memory boils on your skin, sizzling the bottom of your stomach, unwillingly growing needy at the flashing images. It brims tears to your eyes. Guilty of how wet it made you to get teased like this, shame prickling at your nerves. Maybe that’s why you left. Because if they tugged at your head a second longer, laughed in that manner while cornering you — you’d moan right there. Unfortunately, this is who you are.

They texted you a few times, asking if you were busy—which you gave the same response every time. A simple word, ‘yes.’

They stopped inquiring after a few days. This is stupid, you’re acting stupid. You aren’t this asinine normally. Their fault, really. Begging that they’d leave the rest of the project to you, never bother you again and let you complete it with a sign of their names at the end. As if they contributed. And yet.

“Hello? Are you yn?” someone asks, tapping your shoulder as you idly sit on a bench outside the main building. Doing absolutely nothing but staring at the water falling off the fontaine, nothing that you swore you were busy with at least. Your eyes meet hers, and she beams in reassurance.

“Not to bother you, but you’re asked at the gymnasium.”

“Huh?” you glance around, there’s no other you in the area. “Me?”

“Yes—aren’t you…?”

“I am,” you reply, lashes fluttering in confusion. “But why… isn’t a class active there?”

She fidgets with her thumbs, she’s clearly shy, or scared—probably a freshman. Whatever. Much resembling you, the part you try to hide despite the forming cracks. “Please go, please?”

This got to be a trick, a trap designed just for you. You find yourself following her despite the alarming red flags, how she started typing on her phone the moment you reached towards her doesn't escape you.

This feels wrong.

Swallowing dryly as you reach the front of the gymnasium, fingers hovering above the handle when it abruptly opens on the other side.

You’re pulled inside before you can grasp it. Arms finding themselves wrapped around you. Brusque and strong, slightly drenched from working out. “She’s here!”

Your pupils blow wide, instantly meeting the ones of the girl a few feet away. She gives you a pitiful glance and you shake your head. “What—”

There’s a hoard of guys that encircles you, grouping you in the middle of them. You're shaking, an insect size earthquake rambling throughout your body. Only you can feel it.

“Everybody, move.” A voice that you recognise cuts through, Seungmin.

You see him before he touches you, warm fingers envelopping the meat of your wrist, separating you from the crowd. “Calm down, the hell?”

“Don’t be harsh, Kim Seungmin,” one spills above the crowd’s volume. “You said she was here to photograph us.”

A confused noise leaves you, not quite a question but Seungmin catches it. “I said, she was here to spend the afternoon. And that she might, after class. Not during.”

Another one complains and Seungmin grunts in response, “Just go back to whatever you were doing, get lost. Hurry.”

“Was I aware of this–?” you ask as everyone disperses begrudgingly, him being the only person in your hearing zone. “I said that I was busy.”

Woah.

You’ve never heard this tone leave your throat before.

He sighs, brushing off the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. His slick hair. Gaze subconsciously trailing down his body, to the curve of his shoulders, the damp of his shirt to—

You stop yourself.

Eyes snapping back at him despite your difficulty to hold eye contact. You shouldn't've, because the intensity of them nearly melts you on the spot. Suddenly conscious of his lingering touch on your wrist, which has softened the longer he’s holding you.

“Busy wandering the hallways for the entire week, seriously?”

You huff, mouth gaping to say something, then closing. Because you have been wandering off the entire day. But still. “Are you stalking me?”

Gosh, what the fuck are you saying. He’s visibly sharing mutual thoughts since his features contorts to one of skepticism. “Stalking you? Don’t be stupid, I asked someone from your major. You thought I wouldn’t after a week of you ignoring us?”

Still counts.

He blinks, briefly staring at the ceiling in contemplation as he registers his own words.

Insinuating that he went out of his way, to find someone related to you. “For the project,” he clarifies, clearing the light rasp in his voice. “I want to get it done already, there is only one commune gym class per week—and you just happen to get busy everyday. Especially today.”

“Not like I would’ve known it would be today,” you retort and he scoffs. Scoffs.

Painfully attractive. Your heart squeezes.

“Listen,” he urges. He’s been thinking about it, if his and Jeongin’s teasing had been as bad as you made it out to be. He really had been mulling it over these past few days. Much unlike the persona he tries to show. He thought you’d just forget about it, and eventually show up. But no. You went and got ‘busy’ for a whole fucking week. Clearly avoiding them.

His gaze locks on yours, and fuck—have you always been this cute?

The stern look enrobing your face tugs at unnecessary sudden thoughts he doesn't have control of.

Maybe not seeing you for a week was messing with his head more than he’d like to admit.

He sighs, again. Muttering something under his breath that you can't catch, but the pinch forming at his frown tells you the intention. Breathing in, as if he can't believe what he's about to say next.

“I apologize for what happened. If it made you uneasy—my bad, but you didn’t have to fucking ghost us over a whole week for it. You know?” his frustration bubbles in his throat, his fingers tightening on your wrist. Both of your eyes travel to where he hasn't let you go.

He releases you in a burn, as if it irritated him for holding you that long. “Whatever,” he mumbles, blinking away from your surprised face. “I don’t like wasting my time, and that’s what you’re doing right now.”

“Okay, fine.” you mirror his breath, pretending you weren't internally losing it. “Whatever.”

“What? That’s all?” he asks, subconsciously dropping his voice to yours.

“What else do you want me to say—”

“—That you’re sorry,” he interrupts, acting like the question was dumb in itself.

“But you already did that…” you reply, nail tweaking the fabric of your shirt. “Why would I be sorry?”

“For…” he starts, stopping midway, thinking over before he speaks any nonsense. “For—”

“Hyung!” someone shouts from afar, your heads snapping in the direction of the sound.

Jeongin’s jogs to your side of the gymnasium, finally stopping before you in huge pants. “What’re you doing— coach is asking where you are.” he lifts his hunched body, eyes meeting yours. “Oh, yn-ah. You’re also here? Thought you disappeared from campus.”

Eh?

“Didn’t Seungmin tel—” you try to say but his hand finds your lips before you do, muffling your incoming sentence.

Jeongin squints dubiously at the interaction, eyes meeting where Seungmin's hand tapes your mouth.

“Didn’t she tell you she’d come?” Seungmin blurts, completely twisting your words when he had lured you to come. So, he told everyone but Jeongin. Okay.

You had thought otherwise, especially after the huge stunt from earlier. It was hard to miss.

You sure hope that the light whimper that left you got muffled by his palm, eyes gaping at Jeongin before you for help. Only to get completely ignored as they converse in front of you, with his hand still on your mouth. Brushing your lips.

Yet, you hear them ignore you. You constat so. But there's a slight twitch in Jeongin's jaw you're not sure you caught. He says something about continuing class, stepping a foot closer to your bodies.

You tug at Seungmin's wrist, nails grazing his skin and he looks down. Gaze locking for the period of a breath as he releases you, however, it’s slow. His arm swipes across your jaw to your neck, subtly resting on your collarbone, a silent display.

“Switch places with me, keep her company for a while. I’ll be back.”

“Is that okay with you?”

Jeongin's talking to you.

You reply without realizing, lips parting in agreement. Then it registers when Seungmin’s body abandons yours, stealing away the warmth it basked you in as he returns to the field. Leaving you with the younger boy.

Wait what?

He doesn’t give you time to react either, fingers swiftly wrapping themselves around your hand. Not wrist, not arm — your hand. Somehow, that's the boldest thing they've done so far.

He leads you to a nearby bench. The casual skinship being shared with you throws you off guard, especially after hearing that Yang Jeongin wasn't a fan of it. Barely clasping the situation except for the heat that radiates from his hardened figure. Quickly replacing the lost temperature from Seungmin. He lays back, white shirt flexing on his biceps. “Noona,” he mutters, fluttering his lashes lazily. “Can I call you noona?”

Your palms sweat a river, rubbing them off the fabric of your pants as you take in his question, brows raising. “I don’t think we have a huge age gap, you don’t have to—”

“But,” he hums, smiling, showing the dent of his dimples, “I want to.”

“Ah,” you nod in the following silence, not quite grasping how to reply to that. “Sure then…”

A second passes, and he sighs. Rolling his head, glancing at him to notice the vein popping at his neck. The skin glistens under the light, involuntarily gulping. This feels wrong, so wrong to constantly gawk at them. You’re ashamed, but then he speaks. “Did he force you to come?”

He knows.

It’d be weirder if he didn’t. That’s his friend, you supposed. “I wouldn’t call it forcing,” you state, though you aren’t certain yourself.

He leans back on the bench with a hum, nodding. “Guessed so. He’s usually a good liar, wouldn’t say the same for earlier.”

You fall into silence, you wouldn't know what he's talking about. You're not used to these people… but then, a ghost of a touch lands on your jaw, guiding you to face him.

“Jeongin–”

“You let him touch you,” he stops you, his smile never leaves his face. His voice is reprimanding even with how light it sounds, you pick it that way. His fingers ghosts over the side of your face, tracing where Seungmin had clasped his hand above your cheek, slowly inching to your lips, “and he claims it’s for the project.” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lower lip and you pursue them in a thin line, frown deepening.

“Are you teasing me again…?”

“No,” he replies, firm. “Was just wondering,” he trails his gaze, hovering on your lips. “How soft they’d be.”

Your jaw hangs, and he thinks that’s his favourite expression on you. Undeniably scorching underneath his touch. There’s a twist in his stomach, something familiar to his body—and yet, a stranger to his brain. Feeling the intense need to pull you back from Seungmin’s sudden grip, to cut through the ropes he’s unconsciously tying you with.

Strange, he’s never had possessiveness issues with girls before. Perhaps he did, but it never happened concerning his friends. He could just be taking enjoyment in teasing you in search of the reactions you keep feeding his consciousness, you're a fun person to mess with. Though, it doesn't quite fit that strict standard.

For some reason, he can’t help the twinge of jealousy that threatens to emerge.

The tip of your fingers twitch, trembling on your laps, hovering slightly as you don't know what to do with them. “I— How soft—?” you repeat, coming off as a hitch. Sure that your brain stopped working a second ago, you shake your head, denying his theory. He stares at you as if he was observing every spasm of muscle, every smack of lips. Gaze following each direction your dilating pupils take, pulse beating in your eardrums in thuds.

“People are looking,” you try to reason, to provide a plausible reason for him to leave your bubble. Alas, he doesn’t seem to mind a bit.

“So?” he says in a hush, “Does it bother you…” it comes off as a whisper, dilated pupils dropping to his moving lips, “that I’m touching you right now, am I being weird?”

You gulp. He watches, eyes unleaving before he eventually pulls back, using the same hand to rake through his hair. Making an effort to give you space when you don't reply, blinking down at your laps instead. You touch your own lips, head hanging now to hide your flushed expression.

“Class will be over soon,” he mentions, staring ahead. “All those guys will be swooning around you, and you’ll photograph them,” he finds Seungmin in the crowd, blankly fixing him, “that’s why he brought you here, the excuse he gave.”

Why is he acting like this, what’s the point?

You’re indecisive whether you like it or not.

The pit in your stomach sure does despite your attempt to mask it, your thighs dig into the edge of the bench, uncomfortable out of nowhere. “It’s for the project, I suppose… collective idea.”

He takes a dim view at you, a crease forming above his nose. “Are you oblivious, or do you pretend to be?”

Your mouth parts, to retort with something but the sharp sound of a whistle pierces through, the noise echoing down the gymnasium’s walls. He stands up before you do, dusting the back of his pants when he notices the athletes scatter across the field. “Don’t be stupid, noona,” he warns, “a guy’s intention is not hard to tell.” For whatever reason, it feels like a warning, grabbing your hand with no attention being paid to your tiny noise of complaint. His fingers snake down your wrist, holding you above your pulse point. You’re agitated, heartbeat running a marathon. He likes it, you’re cute like this, all wide eyes gaping at him as he guides you towards him. “Tell me if they nag you too much, m’kay?”

—

“Three, two… one.”

Click.

The shutters come off with a ‘chik’, knuckles gripping the device as you wander off to the other side of the gymnasium. One more time.

They’re overworking you, having you run off every other second to catch different shots and angles of random sweaty, muscular, abnormally handsome dudes. The last part is just your opinion though.

Your feet ache, sore and burning in the tight confinement of your shoes, your soles numb by now. “One more!”

God, no. Jeongin’s empty promise lives in your mind. He had asked you to tell him if they were harassing you, but he took work harassment as unnecessary apparently. “That’s not what I meant,” is what he replied, urging you to get back to work as he went back to converse with his teammates. Seungmin wasn’t paying much consideration to you either, after making the trouble of manipulating you here using a freshman.

Curse Jeongin. Curse Seungmin. Curse everyone in this room, including yourself for always bringing your camera around. For that? Curse your major.

 “I don’t— I don’t think I can any more,” you gasp in an exhausted pant, the whole area is huge — huge for your pitiful, unathletic body. “A break, please.” you beg. Seungmin has the audacity to act as if he was thinking about it, as if interrupting his conversation was a crime to begin with.

“Then go sit down?” he retorts, mildly irritated that you asked. You frown, because earlier you hoped to, but as soon as your ass made contact with the floor — they demanded you to get back up immediately.

You’ll never forget how rude jocks are.

Sprawled on a bench at the complete corner, you refused to give him a response. You totally would, you even imagined the whole scenario. Then it hits you that that stupid frathouse he’s part of will burn you alive if you’re bluntly rude to any of them, him specifically. His face is rude to look at. That’s a lie, you want to kiss him. Or worse.

“Noooo, yn.” you mutter in a wince, shaking your head in disapproval, “stop, bad bad thoughts…”

A shadow catches your eye of sight, towering your sitting figure.

“Oh, aren’t you–?”

Your head snaps up to the stranger standing before you, not-so a stranger as you take in who it is. He smiles, fingers tugging at the top zipper of his jacket, pulling it down in this heat. Sweat drizzles in beads on the skin of his neck, and you wonder if sweating has ever looked hotter on anyone else.

Stop.

Stay strong. No other frat dudes will ruin your semester, you’re already letting two boss you around. No more.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he exclaims, plopping down next to you horrifyingly comfortably. “It’s our second time meeting, no? You remember me?” he speaks, but your cheeks are too puffed with overly nervous air to be able. Chris, cocks his head to the side, following the direction of where you’re facing. “Not much of a talker, huh.”

“I know you,” you reply, bobbing your head up and down in a futile attempt at seeming stable. Everyone knows him. Holy shit, you’re actually alone with him right now — without Jeongin shielding you from any real interaction. Fuckass leader of their cult, and here you were worrying about Seungmin. That’s like fighting the final boss as a level two player in an ecchi game where he’s an ogre and you’re a maiden — except that he’s too beautiful to be an ogre.

“I know you too,” he grins, the dents on his cheek hollow and charming. He resembles Jeongin, in a way, perhaps because they are roommates — the mannerisms rub off. He hums, glancing to your fumbling hands when he notices the camera, “Ah, that’s why you’re here.”

“Are Seungmin and Jeongin keeping you busy, you must be tired.” he mentions and you instantly nod at the accusation towards them, turning into a head shake of denial when he starts chuckling, realising that you’re agreeing on shit regarding his fraternity.

“No, they aren’t—” you deny, pained through gritted teeth because the ache in your feet proves otherwise.

He stands up, and you think you’re done for, but then he walks up to you – crouching so that you can’t face the floor anymore but his striking features. Forcing you to look at him.

Are all guys around here this pushy—? Social space’s got to be a myth for them.

You must be an easy target, because his palm slides over yours, half-grabbing the camera with you. Soothing. Cradling your palm in his with soft hands.

“Take a picture of me,” he asks, already urging you to stand with him. You’re dizzy. A mantra of no looping in your head — hopelessly searching for Jeongin’s face amongst the crowd as Chris leads you to a painted wall with the school’s athlete theme logo plastered on it.

The people in your proximity fall into silence when you pass by them. Not because of you, but him. Chitter-chatter dies unless he looks back and waves, and they claim it’s not a cult. A group of cheerleaders eyes you down dirty, their poms dropping to their sides, stiff. You can’t even look back, your gaze might tell them you don’t want to be here. Either way, people will get mad at you in these types of situations.

Refuse, you’re ungrateful. Accept, you’re undeserving.

You’ve read enough forums to be aware of this. How does it feel to be popular? Now it feels the opposite. The same spotlight being put upon you against your consent.

“Here,” he instructs, stopping in his tracks. “I’ll go there, you decide where to stand.” he informs, stepping back. “You’re the professional here.”

“Okay,” you reply, throat tight. Putting some distance when you’re hit with a familiar surface, you don’t have to peek back to know who it is. You still look.

“Are you all right?” he asks, voice low only for you to hear.

“I think,” you breathe out, bringing your camera before you. Chris doesn’t say anything about Jeongin’s presence being glued to your back, but there’s something in his expression that you’re unable to decipher — unlike Jeongin, his hyung is transparent to him. “My hands are trembling,” you admit. It comes out before you can grasp it, perhaps because he had told you to tell him if something — someone is bothering you. Your mouth just accepted his comfort before your brain does.

He’s quiet for a second.

Then.

His arms embrace your sides. You fold your arms together in a surprised reflex from the hug. He’s not hugging you though it comes close. He holds the camera with you, steadying your clumsy hands with his bigger ones. His biceps grazes your skin through your clothes, breath fanning on your neck as he leans down to ear level. “Is that better?”

“No, worse.” you instantly stammer, chest heaving and falling rapidly.

“I can hear your pulse,” he informs you in a whisper. And he shouldn’t have, really, now it’s faster. “Relax, just take the picture. Get it done with yn.”

You inhale in, slowly exhaling out. Clicking the shutters on your most controlled breath, scared that you’ll lose it on the next one. You click a few with the help of Jeongin, eventually dropping your camera. “I’m done.”

Jeongin’s hold leaves you, but he stays by your side.

Chris approaches, “Can I see them?”

You blink, absently biting the inside of your cheeks. “There’s too many pictures in… I’ll have to transfer them to my laptop or else we will have to go through each one by one.”

“Ohh, I see.” he hums, thinking about it. “Then… send them to me after. I’ll give you my numb—”

“I’ll send them to you, hyung. Don’t worry about it,” Jeongin blurts out, subtly pushing you back onto him. Subtly, but it’s a full step back towards him. Till you’re clasped into each other. He’s smiling, however his tone carries an edge. A tinge of possessiveness.

Chris throws his hand up, shrugging his shoulders. “All right. I have no complaints, Ayen-ah.” he replies, stepping forward. “As long,” he trails, holding eye contact, “as I get those pictures, in the end. No complaints.”

Jeongin’s glare doesn’t leave Chris until he’s out of sight, getting busy with his coach somewhere far off. He sighs. Sighs. Gaze dropping to yours, pivoting you to face him.

He seems annoyed, irritated by Chris’ approach, you’re more relieved that the latter left. Subconsciously scooting towards Jeongin’s embrace. “What was that…” you ask, earning a click of tongue from him.

“Ignore him,” he replies, “can’t have anything anymore. Just gotta stick their asses in,” he’s muttering, barely audible.

“Huh, what? I can’t hear you.”

He pokes his tongue inside his mouth, forcing a bump on his cheek. “Forget it, are you done with the photos?”

You nod, pointing to your camera. “Yup, all in.”

“Okay, let’s go back then. Don’t feel like staying here any more.”

—

“The pictures are good,” Seungmin agrees, clicking on swipe. “But those losers are lame,” he adds, squinting at each individual he’s seeing on screen, “being this unphotogenic gotta be against the regulations, what the fuck.”

You’re sprawled across his bed, the three of you crashing his dorm for the past hour. You brought your laptop, showing the safe part of it only. “I don’t think it's that bad,” you reply, pointing to the mouse so that he’d give it to you.

Jeongin has been quiet for a while — lost in thoughts, letting you and Seungmin do most of the talking. Snapping awake when Seungmin kicks his knee.  “Wake up, dude.”

“Eh?”

Seungmin scoffs, “The pictures, what do you think?”

Jeongin gazes at the screen, watching you roll past a few images. They’re ugly, he means to say. Not because you took them though, that’d be a lie. The problems are the recipients. “They’re…” he slurs, a bit tired when he looks at you; you have such a hopeful daze in your eyes, waiting for some validation. He groans, rubbing his forehead. “They’re great. Such… symmetry.”

Both you and Seungmin share a glance, skepticism etching your features.

“Just go back to sleep,” Seungmin tuts, facing forward when he notices a certain picture. “Wait, hol’ on.” he stops you, indicating where to click. You do, and he zooms in. “This. I didn’t know you took Chan’s photo?”

You awkwardly peek sideways, shrugging. “He asked me to,” expecting some sort of reaction from him, but he dwells on it; humming.

“I got an idea, come here.” he requests, slapping Jeongin’s arm to get him to follow as you form a circle on his mattress. “Nobody cares about those guys, right?”

Jeongin nods. You don’t know what answer to give this statement.

“We could make the magazine about us?” he suggests.

“About Stray Kids?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” your and Jeongin’s ‘no’ comes off simultaneously, quickly disapproving.

Seungmin perks a brow, resting his arms on his crossed legs. “Why? It’s a good idea.”

You stay silent, well aware that this won’t be good for your heart. Nor your body, nor your mind. You in general. However, you have no idea why Jeongin refused, stealing a glance at him to wait for his reasoning.

“I don’t want to, do I need a reason?” he retorts, keeping his tone normal the best he can.

“Yeah, you do. My grades matter on this, your grades will count because of this. yn?” he addresses you, shifting his focus to you and you wince internally.

It is an amazing idea, probably the best one so far… but… what do you even say here?!

No, I can’t because you guys get me all hot and bothered, and I might just bust if you keep getting into my space like that.

Okay. Nopes.

You throw your head forward onto your palms, your whole body sighing deeply in defeat. You hadn’t had much choice since this whole thing began, to be honest. What will it change?

“Fine…” you mumble, “I’m for Seungmin’s idea.”

They both stare at you momentarily, gaze heavy despite your lowered head. The way in which Seungmin’s lips curl into a smirk escapes you, and so does Jeongin’s growing frown.

“Two against one, guess we’re following my suggestion by fair voting. Hm?” Seungmin states, not quite a question, a spark of victory engraving his voice when Jeongin huffs, tsking. Tapping his knee in quiet frustration before reluctantly nodding, mumbling out a quiet ‘okay.’

You start to map out the magazine, planning each page and dividing the sections. Notes, members, club activities. They explain how their classes and clubs work, and you note it down. When it's your turn explaining, they’re the ones to listen. They’re attentive, you give them that. Perhaps because they are subtly admiring your focused expression, the knit of your brows, the tiny sniffs you take when they stare too hard — the pout that forms at your lips. Addicting.

Do you realize how cute you are? They wonder.

The clock ticks, time flying by and you’re soon yawning out. Lazily blinking as you type your last sentence so far. “I think… we are done for today, what else is there?” you ask, peering at them. They seem as tired, half-way lying dead on the mattress.

“We can continue later, I think it’s past midnight.” Jeongin mumbles, glancing at his phone screen.

Your own eyes land on the clock on your laptop, mouth gaping. “Oh shit, it is. I’ll get going then—” you heave up, but they hold onto you, throwing you back with a thud.

“It’s late, stay.” Seungmin asks — demands.

“I couldn’t possibly—” you try to oppose, but Jeongin is already packing your stuff, setting them on the nearby desk before returning to his initial seat. Next to you. Not for a project. “I have to go home…” you hope to object, but they tug you closer and your voice dies in a slur. “My roommate…”

“–is grown, she’ll manage without you tonight.” Seungmin declares, because he might not if you decide to leave again after such difficulty to get you here.

“Oh,” you hitch, shifting your head sideways to be met with Jeongin. You really can’t escape, huh. “Can I sleep on the couch?”

“No,” Jeongin replies, his forehead resting on your shoulder. “Felix is downstairs, stay here. Be good,” the last part comes off as a whisper. You nearly choke.

“I, uhm. Ok.”

They could laugh at your malfunction, but the last time they did you fled away for a solid week. For some reason, they don’t feel like teasing either.

Probably a dumb reason.

Seungmin switches off the lights, darkness filling your vision, as if that made it any better. Their proximity is louder than anything, how are you supposed to sleep in such a deafening atmosphere? Suddenly hyperaware of the fleeting touches and caresses that land on your body.

There's nothing at first, just the sound of your heavy breathing — cursing at yourself for it, but then, it's like they keep inching towards you. Closing any chance of distance till you're made of one piece. You're sure that you're dreaming it, that you fell asleep and this is all an illusion of your deepest fantasies of this exact situation. Clinging onto the logic till an arm wraps around your waist, having forgotten who is on which side on the spot. You gasp, not even an audible sound when you're rolled onto your side. The same arm snaking where your shirt hikes upwards. “Fuck, you're soft.”

Jeongin.

Mistake thinking it's only him when they're busy playing team tagging. The one behind you, Seungmin, pulls himself to your back. Spooning you like a pillow, their personal pillow. He hums, satisfied with the scent of your shampoo invading his nostrils.

Your thighs squeeze. Lord, not now. But when else?

“Guys…”

“Sleep,” Jeongin sighs, nose nuzzling your neck, bangs tickling your skin.

You can't. You hear crickets despite the lack of a nearby forest. It keeps you awake.

You'd be crazy to think that they're almost grinding on you, or you're the one doing it. You can't tell either. Your brain is working overtime, core throbbing painfully at the ideas that washes your mind. Jeongin's lips land flimsy above the collar of your shirt, you shiver in dull desire, hips involuntarily rolling back when you hear a light grunt from beside your ear. “I'm sorry—” you quickly apologize when Seungmin's palms lay flat on your hips, stilling your squirming self.

“Are you trying to make me pop a boner?” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep and something darker.

You apologize again; soft, guilty mumbles leaving your lips. Jeongin fights the urge to shut you up with a kiss. To seal those inviting lips of your. To be the first one of them to do it.

To claim you first before any of his hyungs get the chance to snatch you from him.

They’re sleepy, and you keep on rambling. Rambling off about how you could sleep on the floor, that it'd be better for everyone when they nicely decided to tuck you in with them. How cruel of you, really. It happens to be Seungmin's last straw.

“Ayen,” he begs in a groggy grunt, swiftly taking hold of the back of your head. “Keep her quiet.”

Jeongin doesn't hesitate.

His lips meet yours in a sweet haste, not registering any of it actually happening until his lips part, swallowing the huff you let out. He gives you a slow caress, a merciful chance to adjust. Your eyes squeeze shut, not having kissed anyone in years, you fight to keep up. He doesn't care, taking pleasure in the ineptitude in which you try to kiss back. Your lack of experience is endearing when his fingers find your jaw, gaping at your mouth to lick the drool that threatens to spill. Soft, pathetic, high pitched whimpers leave you mid kiss, begging for some oxygen when he steals yours away. Pulling back at last, his breath ghosts on your nose. Though, you get no time to recover when your face is hunched to the side, another pair of lips making contact with your parted ones.

Seungmin might just deem you as a drug. He's rougher than Jeongin, though his lips are delicate. The shakiness in which you allow him to do whatever with your mouth pleases him, the naivety in which you aim to breathe through your nose because they aren't giving you any opportunity for air to fill your lungs. Shit — should've kissed you sooner. Should've kissed you the first time you zoned out with that dumb expression of yours. He's been wondering why you kept doing that ever since, he might get an idea after this. He tilts his face, propping himself on his elbow to gain better access, shoving his tongue deep inside your mouth.

You moan, delirious when Jeongin's lips drop to your collarbone, sucking a slow, harsh mark there, that you have to tug at his hair — or Seungmin's. It's difficult to differentiate in this state.

He pulls back when you whine, heated eyes staring at you through pitch black darkness, breathing a ton. “Shit,” he curses, there's a throb in his pants, and with the shuffling from Jeongin's side, he's sure the sensation is mutual amongst them. Still, you're shuddering wildly, uncertain of how much you can handle — for now. “Let's just–” he pants, catching his stolen voice, “let's just go to sleep.”

—

The first thing you did when the sun rose was leave.

You left. Tearing yourself from tangled limbs, swiftly grabbing your belongings as you left without informing anyone. You can’t — you can’t handle that.

You hadn’t expected this to happen. Well maybe a minuscule logical part of you did — noticing the obvious signs early on, only to mark it with a ‘delusion’ arrow. You nearly bumped into a sleepy Felix on your escapee, just to ignore his confused grunt and make it out of the door.

You’re done for. Doomed. Rejected. Will regret this.

Living in fear for the rest of the day, an intense sense of familiar paranoia tugging at your heart. You can’t — that’s what you keep reminding yourself of. Except that they’re the ones doing it, and you’re silently letting them in.

“What the hell, yn.” you mutter, hands messing with your hair in disbelief.

—

“Do I stink?” Jeongin asks, sniffing the sleeve of his shirt.

“No shit,” Seungmin replies, the sarcasm in his response is loud. He doesn’t think he’s that behind. They hardly made it out of their individual practice tonight, deciding to meet up afterwards. The commune showers are crowded. Their clothes stick to their bodies, hair damp from washing it under the cold, tap water.

“I can’t believe she left without a word,” Jeongin blurts out and Seungmin hums in feign confusion. “This morning?”

He shrugs, eyes landing on the nearby opened store. “I can believe it, fits her character.” he says, though, he’s distracted by the pink hue of the store, ‘Welcome’ plastered on top. “Jeongin.”

“Hm?”

“I’m craving popsicles.”

—

Knock knock.

Jeongin’s knuckles hammers against your dorm’s door, the two of them standing by. They wait. It’s the third knock, and they’re getting impatient. “You think she’s home or nah?”

“Dunno, knock one more time.” Seungmin encourages, watching the younger man make a last attempt when the door creaks open. They anticipated to be met with your head peeking out curiously, unfortunately, the person behind the door isn’t you.

“Uhm, hello?” the girl speaks, taking a proper look as her eyes widen when she realizes who is standing before her. Panicked confusion seers through for a second, but then the memory of you mumbling about your project hits her. “Are you here for my roommate…?”

They nod and she opens the door wider, hesitant. “She’s not home right now, I think she went to the library.”

“We can wait here, no? Is she going to take long,” Jeongin asks, and she seems genuinely perplexed by it. Reluctant to let them inside.

Her tongue swipes across her lips, nodding. “Totally, I was about to leave either way. You can watch over meanwhile, I guess.”

Seungmin isn’t too fan of her telling them to watch over but Jeongin intercepts it before he does, grabbing his arm to pull them both inside. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” she assures, awkwardly clasping her shoes on. “You can stay here, sit on the couch. I don’t know, make yourself at home.” she says, about to head out as she suddenly stops. For the first time, feeling a bit considerate regarding you. Taking a deep inhale to gather the courage to face them, “Don’t enter her room, at all costs. That’s all, bye.”

At least she tried to warn them. She doesn’t know exactly why you prohibit people from entering your room since you usually keep to yourself. But you had expressed this rule several times, she felt the need to mention it before heading out.

Jeongin sprawls on the couch, throwing his head back, observing Seungmin walk towards the freezer, resting the popsicles deep inside cold refuge. “Hey,” he voices when Jeongin takes out his phone, earning a curious ‘hm’ from the other. “Why do you think she warned us?”

“Girls stuff, maybe. How would I know?” he replies, not quite dwelling on it like Seungmin. “Why do you ask?”

“Curious, that’s all.” he plops down next to Jeongin, propping his elbows on his thighs. “It’s weird, honestly.”

“You mean… you want to take a look?”

“Don’t you?”

Jeongin swallows, glancing at the shut door. “And… if she comes back?”

“We’ll act innocent, we know nothing.”

“Yeah, okay. We aren’t snooping around,” he reassures and Seungmin nods.

“We’re just loitering, crashing, nothing wrong with that.”

They hesitate — pretend to in order to please their conscience — yet, they thread through either way.

—

Your room is nothing unusual, nothing worth a warning for if they had to be real.

The walls are clean, you’re well hygienic, and there are barely any interesting posters up. Tidy, neat, casual.

“It’s like I’m stepping into an epitome of boredom, holy. Has she never heard of decorations?” Seungmin groans, pulling your desk chair to take a seat, rolling the wheels lazily.

Jeongin hums, sitting on your bed. The mattress is softer than his, taking delight by bouncing on it.

“You look stupid, quit doing that.” Seungmin snarks, raising his leg to kick Jeongin’s leg.

“Honestly, nothing here gives off her vibes. Or is it my opinion?”

Seungmin shakes his head, pupils darting around. “Nah, you’re right. I expected something a bit more…”

“Loseristic?”

“You're making up words now?” Seungmin asks, huffing a laugh. “Rude, I’ll tell her you called her a loser.”

“Says the rude one, bet she likes me better.” Jeongin states, pretending not to notice the twitch in Seungmin’s brow.

“I don't need to be desperate to get a girl,” Seungmin retorts, a mean blade to his tone. Jeongin's used to it.

“If you say so,” Jeongin mumbles, hiding the growing rigidity in his body with a cheeky grin. Throwing his body backwards onto the mattress when he hears a weird sound. He does it again despite Seungmin's skeptical stare. “Yo, hyung.” he calls, laying his palm flat on the surface, applying pressure. “I think there's something under the bed.”

“Huh, like what?” Seungmin asks, cocking his head in confusion. He stands up as Jeongin does, helping him lift the mattress.

Their eyes widen. Freezing on the spot to the stash of material before them.

Ten… “Tentacle?”

Jeongin picks up something, reading the cover. “Alien, monster. Eh, orgy?”

They skim through, attention being driven towards the crude displays in front of them. Girls getting gangbanged, manhandled, used. Boys not far off, you do have a type — they've come to know that.

The deafening agreement that courses through is wordless, they leave the mattress, bodies working around to find other leaks. Evidence that they aren't insane for this.

“I found porno games–” Jeongin begins, moving the front row of your books to the side to reveal DVDs, CDs, audiobooks, games — mangas, magazines. Your magazines — he opens them, swiping through the pages of naked men, handsome naked men — so that's where you got the idea from.

“I found something crazier,” Seungmin mumbles, his surprised amusement itching his throat. “Come see.”

He does, and that's probably the last thing he was anticipating to see in your room. There's toys, he can't blame you for that. But it's the specification of them.

Seungmin picks a dildo up, the shape weird in his palm. “You think that went inside?”

It's long. Sharp at the tip, purple with suctions on the edges. The picture of you using it to get off plagues his mind, and he's not scared to admit that it turns him on.

Jeongin blinks, his face running hot at the thought. He had thought you’d be naive, hence why you kept reacting with such innocence and timidity. Perhaps not, perhaps it was the complete opposite.

“Who would picture her for a pervert,” he doubts his own words, the heavy gulp from Jeongin echoes in their pulsating eardrums. “Are you weirded out?”

“Kinda,” Jeongin admits, his nails finding the curve of his nape, the skin heats under his fingertips. “Would it be wrong to be into it?”

Seungmin stares at him, the answer to that clear in both of their minds. He's about to reply when they hears the front door click.

“Fuck–”

They panic, cursing under their breath as they rush to put everything back neatly. In place exactly how they found it. There's a dog barking in the distance, and a muffled hint of your voice peering through.

Your steps get closer, the wooden floor creaking when you reach your bedroom door. The doorknob twists, the movement almost in slow motion until the surface bursts open the second you hear something — some things you shouldn't be hearing inside your bedroom.

“What the–!” you shout, vision instantly crashing on the two of them. They're sitting idly, Jeongin on your chair and Seungmin on the bed. On their phone. “What are you doing here?” the urgency in your voice cracking it open.

“We were…” Seungmin eyes Jeongin briefly, who is as clueless as him, “waiting for you.”

“In my room–?”

The dog barks again.

“I mean, where else?”

You whine, the worry on your face is pitiful. Brows knitted, mouth into a thin–pouty line. Your lashes keep fluttering close, not grasping the situation quite well. “Did you… find anything?” you ask and they shake their heads.

You want to believe them, you wish to. But they are breathing a millisecond quicker, chests heaving uncharacteristically. The tip of their ears are red, and you're not confident on what brought this reaction to them. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, what do you want us to find?” Seungmin questions and you grumble, knees bobbing in anxiety.

“Nothing,” it's small, dropping the book you've borrowed from the library on the desk, and their eyes suspiciously follow the object; trying to decipher what's written on it as if it was the holy grail. “We can move to the common room–”

“Actually,” Jeongin interrupts. “Can we use your shower real quick? We haven't since practice ended.”

You blink, glancing around briefly before nodding hesitantly. “Go ahead…” you point to the bathroom and they lift up. Seungmin pauses midway, turning to you.

“By the way, we bought you popsicles. It's in the freezer, wasn't sure which flavour you’d prefer,” he says, lips quirking upwards, “so we brought both.”

—

The shower runs as a waterfall in your head, fixed in the middle of your bed for the past ten minutes. You checked your things once. Barely. You gave it a sliver of a glance, too embarrassed to properly check. Having no courage to stand up and try again.

So, you overthink it.

Clicking the tip of your nails between your teeth, leg shaking stressfully. You don’t feel so well, “What if they found out…” you whisper under a breath, the popsicle cools down your wrist, the melting liquid drooling on your skin. You don’t notice with several scenarios busying your attention. You’d prefer if they snapped at you, called you a weirdo and forced you to switch schools rather than feigning innocence. Because it sure felt like they were. Then you’d be clear of doubts that they’re aware of what’s hidden here, instead of living in crippling anxiety.

You’re on the verge of breaking down when the shower stops, snapping you out of your never-ending thoughts as the doorknob tilts open. It stops briefly, you can hear their conversation faintly, not clear enough to make out what they’re saying until the door eventually opens.

The sight has your heartbeat erratic, lungs squeezing for a sudden breather as they come out of your bathroom shirtless.

Jeongin’s pants hang low, low enough to show the trace of his V line and the waistband of his boxers. He dries the edge of his hair with the towel hanging around his neck. Seungmin’s behind him, the droplets from his damp strands rolling down his shoulders, to his chest. The view of his abs casually flexing with his steps has you faltering.

“Where— where are your clothes…!?” you squeal, palms covering your eyes like a sneaky child. It’d be endearing if they didn’t know what type of person you truly are. Still, they step forward.

“Clothes? We’re wearing–” Jeongin replies and you shake your head, face flushed.

“No, your shirts—”

“Oh, you mean that.” Seungmin hums, knee digging into the mattress and you might just die. “Sorry, it’s in the washer,” he mentions, somehow never showing any remorse in his apologies. “Does it bother you that we’re here like this?”

“I’m not sure–” you mean to say yes, but Jeongin finds comfort on your left. Casually laying onto your pillow, the same one you… oh.

“The water pressure here is low-key more decent than ours. Isn’t it, hyung?”

Seungmin steals the towel from Jeongin, fading the flush that crept on his face from the shower, “Yeah, makes you wanna stay in here longer. We should come here more often. You wouldn’t mind right?”

The glimpse you take at his dripping chest is well noticed by him, faintly smirking when you take in a quiet gulp, lashes battling in malfunction. “Uhm, I have to ask… my roommate.”

“I’m sure she’ll have zero problem with it, noona. I’m confident nobody on campus can refuse us,” Jeongin reassures, glancing at the dribbling popsicle in your grip, fingers tight on the wooden stick. He sighs, digits digging into your wrist, stabilising your trembling hold. “Noona, look at the mess you’re causing,” he mutters, voice close to your ears. “It’s dripping everywhere, do you like it that way?”

Seungmin pats your head, because you seem on the verge of tears — eyes glossy, blinking to prevent anything from overflowing. It’s pathetic, he thinks he’s infatuated. “She must, Ayen, her hand is all sticky. Such a wet mess, it’s drooling onto your sheets.” he insinuates, forcing you to notice the blueish drops that stains your bed.

Your brain stops working altogether, voice staggering in an apology as you try to stand but they prevent you from doing so.

“Relax, we’ll clean it up for you.” Seungmin says, and Jeongin moves on the spot.

Plump lips meeting the veins on your wrist, a stark reminder of yesterday that you hardly forgot, and now they’re adding new material to your poor mind.

“No, no,” you beg in a whimper, embarrassed with the moan that leaves you when his tongue darts at the liquid, licking a long stripe from the bottom of your wrist to your palm. He holds eye contact, Seungmin shutting off any attempt of you averting your gaze. “I’m sorry–”

Seungmin tilts his head, lifting your chin to gaze at where he’s standing above your lying figure, “Don’t be.” he smiles, “this is out of free will.”

He lays back when Jeongin’s done with the cleanup. The younger holds the popsicle before you, they can practically feel your heat from here. Fuck, you must be soaking from this alone. It takes a lot not to pounce on you already, but they’ll wait. Feed you whatever you desire, mess with your pretty little head till you’re left a pleading mess.

That’s the plan.

“Say aah,” Jeongin guides, tutting when you shake your head.

“Demonstrate,” Seungmin suggests, tone smug. “It’s probably her first time.”

You whine, the world tight and dizzy. Your head pivots, the situation too overwhelming for you to react. Their words are dirty, it feels double meaning, but Jeongin’s mouth parting around the popsicle in your hand has you buffering. Thighs pressing uncomfortable, certain that the pool of desire in your stomach is visible in your body language.

“Pay attention,” he reminds you, like he was instructing a class. His tongue peeks out, catching the drop that was threatening to spill as he runs his mouth all the way up to the top. He lays his tongue flat on the underside, hypnotizing when he sucks on it with a hard pop that nearly breaks the desert. You picture that was your clit instead, the same plump lips wrapping around your lips and… No. This is wrong, but it feels so right.

“It’s sweet, you should try it.” Jeongin smirks, his dimples popping as he brings the spit covered desert to your lips. “Please?” his cock jumps when you part your lips tentatively, a small — gaping hole for him to push the popsicle in. It leaks at the corners of your mouth, gasping when he shoves it deeper.

Seungmin grunts, a pang of nasty jealousy ringing through at the sight of Jeongin using you like this. He heaves up, tugging closer to your body — arm snugging your waist to get you to fit into his body. It’s haste, sudden enough for Jeongin not to get the chance for a response. “Let me have a taste.”

You’re about to hand him the popsicle, but he gets rid of it before you. Confused when his lips suddenly collide with yours with a, “hmph—!”

He kisses you like he missed the sensation of you in his mouth. The threads of patience left in him finally snapping. His lips are as you remember them, delicate but harsh. The taste of blueberry on your lips has his moaning in your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue, licking at the inside of your warmth — careful not to miss any drop of sugar.

Jeongin’s grip on your thighs tightens, blunt nails digging onto the fabric and you wince in pained pleasure, escaping from Seungmin’s ministration for a fraction of second. Long enough for Jeongin to react, he doesn’t wait politely in order to push your head towards him. Lips molding into place — harder than Seungmin — more teeth and possession enrobing the kiss, drawing a high pitched sound from him when your fingers instinctively lace through his silky locks; brushing his scalp in your search for support. To tug at something and cling to it.

He invades your senses, body mushed to yours, sandwiching you between the two of them as his hands trail past your thighs to the button of your pants. He stops on the seam, thumb absently tracing in the ridge of the circle. Seungmin's breath is on your neck, brushing off the strands of hair to pamper the skin with reminders of him.

Jeongin pulls your wrist towards him, kissing your palm before moving to yank off your cardigan. Seungmin takes the hint, deft fingers hurrying to undo the buttons attaching the wool altogether, groping your tits in the process. A sense of urgency hits you as they begin undressing you, throbbing under their hungry demeanor.

“Wait– Wait!” you choke out, hands flailing forward. They pause, wearing an expression that screams nobody has ever told them to wait before. Confused, though they're considerate enough to give you an inch of distance to gather your thoughts. “I've never…” you admit, abashed. “I’ve never done any of this…”

A second passes, and you cuss yourself for it. Shouldn't you have said that? — did you ruin the mood?

However, Jeongin spreads your legs wider, his grip softens small enough to go unnoticed. “Is that an issue?” he asks, “Do you want us to stop?”

He's asking you if it's an issue. You're thrown aback, lips swollen and jaw slack. You had thought they'd take you for an inexperienced loser — to make fun of you, and it to be their worry. Not yours.

Stop?

“No,” you reply, almost scared that they'll pull away. “Don't stop, please.”

Seungmin inhales against your nape, teeth nibbling down. Teasing. “You know, yn,” he begins, palms trailing across your body slower than earlier, this time savouring the shape of you in his grip. “I've been wanting to fuck you for a while, just couldn't tell why.” you shiver, and he smiles. “Weird, because I can always tell why I want someone. Maybe, I know why now.”

Your mouth dries, or salivates?

Mind too clouded with a simple question to care, “Why…?”

He laughs, quiet, scarcely a blow of air. “That's a secret between me and Jeongin.”

Your buttons come off. Revealing your bare shoulders when the cardigan gets thrown loose somewhere on the floor along with the forgotten popsicle, all that's left is a soaking mess of it. A mirror of you if they choose to dive their hands a bit further. But they can already tell. They know.

Jeongin's knee nestles between your parted thighs, and you close them on him by reflex. He groans as the meat rubs on his aching cock with the help of Seungmin's grip grinding you on his friend's leg. “Say,” Jeongin rasps by your lips, drawing the sweetest breathless noises out of you from the motion on your clothed clit. “Do you want me or him?”

You wonder if your hearing is playing on you, eyes hovering to Seungmin's briefly because you're not positive of what Jeongin could mean by that. If that's a proper question to answer, or a trap–

“Go ahead,” Seungmin assures, “answer his question.”

No matter how much you dwell on it, the beats that pass. You've got only one answer on the tip of your tongue, “Both– I can't choose… please,” you're putty in their hands, eyes closing in a plea, “don't make me choose...”

“Such a greedy girl,” Seungmin whispers, tracing the edge of your shirt. “You heard her, Ayen-ah. Stop being a possessive asshole.”

Jeongin's smile falters, painfully aware of the playground Seungmin is setting. He'll say that, then do the exact same thing he's reprimanding Jeongin from doing.

Like the dirty lying cheater he is, it's just a game of belonging to him. No — to them. He's not so innocent either, it's not the first time this is happening. For whatever reason, he's not too fond of sharing this once. You're such a fascinating little thing, he wants to keep you to himself.

Not long before the rest starts meddling, then it'll be a game of chess. The thought alone has his skin prickly, but for now, maybe he'll give you what you want.

If you want Seungmin too — then so be it. Playing dirty is not unfamiliar in the house; to hand you each of your fantasies one by one, till you're unable to digest anything else but him.

“Take her clothes off, take it–” Jeongin snarls. Maybe he's a little angry, it diffuses on the way he reaches for the zipper of your pants, flying it open and a pop of buttons. Seungmin complies, much needing to see more of you as he lifts your arms. Ripping the shirt off your head with impatience, leaving your chest bare except for the lace of your bra. Seungmin shudders at the sight of your cleavage above your shoulder, salivating when you hurry to cover yourself so timidly as if there aren't several deranged materials hidden in every corner of this bedroom.

You're an iceberg he's willing to dive under the sea to discover, to get you to spill all your dirty secrets by the time he's done with you. To coax it out, along with the whimpers you let out when he removes your arms from your chest. “Don't hide, show me.”

“You're pretty like this. Pretty face,” his hand trails to your back, unclasping your bra with a click. “Pretty tits, I bet you've got a pretty cunt too.”

Your face heats impossibly, as if you weren't already scorching before. Just then, Jeongin's thumbs lock on the waistline of your pants, rolling them off by jerking your hips forward. Panties are the sole thing left on you, and you could die from humiliation. Your skin flushes with heat, burning.

Seungmin lays back, pulling you with him till you're up against his bare chest. Naked flesh-on-flesh. He could lick at your goosebumps.

Jeongin crawls in front of your curved knees, palms clasping on your knees, easily using his strength to open your thighs. “You're dripping,” he points out upon seeing the damp spot on the gusset of the thin cloth, hardly providing ample coverage to your aching cunt.

“Don't say that–” you whine, lips pressing when he runs a thumb on your covered slick, the cotton clings to your labia. “Oh…” the sensation's already different from what you're used to from a swipe alone, the pleasure incomparable to what you've felt before.

“So responsive, we've barely touched you,” he praises, nuzzling the side of your face. His behavior could be mistaken for affection if you didn't know better.

This got to be a figment of your imagination. A made up situation in your brain, but their touches are hard enough to seem real. Subconsciously answering your question when Seungmin pinches your thigh, earning an involuntary grind from you that has him gasping for more. Needy since the last time you left them blue-balled at seven in the morning.

“More,” you plead and they scoff. Mirroring each other's actions.

“Already? Thought it'd take more to make you beg,” Seungmin amuses, finger curling on the edge of your panties when he abruptly pulls onto the elastic before snapping it back to your skin. It stings, and he's having fun doing it again. He's mean, catching you off guard when the next tug tears the fabric — ignoring the hitch in your voice. “See how easy that was?” he taunts, eyes landing onto Jeongin's who's bluntly ignoring him; busy tearing the broken fabric from you completely. Bare pussy catching the cold air from the crack of your ajar window.

Rough thumb makes contact with your clit, hips jolting in his direction with an, “Ah–!”

Jeongin drinks in your reaction, lowering his head till he's met with your leaking cunt. He breathes in, taking in your scent, letting himself get familiar with it. Digits run across your slit, coating them with your fluids, teasing the entrance. He lifts his vision — challenging Seungmin's. “Hyung,” his tone is sharp around the edges, cutting through with irritation, “you're fucking annoying me.”

“Am I?” Seungmin coos, mocking the one between your legs as he helps him spread them wider, holding you nice and open for Jeongin. “You should be more grateful, you know? I'm letting you have this. Let you kiss her first, let you tag along. Brought you here with me,” he replies, fist snaking to your bare pussy, fingers forcing a V to spread your lips apart for Jeongin. “I'm giving you another opportunity, and you're complaining?”

“Funny,” Jeongin chuckles, spitting onto your gaping hole. “You think I'm doing this because you're giving it to me,” a thick finger breaches you — sharp contrast to your own. “Her? You're giving her to me, hilarious.”

They're talking about you as if you aren't physically present, you might be, but your mind is elsewhere. Guilty of how much desire this twists in your stomach, heels digging into the mattress in forbidden pleasure when he adds a second one. Fingers that have been plaguing your mind since the first time you sat across the same table, so deep inside that he's hitting that tender spot without trouble.

“Jeongin–” you cry out, and he smirks in temporary triumph, pussy gushing against his fingers. He curves them, watching how your head throws back onto Seungmin's shoulder, thighs quivering shut if it wasn't from the shared grips holding you in place.

“That's it, cry out my name,” he encourages, sweetly planting a kiss to your clit. Drawing a high pitched squeal out of you, parting his fingers — forcing you to take the stretch. “You gon cum from that? From me scissoring you wide?” he asks and you nod feverishly, tilting to the edge shamefully fast.

But you don't think you've got any dignity left in you when you allow them to talk to you — about you like this.

He licks a stripe down, warm tongue something you've never experienced in your life. The sound is obscene, lapping at your overflowing juices in wild excitement to get you to your peak.

He neglects your clit at first, focusing on gathering the spilling drops with his wet muscle, darting on your lips in sloppy open-mouthed kisses. Enveloping his mouth above your spasming hole, the tip of his tongue inches inside. Seungmin's thumb suddenly makes contact with your throbbing nub, applying just enough pressure in tight circles to bring you to the edge.

“Fuck– ahh!” you moan out, loud — confident that the neighboring students can hear you across the dorms’ thin walls. “Stop–! Can't—” you squeak when neither of them halts, continuing their abuse on your sensitive pussy, snapping shut around Jeongin's head as he slurps your release, notorious sounds escaping his mouth. Moaning at your taste.

“Just like that, you sound so adorable.” Seungmin praises, sitting you upright with him. His hands find your hips, guiding you to lean forward on your knees. Jeongin maneuvers you from the front, lowering you so that you're at level with his prominent bulge. He's straining his pants, the fabric tight.

You aren't distracted for long with Seungmin's grind on your rear. Palms flat on your bare ass, kneading the flesh adoringly. “Shit,” you both curse when his erection makes contact with your slippery cunt, dirtying the fabric of his pants. “Looks like I'd fit right in,” he mutters under his breath, spreading your cheeks wide to hump your ass in dirty, languid strokes. “Don't you think so too?”

He's talking to either of you, his tone ever condescending.

The tension of their passive argument lingers when Jeongin takes hold of your hair, grip digging in your scalp. Holding you down to the roots, hunching you to the bulge stretching his pants. “Blow me,” he commands. Bold. “Moan against my dick, that's where I wanna hear you.”

You fumble with the zipper. You're shaking too much but it seems like you're the only person here who’s getting bothered by it. This is a sick fantasy. This is…

However. 

He rolls his pants down, boxers quickly following suit. He's aching, torturously hard and sore. He needs you now, and the sight of him being freed is enough to shut your mind. You stare at him, big wide eyes wondering what to do next. Even though you know, you’re scared of doing it wrong. He sighs shakily. You’re going to kill him, he might cum from you staring alone. “Noona,” the nickname has your insides knotting this time, pussy begging to be filled just as your mouth. “Come on, open up for me.”

He taps the tip against your lower lip, smudging the precum beautifully on the soft tissue. You open, welcoming him in with a testing lick. Moaning at the salty taste of him on your tongue. He’s addictive, licking off the beads that threaten to spill from his tip earnestly. “Yeaahhh, like that. Use your lips.” he groans, a trail of sweat inching down his neck when you wrap your pretty lips around the crown. Clumsily circling the shape with your tongue. “Oh, oh.” your moves are amateur, but the eagerness in which you’re trying makes his balls tighten. Perhaps you’re still timid. It’s fine, he’ll help you learn.

Using the roots of your head, he pushes you forward slowly, taking his time to feed you inch by inch. Stopping when a wet gag keens from your throat, drool pooling at the seam of your mouth, dribbling past your chin. “Slower, yeah?” He stills when you nod, doing your best to breathe through your nose like you’ve seen on online forums. It’s more difficult than you thought, somehow, you can smell the taste of him up your nostrils.

You’re persisting to accommodate when a sudden intrusion jolts your lashes open. A muffled mewl echoing past his cock at the feel of something lengthy and searing brushes on your clit. Your hips grind against it involuntarily, rolling back to meet the upcoming thrusts on your cunt. The image of Seungmin coming back to you. You falter, and Seungmin is the one who kneads your waist, fingers doughing with the surface of your tummy. “Keep sucking him–” he pants. Bending forward, his arm rests under your stomach, two fingers diving inside without restraint. “Vaccuming me inside, think you’re ready?” he hisses through his teeth, thrusting his digits in just to test the waters before pulling out.

You weren’t ready.

He tried to show you mercy, starting off at a horrendously steady pace. Kind enough to. Past the tip and it begins to burn, the stretch wider—lenghtier than fingers. “God,” he strangles. You’re hugging him so tightly, snug and warm. He never wants to leave, etching crescent marks on your skin, “should’ve fuckass bent you over the first time I saw you–”

Every whimper you make vibrates up Jeongin’s cock, and he knows that he should separate — to give you time to get used to taking cock, but a wave of selfishness prevents him from doing as such. If anything, it entices him to force himself deeper. Greedily shoving his length down your throat. You gag, coughing around him as your vision blurs from the double sensation. Seungmin bottoms out, hitting spots that you weren’t aware of existing. “Mhmph–!” is all you can muster, palms landing flat on Jeongin’s spread thighs in your struggle to handle any of this.

They weren’t fond of teamwork, but now they’re moving in tandem. A silent agreement coursing through when they start to thrust, not aiming to be nice anymore with the curses that fly past their lips. Handling you with little care — Jeongin drags your head all the way off, leaving your mouth gaping and craving oxygen — barely a breath before he plunges back in, coercing you to develop a gag reflex on your first time.

Meanwhile Seungmin pounds your behind, ignoring the dangerous quiver of your thighs, holding your legs open with a hand. His other palm lays flat on your stomach, applying a delicious pressure that has you seeing tunnel vision. He’s ramming his way in, breaking your wretched virgin pussy. He’s not going to last long with the sight of you choking on his friend’s cock, each of his erratic thrusts making you throat him deeper. Forcing whimpers out of his chest when you clench — hard from your impending orgasm. His angelic voice fills your mind when he presses his bare chest to your slippery back, giving your clit a harsh slap just to hear similar sounds that might mask his own from you — or Jeongin, both.

You can’t voice a warning when your mouth is stuffed full, instead hurryingly tapping Jeongin’s thighs, making him stutter in his pace to observe your face. Alas, it’s too late, Seungmin can already feel you creaming him, pussy gripping him like a vice. “Fuck, yn–” he moans, balls throbbing harshly that he has to forcingly pull out. Warm hand instantly replacing your much favoured cunt, jerking himself off — wincing at the strokes like it tortured him not to do this inside instead. He threads onto that sanity, thumb applying pressure on the underside of his tip, releasing hot ropes across your back. Tainting you with him.

Jeongin immediately abandons the confinement of your mouth, throwing you flat on the sheets. Your tiny, surprised, “oomph–” is adorable, but he’s got no time to dwell on it. Seeking comfort between the solace of your thighs, knocking them open. He aligns himself, assuming that you can take it now — plunging inside without warning signs. “Wait—!” you struggle, face contorting to pleasured overstimulation, extremely sensitive. “I can’t take no more–”

He cradles your face, a brief attempt of comfort as he leans down to suck on your neck. “You can,” he mutters, biting down. “Just a little more.”

Seungmin takes hold of your jaw, directing your head to face him. His lips meet yours in an awkward, upside-down kiss. The position has your teeth clicking, causing a drooling mess on your chin. Dizzy with how he’s stealing your breath. The whine of his name pushing out of your mouth earns a low grunt from him. Your eyes squeeze, lips smacking and skin slapping echoing throughout the corners of the room. Overwhelming, you can’t stop kissing him, cocking your head to the side to give him better access. Running onto cloud nine by sharing his saliva when he sucks on your tongue harshly.

Jeongin grows desperate, the bites on your flesh turning more cruel in his ride. The taste of that familiar high on the tip of his tongue, obsessed with every pant you take, obsessed with how your nails rake at the muscles on his back. Your stomach contracts under him, and he applies more of his weight, crushing your body in order to blend the two of you together. “Gonna cum, fuck.” he whines, tone taking a higher pitch. Nearly slipping out with how you’re wetting him, not wanting to let him go. He knows you’re close too. He sits up, dragging your legs above his shoulders, supporting you there. Sharing a brief eye contact with Seungmin who takes the hint — three fingers circle your clit in quick eights. You thrash violently, something uncanny from the last two orgasms approaching. You flail your arms, but Seungmin takes hold of them with one hand, pinning your wrists above your head despite your distressed attempts to slow down.

“Feels weird, please–” you shake, tears coating your cheeks as they whisper quick ‘come on’ in your ears. Drawing you impossibly close when the thread snaps — the coil coming undone.

You’re a fountain, juices running out like tap water, horrified when they drag it out. It won’t stop, and they’re gratifying in it. “My god, she’s squirting all over.” Seungmin comments, unable to find the controlled edge in his tone. You cry from shame, though, that’s exactly what you’ve been dying for. Jeongin finally pulls out, bobbing his hand up and down his cock and he spurts onto your stomach, painting you white.

Breathing heavily, a silence falls through. Taking in your dishevelled state, you can barely move a hair. Muscle spasming lazily, fingers twitching from creeping tiredness. You still are in disbelief that this just happened. Not earlier, and certainly not when they start to stand, looking around for something to wipe you with.

A faint, exhausted smile tugs at your lips the second they leave the room.

Maybe.

What you have with Jisung wasn’t exactly planned, if anything, it surprised you as much as it surprised him. You began as a fan, of course you did — finally meeting face to face with your idol at a fan meet — but then, it developed. You visited once, twice. On the third time, he knew who you were, interest picked in. His caresses lingered, hands resting on yours; seeking the warmth a second longer than intended. Pouty, sulking when the staff would ask you to move on to the next member, pretending there wasn't a burn in his chest at the sight of them treating you merely as a fan when he could do so much more than that.

So — this little exchange started after he accidentally slipped his number under a water bottle he decided to gift you with, because you seemed too out of breath that evening. It must’ve been because he’s your idol, that’s right. He was just worried, human nature — but now that he’s got you like this — it might be the opposite. His obsession grew each time he brought you over to his dorm, not caring if you decided to leak his address overnight. As long as he got his hands on you before sunrise.

Longing is what he’d call it. Maybe you fed his ego excessively, that he can not bring himself to awake anymore without your praises living rent free on his mind. 

You’re his biggest fan, he supposes. Not the other way around.

Never, he has decorum.

That's why he rejects your advances, denying the fact that your relationship could take a step further than this. His company wouldn't allow him either, perhaps he wouldn't allow it himself. He gets distracted enough for what it is, you'd just foil his schedule.

However, on each night he'd deny you, you'd find him knocking on your doorstep the very next hour. Mumbling soft apologies, soothing your cries with a promise of fucking the pain away.

You fuck. That's all.

He doesn't love you as much as he likes how you feel glued to his body.

How you calm his constantly running mind by dragging your fingertips on his scalp — lips finding his — shutting him and his toxic thoughts up for good. That's what he likes about you. The attention of a fan.

Feeding your delusions with the steps he takes closer, proximity getting louder when your back hits the couch; not bothering to take it to the bedroom; cause as long as it's him, it's enough.

That's how he assumes you perceive him.

—

You haven't seen him since forever. On tour, he couldn't care to text you anymore by the fifth stop. Never inquiring about your day. Never even hearing from him, except for the few times he'd wake up hard — jerking off to the sound of your voice scolding him for bothering you at whatever time of the day he would call you.

Assuming that he found another pitiful fan's emotion to toy with, you decided to move on. There were no chances with him, too busy to at least send a good morning text. The idea did bother you at first, but you've grown desensitized to his absence. Mentally. Physically — you craved him — much to your disapproval. Drowning in the attention of men that actually desire you in a romantic aspect. Though, the spark is absent. It's not the same.

Ironic, it's painfully one-sided.

Being the individual on the other side of the spectrum, guilty, you find yourself getting ready for another date. The end of tour date completely flies out of your mind, the notification getting lost in the sea of uncleared messages from people you wouldn't even dare to consider as acquaintances.

Ten in the evening, you're about to leave your house. Also ten in the evening, someone abruptly knocks on your door, the pattern of the thuds awfully familiar. Silly, an inside joke between the two of you, so that you wouldn't mistake each other for unwanted attention.

You gulp, hesitant in the way you approach the door. Hand hovering above the handle. He knocks harder, his forehead dropping on the surface, sighing a call of your name. Hearing it despite the heavy rainfall outside of your windows. Rain.

It's raining!

You rush to open the door, being met with a drenched Jisung. He's breathing heavily, as if he ran here when he could've called a taxi.

“My god– let me get you a towel,” you panic, knowing his aptitude to fall sick. However, he halts you, taking a sudden hold of your wrist. Your lips part, surprised with the roughness in which he's gripping you through the tremor in his freezing body.

He thinks… he's shaking for another reason.

“Don't go,” Jisung begs, pulling you closer towards him, “wait a bit.”

Your eyes meet in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of your breathing matching his with the building tension. He inches forward, gently clicking your door shut, and it feels louder than any barring assertiveness could be.

His gaze drops to your face, properly looking at you, checking if his memory did you justice during those torturous long months. “You're dolled up,” he comments in a low hum, staring at your lips when you press them together. Gulping in the same way you do when you're hesitant to give yourself away. Defensive. He doesn't like how you're setting your guard up. A wall constructing itself between you.

You bite on your tongue, “I'm going on a date.”

His mouth dries, brows knitting in abrupt rigidity. Though, he was expecting it. He's been nothing but an asshole. “You are?” he asks, tone rising a pitch. A pathetic pitch. “With who?”

Your gaze narrows, he's in no position to request those answers out of you. You still respond, shrugging. “A coworker. I've been seeing him for a while.”

The outfit you're wearing tells him enough to wonder what you were going out to do with that coworker. Exhaling, he uses that opportunity to breathe you in on his next inhale, subconsciously pinning you to the wall every time he decides that the distance is too much for to bear.

“Jisung–” you call when he presses you to the wall, caging you in order to keep your figure in place. Here, with him.

“Don't go,” this time — it's a demand. Palms sliding down your waists, taking their original positions before the tour began. You writhe, frown matching his.

“You can't tell me not to–”

Not after constantly rejecting you. Breaking your heart, just to glue it back together with the excuse he misunderstands for affection.

“I know…” his lips, flimsy and warm, make contact with the skin of your neck. You almost fold. “I'm sorry,” there he goes with the apologies. A kiss turns into two, till he's pampering light smothers to the swell of your cheek. Stopping right before your mouth, forehead softly colliding with yours.

Your next pant is shaky, because you're sure that the tears began to fall. All that's spilling something already said, but it somehow carries a sentiment of being bottled up. He knows what he did — what he is doing wrong — when his thumb finds the running tear, wiping it off with such fondness, that you could mistake it for love. If you knew better.

He hushes you, cradling your face through your quiet sniffing. Eyes refusing to lock with his no matter the consequences. “Don't cry, please.” It pains him to see you upset because of him. He's the root of your problems, well aware of that. Well aware that he shouldn't have encouraged this to begin with, that you should've stayed idol and fan. But now he can't bring himself to, not when his lips touch yours. Slow, engraving the sensation in his brain. Sighing contentedly when you don't shoo him away, chasing the feels of you by squeezing a tad harder.

He tilts his head, using his hand to guide you the way in which he wants the kiss to evolve. It's sweet, he tastes sweet. Probably because you like him too much for your own good, everything he does is sweet. Even when he hurts you like this, then comes back running to fix things up. His clothes stick to his skin, wetting you in the process when he shoves you deeper onto the hard surface, the coldness on both sides sending a shiver across your nerves. “I missed you,” he whispers against your mouth. You choose to swallow the sound, finally parting your lips to grant him access. He groans, no hint of hesitation. His tongue peeks out of his mouth, taking a tentative lick at your bottom lip. Testing the waters when he bites on the soft tissue, earning an irritated noise out of you. He could giggle, sucking on the pain he's caused.

Your palm slides to his nape, threading your fingers through his wet hair, tugging at his roots — this time, he moans. Higher pitched, more sensual when he releases your face. “Bedroom–” he pants, a growing desperation etching on his features. It's mutual, feet quickly leading you to the confinement of your room. It's got to be his favorite place on Earth. Everything here is so you, he could bury himself within your built fortress and never dream of seeing sunlight. Reminding himself that you're just a fan whenever the desire pops up. He still finds himself caving in, the temptation you provide more torturous than his packed schedule. Hence, why he decided to ignore you while he was away. He couldn't bring himself to close his eyes without being hit with the thought of you.

You, you, and you.

You plague his mind, a constant melody refusing to wear off his brain. He felt like he was going nuts, but trying to live without your presence proved to be more insane. He can't do it. He tried. He knows his excuses are merely excuses.

You're his problem, and yet, you're his solution.

You stumble on the carpet, legs fumbling when his fingers lock with yours, squeezing your palm. You fall onto the bed, he stays standing, blinking in sudden contemplation. “I'll get water everywhere–” he mentions, staring down at his drenched figure. Grinning, he finds the hem of his shirt, rucking it up to flash a sliver of his waist. “Guess, I'll have to take it off.”

You grunt, rolling your eyes at his teasing. Grabbing him by the cloth, you push him forward. He lands on top of your body, not caring if he does get the water anywhere. You need him. Clasping his lips to yours, nose bumping in the process. He makes a surprised noise, lips gaping for your tongue to dive inside; widened eyes relax, his eyelids dropping into a lazy stance. Needy, just as you are when your palms explore the curves and lines of his body. “Get rid of it,” you mutter into his mouth, drawing out a silent whine from him as you tug at his damp shirt.

“I can't if you grip onto me like that–” he replies, though deciding to make no attempt at separating. Kneeling on top of you, he jerks your body back so that you're flat on the mattress, dragging your legs around his waist. His hips roll into yours, bulge grinding against the warmth of your core. You both gasp, the sensation something you fantasized about during his absence. The perfect piece to your puzzle.

Sitting up, he struggles to get rid of the sticky fabric. Though — the wait is worth it — he's bigger. The muscles defined under your lampshade, months of hard work paying off. And his tattoos… you bite on your cheek, nails grazing the ink, exploring the lines as if it was the first time. He twitches under your gaze, grabbing your wrist above his chest, stopping you right before you discover his thrumming heartbeat. Using his grip to pin your wrist above your head, hungry eyes drifting to your attire. To the hint of cleavage, and the meat of your thighs spilling out of your dress. He sighs, trembling in self control, an endeavor at keeping the pace slow — real.

“You were planning on leaving the house…” he mumbles, zipper coming undone, the dress loosening around your chest, “like this.” He blinks, lashes fluttering rapidly in his daze, a flush creeping on his face; unable if to tell if it's from the simmering jealousy, or the intoxication you drug him with. “To meet him?” It's an accusation.

You scoff, head turning to face the ceiling instead of him. Disbelief washing over you.

He rolls his hips again, coaxing a successful reaction out of you when your brows twitch in concentration. His fingers spasm on your stomach, the urge to rip off that dress off you curling his joints. “Is it serious?” he questions, forcing you to look at him; fingers digging in your cheeks. “You and that coworker, I mean.”

“Jisung,” it's a beg, a reprimand, “why do you care?”

Slapping his hand away, your finger points at his chest, your accusatory tone louder than his. “You are the one who keeps denying our relationship. You are the one who said to strictly keep it as a fuck. And, you're the one who stopped answering to my texts— don't give me that jealous boyfriend bullshit–”

He chews on his lips, a period of silence passing through as he nods. Accepting, he pulls back, letting go of the warmth you provide. “You're right,” half expecting him to take his shirt and leave, but he flips you over instead. Heaving your body upward, you can hardly react before your dress slips off, gasping at the rush of cold air meeting the bare skin. “I'm in no position to.” he admits, arms enveloping your waist in an embrace. His hair tickles your shoulder, goosebumps rising on the area. “Let me at least do what I'm best at…” Jisung kisses your nape, a dot of contact, tracing the curve of your spine. “Am I allowed this much, after so long?”

You should push him away, curse him to fuck off and to leave you alone. That you actually hate his group, and wish to never hear from any of them, or see him ever again. But that'd be a lie, the truth unveiling with an arch of your back, heart fluttering when he kisses you so sweetly. The coil in your stomach deepening with an unclasp of your bra, the ease in which he does it familiar. Gentle hands drop the fabric to your knees, picking it up and discarding it somewhere around the room. There's a plea of your name, then a please. A prayer you find yourself granting; allowing the first noise to fly out of your mouth when he holds you closer — scared that you'll change your mind if he happens to let you go — he doesn't want to. He wouldn't dare to, not even in his craziest dreams.

He breathes in your scent, infatuated with the beads of sweat that cracks at your back, warm tongue lolling out to catch them. You giggle, the sensation ticklish, and he returns the smile. His lips curl against your neck, fingers scooting to the lace of your panties. Satisfaction settling in when Jisung takes in the colour of your underwear.

Not matching, you mustn't be that into him then.

Such a foolish conclusion, but it sends a ripple of relief to his heart, the tension in his stomach uncoiling just a bit. Mumbling a soft noise by your ear as you keen into his touch, palm resting on his; guiding him lower under the seam. He whines, finding you soaked.

“I've been dreaming of this,” his voice breaks with the first contact on your slit, spreading the wetness with his finger, driving up till he finds your clit. “The way I treat you…” a roll on your clit, the pressure providing you with a glimpse of heaven, but his words bring you back to the harsher reality. “Do hate me… I–”

He's scared, the question slipping out on impulse. Regretting the sentence as soon as it voiced out, stilling completely, awaiting your answer. However, you tug at his wrist, gifting him with silence. Somehow, it hurts more than any rejection would. So, he indulges, digits running past your lips — prodding at your hole.

Okay.

He slips inside, drawing out the prettiest gasp from you. Though, all of you are pretty to him. If he was asked what he found the most endearing, he wouldn't be able to choose. Maybe he finds you the prettiest when you're sprawled out, holes stuffed with himself, used and wrecked. Or maybe, he finds you the prettiest when you're on top, maneuvering him and toying with each part of his body to your whim. Maybe, he found you the prettiest when you cause his heart to skip a beat, the skin of his palms getting sweaty just from the sight of your laughter from one of his poor–unfunny jokes.

He can't tell, but he curls his fingers with the sole purpose of hearing that sound part from your lips again. It does. He whines, hot and breathy in your ear, covering the squishy lobe with his mouth — nipping at it. “Han…” he hardly hears it, lost in the squelches that come out with every pump of his fingers, juices flowing past the fabric of your panties.

His erection rubs on your rear, grasping the line of sanity left in him to bring himself to be patient. He's got to be, that's the one effort of consideration he shows you when all he does is take, take, and take. You suck him in, welcoming the hook of his digits with a hitch of your own, knuckles whitening on his wrist, controlling the pace until it's too much. Releasing your grip, allowing him to take care of you exactly how he desires.

This might be your worst and best decision yet.

“Fuck–” you curse when the heel of his palm caresses your clit, applying enough force to have you trembling in his hold. Teetering over the edge when he suddenly stops. Halting all movement. “What—”

The query is left unanswered, his actions speak louder. Jisung drops you down the mattress, lying flat on your back. He kneels up to your thighs, kicking them apart for him to nestle in. You gasp at the haste in which he gets down, dying to have a taste of what he's been missing.

His eyes stay on you, locked on your face along the first lick. Tongue flat on your leaking cunt, you arch, having forgotten just how good he is with his mouth as he wraps it around your clit. “Ahh…” it's a cry, the back of your palm landing flat on your lips with the purpose of muffling the inevitable sounds.

Jisung groans at the taste, catching the dripping liquids with a lack of shame, hips buckling onto the mattress. He missed this. Missed you. He already told you, but the words aren't enough to express the extent to which he was craving this. Craving you. In his brain, this is sexual. Logically. However, the tightness in his chest whispers otherwise, warning him to step away before it's too late.

He dives deeper.

Nose bumping on your clit, trailing his path to your clenching hole. Breathing you in, he spreads you apart on his fingers, providing him a much needed sight. He's hard, painfully so. Throbbing in his pants with every huff you steal, each time you'd jerk towards him, or the shakiness in which your thighs circle his head. Moaning. You or him? Both — the tip of his tongue explores the familiar walls. “She missed me too— missed this so much, didn't she–?” he blabbers, not even talking to you anymore, madness drowning in your pussy.

You curse, again. Fingers threading through his hair, disheveling him further with the harsh tug on his scalp. Jisung riles in it, nearly cumming on the spot as you jolt towards his face, grinding your adorable clit on his nose. Suffocating him, he should've seen white, however — he sees you — just you. God, it must've been the distance.

For that very reason, he shouldn't separate from you anymore. Never, then his brain will finally be able to function properly.

His fingers run to your nub, rubbing in small-quick circles, tongue fucking you with more depth. Aiming to reach your approaching orgasm. He knows you're close, your reactions something he learned by heart. Not willingly, at least, that's how he tries to pass it as. Hooking his arm under your thighs, hoping to get you impossibly closer, tongue pulling out to replace it with his pumping fingers; latching the wet muscle on your clit instead. You hiccup, heels thrashing for any sort of support, milking his fingers.

He sighs, content. Gaze heavy on the tiny pout that creeps at your lips, fingers leaving the warmth of your core. Cleaning you up with his mouth, earning a headshake from you, which he dutifully ignores. Because he's sure of what you like, submitting to your nonverbal wishes. A weak hand taps on his shoulder, encouraging him to come forward. He does, palms laying flat on your hips, mouth level to yours.

Wet lips collide with yours, lacking the softness of earlier. More confident, hotter. Cocking his head to the side, he allows his tongue to slide inside, having you taste yourself on him. You hum, saliva pooling at the seam of your mouth, but none seem to care. If anything, he licks at it, slurping the drool that threatens to spill from your mouth with disgusting vigor.

Unbuckling his belt, he might actually die if he isn't fucking you by the next minute, the wet patch on his pants revealing just enough. The pants fall alongside his boxers, kicking them somewhere off the bed. Your hand reaches for him between your tangled bodies, but he catches you, aware of what you have in mind. “Another day,” he mumbles through the kiss, lapping at your tongue. “Need to be inside, now.”

He's desperate, the slide of his cock on you is desperate. Coating himself in your wetness, he slaps the tip on your clit. You involuntarily bite on his lip, he moans, chasing the ache with a clash of teeth. He can't afford to tease any longer, tip prodding in. You both let out a relieved breath on the first few inches. Palms finding themselves on his shoulders, holding on for support to ease the dull burn.

“Shit, shit—” he gasps, bottoming out. “Fits perfectly, she remembers me so well,” he's talking nonsense, nonsensical comments filling your hearing. Whining like a virgin boy at the feels of your pussy enveloping him. His forehead rests against yours, holding eye contact with his slow pace, needing it to prevent himself from cumming on the spot. You can't look at him when he stares at you with such affection, your heart may mistake it for something else. Something that he denies you on each try. Though, it's hard not to stare when he looks so delicious.

His bangs stick to his forehead, sweat dripping down his skin. Lips parted, swollen and red, marked with the traces of your teeth. You blink away, but he follows the narrow of your eyes. Arms caging you in his prison, refusing your detachment. Dragging you back from the growing distance with a particularly harsh thrust, snapping you back to reality with a smack on your cunt.

It's intimate, he makes the act intimate with the heat in which he presses his lips to your temple. Pouty against your cheek when you try to give yourself space. The lack of it is what he desires. To not have a centimeter left between the two of you. Selfish, because he's the one who insists on maintaining your relationship as it is.

Fine.

Jisung sits up, withdrawing from your cunt. You make a confused sound, uncertainty settling in. He grabs onto your hips, rolling your body so that you're on your stomach instead, a surprised, “Oh–” gaping out of your throat. One second you're empty, and the next he fills you to the brink. The position applies a force on your lower belly, punching against the bulge he creates with every thrust. “Fuuuckk… Ji–” sobbing into the sheets. He leans forward, chest glued to your back.

“Feels good?” he asks, brows furrowed in concentration. Plowing your back, his lips curve upwards with your feverish nodding. Picking his pace, he gives up on self control. Praying to wash off the feelings in his heart with the drags of his heavy cock. Pulsating inside, your cunt grips him, reminding him that this is in fact — just a fuck.

But then, your phone rings, flashing the name of a guy he doesn't recognise. Too fucked out to realize, the wet slaps of his hips on your ass dominates your ringtone, Jisung the only one who noticed. Just a fuck. His frown deepens, thrusts growing hesitant for a second; grabbing your phone; he picks up the call. Setting the device next to a discarded pillow, he fucks harder. Drawing out the tiniest sobs from you, his pants getting heavier.

He's jealous. Jealous that you were going on that date, when all he did on tour was think about you. He knows that he's an asshole for not reaching out, for keeping you in the dark for months without updates. The distance brought out unwanted emotions, ones that he hoped to bury the second he lands back home. Except that you're the first place he visited as soon as he left that airport. Perhaps, you're home.

His feet urged him here, to you, with the excuse of sex. Hence why he chooses to nestle his face on your shoulder, vulnerability stabbing him in the heart. For the first time in a while, he actually feels like he's not lying, “I like you.”

Three simple words. Three words in excess.

“Jisung–” he punches his cock to your guts, cutting you off mid-sentence, “–mhm!”

“Not yet,” he grunts, “not here. Not with my dick inside.” Ironic, since he's brought up the confession. His arms wrap around your waist, fucking you like a rabid animal despite the soothe of his voice. “Let me take you on a date, a better one than he ever could,” he inhales, whole body trembling. “Then, I'll ask you out. Properly ask you out.”

“Please, let me.” His arm draws from your waist, bicep meeting your chin, lifting you up with him. “Will you– shit, stop clenching down like this… can't muster a word— too good,” his voice is pitched higher, cock throbbing dangerously. He has to count his breathing, stomach twisting in uncontrolled pleasure.

“Yes–” you fold, arching onto him. Hard not to tighten up, pleasure scooting up your entire being. You could cry, you probably are. He bites on your shoulder, doing absolutely nothing at masking his pitiful sounds. Slipping out with the wetness drooling on his cock, just to slide back in with practiced ease. “Hannie, please, cum inside–”

He halts briefly, unsure, the nickname causing his heart to flutter. You take his wrist, bringing his fingers to your aching clit. “I'm on pills, just— do it inside, need to feel you fill me,” you plea, your needy tone tilts him over the edge.

He whimpers, surely with the aim of waking up your neighbors. Deft fingers work on your clit, awakening your orgasm. Still thrusting in, dragging it out for the both of you, refusing to let go yet. You cry, matching his sobs on your skin, a hot-wet mess behind you.

You fall forward, nearly hitting your head against the headboard if it wasn't for him supporting you up. Gently laying you on the pillows, dropping next to you, the heave of his chest is erratic, trying to calm down. His gaze meets the lit screen of your phone, grinning. The call was hung upon. Satisfied, he rolls to your side, hugging you closer. You grunt lightly, sore and tired. Jisung's eyes travel downwards to notice his cum oozing out of your cunt, tempted to push it back in with his fingers, but he holds it in. Your expression is too peaceful to bother.

“Are we… going to mention the confession?” you question, turning to face him.

His eyes widen, a glimpse of flush enrobing his cheeks. “Nopes,” shaking his head. Finger clasping on your lips before you can continue, hushing you. “Date first, confession second. Forget I said it, it was during the heat of the moment and I—”

“And you decided to take the call from my coworker?” you lift a brow, almost laughing at the expression that washes on his face.

“You knew?”

“I'm not deaf… or blind?”

“Oh. Are you mad–”

Your fingers brush aside the stray strands near his temple, raking through the damp locks. Shifting an inch towards him, your breathings mingling. Ignoring his question, your eyes flutter shut, serenity threading in.

He stares, staring hard enough to punch holes at your head. Fear of rejection kicking in. 

Please.

“I like you too.” The confession is hardly a whisper, but he hears it — loud and proud in his ears.

You can hear his excitement, even if it's wordless. You point at him, tsking. “Don't get too excited, it means nothing before that date.”

He smiles, lowering his head till he's resting on your chest, mushing his cheek within the plush comfort. Sighing happily, “Fair enough.”

—

permanent taglist: @lilyxii @princesskrystix

You weren’t born the smartest, in deep contrast to your boyfriend, Jisung, who’s the top of his class.

Dating a genius came with a price, and that is your conscience taking a toll. You were pretty, popular, however a bit ditzy. A tiny bit. A tiny lot. Eventually, as a dutiful boyfriend—Jisung decided to help you. Well, tried to.

Nothing worked, no matter how hard or efficient his method was. A real challenge to actually get you to sit still and study. All your papers come out wrong, sighing whenever he needs to correct them. Yet, he tries. Because he loves you too much. He loves the silly dumb expression you make whenever he points out your mistakes, the slight pout of your lips, the curve of your brows forming a frown. He adores it. But you have your finals soon, and he needs you to pass.

So. He decided to set up his game. His plan was simple.

First, he’ll mask the study sessions as ways to spend time together. Calling you over to his dorm in the guise of a sleepover. Dragging the strap of your bag off your shoulders as you make it inside of his dormitory, urging you to his bedroom. “Hm, baby.” he calls, acknowledging the confused blink you give him. “Brought your laptop?”

You nod, beaming. “To play games? You promised to,” replying with such eagerness, he almost feels bad for lying.

“Yeah, totally.”

It did start as a gaming session.

Which he turned into a game of guessing, creating a whole discourse. Therefore, explaining the situation, in which you were doing the research your professor assigned a week ago, just to be able to prove him wrong after he particularly pissed you off. Completely unaware that you were given such tasks. Noting down the information as he played dumb, refusing to give you the right answer—to the point of brimming tears to your eyes, knowing damn well he wasn’t. That he was playing with you.

Second, he’ll set the atmosphere whenever you show efforts to study. Casting a dim lampshade by your desk, comfortable, easy to focus. Unfortunately, you always have something to say, “Sungie, this is making me sleepy. Are you sure that’s necessary?” you whine, slapping your pen on the wooden surface with a click. Laying your hunched face on your arms in defeat as you yawn.

He pats you on the head, a gentle caress. “That’s because you aren’t paying attention. Do I need to raise the brightness, want to go blind baby?”

You shake your head, heaving upwards. “No.”

He smiles, pecking your lips adoringly.

Here it was.

The third step.

Each time that you get something right, or decide to study on your own. He’ll reward you with a kiss. It starts off as innocent, a smooch here and then. Soft lips finding your cheek, forehead, lips.Which undeniably escalated as time went on, and you started craving more. Salivating for more. Your grades tilted upwards, a small insignificant upgrade. But it was still progressing. A minuscule step is gigantic for an ant. Though, time was ticking, and there were little to no hopes of you achieving that grade. He raises the bar, making the stakes higher. The rewards become more satisfying for your poor–dippy brain to understand. Something that you’d get lots easier, the simplest route being the one of your body.

“Baby focus,” he hushes, fingers deep inside your squelching cunt. You’re shaking, probably begging him to let you cum, you can’t tell. “I’ll ask you again, hm?” curling his digits so sweetly, hitting that vulnerable part of you. You mumble a ‘no’, gripping his wrist but he pays you no mind, resulting in his session. “How does feedback inhibition regulate metabolic pathways? Use an example like threonine deaminase in amino acid synthesis.”

This is torture. He’s torturing you.

It’s the third time he’s asking you this question, and the third time you’re about to get it wrong. Edging you on each incorrect answer. “—Jisung… please.”

His fingers slow, stilling them within the embrace of your snug walls. “That’s not the answer,” he coos, nuzzling his face on your shoulder, eyes meeting your nearly-closed ones. “Come on, I know you’ve got the answer.” Smiling, he takes his ministrations out of your throbbing core, coaxing a whimper of disapproval from your throat, but it quickly fades when he uses the same hand to draw your jaw open. “Is it on the tip of your tongue?” he asks, bringing the coated digit inside your mouth, playing with the muscle of your tongue. “Hint?”

Nodding, you taste yourself on him. Tasting like something you shouldn’t be doing in this context, but the lack of him inside has you sobbing, so close to the edge—only to get snatched away. Again.

“Okay, picture this.” he says. You can’t, his absence is all you can muster. He flicks the surface of your forehead, flickering your lashes open. Giggling lightly. “Think about what happens when there’s too much of the final thing the cell is making. Does the cell keep going forever, or does it have a way to stop it?”

There’s a second of silence, hesitation sinks it. Trying your best, it’s so cute. You’re so cute, he just wants to give you everything you want. To have your already stupid expression fucked out on his cock, tongue, fingers. Anything he can gift you with.

“I don’t know, Jisung.” it comes off as tired, sighing in a pout. "The enzymes just keep working until the cell runs out of energy—?”

He returns your sigh, his proximity fading as he sits back on your bed, earning a soft whine of disapproval from you. From the lack of warmth provided. He picks his notebook, writing in the question with a roll of ink. “Fine, you don’t know. I’ll just go back to my dorm then.”

“Wait—no!” you reach for him but he’s already on the verge of packing. Panic seers, not wanting him gone yet. You ruminate, the hardest you can. The answer is there—barely able to remember it. He stands and you tug on his sleeve, “Jisung wait— the end product, it binds with something,” knuckles tightening on the fabric of his shirt, eyes begging him to stay.

“On what?”

All… allestric… “Allosteric site!”

“And why?”

“To uhm, inhibit it to prevent production—overproduction?” you’re unsure, but his smile coils something in your stomach, growing you hopeful.

“Kiss?” he asks, you shake your head. Grabbing his wrist, pulling his hand back where you need him the most.

“More,” it’s a plea, and he indulges. Pushing you back on the bed as he climbs on top of your figure, palm resting on the flesh of your thighs.

“That brain of yours can really only muster a thought when given attention, hm?” giving you a gentle squeeze when you pout, gaze trailing to where your fingers tighten on his wrist, begging him to give in already. “You want it so bad baby… did biology make you this wet?”

“Don’t be mean,” you swallow in a hitch, chest heaving under him.

Grinning, Jisung brings his lips to the corner of your mouth, a gentle contact. “‘M sorry, so proud of you.” he praises, finally running his knuckles across the hood of your clit, applying little to no pressure. Not enough, but just enough to rip the faintest gasp out of you. “Smart girls deserve big prizes, you think?”

“Yes—yes, please, Sungie.” your whine melts him, ice to the morning sun. Hot mouth leaves open kisses to the side of your jaw, driving low to your neck. Hiking your tank top up, spilling out your tits for him to latch on. He had insisted that you wear no bra today, perhaps you hadn’t caught on to his perverse intentions. He assumes you’re still oblivious, a saint to your eyes, even when he’s being so mean. Lips wrap around the swell of your nipple, an obscene suck, he moans as if he was the one being rewarded for your right answer.

He is.

Glasses tilting over his frame when you nearly knock them off his face in an attempt to push him away—pull him closer. Can’t decide. Can’t think. He presses two fingers on your slit, lubing them properly before moving to your clit, thighs jolt close, but he holds them wide. Laying between your thighs, his erection rubs on the bed, a shiver of dull pleasure coursing through. He wishes he could bury himself in that nasty cunt of yours already, but he has other plans in mind when he pampers your thighs with subtle kisses. Teasing. You sob, and he pities. Licking a stripe off the spilling juices at last, hips jerking forward. The first lap is patient, because he’s trying to be. It doesn’t last long when he catches on your taste, your smell, the sound of your reactions. Both up there and down here. Losing the virtue as soon as it came when he lets out a delirious whimper when you tug on his hair, nails brushing his scalp to escape the inviting sensation.

He spreads your folds apart with his fingers, tongue probing at your clit, encircling it. Heels dig onto the mattress, too sensitive after his teasings. Puffing out a breath of cool air, smile smug when you keen towards it. He inches downwards, nose rubbing on your nub deliciously, sending a wave of pleasure across your nerves. “God, yn. Baby, tastes so good. Tastes like mine.” he’s whining, middle finger breaching you open. Your stomach flex, contracting under the coiling knot returning from his earlier torments. He adds another when he deems necessary, curling them into your sweetest spot. You crumble, drawing embarrassingly close fast. “Hold it in, a little longer.” he demands, his own voice coming off as hitched. The spectacles of his glasses fogging under the searing tension.

“Can’t—” you breathe out, and he adds to the fire. Spitting on your aching cunt with a hum, watching the glob of saliva drool past your lips to the pumps of his fingers. He licks at the liquid, the wet sounds getting louder with every movement of his muscle. Thighs quivering under him, but he doesn’t care. He riles in it, humping the mattress in a hope of satisfying the pain of his hard cock. Parting his fingers, he lets his tongue slide in along with them. The pace of them’s so different. Too different—body confused on how to react with every shiver snapping through. He moans, each noise vibrating at your core. You can’t.

“Jisung—fuck,” cursing, thighs pleading to suffocate him, he loves it. Giving you the chance to block his airflow, to bury himself inside your seeping cunt and perish from suffocation. His choked moan tilts you over the edge, guts wrenching as you come around him. Clenching impossibly onto his adoration, wetting his chin with your overflow. He’s unrelenting, adamant on sucking the liquid out of you. Every single drop. Making it out when your cries turn louder, landing one last kiss onto the hood of your overstimulated clit.

Minho has been so busy lately. Their new comeback eating at his schedule, robbing you of your time together.

You crave him. You crave his voice, his touch, his warmth. Him.

It doesn't help that you've been so heated these days, an unrelenting flush spreading throughout your body every second. The mass pooling at your core to the point of being painful, unbearable. Your tail awfully stiff, rubbing against any appliance or wall, curling up embarrassingly.

You haven't told Minho yet, ashamed to become a liability given his tired state every night. Coming home late. Late enough for you to be tucked in. Sleeping. Pretending to be asleep. His scent dominates your train of thoughts whenever he's close, making it impossible to truly fall asleep. Wrapping your limbs around him as he dozes off, muffling your nose down his neck, tip of your tongue begging to lick at his skin—refraining from doing so the best you could.

Till you couldn't.

Being in his proximity made it worse with your senses heightened. You crave for something, anything. Humping the pillows subconsciously during the day, your fists plowed into the sheets, back perked up while rubbing your cheek on the mattress. Basking in his smell. Stopping right before he gets home, scurrying off to pretend to be busy.

He eyes you, skeptical at your unusual behavior. You're normally so clingy, but now you're avoiding him? Darting your pupils to look at anywhere but him. As if he was non-existent. It hurts him, truly. Walking off when he calls for you, scrambling away when he makes contact with you.

At first, he was confused. You've never acted this way before, the idea of you hating him filled his mind. But then it clicked. It clicked when you were sitting down the couch, hugging a pillow close to your chest, your thighs pressed together tightly. You hadn't noticed him coming that day—coming home earlier than usual—too focused on whatever that was playing on TV, your ears drooped low, biting your lips, cheeks flushed. Weird, considering nothing on the screen could be making you react that way.

He leans forward, face next to the back of your head, he breathes out. Blowing softly on your ears, taking in your reaction as they twitch awake. Panic immediately seers, tilting back to make eye contact with Minho. Your stomach drops, ready to get on your feet and flee but he grabs on your shirt; stumbling you back onto the couch with a thud. “Min—”

“Quit running away,” he interrupts, walking over to you, "What's going on?” he asks, quirking a brow. His gaze never leaves yours, following your drifting pupils. You gulp, flushness creeping up to your face as you refuse to speak.

He sighs, annoyed. Leaning down, arms on either side of you, caging you on the couch. “I won't ask again, kitten. What's going on?”

You feel small, his presence taking over you, clouding your mind with hopeless desires. He's right in front of you, giving you his attention. You could ask—but you can't bring yourself to, tail curling around your leg in discomfort. “Nothing…” you mumble, not even you buying it.

His knuckles meet your chin, tilting your head upwards to face him properly. Studying your face, thumb brushes past your cheek tentatively. You whine. Mouth parting slightly, breathing growing uneven way too quickly. He hums, his hand trailing down your jaw to your neck, resting on your collarbone; warmth spreads across your skin where he touches you. “Is this nothing? I can clearly see something's wrong. How can I help unless you tell me?”

Your chest heaves underneath his contact, lips press tight. “Minho…” you voice meekly, your fingers squeezing the pillow tight, claws digging on the cotton surface. “I—” you try to tell him. Really. But you can't, and it's so cute to him how you're trying your best to. But his kitty needs his help to even voice out what she needs? Thinking over if he has made you too dependent.

“It's okay,” he coos, slowly closing the distance, his smooth voice fills the room. “Maybe I should teach you how to speak? You seem to have forgotten,” he smiles down your neck, leaving kisses so velvet next to such harsh words.

He runs his thumb over the seam of your shirt, hands trailing down your exposed thighs, “Avoiding me… ignoring me all week, but still wearing my clothes?” he rucks the shirt up, revealing nothing underneath. He chuckles, light, his fanning breath running a shiver through your nerves. Heat pools at you, praying that he doesn't inch his hand closer to your core, pussy leaking on the couch. Though, a part of you wish he would. To find out, and coax the words out of your throat.

Your thighs twitch close, the sole obstacle being his body. He holds them open, firmly spreading you further for him to nestle in. He kisses his way up your neck, to your jaw. Lips finding your cheeks, pressing softly till he finds your ear. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” he whispers, nibbling down the sensitive spot. The noise he elicits from you is timid, barely there. You let go of the pillow, instinctively finding his back instead. Holding him closer, claws tearing the fabric of his shirt. “Am I difficult to deal with? Do you hate me?”

You shake your head, “No!” seemingly taken-aback that the thought even crossed his mind. Buying what he's saying. Affected. He smiles. Sticking his forehead to yours. You're so gullible. So naive, you’d believe anything that comes out of his mouth.

“I'll do better, jagi. I'm sorry."

Your mouth hangs open, ears dropping—assuming that he's hurt—blaming yourself for it. “I don't hate you—”

“Then what is it?”

The expression that crashes on your face is nothing short of sweet, pupils blown as you realise your situation. Your face grows hotter by the second, chewing your lower lip in contemplation.

There it is.

His touch leaves you, suddenly being hit with a cold rush. “Hmm, guess you won't tell me. I can't force you,” he mumbles, stepping back when you reach for him, fingers enveloping his wrist.

A pause. Your mouth agape, hesitant before desperation kicks in.

“Touch me…! It feels awful, Min—” you relent, crying out. Brows pinched together.

“Touch you?” he repeats, feigning innocence. “How?”

Tears form in the corner of your eyes, humiliation setting in. “Fuck me. Breed me—it burns. Need your help.”

He's surprised, not expecting this much honesty. Though, it morphs in smugness in seconds, blood rushing into his stiffening dick. His grin widens, snaking his arms underneath your thighs, palms finding your ass as he lifts you up. “How can I refuse when you ask so intently, kitten.” he keens, pecking your lips so cutely. Almost innocent.

You're in the bedroom before you know it, your back hits the mattress with a bounce. He sits at the edge, observing. “You know,” he trails, “I've been wondering when this would happen. If it would.”

You gulp, figuring the meaning behind his words. Your gaze follows him to the closet, he comes back with a box. It is carefully closed, no chance of peeking inside. Curious gaze shooting at him. “Don't worry about it,” he assures; crawling his way back to you. “I’ll take good care of you, kitten.”

His words have the hair on your nape rising, your body burns with desire. He pulls your shirt off, baring your chest to him. Licking his lips as he swipes a thumb over your pebbled nipple, your reaction dragging. Oversensitive from the torturous heat that spreads across your senses. Nerves spiking, squirming prettily just from him wrapping his lips around the skin of your tits, leaving trails of saliva in its wake.

Your fingers sweep through his locks, sharp nails grazing his scalp. He groans against your tits, hands kneading on the flesh of your contracting stomach, breathing heavily under him. “It must hurt so bad,” he mumbles, kissing the side of your hip, teeth nibbling on the supple skin. Eyes unleaving your dainty face, your expression fueling his arousal.

He scoots up, face above yours as he pampers you with kisses, lips anywhere but your pouting mouth. His hold on your hips is firm, bringing you closer to him with a tug. Warm pussy meeting his clothed thigh, wetting the fabric merely from a brush. He curses under his breath, nearly cumming at the sight of your stickiness flowing past your labia. “Look at that,” he rasps, the sound coming out as painful with how bad he just wants to give in and shove it deep inside already. Pussy practically calling out for him.

His patience wears thin, but he holds onto the thread. Lips above yours when he speaks, “Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'm such a bad owner,” he presses down, lips smacking with yours adoringly. “Letting my baby walk around like this, in pain and silently begging for me to stuff her full.” He kisses you again, this time feverishly, tongue swiping over your wet lips, drinking the drool threatening to spill.

He takes the opportunity of your distraction, grinding you down the muscle of his thigh, the fabric roughly rubbing on your clit. The noise that leaves you is pornographic, whimpers muffled by his working mouth. You buck your hips against him when he flexes his thigh, unknowingly rubbing your leg on his tent, earning heavy pants from him. His fingers wrap around your wrist, gliding your hand to his erection, palm feeling him through the cloth. “You’re making me so hard, want to fuck you so bad. Give you all my babies, that’s what you want? Ah—” he moans when you grasp him eagerly, testing the weight of what he has to offer. His voice is so breathy and soft, working his knee on your pussy, causing a mess everywhere.

You nod, almost drooling at the wet patch that smears where you’re touching him, staring in a daze. Cock the only thing on your mind, and he hasn't given you any yet. “Please…” you plea when he lets go of your hand, taking the opportunity to get rid of his shirt, the cotton clinging to his skin with this heat. “Please what?” he asks in a murmur, tone taunting. He can’t help the tingle that runs down his spine when you graze his chest with your sharp claws, doing a poor job at retracting them in this state.

Your soft lashes flutter at him, arms welcoming his neck into an embrace, fingers digging in his hair affectionately. You snuzzle your nose in the dip of his shoulder, unable to look at him for long; dubious of the kind of reaction it would elicit from you. “Please, I need you… need your cock, your babies. All of you, Min…”

He melts in your touch, chest bare—pressed to yours to the point of feeling your hammering heartbeat. “Yeah? All of me?” he repeats, you can hear the grin on his face. “Is that what she also wants?” his thumb finds your clit, running a slow circle on the hood, teasing it. You swallow, breath sucking in when he kisses over your shoulder while parting you open with two fingers, cold air hitting your bare cunt. “Tell me, kitten.” he orders, landing a small slap on your clit, jolting you awake.

“Mgh—!” you moan out, his fingers prodding at your entrance, unsatisfied with your hesitation. Entering you sharply with no warning, drawing out the shakiest whimper you’ve been holding in. A warning. “Yes—! She also wants it, this pussy wants it. Please, I’m sorry.”

You’re so sensitive, much more sensitive than usual. He can tell with how you’re trashing and crying, squirming nonsensically from his fingers alone, eyes tightly shut. He’s never been harder. He curls his fingers, holding your movements down with his body weight, pressing you onto the mattress. He’s slipping in with no intrusion, slickness coating his digit with obscene wet sounds. He grinds against your thigh subconsciously, getting himself off in the process. “Shit. You gon’ cum, jagi?” he mocks, walls clenching hard. Enveloping his fingers like a vice. Working to keep you open, “So fucking tight.” he muses when you gush everywhere, your fluids dripping down his wrist sinfully. He stares, your body going limp. And yet, pussy still spasming, begging for more cause it’s not enough. It never is. He smiles, pulling back. Your chest heaves heavily, eyes flicking open. He’s half-lidded, gaze holding a heat matching yours. Smug when he brings his fingers to his lips, swallowing them in his mouth, sucking and licking at your arousal. Not leaving a drop out of sight, forcing you to hold eye contact while he does so. How you swallow doesn’t escape him—how your expression holds a plea for more. You need more.

He rolls his pants down while you’re entranced, riding off your high. A fuzz behind your eyelids traveling in your blood, raising your pulse. Getting knocked out of it when something heavy taps against your clit. His arms lay on either side of you, nose brushing yours. His bangs tickle your skin when he rolls his hips forward, wetting his cock with your slick. Earning the quietest whimpers from your throat. His teasing has your brows furrowing, basking in your growing frustration.

He hums, taking in your expression. “Hmm, this won't do.”

Your eyes shoot open at his words, and what he could mean by that. Worry sinks in, in case of denial. But you don't have time to think much before he takes a hold of your hips, rolling your bodies with such ease until you’re straddling him, holding onto his shoulders for support. “Show me how much you want it. Come on, fuck yourself on it.”

Your lips press thin, usually being the one on the lying side. He tuts at you, leaning back on the headboard, jerking his head in a way that showcases the bob of his Adam Apple. His tasty neck. Your mouth runs dry. “Weren't you just begging for it? Can't do that much? Should we stop?”

You shake your head rapidly, rushing to get a hold of his heavy length. You hold it under your entrance, prodding it inside, fumbling a few times and he sighs—turning into an exhale of relief when you finally sink down on him. His fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips. “Fuuckk, just like that.” He hisses, finding the back of your head, pushing your face into his neck. “I know it hurts, baby. Go ahead, bite down.” He says, absently scratching the sensitive spot beneath your twitching ear.

You whine, tears coaxing at the corners of your lids from the burning stretch plus your arousal, the knot in your stomach finally getting relieved as you graze your sharp teeth on his skin. Drawing some blood with your fangs, rough tongue hoping to ease the pain by swiping over the droplets but only adding to it. He however riles up in it, cock throbbing inside at the harsh scrap of your tongue on the wound. He could cum like this. Grasping every ounce of self control in himself to pull your head back using the grip on your hair. Your tongue peeking out, a string of saliva disconnecting from his neck. You look so dumbed out, and you haven't even started bouncing on it yet. That's gon’ be a problem.

You shriek when he abruptly thrusts up, filling you to the brim. His balls slap against your cunt. Lashes fluttering shut, immediately biting onto your lower lip but he's having none of that—index and thumb digs in your cheeks, forcing your mouth open, drawing out the cutest mewls from your throat while ramming into you. One hand on your hips guiding your pace as he forces you to jump on it, tits dangling in his face.

You writhe, trying to shake the overwhelming pleasure off when you feel an orgasm approaching way too quickly. Whining and begging for him to slow down, when really, that's the last thing you want. And he knows it. Quickening his pace, nearly slipping out from how much you're wetting him. “Come on, you're going to cum from a few thrusts alone? Do it. Do it, jagi. Soak my cock, yeah?”

This tips you over, the glass shattering as you gasp. Pussy tightening so hard that he moans right in your ear, pushing your orgasm further. He barely lets you settle and relax, throwing you back onto the bed, sheathing back in easily. You're full once again, feeling him at the back of your throat. You sob, glassy eyes blurring your vision. You don't notice when he opens that box, nor rummages through it. Realizing when you hear a sudden buzz, then you feel it on you.

“Ohh..! Mghm—!” you squirm, a vibration hitting your clit, echoing on every nerve in your body. “Minho—ah!” you cry out, and he twitches. The sound of his name leaving in your mouth in a whimper. He leans forward, releasing a glob of saliva in your open mouth. Smirking when you swallow without thinking twice.

A rush of his own courses on his body, settling in his legs as he feels his high approaching, cock surging forward sinfully with obscene loud slaps. Flap flap flap, is all you hear along with the low buzzing. He's throbbing hard, balls begging to tighten. “Gonna cum. Gonna cum and give you exactly what you want,” he grunts, his voice angelic despite the roughness adorning it. “And then… I'll do it again, and again till you can't take any more drops. You'd like that? Hm? Answer me, kitten.” He taunts, landing a small slap on your cheek to wake you up.

“Hmmp—! Yes!” you nod feverishly, jaw hanging agape. He sighs contentedly, mouth finding the skin on your shoulder when he grows more erratic. Moaning right into your sensitive ears, the noises traveling straight to your pussy. Walls spasming and trapping him in snuggly.

He curses, his hips stuttering once, twice. Thrice as he releases inside. Digging crescent into your skin, muffling his loudest moan with a kiss to your neck. He pulls out, and you think it's over. Taking his threat lightly. Mistake.

He turns you around, mushing your face in the pillows, ass perked up nicely for him. Fingers run over your lips before thrusting down your hole. You grip the sheets, subconsciously wiggling in his hold. His cum oozes around his fingers, his cock jolting back to life.

There's some rustlings, and something cool slides on your skin, running to your ass. The pad of his thumb smudges you with it, trailing down till he reaches your tiny hole. He presses on it. You do your best to try to look back, trashing your limp body and failing to do so. “No..! Not here—” you whine but it draws to a moan when he pushes in, the sensation foreign.

“Shut up,” he rasps, the pain lingering for a second before turning into something else. Chuckling when you keen towards it instead, body so weak that he spreads your asshole open easily. “Touch your clit,” he commands. Such a good girl of you to obey, trembling fingers snaking under your stomach to your nub, tracing small circles on it. He massages your rear, a reassurance for what's to come as he removes his thumb from you. Something freezing and metallic replacing it. You're not sure what it is. But you have an idea when more lube is squeezed on top.

“It'll hurt,” he warns, kind enough to take his time to push it in. Feels so full. In an uncomfortable way, the plug stuffing you in a manner you hadn't dreamed of before. He's already hard. Tip leaking with precum at the visual of the plug disappearing in your tight hole, your tail curling around nothing. He just has to grab it, using it to arch your back, exposing your pretty pussy to him. You squeal when he tugs on it, not enough to hurt but hard enough to make you ache. Relieving the emptiness in your cunt when he aligns himself, sliding right back in with an exhale. Creamy on him.

He doesn't give you a moment to adjust, picking up right where he left off. Heavy pants leaving his mouth. “So good, you're so good to me.” he praises, pinning his chest to your back. The plug rubs against his cock within the thin wall separating your holes. Using your tail to angle his hips to hit right into that sweet spot that has you sobbing in the sheets.

He laughs when you try to reach for him, hands flailing behind you. Wrapping a hand on your throat, fingers blocking your air passage when he heaves you up with him. Supporting yourself on your knees with your body slack on him. You hold his arm, clinging to any sort of emotional support. Clinging to any hint of love when he's being so rough to you.

He picks on to your reaction, brows knitting in light confusion. “What's wrong?” he breathes next to your perked ear, hot air fanning on its sensitivity. He loosens his grip on your throat, letting you catch a whiff of oxygen. “Min…” you speak, voice hitching with your cries. “K-kiss me. Please?” your tone is so loving, so desperate for his affection.

He scoffs, concern transforming into cruelty. He laughs, tilting your head to face him. “Hah—want me to kiss you?” he sneers, his hips snap against your ass, dragging in tentatively. “Do kitties in heat deserve to be kissed?”

“Right,” he recalls. “You want all of me. Hm? Want my lips?” he whispers, playing with the plump of your lips with his digits, smearing your mixed fluid like a lip gloss.

Your lips pucker so sweetly, soft and inviting. Your poor attempts at inching closer to his face amuses him, knowing that he's got the upper hand. “Cat got your tongue? Answer.”

Your broken sob has his heart tightening. He knows he's being mean, denying you like this. But it's hard not to when your tears have him rutting into you as if he was the one in heat. Picking the vibrator, opting for the highest settings when it lands right on your overstimulated clit. Your thighs shake violently, unable to hold on. Lips quivering, distracted as he finally gives you what you want. His lips are flimsy on yours, his hold on your neck and body the sole things keeping you up. Tongue licks at your teeth, urging you to open wider. Wet warmth fills your mouth, the muscle circling yours, causing a drooling mass all over your chin. He's half lidded eyes taking in your squeezed shut ones.

He plows your back, tip leaking inside—matching the constant flutter of your walls. Growing faster, more needy by the seconds when you suddenly see white, tears spilling past your cheeks when you crash down. Spilling everywhere. Wetting him, the bed and yourself.

“Oh—” he moans out, loud. His face scrunching in pleasure, whimpers flying to your mouth when he comes once again. Spurting ropes of hot cum inside of you, filling you to the brim with how much he's releasing. Spoiling you. “Fuck…” you're still going, the mixture of arousal pooling below your thighs. Pulling out at last, breathing heavily as you go flaccid, flopping onto the mattress with no energy.

He shifts you over to lie on your back, wiping off the hair that's sticking to your face. “You alive?” he questions, standing above you. You nod meekly, barely conscious. “Hmm…” he hums, kissing the top of your head. “Satisfied?”

“Hmhm..” you reply, all that you can muster.