“Do not forget the instructions,” a voice comes from the speaker, the volume a whisper in the dead of the night—low enough for a single person to hear.

The alleyway is dark except for the dim lighting, nobody would be able to notice the person engulfed by its shadows. “—What if they find out? Isn’t that a bit risky, Ma’am…”

There’s a sound of teeth clicking, most likely from biting one’s nail. “I’ll pay you twice the deal. Don’t you need the money?” she taunts, enticing.

There’s a lingering smell of cigarettes, despite it all—a heavy breath is taken. Shaky. Unsure. Tongue swiping over dry lips, wetting them in contemplation. “All right. I’ll do it.”

“Great. I’m looking forward to working with you,” the smirk is evident in her tone, the call ending shortly after with a loud beep.

However, it is deaf to the ears of passersbys, muffled with the soundtracks seeping from the company’s practice rooms.

—

You have a private rehearsal today. A debut showcase serving as your first actual public appearance, though cameras are off limits. You’re nervous, picking at the skin next to your nail.

The group is with you, currently waiting for the company’s van to drop by and pick them up. 

Felix is standing by you, his presence practically glued to you since the past few days. He’s chatting about something and you’re replying. Though, your mind is barely there. An itching feeling crawls at your back, stomach churning uncomfortably. What if you mess up?

“Yn-nie, yn!” he tugs at you, snapping you back in a blink. “You’re not listening, just nodding blankly.”

“Oh. Apologies, Lix.” you reply, wetting your crisp lips. He sighs, fingers threading through yours, grounding.

“Stressed?” he asks, softer as he studies your face. You nod, a hum thrumming out of your throat.

“I’m stressed as hell,” your voice is tight, knees oscillating back and forth. “What will I do? What should I do—”

“You’ll do great,” he assures, confident in how he smiles. “We practiced, you practiced. All that hard work, don’t think much about it. I know it’s hard the first few times.”

You don’t reply and he nudges you, trying a different approach. “Listen… even if you did mess this up, practically no one would know. No one outside of the venue, no cameras allowed. Remember?”

You grunt, side glancing at him. “You’re not helping,” you reply, though there’s truth to his words. It’s not like any clip of you failing is going to end up plastered on billboards. He chuckles when he notices a tinge of relief dyeing your features when you realize the cohesiveness of his reasoning. The van arrives shortly after, the members tugging their bags from the floor.

“Come on, let’s go.” he urges, using his hold on you to pull your unwilling body towards the vehicle.

—

You were with Felix. You were supposed to sit with Felix. But somehow, for whatever reason—you’re stuck in between a sleeping Jeongin and Han. Han Jisung who was acting like a shy boy. Jeongin is tired from last night, he spent the entire evening training his high notes for today’s performance. Finally grasping the opportunity to take a nap. Han had waved at you earlier, locked on his conversation with Minho when they both suspiciously glanced at you. You noticed it, eyes narrowing at them but Minho didn’t budge, instead shifted back to his conversation a few seconds after. Whereas Han, God-bless Han grinned the second your eyes met, waving at you before scratching his neck coyly when you returned the gesture skeptically.

Then Hyunjin totally stole Felix from you, snatched the blond away without much time to protest. He’s a row behind you, seated with Hyunjin and Minho. You looked back in betrayal earlier, squinting at the three of them with a click of tongue. Felix only smiled in defeat, Hyunjin too engrossed in his conversation to even bother—but Minho? He’s been acting weird, smiling smugly when you took in his expression.  He’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it—sure that he’s the one who ordered Hyunjin to steal your pillar of comfort. Since they are his little minions.

Choosing to ignore them and their annoyingly loud conversation. Minho laughs too deliberately, his ‘ha ha ha’ echoing in your ears. “Yah, Yongbokkie! Didn’t know that you were so funny?” he exclaims, Hyunjin clapping his hands in his cackles. You wonder how Jeongin is sleeping through that.

You grumble, slumping in your seat in irritation. Felix that traitor. He was just whining about not wanting to lose you the other day, now he’s playing in their plan at getting on your nerves. You turn to Han, opting to start a conversation with him instead when you feel a sudden kick at your back. Not hard. A thud, just enough to have you facing back.

None of them look at you, each feigning their innocence. Though, a smile threatens to crack on Hyunjin’s face, his shoulders attempting desperately to still themselves. The domino effects travel to Felix who is in the middle, his eyes plastered on his laps as his lips quiver up, pursuing them—clearing his throat. Minho’s poker face is unbeatable, and you don’t even bother to try and find the imperfections in his act. Deeply sighing, turning back to your original position. The second your voice hitch to talk to Han—it happens again.

This time clocking them, “Can you stop?”

“Stop what? What did we do?” Minho asks, quirking his brows up. You scowl.

Felix nearly melts at your scowl, inching forward, alas, he’s yanked back by Hyunjin. A detail one wouldn’t notice at first glance. He feels a tad bad for acting this way towards you, but your reactions are priceless.

“Kicking my cushion, stop it.” you reply, frown deepening.

“Are we now?" Hyunjin trails, tone still carrying that fake naivety. “You’re the one ignoring us, yn-nie. We are merely trying to get your attention.”

The scoff that leaves you is one of disbelief, unable to grasp their sense of logic. “You’re the ones who left me!” you whisper-shout, the words registering after they’ve already left your mouth. Too late to take it back. Assuming that they left you.

What are we? Is the real question.

Your lips press before they reply, the van abruptly hitting the brakes in traffic—getting thrown back onto Han. A surprised noise flying past your lips when his hands find you, steadying. “You good—?” he asks, his voice hitching when he takes in how close you are pressed to each other. You lift yourself up, palm resting on his thigh to aid your movements. “Yes, sorry…” you mutter, embarrassed.

If a stare could punch holes onto somebody’s skull. Minho’s would. He doesn’t say much, locked on yours and Han’s reaction to proximity, his mouth curving sideways in an annoyed habit. “Sungie,” he calls, catching the boy’s attention. His reaction is confused at first, unknowing of why Minho called for him, but he quickly catches on when he realizes he’s still handling you.

You’re unaware of what sort of conversation was shared between the two of them after whatever happened with you three, but Han’s reaction is immediate. Quickly scooting his attention to his phone; window; the leather of the seat before him instead of you. Anything but you.

“Okay,” you mumble, grimacing at the strange display of dominance. Just what is going on in this group? Bizarre now that you’re entangled in this mess. Though, you’re starting to get used to it. Maybe, it’s not too bad.

—

The venue is considerably big, meeting the requirements for a high energy event. There’s some people already waiting by the auditorium, checking their phones or chatting. Their attention drifts to the rest of you as you make it past the walkway to the private rooms in order to settle your belongings down. The group waves—a display of smiles and politeness, and the reactions from the public are immediate as they cheer on, urging forward frantically. The sole obstacles are the shield of security guards and the metallic barricade.

You’re not sure what to do when Hyunjin nudges you, leaning up close. “Say hi,” he whispers, grabbing your wrist; puppeting you to wave back at them. You smile. Awkward at that. The reactions are different from each individual, certain that you’ve received a good amount of dirty eyes from his public skinship with you. Snatching your wrist back, holding your arm close to your bag strap. Some do smile at you, and it’s enough to stab some hope through your never-ending overthinking.

You’re brought to the green room, the others warming up and stretching when you feel a pat on your shoulder. Turning to the side to meet a lady, probably in her forties staring right at you. There’s something in her gaze that you can’t quite catch on, though, there’s a hint of hostility you recognise.

“Do you need anything…?” you question when she doesn’t speak, eyes narrowing to the others.

She nods, offering you a smile that appears too sterile to be real. Too fake to escape your attention. “I am your official stylist. Come with me, please”

You’re uneasy. Nothing seems right.

However, she takes a hold on you before you can react—propping you inside a lone room. Away from everybody else. You’re blown off at how fast this happened and how nobody cared to ask for your opinion first.

“Wait—” you halt when she takes your bag from you, setting it down somewhere on a couch. “Isn’t this a rehearsal? I thought we had to perform in casual clothes.”

“I’ve already spoken to your manager,” she hushes you. “We need your proper measurements for the event. You need to stand out, miss.”

You swallow, still fishy about this but you relent. Letting her have her way with you as she takes out a dress. Your skin prickles, swallowing tensely as you take the dress from her. Walking off to the dressing stall. Her eyes don't leave you once the whole time, drawing out that sensation of discomfort from your body.

You hiss the curtain shut, watching her disappear from your eyesight. God, she’s creepy.

Her intentions aren’t clear in your mind, however you comply in fear of creating an unfavourable image towards the manager’s wish. Your shirt comes off, pants following suite as they drop on the floor. Pulling the dress over your head with struggle. It rucks at your chest, awfully tight. Too tight. You can’t breathe. It’s not even zipped.

You pivot before the mirror, angling your arm backwards in an endeavour at fastening the zipper. To no avail. You fail.

Exhaling heavily from your trials, beginning to give up and switch back to your casual clothing when the curtains are blown open. Your brows shoot, mouth hanging in shock in a rush to cover yourself despite being clothed. A sight of surprised vulnerability when you’re met with the woman. “Huh—”

“Time is limited,” she comments, stepping towards you. Closing the gap. “What’s the issue?”

Your lips press, nails digging in the fabric. “I don’t think the measurements are right,” you reply. Small.

She frowns, looking you up and down. “Have you gained weight?”

What?

You blink, unsure of what that could entail. The measurements are wrong. The possibility of your body being the issue hasn’t crossed your mind, and you’re quite certain that it isn’t the problem to address but the fact that she’s grabbing onto your shoulders, swiftly forcing you to turn on your heels.

A broken gasp leaves your throat when she pauses. Painfully aware of the marks painting the flesh of your back. The red and purple that has been itching to fade with the passing days. Shame sinks in. Oh.

She takes in a breath, searing panic rigids your limbs, anticipating the accusations that might escape her. The assumptions, blame, perhaps lash out and cause a scene. Yet, she says nothing. Fingers finding the sides of the fabric, squeezing them together to push the zipper upwards. Your muscles twitch anxiously under her touch, kicking the air from your lungs with how strained the threads enrobe your chest. “I can’t,” you strangle, the oxygen input limited.

“Beauty comes with a price,” she retorts, dusting your sleeves. “Endure it for now.”

—

Your steps are ragged, the clock on your phone edging closer to the start of the concert. Twisting the doorknob to be met with the members warming up. Felix is sitting by the door when you creak it open, his focus shifts on you, the rustle catching his hearing. “There you are—Oh.” he says, his attention immediately landing on your attire. “I didn’t know we were dressing up.”

You slump, shoulders defeated. “I know…” mumbling off to sit next to him.

“They should’ve told us, we could have worn matching stage fits.” he comments and you sigh. “They didn’t tell me either.”

Hyunjin passes you a water bottle, the plastic crumpling against your cheek when he nudges you with it. “It’s fine, you look great.” he says, crouching down.

You refuse the water, pushing it back into his hands. “That’s not the problem. I don’t think I’ll be able to drink water in this.”

“Why?”

“Tight. Can’t you see it’s too tight?” you bark, unwillingly snapping at him. He hums, “Tight you say,” repeating your words as he scans over your attire. You can sense Felix’s too, growing hot under their sudden gaze.

“Okay. Okay, stop.” you grumble, flicking both of their heads away. “No more staring.”

“Nothing we haven’t seen—owh, owh!” Hyunjin is cut off by a hand raking through his hair, yanking him backwards in a tug.

“No more talking,” Minho perks, his pupils shifting from Hyunjin to you. “Regardless of your outfit choice, we need to get on stage real soon. Are you all right? Can you move?”

“Barely,” you reply, shrugging. “I can manage, I guess.”

He quirks a brow, tsking. “Guessing won’t do. You’ve got to be sure.” He leans forward, his face hovering above yours. Too much proximity “Are you sure, yn? Will you be able to handle the pressure with everyone’s attention right on you?” his fingers trail up your jaw, fixing an earpiece inside your ear. You hadn’t even noticed he had one in hand. The skin burns where the contact is prominent. “Answer me.”

“Stop scaring her, Hyung. I’m getting chills,” Felix blurs in, earning an amused scoff from Minho.

“Hm, just making sure that she realizes every possible outcome for today,” he states, backing off. Your chest heaves shallowly, ribs straining against the fabric. A negligible breath. Chan announces something in the background, a buzz through Minho’s echoing words—signaling for the group to get ready.

Felix takes your hand, fingers curling around yours in a reassuring squeeze. Hoping to bring you back from your punching anxiety. “You got this,” he whispers, thumb brushing over your palm, lips tight in a gentle smile.

It’s time to go.

—

Their eyes are plastered on you. Fixed. Unmoving. Judging you the second you walked out there. The music hasn’t started yet, and it’s like the entire auditorium goes deaf. Not a sound except for your ragged, short breathing.

Nervous? You are.

This sensation of being out of place hits you. Your clothes, position—you’re center— and the fact that you’re the sole woman here. Ants crawl on your skin where a breeze flashes through the gaps, standing tightly for the music to hum in. To escape the ringing in your ears, and follow the guidelines of the beats.

Finally. Finally it begins.

You had underestimated how loud it’d be. Nothing resembling the echo of the practice room. The thumps bounce off the floor, struggling to get the first few steps in your panicking stance. Too stiff to flow along. Hyunjin brushes past you, hand clasping over his mic. “Easy, trust yourself—follow the beats.”

You’re trying. That was your starting goal.

Though, you find it when you’re drawn to the back of the choreo, analyzing the way they move, mimicking their steps until you get it right. As if you were still rehearsing, picturing the whole world out—just you and the mirror of the company waving your mind.

You get it.

Lining forward, you pray to seem confident even through your insecure movements. The act is strong, spiking when the crowd grows reactive. Cheering you on.

They are cheering you on.

A tug pulls at your lips, quirking up when the praises ring through despite the blasting in your earpiece. Glancing sideways to meet Minho’s gaze on you, his grin matching yours when you make eye contact, encouraging you. Gaining validation you hadn’t known you were seeking.

You almost forget the embrace of the fabric on your abdomen. Almost.

Almost forget all of your worries when it suddenly snaps. The fabric tearing is harsh, somehow harsher than any pitching scream. Feeling it before you see it. Before they can fully see it. An inaudible gasp flows out, cold air hitting your exposed skin, arms flying across your chest where the straps gave out. The zipper immediately rolls down, your exposed back meeting the venue’s atmosphere. Before you realize, you’re pushed behind. The members move to the front, continuing the performance where you’re shielded by Changbin’s body. Pretending that it was part of the play. Skimming amongst the infinite faces plaguing your vision. They haven’t noticed.

You mirror them the best you can, holding onto the thin threads. You’re getting passed around like a pivot, constantly hidden by someone else, amazed at how quick they clocked the malfunction. Setting a cruel distance of experience. Expecting the worst when the dance break arrives. You’re supposed to twist. You can’t. The suctions on your back are clear and visible on your skin. A silent thud collapses when Hyunjin’s back meets yours at the exact moment, putting himself as a shield to the public’s eye—improvising. “Go backstage,” he whispers, throwing his head back onto your shoulder. His knuckles brushes on your hips, steadying you before pushing you backstage.

You bolt there, being met with a few agitated staff as they rush towards you. Hyunjin follows, jogging his step inside, instantly striding closer. Pocketing something out. Pins. “I got it,” he tells the staff, watching them step away. Clicking his tongue. “That’s why you always need to bring pins.” he comments, holding up your straps, his tired pants puffing on your nape.

“How would I know…” you question, turning into a light whine when his thumb brushes over the coloured skin. He tuts, applying pressure just to tease you.

“Am I the only one you give this attitude to? So sweet to Felix, and quiet to hyung…” he mumbles. You huff, sucking in when he pulls on the material, trying his best to pin them together. “These are barely the right length. Did they have a child in mind when making this?”

See? You weren’t the problem.

“Enlighten me about it,” you rasp, a shudder coursing through when he takes his time to roll the zipper in place, fingers twitching. “Hyunjin… not now,” it comes off as weak, looking over at the staffs who seemed to have returned to their initial positions.

You need to rush back before people start talking. Show face, but he’s taking his sweet time to, fingertips lining your arms. “I love admiring the beauty of you. Can’t help it,” he purrs and you have to swat him off, your heartbeat picking at his nonsense. He smiles lovingly even with the heat painting his face. Heaving his hoodie off him, rolling it over your head instead. Snugging it on you without paying much mind to your complaints. “Keep it on.”

“But—” you interject but his finger finds your lips in a hush, shutting off any groans you might voice out. “People will see.”

“Let them. I’m only helping a member out,” he replies, taking in your wrist. “Solidarity.”

—

The rest of the performance goes by in a blur and the ride to the company is done in silence. For you, at least. You haven’t spoken once the moment you stepped in. Swapping seats with Han, you’re sitting by the window. Head bumping the edge every now and then. Dreading whether your brain was playing mind-games on you, and that people in fact noticed. Wearing Hyunjin’s hoodie publicly. You can only picture the ruckus waiting for you online. After all, people don’t care about the context. Sighing into your palms, utterly defeated. To say that it was going so well. Still in that dress, you were frantic to leave the venue—straight up scurried to the van before anyone could catch sight and interact with you. Talking about first impressions, completely butchered it up. You’ll change at the company, hand back the dress while cursing at the people who made it in your head. In your head. Right. Wishing in a world where you could do it outloud.

The others try talking to you, lift you up but you just aren’t in the mood for it. Nodding nonsensically to whatever they are sputtering, steps leading you upstairs without much thoughts except to free yourself from this suffocating space. Felix urges after you. You’re aware that he’s trailing your steps like a lost puppy, worried sick since this morning’s stunt. However, your nerves won’t let you rest and assure him that you’re okay. Because in fact—you aren’t, and it is written cohesively on your face.

Reaching for the green room, you snap it shut on everyone’s nose. Not sure if there was anyone behind you with how quick your pace was. You rub your palms from your temples to your cheeks, breathing a tad easier with the pins hanging the dress loosely. Throwing Hyunjin’s hoodie off, reaching for any sense of coolness to calm you down. There’s goosebumps on your skin, fingers easing the rising hair. Are you overreacting?

No. This is a plausible reaction.

Reaching for the back to undo the zipper, somehow still tight in a way that restrains your movements. Groaning when you can’t quite find the glinting metals either, he pinned them to your cloth on your back. There’s a knock at the door that nearly makes you jump, a deep contrast to how that lady lacked the tact to ask first before entering. The bare minimum.

“Yn?” the sound is muffled, repeating the syllables of your name with more assertiveness on the second try. Minho. Definitely Minho.

The soft-airy tone of his voice is unmistakable.

You debate answering, biting onto the inside of your cheeks. Eyes darting to your reflection shining off the mirror. Help is required, fully realising that. But…

“Are you changing?” he asks, hovering there for a moment. “I’ll come later then.”

Your brows pinch, hesitation churning your stomach, legs betraying you as they close the distance from the door. Fist enclosing around the doorknob. Not now. You think, twisting the cold metal ever-so-slightly. “Not now…”

A part of you wishes that he already disappeared by the time you open the door, though, a truer part of you knows that he wouldn’t have. Of course, he wouldn’t when you’re met with him face-to-face, all obstacles left snapping open. He seems unbothered, his casual expression adorning him until his eyes meet yours, pupils dilating insignificantly. It could have escaped your notice—if only you weren’t so entranced by him. Snapping you from your daze when he inches forward, making you stumble on your feet.

“Careful,” he says, holding onto your arm. Fingers digging in your flesh, and yet it doesn’t hurt. It burns. Overly conscious of how fast you just folded by his presence alone. “I thought you wanted out of this stupid dress?” he asks, not once looking away from your face, but it feels like he did. Heat travels across your body. Casual. He’s being casual and here you are having these reactions. Almost clocking the smirk that threatens to etch on his lips, a hint of smugness flashing in his eyes.

“I can’t take it off,” you mutter, coming off as weaker than intended. “—It’s tied too low… he tied it too low.”

He hums, kicking the door shut with a soft thud, his shoes screeching against the cold tiles. “He did?” He hints of Hyunjin, making you falter backwards till you’re hit with the couch. A small, inaudible noise squeezes out of your throat. “Let me help.” His forehead is awfully near yours, his own warmth seeping through the air, beads of sweat wetting your palms. He gives you a brief distance—a pretense of being considerate—moving over to the couch, making himself comfortable on the cushions with a light groan. Spreading his legs wide. Inviting. “Come here,” he instructs, index rolling in your direction. You obey. Heavens, you do without wavering. Gulping dry saliva when he pats his thighs. “Sit.”

Knees find themselves curling over his thighs, snug and comfortable despite your tense limbs. Trembling hands clasping on his shoulders, hovering your hips above his groin, not actually sitting. His knuckles brush your cheek, cradling your jaw in a caress. “Are you embarrassed?” he asks, coaxing the nod out of you. “About? Today or…” his fingertips dances, twitching further towards the pins on your back. “This?”

The relief that hits you as he undoes them is out of this world, shoulders slumping, breathing a period easier. “Today…” it’s shaky, light as a feather. His other arm envelopes your waist, encouraging you to rest properly.

“Don’t be,” he replies, deft digits dwelling on the metallic clasp, the edge digging into his thumb. “You did good. Better than you thank yourself for.” His focus is drawn to your lips, pressed so tightly in a thin line. A drop of hesitation remains. It’s your nature.

He likes it.

You don’t believe him, but his words unclench something in you. Letting go as the fabric drops. Revealing your shoulders to him, straps dropping from the released tension. “Minho…” your voice trips—however he swallows it before it stumbles completely—catching your mouth in his. His lips are soft on yours, slow and controlled. Much different to your quivering ones, the built up tension from today escalates into the kiss as you push onto him, fixing his spine straight to the cushions. He normally wouldn’t allow you, perhaps put a distance and have you beg for it. Though, he feels kind enough tonight. You need it. He needs you to need it. Him. Even with others in the picture—you’re melting for him right now.

He notices when the door creaks open. You don’t. Completely oblivious to it locking behind the approaching figures. Not bothering to pull his mouth away from yours, instead diving his tongue deep in your throat, regaining control of the kiss. His eyes are ajar when he meets the other pairs of eyes, unmatching your shut ones. It doesn’t last long when you take in a voice that isn't the one you’re swallowing.

“We’re doing this in here? Here we thought you were upset,” someone speaks, forcing your lids open. “We even brought you cake, for what? Hm?” Hyunjin grins from above, looking straight into your rounded pupils. You try to stand, to set a quick and careful distance—alas Minho is stronger than you, anchoring you back on him—exactly where he deems you belong.

“You’re interrupting,” he barks and Hyunjin perks a brow, lips jerking into a silly chuckle.

“As if you don’t like it,” he replies, playing with your loose hair. “Quit the act, hyung. Yongbok was missing Yn, isn’t that right?”

You hadn’t even taken the fact that Felix was sitting on the couch’s armrest, a growing shame setting in at being caught in the act. By the both of them. Nose nudges Minho’s shoulder as you bury yourself in his neck in an attempt to escape the humiliation. You’ll never get used to this. A fist buries in your hair, the grip cotton even while pushing your head back, “Why’d you stop? Continue, angel.” The low contrast of their tones has your chest shrinking and expanding, pulse endlessly thumping in your ears.

Minho finds you again, lips pressing close to yours, fingers dipping in your cheeks. Breaking the seam of your lips. “Don’t shy out now, you were confident just a second ago.” He says, “We’re all here for you, do you want that?” He asks, eyes searching for yours in any signs of discomfort. There’s a plea in them, but he needs you coherent and verbal. “Do you want it?” Hyunjin hovers behind, palms resting flimsily on your hips, anchoring you to earth. Or quite the opposite. You have never felt dizzier. You seek Felix, seeking any validation in his expression but he seems as eager as them. As you. His anticipating eyes twitching, wide and staring, as if he was holding back the best he can.

“I—yes,” you give out. Not like there was much fight to begin with. “I want it…want you.” it’s more of a breathless whine, a strangle to the nervous lump in your throat. “All three, want all three of you—”

Felix’s thumb brushes your cheek, a beat longer than he should, a linger that only his heart allows. “Only if you’re sure, yn-ie.”

“I am,” you voice out, leaning into his graze and he melts, growing molten from the simple act. “I’m sure, please.”

A kiss lands on your exposed back. Then a second time in smooth smooches, driving up your nape to your earlobe. Cold sweat breaks your skin. “Already begging. We haven’t done anything yet, muse.”

A faint whimper echoes when he bites on the sensitive flesh, rolling the chewy meat with his tongue. “Shh, people constantly walk around here.”

This shouldn’t turn you on the way it did. The rationality left in you screams that it’s a horrible idea—especially after today. You never know who’s lurking. Any sense of caution crumbling into dust when lips seal themselves around yours once again, Minho’s tongue licking at your opened mouth. There's a grip on your face, swiftly pushing your head facing the other side to collide with someone else's mouth, a faint taste of adoration and gums coating the plushness of him. You lap at him, obsessed with how sweet he is on your tastebud. Minho's teeth nip at your exposed neck and you have to thread your fingers through his hair, begging for him to show enough mercy and not leave his imprints behind. “No marks–” you heave out, muffled by the smacking of Felix's lips against yours.

Minho hums, his eyes meeting Hyunjin's behind you, a silent agreement passing through as they share a hidden grin. Soon, firm palms dig onto your hips, holding you off Minho's lap. Dizzy with how fast you end up on the floor, propped up by Hyunjin's chest, gifting you with leverage. You're flushed against him when he slips your dress off entirely. Absently throwing the ruined fabric in a corner. Heavy stares land on your figure, eating you from the inside, legs curling up instinctively but Felix holds you open on one side. “No hiding,” he whispers, tilting your chin upwards to shove his tongue inside your pink warmth yet again. “Need to see all of you.”

The breath you suck in is sinful, stomach contracting under Minho's caress on your skin. Hyunjin swiftly unclasps the metal of your bra, the material hanging loosely as Hyunjin doesn't bother to take it off before attaching his affection back on you; kissing the curve of your neck to your spine, licking at the sweat bead that rolls down your back in a hot long stripe. Unlike Hyunjin, Minho is focused on getting rid of the hindrance, fingers curling onto the straps, urging your arms up to get it off. The cool air hits your nipples, hardening the nubs, inviting to the lips that wrap around them.

You can barely keep up. They are everywhere.

Polished nails graze your flesh, raking lightly on their path trailing to the edge of your panties, unnoticing till they’re rolled down. Hyunjin subtly lifts your lips; Minho manoeuvres your legs up to take them off completely before returning his misery onto your chest, teeth nipping just below your ribs. Felix gives your mouth rest, smothering pecks down your body. Your face is hunched to the side, Hyunjin’s lips replacing the kiss. Breathless—not given any chance of catching a whiff of oxygen. He’s slower—sensual, licking at the seam of your mouth, thumb brushing and guiding your jaw to relax. “Open,” he mumbles against you, parting the soft tissues for his wet muscle to prod in. His eyes half-lidded the whole time, taking in your closed ones in tender infatuation.

His bulge presses to the curve of your ass, safely nested underneath each of your involuntary grinds. Offering you each of his inaudible moans.

Felix lowers on the floor, his palms glued to the suppleness of your thighs, keeping them open for him to find comfort between. Hips twitching in reflex when his breath ghosts over your folds, the bulb’s light scorching hot on your nerves. Fully naked next to their clothed bodies. Vulnerable. You let it—especially when he kisses the inside of your thighs like he missed it. Missed having you like this. Missed you. “Lix—” you whine out but he hushes you with a gentle squeeze. “Baby, shh. Keep quiet f’me,” he says with a stupid-dumbfounded smile painted across his face, smiling too brightly. As if he was in love with you. He might be—finally getting a stripe of your slick, blazing mouth wrapping around your clit.

Head jerking back on Hyunjin’s shoulder. His hand clasping over your mouth when a guttural moan threatens escape, muffling your pleas of pleasure. Lashes blinking open, meeting the waves in his. Endless thoughts drift whenever he sees you like this—flushed, broken gasps in your battle at keeping awake—splatters of colours painting the pleasure designing your features. Something beautiful on the brink of getting ruined.

Felix’s assault returns in a flash as his tongue inches down. You’re soaked. Slick pooling at his chin whenever he takes a slurp. Eyelids shutting in contentment, he’s never been happier. The tip of his muscle prodding at your hole with Minho’s helping digits parting your folds. Legs tipping close if it wasn’t for Felix’s hold on your legs pinning you to the harsh floor. Tongue gathering your fluids, pushing inside with a shaky exhale at your taste. His pupils almost roll back with how he won’t ever get used to how addictive you are. Fighting the urge not to moan out merely from the sensation of your walls clamping down on him.

“Good?” Minho whispers, and you’re not certain if he’s talking to you or Felix with the look of euphoria scrunching his brows. Either way—Minho’s thumb finds your sensitive nub, tapping it gently, knuckles brushing on the hood. Teasing. Hands squirming on your sides, unbeknownst of where to touch, what to grab. Later finding solace in Minho’s silky strands as he tweaks your nipples with his free hand. His thumb rubs circles on your clit along with Felix’s unrelenting devotion, drawing you embarrassingly closer to the edge. Throat contracting in a choke when he trails downwards, flicking his fingertip right above Felix’s tongue. His smirk touches your neck in a kiss, tickling just below your ear. “Don’t get us in trouble,” he warns, Felix catching the hint and separating from you briefly in a silent whine. Minho replaces the tongue with his fingers, thrusting in without much head-ons.

The sound that squelches out of you is obscene, the noise colliding onto the room’s corners. “Hear how wet you are for us? Such a greedy girl,” he coos, voice soft in a woo compared to the mean pace of his fingers. Your hips jerks violently, teeth stabbing onto your lower lips, certain that it might draw blood. Nose crunching in a beg of kindness when he spreads your hole open with a scissor of his fingers, making space for Felix’s returning ministrations. The back of your hand colliding on your mouth when Hyunjin takes hold of your jaw, forcing you to keep your eyes on Felix the whole time.

Your orgasm hits you like a tide, heels clamping against the tiles, head shaking as you bite onto your skin—milking Minho’s fingers with your creamy release. Riding it out on Felix’s overworking tongue, drinking all of you in with profound eagerness till you’re shaking from overstimulation, thighs violently trying to close the distance; whimpering soft ‘no’s under your breath. “Enough, Felix.” Minho says, lifting Felix’s head from your warmth. The pink of him is peeking out of his mouth, matching the rosiness of his cheeks. “Mhm, sorry…” he grins, his voice hoarse, chin glistening in you. He kisses you. Light. Barely there, just a peck.

“Turn her over,” Minho instructs, grips flying to your limbs nearly instantly. Hyunjin pushes you forward, moving you to your knees, tracing each of your curves amorously. “So pretty,” he mutters, shifting to your front where you lay on your palms. Minho is behind you, his hard on pressing dangerously to the crescent of your rear. Hyunjin brushes the messy strands of hair sticking to your skin, slow in his movement, eyes glued to yours. You whine, growing mellow under his heavy gaze. “Hyune…” you hitch, vision tracing his body till it lands on the heavy strain in his pants. His grin tilts, perking into a smirk as he follows your attention, hand leaving your face to palm himself in a tentative squeeze. “You want it?”

You nod feverishly and he lets out a light chuckle, guiding your head to him with a hold on your hair. He mushes your face to the erection, uncaring of your tiny whimper. “Make a mess on my pants,” he rasps, biting his lip when you tip your tongue on the tent’s outline. Saliva drooling on him. “Fuck... Who knew you were such a dirty girl?” His grin is smug despite the twitch in his frown, fighting for self-control. His words have you hot, bothered. A flutter coiling in a tight knot. An emotion of coyness would have washed over if it wasn’t with Minho’s hips grinding on your cunt. “Oh…” you rag, the blunt press of his clothed erection nudging your clit. “Please,” you mutter, a blabber.

But he picks on. He always does. “Please what?” Minho asks, surging forward with a roll on your cunt. “Please you want cock?” he taunts, his tone broken in tight airflow. Your head moves, nodding without much thought. “Where? Your mouth… or this pussy?” his thumb runs past your labia, coating his pad with your wetness, earning a failure of a gasp when he teases inside. Hyunjin’s own thumb swipes over the plush of your lower lip, barely tipping inside. “Answer him, love. Where do you want it?”

“Both,” it’s small. Meek. If you weren’t in such a risky position, they’d have you screaming it out. However, the inappropriateness of it only adds to their satisfaction. “What about Yongbok—Felix? You’re going to leave him out?” Hyunjin pities and you blink at Felix who's sitting right by you on the floor, propping himself on his palms. You shake your head, not in the right state of mind. Poor Felix. Your poor Felix. “No… Never.”

Not again. At least.

“Aww, she likes you.” Hyunjin shifts to Felix, bringing him to his knees. “Then… you’re going to have him first, right yn?” he’s behind the blond, arms snaking around his waist, putting on a show by unbuckling his belt. “He’s been so good to you, yn.” he coos, reaching for his zipper. Slipping his pants off. “Just look. Look at how hard you’ve made him, he’s leaking all over his underwear.”

Felix whines, out of breath, when Hyunjin rubs on his head through his boxers, smearing the precum coating the fabric. “Hyung…”

Hyunjin soothes him in a hush, tugging at the edge of his boxers. “Come on, tell yn to suck you off,” he says right by his ear, the hair on Felix’s nape coming to life in a goosebump. “You heard her—she’d never leave you out.”

“Wah, Hwang Hyunjin. Where’d you learn this from?” Minho scoffs from behind, his cock fattening impossibly at the act before him. Hyunjin nearly rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I wonder.”

This is absurd. The entirety of it, but you still fixate on Felix. Waiting for the words to give out of him. His ears burning red, freckles coating your vision like stars in the night sky. Minho urges him. You? The both of you by tilting your face towards his bulge, encouraging. He swallows, “Blow me off, please— Need your mouth,” relenting, watching the relief washing on your features. As if you’ve been dying for him to ask you that.

You were.

Fumbling fingers find the edge of Felix's boxers, hooking them off in a rush. Met face-to-face with his aching cock, the tip flushes crimson, beads of precum falling at the tip. Mouth watering at the sight. “Open,” Minho asserts from behind, your mouth parting as an answer. Felix's tip rises to your lips, coating them in him, a soft groan escaping his throat when you envelop the crown in your wet warmth. “Shit, shit. So good. Feels so—” he blurts but is cut off by Hyunjin's fingers pushing inside his mouth. Shutting him off completely. Humping Felix's ass in a hope of relief. A groan of your own vibrates onto his cock when Minho presses against your entrance. Heavy cock tapping onto your clit before driving back, lubing himself. He pushes you onto Felix's cock, stuffing your mouth full of him when he suddenly rams into you—knocking the oxygen out of your lungs. Waterline filling, vision blurring at the abruptness of it. Nails scratching the floor in a screech. Minho curses, stilling inside for a second. Catching himself.

Felix bites onto Hyunjin's fingers, eyes rolling back when you gag on him, throat squeezing him tight. Low voice echoing on the lengthy digits as drool pools down his chin. Hyunjin hums behind him, his grinding growing persistent, resulting in Felix shallowly thrusting into your mouth.

Minho's on the verge of pulling out when the doorknob twists. The sound thrumps in your eardrums. Booming.

It twists. Once. Twice.

The four of you freeze. There's a shuffle on the other side, then a knock. “Is anyone inside? Hello?” the voice recognizable.

Chan.

It's fucking Chan on the other side.

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