KEEP QUIET (M) • kim hongjoong, atz president

pairing: frat president!hongjoong x sorority president!reader

synopsis: hongjoong has a way with words and it's a talent that comes ever-so in handy as president of atz. when it comes to you, not so much. your role as one of the sorority presidents and a rule enforcer might have something to do with keeping him wrapped around your finger …

word count: 5.7k words

TAKE A SEAT (M) • park seonghwa, atz vice president

pairing: frat boy!seonghwa x reader

synopsis: you've never been able to stand park fucking seonghwa. he was a walking red flag and somehow everyone was still obsessed with him, ever since freshman year. even when you steered clear of him, he found his way under your skin. and, well ... your sheets ...

word count: 5.8k words

HUSH MONEY (M) • jeong yunho, atz philanthropy chair

pairing: frat boy!yunho x reader

synopsis: yunho was everyone's favorite nepo baby (especially considering he kept the house's rent paid and the social events afloat). after meeting him at an end-of-year rager, you were both head over heels … or at least, you were. seems like yunho is more in tune with his wallet than his heart …

word count: 5.7k words

MISSED SIGNALS (M) • kang yeosang, atz secretary

pairing: frat boy!yeosang x reader

synopsis: when your best friend told you he planned to rush for atz, you thought he had lost his mind—there was no way kang yeosang would end up in a frat. fast forward to junior year, everyone loves him. and he loves the attention, except he seems to not notice that you were there first ...

word count: 5.9k words

IN FOR IT (M) • choi san, atz rush & recruitment chair

pairing: frat boy!san x reader

synopsis: san is the frat sweetheart. he keeps the house tidy after ragers, updates the calendar, sends out the text reminders. he's even the plug for the potheads! when he meets you at yet another atz rager, he realizes there might be more worth taking care of than a group of silly little frat brothers ...

word count: 5.9k words

FACE TIME (M) • song mingi, atz social chair

pairing: frat boy!mingi x reader

synopsis: everyone wants mingi. unfortunately, that includes you. he wants you, too, but only after midnight and once the liquor hits. once you've had enough and you play him at his own game and keep your distance, he doesn't seem thrilled ...

word count: 6.6k words

PRINCESS TREATMENT (M) • jung wooyoung, atz house manager

pairing: frat boy!wooyoung x reader

synopsis: there's one guy that will always be standing on the table at the end of the night, hooting and hollering for attention—jung wooyoung. what does he do when a girl the polar opposite of him takes a liking to him?

word count: 6.2k words

END OF THE YEAR (M) • choi jongho, atz treasurer

pairing: frat boy!jongho x reader

synopsis: forget the president and vp—jongho runs atz like the fucking military. for a frat brother, he sure is type a. maybe it's up to you to ensure he learns how to live a little and let loose ...

mingi

wooyoung

jongho

Seonghwa:

The apartment was quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the air purifier—a staple in Seonghwa’s meticulously kept living space. He was sitting on the sofa, his eyes focused on a book, looking every bit the picture of domestic perfection in his silk loungewear. He smelled of his usual expensive, linen-scented detergent and a hint of the woody cologne he’d applied that morning.

Then, you walked in.

You had applied the pheromone perfume just minutes before in the bathroom, dabbing it on your wrists, behind your ears, and right in the hollow of your throat. You took a seat in the armchair across from him, picking up your phone as if nothing was different. Seonghwa didn’t look up at first, but his nose twitching gave him away. Ten feet of space felt like nothing as the scent reached him. He paused, his finger frozen on the page he was about to turn. He took a slow, deliberate breath, his chest expanding under his shirt.

“Did you... change the laundry soap?” He asked, his voice low and distracted.

“No,” you replied simply, not looking up.

He put the book down. His eyes darted to you, sharp and searching. He stood up, moving with a strange, slow grace. He didn’t come to you immediately; instead, he began to sniff the air around your general area, his eyebrows meeting in the middle as if he were frustrated by a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He looked like a scientist trying to identify a new element, his mouth slightly parted as he inhaled again and again.

“You smell…” He trailed off, the word caught in his throat. He stepped closer, his knees bumping against yours. “It’s like you, but... louder. Heavier.”

He leaned down, his face hovering inches from yours. You could see the slight tremor in his hands. He wasn’t just smelling the perfume; he looked like he was trying to taste it. His tongue swept across his bottom lip as his nose finally made contact with the skin of your neck.

The second his skin touched yours, the self-control disappeared.

Seonghwa let out a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hands, usually so gentle and careful, gripped the arms of your chair with enough force to make the fabric creak.

“What did you do?” He whispered against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “I can’t... I can’t think. It’s all I can smell. It’s everywhere.”

He began to trail frantic, wet kisses up toward your ear, his composure completely shattered. He wasn’t worried about the pillows being straight or the house being tidy anymore. He reached down, hooking his arms under your knees and back, lifting you out of the chair in one fluid motion. As he carried you toward the bedroom, he didn’t stop nuzzling into your neck, his breath hitching every time he caught a fresh wave of the scent.

“You’re not wearing this out,” he muttered darkly, his eyes clouded with a hunger you’d never seen before. “Never. You’re staying right here until this smell is gone... and replaced with mine.”

The bedroom door clicked shut, and for the first time in his life, Seonghwa didn’t care that he’d left his book lying open and face-down on the sofa.

Hongjoong:

The red “On Air” light outside Hongjoong’s studio was off, but the atmosphere inside was just as pressurized. He had been working for ten hours straight, his hair slightly ruffled and his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. When he offered to go grab the food delivery from the lobby, you saw your window.

You pulled the small vial from your bag and applied the pheromones liberally—wrists, collarbone, and a daring swipe down the center of your chest.

When the door clicked open, Hongjoong entered with two heavy plastic bags. He didn’t even make it three steps before he stopped dead. His head snapped up, his nostrils flaring. He looked like he’d been physically pushed back. That “offended” look crossed his face—the look he gets when a beat isn’t dropping right—but it was quickly replaced by a dark, knowing smirk.

He knew exactly what you were doing.

“What’s that?” He asked. His voice was raspy from lack of use, tilting his head like a curious predator. He didn’t wait for an answer. He moved to the desk, shoving his expensive equipment and the bags of food aside with a reckless clatter that was totally unlike him.

“What?” You asked, blinking innocently, though your heart was hammering against your ribs.

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he chuckled, a low, dangerous sound.

He walked toward you, his leather chair rolling away as he pushed past it. He didn’t stop until his boots were touching your sneakers. He reached out, his thumb catching your chin and tilting your head back. He leaned in, his nose dragging along your jawline until he reached the pulse point of your neck. He stayed there for a long time, just inhaling, his eyes closing tight. When he spoke again, his lips brushed against your skin.

“This. What is this?”

Before you could answer, his tongue darted out, licking a stripe up the side of your neck, tasting the perfume mixed with the salt of your skin. A small gasp escaped you, and Hongjoong hummed in approval, his hands sliding down to grip your hips and hoist you up onto the edge of his mixing desk.

“You’re trying to distract me,” he murmured, his eyes scanning your face, dark and dilated. “You want me to stop working? You want my full attention?”

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eye, his hand moving to the buttons of his shirt. “Fine. You win. But I hope you weren’t planning on eating that food anytime soon, because I’ve found something that smells a lot better.”

He leaned back in, his mouth crashing against yours, taste and scent colliding in the dim light of the studio. The music was forgotten; the only rhythm in the room now was the sound of his heavy breathing against your skin.

Yunho:

The gala felt like it would never end. The room was a sea of suits and silk, but Yunho was a man possessed. Ever since you’d returned from the restroom with that pheromone scent clinging to your skin, his world had narrowed down to the six-inch radius around you. He stood in that big space, nodding at the people speaking to him, but his “eyes” never left you. Even when he was facing away, he was attuned to your every move.

Mingi, sensing something was off, had been nudging him for the last twenty minutes. “Yunho? Hey, man, are you even listening?”

Yunho didn’t even blink. He was too busy tracking the trail of your scent as you moved across the room. He could feel it in the back of his throat—a thick, sweet, and dangerous pull that made his blood run hot. He wasn’t just interested; he was starving.

Finally, the moment you finished your conversation, he didn’t give you a choice. He placed a heavy, proprietary hand on the small of your back and politely excused the both of you for the rest of the night.

The car ride back was suffocating. The air inside the luxury sedan was still, and the scent of the pheromones began to fill the small space, mixing with the leather of the seats. The ride was not tense with anger, but he was physically tense—his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw so tight you could see the muscle jumping in his cheek. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes kept flicking to you, dark and dilated. And then there was the unmistakable evidence of his struggle: the prominent tent on his black slacks that he made no effort to hide as he shifted in his seat.

The second you both got home and the front door clicked shut, the dam broke.

Yunho didn’t even let you put your keys down. He lose himself, his large hands finding your waist and lifting you off the floor as if you weighed nothing. He pinned you against the wall, his chest heaving.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me for the last three hours?” He rasped, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against your ear.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling so deeply it sounded like he was trying to pull the scent out of your very pores. He was a mess of desperate energy, his nose dragging along your pulse point while he let out a broken, shaky breath.

“I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was getting you alone so I could do this.”

He began to mark the skin of your neck, his teeth grazing you with a hunger that was almost frightening. His hands wandered down, pulling you closer, trying to merge your bodies until he could feel every inch of you. He didn’t care about the gala, his image, or being the “collected” member of the group anymore.

“I’m going to smell this on you all night,” he whispered, his hands sliding under your dress as he pressed his hardness against you. “I’m going to make sure this scent is the only thing I know until the sun comes up.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He captured your lips in a kiss that tasted of pure, unadulterated need, dragging you toward the bedroom without ever letting your feet touch the ground.

Yeosang:

In the practice room, the air was heavy with the scent of sweat and floor wax—until you walked in. You were carrying bags of drinks and food, but the real delivery was the pheromones radiating off your skin.

The moment you entered, the music cut off, and the members called for a break. Yeosang was the first to approach you, his movements usually so fluid and graceful, but he stepped toward you like he was walking into a trance. He reached out to take a heavy bag of drinks from your hand, but then he froze. He stared at you for what felt like 5 or 10 seconds—it was hard to tell because you were trying so hard to keep your face neutral so the other members wouldn’t get suspicious.

“You okay, Sangie?” Wooyoung asked, reaching for a drink.

“Yeah,” Yeosang managed to choke out, though his eyes never left yours.

The other members started digging into the food, oblivious. “Wait, you smell amazing today,” San commented, leaning in. “What is that?”

“Oh, my friend put it on me before I went out to buy the food,” you lied smoothly, your heart racing.

While the others chatted and complimented the scent, Yeosang remained eerily quiet. He sat down on a bench nearby, but he didn’t reach for a single bite of food. Instead, he watched you with a focused intensity that made your skin tingle. He was probably thinking of the dirtiest things he could ever think about, his imagination fueled by the chemical pull of the perfume. You saw the tips of his ears turn a bright, burning red. He shifted uncomfortably, and then you saw it—the undeniable, painful-looking hardness pressing against his pants. Without a word, he grabbed his discarded practice jacket and draped it over his lap, his knuckles white as he gripped the fabric.

You caught his eye for just a second. He looked completely wrecked, his usual stoic mask crumbling into something raw and desperate. He looked like he wanted to drag you into the equipment closet and never let you out. You turned back to the others with a small, secret smile. Mission accomplished.

San:

The shopping trip started out so normal. San was in high spirits, practically skipping through the aisles of the high-end boutique. He was being his typical, adorable self—holding up different fabrics against your skin, his eyes disappearing into those perfect crescents as he laughed. He’d gone off to the back of the store to ask a staff member for a specific size, and you took that moment to pull the vial from your purse. You applied the pheromones to your neck, your wrists, and even a little behind your knees. When San came back, he was mid-sentence, a bright smile on his face. But as he stepped within three feet of you, he stopped. The sweater he was holding slipped through his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

His nostrils flared. The scent hit him like a physical blow, itching into his nose and traveling straight to his nervous system. His face went from all bubbly to a look of sheer, dazed shock. His eyes even began watering from an unknown reason—pure sensory overload. Your “baby kitten” was gone, replaced by a version of San that looked like he was vibrating under his skin.

“You smell good, mommy... You smell so good,” he whimpered, his voice dropping into a desperate, breathy register.

He didn’t care that there were other shoppers or staff nearby. He moved into your space, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, and buried his face deep into the crook of your neck. He was huffing the scent, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he let out small, broken whines. He was shamelessly rubbing his tent against your hip, his hands gripping your waist so tightly that his rings were pressing into your skin.

“San, baby. Please, will you wait, darling?” You hissed, trying to maintain some level of public decency. “Let’s get this first and pay for it, then we’re out of here. You hear me?”

He didn’t answer with words. He just let out a long, pained whimper, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he trembled. He was so close to a total breakdown, his body reacting to the chemical pull of the perfume in a way that made him lose all sense of time and place. He looked like he wanted to just mark you right there on the shop floor—to claim you so everyone else knew exactly who you belonged to.

You had to manually separate yourself from him to walk toward the register, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how pathetically he followed you. He was stuck to your side like glue, his hand gripping the hem of your shirt, his eyes glazed and dark. He looked completely wrecked, and the way he kept leaning in to sneak sniffs of your neck while you were paying made it clear: the second you got into the privacy of the car, he was going to snap.

“Hurry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he leaned his weight against you, “please, just... hurry.”

Mingi:

The apartment was quiet, the only sound being the low hum of the television, but the atmosphere was about to become incredibly heavy. You were sitting on the sofa, scrolling through your phone, having intentionally applied the pheromone perfume right across your chest. You knew Mingi’s weakness; you knew exactly where his head would end up the moment he sat down.

When Mingi walked into the room, he was mid-sentence, blablabla-ing about something that happened at practice. But the words died in his throat the second the scent hit him. It was like he ran into a wall.

He didn’t even say another word. He just dropped to his knees on the floor between your legs, his large frame looking small as he slumped against you. He didn’t hesitate—he pressed his face directly between your breasts, inhaling so sharply it sounded like he was gasping for air.

“Princess…” He choked out, his voice a wrecked, gravelly mess.

He was overwhelmed, his system completely flooded by the scent. As he began lapping at your breast through the fabric of your shirt, you could feel his hot tears soaking into the material. He was actually tearing up, his body trembling as if he were overwhelmed with the sheer intensity of the emotions and feelings he was having. The pheromones were doing their job, turning his usual cool persona into a puddle of pure, raw need. He whimpered like a mess, his hands gripping your thighs so hard his knuckles were white, his face hidden against you as he let out broken, shaky breaths. He was lost in it, drowning in the scent you’d placed there on purpose. He looked up at you for a split second, his eyes red-rimmed and pupils blown wide, silently begging for more before burying himself back into your warmth.

And so on and so forth, the night continued with Mingi refusing to let go, his heart racing against your chest in a rhythm of pure devotion.

Wooyoung:

Wooyoung’s nose is his pride and joy. In the dorms, he’s the one who can tell who walked through the room just by the lingering trail of their cologne. He has a massive collection of fragrances, each one a memory from a different continent he’s toured. He knows your usual scents better than you do—the way your vanilla perfume notes change after four hours, or how your woody lotion settles into your skin.

So, when you walked into the bedroom after applying the pheromone perfume to every pulse point, every curve, and every inch of your neck, the air shifted instantly.

Wooyoung was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting away some of his latest finds, but he stopped mid-motion. His head snapped toward you so fast you thought he’d gotten whiplash. His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in a deep, analytical focus. He was mentally stripping the scent apart, trying to find the base notes, the top notes—trying to understand why his heart rate had suddenly tripled just by you standing in the doorway.

“Where did you get that scent from?” He asked, his voice coming out much huskier than he intended. “Or... where did you buy that perfume?”

He stood up, his movements fluid but tense. He walked toward you, his gaze locked on yours, but as he got closer, the “expert” side of his brain began to short-circuit. The chemical pull was too strong. He reached out, his fingers hooking into your belt loops to drag you toward him until your chests were touching.

“It’s not one of mine,” he muttered, almost to himself. “It’s not anything I’ve ever smelled before.”

He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He took a long, shaky inhale, his nose dragging along your skin as if he were trying to memorize the molecular structure of the scent. His breath was hot, turning into a shaky groan against your collarbone.

The logic was gone. He didn’t care about the continent it came from or the brand on the bottle anymore. He was fucking losing himself.

“I can’t think,” he hissed, his teeth grazing over your skin, threatening to leave a mark right there. “Every time I breathe, it’s like you’re taking over my head. I’m going insane.”

He pulled back for a split second, his eyes dilated and dark, looking at you with a primal hunger that made your breath hitch. He didn’t want to talk about perfumes anymore. He grabbed the back of your thighs, hoisting you up so you had to wrap your legs around his waist, and he began to pepper your neck with frantic, wet kisses, his hands trembling as they gripped you.

“You are not leaving this room,” he whispered against your lips, his composure completely shattered. “I don’t care about the collection. I just want this. I just want you.”

He kicked the door shut with his heel, his mind completely wiped clean of everything except the intoxicating scent of you.

Jongho:

Jongho is a man of habit. He likes things in their place, and he likes the people he loves to smell a certain way—fresh, powdery, and comforting. He’s spent countless nights with his head in your lap, inhaling the scent of your vanilla lotion and fresh-pressed clothes. To him, you represent peace.

But tonight, you decided to disrupt that peace.

The two of you were alone in the apartment, the quiet only broken by the soft sounds of a game he was playing on his phone. You had applied the pheromone perfume heavily, letting it warm up against your skin before you stepped into the living room.

As you walked past him toward the kitchen, Jongho didn’t just notice; he froze. His thumbs stopped moving over the screen. His nose wrinkled in genuine confusion at first. This wasn’t the powdery, baby-soft scent he associated with you. This was something dark, creamy, and dangerously magnetic. It felt like it was filling his lungs, making his heart hammer a heavy rhythm against his ribs.

Then, you appeared in his space again, leaning over the back of the sofa to see what he was doing.

Jongho’s eyes went dark instantly. The confusion vanished, replaced by a deep, smoldering intensity. He rose from the sofa with a slow, predatory grace that sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze was heavy, traveling from your eyes down to your throat where the scent was strongest. He stepped into your personal space, his shadow towering over you, and his strong hands caught your waist. He pulled you flush against him, his grip firm and unyielding.

“What are you doing to me?” He rasped, his voice dropping into that low, chesty register that usually only came out when he was exhausted or deeply affected.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned down and kissed you deeply—a kiss that was leagues away from his usual sweet, shy displays of affection. This was a claim. His tongue was demanding, his hands sliding down to pull your hips firmly against the evidence of his own reaction. He broke the kiss for only a second, his breath hitching as he buried his face in the side of your neck. He stayed there, inhaling so deeply it felt like he was trying to pull the scent directly out of your skin.

“I don’t know what this is,” he whispered against your pulse, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, “but it’s making me lose my mind. You smell like you’re trying to provoke me.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his expression possessive and fierce. “It worked. You’re not going anywhere else tonight. You’re staying right here with me.”

Thinking about soft!dom Jongho, who absolutely loves to spoil you rotten. He loves seeing you in whatever he's bought, an almost primal instinct growing in him at the sight.

But also how absolutely feral he would get whenever you decided to wear a shirt of his. How you smelled exactly like him, wherever you went.

How shamelessly possessive he would get the second another member lent you a hoodie or shirt cause you were cold, knowing that he wasn't mad at you or the band member, but the fact that their smell now overshadowed his own.

How he'd pull your naked core flush against his clothed leg as you whine from the friction—thick, strong hands pushing you down as he guided your hips back and forth.

You would nestle your face into his neck, feeling delirious and overwhelmed all over as your senses were filled with his smell and from pleasure.

The unevenness of his chest rising up and down, a staggered breath leaving his slightly parted lips being the only sign of how affected he was, too.

How, no matter how many times you begged for his cock, his fingers would dig deeper into the skin of your hips to stop you from grinding down further.

“P-please, Jong—ah—please.”

“You'll stay just like this, baby. Until every nook and cranny of your body smells like me.”

How the man would just stare at you, eyes half lidded but irises so dark with lust you felt like prey under his gaze.

“Just like that, so good for me, princess.” Jongho would say with a growl, your wetness seeping through his clothes from how deliciously turned on you were.

How he would fight with all his might to keep his eyes from shutting, to just let his arousal overtake him while the sounds of your needy, desperate whines clung to him like a melody he never wanted to end.

How he'd eventually free his achingly hard cock that had been neglected for far too long, not able to resist how beautifully yet shamelessly you'd rub against the muscles of his thighs, sweat mixing from your foreheads touching.

How he'd chuckle when your eyes met his thick, swollen, red, flushed cock and whimper at the sight of it—hands coming down to wrap around it carefully, like you were afraid he'd swat your hand away any second.

How the two of you would come just like that, Jongho's mumbled praises threatening to pass the wall of pleasure your ears had put up, ringing as the world around you slowly morphed into a cloud.

How he had picked you up, the faint feeling of a soft shirt covering your body, along with delicate, soothing touches across your face, arms and wherever the man could reach.

How you had whined in frustration from the familiar warm, comforting body leaving your side—only to be met with something wet but so warm against your skin as he made sure you were clean.

you stare adamantly at your laptop screen, at the blank google doc open, at the blinking cursor teasing you for almost falling asleep. you focus on literally anything except jongho’s overwhelming presence at your side–the subtle scent of his musky shampoo, his hot breath fanning over your shoulder.

 the silver chain that he normally hides behind the collar of his shirt hangs out, dangling in a way that has you imagining a different scenario: your string lights illuminating the outline of his body while he presses you into the mattress with his weight, one hand gripping your waist and the other on the headboard, that goddamn silver chain swinging above you while he—

“late night last night?” jongho says, voice low because you’re in class, and deliciously deep. it’s unintentionally sultry, and you find yourself squeezing your thighs together.

“shut up,” you say. “i was finishing an essay.”

jongho hums, and you start to aimlessly copy down the words of the lecture slide. you know that jongho sees right through you; the slides will be posted online later, so there’s no point regurgitating the content.

but you cannot let yourself look at jongho, because you’d probably try to kiss him right then and there.

“weren’t you with yunho?” he says.

“not like that,” you grit out. “we’re just in the same class so he was helping me.”

jongho hums, and he finally returns to the confines of his own seat. you let out a breath of relief. you continue copying down words from the powerpoint, even letting yourself tune into the professor’s voice; at least you’re wide awake now, a nagging feeling of want coursing through you.

you feel a nudge at your other elbow. this presence is comfortable, familiar. it’s san, your first friend at university who is conveniently the same major as you. even though he’s just as big and built as jongho, he’s less intimidating. he’s soft and nice, and he’s showing you a topical meme on his phone from  some computer science joke twitter account.

unfortunately, jongho notices san’s phone turned towards you and leans over again, except this time he’s closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as he tries to make sure he’s also included in the joke.

“i don’t get it,” he says.

“it’s because you’re not actually a computer science major,” you say, rolling your eyes and pushing jongho back into his seat—you exert more effort than you anticipated because of how solid jongho is.

“tsk,” jongho says. “at least i actually understand what’s going on in this class.”

this shuts you up, and you go back to glaring at your laptop and reformatting your bullets because you’ve already lost track of the lecture.

you last another fifteen minutes of attempting to pay attention, before you resign yourself to scrolling through instagram and mentally planning how you can coerce jongho into sharing his immaculately organized notes.

in the final minute of class, the whole class begins unceremoniously packing up, even though the professor is still droning on about greedy algorithms. everyone shuffles out of their row and through the doors at the back of the lecture hall, and jongho falls into step with san, talking about working on the homework tonight. you walk a step behind them, because your legs are shorter and because you want plausible deniability while admiring the shear breadth of jongho’s shoulders.

you leave the lecture hall, and san heads to the academic quad for his next class.

“see you later,” you say to him and jongho, who usually has to work at the library after class, but you notice him following you to the coffeehouse.

“don’t you have work?” you say.

“i changed my schedule,” jongho says. “are you gonna go work at the cafe?”

you nod, and he follows you to the campus coffeehouse where you stand in a fifteen minute line. jongho only gets drip coffee, so you end up ordering something frivolous to make the wait worth it. the two of you squeeze into a small table in the corner, your knees constantly brushing against each other as you read over the essay you wrote last night in a red bull induced haze.

most of it is thankfully salvageable, and the hit of caffeine helps you.

every once in a while, you find yourself glancing over the top of your laptop at jongho. at the lines of concentration etched into his handsome, tanned face. how his hair is getting scruffy and how he pouts when he’s deep in thought.

you’re so hopelessly in love with choi jongho.

at some point, he gets up to get a napkin, and when he returns, he doesn’t sit back down in his own seat. no—instead he hovers behind you, invading your space with one hand on the back of your chair and the other stretched onto the table to keep himself stable.

and that chain—that goddamn silver chain dances over your shoulder again.

“what do you want?” you mumble, skin prickling at the sensation of his proximity.

“this is not bad,” jongho says, eyes skimming over your essay.

“what’s with the tone of surprise?” you retort.

jongho shrugs. “just thought you would’ve been distracted last night.”

you finally chance a look at him, if only to stare at him puzzled until it finally clicks. you shove him off—subconsciously admiring, once again, just how solid he feels.

“for the last time,” you say. “it’s not like that. yunho’s just a friend.”

jongho sits back down, patting the napkin on a part of his laptop.

“good.”

you stop typing and gape at jongho, who’s returned to focusing on his own work. did he- did he just—? your brain works at miles a minute, offering bold assumptions and then instantly refuting them and then rebutting those and then raising new anxieties and then being hopeful and then—

you spend the rest of the time at the coffeehouse overanalyzing one word you’re not even sure you heard.

⋆⋆⋆

the three of you are sat around the coffee table in the living room of jongho and san’s apartment on the west side of campus. their apartment has become the haven for your discrete math class, where jongho blesses you and san with his knowledge in a class he’s taking pass/fail that isn’t even a major requirement for him. their apartment also has plenty of alcohol for when the nights get particularly rough and a good stash of unhealthy stacks.

it’s 1 am now, and the three of you have finished three out of five of the homework questions, eaten five packets of ramen, two sleeves of strawberry pocky, downed six bottles of yakult, and watched an eighteen minute youtube video theorizing that bakugou might become the second user of one for all.

you’d consider this a productive night.

now, you’re perched on the couch, san leaning against your legs while you play with his hair. it’s softer than yours, which frustrates you to no end because you know for a fact that he uses 5-in-1—how are there even five things to incorporate into one bottle?

jongho’s in the kitchen, contemplating a late night—or early morning—beer.

“seonghwa’s throwing a party this weekend,” jongho says, when he returns with another bottle of yakult instead of the beer. the bottle is already small, but it’s positively dwarfed by the size of his hands.

“if seonghwa’s hosting, then yunho will be there,” jongho continues. he looks pointedly at you.

“i thought,” you say, tugging a little on san’s hair and earning a sharp shout of pain, “we established that i don’t. like. yunho.””

“but didn’t you hook up with him?” san says, removing himself from your vindictive fingers and rubbing his scalp. as he sits up to look at you, he instantly regrets bringing up this point as you glare daggers at him. he’s not wrong; you and yunho had hooked up once, at the birthday party of an acquaintance, after seeing jongho chatting up some other pretty girl.

“you guys hooked up?” jongho says, breaking the stare-off you’re having with san for betraying your trust like that.

“it didn’t mean anything,” you say quickly, glancing up at jongho and double-taking at the shadow that’s fallen over his expression. how his jaw looks tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“but you guys hooked up,” he repeats.

“just the one time,” you say, not quite understanding why it feels like you’re being accused of something far worse than a hookup between two consenting and single adults. “we were high and he was just there and it happened.”

“when?” jongho says, continuing the interrogation and maintaining eye contact with you while san switches his attention between the two of you, the instigator but certainly not the mediator of this conversation.

“at yeji’s birthday party,” you say. 

“so that’s why we had to pick you up from the burger place on 8th,” jongho says. “because you were at his place.”

“yeah,” you say. “but it literally does not matter because i don’t like him. we’re just friends, and i’m not gonna hook up with him again.”

jongho stares at you.

“good.”

there it is again. that word, said under his breath. barely there, but enough that you feel a mix of doubt and hope.

you hate it.

“hey!” san says, forcefully cheerful in a way that means he’s trying to change the subject to diffuse the situation. “i found another my hero theory video. the one has 100k views!”

you drop jongho’s gaze first, letting your attention shift to the video san has pulled up on his laptop. “i just don’t think my hero is that deep,” you sigh, trying to ignore the way you can still feel jongho’s eyes on you.

“well, 100 thousand people do,” san sniffs. “including me.”

finally, jongho takes the bait. “how long is it?” he asks.

“thirty minutes!” san says cheerfully.

you and jongho both groan, but dutifully allow san to press play.

over the next thirty minutes, you tune in and out of the overdramatic video as you turn over the previous conversation in your head. you can’t help but read into the situation: clearly jongho is bothered that you’re close with yunho and hooked up with him once. in fact, he’s so bothered that you could even interpret it as being… jealous. 

but if he is, why doesn’t he do anything about it?

you’re half asleep by the time the video ends. san nudges you and gives you an sheepish, apologetic smile.

“it’s late,” he says. “do you want us to drive you home?”

“nah,” you say. “can i just stay over? i’m too tired to move.”

it’s not your first time staying over. your apartment is on the other side of campus, so after most long nights of working you sleep on the couch. san lets you borrow the same old high school volleyball shirt every time, and you slip into it and pull off your jeans. the shirt is thankfully long enough to cover your butt, and the no-pants thing has never been a problem.

until now, when you step out of the bathroom, and jongho’s just entering his bedroom, and he looks at you. you clearly see his eyes roam down your legs before springing back up to meet yours.

“let me get you a pillow and blanket,” he says, voice gruff and deep.

“san’s getting—”

“let me get you a pillow and blanket,” he repeats.

it feels like an olive branch, and you fall asleep surrounded by jongho’s scent. distinctly masculine and musky and oddly soothing.

⋆⋆⋆

when you wake up the next morning, it’s to the sound of whirring from the kitchen. from your spot on the couch, you can vaguely make out the blurry shape of someone in the kitchen. your hand flails around the coffee table, blindly slapping until you find your glasses and shove them onto your face.

it’s jongho, wearing gray sweats and no shirt, leaning against the counter while making coffee. you take the time to admire his back, feeling your cheeks warm as you do. in all honesty, you’re surprised that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him shirtless, and you’d be dumb not to take advantage of it.

you run your eyes over the contours of the muscles in his back, the way they flex and ripple as he crosses and uncrosses his arms.

you yawn and wipe at the sleep still in your eyes. this noise gets to jongho, and he turns around. this action draws a sound out of you, something that comes from the back of your throat, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. because jongho—

jongho’s shirtless, and he’s facing you, his naked torso completely exposed to you. you stare at that goddamn silver chain, nestled against his substantial chest. at the miles and miles of smooth, tanned skin and his fucking arms.

you clap a hand over your mouth and pretend to yawn again.

“you want coffee?” jongho calls.

“yeah,” you manage to say, while laying back onto your back and averting your eyes to the ceiling.

a little while later, you hear jongho pad towards you and you sit back up again. he gives you a mug of coffee and sits down at the opposite end of the couch, leaning back and stretching out his offensively nice upper body. the light from outside peeks in from the blinds of the large balcony windows and bathes his skin in golden stripes.

“is san—?”

“he’s at his 8 am,” jongho says. “when’s your first class again?”

“not until 10:45,” you say. “i’m gonna go home and shower and stuff first.”

“i’ll give you a ride,” jongho says.

you protest politely, mostly because you don’t know if you’ll be able to stand being in such a small space with him, especially when he drives a sleek black mercedes with silky black leather that’s just begging for someone to ruin with some steamy car sex.

but jongho manages to convince you that he needs to drop by the convenience store on the east side of campus anyway, so you find yourself following him down to the apartment parking lot, wearing yesterday’s clothes and hair tied up in a bun to disguise how oily it is.

when he backs out of his spot, he does that thing: wraps his arm around the back of your seat and backs out with one hand. it’s disgustingly attractive.

you sink lower into the heated seat, staring out the window to avoid daydreaming about car sex with jongho.

⋆⋆⋆

you do end up going to seonghwa’s party that friday, after your girlfriends unceremoniously invite themselves into your apartment carrying a huge case of peach soju and a twelve pack of beer.

after a beer and two shots of soju, you’ve changed into a crop top, a silky leopard print skirt, and cute black boots. 

thankfully, seonghwa’s place is only a block away from your apartment, but you and your friends still find a way to get lost on the way there. it takes ten minutes longer than necessary, but you’re finally crashing into the living room of seonghwa’s townhouse.

it’s already packed, but roomy enough that you can move freely without having to slide against other sweaty and drunk people. you break off from your friends to seek out san (and jongho). as you pass the kitchen, you swipe a red solo and a meager amount of whatever mixed drink atrocity they’ve made for the night that you immediately water down. you’re man enough to acknowledge that you’re a lightweight, and you’ll be damned if you end the night puking into a toilet rather than flirting with jongho.

you find san first. he’s lurking near the beer pong table, leaning against the wall and talking to wooyoung. you sneak up on him and he jumps when you give his side a big poke.

“san!” you say, wrapping him a big hug. you’re known to be more affectionate with alcohol in your system. after san clumsily returns your hug to avoid spilling his drink on you, you release him and give wooyoung a similar hug.

“where’s jongho?” you ask, standing on your toes to speak directly into san’s ear.

san points to the other side of the pong table, where you see jongho huddled in a corner with some blonde girl who looks suspiciously like the one from yeji’s birthday party. your reaction is immediate, something joining the alcohol to course through your veins—something fiery and prickling. jealousy, you think numbly.

“we’re playing next,” san says. “me and jongho. you should stay to watch.”

you hum noncommittally, peering at the ids lined up on the pong table and seeing only jongho’s. an idea strikes you, and you give san a peck on the cheek and some excuse about using the bathroom.

you wander back through the crowd of people, occasionally saying hi to people you know as you seek out one individual in particular. you find him on the couch, arm hung lazily on the back, hovering behind some girl. he’s clearly chatting her up, leaning close to her ear and hooded eyes making generous peeks at her cleavage.

you down the rest of your diluted mixed drink and throw yourself at him.

“yunho!” you cry, squeezing into the small space between him and the arm of the couch, meaning you’re basically sitting on him. “thank you so much for helping me with the essay! i definitely would’ve failed without you.” you flutter your eyelashes at him and simper.

the girl scowls visibly, crossing her arms in a way that makes her tits swell, but yunho barely notices—you know he has a sweet spot for you ever since that one night stand, and besides, he could get any girl he wants.

“y/n,” yunho says, shifting his body so that his back is to the girl now. she scoffs and leaves. “you good?”

“i’m great,” you giggle.

“you look good,” yunho says, shamelessly running his eyes over your figure.

“let’s play beer pong,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you think you’re good for pong?” he says, a little dubiously as you let out a hiccup.

“yeah, because i know you’ll carry,” you say.

“alright, princess,” he says. “let’s go.”

you tumble off of him and pretend to be wobbly on your feet to let him steady you as you walk towards the beer pong table. yunho slips his wallet out of his pocket and slides his id onto the table to get in line to play the winner.

when he notices jongho, yunho lets out a chuckle.

“ah, y/n,” he says, catching your wrist and pulling you into him. “i see what’s happening.”

your cheeks heat up at being caught so quickly. “i’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “he keeps bringing you up and being weird, but now, he’s got that girl with him…”

“don’t worry, princess,” yunho says. “i know how to put on a show.”

jongho and san are playing now, and it looks like they’re winning. that same chick from before is hanging off of his arm, acting like a cheerleader. you catch jongho’s gaze, and the cheery smile he’s wearing slips off immediately when he notices yunho behind you, hands on either side of your waist.

you shiver as jongho gives you a salacious up-down that has you convinced you’ve pressed the right buttons to make something happen tonight. you giggle, tugging your lower lip in between your teeth and leaning a little closer to yunho.

something must snap inside jongho, because he and san end the game with three cups in quick succession. the losers slink off, as you and yunho take their place. yunho reracks the cups and refills them with a thin layer of beer. jongho rolls a ping pong ball towards you. 

“eyes,” he says.

when yours lock onto his, you smirk. he grimaces.

to decide who gets to start, you have to hold eye contact with each other and try to make a cup. whoever makes one first gets to start the actual game. jongho misses, but you don’t, so you and yunho get to go first.

you and yunho go toe to toe with jongho and san, which is surprising considering how little beer pong you play. by the fourth turn, the blonde girl has left, unsatisfied with the lack of attention she’s received from jongho. by the seventh turn, you and yunho have two cups left, and jongho and san have three.

yunho goes, and makes the first. you cheer and jump up to plant a wet kiss on his cheek. he steps behind you, massaging your shoulders theatrically. you close your left eye, lining up your shot. just as you’re about to let go of the ball, you turn around and pull yunho down to your height.

“give me a good luck kiss!”

he smiles into the kiss, which turns out to have a lot more tongue than you’d expected, but yunho is a good kisser so you don’t mind.

“let’s go, princess,” yunho says, slapping your ass as you turn back to the pong table.

jongho’s positively glowering at this point, and you smirk at him as you map out your shot again.

you miss.

you’re not entirely surprised.

yunho’s not even mad, and begins grossly comforting you with arms wrapped around your shoulders and kisses to the crown of your head.

jongho and san make the last two cups easily.

“too bad, princess,” yunho says into your hair. “you were doing so well.”

you pull yourself out of his grasp. “bathroom,” you explain sheepishly. yunho gives you a knowing look and a wink.

you’ve been to seonghwa’s house enough to know about the secret bathroom on the second floor that he doesn’t allow partygoers to use, so you slink up the stairs when million dollar baby starts playing and the crowd swells with renewed enthusiasm.

just as you’re closing the door behind you, a shoe shoots out to stop the action. someone pushes the door back open, and who else but—

jongho.

“i thought you said you didn’t like yunho,” he hisses down at you.

“i need to pee,” you reply, cocking your head to one side and widening your eyes at him.

he considers you for a second before stepping inside the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

“alright,” he says. “pee.”

“i don’t- are you going to watch me?” you say.

“didn’t seem like you minded people seeing you and yunho all wrapped up downstairs,” jongho says, crossing his arms over his chest, and you hate the way his biceps bulge when he does.

“that’s different from- from peeing,” you mumble.

“fine,” jongho says, and he turns around to stare at the bathroom door.

you’re not entirely satisfied, but you really do need to pee, so you pull down your underwear and sit on the toilet.

it’s awkward, but at least the music and noise downstairs mask the sound. you end up peeing for a surprisingly long time, and even jongho feels the need to break the tension with a poorly timed,

“damn, you’re like a waterfall.”

“i’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” you snap.

“you’re that drunk?”

“no—i’m drinking water, too, you bastard,” you say, finally finished. “don’t want to be hungover tomorrow.”

you flush and wash your hands, and then you’re leaning against the sink and saying, “okay, you can turn around.”

he does. “so. yunho?” he prompts again.

“i told you,” you say, staring directly above jongho’s shoulder. “i don’t like him.”

“then why were you all over him?”

“why do you care?” you sneer.

“just answer the question, y/n,” jongho says.

“why are you so obsessed with yunho?” you say. “if you want to fuck him, be my guest! i won’t get in the way.”

this hits a sore spot, because jongho moves quickly, crowding you into the sink in one step.

“it’s not him i want to fuck,” he breathes.

your breath hitches in your throat. you feel your heartbeat in your mouth.

“what do you mean,” you say, mouth unbelievably dry.

“c’mon, y/n,” jongho says, voice husky. he’s looking at you, eyes darting to your lips. “you can figure this out.”

it’s the same phrase he always uses when you’re struggling through a discrete math problem that he’s already solved, but normally he’s nice, barely teasing.

right now, he sounds downright condescending.

so, you snap. you grab him by his chain and tug him down to your height, slot your lips over his and kiss him.

his lips are nice. soft. he tastes like minty chapstick and bitter beer. his tongue slips into your mouth, and suddenly the kiss takes a turn from intense to lewd.

his hands find your waist, his palms burning into the exposed skin between your crop top and your skirt. his thick thigh pushes apart your legs, and your skirt rucks up above your hips. you gasp and break away to tug at the hem, but jongho stops you.

“that’s counter productive,” he whispers.

“okay,” you say. “i’ll be productive then.” and you pull off your crop top to reveal a lacy black bra and pull up your skirt all the way to reveal a matching lacy black thong. you hear jongho inhale, and then a deep chuckle.

“fuck,” he says, drawing out the word. he meets your eyes again. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“that’s you,” you say.

he dives back in to mouth at your pulse point, as his hands slip down to your ass, palming the flesh and leading you to grind against his thigh. he’s flexing, and the fabric of your underwear is thin and you can already feel a wet patch spreading, and the combination along with the friction of the movement has you moaning.

“that’s what i like to hear.”

you hear the muted opening strums of mr.brightside just as jongho’s thumb begins circling your clit over your underwear. you moan into his shoulder and buck against his hand. he continues to work you until the crotch of your panties is practically soaked, and you’re a whining mess. 

“p- please,” you whisper, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, and he’s drawing aside the lace and pushing two fingers into you. you throw your head back at the feeling of being filled and stretched; his fingers are long and thick, nothing like your own or any of your previous hook-ups.

“shit, you’re so wet,” he says, pulling back to watch his fingers fucking you. the sound it makes is positively vulgar, and you pant with every motion. at some point, he starts curling his fingers so that they hit that perfect spot in the back and rubbing his thumb across your clit, and you can feel your high building.

“fuck, jongho,” you whine. 

“shit, babygirl, you’re gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep talking like that,” jongho says, smiling into your neck.

“don’t,” you say. “you can- you can- please, fuck me. you can- cum in me.”

jongho stops, only the tips of his fingers teasing at your entrance, and you whimper as your pussy clenches around nothing.

“are you serious?” he asks, as you circle your hips in an attempt at some relief.

“yes,” you hiss.

“fuck, babygirl,” jongho says, taking a step back and a new glint in his eyes.

but just as he puts his hand on the button of his jeans, there’s a sharp rap on the door that makes both of you jump.

“oi! this bathroom is off-limits!” it’s seonghwa, and to be fair, he’s right. 

“give us a second!” jongho calls, wincing at the subtext. you jump off of the bathroom sink, swaying a little with how jittery your legs are. jongho stabilizes you with a hand on your hip and hands you your shirt.

“jongho? is that you?” seonghwa says. “little shit. this is the third time—”

your head snaps up to look at jongho, who’s unlocking the door and pushing it open, effectively interrupting seonghwa’s rant. he nudges you out first, standing behind you, and you suspect it’s to hide the very visible tent in his pants that’s currently pressed against your ass.

“oh,” seonghwa says, as his eyes fall onto you. he takes a second, glancing back and forth between the two of you, running over your mussed hair and flushed cheeks, jongho’s screwed up face and his right hand still grasping your hip, the wrinkles in your skirt and finally—

“oh,” seonghwa repeats. “oh, shit. okay, well congrats and all that—” and here he punches jongho in the shoulder “—but that doesn’t mean you can fuck in my bathroom!” he finishes cheerfully. he steps behind jongho and begins ushering the two of you back down the stairs and through the living room until you’re on his front porch.

“if you’re going to be doing the nasty, i’d rather you do that at home!” seonghwa says, wagging a finger in your face. “make sure you use protection! love you both!” and he shuts the door.

he leaves you and jongho in a stunned silence, both staring at the closed door.

“uh—” jongho tries.

“what did he mean third time?” you say.

“oh,” jongho says, and his big dick energy dissipates as a sheepish expression takes over. “well, i- i might’ve… y’know… a couple times in seonghwa’s bathroom.” he rubs the back of his neck and offers you an apologetic, gummy smile.

“and you got mad at me for fucking yunho once in his own apartment?” you demand, actually stopping your foot to emphasize the clear double standard at play. “while you were off playing merry-go-fuck-around in seonghwa’s private bathroom?”

“i wasn’t mad at you,” jongho says. “i was just—”

“just what?” you say. “slut-shaming me for having consensual sex?”

“no!” jongho says quickly. “i was jealous.”

“oh,” you say. so, you’d been right. he has been jealous of you and yunho. but somehow, you don’t feel vindicated in the slightest. “i mean—that doesn’t make it any better. i’m not some object—”

“i know that,” jongho says, exasperated. “but i just wanted to be… with you.”

“with me?” you say, wrinkling your nose. “you wanted to fuck me, too? like those other girls you had up in seonghwa’s bathroom?”

“no! with you, like—” jongho’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip “—like as your boyfriend.”

oh.

well, you hadn’t been expecting that. you blink at him once, then twice. you open your mouth and close it again, gaping like a goldfish.

“do you- do you like me?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“well, yeah,” jongho says. “do… you like me?”

“yes!” you nearly shout the word. “yes—i’ve been in lo- i’ve liked you for at least a whole semester!”

“oh,” jongho says, looking as dumbfounded as you feel. “well, me too.”

you look at each other, and then start laughing. you hiccup, and jongho moves closer to you, wrapping his substantial arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his firm, warm chest. your cheek presses against that goddamn silver chain, but it’s no longer a source of stress for you. he peppers the crown of your forehead with kisses, until you finally look up at him and he kisses your lips softly.

“so,” he says, “can i?”

you raise your eyebrows. “can you what?”

“be your boyfriend?”

you pretend to contemplate the question, and when it takes you longer than a few seconds to respond, he knocks his chin against your temple affectionately.

“yeah,” you say, grinning. “yeah, you can be my boyfriend.”

“so then, what do you say about going back to my place and finishing what we started?” he asks.

“yes, please.”

jongho moves to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and drinking it slowly. his back is to you, broad under black jacket he's wearing, the leather creaking as he sets his glass down.

"you think that was cute?" he murmurs, no softness evident in his voice. he turns to you, leaning back against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest.

you shrug, trying to keep a smirk on your face as your pulse kicks in your throat. "just having some fun. you've been so serious all day."

jongho's jaw tightens as he pushes off the counter, walking toward you. "fun," he repeats as he steps in front of you. one hand comes up, fingers engulfing your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "you've been running your mouth since we left the building. poking at me in the car, laughing when i told you to stop. you want attention that bad?"

your breath catches as you try to nod, but his grip keeps you still.

"words," he says flatly.

"yeah," you manage, voice smaller than you wanted it to sound. "maybe i do.

he lets out a humorless breath through his nose, his free hand moving to your shoulder and pushing you back until your spine hits the wall with a dull thud. jongho crowds you, one thick thigh sliding between yours, pinned open against him.

"maybe," he echoes mockingly. his fingers slide from your jaw to your throat, feeling your pulse jump under his palm. "brat like you is getting exactly what you ask for."

he leans in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear, "on your knees."

you hesitate for just a second, causing jongho's hand to tighten on your throat, making his warning clear. the other hand drops to his belt, the metal buckle clinking as he starts to undo it.

"now," he growls, voice getting rougher. "or i'll put you there myself and make sure you regret every second of it."

your legs fold before you can think, the floor digging into your knees. jongho looks down at you with an unreadable expression, finishing unbuckling the belt, pulling the leather free in a smooth motion.

"hands behind your back," he orders, satisfied when you obey instantly. "good, keep them there. if they move even once, this belt is going around your wrists and staying there."

he unzips his pants slowly, cock springing free, the head flushed dark. he strokes himself once, letting you watch the way his hand moves over his thick length. "mouth open, tongue out."

you part your lips, keeping your tongue flat as he taps the heavy head against it, smearing precum across your tastebuds.

"eyes on me the whole time," he growls, voice flat and mean. "you wanted this attention? you're getting all of it. every second i feel like using that pretty face."

his hand slides into your hair, gripping tight at the roots as he pushes forward in one steady thrust, filling your mouth until the thick head bumps the back of your throat, pulling a gag from you. spit floods your tongue immediately, dripping down your chin as he holds you there.

"that's it," he murmurs, "choke and make a mess for me. not stopping until you remember exactly who you belong to."

the belt dangles beside your cheek as his hips roll into your mouth, your throat burning and jaw aching as he uses your mouth. "keep swallowing around me, brat. i'll let you breathe if you're good," jongho groans, voice still low and mean.

his grip tightens in your hair, pulling your further onto his cock until your nose presses against his abdomen, lungs screaming for air. your throat bulges, tears spilling down your cheeks as your shoulders tremble with effort.

"look at you," he says softly, fucking your face in brutal snaps. "already so sloppy.. and we've only just started."

the wet sounds of your throat stretching and choking around him echo off the walls, jongho keeping that punishing rhythm, only letting up to give you a small breath.

"fuck, you're loud tonight," he mutters, voice rough. "slobbering all over my cock, pathetic. you were so mouthy in the car, now look at you.. can't even speak with your throat stuffed."

he pulls out suddenly, thick ropes of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock, and you sway as you cough and suck in air. tears streak down your flushed face, mixing with the mess on your chin.

before you can recover, he slaps the heavy length against your cheek, the wet smacks making your skin sting.

jongho grips your hair tighter and pushes back in, your nose burying against his pelvis, causing your throat to convulse around him. "that's it," he growls. "milk me. and if i feel teeth even once, this belt is going around your neck and i'm fucking your face until you pass out."

he loops it loosely behind your head, the cool material pressing against the nape of your neck as he starts thrusting again. your hands stay locked behind your back, fingers digging into your palms so you don't make it worse for yourself.

jongho pulls the belt a little tighter, the leather biting into the sides of your neck as he fucks into your mouth faster. your vision starts to blur from the lack of air, but he holds you still as he grinds deep into your throat.

he finally yanks out again, causing you to collapse forward and cough hard, strings of saliva and precum hanging from your lips.

jongho crouches down in front of you, still holding the belt like a leash. his free hand grabs your chin, forcing your teary eyes to meet his. "look at this face," he says quietly, smearing the mess across your lips. "all ruined and sloppy.. think you've hand enough?"

you shake your head weakly, knowing the wrong answer would be worse for you.

"smart girl," he praises as he stands back up, tugging the belt like a leash. "go to the bedroom. crawl if you have to, cause you're not walking tonight"

the belt pulls taut, forcing you onto your hands and knees as he leads you down the hall. once inside, he yanks the belt, making you stop at the foot of the bed.

he lets the belt drop for a second, grabbing you by the hair and shoving you face-down on the mattress. your ass stays up, knees spread and back arched.

"stay," he commands like you're a dog. he strips off his shirt, throws the belt aside before he yanks your shorts and panties down in one motion, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air.

his palm cracks across your ass, making you jolt and cry into the sheets.

"count them," he orders, voice flat before another slap lands on the other cheek. "out loud. and if you miss one, we start over."

you gasp out the numbers in shaky breaths, your pussy throbbing with every slap. jongho keeps going until your ass is burning red, his handprints evident on your skin.

he comes closer, his cock sliding between your folds, the thick head rubbing through your wetness.

"beg for it," he says, leaning over you as one hand fists your hair, pulling your head back so his mouth is right by your ear. "tell me exactly what a needy little slut like you needs. make it good, or i'll leave this cunt emty all night."

"please.. jongho, i need your cock. please fuck me. i'm so empty, i- i need you into, please use me, please-" you whimper, voice muffled against the sheets.

his hand stays fisted in your hair, making your spine arch deeper. "that's cute," he mutters, breath hot against your ear. "you think begging like that is enough? after all the shit you pulled tonight?"

jongho rocks his hips in tiny movements, coating himself in the mess leaking out of you, but never pushing inside. "try again," he says flatly. "tell me what you are."

"i'm your slut.. your hole. please, jongho, fuck your slut, i need it so bad-" your throat is raw, forcing your voice to come out raspy.

he slams in with one thrust before you can finish, burying every inch to the hilt, causing you to cry out. his hips snap back and forth, the slap of skin on skin filling the room.

"fuck, listen to that," he growls, voice mean. "soaking wet and still so tight- greedy little cunt missed me."

each thrust pushes your body into the mattres, the sheets bunching under your fist. jongho's free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto him like a toy.

he lets go of your hair to grab the belt from where he threw it, looping it around your wrists and yanking them behind your back. the restraints force your shoulders back, completely helpless as he fucks into you harder.

"look at you," he sneers, one hand coming down to smack your already-red ass. the sting makes you clench around him, pulling a groan from his throat. "all tied up with my belt. this what you wanted when you were mouthing off earlier?"

your cunt flutters and spasms around him, slick dripping down and soaking his balls, a wet spot forming on the sheets below you. jongho leans over you, his mouth finding the side of your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark.

"gonna fill this pussy up," he whispers against your ear. "pump you full enough to have you leaking for days. gonna thank me for it?"

he straightens up, using the belt as leverage to pull you back onto his cock even harder. the head of him drags perfectly against the sensitive spot inside you, your moans turning into broken sobs.

"come on, slut," he growls, pace turning erratic as his breaths turn into pants. "cum on my cock. show me how much you love being used like this."

his hand snakes around, two thick fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles. your orgasm crashes over you without warning, your walls clamping down on jongho's cock like a vice. you cry out into the mattress, pussy gushing around his length as he fucks you through it until your oversensitive and whimper.

jongho fucks you harder as he chases his own release, the wet slap of his hips against your ass filling the room. he cums with a guttural groan, hips slamming deep as he spills inside you, filling you up until it leaks out around his cock.

he stays buried for a few moments before pulling out slowly, feeling the warm trickle of cum dripping down your thighs, mixing with your own mess.

jongho reaches down and unbuckles the leather, letting your arms fall limp to your sides as he flips you onto your back, kneeling between through your spread legs.

his hand lingers on your hips for a few seconds, soothing the red marks before he pulls away, observing your spent body. he stands up, grabbing a clean from the bathroom and wetting it.

there's a warm press of damp cloth between your legs, cleaning up the mess he made, every pass making you twitch and whimper softly. "easy," he murmurs, voice low and soft. "i've got you."

he wipes you down carefully, tossing aside once he's finished, grabbing the bottle of lotion and working into your battered skin.

you hiss when he presses against a tender spot, causing him to pause and lean onto you. "too much?" he asks, voice quieter now. you shake your head against the pillow, "no.. 's just sensitive."

he hums quietly, finishing cleaning you off before pulling the sheets over your bare skin, sliding in beside you.

one arm slides under your head, letting rest against his chest, and the other hand strokes slowly down your arm.

"did so good for me," he says after a while, any traces of the mean tone from earlier is gone. "took everything i gave you.. i know i was rough."

you nod weakly against him, nose brushing the warm skin of his collarbone. jongho reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a water bottle and helping you drink. the cool liquid soothes your raw throat, a few drops slipping down your chin.

he sets the bottle aside and pulls you back against him, your leg draping over his thigh as his arm curls around your waist tightly. jongho begins singing an old ballad, letting you feel the vibrations of his chest, as he sings the soft melody.

The familiar flush of shame creeps down your body as Jongho opens the door.

“You´re back.” he greets you as you step in.

His tone is smug, arrogant. Cause he knows you always come back, even if you said last time was the last time.

You notice his smirk as you pass him by and you just can´t help but say it again. The words roll off the top of your tongue and you are unable to stop them.

“This is the last time.”

“Sure, doll, one last time.”

He takes your hand, brushes his fingers against your palm and that´s enough for you to shake a little. And worse, you feel dumb because you even think it´s actually sweet.

Jongho then stops, pulling you towards him, and grabs the nap of your neck with one hand, while the other goes to the lower of your back. The kiss that follows burns your lips, it´s slow. Full. There's no inch of your mouth he leaves unexplored. He licks, bites and you let yourself be taken by the sweet waves of pleasure his tongue alone it's sending through your entire body.

His hand on your back goes to caress the curve of your ass, and he squeezes it hard, making you jolt and gasp against his lips. He smiles again, licking your top lip with just the tip of his tongue, teasingly.

“How wet are you?”

You roll your eyes. Of course he knows you are already soaked for him. But he´s not far behind. By how he´s pressed against you, you already feel his cock, hard, pressing over your stomach.

“Enough.” you said coldly and he giggles softly. And you hate how the sound makes your stomach flutter.

“Bed?”

You look around, spotting Jongho's chesterfield art deco sofa. A vintage rare find he won on one of the bids you conducted, back when you first met him. It was one of the few items in his apartment that represented his personal taste. “I want you over there.” you nod towards it.

He follows your eyes and purses his lips, but he´s interested.

“My favorite spot, really?."

He drags his words only enough to have you fully aroused.

Jongho leaves your side and walks towards the sofa, he sits and the way he manspreads has you licking your bottom lip in anticipation. You throw your purse somewhere, it doesn´t matter where. Slowly you remove your long coat, and once that´s on the floor you start unzipping the back of your small silk dress. No bra, no underwear. Once you reach him, all you have on are your stiletto heels.

Jongho glances at you head to toe, his dark brown eyes shining against the dim lights of the apartment.

“Someone´s in a hurry tonight.”

His tone low, and vibrations start fluttering down. You can feel your pussy throbbing just by the way he´s looking at you. The shame creeps again, but you shove it off. The need for him is bigger and it´s enough for now.

Your eyes drift to the huge bulge on his lap, and you sit on it, throwing your arms over his shoulders. you kiss him again, but now is nothing like a proper kiss. You lick and bite and it's working enough to earn a little moan from him.

And it's all it takes.

His sounds of pleasure are all you need to get you going. You start moving back and forth against his hardened cock, looking for the first release of the night. Jongho´s hands are over your hips, keeping you in place as you rock them back and forth. You moan against his lips, making a mess of his linen pants.

Jongho´s cock is begging to break free from the fabric that´s restraining it, you can feel all of it rubbing your clit, how big and how ready he is for you. But you need to come once at least to be able to take him fully. So you keep rocking on his lap, his breathy groans telling you he´s resisting so hard from removing you and throw you against a wall, to fuck you properly and relentlessly.

“Good, good girl.” He whispers, hand still on your hips. “If my favorite piece is to be ruined, It'd better be because you're soaking on it".

You moan, his words giving you the last push you needed. As you come you start rubbing your clit, firmly, slowly until you fully come with a high pitch moan that resonates through the whole place. But you don´t care. You shiver and bury your head on the crook of his neck, kissing his neck, pussy pulsating still by the vibrations of your high.

But so far from being done. You now need more.

Your clit throbs and you turn to look at him, eyes fluttering, pleading for him to give you what you want. Jongho leans and kisses you again, both hands holding you firmly. The kiss burns and it only ignites the tingling sensation on your pussy, aching for more friction.

“Jongho,” you mumble, brushing your lips against his. “Don´t make me wait.”

“Hmm?.”

“Jongho please, fuck me. I want you”

“More”

“I need you to fuck me, however you want to… please.”

“Mmmh” he coos, and it's making you insane how much he enjoys torturing you. Jongho loves hearing you beg. You can feel his cock is in pain, but he´s cocky and arrogant. He wants you begging more.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Eat me out.”

He groans and his cock twitches hard.

He adjust his position and lift you up, turning to let you rest against the soft fabric of the leather sofa. He takes off his jacket, and loosens a few buttons of his dress shirt. You see the dark spot on his lap, both your arousal and his own precum leaking off his tip. He finally undo his pants and shoves it down just enough his length is finally free, velvety and glistening.

“Open your legs.” he commands and you do as told.

He leans, face resting between your thighs, wasting no time. He starts sucking your clit, licking every inch of your cunt in ways you can never get enough of. He does it every time. You asked to be eaten out, but he's feasting on you, moaning over your pussy as he drinks your previous arousal and works you into the next.

You roll your eyes back. You grip on his hair not caring you might be hurting him cause it feels as obscene as it is delicious. All your sensations are gathered on your heat and how Jongho is biting your pussy lips, and caressing them with his tongue next. His arms are tightly keeping your legs from falling to the sides by the way you start shaking.

“Fuck— I´m gonna cum…” you breathe out but he doesn´t stop. You jerk your hips and try to push him aside but he´s not letting you. He keeps stripping his tongue all across your folds, drinking your sweetness until the last drop.

Once he´s had it all, he goes up to face you. Your head rests on a small pillow and you face him through heavy eyes, breathing in and out erratically. His lips are swollen and his eyes darker. He glances at your neck and after biting it he goes down your breasts. He kisses them, taking his sweet time with both, coating them with your arousal. He´s licking your nipples and he`s also teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock, making the knot on your lower stomach start to build up again.

Involuntarily your legs drop to the sides. Jongho groans, picking them up again. He looks down your pussy one more time to make sure you are still soaked. Carefully aligns himself to your entrance, making sure he can push it and get all of it into you in one move. It´s gonna hurt a little, it always did no matter how many times you have had him, but the pleasure that came after it was always worth the pain.

He finally starts pushing and you dig your nails on the sides of both his arms, you throw your head back until it hits the pillow. Jongho clenches his teeth, nose scrunching, leaning over you to see how your face changes expressions the more deep he gets. “Don´t break, doll, you are taking me up so well.” he reassures you.

“I am?” you moan. And you know you are, barely, but you do. Jongho moans once, always subtle, but it is what drives you insane.

“So fucking tight.” He´s finally all in and you stop breathing for a second. “Good girl.”

Then he starts thrusting into you.

You wanted to cry, to say you needed a couple of seconds to adjust but Jongho doesn´t give you the chance. He starts fucking into you hard and fast. Quickly he throws your legs over his shoulders and leans down even more, he´s practically breaking you in half and your eyes get teary.

“You look the most pretty like this, breaking under me.” He breathes, more to him than you. Tears roll down your cheeks, whimpers and moans with every thrust of his hips. You can´t really reply so you just keep moaning, and Jongho takes the chance to shove his fingers into your mouth, and you instantly start sucking on them, cause you want to feel all of what he wants to give you.

Once he feels you have coated his fingers with your saliva he pulls them out your mouth and goes to rub your clit, he does it as fast as he´s fucking into you. He looks down where he is connected to you and bites his lip. Sweat beads roll down his forehead and are making what you can see of his bare chest shine.

He´s so gorgeous like this. Breaking you down, and admiring you while he´s at it.

“Jongho—” you cry and he glances at you between the damped strands of his hair.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“Jongho, I´m gonna cum–”

“Mmhh” he simply says, closing his eyes and pounding even harder, and faster. He leaves your clit and leans over you until he´s facing you again. “What was what?”

“I´m cumming.”

“You´re gonna cum?”

“Yes!” your cry louder.

“Want me to fill you up?” He asks, he always asks.

“Yes!" you cry again.

“Ff— uck.” Jongho moans, this time he can´t control himself. He moans against your lips and you take his face between your hands, breathing in his release along with yours.

Your pussy is hot and battered, and you can feel the heat of Jongho´s load inside you. He pulls out and he sees his arousal leaking out. You gasp when he pushes it back, smearing it all over your pussy lips.

“Take it. All of it.” he smiles, and you know it's a proud smile. Jongho loves seeing you like this, knowing you´ll leave his apartment walking full of him.

After a moment he stands up and helps you sit down on the couch. He kneels down, caressing the side of your thighs and kissing your knees softly. “Are you going to make me wait this long again, doll?.” he glances up.

You want to say you won't, and remind him this was going to be the last time. But you say nothing, and he smirks. You meet his eyes, dark and shiny and you breathe out softly.

“No, I won´t.”

Besides you, there were seven others living there. All of you got along surprisingly well, and the last two years have been great. No drama, no real fights, no boundaries being crossed. Everyone respected each other, and honestly, that was part of what made living there so easy.

You also liked that Seonghwa lived there too.

He’d quickly become a father figure to all of you, always making sure everyone was taken care of, always checking in, always somehow knowing when the fridge needed to be restocked. You almost never had to worry about what to eat.

And, not to mention… he was kind of a party animal himself.

Tonight, the house was full. Music blasted through the built-in speaker system, bass vibrating through the walls. Drinks were being shot back in the kitchen, a few people were in the pool, others crowded around the billiards table.

You, your roommates, and a couple of friends sat in a loose circle on the floor, an empty beer bottle resting in the center.

Truth or dare, spin the bottle edition.

You were probably the happiest person there, considering you’d spent most of the night making the boys kiss each other.

Easily the best part.

But when the bottle finally landed on you and you asked for a dare, the energy shifted.

You were dared to play seven minutes in heaven with whoever the bottle landed on when you spun it.

Suddenly, you weren’t laughing.

Everyone in the circle was painfully attractive, and you’d never say it out loud, but you’d definitely fantasized about almost all of them at some point.

…Including Seonghwa.

So, with a deep breath you reached forward and spun the bottle and bit down on your lip as you anxiously watched the bottle spin. 

And when it finally came to a stop, the bottle had landed on…

Who does the bottle land on?

(Click on the images below and if that doesn't work there's a link below each image)

Hongjoong (Uploaded on 01/28/26)

Seonghwa (Uploaded on 01/29/26)

Yunho (Coming Soon)

Yeosang (Uploaded on 05/05/2026)

San (Coming Soon)

Mingi (Uploaded on 5/25/26)

Wooyoung (Uploaded on 02/01/26)