#ot8 x reader

you were walking home once, minding your own business, chewing on some thought. could have been anything. from dinner to what you need to do tomorrow, let’s not act like it matters. none of these little details matter, what does, is that a man was walking towards you. (an: guys i’ll clarify it now that it’s hyunjin. i just hate when fanfics try to describe looks when we don’t know names yet)

the man passed you. smelled great. nothing more.

“is this yours?”

that was him. his voice. he talked to you.

you stopped then and turned around. he was also standing still, looking at you. holding a single airpod.

no. it was not yours. at all. not your airpod.

“shit. yes, it is.” you smiled. a hundred percent aware that the single airpod was not yours.

hyunjin smiled, relieved in a way that suggested he had not planned beyond step one: talk to pretty girl. he asked your name. you asked his. he pretended he wasn’t internally rehearsing how to introduce you to the worst decision of your life.

and that’s exactly how you got yourself into the situation before your getting murdered one, where you kept seeing hyunjin, never really revealing that the airpod was not yours. you didn’t want to, he was just so cute.

and also a serial killer, not like you knew that though.

hyunjin was always the best with the women. or with the people in general. the other seven guys were… doing alright with them, sure, some better and some worse, but hyunjin always got what he wanted. he was the one collecting the people, another person to kill.

which did not happen to you, duh it’s in the first line, but how? how, when the eight of them, eight little nobodies who only got through life because of each other, are so good at killing? how, when it’s the main thing that bonds them together and gives them their sick little dosage of joy? how, when that’s the thing they can do best? how, when they’re fit? lucky? hot?

yea i’ll just stop with all the questions. i’m boutta explain, obvi.

so. you two started meeting up. you not telling him that the airpod wasn’t yours, him not telling you he was planning on sliming you out.

once, he invited you out. you two have been out hundreds and thousands of times(like five times), so it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary to you. not a date, he said hang out. his place. “a few friends might be there” he added. you went. fucking idiot.

the place was so fucking cool. big. looked good. kinda place where you immediately lost cell service and your sense of direction.

“that’s just the guys.” hyunjin had also said when you two got there, gesturing inside.

you met them all in under three minutes, which was about two minutes too many. chan was a gentleman. he smiled. he shook your hand. he had huge arms and was gorgeous.

minho and seungmin both looked like they hated you. looked you up and down. acted like bitches. acted like they didn’t understand what you wanted when you said hi and introduced yourself. acted like you were beneath them. hm.

changbin saved the moment by immediately knocking over a chair and laughing at himself. he was sweet. he asked you if you wanted a drink. that was nice, because he meant that. he wanted to get you something to drink, even if he wanted to kill you after. wanting to absolutely murder you wasn’t personal, so he wasn’t going to make it personal.

felix and unfortunately han, two sunshine or whatever you heard the guys say about them(why were there two?) were sweet, but dumb. han tried to shake your hand and missed. felix complimented your shoes and then apologized to the floor.

jeongin bowed. he asked if you were real. he told chan you were out of his league. chan was about to smash his head into a wall. he seemed intelligent though, a little playful, a little flirty. sweet guy. (also a fucking psychopath y/n run run RUN)

through all of it, hyunjin, the liar, the asshole, stayed near you. calm. watching. soooo fucking hot, man. everyone else was loud or mean or deeply stupid, but hyunjin looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to do with you.

which was funny, because the rest of them clearly knew exactly what they wanted to do with you.

they were bad at hiding it. terrible, actually. chan kept whispering. minho and seungmin stared too long. felix dropped something sharp and went “oops”. jeongin asked, loudly, if you were good at running, then immediately said he meant marathons.

you thought they were weird. intense. hot, unfortunately. you had no idea you were being sized up.

so. like two hours into the hang out. you didn’t have your phone with you, it was in the living room somewhere. you were in the kitchen with hyunjin, leaning against a counter, listening to him explain, calmly, something about the cabinets.

“uhuh.” you said, opening three drawers and finding nothing but knives. so many knives. “oouukay.”

from the living room, something heavy scraped across the floor.

“alright.” chan’s voice came. “enough foreplay.”

you frowned, no idea what he was referring to. yet. “that’s a weird thing to say out loud.”

hyunjin hummed. then seungmin appeared in the doorway, posture lazy, swaying a lil, with a fire poker in his hand. i repeat, fire poker.

you had just enough time to think oh that’s new, before he swung. clean. aimed at your head.

you ducked on instinct. the poker smashed into the cabinet behind you, splintering wood, sending a drawer of knives exploding onto the floor.

everyone froze for half a second.

“jesus.” changbin said from somewhere nearby. “we just fixed that.”

you stared at seungmin. he stared back. you two stared at each other for a while.

“…huh.” you said. “okay.”

then you ran.

the boys just… got into it immediately. switched. getting up. listening to your footsteps. laughing. jeongin whooped. they all obviously had done this before. they were so boyish, all of them. and so fucking evil.

you ran down a hallway, heart slamming in your ribs. a door on your left? locked. on your right, open.

you ran into a study and immediately regretted it. felix was there, sitting on a desk, holding a crossbow. WHERE. DID. HE. GET. THAT. FROM.

“oh!” he said, genuinely delighted. “hey.”

“move.” you said.

he winced sympathetically. “can’t.”

the shit that he shot out of the bow that i don’t know the name of thunked into the wall beside your head. close enough that you felt the vibration in the air, from the ground.

“fuck you.” you said, accepting it surprisingly quick that you were getting hunted down.

you burst back into the hall and nearly collided with changbin. he caught you by the shoulders automatically(so like without thinking about it), steadying you.

“okay.” he said, quick and quiet. “left stair’s blocked. right one buys you maybe twenty seconds.”

“why are you telling me?” you panted.

he shrugged. “i like you.”

then he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss into your hair, oh, and shoved you forward by the middle of your back.

“go. before i change my mind.”

you went.

behind you, he called out cheerfully: “she went right!”

“YOU FUCKING LIAR.” minho yelled.

you ran up the stairs two at a time. at the top when you turned, han was waiting, holding a bat.

“oh shit.” he said. “hi.”

you grabbed the bat midswing, yanked it free, and cracked him across the shin. you fucking rock y/n.

he screamed, fell over, yelled “timeout! timeout!”

you ditched the bat(DUMB bitch) and ran into what looked like a… whatever room. it was big, pretty big, too open, too much of a bad choice.

chan stepped into your path. was this bitch there the whole time? no, he couldn’t be. could he?

“easy.” he said, hands up. calm. annoyingly handsome... “you’re safe for—”

you threw a chair at his head.

he caught it.

you spun, only to find minho closing in. you kicked him in the knee, hard. he lunged. you ducked, grabbed a chair again and swung blindly. the thing is, you were extremely weak tho. the chair could have been a fucking pillow at this point, because he just stepped away from it. and you… kinda went with the chair. but you stood up! luckily.

they loved this, they loved the way you fought, the way you adapted. it was cute, girly how you didn’t scream, just swore and moved and made it harder than it was supposed to be because they know their shit in this field. it made them better, sharper, more playful.

you ran out the door you came in thru and shut it behind you, jamming a heavy table against it. the boys could have prevented that, they just didn’t. you were way too fun, and they knew that you were getting tired. they knew they were going to win this. again.

you waited a bit.

the door shuddered. once. twice.

then stopped.

silence.

your stomach dropped. that was never good.

“okay.” hyunjin’s calm voice came, suddenly close, from behind you.

you spun.

for a bit, you just stared at each other.

“yeah. so. the airpod?” you said breathlessly.

he winced. “yeah.”

“figures. sorry for lying about it.”

“it’s fine. i lied too.” he stepped aside, gesturing toward a side door. gentlemanly. “run. i’ll count to five.”

“why?”

he smiled, beautiful. “because it’s more fun when you almost make it.”

you didn’t wait for five. you ran again, heart in your throat.

“YOU’RE DOING GREAT!” felix shouted when he saw you run past him. “I MEAN—STOP!”

yeah. pfftt.

the house stopped making sense after a while. corridors doubled back on themselves, which was fucking brutal. there were rooms you swore you’d already crossed. you ducked into a side room and slammed the door, immediately realizing, too late, that it didn’t lock.

“fuck.” you whispered, hands on your knees, trying to quiet your breathing. and you listened. footsteps walked past. someone laughed, a really… loud laugh. jeongin’s voice echoed from somewhere far off. you could hear how unserious his voice was, talking bout sum “she’s still upright, folks, which is honestly impressive” genuinely just making fun of the situation.

“keys.” you muttered. “i need keys.” because you clearly remembered hyunjin closing the front door after you.

from behind the curtain came a soft, confused, very close: “…huh.”

you froze.

the curtain moved. it was han, holding a knife and a flashlight upside down, blinking at you.

“oh. hi.”

third hi he said tonight. hi to you too, han.

you stared at each other.

“uh.” he said.

“yeah.” you replied.

a beat passed.

another.

he frowned at the flashlight, turned it the right way up, blinded himself, and yelped.

“sorry.” he said, rubbing his eyes. “didn’t mean to corner you.” serial killer btw.

“you did. that’s literally what you did.”

“right.” he nodded. “yeah. so. i’m supposed to, uh—” he made a weak stabbing motion with his hand that held the knife. missed entirely. “—do the thing.”

you glanced at the knife in his hand. them at him. then back at the knife. “you don’t look super confident about that.”

he shrugged. “i get nervous.” he hesitated. then leaned in and whispered: “hyunjin gave his keys to chan, i saw it.”

“…thaaanks.”

he smiled, shy. “okay.” he said, stepping aside. “i’m gonna count to… uh… what’s fair?”

“ten.”

he nodded seriously. “ten.”

you bolted.

“ONE—THREE—WAIT—”

you ran out. didn’t get far though, you heard too many noises, so you did what made sense at the moment. hide again. and you did hide again, at least tried, you were soon interrupted by seeing felix, who was crouched behind a couch, chewing on a cereal bar.

he looked up mid bite. “oh. hello again.”

“move. again.” you said.

he scooted instantly. “yep.”

you walked past. paused. looked back. “why are you hiding?”

he swallowed. “i forgot what the plan was.”

“oh. i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright.”

from the hallway, heavy footsteps. chan, probably. he walks confident. you can just… hear his walk. he walks like it’s heavy, grr. felix heard it too, grimaced.

“he’s gonna be mad. he hates when i lose track.” felix whispered.

you looked at felix. then at the hallway. then back at felix. “you’re fine. it’s not your fault. i think so, at least.” you looked around. “he just feels like the fucking star of the show, having the keys and all that”

felix’s eyes lit up. “oh! yeah, he’s got those.”

boom. that was your plan. sneak the keys into the conversation. get to know about it. you’ll be out of there in no time, y/n.

you looked back at him. “can you distract him?”

felix thought for a second, then shook his pretty head enthusiastically. “absolutely not.”

“…fair.”

he stood anyway, shook himself together kinda, and ran into the hallway yelling “HEY BRO I THINK SHE WENT—”

you didn’t hear the rest, you ran. climbed stairs, ducked under a railing(just being extra for no reason pfffft), slipped through a door that led into a laundry room, and locked it. the blessed, beautiful click of a lock nearly made you cry. then you crouched between machines, shaking, trying not to laugh or scream or do both.

minutes passed. nothing. then, a knock. polite. gentle.

you stared at the door.

hyunjin’s voice, calm and exactly what made you like him. “i’m not coming in.”

“yeah? promise?”

“cross my heart.”

“don’t have one.” jeongin added from somewhere farther back.

hyunjin sighed.

the fact that jeongin heard you talk and didn’t go to the laundry room says a lot about them though. tells you that they’re doing this for fun, that they’re not in a hurry at all.

you edged closer to the door, careful. “i need the keys.”

“i know.”

“give them to me.”

a pause. you imagined him leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, watching the floor. “you almost deserve them.” he said. “that’s the problem.” from down the hall came a crash, followed by changbin yelling. hyunjin continued anyway, softer now. “if you get them, though… you’re really leaving.”

“yes.”

“shame.”

fucking manipulator. that’s what he is. “you’re really leaving” oh boo fucking hoo. sappy asshole. not one sincere bone in his beautiful body. he said this cringe shit on purpose.

the doorknob jiggled once.

“five minutes.” he said. “that’s what I can give you.”

then footsteps retreated. you sagged against the dryer, adrenaline basically ripping your muscles, like ripping. we all know the feeling. anyways, five minutes. okay. you had to get out for sure, otherwise you would be so dead. so, next, run. you were going to run. open the door and… go… some… way. anyways, that’s what you did after about one minute of sitting on the floor and thinking about how will you do that. you got out, and didn’t stop running so much as you failed forward into the next hallway.

somewhere behind you, han shouted your name wrong, twice, then tripped over absolutely nothing and went down with a sound that sounded like multiple things falling with him.

“FUCK. i’m okay! I’M OKAY.”

you risked a glance back just in time to see him scramble up, only to immediately collide with minho, who had come around the corner too fast. they hit the wall together, tangled, swearing.

you burst through a door and nearly slammed straight into seungmin. both of you froze. like actually froze. inches apart. his breath was loud. yours was worse. he stared at you. you stared at him. his grip tightened on whatever sharp thing he had in his hand.

“…hi.” you said.

“sup.” he said. “you’re shorter up close.”

“fuck you.”

“later.” easily.

you looked at him, furrowing your pretty brows.

he glanced down at the knife in his hand, then back up at you. “this is awkward.”

“yeah.”

he tilted his head. “you okay?”

“no.”

“hm.”

there was a beat where neither of you moved. somewhere far away, something crashed, probably han.

seungmin tilted his head. “you gonna run, or are we doing this weird staring thing?”

you lunged left.

he lunged right.

you both smacked into the same doorframe and recoiled in pain.

“fuck.” you mumbled, rubbing your pretty head.

“shit, okay, that one’s on me.” he admitted, rubbing his shoulder. his pretty shoulder. that sweater looked good on him, by the way. yeah. hm. really good. but that didn’t fucking matter when he lunged again.

you screamed, slipped on a rug, and fell, only for minho to come in from the side and tackle seungmin directly into a glass table. the table shattered.

you stared.

they stared back.

“…go.” seungmin shook his head, waving you off.

you did not need to be told twice. behind you, minho yelled smth like “WHY ARE YOU LETTING HER GO?”

a crash. a thud.

then seungmin, very calmly: “because you’re pissing me off.”

you ran straight into han and felix arguing at the end of the hall.

“i said left.” han insisted, holding a crowbar upside down.

“you always say left.” felix argued, holding a taser and clearly forgetting how it worked.

you skidded to a stop.

all three of you froze.

you were panting. “can you both—”

felix lunged. han lunged. they lunged into each other. they crashed, arms everywhere, legs everywhere, clothes everywhere, the smell of men everywhere, tangled up, the taser going off uselessly into the air.

“STOP STABBING MY JACKET.” felix yelled.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE HER.” han yelled back.

you stepped over them. “thank you.” you said sincerely, and ran.

you rounded a corner and slammed straight into chan, full chest to chest. you both stumbled back a step. he held you automatically, hands on your arms. you stared up at him. he stared down at you.

he almost smiled.

then han came sprinting in, tripped over nothing again, and took chan out at the knees.

“OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY.” han yelled, tangled in chan’s limbs. “I DIDN’T SEE YOU.”

seungmin and minho found you again. jeongin leaned on a wall, wiping dust off his knees. han just got up and felix came in late, and they tripped over each other again. chan just sighed at this point.

you backed toward the door, hands up.

then while getting up, felix slipped. took han down with him. again. they crashed into minho, who slammed into seungmin.

jeongin smiled. “DOMINOES!”

that was your chance to do something. something to even just slow these guys down, anything, bro. so, you did. when chan stood up finally, you lunged for him.

but like… that asshole just laughed in your face and twisted away easily, shoving you past him. “go.” he said. “you’re warmer when you keep moving.”

weirdo. but you ran again anyway, down a side corridor, thru a door and immediately ate shit. your foot caught on something, and you slid, palms burning, your pretty little skin they want to cut so bad just gone like that.

behind you, there was a collective “OOHHHH.”

you rolled your eyes. sighed. thought about just lying there because they would probably still miss even if you were completely still. you decided maybe not. so you scrambled up and ran again, swearing, adrenaline making everything feel fucking crazy. unreal. is this really happening?

you didn’t know how long you ran, time stopped somewhere around the third near death experience.

you went downstairs and upstairs and downstairs again, back and forth, hoping to find something that could save your life. when you were back at the stairs for the seventh time that night, you took the stairs three at a time, only to find han at the top, again, wheezing, holding a knife backwards.

“WAIT.” he said. “hold on—euh—my lung—”

you ran past him.

he tripped over his own foot and tumbled down the stairs alone, screaming “I’M FINE—I’M NOT FINE—TELL MY MOM—”

you didn’t look back. you burst into a bedroom and slammed the door, locking it just as something heavy hit the other side.

silence.

your chest heaved. sweat slicked your now skinless palms. you pressed your back to the door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, brain finally catching up enough to think.

okay. door. big house. front door has keys. keys are on someone. they told you it’s at chan but he could have gave it to anyone since that.

that was bad.

you stood, looking through the room. window. too high. bathroom. connected. closet. tiny but usable. fuck yes. you hid in the closet just as the door opened.

footsteps. slow, manly. so confident in himself.

“you know, i really thought we had something.” jeongin. sweet. acting, obviously.

you clapped a hand over your mouth.

he paced the room, dragging something metal lightly along furniture. an axe, maybe.

“like, don’t get me wrong. i love the chase. big fan. but the eye contact earlier? intimate.”

you heard him stop in front of the closet.

“…you in there?”

you didn’t move.

he sighed. then, dropped to his knees. you could see him through the slats now, sprawled on the floor.

“y/n.”

you could hear your breathing. you could also hear his. which meant…

“come out.”

…he could hear yours too.

okay. fuck. your only option was to make a run for it. so, after taking a biiiiig big breath, you burst out of the closet and kicked him in the shoulder. was it successful? was it a good kick? who knows. it knocked him down, that’s what matters, but it was a pretty lame kick after all. he only went down because he wanted to, not because you actually kicked him good.

anyways, you ran again. out the room. then immediately skidded to a stop when seungmin opened a door in front of you.

he stepped aside immediately. “after you.” he said, gesturing inside.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

you could hear hyunjin make a noise, talking with changbin.

seungmin raised his brows. “i insist.”

he knew that you needed an escape route and this was your only option. you knew he knew.

you sighed. ran through it, and it slammed shut behind you. you could hear a snicker(his voice), then silence. maybe he left. maybe not.

the room you were in was darker. storage. boxes. is this place even owned by these guys? or do they just come here to… play?

you hid behind a shelf, crouching, heart in your ears.

okay. think.

front door. locked. too obvious. you needed keys. you needed a person.

but they were playing. this wasn’t about killing you quickly, it was about the fun. about testing themselves. about proving, again, that they were smarter, faster, better. the teamwork thrilled them, having prey thrilled them.

footsteps approached.

door opened. han stepped into the room, tripped, and fell into a stack of boxes. why always this guy?

“oh COME ON.” he groaned. “i wasn’t even chasing her!”

neither of you moved.

“…you okay?” you asked.

“yeah.” he said, looking up, nose bleeding. “yeah. you?”

“living the dream.”

he nodded. then, very gently, he pointed back towards the door. “they’re coming.” he whispered.

in the doorway, felix appeared, pointing at han. “dude. again?”

you took the chance and got out of your hiding place, quick, and bolted past them both.

felix gasped. “oh shit—sorry—sorry—”

han tried to follow, slipped again, and yelled: “WAIT FOR ME!”

a crash. a curse. someone else falling over him.

you ran down the hall toward what you hoped was the front of the house. behind you, shouting, laughter, whooping, bodies colliding, someone yelling “WHO LEFT THIS CHAIR HERE?” you rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in front of the front door. you tried the door. locked. you didn’t know where the keys are. your chest tightened. behind you, footsteps slowed. confident. chan, seungmin, minho, jeongin, closing in.

you turned around. the wall met your back hard enough to knock the air out of you.

“okay.” you said, breathless, girly, the prey they wanted you to be. “okay. this is—yeah. alright.”

the other four found you too. felix, panting. han, limping. hyunjin and changbin obviously not affected because they didn’t really take part of the chase. blocking off every possible exit.

chan didn’t take his eyes off you. “everyone good?” he asked, calm. so fucking calm. knowing he won.

“peachy.” jeongin said.

“bit winded.” felix added. “but spiritually fulfilled.”

changbin gave you an apologetic little wave. “sorry.”

then seungmin lunged.

you fought, harder than they expected, apparently, elbowing, kicking, swearing. but they were sure now, hands grabbing wrists, legs hooking yours, pressure applied. you went down. not slammed, though. controlled. that fucking pissed you off more.

seungmin had your arms pinned. minho had a knee on your thigh. chan crouched in front of you, looking down at your pretty face.

the second you were fully restrained, jeongin shrieked. “oh my GOD we got her!”

he leapt into felix’s arms. felix caught him, squealing back.

“we did it!” felix yelled.

they spun once. almost fell. han clapped wildly and then tripped into changbin, taking them both down.

you laid there, chest heaving, heart pounding, really feeling your body, not knowing what the fuck was happening. because they didn’t seem dangerous, but you knew they were.

chan tilted his head. “you ran well.”

“thanks.” you said.

jeongin crouched down to your face. “so. how you feeling?”

“fuck off.”

hyunjin tilted his pretty head, hands in his pockets. “you did really well.”

you forced yourself to breathe slower. think. keys. chan’s jacket pocket. right side. you’d seen the outline earlier when he caught one of the boys midfall.

jeongin tilted his head at you. “are you afraid? like, i’m actually asking, because i need to know what to do differently next time. are you afraid of death? did we make you feel like you’re going to die? how would you rate it out of ten?”

you sighed, looking down at the floor. “getting killed is, like, the last thing on my list right now.”

they paused.

seungmin grimaced. “yeah, no.”

“oh, no.” felix said, shaking his head

“dude.” minho murmured.

“we would never.” changbin whispered.

“ew.” han blurted, horrified.

you narrowed your eyes. “ew?”

“no—no—not ew you. i mean—fuck—you’re hot—shit—sorry—what i meant was—”

jeongin smacked the back of his head. “stop talking.”

seungmin pulled his mouth up. “we’re not… that evil.”

minho crossed his arms. “jesus.”

chan straightened slightly. “that’s not our thing.”

you watched the discomfort, the immediate correction, the way the tone shifted. interesting.

“relax.” you said, rolling your neck as much as the hold allowed. “i know.”

“thank you.” han said, sweating. “sorry. respectfully.”

“you’re fine.” you murmured.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

but something had changed, you saw it. that weird line you’d dropped, (half joke, half truth because it’s horrible that we have to live in a world like this), went somewhere they didn’t like. their version of evil had rules. sooo fucking weird ones, but still.

“okay. wait. wait.” you said.

…

“what.”

“i think i’m gonna throw up.”

“fuck—” changbin recoiled.

“not on me.” minho said, backing up.

“turn her head!” felix yelped.

jeongin scrambled backward on his hands and feet.

chan watched seungmin loosen his grip. “are you actually nauseous?”

“yeah.” you croaked, gagging for effect. “stress. adrenaline. it hit now that i’m still.”

hyunjin crouched beside you, studying your face. “you might want to give her space.”

“THANK you.” you gasped.

they got off you. you rolled to your side, clutching your stomach dramatically. and in that shuffle, arms moving, balance adjusting, you shoved your hand straight into chan’s jacket pocket. your fingers hit metal.

keys.

you grabbed them and curled them into your palm just as jeongin leaned back in. “you good?”

you gagged louder.

“jesus.” minho said, disgusted.

“okay, okay.” changbin said. “bathroom, bathroom—”

“down the hall.” hyunjin said.

you scrambled to your knees, pushing past them, one hand over your mouth, the other clenched tight around the keys.

“don’t run.” chan warned.

you made eye contact with him.

and ran.

“FUCK.” seungmin yelled.

“GO GO GO.” han screamed, even though he was on the wrong side.

you sprinted down the hallway, heart about to explode, keys biting into your palm. behind you, footsteps. but now… less playful. more oh shit.

han tripped. felix ran into a wall. changbin yelled: “STAIRS—CUT HER OFF—” and jeongin was just shouting around for fun. just hootin n hollerin.

you ran down the hall.

behind you, hyunjin’s calm voice said: “don’t panic.” which was because they finally were.

you ran away from them, deep into the house again. you heard the footsteps disappear from behind you. good. good.

you slowed just enough to think. you couldn’t outrun eight of them forever.

chan and hyunjin were walking together on the halls. hyunjin had a small, neat folding knife now loose between his fingers. chan had taken a syringe with him. already prepped. yes, he can do a lot with only one syringe. his other hand kept brushing the empty space where the keys used to be.

he didn’t like that.

“she took them clean.” chan said.

“yeah. good hands.”

“you sound impressed.”

“i am.”

“you like her?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“if we lose her, we change locations.” chan said, ignoring that his earlier question didn’t get an answer. he already knew it.

hyunjin nodded. but there was something under it, for the first time, the outcome wasn’t certain. that was unusual for them, because they usually did really, really good at this. once someone was caught by them, there was no escape. you were the first one who lived to a second round. he found that interesting. and yeah, he might have started developing a tiny little crush on you, back when you two were just meeting up normally. so what? he’s allowed to!

jeongin moved alone. still with his axe that he’d twirled into familiarity. he swung it lightly as he walked. he checked corners, smiling. as if he was dancing.

“y/n.” he called, singsong. “be honest, was it the flirting? too much? i can dial it back. slightly.”

he stepped over a fallen chair.

“i just feel like we had chemistry.”

he grinned to himself. he loved this part, the story, the tension, the almost. he knew you were thinking now. they got a thinker. he loves that. ohohohoooo

he paused, listening. then grinned. “oh, you sneaky girl.”

seungmin had the fire poker again. holy shit??

he liked the chase because it stripped people down to instinct, survival. that’s what he respected.

“c’mon.” he murmured. “don’t go quiet on me.”

you were irritating him. he barely got irritated. ever.

changbin and minho moved together. changbin carried an injection case now, plus a heavy flashlight he could swing if needed. minho had a hunting knife.

they turned a corner. empty.

“she’s doing something.” minho realized.

changbin’s smile(that came upon his face while he was thinking about you, hehehe) faded. “oh.”

they heard a noise and both spun, only to slam into each other again.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE.” minho snapped.

“shit.” changbin said, steadying the other guy by his shoulders. “let’s just go.”

you moved through hallways. your lungs burned, but your head was clear now. you slipped into a side room and crouched low, listening.

footsteps passed. voices echoed elsewhere. they’d spread too wide.

you waited, then moved when you judged safety.

back at the hyunjin chan duo, hyunjin stopped in the hallway. “she’s heading back.” he said quietly.

chan. followed his gaze toward the front of the house. “you sure?”

“yes.”

“how?”

“it’s what i’d do.”

meanwhile, at the front door han sat on the floor, back on the wall, holding a shovel. felix sat beside him on the other side of the door with a frying pan he absolutely did not need to be trusted with.

“…we guarding?” han asked.

felix looked at the door. looked at the hallway. looked back at the door.

“…yeah.” he decided.

they both nodded.

“you think she thinks i’m cute?” han asked, adjusting his grip on the shovel.

“bro. absolutely.”

“really?”

“yea, mate.”

they dapped each other up.

“if she makes it back here, i call saying something smooth.” felix said thoughtfully.

“what’s smooth?”

“i don’t know yet.”

while they talked, you grabbed a metal… something from a side table. and started walking back toward the front door.

“she definitely liked when i said she was hot.” han said.

“respectfully.” felix said.

“respectfully.” han looked away, then back at felix. “she’s gonna be so impressed when we catch her.”

“dude. literally.”

they fist bumped.

then, a loud sound came from down the hallway, and a metal object rolling fast across the floor toward them.

they screamed, then scrambled to their feet, immediately abandoning the door.

“dude. we’re gonna fucking die.” han cried.

felix grabbed his arm. “if y/n was here right now, she’d hold my hand.”

“yeah. she’d be so brave.”

“should we check?”

“no.”

“…we should get the others.”

“yes.”

they ran away from the door, deeper back into the house, yelling for backup.

the front door stood unguarded.

you waited three full seconds after their footsteps faded. then you moved. silent. you didn’t run, that was important. you didn’t want to make noise.

behind you, distant voices.

“FRONT DOOR!”

“THEY LEFT IT—”

you walked to the door quickly. put the key in. wrong key. tried another. wrong key. another. unlocked it. opened it.

now, you ran. you ran, and didn’t stop. you didn’t look back. already past the gate. past the trees. gone.

for the first time ever, they’d lost.

the boys regrouped at the front door. empty. door slightly open.

silence.

chan looked at the door. then at hyunjin, who stared at the gap, face blank. he felt respect. and relief.

seungmin looked at the lock. then at chan’s empty pocket. then back at the lock.

for a second, nobody spoke.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” minho said, sneering.

behind them, han and felix jogged in, out of breath and pale.

“okay.” felix panted. “so—update—there’s a hallway demon—”

they stopped when they saw everyone standing still, all backs turned to them.

felix looked around. “anyone else feel a breeze?”

chan walked to the door in three steps and shoved it open the rest of the way. empty driveway. dark trees. no you.

jeongin blinked. “…no.”

seungmin made a sound like someone had just run over his foot. “noooo.”

minho rubbed both hands down his face. “no no no no—”

jeongin looked at the ceiling. “oh that’s embarrassing. that’s so embarrassing for us.”

han gasped “shit, she did it!”

felix nodded. “i always believed in her.”

they high-fived.

every head turned.

“are you two serious right now?” seungmin snapped.

han immediately jumped into felix arms.

chan stepped back inside slowly and shut the door, quiet. too quiet. “no one moves.” he said.

seungmin was already halfway to the threshold, fire poker still in hand. “we can still see the road—”

chan grabbed his arm. hard. “i said no.”

seungmin yanked free. “she’s on foot.”

“she has a head start.”

jeongin crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “so we just—what—clap?”

“use your brain for once.” chan, voice low. “you’ll make mistakes.”

“oh, i’m sorry.” seungmin snapped. “did your pocket make a mistake?”

OHHHHH.

minho swore and kicked a chair across the room. it smashed into the wall. “THIS is why we don’t get cute.” he said. “this is why we don’t play with our food.”

chanbin winced. “okay, that phrase—”

“not the time.” seungmin cut in.

hyunjin leaned against a table, arms crossed, watching the boys.

seungmin looked at him, suspicious. the level of angry where he gets suspicious at anything. “you’re quiet.”

“thinking.”

“about?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“you liked her.” minho accused.

hyunjin’s eyes flicked to him, calm and flat. “irrelevant.”

“bullshit.”

chan stepped between them before it turned physical. “enough.”

“no, not enough.” jeongin shot back. “she got past eight of us. eight.”

“seven.” seungmin muttered. “i was close.”

“YOU HIT A CABINET.” changbin screeched.

felix, still holding han bridal style, raised a hand. “i think we should acknowledge that she was very good.”

everyone stared at him.

han nodded seriously. “and brave.”

minho looked like he might actually kill them. “put him down.”

felix gently set han on his feet.

han immediately pointed at minho. “your energy is aggressive.”

minho grabbed a glass off a table and hurled it into the fireplace. it shattered. “THIS is aggressive.”

“billy badass over there.” changbin murmured, crossing his huge arms.

minho didn’t hesitate to turn towards changbin and shove him. changbin shoved back automatically.

“don’t start.” chan warned.

too late. seungmin grabbed minho’s shoulder and pulled him back. minho shook him off. jeongin stepped between them, not to help, just to watch. “god, you’re all so emotional.” he muttered.

seungmin started toward the door again, fury radiating off him. “i’m going after her.”

now, chan didn’t just stop him but actually pushed him away by the chest. a confident, violent push. manly. frustrated. “no.”

seungmin rounded on him. “she’s RIGHT THERE.”

han raised his hand again. “i still think she likes me.”

everyone yelled at once: “SHUT UP.” “READ THE ROOM.” “YOU WERE AFRAID OF THE DARK.” “SHE HIT YOU WITH A BAT.” “YOU LEFT THE DOOR.”

“we were investigating a threat!” felix said defensively to the last one.

“you are the threat, you idiot!” seungmin barked, then grabbed the front of his own shirt and screamed into it.

minho kicked the wall.

chan exhaled through his nose, centering himself. “no chasing into the dark.” he said. “not like this.”

“she’s getting farther.” jeongin argued.

seungmin made a noise like something dying. chan folded his arms. thinking. hyunjin stared into the night air like he could still see the path you took.

behind them, han whispered to felix: “when we catch her, i’m gonna ask if she thinks my eyes are pretty.”

felix nodded seriously. “they are.”

eight dangerous men. outplayed. and every single one of them wanted you back.

so yeah. that’s what happened, like… two weeks ago now? yeah. about two weeks. now you’re living your life. you hadn’t told anyone. what would you even say? you decided to just leave it. process it. give yourself time to get over it.

now you are standing in line for coffee. life’s been fine since that after all, you deserve it. you slept. eventually. not well, but enough. you changed routines. new routes, new locks, pepper spray, therapy waitlist, the works. you tell yourself you’re fine.

your name gets called.

“hey.”

your stomach drops before your brain catches up. you don’t turn around. because you know that voice. so you grab your coffee and walk. behind you, footsteps.

“okay, so don’t freak out.” jeongin says.

you keep walking.

“that’s actually a terrible opener, sorry, ignore that.”

you cross the street. he crosses too. you don’t look at him. you don’t run. at least you try.

“you look good.” he adds.

“go away.” you say calmly.

“working on it.” he says, which is not how that phrase works.

you turn a corner toward a busier street. people. noise. couples. kids.

“no.” you say.

“i just want to talk.”

“no.”

“did you get a haircut?” he tries.

you stop dead and turn. “how long have you been following me?”

“today? or—”

“jeongin.”

he winces. “okay. today today? like twenty minutes. but not in a creepy way. i was building courage.”

you resume walking faster.

he matches it, breath puffing a little. “listen, i know we didn’t end on a great note.”

“you chased me with an axe.” you cross the street without looking. a car honks. jeongin grabs your sleeve and yanks you back just enough to keep you from getting hit.

you stare at him.

“i didn’t come to hurt you.” he says. “if that helps.”

you keep walking. he groans softly and follows. people passing by just see two hot twenty somethings having what looks like a mildly tense situationship talk. it’s kinda crazy that they have no idea what happened two weeks ago.

you walk faster. he matches it.

“you dropped something.” he blurts. when you give no reaction, he tugs at your sleeve. “really.” he says, pointing behind you.

“that only worked once.” you say, yanking your hand out his grip.

“yeah.” he sighs. “worth a shot.”

a florist stand is set up on the corner. without stopping, jeongin leans sideways, grabs a small bouquet, tosses a crumpled bill onto the table, and keeps moving. he shoves the flowers toward you.

you stare at them. then at him. you don’t take them. but you stop walking and finally look at him.

he looks… normal. hoodie. messy hair. no axe. no grin that clearly tells he’s in animal mode. just this pretty guy.

people move around you, annoyed at the sidewalk blockage.

“you have five seconds.” you say.

he nods, serious now. “okay. we’re not going to hurt you.”

you stare. you start walking again.

he follows. “the boys haven’t shut up about you.”

“that’s not flattering.”

“it kind of is.”

“i don’t know what you want. i’m not coming back.” you say.

“i know.”

“you can’t follow me.”

“already am.”

you reached your apartment building. this is bad. this is very bad. you stop again, turning to face him fully now. his eyes shine.

“we don’t want to kill you.” he says quietly.

you search for anything that could say he’s lying. you can’t find it.

“that doesn’t make you better.” you say.

“i know.”

“you’re still—”

“yeah.”

“…if you come near my place again, i call the cops.”

he nods immediately.

“if i see any of you, i run.”

“mhm.” he holds the flowers out again, then seems to think better of it and just sets them on the sidewalk between you. “i just needed you to see that i’m not… only that.”

“…you are that.” you say. you’re not even being mean, just honest. brutally honest.

“yeah.” he says.

you go inside without looking back. not caring about where will he go, when will he go, why will he go.

the next day, you change your route. different coffee shop. different street. hoodie up, headphones on, just really fucking trying to stay away from them in general. you’re in that coffee shop now. then you step out of the café with your drink, and nearly walk straight into a guy. you flinch back hard.

“whoa—sorry—sorry.” a voice says quickly.

you look up. it takes your brain a second. glasses. plain black frames. simple gray t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that this man is fucking fit.

changbin.

he gives you a small, awkward wave like you ran into each other and not like he… he found you. “hi.”

you just stare.

“i come in peace.” he adds, lifting both hands.

you close your eyes. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“okay. before you walk away—i deserve that—but just—hi.”

you glance around. public. morning rush. safe enough. “why are you here.”

he adjusts his glasses. “i just wanted to talk. like, normal talk. not chase talk.”

you sigh, and start walking. “you have two minutes before i start screaming.” that’s more time you’ve given jeongin, though.

he falls into step beside you immediately. “you could’ve called the cops.” he says after a moment. genuinely confused. “you still could.”

you look at him. “you don’t think i’ve thought about that?”

“i figured. but you didn’t.”

you sip your coffee, buying time. “you’d disappear before anyone got there.”

“…yeah.” he admits.

“and then what? i spend the rest of my life wondering if you’re gonna show up mad?”

he nods slowly. he can’t argue that.

“also, i don’t want to tell that story out loud. figured it would be the best for me if i just lived through it and got over it. eventually.” you add, quieter.

changbin nods “okay. yeah. that makes sense.”

you study him. he looks the same as in the house, almost friendly. that makes a question pop up in your head. “have you done that before?” you ask. “like. killing people.”

“yeah.”

“how many?”

he blows out a breath through his teeth. “i don’t keep a number.”

“and why?”

he takes a breath, thinking. actually thinking. “it’s not the killing part.” he says slowly. “not for me. that’s just… the end of it. it’s the before. i dunno. i like the teamwork. but that’s just me, ask the others if you want their version.”

you’re confused. “…did something happen in your past?”

he shrugs. “no. grew up rich. had friends. i have a great job. my mom calls me on sundays.”

you stare at him.

“i’m serious.” he says. “i’m just… like this.”

you hate how calmly he says it. “when did you start?”

“early twenties.”

“why didn’t you stop?”

he gives you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “i’m good at it.”

you don’t answer. a car horn blares down the street. someone laughs nearby. the world keeps going, oblivious. “you scared me.” you say.

“i know.”

“you still are.”

“i know.”

you swallow. you check the time on your phone. “i told jeongin i’d scream if any of you came close to me ever again.”

“i heard.”

“you got lucky.”

“i’m glad.”

a bit of silence.

you meet his eyes. “i don’t trust you.”

“you shouldn’t.”

“but you still came now. why? why can’t you leave me alone?”

he shrugs, small and helpless. “i liked talking to you in the kitchen. before we… started.”

ow. sounds bad. so bad that you take a step back. away from him. you’re scared.

“i don’t feel things the way other people do.” he says finally. he wanted to spit that out for a while now, he just couldn’t scrape the courage together. “it’s like everything’s gray unless it’s intense.”

you sigh. “…at least you’re honest.”

he nods. “i just… i wanted one interaction with you that wasn’t you running.”

you watch him. he’s still scary. “you got it.” you say. “now what.”

he shrugs. “now i go away.”

you study him. glasses slightly crooked. trying very hard not to look threatening. failing, because he looks like he could lift a car.

you almost smile. almost. “don’t follow me.” you say.

“i won’t.”

“tell the others.”

“i will.”

you start to walk off.

“hey.” he calls.

you turn, tired.

“you were really impressive.” he says. sincere. really.

you hold his gaze. “i know.”

then you leave him standing on the sidewalk, alone. alone with his horrible, evil soul. alone with this weird dumb crush he recently developed on you. alone with his biceps, flexing because he feels a lot and it just… happens when he feels a lot.

it’s the next day. normal day. sun’s out. people walking dogs. a delivery truck is parked. blablabla anything that says world goes on. you were paranoid this day, sure, but you survived so far. you’re currently locking your apartment building door after yourself so you could go grocery shopping when a voice behind you says:

“okay, don’t be mad.”

you close your eyes. slow inhale. you turn.

it’s felix. and this guy literally tried to shoot you once, you remember clearly, but he looks… perfect. perfect hair. expensive jacket. shoes that cost more than your phone. holding… a container?

you stare.

he smiles, so sweet. “i made you muffins.”

“…you what.”

“blueberry.” he says proudly.

you look at the container, suspicious. “i’m not eating that.”

he frowns a little. “that hurt my feelings.”

“you tried to kill me.”

“sorry.”

you rub your face. “why are you here.”

he shifts his weight. he’s nervous. it’s cute tho. “we voted.” he says.

“you VOTED.”

“yeah.”

“ON WHAT.”

“on not killing you.”

you just stare at him.

he brightens. “it was almost unanimous.”

“WHO voted no?”

“…minho.”

yoy try to step around him toward the street. he mirrors you accidentally.

“felix.”

he freezes. “yeah?”

“move.”

“oh. right. sorry.” he sidesteps so fast he almost falls off the curb.

“you cannot come here.” you say. calm. really hoping he’ll understand. “you cannot follow me. you cannot bake for me. do you understand how insane this is?”

he nods immediately. “yes.”

“then why are you here.”

he looks at the muffins. then at you. “okay. so. we— i— baked.” yes baby, we know. you told us already.

“i see that.”

“for you.”

“i gathered.”

he nods, satisfied that the point has been made.

you start walking. he starts walking. directly into a street sign. it’s loud.

he recoils. “ow.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“is it bleeding?” he asks, pointing at his face, but he immediately goes cross eyed as you push his face away instead. his skin is warm. feels nice tbh. he blinks at you, unbothered. “you have strong hands.”

“go away.”

“okay.” he says.

he does not go away.

you reach the crosswalk and the light changes. felix steps forward without looking. a car honks.

you grab his hand and yank him back.

he stumbles into you.

“jesus.” you mutter, still holding his hand as you cross. “you’d be roadkill in five minutes.”

he looks down at your joined hands, his big eyes shining, absolutely taken aback by the fact that you would do this for him. well, all that until you drop his hand on the other side of the street.

“thanks.” he says cheerfully.

a man wearing a watch worth a month’s rent, carrying something he made for you that you won’t eat, who could absolutely overpower you, and instead just almost died to a car.

“don’t follow me.” you say.

“okay.” he says, still following.

you glance at him. “you’re unbelievably stupid.”

“thank you.” he says.

“that wasn’t—”

“i’ve been working on self-acceptance.”

pffft.

you stop. “felix, listen. i don’t want you guys here.”

he looks at you, tilting his pretty head in confusion.

“you scare me.” you clarify.

“oh.” he says quietly. that, he understood.

you point at the muffins. “those could be drugged.”

“they’re not!”

“i don’t know that.”

silence hangs between you. street noise fills it. someone laughs across the road. life just keeps going.

“i liked talking to you.” he says finally.

“you didn’t talk to me.” you reply. “you hunted me.”

“yeah. i’m sorry.”

you watch him. disappointed that something this beautiful can be this cruel. “you need to leave.”

he nods. but he doesn’t move yet. “do you…” he starts, then stops. tries again. “do you hate us?”

you don’t hesitate. “yes?” of fucking course bro???

his little brain absorbs that. shoulders drop a little. “okay.”

he holds out the muffins one last time, hopeful in the dumbest way possible.

you just look at him.

he lowers them.

“just go, felix. bye.”

“yeah. bye.”

he turns the wrong direction.

you grab his hood and spin him around. “that way.”

“right.” he says, walking off.

he makes it three steps. turns back. holds up the muffin container. “do you want—”

“no.”

“okay.”

he walks into a bike rack.

you watch him go. he looks beautiful.

you hate him.

you check to make sure he crosses the next street safely before you turn away.

that passed too. a few days later you are leaving a pharmacy in the afternoon, receipt crumpled in your fist, focusing on your surroundings now.

and across the street, leaning against a lamppost, is chan. he raised a hand, giving you a little wave, mouthing: you good?

you mouth back go away.

he nods once, then pushes off the pole and walks in the opposite direction. not chasing now. actually walking away.

then you’re in a grocery store, looking at pastas, deciding which one you want to eat tonight. a hand reaches past you and places the more expensive one in your cart.

you turn. it’s seungmin. black hoodie. baseball cap.

you immediately pull it back out. “no.”

he takes it. puts it back into the cart.

“no.”

back in.

“stop.”

it went on for a good five minutes.

at checkout, you unload your stuff, and when you’re about to pay, seungmin comes up behind you and wordlessly uses his card. do you process that in the head? no, only when he is already at the exit, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

he walks straight into the automatic door before it finishes opening. you hear the thud.

you rub your temples.

then you’re walking through the park because that’s the shorter way home. peaceful. sunlight. children playing. then the bush next to the sidewalk starts shaking.

you stop. you kick the bush. han tumbles out directly at your feet. face in dirt.

“…hi.” he says into the grass.

you look down at him. “were you hiding?”

he looks up at you, leaves in his hair, expression hopeful. “no.”

you start walking again. he scrambles up and follows, then trips on the sidewalk edge.

you catch his sleeve before he eats pavement. “use your brain.”

he nods seriously. “i keep meaning to.”

next time about days later, you see felix before he sees you. he’s staring into a store window, clearly confused by mannequins.

you walk past.

noticing that, he turns and his pretty little face lights up. “hi!”

“hi. don’t.”

“okay.”

he walks into a mailbox.

you only see hyunjin once, at a distance. not close enough to speak. just standing outside a train station, hands in his coat pockets, watching the crowd, not just you.

when your eyes meet, he doesn’t smile, just gives a small nod. then he leaves.

days after that it’s seungmin again. at night. parking lot. you only came with car because it was too far. you’re unlocking your car and a shadow leans against the hood.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” seungmin says, casual as hell, like he didn’t once swing a fire poker at your skull. “man.” he continues “small world, right?”

you turn, pepper spray in hand, and spray it directly into his eyes.

he screams, drops to his knees, clawing at his face. “OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE SATAN PISSED IN MY EYES—”

“stop finding me!” you yell.

he’s laughing through the pain. laughing. “you look good today.”

you drive off while he’s still swearing.

the next time minho follows you through a bookstore. keeps pretending to browse. picks up a book upside down. so you turn a corner and wait. he walks right into it. he also gets a taste of your pepper spray.

“SON OF A BITCH.” he chokes, doubling over between romance and self help. “you fucking—”

“YOU’RE STALKING ME.”

they find you in different places. weeks apart. or days apart. but they always come back.

something is clearly wrong with them. like, all eight are sick in the head. but it doesn’t seem like they’re following you around to kill you. they talk too long. they get distracted. they bring you things. they absolutely eat shit every time you fight back. and you do fight back. diva.

minho and seungmin have been pepper sprayed so many times they flinch when you reach into your bag. jeongin tries every possible pickup line on you. han once tried to sneak up on you and got hit in the face with your tote bag and apologized.

it’s ike they’re still in hunting mode. after you. into you. but now they’re… unsure. they don’t seem to want you dead anymore. they just… want you around now. or to just be around you, at least.

it’s the middle of the night right now. you’re in old sweatpants, hair a mess, waiting for the food you ordered. and soon enough, the doorbell rings. you shuffle over and look through the peephole for a second. delivery uniform. cap. bag. seems normal. so you open the door.

it’s felix. smiling ear to ear, holding your takeout, wearing the uniform jacket and cap. “hi!”

“absolutely not.” you say, already closing the door.

he sticks his foot in. “wait, wait—don’t slam it, the soup’ll spill—”

that’s when you see it, behind him, in the hallway. a man on the floor. the delivery uniform pants still on him, only his jacket gone, the one on felix right now. there’s blood under the man.

your stomach drops. your organs drop. after staring for about a minute, you slowly look back at felix. “…is that—”

“okay.” he says quickly. “before you freak out—”

“BEFORE I FREAK OUT?? YOU KILLED THE DELIVERY GUY?!”

jeongin leans into view, coming next to felix, hands in pockets. “it wasn’t him who killed the guy.”

you point wildly, not even concerned about the fact that there’s two of them now. “THAT IS A PERSON ON THE FLOOR.”

“yeah but like…” minho says, stepping into the doorframe, arm around felix’s shoulders now. “he’s not using the uniform anymore.”

your mouth opens. nothing comes out.

and then, without a word, chan walks past you. into your home. into your fucking home. felix shrugs and follows him. the other six too, actually taking their shoes off.

YOU ARE STILL HOLDING THE DOOR. THEY JUST WALK AROUND YOU.

“what—no—no—no—” you manage, backing up as they enter.

han closes the door gently behind them. “heat’s nice in here.” he says.

hyunjin looks at you and mutters a quiet but confident “hi” before going further into your living room.

changbin walks past you and spins slowly, taking in the room. “oh this is cute. this is very you.”

“YOU BROUGHT A CORPSE TO MY DOOR.” you choke.

felix is still holding the food bag. “your noodles are getting cold.” he says softly.

you make a noise that doesn’t exist in human language. (imagine something close to a windows crash sound)

seungmin tosses his jacket over a chair. there’s a smear of blood on his sleeve.

you gag.

he notices. “oh, relax. it’s mostly the delivery guy’s.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“hey, where’s the hand soap?” han asks, already at your kitchen sink, washing blood off his fingers.

you stare at the red swirling down your drain.

jeongin flops onto your couch. “i like what you did with the lighting in here. mood.”

“GET OUT.” you say, voice coming back in bursts. “GET—OUT—OF—MY—APARTMENT.”

they all look at you. it’s obvious that they don’t really understand what’s your problem.

chan gestures toward the takeout bag. “eat first.”

“I DON’T WANT THE FOOD.”

felix looks devastated. “you picked the combo meal…”

changbin is by your bookshelf now. “you alphabetized? that’s hot.”

“a— i— eugh— what is HAPPENING.”

minho leans against the wall. “okay, in our defense—”

“there is NO DEFENSE.”

“—we didn’t come to kill you.”

“YOU’RE TRACKING BLOOD ON MY FLOOR.”

they all look down.

han lifts his foot. “…shit.”

jeongin points at him. “mop boy.”

han salutes and grabs paper towels.

“listen.” chan says, turning to be in front of you. “we just wanted to see you.”

you stare at him. then at the door. “…you couldn’t text?” you ask hoarsely.

eight grown ass serial killer men exchange glances.

jeongin shrugs. “didn’t have your number.” that’s alright sweetie, not like you can’t find a phone number when you can find an address perfectly. not like you can’t ask for it from HYUNJIN.

you make another sound.

changbin steps closer, hands up, gentle. “okay, hey. we know this looks bad.”

“LOOKS—”

“bad phrasing.” he admits.

seungmin rubs the back of his neck. “we didn’t plan the delivery guy part.”

“that’s WORSE.” you sag against the wall. “you have got to be shitting me.” you whisper to yourself. then you look at them. all of them. in your apartment. on your couch. at your sink. in your life. “out.”

they don’t move.

jeongin tilts his head. “we just got here—”

“OUT.”

changbin actually flinches.

seungmin raises his hands. “okay, volume—”

“you killed someone. again, i assume. and brought it to my DOOR. do you understand how fucking insane that is?”

silence.

“i can’t sleep normally. i check reflections everywhere. i don’t walk with headphones anymore. do you get that? do you get what you did to my brain? i couldn’t function for weeks. every sound was footsteps. every guy walking behind me was one of you. i have three different hiding spots in my own apartment.”

han raises a hand slightly. “this one’s not great.”

“NO IT IS NOT GREAT.”

felix looks genuinely confused. “we didn’t think about… after.”

“YEAH. THAT’S THE PROBLEM. you don’t think about after. you don’t think about people being PEOPLE. you think about adrenaline and teamwork and your little murder club hangouts.”

changbin crosses his arms. “okay when you say it like that—”

“how else is there to say it??” you gesture wildly at the room.

they don’t look guilty. they look… attentive. they’re paying attention. trying to understand you.

you swallow. “no, seriously. i want to know. when you followed me for weeks? when you showed up at my job? when i thought every man walking behind me was about to grab me? that was fun for you?”

seungmin shrugs. “engaging.”

you grab the nearest thing, a throw pillow, and launch it at his face. then relax your shoulders and sigh. “i am a person. with a nervous system. i had a normal life before you guys.”

there’s a long pause.

felix raises a hand slightly. “your food is still warm.”

“READ THE ROOM.”

he lowers it.

han whispers to him: “she’s upset-upset.”

“no shit.” you snap.

chan has his hands on his hips. “you’re saying we made you paranoid and ruined your life.”

you stare. “…are you fucking for real right now.”

“trying to understand the damage.”

“DAMAGE???”

jeongin leans forward on the couch, elbows on knees. “we don’t feel fear like that, or guilt the way you do.”

“yeah, i noticed.”

“but we’re not dumb.” hyunjin says quietly.

your eyes flick to him.

he meets them. calm. honest in a deeply unsettling way. “we know we changed your life. we can see the behavioral shifts. we know what we did. we just don’t care.“

you blink. does this fucking asshole hear himself.

he continues. “and what you’re saying is that our continued presence equals harm.”

you blink “yes.”

“even without immediate violence.”

“YES.”

he nods once. processing. filing it somewhere in his terrifyingly organized brain.

chan takes over. “we’re saying, we understand the outcome. even if we don’t experience the emotion attached.”

changbin rubs his neck. “we didn’t think about the after. usually there isn’t one.”

you let that sit. “yeah.” you say. “because people die.”

quiet.

han finally says, softly: “you didn’t.”

you look at him. “no. i didn’t. and now i have to live with what you did.”

there’s a long silence.

then jeongin claps his hands once. “so. solution. anyone? ideas?”

you point at him without looking. “you are on thin fucking ice.”

he mimes zipping his mouth.

seungmin rubs his face. “okay, but question.”

you glare.

“when we stopped trying to actually kill you… that didn’t help?”

you just stare at him. “…you hear yourself, right?”

he thinks about it. “…yeah.”

felix looks like he’s actually using his brain for once. “we thought… not finishing the job was growth.”

“that is the lowest bar i have ever heard in my LIFE.”

but you see, the thing is, this is a system error for them. you’re not prey right now. you’re not running. you’re furious, first of all. human. loud. hurt. they don’t know this game. they only know the killing and manipulating one, but they want to have you. they just… don’t know how to get you.

chan clears his throat. “so the correct action would be… removal of our presence.”

“yes.”

“immediately.”

“so fucking immediately.”

“we don’t want to kill you.” minho cuts in, hoping that this saves their situation a bit.

“yeah, you told me a hundred times already. your point?” you ask

“we like you.”

you make a face like you bit into soap. “that is not how liking works.”

“for you.” he agrees.

chan exhales. decisive. “we adjust behavior.”

you cross your arms. “into WHAT?”

silence.

felix brightens. “dinner?”

you stare at him.

han nods eagerly.

you look around the room at eight serial killers in your living space, one of them holding a roll of paper towels covered in someone else’s blood. “…dinner.”

changbin shrugs. “low pressure environment. public. you feel safer. we practice acting normal.”

minho adds: “exposure therapy. for all parties.”

“i just gave a speech about how you ruined my sense of safety.” you whisper, voice defeated.

hyunjin nods. “we heard you.”

“and you want to take me to DINNER.”

“yes.”

“why.”

he doesn’t hesitate. “because harming you is now counterproductive to the thing we want.”

you are actually taken aback by the words this guy uses. “…which is?”

he holds your gaze.

“you.”

the room goes quiet.

then han whispers to felix, way too loud: “is this flirting?”

“yeah.” felix whispers back. “i think this is the good kind.”

you drag a hand down your face. “…get the fuck out of my apartment.”

they stand, immediately obedient. getting their shoes on and whatnot.

changbin gives you a small wave. “we’ll text?”

“you do not have my number.”

jeongin points at hyunjin. “he’ll give it to us.”

“I WILL CALL THE POLICE.”

they walk out.

han pauses at the door. “sorry about the sink.”

door closes. silence. your apartment is a disaster. your life is worse.

but… they looked weirdly sincere, actually. and they were.

soon, they stopped showing up unannounced. mostly. they also stopped bringing weapons into your line of sight. mostly. and they stopped treating you like prey. completely.

how were they about you, comes the question.

obsessed.

and they did not process attachment normally. if they processed it. they did not understand love. but they understood preference, and if you told them enough times, then eventually they understood your emotions too. well, not understood, but they processed the fact that you feel the way you feel and they can do something about it if they actually try.

han once fell down an entire staircase because someone said your name and he turned too fast. chan pretended he wasn’t competitive about board games and then absolutely lost his mind over monopoly. hyunjin brought you flowers all the time. you learned that seungmin always had to sleep on his stomach.

you started to understand the function of them. not excuse, no. absolutely not. just understand and process the fact that they’re how they are. and you couldn’t do shit about it, and you couldn’t get rid of them now. so you lived with it.

they still killed, of course. that was one of the few things that brought them happiness in life, so you couldn’t expect them to stop doing it. they didn’t kill around you, though.

but you knew they still did it. and you could feel when the tension built when they haven’t hurt anybody in a long time.

it also… what’s the right word, scared? impressed? took you aback? could be either, what matters is that when you saw that all of them had it in them, even han and felix who behaved like total angels throughout the day, it… upset you. or just moved something in you, seeing that each of them has that empty place where fear or guilt or empathy should go.

they didn’t kill out of anger. it was release. their brains were wired wrong. thrill, control, mastery, stimulation, those hit the reward centers. violence scratched an itch they couldn’t reach any other way.

and after, they were calmer. lighter, like they’d gone for a run. when they were satisfied with themselves, they tried to tell you about it. you always stopped them, because you did NOT need to hear the horrible things they did. no matter how much they wanted to brag about it, how much they wanted to make you proud.

you weren’t safe in the world, but you were weirdly safe with them. and they would have died for you.

but you had to set rules. actual rules. “do not follow me into bathrooms.” “do not threaten my coworkers.” “do not kill anyone within a five-mile emotional radius of me.” the basics. and they tried. god, they tried. but they didn’t really… do well.

once you opened your door to seungmin at one in the morning, and he stood there, breathing a little heavy, COVERED in blood.

you just stared.

he stared back.

“…you good?” he asked.

“are you good??”

“oh. yeah. not mine.”

you almost slammed the door. he stopped it with a hand, but gently. always that now.

“didn’t come here for that.” he said.

“for what, seungmin, WHAT possible reason makes this a normal social call.”

he shrugged. “adrenaline crash. didn’t wanna be alone.”

that did something weird to your chest. not forgiving, just… information. because you realized that now they wanted you. your company, your voice, your hands. and it felt good.

anyways, you told him to take a shower, then you let him hang out with you.

they also fought each other more than they ever fought you.

once minho and jeongin, two extremely capable men mind you, actually went for each other’s throats in your kitchen while hyunjin and chan tried to separate them.

you yelled at them then. they paused and looked at you.

jeongin, bleeding from the lip, grinned. but like in that hot way. “sorry.”

“take it outside if you’re gonna be like this.” you told them.

“fair.” chan said, dragging minho back by the collar.

you weren’t scared of them like prey anymore. you were scared of the capacity. the strength. the speed. the way the air changed when something in them flipped.

you’d seen what they could do, you just weren’t the target now.

they were on your dick constantly, though. emotionally. socially. existentially. texting wasn’t their thing, but presence was. which meant they showed up unannounced a lot. but the reason for that was that they didn’t want to lose access to you, to be honest. didn’t like the thought of that.

one night you opened the door to changbin. he told you he was going to come over later. well, it was late. around midnight.

when he saw you, his eyes lit up, and wrapped you in the warmest, most affectionate, full-body hug of your life.

you froze.

because he was sticky.

wet sleeve. iron smell. your cheek against his skin. your hands touching the back of his shirt.

he squeezed tighter, cheek against your hair. “missed you.”

you pulled back.

looked down.

this boy was covered in blood.

he smiled, soft, relieved. “hi.”

you shoved back, stumbling, hand over your mouth, already shaking your head like that would stop it. you barely made it to the sink before you threw up in it.

behind you, changbin stood there, horrified. “oh. oh no. right. right. that’s— that’s on me.”

from the hallway, jeongin yelled: “did you forget again??”

“I GOT EXCITED.”

hyunjin was the only one who followed you then, already grabbing a towel, turning on the sink. he didn’t look at changbin, and he didn’t look at the blood. he looked at you. “i’ve got you. you’re okay. breathe.”

they kept forgetting what you were. alive. normal. human. that for you it was a body, a person, a life.

it wasn’t the only time, of fucking course. they’d be loose, relaxed, calm. you’d be staring at hands that had done something irreversible two hours ago. there were a few nights like that, a sleeve not changed, a stain not noticed, you throwing up in your own kitchen while eight men who could disassemble a human being panicked because they’d upset you.

not because they felt guilt like you did. because they’d hurt something important in the environment. you. you, who sometimes made it to the sink, sometimes didn’t.

they did learn, though. slowly. painfully. they didn’t feel what you felt, but they learned it mattered. which, for them, was the closest thing to empathy available in the system.

you fell asleep on the couch once while they were over. you didn’t mean to. how could you mean to, when you knew what they were capable of?

and you woke up pinned. well, luckily not trapped, just surrounded. han was hugging your ankle. felix was using your shoulder as a pillow. changbin had an arm across your middle. jeongin was half off the couch but anyways. seungmin pretended he wasn’t involved but his foot was hooked under your leg.

they didn’t experience comfort like most people did. but proximity? pressure? familiar scent? that, they liked.

they were really, really glad that you survived them. and because of that, somewhere in their broken little predator brains, you became home. and what do predators do? bring things home.

once han showed up beaming, holding something behind his back.

“i got you flowers.” he said.

you blinked. that was… new.

he revealed it.

you stared.

it was technically arranged like a bouquet. the only problem was that… they were human lower arms. a lot of them. like flowers. just… arms.

you made a noise. you looked away, then back at it, then had to look away again.

“i thought it was romantic.” he said, crushed.

“honey, i appreciate that, but—“ you gagged. held the doorframe. teared up.

he watched you throw up then. patted your back after.

felix once brought you a wallet because “you’re always losing yours.”

you opened it. immediately closed it. “felix.”

“yeah?”

“return that.”

chan was… fucking brutal. he didn’t bring objects. he brought information.

“found a guy who’d been stalking women in your area.” he said once.

you went cold. “…what did you do.”

he met your eyes calmly. “took care of him, of course.”

you didn’t know whether to scream or say thank you. this one wasn’t bad, actually. you just had to sit down for a minute.

they were not house trained though, not even a little. one time you caught seungmin about to piss in your giant houseplant.

“seungmin.” you sighed.

he froze midzip. “…yeah?”

“if you water that plant with your BODY i will end you.”

“okay, okay.” he said, offended. “god. boundaries.”

felix once wiped his hands on your curtains. han sat on your coffee table. minho had to be told three separate times that knives did not belong “wherever feels right.” changbin once tried to “air out” your apartment by opening every window during winter.

and jeongin was just really spontaneous in general. if a guy talked to you, he would insert himself into the conversation, no matter what. “bro.” he’d say, arm slung over the stranger’s shoulders. “i love your confidence. truly. quick question, how attached are you to having kneecaps?”

you hit him. he’d grin. the stranger would evaporate.

hyunjin was the only one who got you normal gifts. they were… brutally expensive, yeah, and you had no idea where he had that kind of money from, but you appreciated every gift from him.

and oh my fucking god, the mailman. felix hated the mailman. for no reason. the man was fifty something and friendly. still, every time the mail arrived, felix would appear at your window, talking bout sum “he’s back.” ???

“felix, that’s his job.”

“yeah but why is he always here?”

“because i live here. that’s how mail works.”

the suspicion remained.

but beneath all the insanity, the red flags, the daily reminder that they could bring a corpse to your doorstep any day, they were sincere. they never played with your feelings. never lied about what they were. never pretended.

they just… adjusted their behavior around one central rule, which was not to lose you. to keep you safe, even if they didn’t understand why they wanted to keep you so safe. or why did you find so many things they did wrong.

you had, at one point, physically grabbed felix by the hair and yanked him backward because he was halfway out your front door, whispering “i just wanna talk to him.” about the mailman.

“NO.” you barked, fist in his hair.

“he’s BEEN HERE THREE TIMES THIS WEEK.” felix insisted.

“THAT IS HOW MAIL WORKS.”

he did not agree with you.

changbin loved cheek kisses. loved them. unfortunately, changbin also had a chronic issue where he just… forgot he was holding things. knife. wrench. crowbar. gun.

you’d feel a gentle kiss on your cheek and open your eyes to see cold steel six inches from your face.

“baby.” you’d say.

“oh, shit.” weapon would go on the table like car keys. “sorry.” he’d say, and kiss your other cheek, now technically unarmed.

then once you mentioned to hyunjin that you were cold and he wordlessly took off his jacket. it had a suspicious stain. he saw you notice.

“…i’ll get another one.” he said immediately.

because he really didn’t want you to be cold. not like he understood what your problem was with a little blood, but alright. anything for you.

now that i’m getting carried away with the stories, i’ll tell you that han did not understand personal space.

for an example, if you scolded him? immediate cling. you’d finish saying “you cannot threaten the barista for writing my name wrong” and suddenly he’d be attached to your side, rubbing his face into you, arms around your shoulders, chin on your head.

“okay, but we’re good though, right?”

“sweetie, i’m trying to pay.”

he’d nod against your hair, not moving. that went on for twelve minutes until a woman asked if he was concussed.

they clung like that a lot, they didn’t understand a lot, they acted up a lot, they hated a lot, but they loved one thing.

you.

they didn’t understand jealousy as an emotion. they understood it as something wrong with their insticts, and you in danger. how did that make sense? it didn’t. it just sounded horrible. because it was. but it was also the most sincere attachment they were capable of.

you were still scared sometimes, still human, compared to them(they’re literally almost not human in their senses). still deeply aware of what they were, and reminded of it a lot of times, of course.

but they’d learned one thing with absolute certainty.

you were not a victim anymore, you were something new to them, to their lives, something…. let’s say home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The top hierarchy of the school.

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

You're doomed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their presences are a gateway towards cringe and awful interactions.

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

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

Your imagination betrays you, again.

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

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

Calling you back to Earth.

A harsh sound. A snap of fingers, maybe.

“Hey— you good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bingo!

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To put my number in.

Oh. oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate that she's right.

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

A group chat has been made.

Seungmin:

hey

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

Unknown number:

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

Seungmin:

unlike you, i care about my grades

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

Jeongin:

yn, you here?

Seungmin:

she's probably spaced out as we speak

Jeongin:

i theorise she's ai

notice how she mostly talked when it was about studying

You gag, stifling out a laugh. What??

Seungmin:

yeah right

at least she's got brain and contributed 

something you can't relate to…

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

You:

i’m not ai

Jeongin:

woah you're actually here

only ai answers when prompted btw

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

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

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

A ping knocks you out.

Seungmin:

there she goes again

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

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

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

You:

sorry

Seungmin:

whatever

Whatever.

when are you guys free?

Jeongin:

uhh

tomorrow? after practice tho

Seungmin:

me too

preferably after 6 p.m

what about yn?

You:

i have club activities after class

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

Jeongin:

ok and where do we meet?

the cafeteria closes early on fridays

Seungmin:

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

Jeongin:

just asked chan hyung

he's out tomorrow, come to mine

Seungmin:

okay okay

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

Right…

You:

can someone send the room number

Jeongin:

i'll do it, wait

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

Jeongin:

room 208

see u guys there

—

It’s 6:58 p.m.

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

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

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

Jeongin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your expression contorts to subtle confusion, hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

You’re inside a guy’s room.

You.

Inside.

A guy’s room.

Ahem. Yang Jeongin’s room to be clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you want to try?

With us.

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

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

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

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

Would it be wrong to get turned on?

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

Should’ve accepted failing the class.

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

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

“You good?”

Of course he’d ask that.

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

“You sure…? You don’t seem so–”

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

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

“Pet caretaker—?”

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

Perhaps not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Could he call that the beginning of jealousy?

Tsk. What stupid thoughts, he barely knows you. 

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes—aren’t you…?”

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

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

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

This feels wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Woah.

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

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

You stop yourself.

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

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

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

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

Still counts.

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

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

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

Painfully attractive. Your heart squeezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else do you want me to say—”

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

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

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

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

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

Eh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that okay with you?”

Jeongin's talking to you.

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

Wait what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows.

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

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

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

“Jeongin–”

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

“Are you teasing me again…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re indecisive whether you like it or not.

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

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

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

—

“Three, two… one.”

Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll never forget how rude jocks are.

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

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

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

“Oh, aren’t you–?”

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

Stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s quiet for a second.

Then.

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

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

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

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

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

Chris approaches, “Can I see them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh, what? I can’t hear you.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Eh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About Stray Kids?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Nopes.

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

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

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

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

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

Do you realize how cute you are? They wonder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, uhm. Ok.”

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

Probably a dumb reason.

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

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

Jeongin.

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

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

“Guys…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeongin doesn't hesitate.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“I’m craving popsicles.”

—

Knock knock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean… you want to take a look?”

“Don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Loseristic?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ten… “Tentacle?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck–”

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

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

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

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

“In my room–?”

The dog barks again.

“I mean, where else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

So, you overthink it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, your shirts—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the plan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stop?

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

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

Your mouth dries, or salivates?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However. 

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

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

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

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

You weren’t ready.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

ᯓ seonghwa

Normally Seonghwa wasn’t the type of person to frequently jerk off, especially to a friend such as you, but all he could think about today was your thighs. His gaze raked up and down your skin when he saw you today in those tight little shorts, your thighs spilling out of the denim fabric when you sat close to him on that bench. What started out as a wholesome trip to go eat ice cream, ended with Seonghwa laying on his bed with his throbbing cock in hand. 

God, he wanted to lick cum off your legs so bad. That was all that could run through his dirty mind as he touched himself while his sticky, nude body clung to his silk bed sheets. He only had his boxers down at first as his hands gently stroked himself, but the nastier his thoughts became, the more clothes he stripped from his body. By now, his voice went from pathetic moans to him throwing his head back on his sheets and groaning your name. His hands were already so filthy from his fluids coating his balls and his trembling thighs. He was already on the second round, and he didn’t plan on stopping soon.

He didn’t need to turn on porn or look at images of you to cum when the clear image of your legs were burned into him; your legs would’ve been dangling off his shoulders while his cock fucked every nerve in your tight little pussy. He could already see the picture of your folds clenching around him while he was spreading your hole open. You wouldn’t have been nude; Seonghwa would’ve wanted to keep your top on so he could focus on ripping your pants off with his eager hands. Before he would’ve bit your panties off, his tongue would’ve already been down at your clothed core making your legs squirm.

You’re so fucking beautiful, he would’ve muttered into the soft flesh of your thighs after you squirted on him, placing wet, hot kisses on them. Damn you for ordering vanilla ice cream today, and damn you even more for not not stopping it from melting and dripping onto your bare thigh. He wanted to lick it off you just like how he was now imagining him swallowing cum he would’ve licked off of your weak, trembling legs. 

He wouldn’t have given you any time to recover before he would devour your pussy like an hungry animal. The grip his hands would’ve had on your plush thighs would’ve made you scream his name. How beautiful your screams would’ve sounded while your sensitive folds felt his lips quivering every time he moaned. It would’ve been sinister; the sound of his salivating tongue and your slick, accompanied with both of your moans, would’ve created such a profound volume. 

Such an imaginative brain he had, for the sound alone made Seonghwa’s cock throb harder. Once he ejaculated, his hands fell to the bed sheets. He was ashamed. He knew he was so pathetic for jerking off to his friend that he thought he had a minor crush on, but he supposed that it was just going to be his dirty secret to hide.

ᯓ hongjoong

Hongjoong was so excited to work with you, an upcoming artist, on a developing project. He’d seen how beautiful you were on your social media, ashamedly stalking the page a few times, but he never expected his jeans to feel tight suddenly after listening to a song demo you sent him. This was bad; you were supposed to come to his studio the following day to discuss the demo he was now listening to. Except, he kept replaying the same 20 seconds of your voice in his headphones. The same singing voice that, to Hongjoong, felt like you were seducing him.

His hands were already slowly unzipping his jeans in his chair, his head reclined back and eyes softly closed. He hadn’t even touched himself yet, but he was already being noisy with his whimpers as he imagined you being the one unzipping his pants. He was too lazy to push his pants all the way off, so he kept it above his knees. The stain he saw on his boxers was already getting larger; damn, how could he already be this easy?

He needed you in front of his chair, donning only the low-cut shirt he saw on one of your posts and a slutty skirt. While your voice looped in his headphones, he imagined you climbing onto his lap, your legs straddling him. You would’ve kept your back arched, your bare, damp pussy grinding against his bare thigh, kissing him delicately on his neck while you purred explicit fantasies in his ear. Imagining this already had Hongjoong’s cock twitching in his boxers. 

He took his time as he unveiled his cock from the damp cloth. It sprung up; this would've been a great seat for you, Hongjoong thought. The sweat was already dripping down his body. Fuck, he was getting too hot. The shirt he wore became fully unbuttoned by his free hand while his other hand stroked himself. He felt guilty for being so devious, yet he never once slowed down the tempo of his hand.

The once quiet studio that only housed the sound of keyboard clicking and scarce groans was now filled with the yearning producer’s pleading whimpers and begging. He just couldn’t stop thinking about your voice that tasted like velvet in his ears. His tip couldn’t stop oozing precum, especially while he was envisioning you riding him in that skirt that vaguely covered your ass. If only you were here, he’d have his free hands roaming all over that, giving it tender squeezes. He knew your skin would’ve felt so plush. Shit, he was bound to cum soon. 

Please let me fill you up. Please, I need to stuff you, he would’ve cooed in your ear with gentle croaks. No, you would’ve wanted him to be louder than that. No one was in the studio with him so late at night, so he could be as loud as he wanted to be. He begged loudly, his hands now pleasuring himself at increased tempos. He couldn’t handle it anymore; his cock pulsated the more his sticky fingers jerked himself off. 

When he finally came, he opened his eyes and sat in disappointing silence. He hesitated, but he paused the looped recording of your voice. He felt shame for committing such a vile act and imagining you in such positions. If your voice was enough to make him cum, he was afraid of what your presence was going to do to him tomorrow.

ᯓ yunho

Of course Yunho accepted your invitation to go roller skating. It was the perfect opportunity to get even closer to you even if he knew it wasn’t a date. What he didn’t expect to happen, however, was you spontaneously grabbing his hand in yours while he struggled to skate on the rink. Granted, you were only just trying to help him so he didn’t fall on his ass, but Yunho couldn’t shake the image of you grinning up at him so cheerfully as you commented on how big his hands were in yours.

Nor could he shake the image of you lathering his fingers with your tongue. Yunho stared at the lewd sap that varnished his fingers. He had spent his night with you, and you only, in his mind while pleasuring himself to you. Now, sitting at the foot of his bed, the thought of stopping his sinful act crossed his mind, but the longer he stared at his varnished hand, the more he was enticed to continue.

His hand returned to his length that was dripping in his lust for you. He already came once, but he couldn’t cease his lewd imaginations. The sounds of you whimpering every time he would have stuck his finger deeper down your tongue fueled his lust and desire. Your face, the face you would’ve made, with puffy eyes and tear soaked, maroon cheeks, was something he wanted to fuck senseless. He wanted those tears streaming down your face and soaking the bed sheets while his fingers stuffed themselves in every hole on your body.

He felt so disgusting. Such an unconventional way he wanted to fuck you, he thought. Of course, none of this stopped Yunho from continuing his fantasy from playing out. He imagined the skirt you wore today; it wasn’t short by any means, but it was still easy access for him. The length of the skirt didn’t matter if your skirt would’ve been pooled down at your hips as his fingers pumped inside of you. 

You're taking my fingers so well, don’t you think so? Good sluts like you deserve a reward, he would’ve hovered over you examining your pleading face as his thumb drew circular patterns on your outside folds. He would’ve heard your pretty voice beg for him to slide another finger in so he could continue to fuck your tight little pussy. Damn, he was already about to cum again and he wasn’t finished thinking about you just yet. His sap was gushing out of his tip and flowing down his length at the thought of you below him while he sat in between your trembling legs as you cried out to him softly. He would’ve been so proud of himself for being the sole reason you weren’t able to speak a coherent word.

It was more than Yunho could take; his explicit imaginations were too much for him. He hadn’t ever imagined such a graphic and detailed plot, especially not concerning you. He was pleasuring himself so hastily that it was becoming difficult for him to catch his own breath, and when Yunho came all over himself, he stilled himself on his bed and ran his clean hand through his hair, processing what he had just done. 

He couldn’t bring himself to go for a round of this; though, he was slowly losing the shame he developed. Instead, he physically ached from how aggressive he jerked himself off. He couldn’t believe it; he had been so shy around you before, but all it took was him jerking off to you twice for him to stare at his phone on his desk, wondering about all the ways he could ask you on a date. 

ᯓ yeosang

It was humiliating how hard Yeosang was right now. Or rather it was more humiliating why he was hard. Considering he had just gotten back from seeing you briefly at his apartment, it was jarring how he was now at his desk with his sweatpants pooled at his knees. He stared at it, the growing and twitching bulge in his boxers, and then he glanced up at his lotion on the desk. 

And it was all because you encountered his dog at his front door. All you wanted to do was drop off something he left at a friend's house, but his dog jumped on you as soon as he opened the door. He felt shame for conjuring up such perverted thoughts over you calling his dog a “good boy.” Maybe he shouldn’t open up your social media and touch himself to you while you imagined you called him a “good boy”, but who else was going to take care of this issue?

Initially Yeosang hesitantly peeled off his boxers. After some scrolling on your account and witnessing all of the posts up of you in tight, body framing clothes, his hands were already lathered in his lotion. Unlike how he was behaving before, Yeosang was loud, desperate, and perverse. “Good boy”, he whimpered to himself repeatedly with his half lidded eyes staring down at a picture of you on his phone. 

His whimpers never stopped; the whimpers and pathetic whines he expressed appeared as if he had never touched himself before. Yeosang may have never jerked off to you before, but it was not foreign for him to vaguely ponder about you having absolute control over him. He would’ve gone on his knees for you and done anything you wanted him to do, anything for you to call him a “good boy”. The image that really had his cock throbbing in his hand the most was his tongue all in your tight pussy, sloppily cleaning out the fluids that dripped out of you. He could feel your hand entangled in his shaggy hair, thrusting yourself into his mouth all while you would moan his name.

The desk chair was rocking and creaking now. It was almost as loud as Yeosang’s strained whines that echoed throughout his entire room, hell, possibly his entire apartment. He struggled to be quiet, but how could be when he was nearly drooling over himself like a dog because he couldn’t tongue fuck your pussy? 

Am I being a good puppy yet? Please tell me, I wanna be good for you, he rehearsed that line in his head several times as he imagined his trembling fingers groping your plush thighs as he ate you out ravenously, pushing his salivating tongue further inside your sensitivity. He wanted to taste your lewd cream glossing over his mouth as you came onto his wet lips. He wanted to feel your plump thighs mesh in his hands as you struggled to stand and keep your composure; he’d never been so sure of anything until now.

Yeosang underestimated how much he was going to cum. When he did, it sprouted all over the surface of his desk, staining some of his phone screen. The irony was not missed; he had tried so hard to remain pure and tame around you, yet now his own semen was on his phone screen while your pictures were displayed. Damn, if calling his dog a good boy was already enough to make him behave like this, then he should be wary when he sees you again.

ᯓ san

You were yammering about something mundane. Something that was initially interesting to San. As soon as you began eating your popsicle, however, he zoned out on everything except the icy rod moving in and out of your mouth after every sentence. 

“It’s crazy, because you know I’d never do that to her.” In. Out.

“But it’s all good, who needs a friend like her anyway.” In. Out.

“You know what I mean?” In. Out.

You had stared up at him with those innocent, oblivious eyes, your popsicle hanging loosely in your grip. His gaze kept switching back and forth between your lips and the popsicle, unsure on where he should focus his gaze at. It was just the way the melted ice glossed on your lips and on your fingers. The longer he stared, the deeper his imagination ran, and the quicker he had to get home.

And when he did, San immediately locked himself in his room, despite already living by himself, and fidgeted with the bottle of lube in his grasp. He was so horny, so riled up, that he could barely open up the bottle with his trembling fingers, which frustrated his already pent up lust for you. 

His other hand trembled around the button of his jeans, the fabric tense around his groin. The article of clothing fell down to the ground and the lube from the now opened bottle coated his throbbing length. 

He wasted no time; he already had the image of you sucking his dick clean off the moment he saw you with that popsicle. All of his fantasies about you were disgusting. He imagined his fingers entangled in your hair, controlling every movement and the tempo at which you gave him head. He would’ve made you go deep. So deep that his tip would’ve slammed against the back of your throat. 

It was foreign for San to immediately start jerking himself off so viciously, as he’s already hurt himself before because of that in the past, but the slow tempos he was so used to weren’t stimulating enough. Fuck, he was pleasuring himself so fast. The beads of sweat drew down from his temples and his neck almost as fast as his precum from his tip. But he wasn’t done yet. He hadn’t gotten to think about all of the degrading names he would’ve called you as you went down on him. 

You’re taking this dick just like a whore. You’re fucking filthy, he continued to grunt in between his teeth to himself, imaging you on your knees in front of him with your hair in his tight grip. His actual hand, in contrast to what he was saying, quivered on his bed post, the sweat exuding onto the worn wood. He was dangerously close to cumming all over his legs, that also were now shaking and draped over the edge of his bed. 

The fluid squirted and flushed over his legs. He cringed at himself for allowing himself to lose composure so fast. Despite the tough talk he talked, he whimpered all too submissively at the sight of him cumming. San allowed himself to sit at his bed for a second to catch his breath. His shirt was not only soiled with his lustful fluid but with sweat that stuck to his dewy skin.

On top of that, he, unexpectedly, developed a cramp in his wrist. He shouldn’t have done this. It was wrong and it hurt himself, but San couldn’t help but not care about such things at the moment. Especially not when he knew he was going to text you to come over to his place after he cleaned himself up.

ᯓ mingi

Mingi watching your titties bounce while you straddled his lap wasn’t something he had the pleasure of doing, but he thankfully had a vivid imagination. 

Where did he get the idea to sit at his desk while his hand was gripped tightly around his cock as he attentively watched porn on his desktop? Well, you made the decision to stretch while wearing the shortest crop top he has ever seen you wore; and because he was already being a pervert and eyeing your body up and down, he caught sight of your lacy bra cupping each one of your breasts for a brief moment. Despite the lewd thoughts he constantly thought about you, Mingi was not the type to ogle so intensely until now.

His fingers trembled among his computer mouse as he searched for the right woman that favoured your face and body. Normally he wasn’t this picky about what content he watched, but it didn’t hurt to get an accurate representation.  

Bingo. Mingi’s search proved to be worth it. The thumbnail of the video displayed a woman who could’ve passed as your doppelganger from afar. Of course no time was wasted after that discovery. Not while his hand was already discarding his tight sweatpants off of his legs.

His room was so dirty. Precum oozing down his length accompanied the sound of wet slapping and sweet, pleasurable moans from his monitor. Mingi’s dick was already solid hard at the mere thought of you, but being able to touch himself while he dreamed of fucking your tight hole as you sat on his dick almost made him cum completely out of his mind. Fuck, he was jerking himself off so disgustingly. So lustful and desperate to the point where he rolled his hips to stimulate the feeling of you actually hopping on his dick.

He wasn’t even looking at the screen at this point. Mingi’s eyes were kept shut, occasionally fluttering open to take another curious peek at the monitor. It was embarrassingly evident that he was about to finish on himself so early, but his increasingly loud whimpers and mindless begging were the foreseeable signs of him cumming. Besides the uncontrollable twitching in dick.

And when Mingi finally came, the lust vaguely draining from him all the way down to his meaty thighs, he thought to himself about how this wasn't enough for him. Since the porn continued to ring in his room loudly, it didn’t take long for him to get hard again. This time, knowing an injury was incoming, his wrist completed the vertical movements of his strokes at a considerably slower speed. 

Fuck, baby. You’re taking me so well, just like a good girl, his eyes once fluttered shut, drawing the picture of you riding him so effortlessly. He imagined his hands cupping your bare breasts, the hem of your top being bitten in between the rows of your gritted teeth to hold back every pathetic sound you made, especially when your nipples would be fondled every time his finger ran over them. 

It was normal for Mingi to feel shame and guilt after jerking off to you, especially twice in one sitting, but this time he couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Maybe that was the hormones talking, but he began to feel a sense of excitement to see you again. Not necessarily just to eye fuck you again, but maybe he would finally gain confidence to tell you how he feels about you. Then hopefully that leads to you two actually fucking.

ᯓ wooyoung

“I like your nose.”

“I still don’t know why sh- huh?”

“I said, I like your nose.”

He was in the middle of rambling to you about your idiotic coworker until you randomly interrupted him. Sure, he noticed you staring more attentively at his face than usual, but he had no idea you were going to just talk about his nose, let alone mention how much you like it.

It was just an innocent compliment from a work colleague; he knew there wasn't any ulterior motive from you. That didn’t matter though. Not when he was in bed that night feverishly grinding against his pillow fully clothed. Admittedly, this wasn’t his first time he dry humped his pillow thinking about you, but that only happened because you wore tight clothes to the office some days. Today was different though; something ravenous flowed through him when you innocently complimented his nose.

Wooyoung was going insane. He’s never felt such intense horniness over a simple comment until today. Normally it was easy to relieve himself with his pillow only, but he craved more. His pillow was thrown to a random corner of his room before he yanked off his shorts and boxers altogether. There it was throbbing and yearning for stimulation. 

It wasn’t long until he was laying on his bed sheets as his palm pumped his cock. The desire he had to feel you quivering legs straddling his face while his tongue lapped your sappy folds was deep. Fuck, he was salivating just at the thought of your pussy being spread by his tongue. You would’ve rode his face so well, and every time his nose would’ve bumped closer to your clit you would’ve let out such a sinister sound. 

Fuck, he wished he at least had your underwear so he could smell the sweet aroma you exuded while he jerked off to his fantasies. All he wanted was to hear you beg him to bounce on his big nose. God, he would’ve given you exactly what you wanted without hesitation. The only thing that would’ve been heard was Wooyoung sucking on your wet, swollen folds as his lips rippled sensational moans into your throbbing heat and the rocking bed from you fucking yourself on Wooyoung’s nose. 

This is my fucking pussy, okay? Wooyoung imagined all of the dirty things he’d mutter into you to accelerate the tremble in your straddling thighs. And when your warm fluid would finally run down his face, his tongue would’ve lapped your sensitive hole to taste you. Wooyoung couldn’t handle the extent of his fantasies. With his sore wrist pumping his cock, it twitched under his grasp one final time before he spurted on stomach.

The orgasm that escaped from him was lewd; lewd like you were the one that jerked him off instead. Wooyoung had never made such a sound by himself before, let alone without watching porn or playing an audio. Even in the previous times he had fondled himself to the thought of you, he’d sit at his desk and imagined the two of you in whatever video he had running.

He knew he was so screwed. Thankfully, he had the weekend to wait for his obnoxiously rampant horniness to dial down. No, he didn’t want to think about what would happen when he sees you at work on Monday and if he was even going to be “normal” by then. 

ᯓ jongho

“Whose pussy is this?”

Jongho’s fingers stickily glided along his throbbing length as he sensually spoke to himself. His eyes remained closed, fully immersed in the story he had curated in his mind. In the background, a pornographic audio played: an audio that Jongho frequented often when he wanted a quick fix. This time, he pretended that all of the sounds that emitted from the computer speakers were real. Real like he was actually there to witness you moan and beg while bent over because of him.

Jongho had class; he always thought of himself as the type to save special, intimate moments like sex for a special person he shared mutual admiration for. So why was he touching himself slowly while picturing you in his head? 

He knew it was a little disrespectful to think such things about a friend, but you shouldn’t have worn those tights jeans today. And you definitely shouldn’t have bent over in his vicinity. Damn, the memory entered his head again as he thought more about you. It almost annoyed him how oblivious you were, and it angered him to know that he couldn’t do anything to you at that moment. To him, you acted like such a disobedient slut. A whore who should’ve known better than to wear that, do that. And whores like you, in Jongho’s mind, needed correction.

What started off as a mildly tame jerk off session became aggressive, almost threatening. Jongho stared down at his own dick, painting a picture of your ass posted up right at his tip. He would’ve taken his belt and spanked you to teach you a lesson, just so your cries and whines could fuel his growing desires. And when he felt satisfied with your obedience, Jongho imagined fucking your dumb brains out, one hand on your hips, controlling every thrust he pounded into you, and his other hand forcefully keeping your face planted on whatever surface was in the area. 

If you wanna dress like a cheap slut around me, you’ll get fucked like one, by now, Jongho’s fantasies have gotten out of control. With the wet noises he heard in the audio, this experience felt different than how he normally masturbated. His mind was clouded with visions of your ass rippling every time his groin slammed against it. And don’t even mention how his mouth salivated at the thought of it moving like ocean waves every time he would’ve whipped it. These thoughts drove him and his cock insane. No one had to know all of the dirty language he used to describe you. Especially not you.

Jongho couldn’t bear it anymore, and it was evident in the rhythm of his hand becoming irregular. He wasn’t accustomed to such intensity. Perhaps it was because Jongho thought about you this time or maybe because he didn’t hold back that he came with so much of his body quivering. He prolonged his stay at his desk in shame. Not a singular muscle moved, not even to silence the porn or wipe the beads of sweat off his temples, for a few minutes. How was he going to behave around you now that he finally committed this act? 

Despite these thoughts and questions, he never once felt regret. He figured that the catharsis he experienced outweighed the uncomfortable questions regarding his morality and your friendship.

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Bang Chan

Lee Know

Changbin

Hyunjin

A/N: basically I was tapping into my domme brain and thought about how they are all so beautifully bottom but each of them would need a specific domme energy brought to the table, making them fall apart in their own filthy, unique way. please consume responsibly. this has been in my drafts for over a year and I finally finished wahoo! enjoy my cherries ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊ feedback is always welcomed!

ཐིཋྀ ⸻ domme energy types:

degrader ⸝⸝⸝♡ you like them embarrassed ⛓️ teasing, humiliation, name-calling

mindfuck mistress ⎊ you own their headspace ⛓️ anticipation, denial, slow unraveling

brat tamer 𖤐 you live for the backtalk just so you can ruin them painfully slow and put them in their place

overstim queen ⭑⭒ you don’t stop at one orgasm, you stop when they cry (and maybe not even then)

caretaker 𓂃𓈒𓏸 you ruin them gently ⛓️ praise, nurturing, and control with affection

power worshipper ⟡˚˖ you dominate through being adored ⛓️ they serve, you receive

now let’s see which hands each member crumbles under…

🐶 𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗁𝗈 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖽， 𝗈𝖻𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗒

best domme match: overstim queen + caretaker

whimpers when you touch him, cries when you edge him. whispers “thank you” through tears after his third orgasm.

feeds off your praise and gets rock hard just from your voice.

wants to please you more than he wants to breathe.

he’s on his back, legs parted, wrists tied to the headboard in soft silk. flushed from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving with every shaking inhale, thighs trembling—he’s wrecked.

“you’re doing so well for me, baby. just one more, I know you can.” you purr, palms pressed flat to his chest as you straddle his hips, still hot, wet, and pulsing around him—your bodies warm and sticking together.

he whimpers, fingers curling into fists, trying to stay grounded.

he’s already come undone three times, and he’s barely holding on—hips stuttering, jaw slack, tears streaking down his reddened cheeks.

his abs contract, breath catching in broken gasps, his whole body on the verge of collapse. he blinks up at you with glossy eyes, mouth parted, barely able to form a sentence—completely gone, nothing but a pretty mess beneath you.

“please—I’ll do anything, I just want to be good for you—” he chokes, voice cracking.

his cock is aching, raw and swollen. so sensitive it jumps at every brush of your walls engulfing him, twitching helplessly even before you move.

your hips roll slow and cruel, dragging another raw sound from his throat as he squirms beneath you. you clamp down and his entire body jerks. he’s overstimulated beyond reason—hard again, throbbing inside you, scared of how intense it feels.

his head rolls back and he sobs helplessly, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming, blurring into pain. “I can’t- I—please, it’s t-too much…fuck.”

“yes, you can,” you brush the damp dark locks from his face. “you’ve been so good. just one more for me, sweetheart.”

if cock-draining was an olympic sport, you’d be taking gold with how many times he’s spilled himself inside you—but you still want more from your pathetically fucked-dumb angel.

he cries out, erection twinging uncontrollably in your wet heat as you grind down on him without pause, his hazy, fluttering gaze locking with yours.

“th-thank you—” he mutters breathlessly.

“good boy…” you whisper as your lips kiss his throat gently.

if he cums again, he’s finished—and he knows it. but he’s going to do it anyway, for you.

🔥 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌

best domme match: overstim queen + mindfuck mistress

his entire body is one big please wreck me signal.

gets sensitive fast, moans loud, loses his mind from overstimulation and slow control.

gets hard again and again even as he’s sobbing—you live for the way he breaks.

thighs squeezed together, whimpering when you pry them apart. he’s slouched in his gaming chair, flushed and leaking, cock twitching in the cool air like it’s begging for mercy.

you lean down and kiss his pelvis—slow, unhurried—before dragging your tongue up his length without giving him what he really wants. his hips jerk like you just short-circuited something inside him.

your fist wraps around him: slick with your spit and his cum, already stiffening again, thrumming hot against your hand. “such a pretty cock you have…always so eager for more.”

hovering over him with a smirk, your fingers brush just under the tip—barely—and he shudders, breath catching like it physically hurts to be touched.

you stroke him once. pause. twice. then stop again.

“p-please—” he gasps, hips shifting helplessly in the chair, chasing after your grasp. “don’t tease—just—”

you giggle—cruel and sweet—then click your tongue, “look at you—still twitching? didn’t I say I wasn’t done?”

he half-sobs, thighs tensing, needy little whimpers that melt into moans as he reaches out for your wrist, grabbing hold of the one that’s working him.

“ah ah,” you chide, shaking him off, “don’t get greedy.”

denied, his hand drops back and claws at the armrest, leather creaking under his piercing grip, knuckles white as you pump him in agonizing strokes, his whole body squirms under your touch.

he’s panting hard now like he just ran a marathon, each breath stuttering, chest heaving as your thumb swipes over the slit and makes him cry out.

“it’s t-too much, I can’t—oh fuck, fuck, I—” his voice breaks completely, your name caught on a sob, erection pulsing and leaking into your palm.

you tighten your hold a bit, edging him steadily, keeping him right of the precipice of release and then snatching it away. his body convulses in defeat, head thrown back, eyes fluttering and his adam’s apple bobbing with desperation.

it’s a sight, truly—how intensely he falls apart. his face red to the tips of his ears. eyes shining with tears he’s too wrecked to wipe away. and you’re not stopping. not yet.

“don’t you dare,” you grab him by the chin and kiss him sloppily, searching the inside of his mouth with your tongue before pulling away, “you’ll take it until I say so.”

his body shakes. “please—please—” he blinks up at you, pleading and barely coherent. he doesn’t know how much more he can take—his brain’s gone fuzzy, vision blurring at the edges.

but you don’t let up. milking him with unforgiving fingers until he’s ruined and still reaching in his chair: soaked, quivering, barely able to breathe past the sounds he makes for you.

🐱 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗁

best domme match: brat tamer + degrader

talks back. tests limits. pretends he’s in control—until you yank it away ruthlessly.

loves being manhandled, tied down, and told to shut up.

melts when you finally praise him after making him work for it.

you’ve got him pinned to the wall, wrists bound behind him with your red lace thong. he’s smirking like he’s still in control—

one hand curls tight around his throat—unrelenting, possessive—the other shoved beneath his shirt, fingers grazing up to his nipple. you pinch, just hard enough to make him jerk. his whimper sharp and throaty.

“what’s that? not so smug now with my hand on your throat?” your nails drag lightly over his skin before giving the bud a sharper twist.

the grin slips. his lips part. he’s still trying to hold it in—chin tilted, jaw clenched—but the moan claws its way up anyway, all breath and tremble.

his lashes flutter, heat blooming high on his cheeks as your thumb brushes over his nipple again—slower this time, crueler. he gasps, hips twitching instinctively. melting.

“sensitive here?” you tease, lifting his shirt higher so you can duck your head and flick your warm tongue over the delicate nub.

when you suck, his whole body squirms, skin prickling.

“you—” he chokes out, breath catching again, eyes already glassy like he hates how much he likes this.

now comes the pouting—chin tucked, brows furrowed, cock rock-hard and grinding into your thigh like it had a mind of its own, unraveling like clockwork.

“f—fuck—” he throws his head back and gulps, “you.”

“aw, is my little fucktoy hard?” his face turns as red as a cherry while you giggle mockingly, “want me to make you cum?”

he nods too fast, hips rutting helplessly as your words echo in his head. he’s already leaking into his underwear, a damp patch darkening the fabric and sticking to your leg, giving him away.

“say you’re sorry or I’ll edge you tonight. over and over. no release.” you growl.

he freezes. whines low. “sorry—I’m really sorry, please…” he breathes, broken and dizzy for it, voice cracking as he begs.

you smile, devilish and slow, dragging your knee up against his clothed length until he sobs out another strangled whimper. “so needy for me already… and I’ve barely touched you.”

“p-please…” he choked gasps rumble from his chest as you rub your knee against his sensitive bulge.

“shut up and open your mouth,” you command, gripping his chin with a vice between your fingers.

hesitantly, he parts his thick lips. without warning, you drool spit onto his tongue and watch his eyes roll back, like he was drunk off the mere taste of you.

“swallow it, my pretty little slut.” you coo, biting and licking at his throat as he gulps hard, clutching your waist for dear life.

🪞 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗃𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗀 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁

best domme match: mindfuck mistress + power worshipper

he knows how to dominate—but loves surrendering to someone sharper.

tease him, make him beg to cum, humiliate him just enough to see him break.

wants to serve but will never admit it until you pull it out of him.

“you look so pretty like this. all that control gone,” your voice low in his ear and bruising clutch against his rear.

he hates how much he loves being vulnerable like this—nude, ass up, eyes locked on the long mirror while your fingers spread him open tauntingly slow, like you’re unwrapping a gift he doesn’t deserve.

“keep your eyes on yourself,” your nails digging into his hips. “I want you to watch the way you fall apart for me.”

he swallows hard, throat bobbing, cock twitching underneath him. he nods—barely. his voice is gone, replaced by shaky breaths and bitten whines.

“pathetic,” you don’t raise your voice, but it’s loud enough for him to hear. “wet and untouched. I should leave you like this.”

he flinches when your thumb glides over the glistening pink flesh between his cheeks, exposing his pretty little hole to the cool air and the full view in the mirror.

he can’t look away—even as his face burns, even as shame twists in his gut, his eyes stay glued to the reflection.

“look at you,” your breath hot on his skin as you lower yourself behind him. “fucking perfect like this—needy and soaked for me.”

your tongue drags slowly over the sensitive ring of muscle, teasing, licking with lazy precision until he lets out a guttural moan—sharp and wrecked—hips bucking forward only to be yanked back by your grip on his waist.

“want to cum already?” you tease, ignoring the way his hips jerk. “you haven’t earned it yet.”

he chokes on a sob, nodding frantically, face pressed to the sheets. “ah—fuck, please—” his voice cracks. “feels s’good, please…”

when your tongue presses in, firm and unyielding, his thighs tremble. head dizzy, back arched, hole fluttering as your spit slicks him up. each inhale punches through him, ragged and loud.

then your fingers follow—one, then two, pushing in soft and deep, scissoring him wide until his legs shake and his moans dissolve into pliant, broken whimpers.

“tell me what you are—” curling your fingers just right, you admire how he clenches and melts around you.

“…yours.”

🐺 𝗌𝖺𝗇 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌

best domme match: brat tamer + caretaker

pushes back at first. growls, groans, tries to keep composure.

but once you get him on his knees? he gets addicted.

he worships hard, loves praise, and needs aftercare like air. you’ll ruin him, then hold him close.

he starts it—grinning as he wrestles with you on the couch, playful but smug, cocky with every dodge and grab.

you flip him fast, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists down. his breath catches. the smirk starts to fade.

“still think you’re in charge?” your lips brush his ear, tightening your grip until he squirms beneath you.

you slide off his lap and command—“on your knees, now.”

his chest heaves, hesitation flickering in his eyes. but he drops, slowly, sinking to the floor in front of you.

you walk away to the bedroom. his eyes follow you the whole time—until he sees what you pull from the drawer.

the strap.

he shifts on his knees, visibly aching—hard and straining against the fabric of his sweats, his breath coming shallow now as you approach him.

“open up.” you guide it to his lips, and he obeys. tongue first, then deeper—licking, sucking, moaning around it like it’s your real cock, completely devouring it. you groan at the sight.

he’s practically shaking by the time you pull back—spit-slicked lips, glossy-eyed, flushed. you’re mesmerized by how ethereal and slutty he looks, full of need and hunger.

“keep behaving for me… I’ll take care of you, pretty thing,” softly dragging your thumb across his wet mouth, “now turn around and bend over.”

he whimpers and drapes himself over the back of the couch, hips raised in full submission as you come behind him, shoving his pants to his ankles.

your palm caresses his hip as you line up the toy to his tight heat, sliding in slow—inch by inch—your hands firm on his waist as he moans, fluttering and clenching around your faux cock.

“you always fight so hard—until I’m inside you.” you tease, thrusting deep until his breath stutters, eyes rolling back as he claws at the cushions.

“p-please…fuck—d-don’t stop,” he begs and whines, legs trembling with every snap of your hips.

the pace builds, your voice in his ear—“that’s it, baby. just like that, be good and take all of me.” pressing your lips to the back of his neck, you reach around and fist his throbbing cock, stroking gingerly and watch him fold entirely under your touch.

when it’s over and he’s boneless and quiet, cum leaking down his thigh, he slumps against you, sweaty and panting, eyes sparkling with bliss.

you thread your fingers through his hair, lips brushing his temple as he shudders in your arms, murmuring praise—“you did so well, my good boy. I’ve got you.”

🐻 𝗃𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽

best domme match: overstim queen + degrader

built like a wall, yet you tear him down like paper.

he tries to be quiet, to hold it together. he fails.

the first time he moans for you, it’s all downhill—he’s vibrating, trembling, shocked by how much he’s falling apart. and you love every second of it.

you return home from store, parking in the driveway, neighbors chattering just beyond the windows, everything seemingly normal. that is, until you climb into the backseat.

“come here,” you grab at his shoulder and he hesitates for a moment but obeys, joining you next to the bagged milk.

making out turns heavy fast. his hot mouth moves lithely against yours, tongues massaging together, devouring each other. you straddle him within minutes, seated gently.

hands sliding up and down your thighs, squeezing your flesh and dusting his fingertips under the hem of your skirt. his hips jerk like he wants to stop it—but he can’t.

“fuck…baby—what are you doing?” he curses against your lips but you don’t hear a thing, moaning into him and unconsciously rutting your hips back and forth.

riding him over his clothes, your fingers tangle in his hair as you suck and nip his lips hungrily, until his head’s spinning from it.

soon enough you feel how hard he is under the denim, the bulge poking your cunt at the perfect angle for you to thrust against. “two more days of denial, right? so, you can have this.”

his cock is already on edge, drooling through the fabric at the slightest friction. he’s beyond needy and has been gagging for release, not allowed to touch himself either.

grinding your core with wrecking motion, it drives him crazy. his desperate hold roams behind you, gripping your ass roughly, kissing you with low, stuttering huffs.

he lets out a frustrated groan, your hands splaying across his muscular chest, nails digging in his shirt to keep him grounded as he spirals and squirms. you press yourself down harder.

“wait—hold on, I-” he’s babbling in protest but you won’t relent.

you rub more against the strain in his pants: once, twice, and then he’s convulsing, hips stuttering as he spills in his jeans, gasping with humiliation burning on his face.

“already?” you smirk mockingly, cupping his flushed face as his eyes flutter, “poor thing…and here I am just getting started.”

dragging it out, you roll your hips without mercy, his fingers dig into your waist—white-knuckled, useless—choking on whimpers that dissolve into sobs.

your mouth latches onto his throat. his soaked length twitches beneath you, still trapped in his boxers, painfully tender. the raw scrape of his damp clothes only worsens it, every drag over his erection feeling like fire.

he’s flustered and slick with sweat, his voice cracks as he tries to whisper through gritted teeth, “p-please, too much—can’t…”

he erupts again without warning, crying out, unsatisfied and messy, thighs quaking as his body writhes, trying to pull away but you just keep him pinned.

you coo at him as if he’s a toy, “make those sounds again. louder. let me hear what this does to you.” swiveling even slower over his cock, watching heat rise up his neck as he breaths erratically.

“didn’t think I’d get you like this, huh? look at you now.” your words taunt him, hating how much he loves it, hating how effortlessly he breaks apart for you.

eyes glassy, he begs—not for more, but for less. “b-baby…n-no more, I—fuck—can’t.”

your broken name caught on his tongue, he’s gone. completely gone, clawing at your skin, desperate to pretend it’ll stop the overwhelming pleasure tearing through him.

🦋 𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗀 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝖻 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒

best domme match: mindfuck mistress + caretaker

sensitive, elegant, reserved—until he’s not.

you draw the filth out of him. loves when you keep him on edge. blushes when you praise him.

gasps and shakes when you whisper what you’ll do to him next. you control the build-up perfectly.

crimson rope over flushed skin, arms bound behind him, shoulders tense, the delicate ripple of pink silk under his thighs.

he sits upright against the pillows and headboard, completely nude, legs parted under your lingering, heated gaze. his perfect form on full display as you stalk the foot of the bed in awe.

“look at you…you’re such a pretty toy sangie,” you coo, biting the tip of your finger to resist touching him for now, “all tied up and on display—just for me.”

his eyes darting to where your lingerie hugs your curves. you settle between his knees, sitting on the heels of your feet.

leaning down, you kiss his knee, then the inside of his thigh, lips grazing closer—but you don’t give his cock any attention, instead you continue to kiss up his abdomen, trail across his hips, and drag your tongue along the crease of his thigh.

his erection reddened and twitching but untouched.

a shared kiss is…ravenous. full of need and lust, tongues rolling harmoniously, leaving your mouths wet and tingly. his body instinctively slumps forward, trying to get more of you.

resting your hand on his chest, you push him back, giggling under your breath, “down, boy. treats reward patience, right?”

you’re gentle but commanding, making him anticipate your next move. your finger circles around his tip, playing with the drooling pre-cum, watching him quiver under your touch.

“you look too cute when you’re trembling…think you deserve to cum yet?” his muscles tense under his bare skin at your toying words, already overwhelmed by the attention and praise.

“I’m going to suck your cock now, baby,” you whisper against his swollen tip, tongue flicking along the slit once, “and you tell me when you’re going to cum, okay? I want it all down my throat.”

his whole body shudders, nods too fast, voice caught easily.

you hum around his tip, the vibrations making him gasp—his thighs jerking on either side of you as your tongue laps at the underside of his cock.

then you take him deeper. slow, steady, until your nose brushes his skin and your throat flutters around him.

you pull off completely every time he gets close. he whines and stutters, “p-please, I was close…”

you smile, staring into his tear-brimmed eyes, “good, then do it again.”

he cries out, voice breaking, barely able to warn you through moans and sobs, “c-cumming—”

but you don’t stop. not even when he spills down your throat, hands fisting nothing behind him, whimpering as you swallow every drop.

when you finally pull off with a wet pop, he’s flushed and dazed, breathing ragged, barely able to lift his head.

“good boy,” you purr, licking your lips as you cup his jaw, “so pretty when you let go for me.”

🧃 𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗐𝖺 ⸻ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎

best domme match: power worshipper + caretaker

will literally cry while going down on you because he’s so desperate to please.

hands always roaming your thighs, eyes locked on yours, begging “please let me taste you again”.

he thrives on obedience and praise.

when you arrive home, he’s already in position, waiting eagerly by the door exactly as you instructed. it’s impossible not to smile.

on all fours, naked, wearing his collar and leash, and stuffed inside his chrome silver cock cage.

you take him around to the kitchen, settling your ass on the table as you part your legs in front of him, revealing a lack of panties covering your holes.

“wanna taste?” you tease, slipping your fingers through your wet folds as his eyes widen and a spit of drool lingers at the corner of his mouth.

he nods and licks his lips hungrily, rutting his hips against the air.

“tsk, tsk.” a soft moan escapes your throat as you played with yourself, making him whimper. “mmm…not until you beg for it. use your words.”

“please…please mommy…” he whines, his boba eyes shimmering with tears, “I’ll do anything, just let me make you feel good—”

you place the bottom of your toes to his lips, cutting off his cries.

“then prove it.”

kissing each toe like it’s holy, he sucks gently with his tongue attentively curling around them.

a hand grips your ankle as he moans into the arch of your foot.

his eyes glassy, silently pleading for praise—but you don’t say a word…not yet. he looks too pretty when he’s needy.

“enough.” you snatch your leg away, scooting to the edge of the table, pointing to the space directly between your thighs. “sit right here and stick your tongue out.”

he obeys without hesitation.

you move to bury his tongue into your juicy center, grinding on his mouth as your hand fists his hair, riding his face with ease.

“that’s it, hwa. just like that. keep your tongue out for me.”

eyes locked with yours, he groans into you and you giggle as his hands lovingly caress your thighs.

“you can move your tongue now. eat me as you wish.” that’s all the signal he needs to start sucking your aching clit, plunging his tongue deep into your hot core.

you curse his name, giving his hair another firm tug. he works you like you were his last meal, his devotion knowing no end.

his flat tongue glides up and down your insides, stirring the fiery pressure in your gut. “good boy, you’re gonna make mama cum.”

your cunt flutters around his tongue as your orgasm ripples through you and he laps up every trickle of cum that spills past his lips, moaning against your sopping flesh.

“you did so well, hwa,” you purr breathlessly, patting his head.

your foot flicks against his caged cock as you bite your lip with a devilish expression, “should I free you as a reward?”

“if you want…” he kisses your knee, stifling his grunts each time you give a soft kick to his crotch.

“you gonna cum a lot for mama if I let you out?” dragging your foot along his groin, you press lightly on his gut and watch him quiver with delicate restraint.

visibly swallowing hard, he still nods eagerly as he rubs his face against your leg, like a cat in heat.

“anything mama wants…” he rasps, earning a pleased grin from you, his patience attracting you like a moth to a flame.

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