lina 🎀

The club is packed in a semi-calm way. Not overly rowdy with rainbow lights like other clubs. Your ex used to call it “fancy chaos” but you figured that was a lie since he was so good at those. You're looking around as soon as you get in but try not to make it obvious. The app says he's here. He said he'd wear Gucci and you figured he was a showy asshole—that's why you picked him. 

You don't see him by the bar, or the tables, the dance floor is a mess and—

“Looking for me?” You jump, turn fast with a hand over your chest. 

“Jeez—” there he is. Tall enough, Gucci jacket and matching pants. Perfect for the club, perfect for you.  

“Scared you?” You nod, taking a slower breath. “I meant to.” Oh, he's weird? The secret kind that sneaks up on you… you’ve encountered worse. He holds out his hand and you take it slowly. Very slowly. 

“Lee Minho, but you knew that.” He doesn't smile, isn't condescending, just straight to the point. You can work with that. You tell him your name and he hums like he already had your star chart memorized. 

You get right to it after that. “My ex is over there, I was thinking—” he cuts you off, smooth, laces his fingers with yours

“Follow my lead.” 

“Oh… okay.”

He starts leading you across the dance floor, hand warm and it's now that you get to take him in… this man is thick. Chest and thighs and just wow. 

When you get to the bar your ex is flirting with some girl while her boyfriend right beside her, fitting. Minho leans on the bar facing him and turns your back to him, he guides you closer, close enough to look comfortable. Close enough to look taken. 

“If this is going to work you have to look madly in love with me.” He doesn't smile, he smirks, big difference. There's something dark to it. Something that's five steps ahead. 

He's right though. You snap yourself out of staring and smile at him, a real smile. You lean a touch closer, lay your hand closer to his and laugh at nothing at all. 

Lights, camera, action. 

Minho smiles now, perfect and wide and says the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. 

"You ever think about how fucked we’d be if horses were carnivores?” you lose it, cause he's right and also wow. That laugh is just what he needed, though it is beautifully distracting. Minho looks down the bar and your ex is looking over like he’s trying to figure something out. Good. Minho goes again. 

"Imagine being the first person to see a cow and deciding to drink whatever came out of it.”

You cover your mouth this time, leaning into him. “Ew.” 

“Exactly.” He hums, eyes lighting up a bit. Gosh, you do have a pretty laugh, he's sure he'd recognize it too. “Imagine that. Warm white stuff from under a cow… let me drink it.”

“I mean, it's not too different from other things.” You say it before you can access the sense to stop. Minho's eyebrows raise, his head tilts a bit, and that damned smirk is back. 

“Oh, we're gonna have some fun.” Then he raises his hand for the bartender. “Buckle up, buttercup.”

Your ex sees him raise his hand and his reluctance tells Minho that he figured out it's you. He sends a co-worker over but Minho keeps looking at your ex. “Mm mm.” He motions towards him, smiling. “We want him, right princess?” Minho's hand finds your waist, sweet and warm and a little dizzying. You play along, nodding sweetly. 

“Yeah, he makes my drink perfectly every time. I think it's called—”

“Denial is a river?” Minho suggests smoothly and you have to bite your lip not to laugh. 

“That one, yeah.” The man behind the bar couldn't care less. He calls over your ex and tells him that he'll switch with him. Minho sees the moment your old flame tried to make himself burn bright enough to miss. 

“What can I get you?” His voice makes something happen in your chest. Not good, not anymore. It's more like anxiety. You don't know how but Minho notices, he squeezes your waist just slightly and you look up at him to find him already looking at you. 

“What do you want, baby?” He looks over at your ex. “Give her a second, yeah? She's the cute thoughtful type.” Minho walks you through some drinks options niceeee and slow and affectionate. At one point you find yourself moving in closer. There's something about him that's magnetic, like he's making space for you to slip right into him. 

“Give me something strong.” You look your ex in the eyes when you say it, borrowing some of Minho's courage to throw in a smile too. “Shaken and make it pretty.”

You can see that he has something he'd like to say, maybe ask why you're here or when you moved on. It's been months and he's been with half this damn club, now it's your turn even if it's fake. Minho coos something sweet when you finally order, hand wandering a bit lower on your hip for show… you think.

“I'll make mine simple.” the smile that he gives your ex belongs to an anime villain.  “I'll have a gin martini. Hendrick's if you have it. Stirred for exactly thirty seconds, not shaken. Extra cold. Lemon twist, no olives. In a chilled Nick and Nora glass if possible. If not, a coupe is fine. And could I get a sidecar of sparkling water with a lemon wedge? No seeds with the lemon, please.”

Your throat burns from trying not to laugh. Your ex looks at him and just stares for a second before asking “are you serious?” Minho's smile drops clean off his face, he stares, then asks, “do I look like I'm kidding?”

You're left alone in an instant. He starts making your drinks while you laugh into Minho's chest. 

“What the hell is that order?”

“My usual.” He teases. His hand smooths up your back now and you stand straighter at the feeling “Hm?”

He looks at you like he's actually trying to memorize something. His fingers tickle down your spine and you squirm a bit. “Sensitive?”

You hum a pathetic sound then try to hide it. Minho presses his fingertips a bit firmer, “Cute.” then his hand is gone. You almost protest the absence, almost grab his wrist, but then your drinks arrive. 

Your's first, then his. Neither of you look at your ex anymore. You still feel the ghost of his fingers tickling your spine and Minho's suddenly very interested to see where else makes a pretty girl squirm. 

“Ya’ll got a bathroom?” Minho asks, still looking at you for a lingering second before tilting his head expectantly at your ex. 

“Yeah.” He doesn't say anything else and Minho scoffs. 

“Finish the job, you look like you're quick. C'mon.” You laugh this time. Hard. So hard that you snort. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth and the corner of Minho's mouth turns up just a touch. He likes that more than he expected. 

Your ex hates this, his face says it all. “They're to the right down the hall.”

“Single stalls? One room?”

“Stalls.” he answers, fed up. 

“Am I bothering you?” Minho asks, voice a little meaner now. “Cause I can take my pretty girl to the bathroom and leave you to your lonesome.”

He glares between you and Minho, then again. “No sex allowed in the bathrooms.”

Minho hums, standing straighter with his hand nearly on your ass. “Who said anything about sex?” You're just impressed by how well he's showing off. This is money well spent. Minho fixes his jacket, flashing the Gucci stripes a bit and enjoying your exes glare. “But don't worry, she'll be quick.” You look up at Minho at that one. You'll be quick? Not him? You don't miss that distinction. 

Minho slaps some bills onto the counter and waves your boyfriend off. Once he’s gone he turns back to you, he doesn’t get to say a thing before you bring it up. “I'll be quick?” You turn into him, standing impossibly close now. Minho looks at you, eyes on yours. 

“If you're as sensitive there as you are on your spine, yeah, you will be.” You're sure your neck is starting to flush, ears too. It's hot, maybe it's your drink that you haven't even tried yet. You just need an excuse. 

“What's your plan here?” You bite your lip and Minho's eyes drop to it. He takes a second, just a quick quiet second before cupping your chin and tilting it up a bit. Just a bit. 

“The plan's to make you come.” Yeah. You're definitely flushed. “If that's what you want. I think I can make it worth your money.”

You finally lay a hand on his chest, messing with the buttons on his jacket. “You think you can?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, hums an amused laugh then looks out to the dance floor for a second, just a second. “Don't challenge me, I'll get carried away. 

Your hand slips inside his jacket, so close to the warm skin beneath his shirt. Teasingly close. “Maybe I want you to.” 

That does it. “We're going. Now.” He doesn't have to tell you twice. You let him take your hand again and lead you towards the hall opposite the bathrooms. You look back, confused.

“Where are we going?” He doesn't slow, just calls back an answer. 

“I'm not fucking you in a bathroom.” Aw, he's considerate. 

Minho leads you towards an empty VIP booth with a half cleared table. There's barely a curtain and it's busy enough that none of the drunk partygoers around you would be able to tell that you're ruining your panties. Minho slides in first, guiding you behind him and shifts you onto his lap. There's more than enough room and you're more than comfortable taking up space like this. 

“Be honest.” Minho looks up at you with eyes that shine unfairly bright. “Does this cost extra?” He scoffs, hands smoothing up your waist. He watches his fingers brush over the curves of your dress. 

“I'm not guacamole.” You laugh again, hard just like before. Minho smiles, actually smiles. “That damn laugh.” Then he's kissing you. His mouth seals over yours in a hot wet kiss that makes you moan into him. His hands slot on your waist and yours on his chest. Your hips move in small rocking motions with every kiss. You can't help it. 

Minho breaks the kiss first, laying his forehead against yours while guiding your rocking into full on riding. “Pretty girl.” He situated you so that you're straddling one thigh, hips rocking over the rough denim. Your panties are growing stickier by the second. The pressure feels like sex itself. “Pretty laugh makes me wanna hear her moan.”

“Wanna hear you too.” Minho smiles, kisses you harder just cause that was so damn cute of you.

“We're gonna take care of you tonight, kitten.” Then his hands start guiding firmer. Your sopping core is dragged forward, back, forward. Your panties roll to the side themselves and Minho presses up for perfect pressure. 

You swallow a sound and he squeezes your hip. “Nuh uh.” he starts bouncing his leg a bit, making himself vibrate against you. “Let me hear it, right in my ear, c'mere.” 

You lean close enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear, close enough to smell his shampoo and cologne—and you moan. Sweet and a little deep and Minho swears it's perfect. 

“Oh, baby.” He guides you faster, your grinding turns into dry humping and moans turn into whines. There's a wet spot on Minho's jeans from his cock leaking through layers of fabric, then another from your flooding cunt. 

“Minho—” that gets a groan from him. His hands cupping your ass now, kneading and squeezing while you whisper and babble against his neck. “I'm gonna cum.” 

He keeps pace, doesn't change it, something your ex could never seem to do. That alone makes you wet his jeans. It's a gush, not squirting but just as messy. Minho fucking loves it. 

“She's so messy.” You pull back and look at him with dazed eyes and wet lips. “Let's see”

His hand finds wet flesh under your dress, swiping his fingers over your clit, then small circles. Your spine bows, hips bare down, still sensitive from your high. You whimper, he hums. 

“Pretty kitty is sensitive, huh?” The tips of his fingers press inside then back. “Can you take two?” You nod before sense can catch up. 

Minho likes that. “Good girl.” Then he's pressing in. His fingers sink deep into gooey flesh and your mouth parts with no sound. It's sensitive. It's tight and burns so good. 

“Minho, m’ gonna make a mess.” He looks at you like he's waiting to be told when he asked. His fingers move once, pull back and sink. 

“Give me something to clean up.” It's over after that. He moves like he wants to see you split in two. 

You're straddling both his thighs now, spread open by him. The squelch your cunt cries out is obscene, so much so, that someone at a neighboring booth looks up to the ceiling like they heard it. You can't help but chuckle, and Minho stops completely. 

“Do that again.” You tilt your head, mutter a small “huh?” But he's already tickling your spine. You yelp and chuckle, nails digging into his shoulder.

Minho's teeth sink into his bottom lip and his fingers curl inside of you, deeper, perfect. “So tight when she laughs.” You're holding on by a thread. Your foreheads on his again, he's talking you through it with sweet names and praise. 

“That’s it, keep it up, baby.”

“Gonna make me cum, looking so pretty...”

“Gimme another one, kitty, c'mon.”

Your orgasm is creeping up on you, each and every methodical curl of his fingers is bringing you closer and closer, you're close, so close.

“Min—” you hide your face in his neck and let out a wet and long moan. Drooling a bit into the collar of his jacket. Minho's fingers keep going, helping you ride it out, but his rhythm falters. His breath catches and he groans something broken deep in his chest. “Did you just…”

His breathing picks up just a touch uneven. You pull back, look down, and both wet spots are spreading. He came in his jeans. Finished untouched. Unreal. Impressive. 

Minho looks up at you, eyelids fluttering like he's still a bit dazed when he says— “kiss me.” 

You do. You meet him in the middle and kiss him softly. Soft enough to hear his slight hum when your warmth settles. “Perfect.” He murmurs then kisses you again. 

“He's” kiss “an” kiss “idiot” 

That makes you chuckle against him, soft and sweet. Minho pulls back then, looking at you for a moment. You’ve cracked him a bit. He blames that laugh. He loves it a little too much for this to be fake. 

“So.” You murmur, rubbing the tip of your nose over his. “Venmo or Zelle?”

Minho hums, face serious, humorless. “Your number.” You lift your brows at him, smile a bit and he gives you that damn smirk. “I'll take that instead."

a/n: I have been soooooo in my head about this series. I hope that you enjoyed!

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Scared doesn’t cover what you felt as you sat in the office waiting for the vampire leader. Chan, as you knew him, agreed to meet you when you sent a letter asking to speak to him. You needed a favor, or rather, his help. Your father is sick, and the bills are piling up. As a last attempt, you hoped for Chan’s graciousness after 40 years of your father’s work for him. 

The door opening behind you causes you to turn around to face it. You hadn’t seen the leader up close in a while. The same as you remembered him. His undead state preserved his appearance. 

He took confident strides across the office to where his desk sat. The courage you had vanished. A dark aura surrounds Chan. Despite being a compassionate leader, he is an indisputable, powerful creature. You saw what his men could do with less strength. 

Now here you sat pestering him when he had more pressing matters to deal with. You planned to keep your conversation short and to the point of avoiding dragging out the situation. The longer you stay in the same room with him, the quicker you’ll fall apart from intimidation. Even knowing Chan since childhood, he still scared you and the last thing you wanted was to anger him. 

He sat down with a huff, giving all his attention to you. “I am sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“No, I wasn’t waiting long.” You shook your head as you sat down across from him. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Of course. How is your father doing? I meant to check in. Unfortunately, I have been busy.”

“Sir, forgive me.” You clutched your hands in your lap, trying to hide your anxious trembling. The daunting image of your frail, sick father haunted you to the point you might cry. He needed your support now more than ever. “He’s not doing well. Felix believes there is better care outside the city. I don’t have the funds. I hoped you might help.”

Chan’s deadpan expression was impossible to read. Is he upset? Angry at the request? There was no shift in his tone when he spoke, either. “How much are you asking for?”

“Five thousand. I have done everything minus the business. I can not sell it. It’s providing for my family and it’s my home.”

“I am not a charity. Running a town to keep the humans here safe from what is outside those walls is my job. I can not just give every struggling family inside money.”

“I understand that, I do. But I also know how much good my father does for you and without him, it has hindered you and your newborns. If he recovers, he can—”

Chan had cut you off mid-sentence, his tone harsher. “So you are expecting me to just help you? What do I get?”

“Sir, I have nothing to offer you.” Your mind raced, searching for words to say. There were no other options left. You needed to convince him to help you. Your father didn’t deserve to die from not being able to accept the care he needed. “He has given you so much of his time. Not once disappointed you. I am asking you for the generosity of your heart.”

“What heart? I am undead.” Chan looked amused by your words as a smile appeared on his face. He sifted in his seat, hands now clasped together, resting in his lap. His piercing gaze is tearing you down by the second. Doubt filled you, telling you wouldn’t get any help here. All you wanted was to disappear. Let the ground open up and swallow you whole. Anything that was an escape from the moment right now. You perked up hearing him speak again. “You have something to offer me.”

 “I will give it to you. Just tell me what, and I will.” You said without hesitation. Not caring if you sounded eager.

“You have your blood. That’s what you can offer me.” You were uncertain of his meaning, taken aback by his words. Asking for clarification, feeling discouraged the longer he went on. “I’m sure you are aware of stock workers.”

Yes, you were indeed familiar with the job. There were people in town that dedicated their life supplying sustenance. The workers paid to be fed from. A decent amount of people will do such a job, but unsure if you could. Especially with the vampire leader himself. 

“I’ll give you the money. In return, you will provide for my hunger till I’ve decided the debt is paid.”

The offer conflicted you. Your father would benefit from the deal, even though Chan is asking for a lot. There were a bunch of questions flooding you at once. You lacked knowledge of how often he fed or what your body would go through trying to keep up with the demand. Deep down, you knew you would give anything for your father’s well-being. He fought this hard to survive and you would do the same for him. 

Despite the numbness coursing through you, your hand reached up from your lap to over the table towards Chan before you processed what you were doing. You needed to say yes now before you backed out. You could deal with the consequences later. All that mattered was gaining the funds. You forced yourself to look at Chan as he looked between your eyes and hand. He must know how nervous you were. Still, you kept your hand steady, wanting to show your dedication to the deal. 

His icy hand came over to grab yours to shake. “I’ll get the money to you by tonight. I’ll summon you when I need your work. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

Truthfully, you had no preparation for what was coming. It was too late now. Chan made good on his word. Roughly twelve hours later, he visited your home to hand you the gold. He wished your father luck with his health before leaving without another word. You appreciated the discretion from him. You kept the details of the meeting to yourself, not wanting the rest of your family to know. Regardless, the reassurance of the gold perked even your father up. Your uncle would leave with him in the morning to Rellbridge. A few days of travel for the higher chance of recovery. 

While growing up, your family often took trips to the river outside the city. The river was wide, running cold even in the middle of the heat wave summer brought. A small patch of land sat in the middle of the river. Grass covered the stretch of land with a large tree sitting in the middle. 

Your older brothers often swam across to the island. All three of them were adventurous, risk takers, or foolish, as your mother said. You never went deeper than waist high into the water. The river was deceiving. Eerie peacefulness on the top with a sweeping current able to surprise anyone if not prepared. 

The boys loved the challenge. 

However, teenage boys can be cruel, teasing you about how scared you were, teasing how everyone else can swim across the small stretch with ease. You always wanted to prove them wrong. 

You practiced, grew as a swimmer overall. Determined to show not only were you capable, but willing to conquer your fear. Once you were ready, you swallowed down the uneasiness and took the risk. The rush was exhilarating. You had done what you considered impossible. Even beating two of your brothers. 

Thinking back on such events only motivates you today. As childish as it is, fear can’t run your life. The task is normal for many, so it's not a big deal. Stock workers provide blood every day. So can you. 

As you did before, you take a deep breath now and walk up the estate steps. 

The estate Chan owns is busy at all hours of the day. A true epicenter of the town. You could find several of the clan members here at various times. Besides them, a human city council was here in one wing of the estate. The group oversaw the town during the day, dealing with a majority of human affairs. Civil issues that didn’t require Chan’s attention. Either way, people are coming or going. 

When you made it inside, one of Chan’s staff greeted you. Thankfully, Chan had informed the staff earlier about your arrival.

“I can escort them.” Says a voice coming from behind you. A quick glimpse back revealed one of the younger leaders you knew as Seungmin. “Follow me.”

“Thank you for the help.”

“It’s not a problem.” Seungmin shrugged indifferently. “This house is a maze.”

The walk is quiet. You stay on Seungmin’s heels, avoiding several groups of people moving throughout the home. How Chan finds any peace here is surprising. 

Rounding a corner, Seungmin almost collided with Felix. “Oh Seungmin! I was looking for you. I need your help.”

“Let me drop this human off and I’ll come with you.” Seungmin half turns to you. “What’s your business, anyway?”

“Uh, an arrangement. I am to offer my blood.”

“I see. A blood favor.” Seungmin nods, continuing to lead you down the familiar hallway to Chan’s office. “You should be ecstatic. People beg to be in your position. Be thankful for this intimate opportunity. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

You hesitated to respond. Felix seemed to pick up the uneasiness, giving a playful swat against Seungmin’s arm. “He is teasing you. Ignore him, we all do.”

“There is truth in my words.”

“Even if that may be, don’t scare the poor human.” Felix points to a nearby door. One you recognize from before. “It’s there. Go inside.”

After a quick word of thanks, you slipped past the heavy doors into the office. Chan is already at his desk this time, engrossed in a heap of papers. His hand scribbled with a pen over the stack. He doesn’t look up, only offering a word. “Yes?”

“I came as quickly as I could.” 

“Ah, forgive me,” says Chan, looking up for a moment. He stops writing, places the pen back in the holder, and collects the papers to tuck away in a desk drawer. “I must have lost track of time. Please, come closer.”

Anxiety twisted your stomach as you walked across the office. A quick wipe of your hands against your clothing couldn’t stop the nervous sweat from forming. 

In reality, you are safe. 

The safest place in the entire world, to be honest. Yet, the idea of an undead creature taking your life force for sustenance is jarring. Once again, you remind yourself how stock workers provide this service and have for years. They live full enjoyable lives; you tell yourself. You can do this. 

Perhaps Chan can read minds after all this time in existence. His first words on the matter are a question laced with concern. “Are you sure about this? Speak now if you have any hesitation.”

“Yes. I am here by free choice, and not by force. I swear.”

“If you are uncomfortable, please tell me. We’ll go back to the original arrangement. You can always pay the loan back. I’m sure friends of the family would help.”

“I don’t have the money.” You shake your head. Now is not the time to debate your decision, already having mustered up the strength to show up. Pushing the annoyance down, you plead with Chan. “Please, let’s just do this. I can close the debt sooner and it’s easier for all of us.”

“Alright. I don’t want you to feel this is your only choice.”

You stand your ground with your response. Chan doesn’t press the subject further. Instead pushes his chair backwards to create space between the desk and himself. He pats a knee, encouraging you to sit. Your eyes widen. He’s suggesting you sit on his lap? You may know each other well, but this is a wild request. 

Take a deep breath. The proximity is so he can feed. That’s all it is. There is nothing to worry about. 

With that in mind, you sit on his knees. 

Chan is breathtaking up close. He’s seen death, been through wars, lived hundreds of years, and yet no signs of aging. He remains as he was when turned. 

Your eyes meet his. They search yours, watching with curiosity, trying to read your face. The intimidation is still there even when he doesn’t mean it. You swear he can see through you. Straight down to your beating heart.

Can he see how it skips a beat? 

Unable to keep eye contact any longer, your gaze drops to his lips. Though even with paled skin, his lips still hold color. Still plush and inviting. It’s no secret that many find Chan handsome. Plenty of people in the city gossip about him, about his lips, and the cost they would pay for one kiss. Seungmin wasn’t wrong. You can name several friends who would envy such a moment up close. 

Chan’s voice stirs you from your thoughts. “Your heart is beating so fast.” 

Words remain trapped in his throat. What can you say? This was not what you expected. Most stock workers don’t elaborate on their work. Now Chan acts so casual with you on his lap. Even a hand on your thigh to keep you from slipping off. 

“What are you so afraid of?” He asks, voice low. “You’ve known me for years and I’ve never hurt you.”

All you can focus on is the hand on your thigh. His other hand sneaks around your frame to hold you to him. The contact causes goosebumps to form where he touches. He expects you to be calm? 

“It’s not you.” You attempt to keep your voice stable. “I’ve never been in such a position before.”

“With a vampire?”

“With anyone.”

“Well, that is something you don’t hear every day.” Your gaze immediately settles somewhere across the room. The playful tone in his voice causes you to regret the sudden confession. “Lucky for me to be your first.”

Mercifully, Chan doesn’t tease you more. Only asking for confirmation to continue one last time. Still, you don’t back down. You take another deep breath, ready to get this moment over with. 

The hand on your thigh moves, coming up to brush the hair away to expose your neck. You curse at yourself. You could have made his life easier by wearing it up or out of the way. Chan doesn’t appear bothered. “I’ll be as merciful as I can be. I’ll only take a moment. Try not to move too much.”

You tilt your head to the side, feeling his soft lips against your neck. A shaky sigh leaves you as his lips continue to ghost over the skin, searching, looking for a pulse. You didn’t expect the gentleness from Chan. Not from the creature who has single-handedly taken out a group of elite vampire hunters. 

The sharp pinch of his fangs sinking into the skin catches you off guard. You try your best to keep still as a board. I’ll only take a moment. The words echo in your head. A hand of yours grabs a fistful of his shirt to ground yourself. You fight every instinct to not to pull away from him. 

A small whimper slips past your lips, causing Chan’s grip to tighten around you, keeping you trapped against him. An occasional groan leaving him reverberates through his chest as he continues to feed. You let your eyes shut, waiting for him to finish. As time ticked on, you grew weaker. 

A ‘mere moment’ went on for an eternity.

At last Chan pulls away, hand reaching for a handkerchief out of his pocket to bring to the bite. Your hand replaced his, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. 

The gentle touch returned, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. “Try not to move. Give yourself a moment.”

“Your touch is comforting.” You mumble out. “I didn’t expect that.”

“I may be undead, but I don’t lack sympathy.”

You tried to focus on his words. The gears in your brain are stuck in mud, sluggish while trying to process. The patterned rug in front of you spun. Your eyes trail over to the clock in the room. The hands were blurry. No matter how much you blinked to clear your vision, the dizziness grew. Closing your eyes provided some relief. Chan’s advice seemed reasonable. You were in no rush to move. The thought of walking seemed risky. 

It couldn’t have been more than a second. You don’t remember passing out. Only realizing what occurred when coming to. Your eyes flutter open, taking in the surroundings. You were in a bedroom of some sort. Thick dark curtains are drawn shut. The room is dim, only illuminated by a lamp on the nightstand by you. The eiderdown quilt covering you was soft under your fingers. Chan spared no expense on his belongings. 

Chan. 

The bite. 

The sound of him feeding off of you came back. 

Your fingers trailed up to your neck. The area is tender to the touch. Two small marks remained where his fangs pierced the skin. The wounds have scabbed over. 

Did he place you here? 

You smiled to yourself. How kind of him. There was a couch in his office. He could have left you there. Instead, he placed you in a bed, tucked under the blankets to stay warm. 

Speaking of the vampire, he came through the door across from you. “She awakens.”

“How long was I out?”

“Only an hour.” Chan saunters over. He sits on the edge of the bed, hand extended beside you to the nightstand where a glass bottle sits. “I had them prepare this for you.”

“What is it?”

“Beetroot juice. It will help you. Or so Felix tells me. He’s got more knowledge than I do.”

You accept the bottle from Chan. The juice is a dark plum color. The taste itself is earthy but bitter. Even with the added hint of honey, it’s not pleasant to consume. You sip with no rush to finish the juice. 

“Awful, I know.” Chan picks up on the distaste. “Visit the clinic when you can. Felix can test your blood. We have medication for those who are anemic. I believe they’re called Blaud’s pills. They’re common among a couple of our stock workers.”

“I’m sorry for all this inconvenience.”

“Oh nonsense. I’m sorry for the trouble I caused you. You did so good for me.”

The simple praise sends a wave of warmth through you. Good? For him? Your mind tries to run with his words. Heart fluttered at such a comment. You inwardly scold yourself for thinking his words mean anything more than generic friendliness. You try to squash your thoughts down.

“How often do you need me?”

“Not every day.” Chan let out a chuckle at your sigh of relief. “Every couple of days will suffice. We can make a schedule. To be fair to each of us.” Chan places a hand on your knee, thumb caressing you over the blanket. The smile he offers seems genuine. “Please rest as long as you need. It’s no trouble for me. Then go see Felix if you need to. He’s available.”

The feedings become easier. Chan required less blood thanks to the schedule you decided on. He revealed he was grateful for the blood favor. Without the agreement, Chan would have continued feeding inconsistently.

The excuse? 

He was too busy to feed. 

There were bigger issues, he said. Chan argued he could manage his hunger. No one was in danger. He knew his body, and his limits from years of experience. 

Truthfully, that wasn’t your concern. Your heart sank. The one working so hard to keep his city running sacrificed himself. The creature stretched himself thin. Not feeding causes a handful of issues. From overall weakness to slowed healing times. 

Chan was okay with these risks? 

He’ll at least feed consistently for the duration of the deal. That’s better than nothing. Stubbornness to help will keep you coming to the scheduled appointments. Especially now the fear is gone. 

Despite that, there is a new growing problem. The attraction you have is getting stronger. You tried to let the feelings go. He’s just being kind. The concern he shows for you is normal. You are a human while he’s a vampire. It’s nothing more than that. The lingering touches aren’t happening. A figment of your imagination. There is no possibility that he…

The thoughts melt away when Chan hoists you higher onto his lap. His lips are inches from yours. The full, swollen lips haunting your dreams for the last week. The same lips muttered the familiar line of praise of how good you are for him. 

That damn praise will be the death of you. 

If the proximity doesn’t take you out first. 

Your gaze often finds his lips. Today is no different. Watching them move when asking about your well-being. The second time he repeats himself is when you can speak. “I’m sorry. Being lightheaded is making me delirious.”

His lips curl up into a smile, voice lower, and taunting you. Almost as if he can see right through you. “And what makes you think that?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Self control flies out the window when Chan gives you permission. There is no hesitation as you close the distance, slotting your lips against his for a brief, timid kiss. You cling to any part of him your fingers can reach. He’s not close enough to you. Even with your whole body curling to press against his. You want another. A million more if possible. Every dream of his kiss doesn’t compare to the real thing. From the sound of things, the desire appears to be mutual. 

“Again.” Chan says in a hoarse whisper. “I want another taste of you.”

Chan’s fingers find your chin, pulling your face closer to him. He takes the lead this time around. You attempt to match his energy. Lips sloppily trying to follow. A warm sensation pools in your gut. In this moment, only the two of you exist in this time and space.  

Your chest tightens when you pull away to breathe. Reality sinks in like gravity, yanking you back down from the clouds you floated away to. You kissed the town’s leader. He allowed you, then asked for more.

“I shouldn’t…” you say, eyes wide in panic. “I…” 

“What’s wrong?” Concern flashes over the vampire’s face. “Whatever is the matter?”

Your mind races. What have you done? You were here to supply blood. What do you do now? The only plausible solution is to move to another city and never show your face again. Not only did you kiss this man, but it was your first kiss. You just kissed a 300-year-old vampire. Not some average man in the city. No, you saved it for a heat of the moment with Chan of all people without a second thought.

“Please tell me what’s causing this distress.” The vampire moves into your line of sight. His arms are the only reason you don’t melt into a puddle on the floor. The hold tightens when you attempt to squirm away. “Talk to me.” 

“I don’t know why I did that. I’ve never…” As your words trail off, Chan encourages you to continue. “No one has kissed me till today. A woman in her twenties and never been kissed. Oh, you must think I’m so pathetic.”

“No,” Chan coos, continuing to reassure you. “Of course not. You’re young. Still figuring life out. There is no rush for these experiences.”

This creature doesn’t understand what door he is opening. The sweet words that are only going to feed your delusion. This must be a dream. You can’t fathom a reality where this is happening to you. Now he sits in front of you with a grin on his face as if he is proud the series of events occurred.

“I am dreaming. I have to be.”

“But you’re not.” Chan leans in closer, lips almost touching your own once more. “Can I have another from you? I quite enjoyed myself.”

The creature knows his way with words. To be expected with his age. Such an extended time on earth he’s bound to learn a few lines. Your thoughts dip negatively. He must think you are clueless. Most of your knowledge comes from gossip among your friends and a few late night self indulgent moments. You never felt close enough to someone to try anything until now. 

The leap into the unfamiliar territory is magnetic with Chan. You have the free will to stop, but you don’t want to. No, you long to see where this moment goes. 

You kiss the vampire again. His lips distract your worries. You focus on the way his tongue slips past your lips to deepen the kiss, how one of his thumbs rubs comforting circles against the back of your hand, and you stop fighting the growing desire flourishing inside of you. 

“Do you want us to continue? Tell me what you want.” Chan asks. The serious tone is back when you nod. He’s not accepting the action as an answer. “Say it or I won’t.”

“I want you to kiss me again and I want you to touch me.”

“Good girl.” He praises. “You must understand consent and communication are very important. How will I know? Or if you want it? I can’t read minds.”

“I understand.”

“Good. You can deny anyone and everyone. The priority is you and what you want.” Chan’s hand tugs on the hem of your shirt. “Can I unbutton your blouse?”

Once Chan hears a vocal response, his fingers move with precision, undoing every single button. He peels back the flimsy material to reveal the thin undergarment. Icy fingers brush over your breast with a featherlight touch. Your breathing hitches with the gentle squeeze. He kneads the soft flesh, causing your nipples to harden from the teasing.  

“But what about the door?” You squeak out, realizing you answered before thinking of the consequences. Your head whips around to glance at the unlocked door. “We’re in your office.”

“Don’t worry. These are private quarters. No one enters without permission. Staff know not to let anyone in while you’re here. I wanted you to have privacy during the feedings.”

Privacy? Chan genuinely cared about your comfort. He thought about everything. 

“How is this?” He asks. “Good?”

“Yes.” You answer. Uneasy to ask for more. “But can you?”

“Can I do what, baby? Do you need my hands somewhere else? Show me where.”

“Here.” You reach for his hand, leading him down to your parted thighs and against your clothed pussy. “I need you here.”

A quick shift of your hips lets you grind against his hand. The wetness makes your clothing stick to your folds. It’s rough yet not a painful friction. One that sends a zing of pleasure up your spine. Yes, this is what you need. The contact provides some relief. 

“Do you want me to show you the pleasure you’ve never felt? It’s okay to want it. Don’t be ashamed.”

“Please.” Your words come out a whine. “I…I’ll go crazy. It’s not a terrible pain, but I ache.”

“I know.” Chan stands up, arms holding you to him. Your limbs tighten around him, clinging to avoid being dropped. You might as well be a feather in his hold. There’s no struggle as he crosses the room to a half opened bedroom door. “Let me take care of your hunger for taking care of mine.”

A soft kick to the door with his foot reveals the same room you woke up in the first time he fed. He places you down in the middle of the bed, hands helping remove the layers of clothes you have. You expected to be eager for the first time being intimate with someone. Yes, your stomach flips with anticipation, but Chan provides a safe space. One where you don’t feel vulnerable being naked. 

“Can you take this off?” You say tugging on his shirt.

“Whatever you wish.” Chan nods, not hesitating to shed the shirt, letting it fall off the side of the bed. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight. All the muscles hidden under his clothes are on display. Skin you desperately want to touch.  

The bed dips where Chan kneels on the bed. His callused hands are rough against your skin, running up and down your thighs. He lets you set the pace. When you are ready, you part your thighs. You chew on your bottom lip, trying to gauge his reaction. You were already wet when you crawled into his lap when you first arrived. Now you swear you are dripping down onto the bedding just from his hungry gaze. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbles. Chan starts at your knee. Lips placing soft kisses on your inner thighs moving higher. Your body buzzes with anticipation. The tingling sensation between your legs drives you mad. He knows you need relief, and he tortures you. He already proved how gentle he can be. Now you just want him to hurry and help. 

You couldn’t blink, afraid the beautiful sight in front of you would disappear. Or worse, another dream you would wake up from. Chan’s fingers ran over your slit experimentally. No set pattern. Just the soft, repeated action to let you get used to the sensation. Curiosity ate at you, wanting to know what it would feel like if his fingers slipped inside you. Maybe something else? Would Chan go that far if you allowed him? 

“Have you ever touched yourself like this?” Chan asks casually. His eyes are back on your face, waiting for the answer. “I ask only to know how slow I need to go.”

“Yes.” You moan, focusing on his fingers, finding your clit to circle. It’s distracting. Hard to focus on your words. “But I- Oh, it’s too embarrassing.”

“Tell me. I won’t laugh. Be honest with me.”

“I-I’ve grinded against a pillow.”

“Mmm, never thought I would be jealous of a pillow.” You groan, throwing an arm over your face to hide the embarrassment. Chan only chuckles in response. “I jest. I’m sorry.”

His fingers continue the methodical touch, earning him a few more soft moans from you. When you peek at him, he still has his eyes locked on you. “Would you like my finger? See how you like it?” Chan asks, well aware of your breath hitching at the suggestion. 

“Yes, please.” 

Cautiously, a finger dips inside of you. Experimental with the prodding, testing the waters of comfort. The sensation is indeed foreign, but not unpleasant. Not when knowing what pleasure is on the horizon. 

“You’re doing so good for me. Can I add another?” Chan rubs reassuring circles on the side of your hip with his other hand. You nod, relishing in this gentle side of him again. The side you never expected. Two weeks ago, you could panic talking to him and now you never could imagine cruelty from him. Especially when he speaks with praise. “You’re such a good girl. Look at you. Look how my fingers get sucked in.”

“Full. So full.”

“I have no doubts. Pretty hole of yours is greedy.”

A third finger slips in. Your hole stretches around the width, accepting more of him with ease. Even your body wants him with the same desire. All you can do is squirm in your spot. The familiar feeling of too much and not enough comes back. “Oh Chan! Please, that’s…”

“That’s what, baby girl? Tell me. Does it hurt?”

“No. I want more.”

“I already told you. Use your words.” He’s so calm, collected while you sit here falling apart on him. “Say it.”

“Can I have your cock?” The words are foreign to you. Words you never muttered to anyone. If someone else heard you, it would be embarrassing for you to say such things. At the moment, this is right, meant to be. “I wanna feel you.”

“Do you?” The amused grin is back on his face. A look of triumph. The creature wanted you to be a desperate mess in front of him. You realize the cocky bastard is teasing you. “Say please again.”

The word barely leaves your lips by the time Chan pulls away, eager to remove his remaining clothing. Seconds later he’s back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You are so exposed, but not a single ounce of fear. Not with Chan. 

His body is in your sight, trailing down the smooth expanse of his chest down to his hand where he strokes his cock absentmindedly. Your eyes widen in shock. “You won’t fit.”

“I assure you I can.” Chan chuckles while hovering over you. One hand rests by your head while the other lines the head of his cock against your wet pussy. He’s right there. The realization that Chan is the first to have you so intimately hits you. The soft, caring tone is back. “Breathe, just breathe for me. Remember, we’re in no rush.”

“Slowly, please.” “Of course. Tell me if it’s too much.” You only gasp when his cock slips into you. He stayed true to his word, taking his time as he inches deeper with shallow thrusts. The low guttural moan slips out of him. “Ah, so warm and tight.” 

Your desperate plea for a kiss is heard by the vampire, leaning down to capture your lips. As expected, everything he does is soft. This care, the touch, the push to allow you to enjoy the new experience at your own pace. Currently, you are the only other creature in this world besides him and he’s determined to show you the tenderness you deserve. 

“Let’s see if we can relax you.” Chan says while his fingers find your poor swollen clit again, still sensitive from earlier. 

“I feel,” Your hips squirm against the bed. “Oh I feel something.”

“Good.” Chan encourages. “Don’t fight it. Embrace it.”

As you always do, you trust Chan’s words, allowing your body to accept all his touches. An unfamiliar sensation hits you out of nowhere. Your wall clenches around his cock, core feeling a furious rush of pleasure spreading throughout our body. Its toe curling, powerful enough to drive your mind blank, replaced with a satisfying fuzziness. 

In a few seconds, the pleasure was gone as quickly as it arrived. The sound of his thrusts is louder now, with the wetness that formed. Chan can bury himself deep inside you now. Every inch of his cock inside your walls, moving back and forth, pulling almost all the way out to sink back to the hilt. The initial stretch subsides with your body getting used to his size. 

“There we go. Better?”

“Yes!” There is desperation in your voice when you speak. Arms wrapping around Chan’s neck to keep him close. “Please. I want it again. I want more.”

You can hear the smile on his face when he speaks. “You don’t even know what you are asking for.”

His kiss is hungry this time around, tongue slipping past your lips when you moan. Your own tongue is timid against his, unsure how to match his enthusiasm. Chan doesn’t appear bothered with your inexperience, rather enjoying every second. 

Chan pulls away, sitting back on his knees when you need air. His hands are on your hips once more, pulling you closer to him, eyes locked on your pussy. “You take my cock nicely. So gorgeous when I fuck you.”

No one has ever addressed you in such a brazen manner. Hell, you have never heard Chan speak this way to anyone. Yet something about how the vampire speaks with a face full of adoration makes you want to encourage him. Just as his words inspire thoughts you never thought you would say out loud.

“You’re so deep inside.” You gasp out, hand trailing down to your lower stomach. If you dared to look down, you swear you could see him. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Chan’s gaze darkens. Your words appear to have the same effect on him. He leans forward, muscular forearms keep you trapped underneath him. All you can do is cling to him as his pace quickens. There is a proud smile on his face as your nails dig into his flesh. 

His thrusts are relentless. Chan’s shaped like a man, but fucks like a beast with the way he doesn’t tire out, able to maintain the consistent pace, and forcing another orgasm out of you. Thoughts melt away other than the pleading for more. He may drive you insane with how effortlessly he can bring you pleasure in a matter of minutes. 

“I will ruin you in the best way possible.” Chan growls in your ear. “I swear, no one will ever compare. They will dream of the pleasure I can bring you.”

You believe him. 

Chan is running late today. You sat in his office, watching the time tick by at an agonizingly slow pace. The clock across the room revealed two hours had gone by. You heard from the staff that he was out of town on his way back this morning, yet the sun had risen. 

You stayed unsure what to do. Most of the time, the wait minimal. Chan is a busy man, but he tried to make sure to not keep you waiting. He knew you had the business to keep operating. Today, a Saturday, you could handle a late opening. 

When Chan came through the office door, you could see the front of his shirt torn with several large gashes. The once white fabric now stained a dark red, undoubtedly blood. The material soaked, caked in enough that it was still wet. You have never witnessed Chan hurt anyone. Not even a bug. However, it didn’t mean he wasn’t capable. 

The leader froze, hearing you gasp. His face mirroring your shocked look. “I forgot I summoned you. It’s not human if that is your concern. A vampire’s blood.”

“What happened?”

“There was a vampire terrorizing cities.” Chan fumed as he crossed the distance to the fireplace. He aggressively ripped the shredded shirt off his body. Without a second thought, he tossed the remains in the flames. “I was tracking her for a while now, in case she neared us. I assumed the hunters would kill her, but she was clever. Slipped out of their grasp a few times now. She was foolish enough to come close.”

Your heart nearly caved in on itself at the sight in front of you. Chan survived a mauling. Large lacerations covered his broad back.

Vampires heal at a sped up rate. 

Yet Chan wasn’t. 

Your arms wrapped around your knees. You were unsure how to help. A million questions ran through your head. Should you offer your blood? Would yours be enough? Was he even in the mood? 

Chan’s fist slammed against the wood banister, causing you to flinch. “She threatened everything I have created!”

Cautiously, you unfolded your limbs. Pushing off the couch, it took only a few strides to close the distance. You placed a hand on his shoulder. Chan’s tense body relaxed under your touch.

“Come.” You muttered. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Chan turned, moving away. He headed straight for the connected bathroom. You followed, allowing the vampire to continue to vent. The annoyance radiated off, hotter than the sun. “We can coexist. We have for centuries, but there are a select few that will go to the ends of the earth to stop it. Human and vampire.”

Chan plugs the sink, running the hot water to fill the basin. The steam fogs up the mirror in front of you. You could barely make out how only your reflection showed up. He half turns to face you. “I hope you never have to run into either.”

“It’s a shame. You care for all of us without a second thought, and yet the church still thinks you’re an abomination.”

“They assume we keep you for livestock.”

“We’re not.” You huff. Anger courses through you. “We have freedom. No one holds us here.”

“I know. They say you need liberation.” Chan digs around the drawers near his sink. He pulls out a rag, which he aimlessly tosses into the water. His jaw is clenched tight. His fists rest on the counter. You worry he may break the counter out of rage. “The worst part about tonight? She wasn’t alone. She had a newborn. A young man, a boy. So young and lost.”

“What will happen to him?”

“He will stay. I will undo what she has taught him.” Chan let out a sigh, shutting off the water. “If you have other obligations, you may leave. I can find a stock worker.”

“No, I’ll stay.” You closed the distance between you two. Your hand reaches into the warm water, fingers brushing Chan’s fingers to take the rag from him. He turns to face you, leaning against the counter, watching you wring out the excess water before bringing it to his chest to wipe away the dried blood. 

“I can do it myself, you know?”

“I am aware. You always take care of us. Let me take care of you.” You peek up at Chan to see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, amused by your words. You asked for clarification on his gaze. “What is it?”

“Those innocent eyes of yours are trouble for me.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yes you do or you wouldn’t have waited for me this morning.”

“I waited because I am in debt to you.” You explain, hand still working to clean the last few spots of blood off his skin. “I respect you enough to work around your needs.”

Chan’s hand found yours to stop you. Smile gone, replaced with concern. “If you are uncomfortable with what happened between us, you must tell me. I want your honesty.”

“Uncomfortable, yes, but not for the reasons you are assuming.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I lack experience.” You shrug. “I’m a fool in front of you.”

“Then I will teach whatever you desire to learn if you wish.”

Your eyes find the floor, attempting to hide how flustered the suggestion makes you. All you want is more of Chan. To feel his hands on you again. For him to recreate that pleasure. You tried at home with your own touch. It wasn’t enough to bring back that rush of bliss no matter what you tried. You gave up in defeat, too frustrated at the lack of release.

Now the simplest touch had your body reacting, tingling with desire. One glance from him had your thighs pressing tight. You craved him. Anything to have his mouth, his hands, and his cock. Nearly going delirious with your desire for him. You were nearing hysterics. One night with him and you were losing self control. Ready to offer your entire body to him. 

He will entertain the idea. How could you turn down such a tempting offer?

Chan takes the rag from you, letting it fall back into the water. “Tell me, did you touch yourself at the thought of me?”

“I tried, but it wasn’t the same as you.” You shake your head, frustrated with the blank expression on the vampire’s face. “That look…You think I’m a fool. Or worse, pathetic.”

“No, never. It would honor me to be the one to show you the world of pleasure.”

“We shouldn’t talk about this now. You need to feed. You need to heal. That should be our priority.”

“I’m fine. Right now, I want you. I need you.” Chan reached for your hand, guided down to his crotch. He holds it against the hardened bulge. You gasp, surprised to learn how you affect him. The hand over yours tightens the grip. “See what you do to me? 300 years on this earth and one touch from you drives me to insanity.”

“Chan, I-“

Both of Chan’s hands cup your face now. “Tell me it happens to you. That you need me as much as I need you.”

Chan needs you. The familiar wetness forms between your thighs. All it takes is his words. Because you need him too. He’s the only one that can make you feel this good. The both of you are two sides of the same coin. Two minds heading the same direction, craving to be connected. 

“Yes, I do. I give you all of me.”

The room is hot, your skin warm to the touch, yet his hands and lips are ice. Every moment of contact burns, not in pain, but a shock to your system. Chan turns you to face away from him, his chest flush against your back. The eagerness in him causes Chan’s fingers to fumble with pulling the hem of your dress up. You giggle, trying to help without getting in his way. His hand travels between your legs. You can’t move, trapped against his body. Two fingers slip inside with ease, scissoring in movement to prep you for him.

“Now what’s this?” He questions. Your attempt to pull away only encourages him. “I thought you wanted my touch. Why try to escape it now?”

“Please! Just…” Your words trailed off with a frustrated groan. His fingers aren’t enough. You want his cock, want the stretch, and the fullness again. 

“Patience, babe.” He mumbles behind you. A soft nibble on your ear lobe causes you to sink further into his hold. You can hear the smile in his voice. “I will take my time with you. My reward for surviving the night.”

His fingers never faltered. In and out, working you open. The orgasm is unexpected when it hits. Your hands ached, clinging to any part of Chan you could reach, needing to ground yourself. As well to keep you from falling because of your weak shaking knees. The lingering buzz of the orgasm fizzles out. 

You gasped as Chan’s fingers pulled out, gently circling your sensitive clit. Your hips shift away to ease the overstimulation. It’s no use, his fingers follow, keeping the attention on your clit. “Chan please. Enough of this teasing.” You whine, pressing your ass against him. He groans at the friction against his clothed cock. “Let me have you. Haven’t I earned it?”

“You will ride me. So I can watch your beautiful body. We’ve earned that today.”

Your response never makes it out of your mouth. Not when Chan stops touching you to guide you to the bedroom. Both of you haphazardly throw clothes across the room. The thin dress you wear almost tears off your frame out of excitement. 

Chan falls back in the bed with a huff, positioning himself in the middle, head resting on the pillows. You join soon after, knees on either side of his hips while your fingers work the length of his cock. Chan is the desperate one now, staring at you through half-lidded eyes. Breathy gasps and low groans from your teasing. He’s a work of art sprawled underneath you and for you alone. 

“I want to feel you deep inside me.” You say while shifting your hips forward. “I can’t wait a moment longer.”

Your hand guides Chan’s cock to your wet folds. His head tilts back, enjoying the wet warmth sheathing around him. Your eyes fluttered shut as you sank down onto Chan’s cock. Tiny, shaky breaths left you as stilled. The stretch is satisfying. You wanted to move, to savor the drag of his cock against your walls. Chan picked up on your eagerness as well, reminding you to be patient. Give your body time to adjust.

Slowly, you worked your hips up and down. Your hands rested on his chest for leverage. The familiar heat pulls into your gut. Even with this series of events happening so often, it’s delightful, as if for the first time. 

“There’s my good girl.” Chan grips your hips to help guide you up and down. “Nice and steady, baby. We don’t want you to tire out so soon, do we?”

“No,” you say between breaths, “I want to go as long as I can.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Something about the adoration on Chan’s face creates a warmth inside of you. He looks at you as if you are the only other being in this world. The sex you have together is something more. Perhaps your brain is teasing you with such an idea. There is no possibility of your town’s leader falling for you. The softness, the care for your wellbeing, and pet names he uses? It can’t be for nothing. 

Chan’s sudden words break you from your thoughts. “You’re thinking too much. Enjoy yourself.”

His eager fingers find your swollen clit, circling the bundle of nerves, causing you to clench around his cock. If you move, his fingers follow your movements, never breaking contact. He locked his eyes where you connect, watching his cock sink inside your wet hole. 

“Come on baby, don’t disappoint me. Give it to me.”

Your hips grind down, keeping Chan’s cock buried deep inside you. His fingers continue to tease your clit. The growing orgasm hits, pushing you over the edge. Pleasure rushes you, causing you to dig your nails into his chest. The last thing you see before closing your eyes is the satisfaction on Chan’s face. 

You pray he means it all. Hopefully, you are not just a play toy for the vampire, but something more. You want that reality. More than these sessions with him. Perhaps eventually you will have the courage to ask. Until then, you will enjoy every ounce of pleasure he brings to your body and you’ll soak up every praise that leaves his lips. 

Chan is in a better mood today. Rather, a playful one when he finishes feeding. Less blood loss means the weakness that follows isn’t dreadful. He still lets you rest on him. To check on your well-being, fingers sneak to your sides to tickle you. Your giggling fills the office. 

“Such a sweet moment ruined by you!”

“Ruined?” Chan playfully mocks. “Providing enjoyment is what you mean.”

“Oh, you are trouble.” 

“Trouble? You are the one causing trouble, and I am just a poor fool caught in your web.” Chan shifts you in his lap, helping you slot your knees on either side of his hips. His hands anchor around you to hold you in place. The amused expression changes, darkens to the familiar one of lust. “You danced in my mind during my meeting this morning when I should have been listening.”

“What did you imagine?”

“You, right here.” Chan says while hoisting you up in one fluid motion, forcing you on your back onto the desk. Contents on the desk fell off the edge. Official documents crumple under you. Chan is unbothered, eyes roaming over your body. “Spread out all pretty for me.”

Panic runs through you as your hand bumps an inkwell resting in the corner. The small container topples over. Black ink runs off the edge onto the rug below. A noise of shock leaves you concerned about the rug below. 

“Leave it.” Chan mumbles into your neck. “It’s fine.”

His lips are everywhere at once, kissing your lips, down your jaw, over the fading bite marks, to the sensitive places that cause you to cling to him. Chan thrives with your squirming, nowhere to go when his body keeps you pinned against the desk. All you can do is helplessly arch into him, hips shifting under him, to entice him to move on from his teasing. His touch becomes overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. 

“Chan, teach me.” You gasp out. “Teach me how to be good for you.”

“Is that what you want?” He mumbles across your skin. Lips placing kisses across a collarbone. “Teach you how to be perfect for me?”

“Yes.” You nod, hands wandering over his shirt down to the front of his trousers. “Tell me how to touch you, how to touch myself, the best position to present myself to you. I want to know it all.”

“How can I resist you?” Chan pulls away to bunch the fabric of your skirt against your stomach in a rush. A low groan slips past his lips. You are bare, no undergarments this time around. “You did this for me?” He asks, relishing in the small nod you offer in response. “How naughty.”

“Makes it easier for both of us.”

Chan watches as his fingers slip inside you with ease. The wet sounds of his fingers working in and out fills your ears. His voice lowers. “I’m sure the thought of me kept you soaked all day. So damn desperate for me.”

“Yes. Always think about you, too.” You gasp, head falling back. Your heart pounds in your chest. There is no shame in being so exposed in front of him, only desire now that you are comfortable fooling around with Chan. “I-I couldn’t even focus on work.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

A knock at the door caused you both to freeze. Not once during your sessions has there been an interruption. Chan doesn’t pull away. Two fingers curl inside of you, pressing against the familiar gummy spot. You bite your lip to muffle the moans threatening to come out. 

The knock occurs again. This time, a voice comes from the other side. “Sir, I apologize. You’re needed upstairs. It’s urgent.”

Chan huffs in annoyance. He struggles, contemplating what to do. To help the decision, you offer reassurance by saying you wait. You staffed the store well today. The employees won’t miss you. 

“I’ll be gone for only a moment.” Chan says, pulling away. He brings both of fingers in his mouth to suck the remnants of your taste. He gives one last remark before moving towards the door. “When I get back, I want you on your hands and knees naked on that bed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chan halts with his hand on the door handle. Your giggle breaks the playful glare he gives you. He leaves, shaking his head. A warmth of pride fills your chest. You may be weak at his praise, but the vampire is weak at the use of titles. A fun way you learned to even the playing field. 

Hopefully, using the title earns a fun reward. 

There is someone else in Chan’s office when you come in tonight. A vampire. One you have never seen before. Chan motions you closer when sensing your hesitation. 

Elegance is the first word that comes to mind when you see the vampire up close. His posture is straight as a board while he sits. The suit on his thin, lanky frame is pristine, not a wrinkle anywhere. It’s sinful how beautiful this vampire is. Sharp features paired with big doe eyes that briefly glance over at you. His voice is soothing when he speaks to Chan. It’s not uncommon for outsiders to visit town. This is the first time you have seen another vampire that isn’t one of Chan’s creations. 

Chan grins when you come over to him. “This is Seonghwa. He is our neighbor. An elder of Hongjoong’s coven.”

“Hello,” you mumble shyly before turning to Chan. “I can come back later when you are free.”

“Nonsense. Stay with me. We won’t be long. He has another meeting with Jisung after this.” 

You want nothing more to sink into Chan’s embrace. Though the two of you are not open about the relationship you have. If it even is a relationship. That’s another reason you are here. To ask for clarification. If this is still just business to your leader or if it’s something more. 

The arm snaking around your waist to pull you into his lap reassures you. Chan wants you here, besides him. He’s willing to show you off in front of another coven leader. If you meant nothing, this public affection wouldn’t happen. 

Chan goes on with the conversation. “It’s true though. I killed her.”

“An ancient one? I’m impressed, Chan. Years of the church hunting her and you destroy her in one night.”

“I had too. Hongjoong would do the same. I told him I would take care of her. He needed to deal with that hunter infestation.” 

“An inconvenience.” A sigh left the other vampire. “But under control.” 

“Seonghwa, you understand that Hongjoong’s ways are not practiced here. Fewer eyes are on us. It’s why you see so many hunters.”

The other vampire rolls his eyes. “No, we have hunters because we are closer to the coast.” 

“Even more reason not to attract attention. He’s set in his ways, I know, but you must break some of his habits. Before it gets worse.”

“So you let your humans suffer?”

“We are careful. No, selective is a better word.” Chan leans forward to pick up a small glass container sitting in the middle of his desk. “If this works as well as you say, then even better for us.”

“Try it.” Seonghwa suggests. “Works on old and fresh wounds.” 

The smell of floral hits your nose when the jar is opened. Chan dips a finger into the dark salve, pulling out a small amount. You lean away from his approaching finger. There are a million concerns. The most prominent being the lack of knowledge of what ingredients are in the foreign substance. 

“It’s safe. A medicine to help the pain.” Chan’s voice is soft when he speaks. He waits to see if you continue to protest. You relax in his hold, tilting your head to the side to expose the freshest bite. 

The tension in your body melts the second the salve comes in contact with the bite. All the remaining pain dissipates. You can release the breath you were holding thanks to the relief. 

“See, always trust me.” Chan offers a reassuring smile. He allows you to take the jar to examine, already returning to his conversation with Seonghwa. “The compelling isn’t helping either. It can wear off.”

“Compulsion is not used often. An old practice. Not practical. Only used for interrogation.”

“All I ask of you is to be careful.” Chan heaves a sigh. “Onto other news, I heard Felix accepted the apprentice.”

“Yes.” Seonghwa smiles wide, fond of the person they discuss. “I think she can do a lot of good with proper training. My background lacks modern medicine. She’s eager to learn.”

You tune out the conversation. The topics are of no real importance to you. Nor is it any of your business. Truth be told, Chan was distracting you. The hand wrapped around you wanders under the hem of your blouse so the pads of his fingertips found a sliver of bare skin on your side. The soft, mindless caressing was feather light. Every brush sent a tingle through you. Such a harmless action. Though one that ignites something inside you. 

Eventually, Seonghwa stands from his seat, pulling on his jacket. “Thank you Chan. Now excuse me, Jisung is waiting. I don’t think I’ll be much help, but I will tell him what I know. I will take your advice and talk to Hongjoong as well.”

“If anyone can convince him, it’s you. He listens to you.”

“He does on occasion. The benefit of being his partner.” Seonghwa’s gaze turns to you. He points at the jar. “Please use the salve when the pain starts. It will help.”

Without another word, Seonghwa leaves. The office door shuts as the two of you remain in silence for a few minutes. Chan’s touch doesn’t stop. The question you wanted to ask is on the tip of your tongue. All you have to do is say it. Then you will finally have your answer. You can stop stressing over it. 

“What is troubling you? Hm?” Chan questions with concern. His other hand finds your chin to turn your face towards his. “I figured you were nervous because of Seonghwa, but your heart still beats so fast.”

You search Chan’s eyes. How could you ever have feared this man? Surreal how the short time has changed your entire outlook on him. Now, his charm has entrapped you. Stuck in love, desperate to know if it’s mutual. Perhaps he can shatter your delusion lightly. He’s been consistent with his kindness with you. 

You swallow the lump in your throat before mustering the courage to speak. “I can not fall in love with you.”

“Why not? Am I not worthy of your love?”

“No, the opposite.”

“You should never say such things.”

“You can have anyone. Why a woman with a silly crush?”

“Because she cares for me.” Chan’s hand brushed the hair away from your face. “She sees me at my lows and still wants to ease the burden. One of the few that makes me realize I’m cared for.”

It’s an honest answer. Straight from the source. An answer you didn’t expect. You spent so much time doubting the possibility his feelings were genuine, you never expected this as a reality. Butterflies swarm in your stomach. Any words you have for a response twist your tongue, keeping you silent. 

“If you wish to end this, I won’t stop you. The choice is always yours to make. I ask, for me, to consider waiting a little longer. A chance to let us flourish.”

“No!” you cry out, stomach lurching in panic. The outcry causes Chan to chuckle. Your words come out in a rush. “I want to continue. It scared me to bring it up.”

“Such a silly human.” He places a kiss on your forehead, following his words. Another on the tip of your nose. A final one on your lips. “Stop being afraid to tell me how you feel. I thought we were over this.”

Chan shushes your protest with another kiss, distracting you from your thoughts. There is no fight for dominance when the kiss deepens. Only a soft push and pull from not being close enough. He leaves you breathless every time. 

Chan is the one to pull away, knowing you won’t. The corners of his mouth curl up. He relishes in satisfaction knowing he’s the cause for the longing consuming every fiber in your being. 

“I hear your father is making a wonderful recovery.”

“He is, thanks to you.” You wrap your arms around his neck. “He’s excited to come home, to go back to work. The happiest he’s been in years. We wish to pay you back.”

“It’s unnecessary. You already paid the debt.” Chan shakes his head. “Your family owes me nothing.”

“But you don’t run a charity, your words.”

“A leader is only as strong as his people. I have to put their care first.” The corners of his lips turn down towards the floor. Remorse heavy in his voice. “I often say things in the heat of stress and regret it afterwards. Something I’ve always struggled with.”

“But you still helped.” You respond, not missing a beat. A hand of yours ghosts over his chest. “You say you have no heart. The one under this flesh from when you were human is still here. It may not be exactly like ours, but that doesn’t mean you lack one.”

Chan nods, staying silent. Your brows knit together in confusion. Something else appears to be on his mind. It’s unusual to see him struggling to find words. You encourage him to speak. 

“Changbin’s birthday is coming up. The town is celebrating.” Chan clears his throat, now speaking with more confidence. You can’t help but smile at the nervousness he has over a simple question. Over 300 years on this earth and he can still get flustered. “I want you by my side. Would you be interested in being in my company for the party?”

“I’d feel honored to go with you, but I’ll need to find something to wear.”

“I won’t protest you being naked.” Chan mumbles while nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. His soft lips brush over the familiar sensitive spot. He nearly distracts you from his words. You smack his arm lightly, earning you a nip in the skin of your neck in retaliation. Chan pulls back with a smile. “You are too easy to tease. I’ll contact a seamstress. I’ll have them make you something for the event. How’s that?”

“Better. Do I have to earn it?”

“I can think of an arrangement.”

Your eyes roll in response. Chan’s playful mood is a welcome addition. You hope it stays a while. He deserves happiness. He deserves these moments of peace after the chaos being a leader brings. Your heart swells with love, knowing you can provide this space for him. He can tune the rest of the world out and collect himself. You want nothing more for him and you plan to continue showering him with affection. For as long as you can.

Series Masterlist

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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.

“I... What? That’s not— You weren’t supposed to come at all.”

“You sounded overwhelmed.” He smooths the rug, stands, and finally looks at you. His pupils don’t dilate like other people’s when the light changes. They stay steady. “I brought you lunch.”

A neat brown bag sits on the counter with your name written in small, clean letters. You hate that it’s the right bread.

“Minho, stop.” Your keys go down too hard; the sound jumps. “You embarrassed me. My manager thinks we’re— That you’re—”

“Caring?” he offers mildly.

“Controlling.”

Something in the air tightens like a violin string turning to pitch. Minho tilts his head a fraction, as if listening for a sound only he can hear. “She thinks many things. Most of them are inaccurate.”

“She asked me if I was okay.”

“Were you?” He says it like reading a recipe: tell me quantities; I will adjust the heat.

“That’s not the point!” You hear your voice hit the wall and come back thinner. “This isn’t— healthy. You tracked my commute last week. You corrected my calendar invites. You ‘fixed’ my phone so now it mirrors to your iPad and when I asked why, you said—”

“—so I can help when you forget,” he finishes, as if you should be grateful he remembers your lines. “You hate forgetting. It overwhelms you. It makes you cry.”

Heat climbs your neck. “I cry because you make me feel like a child.”

Minho blinks. “Don't be ridiculous. I'm not a pedophile.”

“Minho.”

He studies you the way he studies new knives—checking weight, balance, what it will cut cleanest. “You’re shaking,” he observes. “That’s the adrenaline. Sit for a moment and let your body catch you up.”

“I don’t want to sit.”

He nods once. “Then stand. But stop clenching your jaw. It gives you headaches.”

The room has that oppressive quiet that makes appliances sound too loud. The fridge hums. The clock ticks and misses once every minute like a heartbeat with a stutter. Minho steps around the coffee table and lines the TV remote parallel to the edge—two millimeters of adjustment that feels like a verdict.

“You called my mom,” you say, because the other things are too many to hold. “You told her I was tired.”

“You were.”

“You made me sound incompetent.”

“I made you sound like someone who should be protected from requests she doesn’t owe anyone,” he says, and the gentleness in it makes you want to throw something. “She agreed.”

“She always agrees with you, she loves you. Everyone loves you.”

He smiles a tiny, closed-mouth smile. “Yes.”

You swallow. “I’m not an experiment.”

“Of course not,” he says. “Experiments can fail. You do not.”

“Stop—” You press your palms to your eyes hard enough to spark shapes. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Making it sound like love when it’s control.” The words come out hot and shaky. “You rearranged my cupboards while I was in the shower.”

“The spices were alphabetical by brand,” he says, faintly appalled. “You don’t cook by brand.”

“That’s not the point!”

“It is to me.” He says it without malice, without anything at all—like you’ve both stated your preferences and now he’s writing them on a list.

You breathe. You count. Ironically, it's the method he taught you to calm you down when you get upset. “This is wrong, Minho. It’s sublte, which makes it worse. I walk in and I can feel the outline of where you want me to stand.”

“You’re standing in it,” he notes. “By the door, three feet in. You always do that when you’re about to say something you can’t unsay.”

The clock misses its beat again. Your stomach drops with it. “Then listen,” you say, and your voice steadies in the way voices do right before they break. “I want to break up.”

Nothing moves. Even the hum under your soles feels like it tips and waits.

Minho’s expression doesn’t change. He sets the remote down exactly where it was and puts both hands in his pockets like that will keep them polite. “All right,” he says.

You blink. “All—”

“Right,” he repeats, level, like a surface that doesn’t ripple when you throw a stone.

You feel stupid for bracing for the wrong kind of fight. “You’re not— You’re not going to argue.”

“You’re telling me your preference,” he says. “I’m listening.”

“It’s not a restaurant order,” you snap, because anger is easier than whatever this is. “It’s a boundary.”

“I heard it.” A pause. “You think I haven’t heard it before?”

Your chest tightens. “Have you?”

He doesn’t answer. He looks at your keys instead. “You should put those in the dish,” he says after a moment. “You forget easily when you’re upset and that'll just make you cry again.”

“Minho.” Your hands open. “Stop managing me.”

His smile is very small. “You’re asking me to stop loving you the only way I know how.”

“That’s not love. That’s... That’s colonization.”

He laughs once. “You're being dramatic.”

“No, I'm being honest.” You inhale until it hurts. “I don’t feel like a person with you. I feel like a project.”

He nods once, as if the word slots neatly into a file he already labeled. “Then we’ll stop.”

You were ready for a cage you could rattle, not an open door you can’t see the threshold of. “That’s it?”

He tilts his head. “What would you like it to be?”

“I want you to say you understand.”

“I do.”

“I want you to... I don’t know. React.”

“I am reacting,” he says, and you know that he is. This is Minho’s version of panic—the way his attention narrows, the way he looks at your mouth every time you say “I” like he’s counting how many more times you’ll use it in this room.

“I’m serious,” you say, hating your own doubt. “This is the end.”

“Of this version,” he agrees.

Something cold slips under your ribs. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, patient as a professor, “that you’re declaring a boundary and I’m honoring it. We won’t speak for a while. You’ll sleep better the first night. Worse the second. By the fourth, you’ll discover your hands shake when you pour coffee. By the seventh, the quiet will feel like a large room in a museum—beautiful, echoing, and not for touching.”

You stare. “Are you—predicting me?”

“Observing.” He shrugs lightly. “You’re more pattern than you think.”

You want to scream. You don’t. “Don’t text me,” you say. “Don’t come to my work. Don’t talk to my mother. Don’t leave things at my door.”

“All right.”

The simplicity is so clean it burns. You wait. He doesn’t fill the silence. He lets it grow tall as a wall.

“Don’t text me,” you say again, each word put on the table like a knife that doesn’t shine. “Don’t show up at my job. Don’t talk to my friends. Don’t talk to my mother. Don’t touch my accounts. Don’t leave food. Don’t ‘fix’ anything. Just—” your mouth trembles and you hate it— “leave me alone. I’m serious.”

Minho looks at you for a long, even breath. Then a small, unhelpful smile folds one corner of his mouth. “You are,” he says, and the softness of it makes you want to throw the lunch bag at the wall. “You are very cute when you use your big girl voice.”

“Don’t condescend me.”

“I’m not.” He tips his head. “I like it.” He glances at your keys still not in the dish, at the jacket still on your shoulders. “It makes me want to package your life in bubble wrap, which is exactly the impulse you are naming, so—” he opens his hands.

“Minho.” Your throat hurts. “Stop playing the professor.”

“Mm.” He reaches for his phone. “All right. Field work.”

You flinch, expecting him to text someone, fix something. He turns the screen so you can see: his contact card for you. He taps three settings—Emergency Bypass: Off. Favorite: Removed. Focus Exceptions: None. Then he scrolls to a device list and unpairs Your iPhone from Minho’s iPad. A polite notification bleeps from your pocket a second later. Device no longer sharing. He lays the phone on the table like a priest setting down a Bible.

“There,” he says. “No mirroring. No priority. I’ll archive our threads. I’ll mute your name. I’ll set a rule on my inbox so your email routes to a folder I won’t check.” His eyes stay on yours. “I will leave you alone.”

You wait for the but. He doesn’t give it. The room hums. The clock skips its beat again.

“Say you heard me,” he prompts, mild.

“I heard you.”

“Good.” He reaches for the brown bag without looking at you. “And since you don’t want it, I’ll take the lunch home.” He extracts it neatly. “You can be furious that I remembered your bread some other day.”

“Minho.” Your palm presses down on the table, steadying your voice. “I’m not bluffing.”

“I know.” He sets the bag beside his keys. “You’re very serious. It’s adorable.”

“And if you show up anywhere—home, work, gym—I’ll call security.”

“Of course.”

“You think I won’t.”

His brows lift a millimeter. “You will,” he says, perfectly agreeable. “If you see me.” 

If you see me. The words send an uncomfortable prickling sensation up your spine.

He nods at the door. “This is the part where you ask me to hand over my key.”

“Give me your key.”

He walks to the entry, lifts the small ceramic dish, and tips it. A silver key falls into his palm. He puts it on the console and steps back like he’s finished a magic trick. “Done.”

He watches your face for the visible wobble and does nothing to exploit it. 

“Minho.” You keep your feet in the outline he named by the door. “Please leave me alone.”

“All right.” He slides his hands back into his pockets. “Here is what ‘alone’ will be, so you don’t confuse it with cruelty.” He counts on his fingers, not performative, just inventory. “I won’t initiate contact. If you message me, I won’t reply. If you call, I won’t pick up. If you are unsafe, you will call emergency services, not me.” His eyes flicker, a hairline crack of irritation at that but he smooths it. “I won’t speak to your mother. I won’t speak to your friends. I won’t nudge your calendar, correct your grammar, or pay your parking tickets. I will not show up anywhere you haven’t explicitly asked me to be.” He tilts his head. “And because you’re serious, you’ll block me, and you’ll mean it for… let’s call it two weeks.”

You swallow. “Longer.”

“Maybe.” He’s not arguing; he’s humoring your projection. “Because you’re serious.”

“I am.”

“I know.” He takes a small step closer—not enough to crowd, enough to make you feel measured. “And because I love you, I will leave you alone even though you’re very bad at being alone.”

“Fuck you.”

“Mm.” He glances at your jaw. “Unclench.”

You do, and hate that you do.

He checks his watch—not to rush you, just to mark the shape of the moment. “I’ll go now,” he says. He reaches to straighten the collar of your jacket and stops himself an inch away, fingers hovering. “Ah. Right.” He steps back. “Leaving you alone includes leaving your collar misaligned.”

You swallow, because there’s something about the almost-touch that feels worse than anything he’s done to a password.

He studies you for one second longer than manners allow, then nods as if you’ve passed a test you didn’t know he was giving. He picks up his bag, his phone, leaves your key. At the door he pauses, not turning, not lingering. “Don’t open for anyone who knocks after ten,” he says, conversational, as if he’s telling you the weather. “You get soft about salesmen when you’re tired.”

“I’m not your project.”

“I know.” His hand closes on the handle. “I’m leaving you alone.”

You stand there, the room hissing quietly with appliance breath, while he steps into the hall. The door clicks. The sound is polite. It feels obscene.

Your phone buzzes. A cascade of notices: Minho removed [Device] from Family; Minho stopped sharing location with you; You are no longer a priority contact in Focus: All. 

You put your keys in the dish because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Halfway there you stop and put them on the counter instead, out of spite, and immediately see the future where you’re late tomorrow and you curse yourself and think of him.

The apartment creaks. The clock misses its beat. Your phone is very quiet.

Minutes pass. It’s almost impressive, how large silence can get when it stretches its arms.

On the other side of the door, in the hall you cannot see, there is the audioless sensation of a man standing still for exactly three seconds—the time it takes to confirm a latch has seated, a hinge hasn’t stuck, a lock will turn cleanly from both sides. Then footsteps. Then the elevator. Then nothing.

The first morning is easy by accident: your body wakes at the time Minho used to make you wake, and the coffee machine still has water because he always left it filled. You don’t notice that you don’t notice.

By the second morning, the machine blinks ADD WATER and you stand in front of it stupidly for a full minute, feeling judged by an appliance. You pour until it slops and mop the counter with a paper towel because the towels are in the wrong drawer; he moved them months ago and you still reach for the wrong drawer.

By the fourth, the quiet thickens. The calendar on your phone looks smaller without the tidy colored blocks he used to drop in on Sundays—pay this, call that, take your vitamins, answer mom. A dentist reminder pings and you swipe it away because you don’t remember which office he picked or where the address lives. 

Your mom texts four times in two days, each message soft and barbed. You okay? Do you need anything? Do you want me to come over? Call me. You type and erase three drafts, two apologies, and one paragraph complaining about the coffee machine, then put the phone face down and tell yourself these are the growing pains he promised you’d have.

Nights are loud with nothing. You try a podcast; the host laughs too sharply and you rip your earbuds out. You microwave something you don’t want and forget to eat it until the edges are cold and the middle is lava. The apartment’s clock misses its beat and you flinch like a dog hearing thunder on a clear day.

Sometimes, leaving work, you feel watched—the specific pressure of eyes between your shoulder blades. It’s ridiculous, so you name it ridiculousness: you forgot your headphones; you’re overtired; your boss used the phrase touch base too many times. Still, when you pass the glass front of the florist’s, you catch a reflection that makes your skin go pebble-fine: a man across the street, face blurred by distance and motion, standing too still. You blink and it’s traffic.

You start to build little arguments with the empty room. No one is following you. You list reasons. He said he’d leave you alone. You repeat it. Your hands are steady as long as you’re thinking about keeping them steady.

At work, you discover you don’t know your own passwords because he reset them to phrases you liked the sound of and then never told you what the phrases were. Now that he’s logged out of everything, you’re no longer automatically signed in. IT sends you a temporary login that expires while you’re on hold. Your manager leans in your doorway and says, too brightly, “If you need to take time, we can redistribute your plates,” which is how she says you’re wobbling without saying you’re wobbling.

Mark—the coworker Minho never liked—stops by your desk with the casual swagger of someone who has never learned the word no has teeth. “So,” he says, braced on his knuckles like a gym teacher, “you and the robot broke up.”

You blink. “Don’t call him that,” you say.

“Harsh,” he grins, then softens it with a shrug he thinks is charming. “Sorry. You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Cool, cool.” He looks at your empty mug. “You want a walk? Coffee? Fresh air?”

You should say no. You say, “Sure,” because you have never been good at rehearsing boundaries and the word sticks to your molars.

Outside, the winter sun is the wrong kind of bright. Mark’s voice fills the space where your thoughts would be; he is good at that. He tells a story about trivia night that features five women’s names and one bar tab, and you nod in the right places because your hands are in your coat and if you take them out you will wring them.

On the walk back, he bumps your shoulder, light and proprietary. You step left and he steps left with you, as if the sidewalk is a lane and you are merging into him. When you stop at the corner, he leans in just enough that you smell his gum—peppermint, too sharp—and you look, bodily, across the street because it feels like the safe direction.

A masked man stands by the bus shelter. He isn’t looking at you. He isn’t not looking. His fingers are clenched so tightly around the book he’s holding it takes you a minute to realize that he hasn’t turned the page in ten minutes. The bus pulls up and when it leaves, so has he. You tell your heart to return to the inside of your body.

You become meticulous about locking your door. Twice, three times, rational to ritual. You put your keys in the dish because refusing Minho that tiny victory isn’t worth missing a meeting. You sleep with your phone on your chest so it’s easier to grab if you need it.

On Thursday, your mother calls and you don’t pick up because you don’t want to hear where Minho has been inside the story already. You let it go to voicemail and later, on the couch, you listen to her tell you in her soft, worried cadence that she still has the spare to your place “from that time you were sick” and she might swing by with soup, “only if you’re up to it,” and you realize you do not, in fact, remember making that key.

At work, Mark starts stopping by every afternoon. He jingles a bag like a door-to-door Santa and announces, “Snack time,” because you forgot lunch twice and looked ghost-white at three. He buys the wrong bread and brings you food you are deathly allergic to. You thank him anyway because gratitude is a default.

When it snows, Mark drops by your office again, says Don’t walk alone. I’ll be outside after you’re done. Your tongue shapes the words no thanks. You picture the block and the dead lamp and the way the wind gums up your eyes with tears you don’t want anyone to name. You say: Okay. Just to the corner.

He is waiting, bouncing on his heels like a boy at a bus stop. “I brought you gloves,” he says, and holds up mittens so bright and fuzzy you feel five and forty at once. “I know you forget.”

Your spine goes hot. You take them. “Thanks.” You don’t wear them.

He fills the walk with noise. He tells you what you should do about your overreacting mother when she calls you three times in a row; he tells you he always thought Minho was “kind of a creep”; he tells you he likes women who are “low maintenance” and you wonder briefly if he has ever said that to a human woman who enjoyed hearing it. A car passes slow and too close and you half-turn toward the street like you’re going to check the license plate; the driver’s face is a blur under a hood, anonymous as a mannequin. It keeps going. You tell your pulse to stop writing novels.

By your building, Mark reaches for your bag strap and you step backward because your body finally remembers a rule. He laughs and calls you skittish in a voice that leaves no room for shame. The vestibule light flickers once, lazy, then steadies.

“Thanks for walking me,” you say, brisk. You’re almost free. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t move. He glances at your mouth in a way that makes you feel like you’re going to throw up. “We could—” he starts, and you hear it: the wet hinge of a scene you don’t want to be in. “I mean, you know. Come up? Or I could—”

“No,” you say, but softly, because you are still learning how to say it with your chest.

He smiles like you flirted. “I’ll just walk you upstairs, then. Make sure you get in okay.”

“I’m okay,” you say, louder.

He leans in. It’s meant to be quick and charming, the kind of kiss you are supposed to find flattering because it exists. His hand lands at your hip like Minho’s never would have—flat, thoughtless, assumptive—and the shock detonates something you didn’t know you had stored.

You shove him.

It isn’t elegant; you don’t aim. It’s both hands and a noise you have never heard yourself make, an animal sound shaped like stop. Mark stumbles back hard enough to hit the railing with a grunt, eyes wide, hands up like you’ve pulled a weapon. “Whoa,” he says, as if the ground has broken a rule. “Okay. Okay. Jesus.”

Your heart is slamming so hard you can feel it in your gums. Your key bites your palm. “Don’t touch me,” you say, and the words scrape raw on the way out, bright and ugly and exactly right. “Do not ever touch me.”

He laughs in a small, wounded way men do when their math fails. “It just was a kiss.”

“It wasn’t yours,” you spit. The cold finds your lungs. “Leave.”

He hesitates, like you might apologize if he waits long enough. You don’t. He shakes his head once, brittle, then steps back into the snow, palms up again, a retreating mime. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, wow.”

“Goodnight, Mark,” you say, and you are shaking so hard the key takes three tries. On the third, the door yields and you nearly trip over the threshold. You slam it with more force than you meant and the echo sounds like someone else’s house.

You slide the chain, throw the deadbolt, and then just… stop. Your back to the door, your breath sawing ragged like you sprinted here from a life you could have stayed in.      

It hits late—like weather arriving after the forecast. Your hands go numb first, then your lips, then the ugly little tremor in your wrists that makes the key ring chatter against the wood. The room is the wrong size, your jacket is too loud on your shoulders, and every sound has edges.      

You try to do the sensible things. Water. A light. Sit down. Your body misunderstands of them. It screams, DANGER DANGER DANGER. You stand in the middle of the living room with the faucet running and the lamp off, crying with your whole throat open, breath catching and breaking, a fish on a dock that won’t make up its mind whether it wants the ocean or the knife.      

It gets worse because panic always gets worse before it changes its mind. Your breath starts to skip—inhale stutter-inhale—like learning to drive a stick. You bend at the waist and clutch your knees and that just makes the world tilt harder. You try to count. One is a cliff. Two is a long hallway. Three is a word you forget.    

Somewhere outside, a voice shouts—male, close enough to make the floorboards listen. Your head snaps up; the world swims; it sounds like Mark. You stumble to the window, fumble the curtain, press your forehead to the cold glass, and see nothing but your own ghosted face and a car idling at the corner. Another voice answers; or the wind does. Your eyes won’t focus. The street blurs into lights and the slap of tires in slush.   

You back away and the room backs away with you. Your chest squeezes itself smaller, smaller, meaner. You hate that you’re still wearing your jacket, hate that you can’t figure out how zippers work. Your phone is a weight in your pocket; you find it by instinct, not by plan.   

You scroll to his name without letting your mind see it. Your thumb hovers. You remember: If you call, I won’t pick up. You remember the way he said it—reasonable, final, like a law you voted for.     

You call anyway.   

One ring. Two. Three. The sound is a metronome inside a burning room. At four, the tone clicks into voicemail and your throat makes a noise that would be a word if words could carry water. You hang up because you don’t have muscles for a message.     

You pace in a bad line from door to sink to couch and back, breath catching, catching, catching. You sit and stand and sit again like a broken instruction. Thirty minutes pass. Forty. You try to open a window and can’t lift the latch. You consider 911 and picture explaining the shape of this to a stranger with a clipboard.      

At fifty-four minutes, the shout comes again—farther this time, more ragged, a syllable that could be your name or a swear. You clap your hands over your ears like a child. You cry harder because you hate the child living inside your chest.

You call again.

And again.

The call screen becomes a stuttered prayer: Minho → Ended. Minho → Voicemail. Minho → Failed. You don’t keep count until your phone starts dimming between attempts, scolding you for forgetting to charge it. You plug it in by muscle memory and keep going.

Seventeen calls. Eighteen. Nineteen.

On the twentieth, you hear your own pulse in your ear. On the twenty-first, it connects.

He answers on the inhale.

“—hello.” His voice is not the controlled blade you’re used to; it’s roughened, chopped at the edges like he’s been running. Air moves across the mouthpiece; you hear the echo of a stairwell or an alley, someplace that make sounds taller. “I’m here.”

You make a sound that embarrasses you as it leaves. “You said— you said you wouldn’t—”

“I know.” A breath. A scrape, as if he’s shouldering a door with his phone between ear and shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up sooner. I was busy.”

“Busy—” The word fissures in your mouth. “I’m— I can’t— I’m coming over.”

The smallest pause, a hinge clicking shut. “I’m not home.”

Your heart drops and hits every stair on the way down. “Then where—”

“I’m coming to you,” he says, choosing it for you. “Stay where you are.”

He hangs up before you can cling to the word please and make it ugly.

The apartment condenses itself around your breath. You put the phone down; you pick it up; you walk a line into the rug. You try the window again; the latch lifts this time and the cold air cracks your lungs like an egg. You close it. You sit with your back to the door because he told you to once and your body trusts old orders more than new freedoms.

The hallway outside gathers a new sound—footfalls with intent, the soft cough of fabric against a wall, a key brushing metal. The first soft test of your lock, then the exact turn that means this one. The handle goes down. You don’t move. You don’t wonder how he still has a copy of your keys when he already gave you his. You don’t wonder how he got here so quickly when he lives a good while away.

The door opens a measured inch against the chain. “Unhook it,” he says through the gap, voice low, not loud enough to carry. 

Your hands remember how to be hands. The chain slides; the door yields. He steps in.

He never looks like this.

Not Minho.

Hair raked back in a way that isn’t style. Shirt untucked at one corner, coat slung on his shoulders without the ceremony he gives to sleeves, breathing too fast for someone who pretends cardio is vulgar. There’s a single diagonal scratch along his right cheekbone, beading slow, precise drops that collect, then let go. One has made the reckless decision to travel: a thin red dash down the line of his jaw toward his throat.

You feel sick with the wrong kind of relief.

“Hi,” he says, almost amused by the word now that it has to make room for how he looks. He kicks the door shut gently with his heel, checks the lock without looking like he’s checking the lock, then puts his phone on the console. His hands are bare; the knuckles are flushed as if they’ve been told a secret.

“You said you wouldn’t answer,” you say, and it comes out like accusation and confession at once.

“I did.” He meets your eyes, taking inventory. “I also said you should call emergency services if you were unsafe.” His attention flicks once toward the window and back. “You weren’t going to.”

You hate that he’s right. You hate the tiny sound you make that agrees.

He steps closer, slow enough that you could mistake it for asking. You don’t step back. Up close, the scratch is clean, a narrow serif on skin. He smells like cold air and something metallic threaded under soap, not enough to name, just enough to bother the part of your brain that likes labels.

“What were you busy with?” you ask, because the words line up on their own and jump.

His eyes do that soft thing—affection folded around condescension until they’re indistinguishable. “Not you,” he says gently, which is a kindness and a cruelty in the same breath. “Now? You.”

He reaches for your face and stops a centimeter shy, polite, a man who knows the choreography and respects the pause that makes the step look graceful. “Touch or no,” he asks, like a doctor.

Your head tilts into the empty space before you can decide. His thumb taps at your jaw like muscle memory and you unclench your teeth. His other hand lifts, hovers at your cheek, then changes its mind and drifts to your wrist instead, finding your pulse where you can’t lie. “Too fast,” he murmurs. “But not dangerous.”

"What happened to your face." You ask and his lip quirks slightly. 

"That's not a very polite thing to ask."

Your mouth moves before your sense finds the brakes. “I’m— I’m sorry,” you blurt, words tripping over each other to get out first. “For— for breaking up with you, for acting like I could just—like I could be fine without— I can’t do anything, I can’t even breathe right and the coffee and the passwords and the— I know you said you’d leave me alone and I asked you to and I meant it, I did, but then I didn’t, and I—”  

He leans in and closes your sentence with his mouth.  

It’s hungry—clean, decisive hunger that steals the shape of your apology and turns it into a sound in his throat. His hand slides to your jaw, then lower, angling your face exactly how he wants it; the other finds your hip and fits there like it’s been setting this key in this lock for months. 

You gasp; he takes the breath and gives you a better one. The kiss deepens—slow for a heartbeat, then rougher when you chase it, your fingers bunching in his coat to pull him flush. He tastes like winter air and the metallic ghost of a cut and something that feels like relief. He makes a low, pleased noise against your tongue when your body finally stops hesitating and chooses him.  

“I was wrong,” you manage between kisses, the words catching on heat. “You were right—about all of it, about me, I can’t—” 

He swallows your confession and answers with pressure instead: mouth to yours, then the hinge of your jaw, then the fragile place below your ear that makes your knees soften in a way that has nothing to do with panic. “Shh,” he murmurs into your skin, not a hush so much as a promise. “I know.” 

He walks you backward without breaking contact, guiding, arranging—your calves touch the couch and you go down with him following, weight careful even when the kiss is not. His coat slides off your shoulders; his fingers find the hem of your jacket and tug until it’s a memory on the floor. He catches your wrist when you try to fumble with your own buttons and does it for you, impatient, practiced—the soft rasp of fabric a counterpoint to the wet sound of your mouths.  

“Say it again,” he breathes, forehead to yours, pupils blown wide. “You need me.”  

 “I—need you,” you whisper, and the way he exhales at that makes heat pool low and certain.  

He kisses you harder for it—teeth catching your lower lip, tongue soothing the bite—then drags his mouth down your throat in a slow, claiming line that makes your head tip back on reflex. His palm spreads over your ribs, steadying the quick of your breath; his thumb strokes once, reassuring and possessive at once, like he’s re-learning the map he never really forgot.

His mouth works you open while his hands get practical. Buttons give; fabric slides. Each inch of him he reveals is annotated: a constellation of fine brown spatters on his undershirt near the collar, a smear along the hem like a thumb dragged through something and wiped on cotton, a bruise blooming under his left rib in the thumbprint shape of insistence. When he pushes the shirt up and off, there are faint fingerprints ghosting his bicep like someone tested the grip. His knuckles are abraded, swollen at the ridge; a single bead of red stains the curl of his thumb.

You reach for the bruise at his ribs; he catches your wrist midair without looking, kisses your palm instead, then guides your hand to his belt.

“Are you sorry,” he asks, almost gentle.

“Yes,” you say, too fast, throat tight. “Yes, Minho, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“Show me,” he says.

You’re on your knees before the last word lands, knees biting into the rug, hands behind your back like your body already knows the rubric. He frees himself with the neat economy he gives everything—buckle, zip, the rasp of fabric—and his cock falls heavy against his palm, thick and flushed, already slick at the tip. He doesn’t stroke. He taps the head against your lower lip, patient as a metronome. “Open.”

You open. He slides the head past your lips and just rests there, the hot weight of him on your tongue like a promise you haven’t earned. “Eyes,” he reminds you, and when you look up through your lashes, he makes a pleased, broken sound that goes straight between your legs.

“Slow,” he says. “You know I like it slow.”

You hollow your cheeks and he groans—an unguarded, low sound he never makes for anything else. The bead on his cheek breaks and tracks down to the corner of his mouth; he swipes it away with the back of a bruised knuckle impatiently, breath snagging when your tongue flattens along the underside of him.

“Slow,” he says again, but it’s already a plea. His composure lives in his hands—one braced on the back of the couch, tendons tight; the other on your crown, not forcing, just trembling there like he’s remembering why he shouldn’t. His hips betray him anyway, a tiny, helpless forward twitch that bumps the head against the soft back of your throat. His jaw locks. “Fuck.”

You take him deeper by degrees, learning the rhythm of his breath, riding the arcs of it. Spit spills hot over your lower lip and strings to your chin when you ease back to breathe; he watches it catch the light and exhales a wrecked laugh that makes you wetter.

“Give me your eyes,” he reminds, softer, and when you look up he comes apart another inch. Pupils blown, lips parted, that thin scarlet line brightening when his pulse kicks in his neck. “God, you—” He cuts himself off with a bitten groan when you curl your tongue at the slit, taste salt, then slide down until your nose brushes the damp heat of his lower belly.

His head tips back. “Fuck—” It’s almost a hiss, dragged out of him like confession. He holds there, shaking minutely, letting your throat cradle him while you breathe through your nose like he taught you. When you swallow, on purpose, his composure rips a stitch. “Do that again.”

You do; his knees flex, thighs taut under your hands where they’re laced behind your back. He shouldn’t thrust—he told you slow—but his body betrays him, a shallow, rhythmic press he can’t quite stop, the heavy heat of him gliding over your tongue in a slick, obscene cadence. He looks down, and the sight—your lips stretched, your chin shiny, his cock vanishing into the warm pink of you—makes his voice drop into something rough. “Look at this mouth. My perfect apology.”

You hum around him, pleased and filthy, and the vibration makes his breath stutter. His thumb strokes your cheek, then your lower lip where it’s stretched, tender, and the sight softens his face into something almost painful. “So pretty,” he says, and then it breaks again into ruin: “So—mm—pretty.”

A fresh bead wells at the scratch and wobbles; he flinches when it reaches the corner of his jaw and smears it away on his forearm, impatience roughening the motion. “Ignore it,” he mutters, more to himself than you, and goes right back to falling apart for you—hips ticking, abs twitching, the cords in his throat standing out when you take him to the hilt and hold.

He pulls you off with a gasp just before you gag, hand cupping your jaw, thumb rubbing your spit-slicked lip like he’s trying to memorize shine. He pants against your forehead, eyes unfocused, a breathy, astonished laugh bleeding into a curse. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“Please,” you whisper, raw, mouth swollen. “I wanna.”

“Show me,” he answers, voice gone wrecked and fond, and feeds you again.

You set a wicked, patient pace, dragging the crown along your tongue, dipping, rising, letting your saliva make a mess of your chin and his fist. Every time you angle just right—grazing the sweet spot under the head with the soft of your tongue, sealing your lips tighter at the ridge—his control slips: a groan bitten into the heel of his hand, a curse strangled low in his chest, his fingers clenching in your hair and immediately easing like he’s apologizing to you for needing you so much.

“Listen,” he pants, and you do—wet suck, breath through your nose, the quiet animal sounds he can’t stop making now. “God, that’s—” His hips stutter; you take it, greedy, and he breaks completely for a second, eyes closing, forehead creasing. “Fuck, angel, you’re—”

He yanks you off again when he feels the edge—he always knows exactly where it is—palming your cheek, dizzy with breath. A string of spit clings between the flushed head and your mouth, shining when it snaps onto your tongue. He stares like he wants to frame you. His self-control wobbles; he kisses you, hard and wet, tasting himself, groaning when you chase him for more.

He breaks the kiss and drops to his knees like a verdict, hands sliding up your thighs, breath hot where you’re already slick. His mouth hovers over you—one long inhale like he’s about to ruin dinner with dessert—and you feel his smile against your inner thigh.

“Minho—” you whine, hips tipping up, desperate. “I want you to fuck me.”

His head lifts. The look he gives you is molten and amused. “Do you?” he says softly, thumb pressing to your clit in a lazy circle that steals your next breath. “I was going to be generous.”

“I don’t want your mouth,” you gasp, shameless. “I want you.”

He laughs, wrecked and fond, and the sound vibrates against your knee. “Filthy girl.” He licks a single stripe up you anyway—slow, deliberate, just to hear the noise you make—then wipes his mouth with the back of his bruised hand. The scratch on his cheek beads again; he doesn’t notice. “Turn around. Hands on the back of the couch.”

You move fast, presenting, needy. He palms your ass, spreads you open with thumbs that tremble just a little, groans helplessly at the sight of you swollen and slick. “Look at that,” he mutters, reverence fraying into hunger. His fingers tighten slightly around the flesh of your ass.

He settles behind you, hands neat on your hips, thumbs stroking small, steady arcs as if smoothing out the tremor in your skin. “Easy,” he says in that cool, patient voice that always sounds like instructions. “Shoulders down.” He nudges your knees a touch wider with his own, then straightens your spine with a light press between your shoulder blades. “There. Better.”

You feel the heat of him against you and then the first slow drag is maddeningly careful, a measured glide along the seam of your thighs that promises and withholds at the same time. He doesn’t push forward; he rocks, deliberate, keeping just enough distance to deny you what you’re reaching for.

“Minho,” you gasp, trying to tip your hips back. His grip tightens, not unkind. Containing.

“Ah.” A soft click of his tongue, almost fond. “Impatient already?” His mouth finds the hinge of your jaw, cool and controlled, and you feel the faint wetness of that thin line on his cheek as it grazes your shoulder. He wipes it away with a knuckle without looking, then returns to arranging you like a favorite habit—hair swept aside, chin turned so he can hear every noise you make. “Ask properly.”

“Please,” you manage. “I want—”

“I know what you want,” he murmurs, and the glide comes again—longer, closer, the length of him pressing snug where you’re aching, but never, ever giving you the final answer. “I am being generous.” His hands travel your waist like he’s counting vertebrae. “But not careless.”

He keeps you there on purpose—slow, teasing passes that make your breath go ragged. Each time you try to chase, he reins you in with that quiet, doting authority that feels like a hand at the small of your back in a crowd. “Good girl,” he says when you hold still for him. “Let me have the pace.” Another careful grind, deeper this time, enough to make your knees quiver. “That’s it. I’ll give you everything when you’ve learned to be patient.”

“Minho,” you whine, shame and want tangling. “Please.”

His laugh is low and satisfied against your ear. “That’s closer.” He rocks again, cruelly precise, letting the friction crest and fade, crest and fade, until your fingers claw at the cushion. “Tell me how sorry you are.”

“So sorry,” you breathe, dizzy. “I shouldn’t have— I need you.”

“Mm.” Approval, cool and clean. He rewards you with a slower, heavier roll that drags a helpless sound out of you. His palm slides to your belly, anchoring you; the other tucks around your throat, not squeezing—just fitting there, a reminder. “You do.”

Another pause—his favorite kind, the one that stretches the moment until it sings. He kisses the side of your neck, almost tender. “One more,” he promises, voice steady even as his breath frays. “And then I’ll decide whether you’ve earned it.”

The next grind is unhurried and devastating; you tremble, pleading on a breath you can’t catch. He smiles against your skin—cool, doting, inexorable—and keeps you exactly where he wants you, drawing the want out until it gleams.

He settles behind you hands neat on your hips, thumbs drawing small, proprietary arcs that make your skin prickle. “Good,” he says, cool and fond at once, aligning you exactly where he wants you against the couch back.

The heat of him slots along you, thick and unambiguous. He doesn’t push in. He rocks—slow, measured passes that press the head of his cock through your slick and up against your clit before dragging down again to glide through your folds. The friction is obscene. Denial is sharper.

“Say it,” he murmurs at your ear, mouth ghosting your skin. “What do you want.”

“You,” you gasp, shame baked in. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Mhm.” The soft approval is almost a purr. He rewards you with a deeper grind that makes your knees dip. Then he withholds again, smug in the control, rubbing the flushed crown over you in tight, merciless passes that wring a little cry from your throat. His knuckles tighten on your hips; you feel the faint sting of bruised skin meeting new grip. “Greedy.”

You push back; he pins you with a tidy press of fingers that will leave fingerprints later. “Uh-uh.” His voice warms with pleasure at how much you want. “You begged for cock. Earn cock.”

Another drag. He fits himself between your cheeks and grinds, slow enough to be cruel, until your breath breaks into pieces. You’re wet enough that every pass paints him; he huffs a ruined little laugh and smears the slick over your clit with the head, lazy, cruel, doting in that cold way that makes you ache.

“Please,” you say, raw, and the word gets him—his composure slips a degree, hips pushing too close to the place he’s denying both of you. “Please, inside.”

“Pretty,” he says, and kisses the corner of your jaw. “Open.”

He presses—patient, claiming pressure—and the thick heat of him parts you. The stretch knocks a helpless sound out of you; he swears quietly into your shoulder, not elegant now, breath hitching as your body seats him inch by inch. When his hips meet you, he stays there, full, shaking just enough to make you feel it.

“God.” A bare confession against your skin. He pulls out an inch and sinks back with punishing slowness, a long, dragging stroke that grinds his pelvis against your swollen clit at the end. The noise you make thrills him; he does it again, same angle, same deliberate cruelty, building you steady without letting you sprint.

When your body starts to climb, he feels it and changes tactics—slides out and denies you with a deliberate rub of the head against your clit, slick and hot, until your thighs tremble and you want to sob. “That’s it,” he murmurs, pleased and awful. “Hold it.”

“Please,” you groan, trying to chase. He doesn’t let you. He slides two fingers in alongside the head and fucks them shallow, the blunt press of his knuckles tapping your lips while the crown teases your clit in small, maddening circles. Your legs shake; your nails bite the cushion. You’re right there.

He stops again. A kiss at your shoulder like a benediction. “Such a mess for me,” he says, pride threading through the calm.

“Please,” you say again, smaller now, honest. “I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t bolt again. Just—”

“That’s my girl.” He lines up and gives you what you begged for, all of it, pushing deep and starting a rhythm that’s not fast but devastating—long, ruthless strokes that drag over every place he’s mapped, grinding at the bottom just enough to set fire to your clit each time. His hand slides under, palm heavy over your lower belly; the other slips from your hip to your throat, not squeezing, just fitting there like a ring he’s checking for size. “Take me.”

You do. You take him and it rewrites you. The couch thuds a steady beat against the wall; your voice goes high and ugly and perfect. He listens and adjusts—one knee wider, your spine arched a hair more—and the new depth makes the breath punch out of you. He groans against your ear, losing polish, the thin bead of blood at his cheek smearing on your skin as he works.

You start to tip over; he feels it in the way you clutch and tries to be cruel again—pulls nearly out, rubs the head across your clit in a tight, taunting figure—then caves at the noise you make. “Okay,” he says, voice wrecked, and drives back in hard enough to knock a curse out of both of you. “Come on then. Give it to me.”

It hits like a wave breaking right over your head—hot, rolling, messy—your body gripping him in helpless pulses that drag another groan from his chest. He fucks through it, pace going ragged, hand flattening your belly like he can feel himself flood you from the outside. “Mine,” he says, harsh and grateful, hips snapping. “Mine.”

You feel him go—the brutal, gorgeous stutter, the deep lock of his hips, the heat spilling in long, helpless pulses while he murmurs praise right into your shoulder. He stays buried, small, involuntary pushes wringing aftershocks out of both of you until you whimper at the sensitivity and he gentles, palm smoothing slow circles over your stomach like he’s soothing a shiver he put there.

When he finally eases out, the loss makes you gasp; warmth slips down and his thumb is there instantly, lazy, possessive, pushing what he can back inside with a smug little noise that shouldn’t make you clench and does. He kisses the smear on your shoulder where his cheek left red, then the hollow below your ear.

“Apology accepted,” he says, composed again but shining with it, the cold doting back in place like a collar. His fingers slide lower, testing, teasing, already thinking about how easily you’re going to fall apart the second time. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He crowds your hips back into the cushion with one palm and sinks to the floor again, shouldering your thighs apart like he’s taking back a seat. The other hand is lazy and obscene—thumb pushing the slick warmth that’s slipping out of you back where he wants it, smearing it over your swollen clit until you shiver.

“I like when your messy,” he says, cool and satisfied. “That’s mine.”

His mouth replaces his thumb. Not gentle—thorough. He seals his lips around your clit and draws, slow and hungry, tongue flattening and then circling in small, practiced passes that make your calves go tight. You gasp and twist; he pins you with fingers sunk into the meat of your thigh, the faint sting of bruised knuckles a contrast to the wet heat of his mouth.

“T’much,” you whine, already fluttering.

“I know,” he says into you, voice low and pleased, and eats through it anyway. Every time you try to wriggle from the sensitivity, he follows, mouth greedy, dragging you back to the edge until you’re shaking and wet and furious with how good it feels.

You break with a sharp noise, clenching around his tongue; he hums, savoring it, and rides you through the spill with slow, rolling laps that make the aftershocks twitch down your thighs. When you go limp, he kisses the pout of your clit lightly—mocking, doting—and then licks lower, tasting the slick that leaks out around his fingers when he pushes two inside and hooks them, shallow and cruel.

“Look at that,” he says, lifting his head to watch his fingers disappear into you, lips shiny, the thin pink line on his cheek freshly wiped away with the heel of his palm. “Still accommodating.”

“Come here,” you plead, wrecked. “I want you.”

He stands in one smooth breath. Pants half-hung on his hips, cock flushed and heavy, he climbs back over you, guiding your ankle up to his shoulder with a neat, impersonal care that makes your stomach flip. The stretch opens you for him perfectly; he fits himself and rubs the head over your clit once—mean—before sliding down and pressing in again. You make a sound like gratitude and blasphemy at once.

“Eyes on me,” he says softly, and sinks to the hilt in a single, devastating glide.

The first thrust is a measured stroke that drags heat over every place he’s learned matters. The second is deeper. By the third, the cool is fraying. He braces your leg higher, palm flat under your knee, and starts to use you—long, grinding passes that set a slick rhythm, pelvis nudging your clit each time he bottoms out. Your breath catches in little, broken pieces; his jaw flexes.

“Perfect,” he says, voice gone rough. “Take me.”

You do; you take him and the room narrows to the sound of skin and the filthy wet between you. He kisses you like he means to steady your mouth—slow and claiming, a quiet counterpoint to the way he’s driving you open. When you chase him for speed, he gives you one punishing set of hard, deep snaps that make your nails scrabble at his back, then goes right back to the steady, ruinous tempo that keeps your nerves singing.

“That’s it,” he approves when your thighs start to tremble again. He slips his hand between your bodies, tips two fingers to your clit, and barely moves them—just enough to light you up, not enough to let you fall. You try to arch; he flattens the curve of your back with his other hand, pinning you in place to feel every inch he gives you. “Stay with me.”

“Please,” you gasp, humiliated by how quickly you break for him now. “Please—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he promises, and you believe him because he never does once he decides you’re going to fall apart for him. He rubs tighter, thrusts deeper, breath tearing out of him in honest, ugly sounds that make your belly clench. The fine control that defines him burns off in the edges—hips hitting harder, a curse bitten into your throat, the tiniest shudder when you grip him just right.

You tip over hard. It drags a cry out of your chest you don’t recognize; your body locks around him, milking, fluttering, and he loses the last of his polish with a low, savage groan, chasing you down into it with deep, ruthless strokes that turn the crest to a flood.

“Good,” he says, broken with it, and folds you tighter—ankle pressed to his shoulder, hand under your knee, the other palming your jaw so he can look at the wreck he made. “Again.”

He doesn’t ask. He takes. His fingers never leave your clit; his cock keeps you full; the aftershocks pile into a second wave that hits too soon, too sharp, and you sob into his mouth. He swallows the sound, praises you against your tongue, and finally lets himself go—pace collapsing into hungry, messy thrusts that punch little sounds out of his throat he’d die before making anywhere else.

“Mine,” he says against your cheek as it drags him under, hips locking; the heat spills deep in thick pulses you can feel against his palm where it spreads over your lower belly. He stays inside, breathing hard, giving two small, possessive pushes that wring one last tremor out of you.

Silence arrives in pieces: your pulse in your ears, his breath in your mouth, the quiet tap of a drop of water somewhere in the pipes. He smooths your hair back with careful fingers, then wipes the faint red smear his cheek left on your shoulder with a thumb, clinical as ever.

“Stay exactly like this,” he says at last, calm sliding back over his voice like a tailored coat. His thumb traces where you’re still slick and a little open around him; he watches it with the cool, pleased look of a man admiring a job done to spec. 

He goes quiet in that efficient, purposeful way of his, leaving you open on the couch while he disappears to the bathroom. The tap clicks; water runs. He returns with a warm, wrung cloth and that cool, clinical focus that always feels like care sharpened to a point.

“Up,” he murmurs, and you let him. One palm under your knee, the other at your hip, he tilts you just enough to slide the heat of the cloth between your thighs. He’s thorough. Slow passes that gather the mess he put there, his mouth brushing your knee like an absent-minded kiss each time you twitch. When warmth slicks down the curve of you, his thumb is there, steady, catching it so it doesn’t reach the couch. Doting, proprietary.

“Too much?” he asks, but it isn’t really a question; he’s already gentling the pressure, already smoothing the cloth along your swollen clit in a careful, non-negotiable circle that makes your breath hitch and then soften. He wipes the inside of your thighs, the mound, the place just below your belly where he marked you with his mouth. He swaps to a fresh corner, folds the cloth with neat thumbs as if this is a ritual he enjoys.

“There,” he says, pleased with his own tidiness. He tosses the cloth into the empty bowl and drags the backs of his fingers over your thigh—knuckles nicked, a faint sting that says he didn’t get through the evening unmarked. “Pretty again.”

He’s halfway to standing when it comes, like an afterthought he’s been waiting to place perfectly. “Have you been taking your pill since I left?”

The words land with surgical precision; you feel yourself go small around them. “Yes,” you breathe, then, timidly, wrecked and honest: “I mean, I—yes. But… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If—” Your voice frays. “If we had a baby.”

That earns you a long, patient stare. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t even blink. His thumb drags a lazy line up your inner thigh, a soft brand. “No.”

Your heart kicks. “No?”

He shifts closer, knee on the cushion between your legs, the couch dipping so you tip toward him like gravity picked a side. His hand finds your jaw—cool palm, steady fingers—and tilts your face until you can’t escape the temperature of his eyes.

“Sweet girl,” he says, and the endearment is a velvet sleeve over steel, “you can barely remember to eat when I’m not there to put a fork in your hand.”

“That’s not—” You flush, already losing the argument you started.

“You can’t keep a password in your head for twenty-four hours. You left the kettle on twice last week.” He says it without heat, inventorying you like a pantry. You’re too overwhelmed to wonder how he knows that. “You apologize to men who bump your shoulder in doorways. You take vitamins if I count them into your palm, and not otherwise.” His thumb rubs your lower lip, wipes away a dried shine like he’s tidying the punctuation of your mouth. “You are not a mother. You are just mine.”

It’s cruel because it’s accurate. It’s tender because it’s him.

He leans in and kisses you, soft enough to make your eyes sting. “I won’t let you fail at something that big because you were in a feeling after I fucked you stupid.” A kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’d love too hard and forget yourself.” Another, to the hollow under your cheekbone. “You forget yourself easily.”

Your voice comes out small. “You think I couldn’t?”

“I think,” he says, precise, “that you would hand your entire body to a screaming seven-pound stranger and then apologize to it while you shattered.” His smile is thin and unbearably fond. “I think you’re a very soft, very pretty creature who needs a caretaker, not a dependent.”

The words should slice. Somehow they hold.

He taps your temple, then your breastbone, then the low place of your belly where he kept his hand while he came. “This is where I live. This is what I manage.” His hand slides back down between your thighs, not sexual now, just claiming the geography. “You want a baby because it sounds like staying. I am staying. Do you understand?”

Tears sting your lashes. You nod, dizzy with afterglow and the quiet, devastating rightness of his voice. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kisses your damp eyelashes like he’s blessing them. “Take your pill tonight. Set an alarm.” He’s already reaching for your phone on the table, swiping to the clock with domestic tyranny. “I’ll put it under a name you won’t swipe away.”

He swipes his thumb under your eyes.

“This is love.” He reminds you, pockets the phone. “Mine comes with rails. You ride better with rails.”

He gathers you with that orderly strength—one arm under your knees, the other at your back—and carries you to bed because your legs are no longer competent at stairs. He lays you down like you’re glass he intends to keep, tucks a pillow beneath your hips to keep you comfortable. When you shiver, he tucks the comforter around your shoulders, fussing the corner like a man who irons napkins.

“Water,” he says, and brings it with a hand at your nape so you don’t spill. “Electrolyte pack?” You nod; he tears, pours, holds the glass while you sip. “Good.”

Your eyes are going. The world narrows to the weight of his palm on your thigh, the phone dimming on the nightstand with the new alarm set, the coolness of his voice like a compress against your hot, spent skin.

He smooths hair back from your face, studying you, satisfied. “No babies,” he says again, softer now, as if it’s a lullaby. “Not while you still need reminding to put your keys in the dish.” His fingers skim your throat, your collarbone, the place his mouth purpled earlier. “I’ll fill you. I’ll keep you. I’ll make sure you don’t wander into fires.”

You close your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” He kisses your forehead. “Apology accepted.”

He draws the covers higher, then—like it’s truly an afterthought—adds, “If you want something to care for, I’ll bring a plant. Something forgiving. Something that won’t die if you forget it for a day.” His smile tilts, cruel and adoring. “We’ll practice. And you’ll keep your pill.”

You nod again because he has already made the decision feel like yours. He clicks the lamp off, the bedroom falling into that clean, expensive dark he favors. You feel his weight lower beside you, the mattress dipping, the exact line his body makes around yours—the rail you’ve been craving.

The dark settles in layers—first the hush of the heating unit, then the softer hush of your breath syncing itself to his. He lies on his side behind you like a bracket, one arm under your pillow, the other draped heavy and warm over your waist, palm spread exactly where he likes it. The room smells faintly of antiseptic and skin.

After a while, you turn and face him. The scratch drags a thin, drying seam across his cheekbone, a punctuation mark where his face should be a clean sentence. You lift your hand without thinking.

He lets you touch it, but he guides how: two fingers under your wrist, angling your thumb to skim beside the cut, not over it. “Careful,” he says, quiet, more command than caution. The skin is hot and tight around the edge; a flake of dried red comes away against your fingertip. Your throat tightens.

“Does it hurt?”

He considers, then tips his head a fraction into your hand like a cat that won’t admit it likes petting. “A little,” he says. 

You start to sit up. “Let me get—”

He’s already off the mattress and back again before the sheet cools, opening a small kit he must have fetched earlier without you noticing. Alcohol pads, a butterfly strip, a tiny tube of ointment lined up in a straight row on the nightstand as if they’re auditioning for the privilege. He breaks the packet and hands you the wipe. “Since you’re determined to fuss,” he murmurs. “Do it properly.”

You clean him in small, nervous circles. He doesn’t flinch when it stings; you do. He watches your mouth pinch at the corners and looks pleased in that private way of his, as if the ache in your face is his proof of love. When you reach for the ointment, he covers your hand with his and squeezes once—approval and ownership braided together. “Thank you.”

“What happened?” It’s barely a whisper.

 He watches you long enough that you start to think he won’t answer. Then: “A miscalculation,” he says, voice even. “Corrected.”

Your chest squeezes. “Because of me.”

“Because of pattern,” he corrects, like he’s straightening a picture on a wall. “People who take liberties tend to repeat them. I don’t like repeats.”

You press the wipe’s cool edge to the last angry shine. He doesn’t move. Up close, you can see other small facts you missed in the heat—the faint crescent of a nail at his forearm, a shadowed bloom just under his collarbone where a knuckle must have landed and then regretted it. He smells like you a little now, but there’s a thin thread of street still in it—cold air, wet concrete.

“I heard him shouting,” you say. “Outside.”

"Who?"

"Mark."

You feel the question rise—what happened to Mark—ready to tear your mouth on the way out. You hold it behind your teeth like a coin you won’t spend. If you spend it, he’ll stand up; if he stands up, the night will tilt, and you are so tired of falling.

His expression doesn’t change. “Mm.” A file dropped into an already-labeled drawer. “Was that his name?” “Minho?” “Yes?” You swallow. "Was?"

He doesn’t blink. “Is,” he amends, soft as dust settling. “For now.”

Your stomach drops a shallow floor. “What did you—”

“Remind him he has a spine,” he says. “And that it bends both ways.”

You stare at the butterfly strip you just pressed to his cheek so you don’t have to stare at his eyes. “Min—”

“He won’t knock at your door again.” He says it like the weather. “He won’t confuse your silence for invitation. He won’t mistake your corridor for common ground.”

The room seems to tilt; you press your palm flat against his sternum until it levels. His pulse is steady under your hand, a metronome that refuses to match your panic. “What if he goes to—”

“He won’t,” Minho says, and there’s a precise, almost bored confidence in it that makes the back of your neck prickle. “He knows the difference between consequences and escalation.” A pause, then, as if to offer you a compromise: “And if he doesn’t, he’ll learn.”

You swallow the next question before it grows teeth. Curiosity is a door; you decide not to open it. Instead you tug at him—small, insistent—until his chest is flush to yours and the weight of him is something your body can understand.

“I love you,” you say, small and clean, like setting a glass on a shelf.

He hums, pleased in that quiet way that makes the dark feel full. “I know.” A beat, warm at your temple. “I love you too.”

“Don’t leave me again.” It comes out fragile and absolute.

“I won’t,” he says, like a weather report. No flourish, just the forecast. His palm settles heavier over your waist, the weight of a book keeping a page from turning. “I don’t abandon what I’m responsible for.”

The room has that museum hush, the kind where sound seems to stand still and think about itself. Somewhere below, a door shuts and then shuts again, as if relearning the action. The butterfly strip on his cheek is a pale hyphen that joins two ideas you can’t look at directly. His thumb draws a slow line along your rib like he’s indexing you for later.

“You don’t have to be afraid of the parts you can’t name,” he says, not unkind. “You just have to let me hold them.”

You nod into the hollow of his throat. The urge to ask frays and unspools; what’s left is the relief of a decision made for you. He tucks you closer, as if there’s still daylight sneaking in somewhere and he means to block it with his body.

“Sleep,” he adds, a soft instruction. “In the morning, the bulb will be replaced. The latch will catch on the first turn. Your inbox will be tidy. You’ll think today was an echo.”

“And you’ll be here,” you say, needing the shape of it.

His lips curve against your hair. “I’ll be here,” he confirms. “I don’t leave.”

Outside, a car rolls past like a distant thought and the radiator ticks once, a metronome set for a slower song. You press closer anyway, almost like apology; he accepts it as tribute, fingers splayed across your belly, possessive and calm.

You breathe him in, and the question you didn’t ask softens into the dark the way salt vanishes when it finds water. His pulse is steady under your mouth. The room holds its breath with you and then, finally, lets it go.

Mark doesn’t come in for work the next day. Or the day after that. In fact, you never see him again.

The girls are already halfway into the first bottle of wine and arguing over which romcom to put on. Your roommate, Lacey, is on her third blind date pitch of the night. If you hear the words “he’s got a stable job and loves dogs” one more time, you're going to snap.

Just then, the doorbell rings. You rush to the door without an ounce of grace, and there he is.

Flannel, white tee, grey sweatpants with the possibility of no boxers underneath. He’s got messy hair and a lazy, charming smile like he woke up ten minutes ago and still somehow pulled it together. 

“There’s my sugar plum,” he says, voice low and way too confident for someone using that nickname and actually meaning it.

You blink. “I—what?”

He leans in, arms already wide like he wants to say ‘where’s my hug?’ “C’mon, babe, don’t be shy in front of your little friends. Let me in before I start whining.”

Oh, he’s a dork. A hot one. 

You step back, and to your horror—and reluctant delight—he wraps you in a hug. It’s firm with faux familiarity. “I’m going to regret this,” you mutter.

“You paid for premium, sweetheart.” He flashes a grin, slipping off his sneakers. “Regret’s not an option.”

Then he claps once—loud, sharp—you flinch, and he marches straight to the kitchen like he owns the place. Your friends fall silent as he walks in. It’s kind of impressive. Even Lacey, who once debated a cop over a parking ticket while clearly drunk, looks stunned.

Jisung gives them all a once over that just borders the line of inappropriate. “Hi. I’m Jisung. You must be the friends she complains about.”

You nearly choke. “Han.” 

He winks over his shoulder, already reaching for the wine bottle like it’s his. “She calls me Han when she’s pretending she doesn’t like me.”

“Because I don’t.” you say flatly.

“She lies.” he tells your friends.

He pours himself a glass and raises it like a toast. “It’s a pleasure for you all to meet me. I hope I feel some pleasure too.”

You scowl, rubbing the heel of your palm into your eye like a stressed out cartoon character. This is never going to work. You take a seat across from where he stands, trying to seem even remotely interested in your ‘boyfriend’. 

Lacey leans in, mouth twisted like she’s trying to smell bullshit. “So... how did you two meet?”

Han doesn’t miss a beat. “Not telling, the story is too close to my heart. I’m gatekeeping it. You’ll hear it at the wedding. I’m already planning my vows.”

Your entire soul leaves your body with a single scoff. “We’re not getting married,” you snap.

“Yet,” he replies, sipping his wine. “But I have plans for us.” He gives you a kissy face and your friends exchange a glance. He’s losing them. Or winning. It’s hard to tell.

You all move to the living room. Netflix is cued up and snacks are laid out. Han grabs a handful of M&M’s and mixes it with skittles as he drops down next to you like it’s instinct. You watch on, half horrified and half concerned. “What? They’re all going to the same place.”

His arm drapes over your shoulders with too much ease. His hand finds your knee. You glare at him sideways, but he just smiles—easy, casual chaos. 

Your friends settle in, finally picking a movie, some mid-2000s romcom with a predictably chaotic meet-cute. The wine is flowing and everyone’s stealing glances at you two.

The girls are talking through the movie. Gawking at the male lead and discussing whether or not matching with your boyfriend is cute or cringe. You don’t join in, you never really do anymore. Too afraid that one of them will use the conversation to pitch their brother’s best friend's cousin to you.  

Jisung is actually watching the movie. A third handful of mixed candies are shoveled into his mouth and you lean away, kinda over it all. He pulls you back in, casually tossing your legs over his lap like it’s muscle memory. And then he starts tracing patterns.

First your ankle. Then up, slow and unassuming, his fingertips running along your calf, your thigh, higher. You shoot him a look, but his eyes are glued to the screen. His hand, however, is absolutely not glued to a safe zone

“I’ve been tracking your pulse through your thigh this entire time,” he whispers.

You give him a look, his eyes stay on the screen.

He grins. “It tells me everything I need to know. That plus your slight flush are classic symptoms of falling for your fake boyfriend.”

“Or I’m just annoyed.”

“Or,” he says, pointing at the screen and finally looking your way, “Ryan Reynolds is on screen again and your hormones are betraying you.”

“That’s not even—oh my god, that’s Ryan Gosling.”

He blinks, shrugs and squeezes the plush of your thigh just a little. You lean into it. “Same tax bracket. Same jawline. Same vibe.”

You burst into laughter—sharp, real, too loud.

Your friends all glance over. “Everything okay over there?” One of them asks, eyeing Han as he tears into a twizzler.

“Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat and biting back your smile. “Just watching the movie.” But Jisung’s grinning like he won something. He leans closer, voice just for you now.

“You laugh like someone who’s kissed me before. Not an ex but maybe my future.”

Your eyes roll before you register it, “I am not your future and I have not kissed you.” You look at each other, he raises a brow. “You will.”

You try to glare. Try to resist, but he’s smirking and his fingers are brushing the inside of your thigh like someone told him just how you like it. “I could do it now,” he says, quiet, playful. “Seal the illusion. Really sell it.”

“You just want to kiss me.” It comes out softer than you meant for it to, your eyes drift just slightly down but his are already there, watching your mouth shamelessly.

“Desperately,” he whispers. “You’re too pretty to just pretend to date.” 

Your chest tightens, your lips part to say something a bit too flirty—and that’s when Lacey calls out, “He’s very… hands-on, huh?”

You both freeze.

Jisung lifts his hands like a suspect caught at the scene. “Guilty.”

“Dude,” Lacey mutters, “we’re still in the room.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Is it a crime to wanna fuck my girlfriend?”

The room stops.

Dead. Silence.

Your other two friends cough so hard they choke on their wine. Lacey makes a face halfway between oh no and oh he’s hot. Your jaw drops. 

“Han Jisung, shut up!”

He looks around, frowning. “It’s a valid question.” 

Then he’s standing before anyone else can say a thing, holding out a hand to you like he’s about to lead you onto a dance floor instead of to your bedroom.

“C’mon, sugar plum,” he says with a wink. “ Let’s leave the judgmental singles to their vino.”

You glare, whispering as you stand, “You don’t know where my room is.”

He shrugs, whispering back. “I’ll find it. Like I found your heart.” You let him pull you forward, trying not to smile. Your friends all make a sound like they want to say something… but what?

Just as you’re out of sight Han pauses, just loud enough that they can hear him “Uh… which room is yours again?”

You sigh. “This way, dumbass.”

He grins and follows. “That’s my girl.”

You shove him down the hallway. He still opens two wrong doors, calls your linen closet ‘cozy,’ then finally stumbles into your actual room. Once the door’s shut, you spin to face him, slapping his chest. “You’re the worst.”

“You paid for me,” he says, all teeth and mischief as he takes in your room. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Plus,” He looks back at you, still grinning “You’re wet.”

You blink. “I am not—”

He takes a step closer. “Babe, I am an expert. It is my job to know.” Your mouth opens to argue—and then his tongue slips over yours with your next breath.

He kisses you like a college guy getting laid for the first time in two weeks, and for some reason it works in his favor. As much as your brain screams to pull away… your body is okay with this. 

He kisses like he talks—fast, greedy, no filter. He's nearly sucking on your tongue before your brain can catch up, hands already gripping your ass like the clock’s ticking and he’s got something to prove.

You gasp into it. “Jisung—”

“Sorry. Sorry, you’re really pretty,” he pants, backing into the wall by your door. You follow, you don’t know why, but you do. “God, I’m so glad you picked me.”

You nearly make fun of him, tease him for really acting like a horny guy from a frat party but the soft grip of his hands on your waist makes your brain buffer. His eyes are already heavy lidded, asking for more. You lean in with permission.

This time he kisses you like he’s always wanted to. Like he’s known you for years and the opportunity finally fell in his favor. It’s deep, smooth, his tongue slides over yours like he really is an expert. Total difference.

Your hands fist into his flannel, pushing it down his shoulders and he turns, switching places with you. His flannel falls to the floor just as your back hits the wall beside the door. Your gasp sounds too much like a moan. 

“Do that again,” he whispers, then bites your lip. “Show me what other pretty sounds you can make.” he rolls his hips into yours and grinds—once, perfectly—and your mouth parts with an actual moan.

“There she goes.” His lips are back on yours in an instant. He moves you, walking backward and bumping into your dresser, your chair, a damn plant before finally landing you on the bed.

You’re breathless. Laughing like you can’t help it. “Are you always this clumsy?”

He lands with a soft oof on top of you, bracing himself on his forearms. His grin is wild and unrepentant. “Only when I’m trying to get laid by someone way out of my league.”

You snort. “I am pretty out of your league.”

“Ouch.” He feigns offence, kissing your cheek. Then your jaw. Then lower. “It’s a good thing I still have plenty of time to prove myself.”

You open your mouth, ready to tell him to shut up, but then he hooks his fingers into your shorts and drags them down your thighs without breaking eye contact, and your brain fizzles out.

He whistles low. “Damn. Did I just leave you speechless?” your brain still won’t work.

Your shirt goes next, flung somewhere past the dresser he nearly tripped over. His hands trace your sides, up your ribs, greedy but slow and warm. Unhurried for a guy who looks seconds away from combusting just from this alone.

“You good?” he asks, and it’s the first time he sounds truly serious. Gentle, even. “We can stop if you want—” You pull him down by the collar of his shirt and kiss him hard.

“That’s a yes,” he mutters, dazed.

Then his cocky college boy grin is back as he dips down between your thighs, kissing your inner thigh with a sloppy mix of tongue and teeth. You arch, your hand tangles in his hair as he shifts lower and lower.

“I have this playlist,” he says, licking a barely there stripe up your center, “of my moans. You can sample them if you want. Pick your favorite.”

You laugh, actually cackle, caught so off-guard your body folds in a little.

“That right there,” he murmurs, licking again. “That’s better than my entire playlist.” Then he finally puts his mouth on you. He doesn’t ease into it. No gentle warm up, no drawn out tease. His tongue is pressed flat against your clit in an instant, sucking and slurping so loudly you’re sure the girls can hear it over the movie.

“God—Han—fuck—”

Your hips jolt. Your fingers thread tighter into his hair and he groans against you like you’ve unlocked a new kink for him. You reach for the sheets, your fist twist in them just as his nose bumps over your clit and his tongue fucking turns shallow.

He pops up, chin shiny, eyes wide. “Say that again.” He grins. “Just wanna remember how it sounds. 

You grab him by the collar and yank him up. “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” he kisses over your stomach, moving faster now that you’ve asked. Your bra is unfastened with expert speed, joining the growing pile of clothes. His tongue traces slow circles over your nipples, then quick, playful flicks that make you arch with a sharp inhale.

Then he fumbles his sweats off—nearly falls over—and finally kneels between your thighs, breath heaving, cock flushed and hard and way more than you expected from a man who unironically called you sugar plum.

He pulls his shirt off and you pause. Stare. There are tattoos, two of them.

One sprawls across his chest on the right, black ink, script you can’t quite read in the low light, paired with a compass. The other stretches up his left side, dark bold lettering. 

Your eyebrows lift before you can stop them. “You have tattoos?”

Han freezes, shirt halfway to the floor. “Shit—do I need to put it back on? Is this a no tattoo household?”

“No, I just—” You blink. “You don’t seem like the type.”

He grins, cocky as ever, like you just said exactly what he hoped that anyone who saw the ink would. “That’s what makes them hot.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already lining himself up. He thrusts in all at once, and whatever you were going to say dies in your throat, replaced by a moan so wrecked it barely sounds like you. 

“Swear to God, if you moan like that again I’m getting your name inked above my dick.” You choke on a laugh, but it melts into a gasp when he rolls his hips a little deeper.

“Deadass,” he mutters. “Right over the waistband, cursive font. Maybe a little heart if you keep clenching like that.” You dig your nails into his shoulder, a laugh shuddering through you and ending in another moan.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re so tight. I need a minute. I’m malfunctioning.”

You whine, shifting beneath him, seeking friction. “Just move.”

“Ohhh, you’re a brat. Got it. I’ll remember that.”

He starts thrusting, holding your hips in place and watching himself disappear inside you before he just starts watching you. The way your eyes flutter shut, your mouth falls open with little whimpers and whispers. Missionary turns into a slow grind with your legs locked around him, deep in a way that no one else has ever been. You mean it when you mumble that you can feel him in your stomach. 

Then it gets sloppy. He’s flipping you on your side, holding your leg up as he slams in from the angle that makes both of you moan in approval. He’s the whining type, fingers digging into plush flesh and practically crying above you like a cat in heat.

“Baby,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re talking too much,” you manage.

He kisses your calf, more tongue than anything. “If you keep being bratty I’ll lick behind your knee just to see what noise you make.” 

You wheeze a laugh that’s interrupted by a whimper as he pulls out, turning you onto your stomach and pulling you up onto your knees. He drags his cock through your folds before sliding in again, harder this time, his hands gripping your hips like he's grounding you.

The moans coming out of him aren’t even human. High-pitched. Desperate. Pornographic.

“Fuck—jagi—don’t clench like that,” His rhythm falters for just a second “I’m tryna make it last.”

You’re no better, moaning into the sheets, legs shaking. “Han, my god.”

“Yeah?” he groans, rutting into you with a frantic rhythm. “Tell me. Tell me how good I feel.”

You start to speak, your lips part but only his name makes it off of your tongue before you’re coming. Hard. Legs shaking and knees slipping enough for him to have to hold you up while he fucks you through your high. Slow and shallow, dragging it out just right.

“That’s what I thought, baby.” He pulls out just as your high is dying down, panting as he strokes himself once, twice, and then—

His load is hot on your ass, his chest heaving and yours is no better. The air is too hot, your moans still echo into nothing.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Ten outta ten.”

You barely move, you’re dazed. Boneless. Then you feel fabric—his shirt—as he starts wiping you down with the gentleness of a man who’s definitely done this before.

You turn, blinking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Really? Your shirt?”

He throws it to the side and leans forward, kissing your cheek. “Boyfriend duties, no big deal. Now roll over, I’m offering complimentary cuddles.”

You sigh, rolling onto your side like your limbs forgot how to function—cause they did. He follows instantly, sliding in behind you and tugging you in like you belong there, like this wasn’t a paid performance. His arm drapes around your waist. He exhales like this is the best part. Like he means it.

He wiggles his brows. “Better leave me a good review or I’ll cry.” 

You huff a laugh, settling into him. “Three stars at best.” He gasps in fake offense, leaning in a bit closer and tickling you just barely. 

“That was at least a four star performance!” You start laughing again, full and unfiltered. Swatting his hand away and leaning further into his chest.

He smiles into your hair. “That one. Still my favorite sound.”

A/N: Is this my first solo Han smut??? I think it is...

I took FOREVER to do this. forgive me my, my chronic illnesses are being...chronic. but the event must go on!

mdni banner is by @anitalenia

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He’s got his hand placed on your thighs—a rather innocent gesture coming from Chan but it does silly things to your heart nowadays.

“Stop teasing, Channie,” you giggle and he just scoots closer.

Your childhood bestie reaches around your hips, pulling you towards him. Oh, he’s horny again. Fuck, you didn’t know you’d be dealing with so many ego boosts when agreeing to that idea with Chan some days ago.

“I’m joking. He wouldn’t do that, he’s a kind guy,” he whispers, placing a few kisses on your neck, a way of shutting both your mouth up and your brain off.

“So, have you decided?” Chan asks, looking at you.

“Decided what?”

He chuckles, “The position for tonight. And perhaps other things that you want to try.”

It feels so forbidden to talk all these things out while being in the shared living room but Chan is slowly making you lose your sanity.

“Y-Yeah. Uhm, I have…”

“What is it, hm? What does my princes want?”

He’s gonna be the death of you.

“I thought about mating press… similar to last time but maybe i-it’ll work better with the angle this way… you could go deeper,” you explain, biting your lower lip.

Chan closes his eyes, knowing he’s the one now who’s trying to not absolutely lose it. He’s been having so many unholy thoughts about you since last night, he’s seriously considering going to church every sunday from now on.

“Anything else to add, Channie?”

Oh, you know what you’re doing. And this hits his corruption kink right into its core.

“Yeah, I’ve had an idea. Let’s call this orgasm training. I’ll give your beautiful body my whole attention tonight. Then we’ll see how many times you can come in a row until your mind breaks, hm?”

Easier said than done. Although easy is a bit stretched. Chan has set up the camera on the nightstand table again, as he’s right between your thighs. He looks like a starving man, ready to devour your cunt as if it’s a five star meal. And that’s exactly what it is to him.

Maybe the name Stargirl makes sense. Yes, he found it a bit boring at the beginning but that’s what you are to him. He will probably never admit it for several reasons but your childhood friend has had a crush on you for… forever, basically.

Which makes it even worse that he suggested such an idea. Yes, he gets to have you like this—like he’s always wanted you. But you’re still not his. Meanwhile, thousands of other people are watching you, admiring your body and all he can do is continue.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me tonight, do you get that?” he asks in a serious tone, as his gaze connects with your own.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” you hick up, already overstimulated from how long he’s been lazily playing with your clit for now. He’s rubbing tender circles around it, occasionally missing it on purpose just to tease you.

“You’re a quick learner, princess, just how I’ve taught you,” he whispers right before he disappears between your legs again.

His tongue is lying flat against your sensitive nub now, while his fingers are circling around the entrance. You’re wet. Drenched. Dripping. And Chan can’t help but drool at the sight. He’s finally gonna taste you. God, how many times he’s dreamt of this exact moment.

“F-fuck, right there, please,” you let out, when he starts moving his tongue. Chan pushes a finger inside your throbbing whole, as you immediately tighten around him.

“That’s it, babygirl, spread your legs a bit more like the good slut you are.”

You’re clenching around him again. In an instant.

“D’you like that? Being called a slut?” Chan looks up at you, adjusting his position. He keeps his finger inside you, adding another one, while he crawls closer to your face.

Softly, he squishes your cheeks together, speaking again, “Answer me, princess. Do you enjoy being a whore for me?”

You’ve talked this through beforehand that Chan is allowed to use harsh language with you—something you’ve wanted to try forever—but you underestimated how much it would turn you on.

“Y-Yes, I do, Daddy,” you reply, giving him a smile.

“You’re so fucking hot, Y/N,” he whispers in your ear, so that the mic once again doesn’t catch it.

Then he’s back again at the previous position, ready to devour you. And that’s what he does. You’ve received head a couple of times in your life—Hyunjin being very good at it—but this doesn’t come close to any experience.

“Come on, give me another one,” Chan says, referring to the fact that he’s made you come on his fingers twice today before that.

“R-Right there,” you moan, when your roommate curls his fingers a bit, this way hitting that certain velvety spot just right.

That’s all it takes for you to let go, coming all over his tongue while Chan doesn’t seem to stop. Only when your legs are shaking, your thighs almost giving out, he disconnects his hungry tongue from your heat again.

“N-Need more,” you whine, grabbing him by the waist now. God, you’re eager. He adores this needy side of you so much. When your friend gives you a small nod, you pull his pants down, not even surprised he’s once again not wearing boxers.

“Still not satisfied, huh?” he teases, as he starts stroking his hard length. The tip is leaking, angrily, and you’re once again wondering how he’s supposed to fit. “I’ve fucked you with my fingers and mouth for eternity now and this little slut still demands more.”

“I need your cock, please…”

Chan follows suit, this time leaving out the teasing. He reaches for his phone, directing the camera to where your bodies meet. It looks delicious, absolutely stunning how his thick cock is disappearing inside your aching hole. What a work of art.

“Look at you… sucking me in, huh? This pussy is made for me,” he grunts, trying to keep a steady pace. But all this eating out has made him quite horny too. Chan is sure he won’t last long tonight.

“I’m… just being a good girl for you, right?”

“Such a good girl, princess,” he says, “the best.”

Can he stop playing with your heart like that?

But Chan doesn’t listen to the conversation you’re heaving with yourself inside your head. He instead places your legs over his shoulders, so he can pound into you even deeper. This way, he reaches that angle again from earlier and you’re sure you’re gonna see stars soon yet another time.

And then it happens. Squeals, moans, whimpers are echoing through the room when you’re coming undone on his cock and you dearly pray that your other roommates don’t notice despite the walls basically shaking.

“Fuck—I’m close. You’re gonna make Daddy come if you keep clenching like that, darling,” he warns you.

“Do it, please. I-Inside me.”

Chan follows your demand, as he feels his seeds spill into your hot cunt, filling you up. The sensation takes over him and he doesn’t even pay attention to holding the camera properly anymore. But when he comes down again, he slowly pulls his length out of you, watching the juices trickle out.

He brings the phone close to the mess, as he continues filming how his fingers gather up some of the mixture of your liquids. And then he pushes it back inside again.

“One more, baby? Can you give me one more? We’re over when I say so, okay?”

“Fuck,” you let out, completely overstimulated but you just can’t stop. “Y-Yes, please.”

Chan keeps thrusting two of his fingers into your cunt, watching his release spill out of your hole, creating an even bigger mess.

And then you’re coming one last time, basically reaching heaven at this point, that you are sure of. You need at least one to three business days to be able to walk again.

“Such a messy one…” Chan whispers, right before he turns off the camera and uploads the video, making it ‘raspberry.mp4’.

You come back to life again, your breathing heavy and giggles erupting from your mouth, before Chan takes care of you as gently as he did last night.

Half an hour later, you’re cuddled up under your blanket, reading comments together.

They’re all so wholesome. Mostly from women, that you are sure of. So why did Changbin make such a fuss about this?

[baby_butt3rfly 🦋]: gooood how I’d love to be treated like this 😩 that girl is a lucky one

God, you’re actually feeling empowered by this. As silly as it sounds.

[his_princess_xoxo 🥰]: hot hot hot 🤩 the way he talks to her fuuuuck

You read further, while Chan is snuggled up beside you, playing a bit with your hair.

It’s all so wholesome and peaceful—except for the rapid beat of your heart.

Until you read a comment that makes you feel a bit weird.

[hyunwoo_98 😜]: nice pussy. would love to put my dick inside too. could make you feel good baby ;)))

“You okay?” Chan asks. He probably hasn’t read the comment since he’s scrolling through his own phone, currently texting someone.

“Y-Yeah,” you say, not wanting him to worry. It’s nothing. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Men just choose their words weirdly sometimes, right?

“I’m meeting with Changbin in the studio in half an hour,” Chan suddenly informs you. “Late night ideas. But we can talk once I’m back if you’re still awake?”

“Sure,” you say with a smile although you’d wanted him to stay a bit longer.

Chan has already left, when you’re making your way to the kitchen for a late night snack. Some homemade Christmas cookies do wonders to your nightly appetite, satisfying your craving for sweets very well.

You grab a few of the cookies, place them on a plate and quietly walk back to the corridor. Minho is already asleep—he had yet another late shift—and you suppose Jisung went to the studio with Chan earlier.

But when you pass the youngest’s room, you’re made to believe otherwise.

What… are those noises?

They sound so familiar.

Fuck.

A classic deja-vu. You’ve witnessed this before. Those moans, those whimpers, the sound of Jisung stroking his pretty cock.

You can’t help it. If it had happened once, you probably would have never talked to him about it. But this is the second time you’re hearing him masturbating and while it could be weird, you’re a bit of a perv yourself.

Still lightheaded from your time with Chan, you slowly opening Jisung’s bedroom door, just enough to peak inside. He’s dumb enough for leaving it open but you’re not surprised.

But this time he doesn’t have one of your panties wrapped around his dick but there’s something else.

A video on his big computer screen. A woman on her back, her thighs up, thrown over a buff man’s shoulders, as he keeps railing her into oblivion.

This is your video.

This is raspberry.mp4 that Jisung is watching.

Is he… is he aware this is you?

[ link to the google form where you can anonymously suggest ideas for the content of their videos and leave feedback if you like ]

“H-here…? What about your roommates?”

“Well…” he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I guess you’ll just have to keep quiet.”

Before you can respond, he takes your wrists, pulling you up from the chair in one smooth motion.

You and Hyunjin are friends, definitely. Just… the kind of friends who don’t always act like it when things get a little too tense.

He gently puts his hand on the back of your head before pressing his lips on yours. The warmth of his body and the softness of his lips relaxes your muscles. You kiss him back, heat coming up to your cheeks while his hand trails down your spine before resting on your hips, bringing them closer to his. You can already feel him growing against you, impatiently. He pulls you in until you are close enough to his bed before pushing you onto it. You softly gasp as he kneels between your legs, bending down to capture your lips again. Your stomach flutters while his tongue caresses yours, with one hand caressing your thigh and the other wrapped gently around your throat. Hyunjin knows your body by heart, he knows what to do and how to touch you to make your head dizzy in lust.

He starts to kiss your neck, his lips trailing down as his breath fans over your skin while his tongue brushes against your neck.

“Ahh.. Hyunjin” you whimper, trying to keep it as quiet as possible.

You feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck at the sound of his name. He loves to have you like this, to be the reason for your pleasure and he could spend hours making you cum back to back just to hear you scream his name. His blood rushed to his cock just thinking about it.

He stands back up on his knees before grabbing onto your pants and taking them off of you. He bites his lips before a moan resonates in his throat at the sight of your glistening pussy.

“So wet and ready for me, hm?” he murmurs to himself as he lowers his head down between your thighs, his hands firm as they hold you in place. The first brush of his lips against our clit makes your breath hitch, your fingers tightening in the sheets as a slow warmth spreads through you. You feel his tongue, relaxed, rolling against your clit, the movement so slow it’s making you squirm in anticipation. His eyes never look away from your face, taking in every expression you make. He starts to suck on your clit while his finger teases your entrance. You plunge your fingers in his hair, slightly pushing on it as you bite your other hand trying to not let any sound come out of your mouth, the feeling of his tongue already releasing the tension that built up inside of you. He finally pushes two fingers inside you, the cold metal of his rings making you jolt in surprise, pushing them in and out rapidly while his tongue and mouth are still latched on your swollen clit. He moves his head from side to side bringing you closer to the edge.

“Fuck.. I’m close. K-Keep going..” you whisper, your eyes rolling back.

Hyunjin moves his fingers back and forth, curling them inside you while his mouth is working onto your sensitive bud, lewd sucking noises filling the room.

You push his head harder on your pussy, hips grinding on his face instinctively, trying to reach your climax. His tongue and fingers move perfectly in sync, as you feel a coil forming in your lower stomach. You look down at him, admiring his perfect face buried deep between your thighs, focused on your pleasure. Hyunjin is definitely getting off from just eating you out, sweet groans trembling against your clit, his hips grinding desperately against the mattress as his eyes roll back. The sight is enough to bring you over the edge, crying out his name silently as your thighs tremble around his head. Hyunjin continues sucking on your clit while his fingers stay still inside you, filling you up perfectly.

*knock knock*

Your face snaps toward the door at the sudden sound while Hyunjin, unfazed, continues slowly sucking on your sensitive spot, barely nudging back when you try to pull him away.

Another knock resonated in the room followed by Felix’s voice “Dinner is ready if you want.”

Hyunjin groans, finally sitting back with a grin.

“Comiiiing !” he shouts, turning to you with that mischievous look.

You playfully smack his shoulder before putting your panties and pants back on.

“Go wash your face and hands, it’s a mess.”

Hyunjin silently looks at you before bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them seductively, clearly savoring the tangy taste you left on them. You roll your eyes and head to the living room, before taking a plate of whatever Hyunjin’s roommates are having.

“How’s studying ?” Jeongin asks.

Your heart skips a beat at the sudden question.

You clear your throat “Ahem… yeah, it’s… alright” you answer, trying to sound normal.

You glance around awkwardly, finally spotting Hyunjin emerging from the bathroom. Jeongin hands him a plate, but Hyunjin waves it off without a word.

“No thanks, I’m not hungry. Already ate something” he says, barely looking at you, but you know that smirk tells you he’s definitely giggling on the inside. You try to focus on your plate, forcing yourself to act normal, but it’s nearly impossible with Hyunjin sitting across from you like nothing happened.

Your grip tightens slightly around your fork when you feel it… his foot brushing against your ankle under the table making you freeze.

Slowly and carefully you glance up at him. He’s casually talking to Felix, nodding along, completely unfazed by his own actions that he conducts in secret under the table. He doesn’t even glance at you once but his foot presses a little more firmly against yours. Your breath catches in your throat and you pull your leg back slightly, shooting him a warning look. He doesn’t even react at all, instead, he takes a sip of his drink, lips curving into a grin, just barely.

A few seconds pass… then his foot finds you again. This time, it drags slowly along your ankle making you nearly choke on your food.

“Are you okay ?” Jeongin asks, glancing at you.

“Y-yeah,” you cough lightly, forcing a smile. “Just… went down the wrong way.”

Hyunjin hums softly, like he agrees, but you can see the amusement in his eyes now.

Oh, he’s enjoying this.

You try to ignore him, shifting in your seat but that only seems to encourage him. His foot moves again, making it impossible to focus on anything else. You shoot him another look, sharper this time.

Stop.

He finally meets your gaze and smirks.

By the time dinner ends, you’re already on edge. You stand up a little too quickly, grabbing your plate and heading toward the kitchen just to get away from him. Your heart is still racing, your thoughts completely scrambled. You barely set the plate down before you feel him behind you.

Close. Too close.

“You’re being awfully quiet” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You don’t turn around. “Maybe because someone won’t stop being annoying.”

A soft chuckle brushes against your ear. “Annoying ?” he repeats, amused.

You spin around to face him, lowering your voice. “You think this is funny ?”

“I think,” he steps closer, backing you lightly against the counter, “you’re overreacting”

“You–” you stop, breath catching as he leans in just enough to make your pulse spike again. “You’re the one who started it”

“And you didn’t like it ?” he tilts his head, watching you closely.

You hesitate. That’s all the answer he needs.

His grin widens, softer this time. “That’s what I thought.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real bite behind it anymore. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re still here,” he counters easily.

Before you can respond, voices echo from the living room.

You both freeze for a split second.

Then Hyunjin leans in, just enough for his lips to brush dangerously close to yours.

“Careful,” he whispers, eyes flicking toward the doorway. “Wouldn’t want them to notice.”

Your breath stutters.

He pulls back like nothing happened, his expression unreadable, except for the quick glance he throws toward his bedroom before looking back at you.

He turns around and walks up to Felix before resting his hand on his shoulder “I'm exhausted guys, I'll head off to bed.” he yawns. His eyes flick to you again “Y/N you should go study again” he smiles softly but it doesn't hide the mischief in his gaze.

You nod and watch him head to his bedroom. You put away the dishes from the living room to the kitchen before following Hyunjin’s steps.

You open the door carefully before closing it behind you.

He is sitting against the bed’s headboard. Most of his clothes are gone, leaving only his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His legs are spread, casual, as if they were inviting you in. He pats the empty spot between them, shaking you out of your dreamy state.

“Come here” he commands softly.

You gulp down your nervousness and do as you are told. You barely reach the edge of his bed before his hand catches on the fabric of your pants.

“Remove your clothes first, sweetheart”

The sudden pet name is enough to make your face hot and your stomach flutters. The word lingers in the air, making your breath catch and for a second, you don’t move. You can feel his eyes on you, waiting, watching. Slowly, almost hesitantly, your hands move to your clothes. Each movement feels heavier under his gaze, your skin warming as you become more and more aware of yourself… of him. You don’t dare look at him, not until you’re done, and when you finally do, he’s already watching.

He pulls on your wrist gently to guide you between his thighs, your bare back finding the warmth of his torso. You shiver at the feeling of his cold fingers caressing your arms while his lips find your neck, kissing it gently, trailing up to your ear where he whispers softly “I wanna play with you for a bit, I missed you”

You can’t help but bite your lip, your eyelids half-closed.

“I want you to watch yourself… see what I do to you.” he murmurs as he nods toward the big mirror set right in front of his bed. You see Hyunjin’s arms wrapped around you while his hands wander all over your flushed skin. You feel your pussy clench around nothing. The sight looks too erotic, enough to have you dripping already.

“I want to see you lose control” he murmurs before kissing your neck again, tightening his arms around you. He puts his legs over yours, forcing your thighs open revealing your already glistening pussy. His eyes flick at the mirror switching from your face to your bare body. He groans at the sight before resting his right hand on your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. His left hand shifts from your arms to your chest, where his fingers trace patterns over the skin, brushing slightly against your nipples from time to time earning soft hisses from you. His hand now rides higher before grabbing onto your neck possessively while his other one caresses the outer part of your pussy, teasingly, never touching you where you need it the most.

You can’t help but squirm in eagerness while his hand holds your face into place. His middle finger gently brushes against your swollen clit, drawing small circles on it making you sigh in relief. He slides two fingers down, reaching your entrance and feeling how wet you are.

“Oh you are loving this, don’t you” his voice is low, full of desire. You moan as you feel his fingertip slightly dip inside you. He suddenly slaps your pussy before chuckling.

“Shhh, stay quiet, remember ?”

He resumes the motion of his fingertips on your clit as you bite your lip to avoid making any noises. The pressure of his fingers on your bud is already heating up your body, your eyes rolling back desperately as his movements start to quicken.

“F-fuck Hyunjin– please” you desperately breathe out, your hand reaching down for his wrist. You feel your body tensing as the pit in your stomach grows bigger.

“What are you begging for, hm ?” he suddenly pushes two fingers inside of you. “This ?”

Your mouth drops open and a loud moan echoes in the room. His arms get around your neck, his elbow fitting perfectly under your chin as he flexes his biceps, reducing the airflow from going to your head.

“Quiet. Be a good girl and I'll make you cum” He forces your gaze toward the mirror “And i'll make sure you watch everything.”

You hold onto his arm while his fingers abuse your hole repeatedly, going in and out, feeling his joints brush against your walls. Your back arches as the feeling gets too overwhelming, his fingertips finally found the soft spot, curling and pushing on it gently.

“Look at you.. so pretty~” he whispers before seductively biting on your ear “Taking my fingers so well”

You watch yourself, catching your lewd expression, legs spread out wide, not an ounce of shame while looking at his fingers going in and out of you until his cold rings reach your entrance. You can see his face, so concentrated on your pleasure, his bottom lip achingly stuck between his teeth. His eyelids are half closed, too drunk in lust to fully open them, however, they never leave you, they are consistently watching you through that mirror.

Whimpers flow out of your parted lips, mixed with Hyunjin’s moans he tries so hard to contain. He is definitely enjoying this as much as you do by how twitchy his cock is behind your back, as his hips jerk upward unconsciously in desperation to fuck you instead of his fingers. But he wants to focus on you today : watching your face contort in pleasure every time his fingertips graze against your sweet spot, feeling how your walls tighten at each moan that comes out of his lips, and enjoying the way your nails dig in his biceps.

“G-gonna cum mhh..” you barely manage to let out with your airflow being reduced and Hyunjin’s fingers rapidely fucking you.

“H-hold it right there, not yet”

His chest is warm against you, rising and falling while he is panting, completely breathless. His muscles tighten around your neck, making you look up to the both of you in the mirror again. You feel your body becoming hotter as it wriggles around. You try to close your legs, the overstimulation getting too much for you to bear, but his legs block you from doing so. He has total control of your body and it’s making you feel both embarrassed and turned on. Wet noises and moans fill the room as you have a hard time keeping those to yourself.

His arms now shift from your neck to cover your mouth, tilting your head down so you can look nowhere else but in front of you, at that mirror.

“Cum for me, watch yourself c-cum on my fingers..”

Your back arches, legs desperately trying to close around his hand as your climax washes over you. Your moans and whimpers are muffled by his biceps, allowing you to hear his low groans resonating in your ear. You feel all the tension being released as your wetness coats his fingers, spilling onto the mattress.

“Good girl… keep going”

You ride out your orgasm on his fingers, while the hold he had on your face becomes loose. His free hand caresses your hair gently before falling on your hip. He presses warm kisses on your temple before removing his fingers from inside of you to bring them to his mouth.

You’re still catching your breath, your body heavy against his, when he presses a slow kiss just behind your ear. “Missed you” he murmurs this time, quieter.

The shift catches you off guard. Your fingers curl loosely around his wrist, grounding yourself as your heartbeat slowly comes down. You tilt your head slightly, meeting his eyes through the mirror.

“You’re such a distraction” you whisper, your voice barely steady.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing absentmindedly along your arm.

“And you still came over.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance left. Outside, you can hear faint movement in the apartment : dishes, voices, life continuing like normal.

Inside the room, though, everything feels slower. Hyunjin presses another kiss to your shoulder, lingering this time before pulling back just enough to look at you properly.

“Stay a bit,” he says, “Then you can go back to your assignment.”

You hesitate…

“…Fine” you sigh, leaning back into him again despite yourself.

His smile is immediate, satisfied, as his arms tighten around you just a little.

“Good.”

For once, neither of you rushes.

And for a little while, the assignment, the stress, everything waiting outside that room… can wait.

⋆

𝒓em’s note : hope you enjoyed ! you can send in requests <3

an eyeroll and scoff is how you ended the conversation. Your ass had a beaming exit sign on it and you intended on keep it that way.

the topic of Anal still came up but it was subtle. Little jokes saying you were a wuss started to get under your skin. So much to the point where you asked your friends about it.

“It’s not that bad, girl.” One of them said with a shrug, “if he knows what he’s doing you should be good.”

He’s a connoisseur apparently.

you friend goes on to explain the whole process. Spilling about how her partner had her “reaching for the gods above” or something like that.

once again, you try to shake the idea out of your head. The key word here is try.

But the curiosity was gnawing at your brain, fucking around with your senses. You became hyper aware of your boyfriends touches. you shy away when Chris cups one of your cheeks and when bin slaps it, you get mad.

the boys noticed your behavior and they used it as a chance to make you cave. Day by day, they grew even more handsy. rubbing it, squeezing it, patting it—until you just can’t take it anymore.

Now you’re all oiled up as you ease yourself down on Chris’s shaft, cunt savoring each inch. “F-fuck..” you spluttered, mouth hung open as you chase after your breaths.

“there you go, sweet girl, that’s it.” Chris praises. His hands kneading the dips in your hips.

“Look at you two,” changbin chimes in, as he settles himself behind you. “Havin fun without me.”

“Jealous much?” the older asks.

changbin rolls his eyes, gently pushing you down until your chest hits Chris’s. “not at all.” Bin says, hands getting a fist full of your ass. Meanwhile, his eyes were full of the sight of your cunt filled with the others girth.

“Liar.” “Am not.”

You interrupt their yapping with a whine. “Guys, please.” you beg, hips circling against Chris with need. They both chuckle at your eagerness.

“Alright, alright.” behind you, you can hear the a bottle of lube being popped open. Changbin lathers his fingers, along with your hole, with the Icy gel. goosebumps cover your skin from the coldness and you inadvertently clench.

“Relax, babe.” Chris coaxes through a grunt, hands soothingly rubbing your back. You hum, burying your face into his neck, sucking on it to get your mind off of things.

changbin takes that as a cue to continue. He slips a finger into your surprisingly accepting hole. His eyebrows raise as he easily adds two more, making you moan into Chris’s neck.

“you’re taking this too well.” changbin says, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Don’t tell me you’ve been…”

“Y-you’re too big for me not to prepare ahead of time.” you admit and chris laughs under you, calling you cute.

“Yea? How much preparation are we talkin?”

“enough for you to fuck me already.”

changbin snickers, pulling out his fingers and replacing them with the head of his dick. he grunts as your hole wraps around him. “Still so fuckin tight.”

The stretch has your mouth open. long moans spilling from your lips like water as you’re filled with the second girth of the day.

“Good girl, you’re doing well.” Chris whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he slowly starts thrusting up into your cunt.

Meanwhile bin did the opposite.

“Slut,” he degraded, gifting your ass with a sharp slap before fucking you like his life depended on it. “To think you were acting like you didn’t want this. I knew a whore like you would.”

As each of them pump into you, your brain melts. Unable to comprehend a single thing except for the two men that you were sandwiched between.

Shit, It was hard to even do that.

When changbin would pull out, chris would slide back in. You couldn’t get a break as you withered away in their hold.

“Channie, fuck, binnie” was as about the only words you could form.

“What’s wrong, baby? Too much?” Chris asks in an almost tantalizing voice.

“I don’t think it’s enough, actually.” changbin said before giving the older a look. You obviously don’t notice it, too busy whining and crying into your boyfriend’s chest.

It’s till Chris’s pace starts matching bins, when you realize that they had put too much thought into this. You could feel both of them rub together, somewhere in your guts, and it had you…

What did your friend say?

Reaching for the gods above.

you clench both holes, signaling to your partners that you’re close to cuming and they don’t stop working their way through you. Hips slapping against each-other as they lead you to your high.

“That’s it baby, let it all go.” you unravel at Chris’s words, body trembling as you cling on to him desperately. He pulls you into a calming kiss, tongue slipping its way into your hot cavern and swallowing up every sob.

After you finished, the boys continued to bottom out. Thrust gradually getting sloppy and losing rhythm until they’re twitching for release.

“Gonna fill both your holes” Bin rasps from behind, fingers digging into your skin as he Rails you. “fill ya’ till ya’ pop, yea?”

“Mhm, been s’good, need it.” You babble out,

“then we’ll give it to you, bub.” Chris says and he delivers right after.

it just takes a few more thrusts till their both pouring their seed into you. your whole body shutters, warmth engulfing you in a white cloud.

Changbin slowly pulls out, watching as his cum seeps from your hole and onto Chris’s thighs. “Fuck, that was..”

“amazing.” Chris finishes breathlessly, “right, y/n?” He calls, but is only answered with your soft snores.

“Poor girl, we wore her out. Let her sleep.” Changbin chuckled, kissing the back of your neck.

“But bin,”

“Yea?”

“Im still inside.”

:(

NNI : this was supposed to be in kinkmas but now that I completely botched that, I’m posting it for fun— as gift and part of my apology for leaving yall high and dry😞

Tinytags (comment to be added) : @sydnerss @sunnyyangie @panjakes @foxinnie8 @inniescandy-01

...

You sit beside Hyunjin in the row of chairs arranged in neat lines across the hall, your ID badge hanging stiffly around your neck like a badge of shame. Around you, a dozen or so couples settle into their seats, some leaning comfortably into each other, some whispering and laughing like they’re on some bizarre date night.

You, on the other hand, sit ramrod straight with arms crossed. You back rigid against the chair. As if posture alone can save you from the humiliating reality of the situation.

At the front of the hall, a man in a white coat adjusts the microphone and opens the seminar. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for participating in our thirty-day couple product testing program.”

Thirty days. Thirty days of this. Oh, god…

The man gestures to the large screen behind him where images of the products appear one by one.

“Our goal is to gather honest feedback about usability, comfort, and partner experience. Each of you will receive a full testing kit at the end of this seminar.”

A ripple of excitement moves through the room. You, however, feel your stomach sink lower with every slide that appears.

The speaker continues explaining the first product—what it is, what it does, how it’s supposed to be used. “… And don’t worry, there will also be detailed instruction sheets included in the package.”

From somewhere in the back, a male participant calls out jokingly. “Don’t worry, I think we’ll figure it out!”

Laughter erupts across the hall.

God. This is a nightmare. You wince so hard your eyes nearly close.

Strangely, the person sitting beside you doesn’t join the laughter. You glance sideways and finds Hyunjin sitting relaxed in his chair, long legs stretched slightly forward, a few strands of hair escaped the messy bun on the back of his head. He looks calm, almost focused.

When the next slide appears, the presenter gestures toward it. “And this model is designed specifically for couples—”

The screen displays a sleek product image and below it, the name of the product typed in bold: Hands-free couple vibrator.

You feel heat creep up your neck immediately but before you can look away, Hyunjin leans closer. His shoulder brushes yours, warm through the thin fabric of your sleeve. “That looks fun,” he teasingly murmurs.

Your entire body shivers from sheer, mortifying disbelief that you and Hyunjin will be testing that product together. You stare straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

The seminar continues, each explanation somehow making the situation worse in your mind. Eventually, the presentation shifts and different speaker steps forward.

“Now let’s discuss the structure of the program itself.”

Finally. Something practical. Something that you can pay attention to without feeling queasy.

“You will receive your testing kits today after the seminar. You may test the products in any order and at any time during the thirty-day program period.”

Thirty days. The number echoes again in your skull.

“For each product, both participants must submit evaluation forms describing your experience, including comfort level, ease of use, and partner response.”

That part, at least, you understand.

“As long as all evaluations are completed within the thirty-day period, participants will receive the full compensation package at the end of the program.”

The room erupts in whistles and clapping. Someone actually cheers.

You stare at the floor, wondering how the atmosphere became so festive.

And just when it seems like the excitement has peaked, the speaker raises a hand. “Oh, and we’ve prepared one more special thing.”

The room quiets instantly, anticipating.

“We will also be selecting one couple who provides the most genuine and insightful product feedback.”

The screen behind him changes again to an image of a tropical beach, palm trees and vast blue ocean.

“Those participants will receive a complimentary couples vacation package.”

The hall explodes. The whistles and clapping are louder now. A few couples lean into each other laughing, already excited.

Beside you, Hyunjin turns his head. His elbow nudges yours. “Did you hear that?”

You glance at him with pure exhaustion. “Yes. We’re hearing the same thing.”

He grins like a man who just won the lottery. “We’ll get a free vacation.”

You stare at him. “It goes to one couple.”

“And?”

“And I highly doubt that couple will be us.”

Hyunjin shrugs easily, completely unbothered. “I feel like we could win this.”

The reality of the situation settles heavier and heavier on your shoulders. You close your eyes for a moment, massaging your temple as dizziness creeps in from the sheer absurdity of it all.

Beside you, Hyunjin joins the excitement buzzes around you as if there was no complication in this situation. Which, somehow, makes it even worse.

...

MASTERLIST:

CHAPTER ONE Or you can read it on Patreon:

CHAPTER TWO Or you can read it on Patreon:

CHAPTER THREE Coming soon! Or you can read it early on Patreon:

The man’s silhouette moved slowly across the field, swaying between the tall grass, feeling the flower heads brushing against his palms. The autumn wind probably graced gently against his face, and for a moment, from a distance, he looked so peaceful… he... it… a walker.

My finger edged closer to the trigger. Easy target. They always were. I exhaled once and loosened my grip on the gun, pulling my eye away from the tight tunnel of the sights. I couldn’t afford the luxury of killing those creatures for sport, wasting bullets on something that barely mattered. Ammo was harder to find than food these days and I've been lucky lately without many of them roaming around. But one thing was true, if humanity thought the Covid-19 pandemic was rough, little did we know what awaited us in the future.

I pushed myself up from the concrete roof of the gas station’s shop. The place sat alone in the middle of nowhere, with its old sign hanging crooked above empty pumps. My limbs ached with every movement after days of walking settled deep into my muscles.

As I climbed down the side ladder, I noticed another walker drifting along the road. They were starting to gather. Great. It was time to move. I slipped inside the small shop and started scanning the shelves, though the place had been picked through,

It has been a little bit over a year this whole situation started and dust already clung to everything like a second skin. Still, there were some scraps left for me to pick up, a few bottles of Gatorade, chocolate bars, cleaning alcohol. Not much, but enough to keep me going a little longer.

I was stuffing the supplies into my bag when something clanked in the next aisle. I froze for a moment as a door creaked shut somewhere inside the store, then another loud metallic noise, followed by a loud curse and a low pained moan. 

Outside, the walker by the road turned its head toward the shop, it had certainly noticed the sound. Fantastic. I moved quietly toward the back exit, hoping to slip out unnoticed by both of them. Whoever was in here could deal with their own problems, until a male voice called out behind me.

“Hey!” I stopped dead and spun around hastily, raising a finger to my lips.

“Shut up. There’s one of them outside.” I hissed, my eyes narrowed at his figure crouched on the ground, clutching his foot. “Where did you come from? Who are you?”

The guy leaned against a shelf, breathing hard. “I think what you meant to say is ‘how are you?’” he muttered. “To which I’d answer ‘very shitty, thanks’. Now c’mon—help me out here.”

I followed his gaze downward, his ankle was caught in a homemade trap, crude but quite effective. Two metal jaws clamped around his boot, bolted to a short chain attached into the floor, not strong enough to kill anything big, but painful enough to hold someone in place.

Probably meant for animals. Maybe for people too. Perhaps even me. 

“No.” I stepped back quickly, putting some distance between us.

“What?” His voice jumped. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“I’m not helping someone I just met.” I shook my head. “You could be a crazy survivalist, a murderer, or whatever.”

“I’m not a murderer,” he shrieked, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Sounds like something one would say.”

A sudden crack echoed from the front of the store, both of us looked toward the door. Wood splintered as the walker forced its way inside. 

“Please! You need to help me! What kind of soulless human being are you?” His voice dropped into something raw.

The walker staggered into the shop, cloudy eyes scanning slowly as it followed the noise. I glanced toward the back door, a clean escape, I’d be gone in seconds. The creature groaned again, shuffling closer down the aisle. I muttered a curse under my breath and turned around.

“Fuck it. Pull up the hem.” The guy didn’t waste a second. 

He yanked his pant leg up while I knelt beside the trap and forced the metal jaws apart. My hands slipped on the bars as the spring finally gave out, and the trap snapped open. I pulled his ankle free just as the walker turned into our aisle.

“Get up.” I pulled him up, he tried to stand for himself and nearly collapsed, limping quite badly as I grabbed his hand and pushed him forward.

We rushed through the back door into the open air, but it only took a few seconds until the walker stumbled outside, dragging its feet toward us across the cracked pavement.

“Inside,” I muttered, shoving the guy toward an abandoned Waffle House across the lot.

The windows were grimy and a bit shattered, its yellow sign also hung crooked above the door. We slipped inside and ducked behind the counter, crouching low, holding the few breaths we still had inside our lungs. For an almost endless moment, neither of us spoke, listening for any footsteps outside, glass cracking, a groan, anything at all.

Time went by in silence, the sky outside had grown darker, autumn had only just begun and the days were already shrinking, the light draining away earlier than it used to. Through the dusty windows of the Waffle House, the last gray sliver of evening faded behind the empty road.

Neither of us dared to speak, we sat in silence as if waiting for something to happen, or maybe too afraid of what might follow the moment one of us opened their mouth.

Outside, nothing moved, no dragging footsteps, no hollow groans drifting through the air, only the wind brushing against the broken glass. A whole hour passed like that, by then it was clear that we were completely alone.

I pushed myself up from the floor with a strained groan, my knees felt stiff and aching after sitting so long. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a small first aid kit and tossed it into the guy’s direction. He caught it midair with surprising speed, his eyebrows lifting in mild shock.

“See if you can find something for your leg in there,” I mumbled, already turning away before taking a quick glance over my shoulder. “I’ll try to find some food. And don’t try anything on me. I’ve got some questions for you.”

My grip tightened slightly around the rifle hanging at my side, he held my gaze for a moment before silently nodding his head. Good. I moved toward the back of the kitchen area, stepping over overturned stools and greasy tiles, where everything smelled faintly of old oil and dust.

Behind me, I could hear him working, the rustle of gauze, the soft clink of metal tools inside the kit. I gazed back toward him, he had cleaned the wound as best as he could and was wrapping a bandage tightly around his ankle, improvising something decent out of what little was inside the kit. 

Up close, now that things were calmer, I noticed him properly. Shaved head, worn-down clothes that accentuated his lean build, dark circles under his sharp and alert eyes, which still had some kind of softness clinging on, stubbornly refusing to die.

I found a small stash of frozen waffles in the back freezer, buried under frost and old packaging, staring at them for a moment before letting out a quiet scoff. So funny to think something so simple can spark even the tiniest glint of hope inside someone.

Behind me, the young man cleared his throat, the sound snapped my attention back to him instantly while I went back to set up the waffles on our small fire.

“Thanks,” he said carefully. “For all of this. I’m Hyun—”

“No.” The word cut through the room before he could finish. “I don’t fucking wanna know who you are,” I said flatly. His mouth shut. 

“We’re not in this together. I don’t need to know your name, your story, or whatever else you’re about to tell me.” I flipped one of the waffles in the pan with the edge of my knife. “I’ll help you tonight cause you’re hurt. But I need to know where you came from and why the hell you were in that store.”

He studied me for a moment, then tilted his head slightly with a shy smile. “We could stay together if we were heading to the same place though.”

“Answer the questions.” I didn’t even look at him, he let out a quiet breath.

“I was in Missouri when all of this started, but my last stop was Atlanta, a few weeks ago, until I got caught in a horde.”

That made me pause just slightly. “Yeah, there isn’t much to see there anymore.” I mumbled.

His lips twitched faintly, like he almost smiled. “We were looking for a friend’s family.”

“You were in a group then?” I turned halfway toward him now.

“Kind of. Look, this conversation is starting to feel a bit unbalanced.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I want to ask some questions too.”  

“I’m not telling you my name.”

“Alright, might as well call you cutie then.” He leaned back against the counter, watching me with a teasing smile. I glared at him, but he didn’t look particularly worried. “Where are you heading, cutie?”

I took a deep inhale, hesitating for a moment before finally answering. “New York.”

“New—” He blinked and straightened slightly. “Are you insane? That place must be infested with dead people.”

I shrugged faintly, pulling the waffles off the pan. “Well, then I hope you’ve got somewhere else to be, cause I wasn’t planning on taking you with me anyway.”

“Maine.” He blurted out on a whim. “I’m going to Maine... I think my group is heading there. If we keep up a pace, maybe I could still find them in New York.”

“Sure, and you remembered that five seconds ago?”

“Please, let me come with you. I promise I won’t slow you down.” His voice got quieter, a little bit raw. “I don’t want to be alone.”

The room fell quiet again, only the small fire crackled between us, somewhere far outside the wind dragged across the empty highway. He didn't try to convince me about his skills, or how essential he was, or how I would regret this. Just laying bare the loneliness disease we had all been dealing with, way before the whole apocalypse started.

—

Morning crept slowly over the empty highway, pale and thin like watered-down milk spreading across the sky. The world had that damp chill that came with early autumn mornings, a faint mist hovered over the fields on both sides of the road, blurring the distant tree lines into gray.

The asphalt stretched ahead of us in a long cracked path, endless and silent, except for the steady rhythm of boots against pavement. Three days, that was how long it had been since the Waffle House. Three days since I decided, against every survival instinct I had, to let that guy walk with me.

Maybe it was the ankle, or the way he hadn’t complained much while limping along the first day, or because two sets of eyes were better than one, perhaps I just grew tired of hearing my own thoughts echo in empty buildings every night. Still that didn't mean he wasn’t annoying. Because for hell’s sake, he absolutely was.

Hyun walked a few steps behind me now, his limp noticeably better than it had been two days ago. He’d found himself a walking stick out of a broken broom handle we picked in a shed yesterday, though he mostly spun it around rather than used it.

“You know,” he started, voice carrying easily through the quiet air, “most people would be happy to have a teammate in the current situation.”

“Most people are dead.”

“Fair point.” A few seconds passed. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

I sighed through my nose, not slowing down. “Not happening.”

“You know I kind of gave you a hint of what mine could be.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Hyun,” he repeated anyway, cheerful as ever. “Just in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t.”

He kicked a loose pebble across the road. “You’ve got trust issues, cutie.”

I stopped walking and turned around, the rifle rested comfortably in my hands, its barrel pointing loosely toward his legs.

“Keep calling me that and you’re walking the rest of the way with one less kneecap.”

He raised both hands in surrender with a giggle, grinning proudly for getting a reaction out of me. “Alright, alright. Message received, captain.”

I turned and kept walking, behind me I could practically feel the smile still sitting on his face. God, he was annoying. At least we hadn’t seen many walkers around, just a few scattered ones in the distance, but now the fields stretched wide and empty around us, only the yellow grass swaying softly in the breeze and a rusted billboard leaning crooked near the roadside ahead. 

We walked in silence for a while after that, boots crunching lightly over gravel whenever the pavement broke apart. The sun was higher, after a while we stepped off the highway and cut through an open field to avoid a small group of walkers wandering near a crashed truck. Tall grass brushed against our legs while the wind carried away their morbid groaning.

Hyun walked a little closer now, careful with his steps. “You know,” he said after a moment, “you’re surprisingly patient.”

I snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“Exactly. Most people would’ve shot me already.”

“I still might. Our journey isn’t over yet.” He laughed quietly.

The tree line at the edge of the field got closer and we stopped there for a short break, a fallen log sat hidden in the leaves, perfect enough to sit on. I dropped my bag beside it and took a long drink from my water bottle. Hyun sat across from me, stretching his injured leg carefully, the bandage was dirty but holding, still he noticed me glancing at it.

“It’s hanging on," he said.

“Barely.”

“Optimism suits you, cutie.” I ignored that.

The wind rustled through the branches above us, scattering a few leaves onto the ground between us. For a while neither of us spoke, until he shifted on his seat, a bit too hesitant for someone like him.

“Why have you been walking alone all this time?” 

I stared out through the trees, watching the empty road beyond the field, my fingers traced the edge of the bottle slowly as I let out a tired exhale.

“A couple of months after all this started, my boyfriend and I found a group of people on our way upstate… unfortunately, at the time we didn’t know people could be very shitty in such situations and basically use people as bait for walkers.” A silent leaf drifted down between us. “I think being alone isn’t always the worst choice in a world like this.”

“Sorry.” Hyun’s voice softened. 

I shrugged. “Did your group leave you behind too?”

He shook his head slowly. “I kinda got lost actually.” I turned my head at him again. 

“We were running from a horde,” he continued after a moment. “Then one of them got stuck behind. I went back to help him, but when I was coming back I had to take a different path to get rid of the walkers.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I finally realized where I was… the only path I had in front of me was forward.” His voice dropped slightly. “Didn’t see them again after that.”

The forest around us creaked quietly with the wind. “Do you think they are looking for you?” I asked.

Hyun stared down at the dirt for a moment. “I don’t know anymore. A part of me wants to believe they aren’t, that they moved on and are following the plan.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t seem quite genuine. “But another part kind of wants them to be out there looking for me, or just waiting for me to come back.”

“How many are there in the group?”

“Eight, counting with me.”

“Not much.”

He smirked faintly. “Just enough to cause a bit of trouble.”

For a moment we just looked at each other, the wind shifted through the trees again. Somewhere far off in the distance, a lone walker groaned faintly, and Hyun leaned back slightly on his hands.

“You know,” he said, studying me carefully, “for someone who doesn’t want to tell me their name, you’re getting pretty chatty.”

I stood up with a scoff, slinging my bag back over my shoulder and offering him a hand to help him up. He looked at it, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes before a small smirk curled on his lips, his touch was warm and he got up with a small grunt. 

We stepped back out of the trees together and onto the road again, a long way to the north awaited us. The sky above stretched wide and pale blue, the kind of empty sky that made the world feel bigger than it should be, and for the first time in a long while, walking didn’t feel quite so lonely anymore.

—

A few days later, rain started falling sometime around morning and kept going until night settled. A thin mist still clung into the air while both our clothes clung miserably to our skin, boots squelched with every step, and cold rainwater ran down the back of my neck in the worst imaginable way.

A school appeared through the gray haze of rain like a forgotten memory of a world that didn’t exist anymore, a faded sign above the entrance still read Bridgeway Elementary. Hyun wiped rain from his eyes and looked up at it, tracing his gaze all over its brick walls and shattered windows.

“Well… this feels quite promising,” he said, pushing more water out of his face. “It's like a scene from a horror movie.”

“Everything is a horror movie now,” I muttered and walked towards its tilted gates.

We pushed through the front doors carefully, the hallway smelled like old paper and mold, lockers lined the walls, some ripped from their hinges, as posters still clung to the boards full of faded motivational slogans. Children’s drawings covered the wall of one of the classrooms, bright suns and happy kittens, all of it frozen in time.

Hyun took a glance around. “No walkers,” he said quietly.

It felt safe enough to spend the night. Either way he went for a quick search around the whole school to check for any threats while I found a spot in the cafeteria to set up a quick camp and a small fire to dry our soaked clothes.

Luckily we had some dry spare clothes that we found in some abandoned shop on the road and managed to keep away from all the water. Hyun hadn’t come back from his search, so I set them on the side and peeled the soaked shirt away from my wet skin, cold air brushing across my nipples. 

I wrung the water from the fabric before tossing it over one of the tables, taking off one drenched piece after the other, staying only in my underwear. Before changing into the dry pieces, I decided to check on some bruises on my skin from the past few days, when a sudden squeaky sound echoed behind me. 

A chill ran all over my spine, making me quickly press the shirt against my chest and turn around just in time to see the blur of a shadow hiding behind the corner.

“Fuck! I’m sorry!” Hyun’s panicked voice cut through the awkward silence. “I thought you had changed already.”

A wave of heat spread through my whole face as I quickly put on the clothes. “It’s fine. You can come out now.” I mumbled, though my voice came out weaker than intended.

He approached me by the fire a bit hesitant. “That was…” He stopped himself. “You know, I think nudity is an overrated concept, humans are animals—”

“Go change in some fucking classroom, Hyun, and we’ll pretend it never happened.” I cut him over.

He nodded rapidly and turned to leave, not really looking into my eyes. Though I could notice just the smallest flicker in it after hearing his name come out of my mouth for the first time, surprising even me by how natural it felt on my lips.

Later that night, the rain eased into a soft drizzle, while the fire crackled quietly while our damp clothes hung from improvised lines. Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, though sometimes we could try to have a full night of it without having to take shifts all night long. Tonight, however, I tossed and turned for hours, feeling the sleep embrace me and drift away every now and then.

I finally let out a tired sigh and turned again to face Hyun’s side, only this time it was empty. He wasn’t usually one to stay still all night long, but he also wasn’t one to disappear in the middle of it either. Adrenaline spiked through my veins. There was no sound near the cafeteria, it all felt the same as when we came in. He could have heard something… or someone could have taken him.

The sky was still pitch black outside. I wasn’t sure how long he had been away, or for how many hours I managed to stay asleep. A few minutes passed in blood freezing silence, until worry finally crept in. 

The hallway stretched quiet and dark beyond the firelight. There was no apparent movement in the classrooms, near the stairs, not even on the playground outside. I reached the last room on the hallway and was about to turn back when I heard a strained groan cutting through the silence.

My entire body tensed. A walker? It didn’t sound like one. I decided to take a quick peek inside to check if there was someone inside.

He was sitting on one of the front row’s chairs as his body faced the door sideways, his legs were stretched in front of him. A few seconds later he shifted on his seat a bit breathless, an almost pained moan scratching through his throat again. One of his hands moved in a frantic motion on his lap, quickly adjusting his pants a bit downwards and bucking his hips up on the seat.

My heart pounded faster in my chest. None of that felt like it was really happening. Hyun adjusted the pace of his hand again, opening more of his zipper, revealing a bit more of the stiff member half covered by his large palm. I couldn’t see much of it besides its plump tip almost bursting through each stroke he made with his skilled hand. 

He covered his mouth with his other hand, hiding another moan as a fluid overflowed from his shaft in one long spurt, followed by another, and another, until he slumped his back on the chair at last, completely spent.

His hand still held on to his softening length, drawing slow circles on its middle with his thumb, feeling the aftershocks shiver their way through his more relaxed body now. The rise and fall of his heaving chest was enough to tell me how long he was in need to do that. In the fraction of a second his posture stiffened like he’d realized something embarrassing.

Heat crept up the back of my neck and I quickly stepped back from the door just as he was about to turn his head.

I heard ruffling inside the classroom and tip-toed as fast as I could back to my improvised sleeping bag, shutting my eyelids too tight. A few minutes later I heard the sound of Hyun’s feet scraping the dusty floor and settling down. I heard a shuffle of clothes behind me, where he must have turned away. My thighs pressed together agonizingly, dampness spreading all over my core, as my clit flickered in sync with my heartbeat underneath my underwear. God, it was going to be a long night.

—

A couple weeks later, we finally came across an open mall just a few miles outside New York. The parking lot stretched out like a gray desert, cracked and overtaken by weeds, shopping carts lay scattered everywhere, flipped on their sides and completely rusted.

Some smaller buildings stood around the mall, fast food places, a gas station, a small condo and a pharmacy, but most of the area was empty. Though the closer we got to the city, the more walkers we started seeing, not hordes yet but enough to make the air feel a bit too tight and our eyes a bit more alert.

We slipped inside the pharmacy through a half-broken glass door, stepping over the shattered pieces carefully. Shelves were mostly empty, the floor littered with old packaging and things long since picked through, still places like this sometimes had something left behind.

“Check the back cabinets,” I said quietly, scanning the aisles. “Painkillers, antiseptics, anything like that.”

“Roger that,” Hyun answered from somewhere to my right.

I moved slowly along the shelves, pushing aside boxes with the barrel of my rifle, scanning labels, gauze, expired cold medicine, vitamins nobody probably needed anymore.

“Oh, look what I found!” His voice suddenly rang out excitedly from the next aisle. I flinched slightly at the volume.

“Wh—” I stepped around the corner and immediately stopped. “For fuck’s sake.”

Hyun stood there holding an extra-large condom he’d pulled from a dusty box and had blown up like a balloon, kicking the transparent latex in his knees.

“Put that thing away,” I groaned. “We don't need it.”

“Says who? I might need it,” he said defensively, clutching it against his chest. “I mean it’s not my size, but we could use it for a lot of things—water recipient, a glove, suffocating our enemies. Use your imagination, there's like tons of it here.”

I stared at him. “Whatever. Focus on finding some medicine. Your leg is almost healed but it’s good to have extras just in case.”

“Yes, captain!” he answered and saluted me with the condom balloon, then proceeded to keep playing with it. God. I turned back toward the shelves, shaking my head annoyed, though I could feel the faintest smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Why do I feel like we would hate each other in real life?” I said after a moment.

“What do you mean? This is real life.”

“You know what I mean, outside of this whole situation. Apart from our only thing in common being running from dead people.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I kinda think I'd like meeting you in a ‘normal’ setting.”

I glanced back at him as he casually leaned against a shelf, still wobbling the stupid balloon on his hand.

“Maybe we wouldn’t want to talk with each other at first,” he continued. “But if we gave each other a chance we could've some great time together… we still can actually.” 

I felt a slight flush warming up my face and let out a small breath through my nose. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I guess I could say you’re kinda nice.”

Hyun stepped closer this time, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “Well, look at that, am I finally breaking the ice wall?”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the shelf. “Don’t get cocky.”

He opened his mouth to respond when the condom suddenly popped on his hands. The sound echoed in the quiet store. Both of us froze. For a second nothing happened. Then somewhere outside a low groan answered. My head snapped toward the front windows when another groan followed.

Hyun slowly turned his head toward me, “…that might’ve been a mistake,” he said quietly.

A shadow moved past the front glass while others followed. Walkers. Too fucking many of them. My stomach twisted in a knot. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The front door creaked as one of them pushed against it and another slammed into the glass beside it. More groans began echoing through the parking lot, calling in even more of them.

“Back door,” I said quickly. We ran towards it, boots crunching over broken plastic and scattered boxes.

Behind us the glass shattered as the first walker stumbled inside and their dreadful groaning filled the store. I shoved open the hallway door leading to the stockroom and we sprinted through it. Behind us the sound grew louder, more footsteps dragging across the tiles. 

The back exit door burst open as I slammed into it, we bolted out into the alley behind the building, but the noise had already spread. Walkers were turning the corner from the street, staggered between the nearby buildings.

“There!” I shouted, pointing to the small condo we saw earlier, circled by some tilted but apparently sturdy fence. It would have to do for now.

We ran towards it, the city skyline looming far ahead of us, silent towers rising above the horizon like broken skeletons. Our boots pounded against cracked pavement as we cut between buildings. A cluster of walkers stumbled out from a side street, Hyun shoved one aside with his shoulder.

“Keep going!” he yelled.

I sprinted ahead, we were almost there, until I realized the footsteps behind me were sounding further. I glanced back at his figure lagging behind, not by much, but his leg, even mostly healed, still slowed him down when we had to run like this.

A walker lunged toward him from the side. He shoved it back hard, but it cost him another step. My chest tightened. “Hyun!”

“Fucking go!” he shouted. “Don’t look back!”

Another walker grabbed him, he swung his crowbar and cracked its skull with a sickening crunch. I jumped over the fence and fell with a hard thud on the ground. Two walkers reached for him as he ducked between them and sprinted straight for the building. 

He jumped over the fence with a crooked move, and let out a sharp hiss as his shirt got ripped on the side. We ran into the first open apartment we could find, slamming the door shut together behind us.

Both of us collapsed against it, holding it closed as the sounds of walkers echoed outside but not near. The fence would keep them far away from us at least for a few hours.

Hyun bent over, gasping for air. “Okay,” he panted, “that was… not very nice.”

My heart was still hammering and for a moment I just stared at him, making sure he was actually there, alive, with me. I shoved his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, asshole.”

“Do what? The balloon? C’mon, it was funny before it exploded out of nowhere.”

“No. Falling behind like that.” His breathing slowed a little, then a small grin crept onto his face.

“Were you worried about me?”

I crossed my arms immediately. “I hate you.”

He laughed quietly, leaning back against the door. Outside the walkers continued groaning, but inside the abandoned apartment, for the moment, it was just the two of us, and the city waiting ahead.

Night painted the sky a deep, heavy blue. The city lights that once drowned the stars were long gone, leaving only darkness and a thin trace of constellations overhead. From the terrace you could still hear some walkers wandering below, distant groans drifting between the empty buildings, but most of them had already scattered, pulled away by other sounds.

Hyun had gone upstairs earlier to check the rest of the building for unpleasant surprises or any unlucky survivors hiding out in the shadows. I stayed behind, trying to make the place feel less like a ruin and more like somewhere two people could sleep without waking up with a knife to their throat.

A few minutes later his voice echoed down the stairwell. “Hey, cutie! Come check this out! You are not going to believe it.”

I dragged myself up the stairs, every muscle in my legs pulling tight beneath my skin after the long day we’d had, running from the dead still lingered in my bones.

I reached the top of the staircase and stepped into a small, unlit hallway. Hyun stood by the terrace door, holding it open, there was some blood in his hands. At first I didn’t understand what he was pointing at, when I finally saw it. The buckets, bowls, plastic containers of all sizes, lined up across the terrace floor, each one filled with rainwater.

Someone had clearly been collecting water here for a long time. Maybe they’d lived here, maybe they died, maybe they ran when the walkers flooded the streets. Either way, the water remained.

Hyun turned toward me with the widest grin I’d seen on his face in days. “Hell yeah, cutie. We are taking a bath today,” he cheered. “This is starting to feel like a five-star hotel!”

I let out a quiet laugh and for the first time in what felt like forever, the idea didn’t feel ridiculous.

We boiled what water we could over our small fire and carried the buckets inside. The bathroom tiles were cracked and the mirror fogged with age, but the tub still held water. Taking a bath in the apocalypse felt like a long distant dream, but when the warm water touched my skin, the tension that had lived in my shoulders for months finally loosened just a little.

Later we sat in the living room again, cleaner and less miserable. Hyun sat cross-legged in front of me, shirtless as I finished cleaning the cut he’d got when jumping over the rusted fence earlier. The wound stretched along his side, red but shallow, nothing life threatening. Still, infection kills faster than walkers sometimes.

“I think I’m feeling my blood being poisoned by the rust,” he said dramatically while I dabbed antiseptic against the cut. “You think I might die because of it?”

“I've seen worse.”

“I don’t remember if I ever took a tetanus boost.”

I tightened the bandage slightly. “I can take you back to the walkers so they can take care of it for you.”

“No, thanks.” He chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands, watching me for a moment. “Hey,” his voice softened a bit. “Are you sure you’re good? No scratches, wounds… bites or whatever?”

I frowned slightly, he looked away a bit embarrassed. “I didn't mean to listen, but I think I heard you crying in the bathroom,” he added gently. “And now you’re all quiet.”

My eyes glanced down at his bandage for a second and how my hands still lingered there. “I’m fine.” The words came out softer than I meant them to. “I just didn’t expect to get so attached to a stranger in this hellhole.”

“Ouch,” he laughed. “A stranger? Really? After all we’ve been through?”

“Shut up.” I pressed the bandage a little harder into the wound. 

“Ouch!” Silence slowly settled between us again, but it felt closer this time, more intimate than I remembered it being. Hyun looked like he wanted to say something, his fingers tapped nervously against the floor.

“Is it too weird if I… ask to kiss you right now?” he whispered. “Just to remember how it feels.”

I froze for a moment, his expression was serious, but there was something shy hiding underneath it. The world was ending, cities were full of walking corpses, and somehow he still looked nervous asking that.

My body leaned forward slowly, his eyes widened slightly as the distance between us disappeared. The kiss started soft, careful, like both of us were remembering something we hadn’t felt in a long time, the simple proof that someone else was still alive.

Hyun’s hand hesitated in the air before gently settling on my waist as mine slid up from his hard chest to the back of his neck. We shifted closer and with a soft tug he pulled me into his lap, where I adjusted both my legs on his sides and could feel his member hardening underneath his jeans against my core.

We both separated a bit breathless, a thin string of saliva breaking between us. He looked up at me with pleading eyes, chest heaving under my palms. I could feel the tension in his shoulders immediately as he hesitated for a second and pulled back slightly, cheeks flushing slightly in the dim firelight.

“Uh—” He reached behind him awkwardly and grabbed something from the pile of supplies near the wall, holding up with shaky hands a small square package. The condom pack from the pharmacy. He looked both embarrassed and a bit proud at the same time.

“I mean,” he said quickly. “I just thought, you know, better be prepared than not.” A nervous laugh escaped his lips.

I scoffed softly, lowering my forehead on his toned shoulder, biting my lower lip to hide my growing smirk. “You're unbelievable.” 

“Can you blame me? How lucky am I to find such a cutie in the middle of the apocalypse?”

“How unlucky am I to get stuck with such an annoying idiot in the middle of Armagedom?”

“Let me take you to heaven tonight then,” he whispered close to my ear. His large hands slipped under my tank top, caressing the skin on my back.

“Flirt,” I muttered against his skin, so warm under my lips, so alive. I planted a kiss on his neck, earning a small whimper out of his throat and a soft moan when I accidentally brushed against his bandage.

Our hands worked in sync while taking each other's remaining clothes. Under the flickering firelight I could see the soft definition of his muscled body, the lines that carved his chest all the way down to the stretched fabric of his underwear. Skilled fingers hooked around my panties and pulled it lower, taking in the scent of my desire after slowly tracing a line over my sticky core.

I pressed another wet kiss on his lips and helped him out of his underwear, finally releasing his rigid member, hanging heavy between us. He slid the condom around its girth, placing a steady palm over my hips and guiding his tip to my soaked entrance.

With a shaky breath I sinked slowly into it, feeling every inch of him filling me up until I reached his base. After a few hesitating movements, we both found a steady, slow rhythm, one that two people could only match after weeks walking beside each other. But his soft groans grew louder, my hands gripped his strong back, harmony didn’t matter anymore when there was only raw need left.

He wrapped his arms tighter around me, pressing our chest flush against each other. “It’s Hyunjin.” A teasing smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. “My name. In case you want to say it”

“Hyunjin…” I moaned, at last tasting his name on my tongue as we leaned for another sloppy kiss, lips trembling in his absence when he pulled away. “I’m…”

“You don’t have to.” Hyunjin pressed a finger over my lower lip, tracing a line down my chin and lifting it for me to meet his eyes. “I like calling you cutie.”

He angled his hips closer to mine again and I could feel my insides getting warmer, my walls pressing tighter around him, his throbbing length pulsing deeper with each ragged breath. A moan slipped from my throat, followed by his, and now all I could feel was his shivers under my fingertips, rolling from my skin to his, from his to mine. 

With gentle yet trembling palms, Hyunjin lowered me in my sleep without pulling away, slowly softening up inside me, but still not letting go of the grip on my flesh. Not when we were this close, this young, this alive.

—

The walk over the Narrows Bridge had been quieter than either of us expected. Walkers wandered through the outskirts of the city in slow drifting pockets, like ghosts pacing through the ruins of a world they barely remember. Burned-out cars clogged the streets leading deeper into the city. Some still had squirming corpses under their wheels, others were just abandoned, rust spreading over the metal like a slow infection.

But we made it through, step by step, and eventually the high buildings rose around us like a graveyard of steel. Tall towers stood silent against the pale sky, shadows stretching across the pavement filled with weeds and debris. Hyunjin stopped in the middle of the street and slowly turned in a circle.

“Okay,” he muttered. “I take back what I said before. Apart from the occasional walkers we gotta terminate… this place is actually insane.”

A small grin tugged on my lips as I adjusted the strap of my rifle on my shoulder. “Yeah, it still is.”

I kept walking while Hyunjin followed after a second. “So,” he continued. “Where exactly are we going? You’ve been talking about New York since day one. Are you going to tell me where the final destination is?”

“Coney Island.”

His eyebrows lifted. “The amusement park?”

I nodded and kept walking forward. He studied my face for a second. “Alright, let’s go then.”

My feet stopped in a halt. “Wait, you coming with me?”

He glared at me in disbelief. “Why wouldn’t I? Whatever’s there clearly matters to you.” He adjusted his crowbar against his shoulder with a smirk. “And before you say I don't have to. I want to. Just in case you need some extra help.”

The sound of the waves grew louder as we finally approached the pier. Coney Island looked like a dream someone had left out in the rain, the boardwalk stretched along the shoreline, rusted amusement rides towered over the empty park as wind carried the sound of seagulls above us. 

The place felt strangely peaceful while we walked slowly through the abandoned park until I eventually stopped near the old railing overlooking the beach. The sand stretched wide and empty below us, waves rolling endlessly toward the shore. 

Hyunjin leaned against it beside me, I stepped away and walked toward a small cluster of rocks near the edge of the boardwalk. He watched silently as I crouched down and brushed aside some sand and debris. My fingers found what I’d been hoping to find after all this time. A small metal box, half-buried, still exactly where I remembered leaving it.

He stepped closer. “What’s that?”

I opened it slowly, inside were some trinkets and two thin papers—amusement ride tickets.  For a moment all I could see was a memory, bright lights, music playing from the rides, my boyfriend laughing beside me while we argued about which ride to go on first.

Hyunjin didn’t have to ask anything to understand what it meant. We walked back to the railing and climbed up onto it, sitting side by side in silence while the waves rolled below us. The wind pushed gently against our faces, sky stretching wide and open above the water.

“I had my first kiss here,” I said quietly.

“Is that an invitation?”

“Fuck off.” I pushed him lightly, and we both laughed.

“Where to now?” He asked after a while.

“I have no idea.” Those words felt strange to say out loud, for months I’d been walking toward this place, this moment, and now it was over. “I thought some closure would be good, but now that I got it… I don't know what to do.”

Hyun leaned back slightly, holding tighter onto the railing. “Given how Chan likes to follow the plan,” he said thoughtfully, “he might be around this area though.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like he’s predictable.”

“He kind of is.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Depends on the day.” He chuckled.

We sat there for a few quiet minutes, when suddenly Hyunjin stiffened. His eyes sharpened and at first I thought he’d seen a walker, but his gaze wasn’t scanning the streets, it was focused somewhere behind us. Confusion flickered across his features and settled in disbelief.

“Hyunjin?” A faint voice carried across the empty boardwalk. Male, a bit rough from shouting, too familiar to his ears. “HYUNJIN!”

His eyes widened and his entire posture changed instantly. A figure emerged fully from between two abandoned food stands further ahead. Eight of them actually.

With a swift motion, Hyunjin jumped down from the railing so fast his boots nearly slipped on the wood. “No fucking way,” he muttered under his breath.

The guy in front of the group skidded to a stop just a few feet away, staring at Hyunjin like he’d just seen a corpse. He was tall, broad-shouldered, hair tied back messily. “Dude,” he said breathlessly. “What the hell?”

“Chan?” Hyunjin’s voice came out shaky and raw when he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulders and pulled into a rough hug.

“You idiot!” Chan shouted. “We thought you were dead!”

The others crowded around both immediately, laughing, crying, talking all at once. Relief exploded through the group while I quietly watched from afar as Hyunjin laughed for the first time in a way I had never heard before. Lighter, younger, like he’d stepped back into a life that existed before we met.

After a moment he looked over his shoulder toward me, our eyes met and for the first time since we started walking together, I realized something. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I didn’t want to just survive until the world finally decided to swallow me. I wanted to stay with him until the end of time. Until his voice was the last thing I heard. He called me to come over.

Let us die young or let us live forever

We don’t have the power but we never say never

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the warm string lights looped around the headboard and the faint city glow slipping through half-closed blinds. Changbin’s hoodie is already on the floor; your oversized Stray Kids tour tee is rucked up to your ribs, his big hands smoothing over the newly bared skin like he’s memorizing you all over again.

“You missed me that much, huh?” he murmurs against your throat, voice low and fond, lips brushing the spot that always makes your breath hitch.

“Every single day,” you answer honestly, fingers threading through his dark hair. It’s longer now, long enough to curl softly at the nape, and you love the way it feels when you tug just a little.

He hums, pleased, and kisses down the center of your chest, slow and deliberate. When he reaches your stomach he pauses, pressing his forehead there for a second like he’s grounding himself.

“I kept thinking about this,” he says quietly. “About getting you under me again. About hearing you fall apart for me.”

Your thighs press together on instinct. He notices, of course he does, and smiles against your skin, small and devastatingly soft.

“Lie back, baby. Let me take care of you tonight.”

You do. The sheets are cool against your shoulder blades. Changbin settles between your legs, broad shoulders spreading you open in the gentlest way possible. He doesn’t dive in right away. Instead he kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, murmuring little compliments the whole time.

“So pretty here… always so soft for me… look at how you’re already glistening, fuck, I love that.”

Your face burns. He chuckles low, the sound vibrating against your skin, then finally, finally, drags the flat of his tongue up your slit in one long, unhurried stroke.

The moan that leaves you is embarrassingly loud. He groans in response, like your taste is the best thing he’s had in weeks, and goes back for more. Slow circles around your clit, gentle suction, then back to broad licks that make your hips twitch. Every time you start to writhe he lays one heavy forearm across your pelvis, holding you sweetly in place.

“Stay still, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Let me learn you again. I wanna feel every little shiver.”

You try. You really do. But when two thick fingers slide inside, slow, careful, curling just right against that spot that makes your toes curl, he finds a rhythm that has you gasping his name like a prayer.

“There she is,” he breathes, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “That’s my girl. You’re doing so good.”

The praise hits harder than it should. Your walls flutter around his fingers; he groans again, louder this time, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clit while he keeps that steady come-hither motion inside.

“Bin—” Your voice cracks. “It’s— it feels—”

“Different?” he finishes gently, never stopping. “Building bigger than usual?”

You nod frantically, chest heaving.

He kisses your inner thigh again, soothing. “That’s okay. That’s perfect. You’re gonna let it happen for me, yeah? I’ve got you. I promise I’ve got you.”

His thumb finds your clit at the same time his fingers press deeper, firmer, rubbing circles inside while the pad of his thumb rolls quick little circles outside. The pressure is overwhelming, too much and exactly enough all at once. Your thighs start to tremble uncontrollably.

“Changbin—” It’s almost a sob.

“I know, baby. I know. Just breathe for me. Let it build. Don’t fight it.”

You can’t fight it. Not when he’s looking at you like you hung the moon, not when his voice is velvet-soft and steady, not when every stroke feels like it’s unraveling you thread by thread.

The coil in your belly pulls impossibly tight, tighter than you’ve ever felt, and then it snaps.

A broken cry tears out of your throat. Your whole body locks up, back arching hard off the mattress, and then, oh god, wet heat gushes over his fingers, his wrist, the sheets. You’re shaking so violently you can barely breathe, wave after wave crashing through you while Changbin keeps moving, slower now, coaxing every last tremor out of you.

“That’s it,” he whispers, voice wrecked with awe. “That’s my good girl. Look at you—so fucking beautiful when you let go like that.”

He doesn’t pull away until you’re whimpering from overstimulation. Only then does he crawl back up your body, careful not to crush you, and gathers you against his chest. His lips find your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asks softly, thumb brushing away the damp hair stuck to your forehead. “Was that… too much?”

You shake your head, still dazed, still floating. “Felt… incredible. I didn’t know I could—”

He kisses you quiet, slow and deep and full of so much love it makes your eyes sting.

“You can,” he murmurs against your lips. “And you will again. Whenever you want. I’m never gonna stop wanting to see you fall apart like that for me.”

You bury your face in his neck, smiling against his skin, heart so full it hurts.

“Promise?”

He tightens his arms around you.

AN: now this was sooooooo fun to work on.

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You don’t know how it became routine, maybe the third or fourth time Jeongin curled up outside the greenhouse with bramble thorns in his fur, or when he first sighed and melted beneath your brush like butter on stone. Either way, it’s yours now.

Tail-brushing duty.

Jeongin sits on a mossy cushion in the sunlit clearing behind the sanctuary’s herb garden, surrounded by drifting flower petals and the soft scent of lemon balm. Seven pale tails fan out behind him like silk banners, twitching restlessly. He’s in his half-shifted form today: mostly human, though his ears and tails remain stubbornly fox, a telltale shimmer in his eyes betraying his illusion magic at the edge of breaking.

You kneel behind him with your favorite wide-tooth comb and a jar of balm. “Don’t wriggle.”

“I’m not wriggling,” he says, immediately wriggling.

“Mmhm.”

You press your palm to the base of his nearest tail to anchor it, and Jeongin shudders. Just the lightest brush makes his ears flick back like they’re trying to hide.

"You know you asked for this," you remind him, voice honey-smooth as the comb starts its first long stroke through snowy fur. "You were shedding everywhere. Even in the sheets."

“You said I could sleep at the foot of your bed-”

“Not in my pillows.”

Jeongin makes a little chuff of protest, but goes quiet when you hit a knot. You work it gently with your fingers, massaging balm into the tangled patch before combing through again. The soft, methodical rhythm lulls him until he exhales slow and heavy, like he’s melting right into your lap.

But you notice the twitch in his fingers. The little tremble in his thigh. The almost imperceptible way his breath hitches when you comb a little too close to the base.

You pretend not to.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, lips close enough to his ear that the tip turns scarlet.

He shrugs, stiffly. “Just… feels nice.”

“Just nice?” You lean forward to smooth your palm over the second tail, then the third. “You’re shivering.”

“‘M not.”

But he is. You catch the way his hips shift almost unconsciously, like he’s trying not to press down against the mossy earth. Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with himself. His illusions flicker again, briefly casting a shimmer of foxfire that curls harmlessly between your ankles.

You smile to yourself.

“I think I’ll brush this one next,” you say, fingers hovering above the one tail he never lets you touch.

The seventh. The most sensitive.

“No wait-”

But it’s too late. Your fingers slide through the downy fur, barely grazing the base where nerves are coiled tight as wire. The reaction is instantaneous, Jeongin chokes on a gasp and his whole body jerks forward, caught between shock and pleasure.

His ears flatten. A helpless, whimpery noise escapes him.

“Ohhh,” you breathe. “There it is.”

“D-Don’t,” he whispers, voice gone high and breathless.

But you keep brushing. Gentle strokes, slow and precise, dragging the comb from base to tip while your free hand steadies him with firm pressure on his lower back. Jeongin’s breathing shatters. His hips grind forward before he can stop himself.

Your thighs ache with the effort of staying still, of pretending your own core isn’t throbbing just from watching him unravel.

“Sensitive boy,” you tease. “You like this too much.”

His tails twitch violently. “It’s- hnn, n-not meant to feel-”

“Shhh.” You stroke again, and this time he moans, full-bodied and desperate, burying his face in his arm as if that could hide the way his cock is pressing hard into the moss beneath him.

You drop the brush and replace it with your hand, raking your fingers through the seventh tail until he’s trembling under you, little foxfire sparks licking at the air around him.

“Gonna cum like this?” you murmur against his ear. “Just from me brushing your tail?”

Jeongin lets out a sob. “C-Can't- please, I- please?! feels so g-good,”

You keep going. He writhes, thighs spread wider now, hips twitching helplessly against nothing, and his cock gives a needy pulse you can feel even through his clothes. You slip your hand between his legs and palm him through the fabric, just once.

That’s all it takes. He shatters, crying out as he cums hard in his pants, tears slipping down his cheeks from how intense it hits. His tails flare and go limp all at once, flickering dim foxfire curling around your ankles.

You keep your fingers brushing that sensitive tail with deliberate slowness, soft strokes barely grazing the tip, like the teasing whisper of a breeze over a raw wound. Jeongin’s breath shudders sharply, ragged and uneven, a helpless whimper caught in his throat. His hips jerk instinctively, desperate for relief, but you press a firm palm into the small of his back, holding him still.

His ears flatten fully now, the delicate tips slick with tears, flushed deeper than the pale pink fur along his cheeks. You trace your fingertips up the length of his tail, every tiny nerve ending singing under your touch, and he whines, a low, broken sound between pleasure and pain.

“T-Too much…” he gasps, voice trembling like a fragile leaf caught in a storm.

But you smile, heart swelling at how completely undone he is, how vulnerable and open, yet still so eager to please.

“Not done yet,” you whisper, voice thick and warm, leaning close enough that your breath fans over his temple. “You wanted this, remember?”

Jeongin tries to steady his breathing, but his body betrays him. His thighs quiver, shaking beneath your hands, slick heat pooling between his legs despite the slick mess he’s already made. He curls his fingers into the moss, digging sharp little claws into the earth as you flick your fingers in slow, teasing strokes along the base of his tail again.

His skin flushes a darker rose, spreading from his neck down to the tips of his toes. His tails twitch and wrap around your wrist, holding you captive with silent, desperate pleading.

Tears spill over freely now, blurring the edges of his vision as sobs shake his slender frame. You brush them away with the gentlest touch, fingertips lingering on his temple.

“Look at me,” you say softly.

He blinks up at you with swollen, glistening eyes, lips trembling.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.”

You curve your hand around the base of his tail, stroking more firmly now, circles, light pinches with your nails, running your palm over the soft fur like you’re memorizing every inch.

Jeongin gasps again, body arching toward your hand despite himself, a string of desperate sounds spilling from him, too raw to be words. His breathing falters, chest rising and falling erratically, hips twitching with no control.

You’re not cruel, just merciless with your teasing.

Your fingers slow, dragging over the tip of his tail until it quivers, the fine hairs standing on end. His entire body shudders violently, wet tears leaking from his eyes, lips parting in a silent cry that breaks your heart and ignites your desire all at once.

His cock throbs hot against your thigh, still leaking from his climax but already aching for more, and you press a kiss to his temple, warm and steady.

“Almost there, love,” you murmur.

The final strokes come soft and slow, deliberate, enough to keep him on the edge, but never letting him fall again. He trembles beneath you, a mess of flushed skin and quivering limbs, every nerve ending alive and burning. Jeongin’s sobs quiet into helpless whimpers, and you catch his chin gently, guiding his gaze to meet yours.

“Good boy,” you whisper.

His lips quiver into a shaky smile, eyes bright and glazed with tears, the foxfire flickering softly around his tails like a halo.

You slide your fingers into his hair, threading through the soft, dark strands as you press your forehead to his.

“Come on,” you say, voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He leans into you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the world, and you hold him close, fingers still lightly stroking those sensitive, cursed tails.

You press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Sweet thing,” you whisper, “you’re too easy.”

He breathes out a ruined laugh, hands fisting in your lap. “Y-You did that on purpose.”

“Obviously.”

“Mean,” he sniffles.

“I’ll wash your pants for you.”

“...That doesn’t help.”

But he nuzzles closer anyway.

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Jeongin…when you first met him, he was shy — always wearing a sweet smile on his face that deepened into the cutest dimples. That is how you remember him and that is what you thought he is always like. You still remember how your own anxiety radiated off you at the thought of meeting your best friend’s friends. However Felix, being his bubbly self, did everything he could to make feel comfortable — comfortable enough that you eventually started coming to their practice from time to time. At first, you didn’t want to get to know them, mostly of the fear that they might not like you, but that fear faded quickly, forgotten the first day you ever spent with them.

Like Felix, they all were nice to you. Some more quiet than the others, but they always intended to make you comfortable and included — from Chan, making you feel included in every conversation, to Minho making sure your plate is always full, to Changbin always putting smile on your face with his stupid jokes, to Hyunjin who you share your love for art with, to Han who secretly shares his sweets with you, to Seungmin whose bickering and nagging keeps you occupied most of the time, but with his and all of your new friends’ doings, it still couldn’t make your attention even a little waver away from him.

He is all the same — quiet, but after some time you have realized that maybe it is just you. With the others he is open, he is more himself and you? You keep your eyes on him. The beginnings were difficult for everyone — always careful with their words and actions, till they finally saw the small weight on your shoulders fall off. You didn’t even realize how truly you were nervous around them, but they actually were just acting careful around you, so they wouldn’t scare you off. Even him, but with him, you have never truly got close enough.

You were staring, awfully so and you wonder how the others didn’t picked up on it yet or even him. Maybe somehow they did, maybe they just didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe they were just clueless. He was nothing, but kind to you, walking around you slowly like in waiting, but you always did nothing, but stare. He also, not like the others, didn’t touch you — not even a slight push nor a hug. You do know about his small dislike of someone touching him and you do respect it, keeping your hands to yourself, while also imagining what it would feel like to have his on your skin.

You wonder if he maybe did notice your eyes on him, nonmoving, glaring, but after some time you started to notice the small changes between you two. You don’t remember, when it was the first time you truly noticed them, but you do remember the time, when he got you a drink you have requested. You remember how his fingers wrapped around the cold can, leaving small imprints — you remember, when you went to take it, your own fingers didn’t even reach where his once were. Even just this lingering memory makes you shake, air getting stuck in your throat. Such a small gesture — simple, but it meant so much more for you. It also fully started your little obsession, with his hands.

You have never touched them, not even that time, too careful and trying to be respectful and with that you never truly appreciated, how nice his hands are. You for quite a while didn’t even realize yourself how much time you have spent looking at them. You always liked hands, you even had a particular picture of perfect pair of hands and he had them. It is almost one of the first things you notice on a person and not just in a certain way — how they hold a pen, phone or even how they squeeze at you, when you go shake your hand with theirs. However there was also a one way you like them the most — how they would hold you, grip at you or even pinch you. You didn’t want to think about him and his hands in that way, because you thought it was wrong, even pinching yourself every time it crossed your mind. Your skin was tender at the end of the day and even the slight sting couldn’t stop you and at one particular night, when you were on the brink of sleep, you decided to not hold yourself off any longer.

Your mind was already fuzzy, exhausted. You could feel the world around you turning into black spots before your very eyes, but you knew that it mostly wasn’t from the need for sleep. You couldn’t close your eyes, mind swirling, thoughts a mess, before every black spot before you formed into one solid picture. Him — right on top of you, caging you, body pressed against yours. His hands — trailing over your body, gripping, pinching your skin between his fingers. Your breathing has turned into quiet gasps as you followed his imaginary movements with your own hands. Oh, how would they feel running through your hair. How his fingers would pinch lightly at your peeks. How would he use them on you — pushing, scissoring, moving so fast, curling just right, till they reach the one delicious spot inside you and you just know it would be so good. He would know perfectly what to do to you — you would let him do anything and everything to you…You would let him wrap his hands around you, till your skin would turn tender. You would let him wrap them around your neck, your hips, your thighs, everything. You would let him fuck you onto his fingers, cunt leaking all over him, squeezing tightly, because you knew it would be too delicious to stop…You are a mess and a one thing that didn’t help was that he had finally started to feel comfortable around you.

You felt so dirty, yet you couldn’t stop, not when the thought of your hands replaced by his brought you to such ecstasy that it made your eyes roll back into your head. When he for the first time touched you — shivers of delight ran down your spine, world around you swirling. It was so simple again, but it being him was everything, but that. Shock — sparks alighting on the spot and you did nothing, but stare dumply at him, yet again he didn’t seem to notice.

One day, when you were outside in a small garden, it had happened. That night was warm, small wind blowing through your hair as you so desperately tried to put them behind your ear to take a small bite of Minho’s amazing cooking. You were frustrated, huffing lightly as your hand came to wrap around the small strand of hair, that kept getting inside your mouth every time you would try to take a bite. You were almost ready to rip it out of your head, till you felt a small graze of fingers against your temple and like your body knew, you froze. Standing before you, looking down at you, was Jeongin and for a split second you caught his gaze — staring, he was staring right at you…your lips. The food in your spoon almost fell off, watching him slowly and precisely put your stubborn hair behind your ear, before turning back around to the conversion he was having with Hyunjin, like nothing had happened.

Like he didn’t just touch — like he didn’t do something so intimate, right in front of the others, like he didn’t just stare at your lips….

Your appetite didn’t return, it just turned into something way more different. The first time he ever laid his hands on you…Maybe you were thinking too much, but you never have felt such a rush, when Felix did it for example. So simple, yet not. For the rest of that night, like every other, you couldn’t stop looking, thinking, dreaming about those hands. Everything he did with them was something so mesmerizing and you were absolutely smitten. That night is treasured deeply in your heart and how much you didn’t expect him to do it again and again.

You tried to keep your distance, even if it didn’t mean much since you kept looking at how his fingers moved — so elegantly that you truly couldn’t do anything about your staring, but he…he seemed to only move closer and closer to you since than. When he first sat beside you, your body almost froze, like you were certain a small move would make him move away. Maybe you did want that in some way, because his whole presence made your mind shut off — mumbling, muscles spasming yet frozen and you truly wonder how you could even press down on the buttons of the controller you were holding. The game you were playing with Felix was quickly forgotten, his whining and shouting, nothing but a background noice, but one sentence ringed in the air.

“Let me try.”

Your head didn’t turn to him, body so still you didn’t know if you should just fall over so the ground could swallow you whole. He never truly spoke to you and you have to wonder again how is it that he has you wrapped around his finger this much…that’s right his finger, the one touching yours. Your eyes stared down on the controller in your hands as he came to grab it from your grasp, hands momentarily wrapping around yours. His hands — so big and warm were almost galloping yours and you couldn’t fight against the small sigh leaving you. His touch was again so brief that you thought it was just your wild imagination, but it did happened and you did find the last bits of strength to look up at him.

He was smiling, dimples showing seemingly sweet, but something in his eyes flickered briefly, when he trailed his gaze over your features before looking away. You were a mess, truly a mess and there is no other word better to describe yourself. Since than he did so many things with his hands, when he was near you — hands running through his hair, till you got a whiff of his lingering shampoo, his fingers tugging at the zipper of his hoodie, tapping against the glass of his drink, fingers pressing against his lips, when he was deep in thought and every time you looked — every time you noticed how his head would slightly tilt into your direction and every time you looked away in shame. Every time your eyes met his, you naively thought he was only glancing your way, only looking at his new friend — but, oh…how wrong you were.

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Sweat — rolling down their flushed skin, chests rising in deep, rigid breaths, that you mirror lightly in your own way. You can see the exhaustion dripping off them, heads rolling back, muscles jumping, joints shaking as they slump down to the ground. You don’t know for how long you have been here, how long you have been lost in thought, but it was enough for them to feel their bodies screaming for relief. You tried to helped them the best you could, but you yourself didn’t see why you were even needed here in the practice room. Felix and the others, thought of you as a thing to lean on, a support and what kind be friend would you be not to stay…Even if you were just sitting on the couch watching — watching him.

Your best friend startles you a little, pulling you out of your thoughts as he flops down next to you, huffing, stretching. “Man, I am so tired–“ Felix whines to no one particular. However you do smile a little, when he turns to you to jokingly pout, before his lips part again to blow out puffs of air.

“We should take a break.” Says Chan, nodding at everyone, seemingly exhausted as well. The new comeback was a weight on everyone’s shoulders right now — nonstop practicing, trying to get perfect their dances that were already flawless. You had thought that maybe your presence might distract them somehow. However to them you were a calm presence, a shoulder to lean on. What they didn’t seem to realize, though, is that it was quite the opposite for you. It felt like torture in a sense…watching sweat drip down his face, trailing down his neck, pulling at his thin t-shirt in attempt to cool down a little, hearing the heavy breaths escape him between takes, the deep frown of concentration etched on his face as he danced.

You are more quiet than usual, fidgeting with your own hands, as your eyes travel from him to the others — no use whatsoever, because you still found yourself looking at him as he goes to sit down on the floor. “Want something to eat, before we continue?” Asks Chan, voice breathy and his question is already being answered by series of agreements.

You don’t know what time it is now, but you do feel small specks of exhaustion settling over you too. Still, as always, your mind and heart ignore the rest of your body, too occupied with the view infront of you. Jeongin had you mesmerized by his smooth movements, hair now slightly damp from the hours of practice and you couldn’t help, but wonder how much time had passed to get him like this — body sprawled over the floor, elbows holding his upper body up as he leaned back into the couch. Every time he would take a breath, his dark t-shirt would cling onto his chest. His head is rolled back, giving you a view of his long neck, your eyes following the prominent vein peaking from beneath the thin skin, Adam’s apple bobbing, looking good enough to bite and his hands…they keep twitching, like tapping into the rhythm of the music that already had stopped playing minute ago. You are distracted again, so much you don’t feel or hear the others moving around the room.

“Innie-ah, you coming?” Asks Hyunjin and that makes you turn away from him to the others, who look at their dark haired friend, who is still sitting on the floor. You don’t even realize, that they already moved to go get some food, your eyes meeting Felix’s and you do know he could see the way yours widened at the next words.

“No–“ Says Jeongin and you already feel a lump forming in your throat at the answer as he doesn’t even take a move to go with them. “Just buy me whatever.” He waves his hand lightly, your eyes flickering over the room back to him and you almost crumble, when he meets you in the middle.

You can feel the others now looking at you too in a silent question, which should be simple to answer in a sense, but you can’t help but almost stutter. You will be alone…alone with him, if you don’t go and you don’t know if you want that. No, you feel like your body needs that — feeling his and his presence only caging you in and the thought makes your seemingly exhausted body wake up from any kind of slumber it was in. Your body and heart speaks for you, but your mind screams at your answer.

“I don’t want anything — I will just wait here.“

Everything was said so fast and collected, but your gaze didn’t waver from his, because you physically couldn’t look away. You watch his eyes narrow a little, fingers twitching again and like a fly you follow the movement, almost blacking out at that, because he just saw you. He was you definitely looking and if you hadn’t turned away as if the sight of his hands physically burned you, it might have not look so obvious. You curse at yourself silently in your mind, glancing at the others, who nod at you in acknowledgment, before taking their leave and just as their presence started to fade, you feel his grow heavier — expanding, filling the space around you.

You are choking, thoughts a mess and for the first time you don’t think about anything and you just feel. You don’t hear, but feel the doors closing, the distancing footsteps, the way his breathing levels, the way his muscles stretch, when he goes to take a sip of his water. The way his fingers scrunch up the water bottle…You want to cry, scream, anything, because you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. You have never been so smitten, so mesmerized by someone and the worst part is that he might never know…

Jeongin swallows the last bits of water, before looking at you. Your legs are pushed up to your chest, sitting in the far corner of the couch, like you wanted to make yourself as small as possible. The dimmed light highlights the small frown on your face, watching silently, how you fumble with your fingers. It was quiet, nothing, but the small rustles of fabric from him, when he moves to stretch a little and the small hum of the air conditioning in the room. The small cold breeze does nothing for your heated skin, eyes looking down at nothing in particular, silently counting the seconds. You are pathetic — finally you have him alone with you and you can’t even do anything about it. You don’t even know what would you say…you don’t even know, if you are even capable of ever voicing your words out loud.

You don’t know if it is just you again, who feels the tension in the room, but you do feel how he suddenly turns his attention to you. You don’t move, his stare piercing through your body in a way that it is almost impossible for you to look back at him. You have no shield, no excuse — you can look at him, you are just not sure if you are capable of normally, without your emotions reflecting in your eyes. However you do see him from the corner of your eye stand up, pushing down his sweatpants that had ridden up his long legs. “Want some?” His voice cuts through the thick air and you can’t do anything, but nervously look up at him to know what he is asking.

In his hand is his now empty water bottle, fingers digging into the plastic little deeper than it is necessary. Your eyes meet his only, because he moves his occupied hand to his face to lightly flick off a small drop of sweat running down his jaw. At that you notice how your closed up throat is screaming in thirst, nodding slowly in plea, too scared to even open your mouth to speak. Jeongin mimicks you, before walking up to the small table in the corner of the room. You wonder why you both not just ignore each other, scrolling away on your phones before everyone gets back — you soak in each other’s presence.

You follow his every move, suddenly so confident with his back turned to you, watching muscles rip under his thin t-shirt. Everything goes slow around you, yet too quick at the same time, body twisting a little, when he turns back to you to give you your water. Your muscles spasm, legs falling down the couch in a sound way too loud in the silence of the room and you can’t help, but cringe at everything you are doing right now. You feel exposed under his eyes, even if he is just looking, even if his stare is always seemingly so nerve racking.

Jeongin stops right in front of you, making your frown disappear from your face so quickly you almost have a whiplash. Right before you is your water bottle, his hand wrapped around it — you go grab it slowly and unsurely. You keep your face straight as best as you can, but how can you, when your hand touches his…the reason you are so miserable. His skin is cold, kissed by the dripping water and you follow it, till it falls off the tip of his finger. You don’t know if you are moving so slow just to not crumble, hand lingering on his second too long that it seems intentional. However his touch — before you can melt into the leather couch any further is gone as his hand falls back to his side.

You feel your heart shatter not just from that, but also because you notice how your hands shake a little as you go to take a sip. The cold water though does nothing too ease your inner thirst, not when he is still standing before you…You swallow a little too hard, carefully glancing at him from beneath your lashes and your lips are left parted at the sight of him towering over you. He was always a bit taller than you, but from this angle you are even more intimidated. When did he move so close? You almost feel the material of his sweatpants grazing over you and you don’t move away from it nor into it — you are completely still, staring at him and he does notice the inner battle reflecting in your eyes. There is no use, you don’t have the strength to fight your emotions right now.

“Something wrong?” He asks you, voice smooth as ever, loud around you. You are completely drowning in his presence alone. Your lips go to press against each other, but your mouth is left open again, when you catch him following the movement. Goosebumps rise on your skin, words getting caught in your throat again, so you just decide to just shake your head, even if you are lying. Everything is wrong — with you and your obsession, kink, to the way he stands before you, talks, moves. How does he do it?

Your eyes travel away from him, just for a second to atleast blink, because it seems you can’t even do that, but then shock fills you. The move so quick and smooth you feel your mouth drying again, when he suddenly takes the water from you. Pathetically you want to chase the feel of his skin again, but you only look up at him in bewilderment. The way his fingers grazed over yours leaves a permanent burning sensation, that sends your stomach spinning. It seemed like he used your disbelief of such act to move closer, because your knee touches his leg briefly, but that isn’t the thing that makes you almost fall into unconsciousness.

It is the way he puts the rim of the bottle against his own lips, tongue sticking out for a moment and you visibly shiver at the thought of it being your lips instead. He takes a long sip of water, some of it rolling down to his chin, neck bobbing again. The way he makes everything look so good, should be illegal. Your mind shatter again, because he is drinking from the same bottle as you — he could have take a new one for himself. You knew how he is, when people get close to him, how he slightly pulls away from an unexpected hug, even if there is a smile on his face. He is definitely not smiling now…he is watching you from behind your water, small breath falling from him as he goes to wipe away the spilled water from his pink lips. “Sorry, thirsty–“ He shrugged, like that move didn’t just make you form into a puddle.

“It’s okay.” You mumble so quietly you don’t even hear yourself. You watch him relax his arms by his sides, also noticing, how he holds to bottle just with his fingers. You don’t know where to look right now, small silence between you two, before he so suddenly smiles down at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, nor it does last long as he tilts his head at you.

It was a silent question and you answer it by another wave of silence, not really sure what to do — if you want him to leave or let him get even closer to you. The quiet makes it hard for you to breathe, his presence and stare only intensifying it. You can see his own unspoken words circling in his eyes, yours nonblinking so you wouldn’t seem like a bigger mess than you already are. With his head tilted down at you, the move making your heart skip a beat, his lips form into a small frown. “You are always so quiet, when I am around…Did I do something?” Jeongin sounds sad, eyebrows furrowing lightly and you do nothing, but panic a little.

“No!” You say, voice a little too loud, making heat rush to your cheeks. With your now wide eyes you watch his frown deepen even more and you curse yourself for being like this around him.

“Really?“ He says, pausing a little, features softening, but his eyes hardening. “Then why do you keep looking at me?” You pause, breathing becoming short as you stammer to answer. He is only meaning now — not every day, every moment…You are again lying to yourself, but you have to, otherwise you would probably die on the spot. However the way he said it…no.

“I don’t look at you.” That is the most vile lie you have ever said and you are still looking at him, while you said it. You feel the world closing on to you at the thought of him noticing your nonstop staring — that’s it, you are only allowed to look at him from afar. Admire him, thing you will propably never have, but in some way you do wanted him to notice. In some twisted way, you want him to punish you for it…

Jeongin only hums lowly at your answer, gaze leaving yours, like in deep thought, before he twists his body a little to put the bottle onto the table behind him. Why does it feel like he is waiting? Maybe to see if you will crack? What if he did notice and now he thinks you hate him or something? Your mind is running wild, so distracted that you see him moving in the mirrors surrounding you, way before you feel him.

He humms lowly again, before he goes to sit right next to you, body so close to yours you do a double take to make sure you are seeing right. In the mirror you see him looking at you, feeling the hard glare on the side of your face, but you don’t meet it. You are baffled by everything he did so far — so out of character, so different from the smiley Innie you knew. For a moment think you think, that are dreaming. That you are only imagining his side touching yours, feeling every breath he takes. The small spasm of muscle, when he twists his body to face you a little more. However you see it and feel it, everything is happening so fast you can’t do anything about it yet again. His reflection — the smell of his sweat mixed with his perfume sends you into overdrive and when you see him move his right hand to you…you are left speechless again.

You let him, really you can’t even fight it, because you have been thinking about his hands, his touch every night and every day and now…now his hand comes to put your hair behind your ear. It is the same as before, but now his touch seems to hold a meaning, hand lingering on the side of your face. You let him trace his fingers over your jaw, all the way down to your chin, but he doesn’t make you look at him. You only watch him through the mirror, like you are not ready to face this reality of him touching you so intensely. His hair hides his gaze on your lips, but you do feel it, lips parting in silent gasp as he moves his hand back to your hair. Goosebumps rise on your skin, shivering, when he presses over the skin behind your ear, before you see him leaning closer, hot breath fanning over your ear.

“I know.”

That word…that word makes you freeze in your spot, panic, fear and something more striking you, head snapping to face him. He is close — his nose almost touches yours if you wouldn’t back away in on an instinct. Jeongin’s face is calm, hint of a smile on his lips at your state as your mouth keeps closing and opening. “What-“ You are in denial somehow, only to calm yourself down, but is it even possible with him being so close to you? You watch him remove his hand, with watchful eyes and with that his smile only widens, while you feel a lump forming in your throat. His leg is pressed against yours, reminding you of how close he still is to you and you almost whimper at the confident look you are given — he knows.

“You think, I didn’t notice?” His tone isn’t sharp, but it still does make shame and embarrassment reach you, because you have been caught. Jeongin doesn’t seem to be angry nor disappointed and that makes it all too worst, because he must already know the answer to why exactly you have been watching him. “You stare at me every time I turn away — hoping I won’t catch you, but I always do. So tell me…why and what is it you are looking at?”

You are ashamed. He already knows, but he still wants you to say it. His face is so close to yours, hand on the back of the couch and you know that if you would try to move away he will catch you — there is no way out of this. Though you don’t have the strength to admit yourself yet. “Nothing…” You whisper, head low, while he tilts his again.

“Nothing?” He repeats and now you hear a small hint of dissatisfaction.

“I…I am just looking nothing more, I swear-“ Liar — you are a horrible liar.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

You have never heard such tone leaving his lips before and you wonder if he is turning angry only because you won’t say it. How can you? You have been caught, but it is not like you were subtle about your actions to begin with. You are embarrassed to be acting like that — so desperate and pathetic, but you can’t control your needs and desires. You feel almost on the brink of tears just from how ashamed you are and you want nothing more than to run and hide, so you do. However you are only quick enough to sit up, hands immediately finding you, pressing you back into the couch and you do gasp out loud at that.

He doesn’t remove his hands from your upper arms, hold strong enough for you to see there is no use trying to escape. His fingers dig into you hard, but it is everything, but painful. You are forced to meet his gaze again and you quiver at the glare he sends you. “Talk, Y/N — can you even do that?” Jeongin leans closer to you, making your back press into the cushion, while he almost hovers over your body.

You don’t know what to do — cry, scream? In embarrassment, pain, but mainly relief, because seeing him like this leaning over your body sends shivers down your spine. “I am sorry–“ You whisper, gasping lightly, when he suddenly releases you from one of his hands to press against the spot next to your head, leather squeaking under his weight.

“Sorry for what exactly?” You almost shake your head, because you don’t particularly know the answer. You are sorry for everything, yet not, because your actions leaded to this. You don’t take your eyes off each other, chests rising so wildly they almost meet. Something then flickers in his eyes, features softening just for you to notice the change. “Sorry, that you don’t talk to me like you do to others?” You blink at the change of tone a little, his words striking small confusion, but you are no fool — he is being manipulative and it is working.

“I was trying to be…respectful.” That word sits heavy on your tongue.

“Respectful…” He repeats after you again. You let him turn you into nothing by a mess beneath his hands, melting at the way his hand travels up your arm. “You and I both know there is nothing respectful between us–“ Your state — wide eyes, lips parted, skin heated — your state makes him melt a little too.

“Us?”

Jeongin is shaking on the inside, because he knew — he wanted you to say it so bad, his grip tightens over your collarbones, thumb pressing into the bone. “Tell me, Y/N. Why are ypu acting so different around me — and don’t tell me you were only looking. I can see you mouthing the words…what do you want?“ It’s a demand, perhaps a plea for you to stop acting innocent.

“I don’t–“

He tsks at you, frown falling over his face, growing frustrated. “Why are you so scared…Did I do something to upset you?” Jeongin says, quietly, sounding so sincere, you stutter.

“No!” It comes out broken, ending in a pathetic whine. You can’t breathe, because it would make you breathe him in too. You realize your state at that…You can’t hide any longer, there was no use even at the start of this. “It’s me…” You confess, not fully, but he sees the way the invisible shield before you crack enough for him to press against you more.

Your legs are pushing against each other, his hand griping on to the cushion next to your head, while the other slides over your arm back again. You watch his eyes turn dark, making you tremble beneath him. Jeongin’s breath mixes with yours, gaze piercing through yours, till it suddenly drifts to your mouth. “Then tell — tell me, what you want and I will give it to you.” His words are like honey, but you hear something, that makes you choke…desperation.

“I can’t–“ You can’t move, breathe, but you do feel him and it is becoming absolutely intoxicating.

“But you do want to–“ His eyes meet yours again, small silence falling between you after that. You don’t answer, because it is so obvious — you need it, want it, you are just not sure if you can handle it. Your body battles with your mind as his hand comes to caress the side of your neck. You whimper, the sound so loud in the silence and so raw you have to close your eyes. His fingers tickle you and your breath turns into gasp, when you feel him blowing air on to the thin skin of your neck. That sound sends sparks of pleasure up his spine. You are too into everything to notice the slight shake in his movements, while his next words bounce off your skin. “Do you want me is that it? Or do you just want my hands?”

You don’t recognize him, he is completely dripping in sin and you are eating every last bit of it. With his lips so close to your skin, your eyes flew back open, staring behind him at the reflection of you two. “I…I want–“ You are speechless, watching him pull away a little to meet your gaze again, heart hammering against your chest as he puts his hands around your back to pull you closer. “I want everything.”

“Then take it.”

You pull your hands away from your chest to press them against his instead, gasping lightly when you feel his heart. “Please–“ Your hands grasp at his t-shirt, making it slide down his chest a little and your simple plea makes him snap.

Jeongin knew — he knew from the beginning. How your lips fell apart every time he would look at you. How your body stilled, every time he was near you and how you stared at his hands and everything he does with them. He firstly thought he was imagining it, thinking maybe, that you are too shy to approach someone new to talk to them, but he quickly realized it — you didn’t want to just talk, you wanted something more, him. The idea corrupted him, the idea of his friend’s best friend being so smitten by him to the point you would fall down to your knees the second he would touch you. Like now — pulling you closer to his heated body, eyes falling to your lips, that were always so delicious to look at. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to grasp the opportunity to finally talk to you, to feel you. He finally has you, where he wants and he wonders, what would Felix think about the way you are acting like now. So desperate, so his…

The racing thought, the realization that maybe somebody might walk in and caught you two in the act is something he never knew he wanted. His tongue swipes across his lips, mouth so close to yours now, that you feel it grazing you, your small gasp for air being then swallowed by his hungry mouth. It’s hard, all so knowingly desperate and he drinks your small sighs of pleasure with greediness. The feel of his lips finally on yours makes you delirious, letting your body fall onto his, lips pushing harshly against his. It is all spit, tongue and teeth, everything, but sweet, making your mixed drool roll down your chins. His hands roam then, sliding up your back, then down to your hips, before one of them tangles in your hair.

You cry out sharply, when you feel him tug at your roots, head rolling back, the new exposed flesh being immediately warmed by his mouth. Jeongin doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, running his lips over you — licking, sucking, nibbling and you let him take it all. “Finally you have said it–“ He mumbles across your skin, groaning into you. “If only you had said it sooner.”

“Jeongin–“ You yelp, when he suddenly bites the side of your neck, the pain quickly melting into pleasure. You panic, suddenly realizing your position and situation — the others can be back at any given moment, you know nothing about how far away they are and also their is a possibility of someone roaming around the building, even at this late hour. If someone wrong sees you, it would get you two into big trouble. However his kisses, touches quickly pull you out of your racing thoughts.

You trust him maybe more than you should, considering that you can feel the slight sting at the side of your neck. The small appearing mark doesn’t seem to stop him, it is completely the opposite. His hand finds the back of your neck, too weak to fight him, making him twist you to his liking. Jeongin licks a long straight line up your neck, before blowing cold air, sending shivers down your spine. You are already shaking, legs pushing against each other a little harder, smearing your already leaking juices. The action is not missed, hands falling to your thighs, pinching at your flesh. You are hot — sweat dripping down the side of your face, breathing fast. His mouth then meets yours again, in a kiss so sweet you can’t help, but whimper.

“Been thinking about your mouth for so long.” The confession makes you fist his t-shirt harder, almost ripping it. You feel yourself clenching over nothing, legs pressing against each other, his hands only increasing the pleasure.

Jeongin pokes his cheek with his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he leans away to look at you. Just your look — just your slick, puffy lips and glossy eyes make his cock twitch. The thought of you being so open for him like this, so trusting, is something that maybe he wants to show off. You are a problem…sweet, delicious, addicting, making him act like this, but it seems you are too drunk to even notice the effect you have on him. His fingers tug lightly at the material of your sweatpants, feeling the heat of your skin even through the layers of clothing. He watched you too — he thought about you and how you would look…Under him, on top of him, gasping, whimpering, pleading for more and more, till you are left crying in pleasure and overstimulation. He wondered how you would taste like. How you would sound like, when he would suck at your clit just right — he thought about your mouth and how it would be like to kiss you. How you would wrap your lips around his skin, his cock…His eyes then flicker to the closed doors briefly. He wanted you — all of you, but not right now. However he will give you exactly, what you want and need.

You are left puzzled for a moment, when he suddenly pulls away from you, feet hitting the floor. He sits back, lifting his lower half a little and at that you notice the outline of his cock pressing against his sweats. You bite your lip at the prominent outline of him, watching him spread his legs wider, before he lightly taps his thighs. “Come here–“ He says, leaning back onto the couch. Your desperation makes you not skip a beat, all shame leaving the room from seeing him worked up just like you are. You sit up, crawling your way up to him, but before you can sit, his hands find your hips. “No, like this.” His strength surprises you, letting him turn you around so your back faces him, lifting you up to sit you on his lap. You feel it — his chest rising under you, his breath on the side of your neck as he pushes your hair to the side, his cock pressing right against your ass as you come to sit between his open thighs. His lips find your skin straight away, hands running over your legs and you gasp lightly, when you suddenly lift your gaze to the mirrors infront of you, only finding him watching you the whole time. “I want you to see–“ Jeongin watches your eyes trace over his hands that lightly tweak at your thighs. “What exactly were you imagining?”

He wants you to say it, even if he knows it, even if he feels you shaking under his hands. Your eyes briefly close to savor the feeling, twitching on his lap, making you press your backside harder to his cock. You feel him chasing the feeling, hips lifting you up a little to make you bounce one more time. It makes you gush even more, legs opening and closing, trying to ease the ache between your legs. You are in haze, completely drunk of him and you don’t care about anything but his touch anymore. “Your hands on me…” You say, the confession making his hands stop at the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers grazing over your exposed skin.

His lips press against your skin, biting down a little, making you feel the smile on his face, before you even see it. The sight is so dirty — so everything, captivated by how his hand extends over your lower stomach. “Where?” Jeongin is teasing, getting off your frustration, watching a sweet frown fall on your face .

“Please, just–“ You move around on his lap, the another graze of your bottom half across his cock, making him hiss lightly, before you see him putting one of his hands back in your hair.

Jeongin tugs lightly, your head tilting to your shoulder, meeting his wild gaze in the mirror. “I can give you what you want, you just have to ask nicely.” You whine at that, few tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, glimmering in the soft light in the room.

You are done fighting against the last bits of your self respect, cunt clenching again, when his fingers on you travel lower, till you feel them dipping under your sweats. “Jeongin — I want your fingers, please–“ There is no time to waste if he wants to give you what you want and your sweet voice echoes around him like a siren.

He turns to look down at you, tugging your head so it faces his and he curses at the pout you give him. Your lashes are wet, bottom lip quivering and that action makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck–“ He kisses you again, briefly yet messily, moaning with you as his tongue rolls against yours, before he pushes away again, small string of saliva connecting you two. Both of his hands find your waist again, rolling the soft material between his fingers, tugging a little. “Take these off.” Your skips a beat at his words, shaking hands finding his.

You pull your sweatpants off, with his help, lifting yourself up a little and as you kick them off your legs, sitting back again, the feel of his cock is much more intense than before. You gasp as he moves a little so he is right between your cheeks, eyes opening wide at the sheer size of him. Your eyes then meet his again, but now in the mirror, following his line of sight to the dark, wet spot on your underwear. “Look–“ You already are — watching him and his hands traveling down your legs, the feeling making you press against him even more.

His hands are hot and heavy, gripping at the meat of your thighs, when you just a little bit close them at the sight of your juices coating your skin. Your smell is intoxicating, the feel of you trembling just as his finger dips lightly inside your thighs is addicting. Jeongin is staring straight on the wet spot infront of your black panties, low light hitting your slick skin just right. You jerk at the first ever touch of his fingers — they press against you, right over your puffy clit, the small move more than enough to make you moan. “Fuck, you are dripping–“ You whimper in response, looking down at how his fingers are getting coated with your juices.

“More–“ You say, already loosing your mind at how his fingers just keep pressing and not moving. Your hole clenches at the thought his fingers dipping into you. Even though if your tone is whiny, borderline desperate he takes it in a way that makes him snap a little.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you, with my fingers?” You are still having a whiplash from his sudden change of behavior, but you only lean more into it. You nod wildly, head turning to look at him, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours, because you suddenly feel him tugging at the flimsy material of your underwear. He pulls them to the side, making them snap a little when he releases them. Cold air kisses your slick cunt then, you shivering lightly, shaking, when his fingers just barely graze over you. You don’t even have time too look down, mind to hazy from the quick touch. You don’t even look, when one of his hands come to grip at the side of your neck — not when his other, coated with your juices comes to press against your lips.

“Open.”

Your lips fall apart in a gasp, making it for him all too easier to shove his two fingers inside your mouth, pressing them down at your tongue. Your mouth wraps around his digits instantly, sucking lightly the taste of your sweetness inside your mouth. But then you look — you see how his own eyes gloss over, mouth opening as you lightly bite down at the tips of his fingers. The look you give him makes his other hand travel to the front of your throat, making a loud sound escape you, when he suddenly rips his hand away from your lips, maneuvering your head back to face your reflection as he finally moves to touch you.

His already used hand comes to cup you, his palm digging into you, smearing your wetness all over your skin and his hand. “Soaked–“ Jeongin groans with you, hand on your throat squeezing a little and he can feel how that action makes your clit twitch under his fingers. Small, precise circles are made, him expertly moving the hood of your clit away to touch you more deeply — it is even better than you imagined. He is so mean about it too…Pressing you against his chest, with his hand on your throat, making you watch yourself in the mirror, while he plays with you. His rolls your bud between his fingers, pinching it lightly, the small pain just a low, addicting buzz. Your stomach twists, body burning and jerking over his cock, that he keeps pushing into you.

Your breathing is fast, matching his, eyes on yours reflection instead of looking down and the sight makes your stomach flip. It almost feels forbidden — you feel more exposed. Jeongin swipes his fingers over you, extending them to get every inch of you touched. He traces over your slit, each time his fingers dipping lower and lower, watching you clench over nothing. You feel blood rushing to your face, little bit self conscious of being in such exposing position and him still being clothed, while you are spread wide open, but everything is way too good to say anything about it. “So wet, that I could slide right in–“ You gasp when his ring and middle finger slide lower.

“Please — I want it–“ You keep repeating it, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder, but you only receive a tight squeeze to your throat.

“Then look.” You do — him helping you look back at your reflection, just as his fingers dig deeper into you. There is no resistance, you are so wet you can feel yourself dripping down on the couch. You twitch a little at the sensation, mind swirling. His long fingers slide inside you quick, too quick for you to breathe through it. However only your body knows its limits and you are not even surprised that you only suck them right in.

Jeongin is losing his mind over, how your velvety walls keep closing onto him — so soft and slippery. The thought of him sliding inside you instead is great, hips lifting both of your bodies in hopes he would get closer to your cunt, only making his fingers go deeper in you. You whimper, eyes almost closing at the way the tips of his fingers reach your cervix, palm of his hand grazing over your clit. His other fingers then hook around you, wrist twisting, before he starts to scissor his fingers inside you, searching. “You have touched yourself to this?” He mumbles lowly, lips against your neck. “You wanted this for so long, that you imagined it every time I would just barely touch you–“ No question — he knows.

“Wonder if I can make you squirt–“

A cry leaves you, when he suddenly at that curls his fingers inside you, palm moving against your clit. The idea of you doing that is unfamiliar. You have never done that, you have never even been close to it, but the way his fingers reach so easily to the one gummy spot inside you, tells you he might be able to do it way to easily. “Don’t stop — Jeongin-“ You moan his name, when he starts to trust his fingers inside you, curling them up each time they slide into you.

“You are…so–“ He is a little lost for words. The way your body reacts to his touch — hips lifting to chase his touch, your nails digging into his hand still holding your throat, though not clawing at it for him to stop — your other holding his, that keeps thrusting into you…He is drooling. Wet, nasty sounds fill the room, his fingers increasing on speed, but now more pushing against you so his palms keeps hitting your clit. You are moaning, gasping, music to his ears, however even if he knows that no one can hear you inside this room, he also knows that when you would go close enough to the door you could probably hear the filthy noises coming from you both.

Jeongin’s hand on your throat leaves you, making you gulp in air, but your mouth is only able to take in few breaths, before his hands clasps it. “Shhhh— you don’t want them to hear, right?” Your eyes widen at that, loud moans of pleasure turning into whimpers as you wildly shake your head. “Huh…still I bet you would like that–“ His words makes you clench down on his fingers, tips of them now just curling inside you, palm moving against you.

You are way too easy — you already feel you lower tummy rumbling in the way too familiar pleasure, moaning against his hand as he moves his other to push his thumb against you. You are starting be aware of everything around you — from the way he keeps whispering sweet, nasty nothings into your ear, hot air blowing against your skin. How he moans every time your hips press against his, how you both look like nothing, but sin in the mirror — where are you and what are you doing right now, knowing your friends might be back any minute. Your wildest dreams coming true — him fucking you with his delicious fingers, feeling every vein pressing against you…is all too much for your body to handle.

Then with one particular push of his thumb against your clit, fingers not losing any rhythm, scissoring, curling, you slide a little down on the couch. Your leaking cunt and sweat is making it too easy for you to slide off, but then his hand on your mouth comes to catch you before you could run away from the immense pleasure. He tsks again at your doings, small breath, like a laugh, leaving him, hand grasping your thigh, before hooking it around his. That only makes his fingers go deeper into you, hitting your cervix each time. You are huffing, choking to get air back inside your lungs as you start to shake around him.

Jeongin notices your change way too quickly, turning his head from your reflection to your tear stained face. “Gonna cum, baby?” The nickname makes you whimper pathetically, eyes barely open, but they don’t leave the mirror in fear he would stop. “You don’t even know, how much better I can fuck you, with my cock–“ Your breath hitches, pleading for him not to stop talking, his words just pushing you more and more to the edge. You have never knew, only dreamed about him talking to you like this — the words, even so unexpected, making you run hot, seemingly coming off way more natural than you would have thought.

You are shaking harshly, feeling heat washing over you, mewling at the way he keeps the delicious pace. Your head rolls to the side, teary eyes meeting his and he almost coos at the way you are having such a hard time to keep them open. Your legs keep closing, but he doesn’t let you move away, hand digging into your thigh so deep you know it will mark — and he does want to mark you with purpose, even though he decided that he would probably never let anyone get close enough to see it…though the mark on your neck says otherwise. You feel it — the burn inside you, the way your body keeps chasing the pleasure, face screwing up, mouth open and slick, droll running down your face.

“Fuck – I’m gonna–“ You start to breathe in series of gasps, gaze shooting back to the mirror and then back to him again.

With your sharp moan, Jeongin kisses you again, deep groan leaving the deepest part of his chest as he feels your body stilling. Your vision turns white, your ears ring, head rolling back in ecstasy as your hands fly to grasps his arm to ground your self. The orgasm is so strong it leaves you voiceless, silent scream leaving you, but then…it doesn’t stop — he doesn’t stop. His hand moves, but only so it doesn’t touch your twitching clit, only to start trusting his fingers inside you again with a movement so fast your cry rings in the room. “What are you – Oh, fuck!” You can’t see, your vision is blurry, eyes though still being capable to follow his line of sight.

Jeongin is breathing harshly, tongue poking out of his mouth, watching his fingers disappear inside you. He holds you down the best he can, moaning when he suddenly hears the wet sounds coming from your cunt. Your juices start to splash, your still hot cum leaking out of you and drooling down the couch and you panic at the foreign feeling bubbling inside you. It is too fast, too much — you try to warn him, run away from the intense feeling, but you are too weak to do anything other than tremble on top of him. You are overwhelmed, overstimulation high and you scream as the feeling comes over you. “Come on, just one more — do it, soak my fucking hand–” He silences you for your own good, fingers pushing inside your mouth again to quiet down the loud cry, as the feeling you were trying so hard to hold back wins over.

Before your eyes close, you see yourself squirt around his hand, your juices reaching all the way to the ground and table before you, making you scream in small horror and euphoria. You have never felt something so intense, something so pleasurable that it made you cry. Your body arches off his and Jeongin in his state of awe lets your legs fall shut, his hand still working you up. Everything is a blur for while for you, shaking and quivering, feeling your slick pooling on the couch under you. “Oh, my-“ His hand stills at your small whimper of overstimulation, fingers slowly sliding out of you and he has to push your legs apart to even free his hand.

Jeongin is marveled by the sight before him, eyes drifting over your reflection to you. You are covered in thin sheen of sweat, skin blooming under his touch and he has to stop himself from not going back to give you more. You are spent — done, you almost can’t even move, body slumped weakly against his. His eyes then drift back between your legs, that are finally moving apart, muscles spasming in your legs and exposed tummy. You have soaked everything — your legs, the couch, even the table before you and Jeongin has to bite back a groan at that. He watches you breathe through it, small whimpers still reaching his also ringing ears, however he then decides to lift you off his lap.

You moan in small protest, blinking away your now dried tears, while he stands to grasp the small box of tissues off the marked table. “Here-“ Still a gentleman, even after turning you into a complete mush. He is gentle now, atleast when he goes to wipe away your juices from your body for you, seeing you are too weak to even do it yourself. Your eyes trail over him, watching his eyes clear a little, but there is still that spark, still the reminder of what he did to you just now. You then look down to his still covered cock — he must have adjusted himself, when you weren’t looking, because you can only see just a small imprint of him. The tissues are little too harsh on your sensitive skin, jumping a little at the sensation, but his hand, now softly laying on your naked thigh, calms you.

You are sticky all over, the room hot from the thing you have done, but there is no shame now. Something about the way he cleans you so softly, touch so featherely, eyes bright, you realize that maybe there is something more about to it, then just lust. Though you could not think about it too long, because the silence between you is interrupted, when a loud sound of nearby voices is heard flowing down the hall. “Shit-“ Your eyes widened, scrambling away from him, just as he puts your underwear back over you and you do ignore how it stick to you like a second skin. You don’t look at him, too occupied of grabbing your sweatpants off the floor to notice his lingering stare. You push them up, just as you hear the voices of your friends right outside the door, eyes widening then, when you look to the wet spot next to you. No time to think — your hands push down your wild, messed up hair, pulling them forward, fingers grazing over the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, wiping away the loose spit coating your mouth, before the door opens.

“Hey.” You say, voice scratchy, coughing instantly and you can’t help, but cringe.

The others fill the room, each carrying bags of food that hopefully hides the smell of sex in the room. Your eyes meet Felix’s, who stumbles in last, whose smile still sits on his face, but then gives you a small look of confusion at your tone. “Hey? We brought you something–“ He beams a little as he nears you, while the others come to put the food on the table that thankfully wasn’t the one before you.

The wet spot is hot beside you, a burning reminder of a still fresh memory and you really have hard time to meet the eyes of your best friend at that. “Oh…that’s nice.” You say, eyes drifting away a little, when he suddenly comes to stand before you, eyes full of worry, while yours full of shame and you feel you sick of lying to him.

“Everything good?” He asks you like the sweet friend he is, but his close proximity makes you quiver a little, but you do try to keep the smile on your face, even though you still feel the ghost of his friend’s inside you.

“Yeah-“

“Hey, why is there–“

Your heart stops, head snapping to Hyunjin, who points to the spot next to you, before drifting all the way to the floor and table, while the others come to stand around him. Your mouth opens like a fish, mind crashing to scramble to answer atleast something, when everyone turns to look, but then a voice cuts in to safe you. “Oh, I just spilled some water.” Says Jeongin and no one other than you hears the small tone at the end of his sentence.

Everyone thankfully doesn’t say anything else, but you still don’t meet their eyes, heart beating fast, when you lean over to grab the box of tissues, eyes immediately falling on the rolled up ball of used ones, sitting right on top of the still wet, glass table. “I will clean it.” You say, immediately pulling out multiple of tissues to press them against the wet spot next to you. The light and your shadow thankfully hides the true substance of the liquid and how it slides over the leather.

“Okay, we will just eat on the floor, I guess.” Says someone, you don’t even care who, you only care that Felix and the others go away a little to let you drown in your own embarrassment. You will probably never let anyone sit on the spot ever again — in a twisted, sick way you have now marked it as yours. The rooms fills with chatter and laughter again, plastic bags rustling in the silent panic you are experiencing, before pair of piercing eyes, makes you look up.

Saturday mornings are great. After a long and tiring work week, you want nothing more than a day to sleep in and relax, finally letting the stress melt away from your body and mind. When you roll out of bed with a yawn you wobble into the kitchen, ready to make yourself a cup of coffee. 

Maybe you would read a book today? Or you could always catch up on that k-drama you’ve been wanting to watch–

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” 

Strange. That almost sounded like the voice of Hwang Hyunjin, which is impossible, seeing as you just woke up and you live alone. Right? 

Wrong. 

“Hyunjin, what the fuck are you doing in my house?” You groan as the coffee maker whirs to life, turning around to shoot your best friend a glare. He holds his hands up in mock defense, but your glare is no longer directed at him. It’s at the whistling coming from the bathroom, your bathroom, as Changbin strides out and dries his hands on his pants. 

“I’m seriously regretting giving you both a spare set of keys,” you mumble. Your whining goes unheard over Changbin’s shouting. 

“Ooh, coffee! Can I have some?” 

You have never known true peace. Not since Hyunjin and Changbin came into your life. Though as much as you fake groan and moan, you love them both deeply and unconditionally. Your friends don’t really have a concept of personal space, which is very obvious this morning in particular, but you all know that if you were truly bothered and wanted them to leave, they would. You don’t ask them to. You are slightly more aware of your unruly appearance, bedhead and long t-shirt that covers your legs and lack of pants, so you walk back into your room and throw on a pair of sweats.

Once your coffee is retrieved, you lay lazily on the couch and turn on the TV. Your legs are stretched out across Hyunjin and your back is leaning against Changbin. 

“You guys are so annoying,” you grumble. You sip idly out of your mug and let out a sigh, melting in between the two men. 

“You’re awfully snappy today,” Hyunjin says with a laugh. “Besides, you know you love us.” 

“I’m snappy because you buffoons decided to invade my home on my day off,” you say with petulance. You all know you don’t really mean your words though, so after a loud and dramatic sigh the topic is all but forgotten. 

Until your friend calls. 

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. 

“Why is Cheryl calling you?” Hyunjin asks, leaning over to peak at your phone. 

“Ugh, we had plans tonight. I completely forgot,” you say, swiping to answer her call. 

“Hey girl! We still on for tonight? I really want to go to the club, and Brad said he was going to be there!” 

You stifle back a groan before replying: “I don’t know…” You were being honest. Partying has never really been your forte, as much as your friend has tried to push you outside of your comfort zone… it has been a long week and you wanted nothing more than to laze around with Hyunjin and Changbin. 

“C’mon! You never go out with me. This is why you still haven’t lost your virginity yet.” You stiffen at her words, letting out a soft chuckle and avoiding looking over at your friends, the ones that you know heard her judgmental words. 

“Um.. yeah, sure! I’ll be there,” you finally stammer. Fuck. You really didn’t want to go but you did want to end this phone call. So that’s what you did. Finally bringing yourself to look at your friends, you give them an awkward smile. 

“So… I’m going out with Cheryl tonight.” 

“We gathered,” Hyunjin laughs. This time you don’t suppress the groan that tumbles out of your mouth. 

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Changbin says. You shoot him a nasty glare that he definitely doesn’t deserve. 

“Well, Cheryl is kind of the worst,” Hyunjin agrees with you, though you’re not surprised. He’s never hidden his distaste for your other friend, and he has always been dramatic. 

Listening to Hyunjin and Changbin decide if you should go out tonight was much like listening to the angel and the devil on your shoulder… Hyunjin’s protests of how you should just stay in and forget that bitch, versus Changbin’s gentle persuasion of how it’s been a long time since you’ve let yourself let go. 

You take Changbin’s advice. And the boys don’t leave the house as you get ready, instead hooting and hollering when you walk out of your room in a little black dress, hair and makeup perfected. You smile sheepishly and try not to blush, but you’re used to their antics by now. When Cheryl comes to pick you up, Hyunjin stands behind you at your door, trying to comfort your nerves. 

“Have fun tonight,” he says, rubbing soothing circles into your back before bringing you into an embrace from behind. He rests his head on your shoulder. “Don’t let Cheryl convince you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, yeah?” It’s unspoken what he means, and you wonder if he’s referencing your conversation with Cheryl from earlier before you’re being pushed out the door. 

Smoothing your dress, you plaster a fake smile over your face before greeting your friend who is so excited about the evening. 

*** 

You should have listened to Hyunjin. 

That’s your first thought as Cheryl drags you into the club. It’s immediately apparent that she doesn’t really have interest in hanging out with you, and that she would much rather cling to her new situationship, Brad. Ugh. You needed a drink. 

You do just that, ordering yourself an alcoholic beverage of choice. As you are sitting at the bar, occasionally glancing over at Cheryl, you see some other guy walk up to her and start chatting idly. You have no particular investment in the conversation until you hear her say, “But my friend Y/N is single!” Oh no. No no no. 

She always did this. You’re not even sure why you agreed to hang out with her anymore. Maybe because you’re a pushover? You can’t help but wish that Hyunjin and Changbin were here to rescue you from this situation. The thought makes you laugh, knowing that Changbin would try to radiate an intimidating energy to get guys to back off and Hyunjin would cling to you dramatically. 

“Hey, pretty girl.” The man approaches and takes the seat on your other side. Taking a deep breath, you turn and give him an awkward smile, already thinking of ways you can turn him down gently. 

“Hi,” you respond, staring at your drink. The man immediately starts talking. His name is Drew, he’s like 10 years older than you, and he really likes golfing. You nod politely, but after 10 minutes you realize you haven’t even been able to get a single word in. This guy doesn’t really care about you, you realize, he just wants to hear himself talk. 

“Excuse me,” you say, standing up. Drew shoots you a nasty look but dismisses you nonetheless, finding someone else to talk to that hopefully cares more than you do. 

“Cheryl,” you say, trying to get your friend’s attention. She’s making out with Brad. Just great. “Cheryl!” You say it again, louder, touching her shoulder in the process. 

“What?” She snaps, shooting you a dirty look. 

“I want to leave.” 

She scoffs at you. “You always do this,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“I don’t care, I’m sorry. I just really want to leave.”  “I tried hooking you up with someone! Can’t you just leave with whatever-his-name?” 

“I don’t want to leave with Drew,” you respond bluntly. 

“Ugh. Can you stop being such a prude? This is why you’re still a virgin.” She turns over to Brad and laughs with him. They’re laughing at you. For not going home and hooking up with a man 10 years older than you. You feel tears prickling in your eyes, being the target of a joke everyone seems to understand but you. Wordlessly, you shoot your friend the nastiest glare you can accomplish in the moment and leave. 

You start walking before you can really think. It’s dark outside and cold, and you don’t really know where you are. Cheryl drove, of course. You can’t help but think that the whole night has been one big mistake. Sighing, you take out your phone and text your group chat, knowing exactly who would come and help you in a time like this. 

Y/N Starting sharing their location

Y/N: Hey can someone come pick me up 

Binnie: 👍 Hyunjinnie: On my way! 

You slump against the cold concrete, letting yourself cry a little bit. Sure, you ruin your pretty makeup that you spent so long on, but who the fuck cares at this point? Wiping your eyes, you see a familiar black car pull up. Before you can stand, Changbin is already getting out of the car. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” He pulls you to your feet, examining you for any signs of injury. You look at him, lip trembling, but when your eyes meet you can’t help the sobs that escape. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you into a big hug. He’s warm, and you can smell the musky scent of his cologne from here. You let it comfort you before pulling away. 

“Can we just go home?” You ask. 

“Of course,” he says, opening the car door for you to get in. Hyunjin shoots you a worried glance from the driver’s seat, and you give him a pathetic smile. 

You notice when Changbin starts playing your favorite songs in an attempt to cheer you up, and admittedly you already feel better, though you don’t speak a word for the rest of the drive. 

*** 

When you finally arrive in your apartment, you’re not surprised when Changbin and Hyunjin follow you in. You let out a loud sigh and face the two men looking at you expectantly.