Neocity Stories @imnotjaesblog - Tumblr Blog

THE PROMISCUOUS TUTOR (M) | PART TWO

SERIES MASTERLIST LINK | remember this is the final half of part three of a series! read part one & two for context!

PAIRING | tutor!jaemin x reader

SYNOPSIS | na jaemin is too sexy to be holed up in the campus library, but once you catch wind of what he does between the shelves, you know it’s your time to see just how well his reputation proceeds him.

WC | 17.7k

WARNINGS | cursing, mentions of alcohol & weed, sexual comments, explicit smut, breeding kink, wall fucking, mirror fucking, complete mess of mc's inner thoughts, big muscled jaemin :), jaehyun says annoying perverted things. uh angst at the end i'm sorry, please forgive me.

A.N | tumblr is being stupid and won't let me put it all in one part, so i'm splitting it into two. the first part will be linked on the masterlist. please send asks after you finish reading. i want to hear your thoughts!

Jaemin doesn’t care when you point out Haechan’s shoes near the entrance.

He merely kicks them to the side and pushes you up against the wooden door, hands instinctively finding your waist. They dip under the hem of your shirt and brush against your stomach – forcing a shiver out of you. He was so warm, hands soft against you.

“H-hyuck.” You stammer out.

Jaemin nips at your bottom lip, “Sorry angel, my name's Jaemin.”

“No, Hyuck's home.”

He casts a cursory glance toward the dark hallway, “And?”

“And what if he comes out of his room?” He couldn't catch you making out with Jaemin - hell would break loose.

Jaemin rolls his eyes, leaning in to kiss you again. “He won’t.”

“Jaem,” you whine, clutching on to the tops of his shoulders.

“He’s probably jerking off to some e-girl, he won’t.” Jaemin reaffirms, pressing his lips against yours to stop you from babbling on about Haechan. He was kissing you. You shouldn’t be thinking about someone else.

His hand abandons your waist and finds home on the side of your face, fingers curling underneath your jaw so he could taste more of you. He kisses you slow, afraid that if he does what he really wants, he’ll overwhelm you. But when you part your lips, just slightly enough to where Jaemin can taste the alcohol on your tongue, he thinks he might just lose it. He sighs into your mouth, tongue dipping slightly – testing the waters.

You open up more, letting him bully his tongue into your mouth. It’s hot and wet and desperate – the way he licks up your own tongue, hands fervently inching higher up your waist until your shirt is caught just beneath your bra. You think he’s going to stop there, but he doesn’t. He keeps going until his hands are hooked underneath your arms and then he’s pulling you in the air – instinctively, your legs find his waist, arms circling his neck.

God damn. You knew he was strong, but not that strong.

“What, didn’t think I’d be able to pick you up?” he questions, both hands grabbing your ass to keep you from falling. You shake your head, afraid to speak or move. The last thing you wanted him to do was drop you. “Angel,” he purrs, “Why do you think I’m in the gym all the time? Gotta make sure I’m able to surprise every woman I’m with.”

“Don’t really wanna hear about other women right now Jaem.” You mumble.

He lets out a barely audible chuckle as he continues to carry you to his room. It takes a moment for him to push open the door; throughout, your head remains on a swivel, silently pleading to whatever higher power that Haechan wouldn’t open the door and catch you swept up in Jaemin's arms.

As Jaemin fumbles into the room, he suddenly hoists you up and swiftly hurls you onto his bed with a whoosh of air, catching you off guard with his unexpected strength. You land with a startled thud, momentarily stunned by the forceful motion. Wide-eyed, you gaze up at Jaemin, surprise and exhilaration coursing through you. His playful grin tells you that he enjoys catching you off balance.

“Told you I was stronger than I looked.”

He’s pleased with your reaction, getting cockier the longer you sit there and stare up at him in awe. You were cute like that; a little dazed, with parted lips and windblown hair. He wanted to devour you.

“You can’t do that!” you hiss, righting yourself onto his bed, until your back hit the solid wood headboard. You draw your knees up and swing an arm around them.

Jaemin’s jaw drops dramatically, “Why not?”

You jerk a thumb at the wall – the one that Haechan shared.

Jaemin rolls his eyes, and yells so loud you think you might just die from embarrassment, “Yo! Hyuck!”

Through the wall you hear Haechan yell, “What?”

Eyes going wide, you slap a hand over your mouth. Was Jaemin crazy? What the fuck was he doing?

Jaemin just grins at you like this was the funniest thing in the world. “I got a girl in here so don’t come nosing around!”

A faint grunt sounds through the wall, no doubt from Haechan playing some video game, “Whatever man. Just keep it down, I got a test to study for.” You hear a slew of curses from Haechan’s room. Even though he had a test tomorrow, he surely didn’t intend to study.

“There, happy?”

Your furrowed brow clearly expressed your discontent. Jaemin, once more, rolls his eyes in exasperation before hopping onto the bed. His fingers, icy cold, grasp your ankles and tug you towards him. You struggle to suppress the shriek threatening to escape your throat, your whole body tensing against the sudden movement.

Jaemin isn’t fazed though. Instead, he settles on leaning over your figure, his arms braced on either side of your body to hold up his weight. With you underneath him, he can’t help but admire the sight. You looked fucking beautiful.

He wants to kiss you again.

And Jaemin always gets what he wants.

"He’s not gonna come in here." Jaemin hushes your worries as he starts kissing you. You wanted to protest, but his lips begin trailing sloppy wet kisses down the side of your neck and the words get caught in the back of your throat. "You like that? You like it when I kiss your neck?"

You nod your head, scared that if you spoke, your sentence would be less of a sentence and more of a moan.

"I want you to use your words, baby." Jaemin nudges his knee between your legs as he urges you to give him a vocal response. "I want to hear you say that you like it when I kiss your neck. Like this." He swipes his tongue against the soft skin of your neck and lightly blows, your body shivering at the cold sensation, but relaxing as soon as he presses another warm kiss to your neck.

"I- Jaem... I love it when you kiss my neck." You whimper out, squirming impatiently underneath his touch.

Jaemin snickers at you, "Oh, Y/N, look at you. You’re that desperate for someone good to please you?”

It’s embarrassing that he was right. You were that desperate. It’d been a while since the pleasure was about you. In fact, it wouldn’t be so crazy of a statement to say that you’d finished more times with yourself than you had with another man. But if you told Jaemin that, you’re not sure if he’d laugh or take it as a challenge.

“I’m so embarrassed—” You blurt out.

Jaemin sits up straight as if on cue. His hand grabs your jaw so that you were looking into his eyes. “Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. It’s a safe space, okay?” You nod your head as much as his hand would allow, “You tell me what you’re comfortable with. And if I do anything wrong, tell me to stop. I’ll stop the second you say something.”

“Okay.” You whisper.

Maybe it was because he was being understanding, and sweet. Or maybe it was because he looked so god damn sexy, watching you through hooded eyes – but you grab a handful of his shirt and tug him back down.

His lips find yours first, soft and commanding, coaxing a whimper out of you. Moving in rhythm, he presses into you, feverishly consuming your taste like it was a fucking drug. When you try to pull away, he chases, not wanting to let you go just yet.

He parts his lips, mumbling against yours, “Oh, don’t get cocky now…You’re mine for tonight and I plan on getting my fill.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach. Jaemin tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue flicking against yours with a slow, deliberate tease. His hand slides down your neck, fingers grazing your collarbone before trailing lower, mapping your body like he wants to memorize every dip, every reaction.

You arch into him as he moves closer, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The warmth of his palm finds the exposed skin at your waist, thumb stroking slow, calculated circles that make your breath hitch.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, lips ghosting over your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear.

Your fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer. "I just…want you."

Jaemin hums, pleased, as he kisses down the column of your throat. "That’s all I needed to hear."

His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers skimming up your ribs, teasing just under the curve of your breast—but before he can go any further, he pauses, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

"Can I take this off?"

The second you nod your head, Jaemin is up and moving.

He takes your clothes off in record time. It’s nearly hysterical how you’re completely dressed one second, and the next, your outfit has joined the pile of others on the floor. He gets himself undressed equally as fast, but when you watch it’s like time slows down.

You want to remember all of this, intently observing when he lifts his shirt over his head. His torso was toned, abs tensing and relaxing with the effort of tossing his shirt into the corner of his room. Faint veins peak through the skin of his forearms, and his hands…. his hands. So large and veiny, you can’t help but want two of his thick fingers between your thighs, right then.

“Like what you see?” He comments, fingers already working fast to undo the buttons on his pants.

You don’t respond, too infatuated by the sight that was Na Jaemin. You can’t wait to appreciate what the fuck he was hiding behind the heavy denim fabric. But just as he’s about to pull them down and give you a taste of what you were craving to see; he stops himself.

“Don’t know why I’m taking these off,” he says it like it slipped his mind. “This is about you.”

Jaemin doesn’t give you time to protest before he’s guiding you back onto the bed, lips never leaving your skin. He kisses down your body like he’s savoring every inch, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of warmth and desperation in his wake. His lips graze over your collarbone, your sternum, the sensitive spot just below your ribs. Every kiss is a promise, a whispered devotion against your skin.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down your waist, gripping your hips like he’s trying to ground himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His mouth moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, tongue flicking out to taste the soft skin. He hums against you, satisfied, dragging his lips lower, lower, until he’s just above where you need him most. His breath fans over your inner thighs, and you twitch beneath him, anticipation making you lightheaded.

“Relax, baby,” he coos, looking up at you through dark lashes. “Gonna make you feel good.”

He presses one last teasing kiss to the inside of your thigh before gripping your hips and flipping you onto your knees. The movement makes you gasp, hands scrambling against the sheets as he settles onto his back beneath you.

“Sit down,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. He tugs you forward, urging you to straddle his face, but you hesitate, knees pressing into the mattress beside his head.

His hands find your thighs, fingers kneading the flesh as he urges you down. “Don’t make me say it again,” he breathes, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Jaemins fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, and it takes everything in you not to cry out, “I said sit the fuck down.”

“But what if I–”

“Y/n, I don’t care!” his fingers tighten again, biceps flexing with the exertion of trying to get you to just give in and ride his face.

“Suffocation.” you declare.

“What?”

“What if I suffocate you.”

Jaemin laughs and you can feel his breath against the inside of your thigh. Embarrassment licks your spine. You should have just shut up and gotten on with it.

“Okay one,” he starts, tilting his head to the side to kiss your leg, “I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” he catches your gaze and licks a long stripe up your inner thigh, “And two, even if it did happen theoretically. I think any man would be happy to be suffocated by you. I mean look at you—” he gives another trail of kisses on your other thigh, “Such a pretty girl. Such a pretty pussy”

“Jaem–”

“You’re already straddling my head, just sit down and enjoy yourself.” His eyes soften, “I promised you at least one orgasm.”

Your breath stutters as his words settle in, heavy and warm like his hands on your thighs. His grip is firm, but there’s patience in his touch, an unspoken promise that he won’t rush you—at least, not yet.

“Jaemin…” His name is barely a whisper, more of a plea than a protest now.

“Yes, baby?” His lips graze your skin, teasing, waiting. His voice is silk, smooth and coaxing, laced with the kind of confidence that makes your stomach tighten.

You don’t have a response—not one that makes sense, anyway. Your fingers curl into his hair, your hesitation dissolving with every deliberate kiss he presses to your thighs. His hands slide up, guiding, encouraging.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

The last of your resistance crumbles as you let yourself sink into his touch, into him—because if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that Jaemin always keeps his promises.

His hands slide further up, gripping your hips firmly as he pulls you down, guiding you to settle against his mouth. The first slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue sends a shock through your body, making you grip onto his hair tighter, a soft gasp tumbling from your lips.

Jaemin groans beneath you, the vibration making your thighs shake. He eats you like he’s been starving for it, like he’s wanted to do this for so long. His tongue flicks against your clit, teasing, before he seals his lips around it and sucks.

“Fuck,” you whimper, hips stuttering against his face.

He hums in response, clearly satisfied with the sounds you’re making. His grip on your hips tightens as he presses you down harder against his mouth, his tongue working you over with precise, devastating strokes.

“Jaemin,” you pant, trying to lift yourself off, but he’s not having it. His arms flex as he locks you in place, a quiet, muffled growl leaving him.

Jaemin’s fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, and it takes everything in you not to cry out.

“Suffocation,” you blurt out again.

Jaemin chuckles against you, the vibration making your whole body shudder. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

His tongue flicks against your clit with devastating precision, alternating between slow, teasing circles and deep, hungry sucks that have your thighs trembling around his head. He’s relentless—lapping at you like he’s memorizing every sound you make, every little shudder, every sharp gasp.

Your hands fist into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and the groan that rumbles from him is downright sinful. He likes this—loves this, having you like this, falling apart above him with no escape. The control is his, and you’re drowning in it.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shining, eyes dark with something dangerous. “See? Still breathing,” he teases, before diving back in like he has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

And with the way he’s holding you, tasting you, worshiping you—you don’t think you’ll be able to stop either.

Jaemin, I—”

“I know, baby,” he coos, one hand leaving your thigh to slide up your spine, pressing firm between your shoulder blades to keep you exactly where he wants you. “I got you.”

His mouth closes around your clit again, sucking just hard enough to have your back arching, a strangled moan spilling from your lips. The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue working against you fill the room, and you don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or completely undone.

But Jaemin wants you like this—desperate, messy, his.

“Come on,” he murmurs between drench kisses, his voice dripping with something dark and coaxing. “Let go for me.”

Your thighs start to tremble, heat coiling tight in your stomach, spiraling higher and higher as his tongue works you over. He notices, of course—he always notices—his grip tightening as he murmurs, “That’s it, baby. Give it to me.”

You try to hold back, try to ride the edge a little longer, but Jaemin doesn’t let you. He flicks his tongue faster, lips sealing around your clit with one last devastating pull, and it’s over. Your release crashes through you, your body jerking, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as pleasure swallows you whole.

Jaemin groans beneath you, drinking it down like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, his hands gripping you through every shudder, every twitch.

When the aftershocks finally subside, your body slackens, thighs trembling as you try to catch your breath. Jaemin presses one last lingering kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you, smug, satisfied, and completely wrecked.

“Told you I’d take care of you,” he murmurs, one hand reaching up to wipe at your face. A tear just rolled down your cheek and you didn’t even realize. “I haven’t even given you my cock yet and you’re already crying?”

Your body is still buzzing, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as you blink down at him. This is it, you think. You’re done. Your legs feel like jelly, and the warmth of his hands on your skin is grounding enough to bring you back down to reality.

You can't believe you just sat on Na Jaemins face.

Still in shock, you move, sliding down from your place above him, hands reaching for the waistband of his pants, ready to return the favor, to touch him, to finally satisfy him—

But Jaemin catches your wrist, stopping you.

“Did you think I was done?” His voice is sweet, teasing, but there’s another promise behind his words that makes your stomach flip. His grip tightens just slightly, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the inside of your wrist.

“Oh, no.” His other hand moves, tracing up your still-sensitive thigh, fingertips grazing higher and higher until they slip between your legs, making you jolt.

“This is about you, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, groaning at how wet you still are. “And I can make you come again.”

Your breath catches, body still sensitive from the first orgasm, but Jaemin doesn’t give you time to recover. Two fingers slip inside you with ease, curling immediately, finding that spot that makes you see stars.

His pace is slow at first, teasing, letting you feel every inch of his fingers as they move inside you. The stretch is perfect, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge of sensitivity, the remnants of your last orgasm making you gasp at every motion.

“You can give me another one, can’t you?” he taunts, lips dragging along your inner thigh. “I know you can.”

Your fingers grip at his wrist, not sure if you’re trying to stop him or pull him deeper. “Jaemin—”

“Shh, I got you,” he soothes, his voice pure sin. His thumb circles your clit in slow, devastating strokes, and your whole body tenses.

He watches you, completely enthralled, eyes dark with something unreadable—something possessive. His fingers pick up the pace, pressing deeper, curling just right, and your thighs twitch with the overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, lips quirking in satisfaction when he feels you clench around him. “Fuck, you like being called mine, hm?”

The heat inside you builds too fast, Jaemin’s touch sending you spiraling again, and before you can stop it, the pleasure snaps—your body jerking, another broken moan leaving your lips as you come undone for the second time.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, his thumb pressing against your clit as he works his fingers deep, stretching you open. “Come on NaNa’s fingers.”

Jaemin works you through it, easing his pace, letting you ride the high as he coaxes every last bit of pleasure from you. When your body finally sags, his fingers slip out, his hand smoothing over your hip to soothe you.

“There you go,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your knee. “Knew you had one more for me.”

Your head spins, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. But before you can fully process it, Jaemin is shifting, his lips finding yours in a slow, indulgent kiss.

And then, he pulls himself up on the bed so that he’s laying on his back with you snuggled against his chest.

“I can give you another.” He grabs your hand and presses it to his bare chest, eyes glinting in the dim light filtering through the window, “You want another, baby?”

Gingerly, you nod your head, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. It was faster than it should be.

He smiles, “Greedy girl…I like it.”

Pushing himself up onto his knees, he shimmies backwards on the bed until his head in pushed between your thighs again. He looks up at you, lips curled, and eyebrows raised. “You want my fingers or my tongue?”

You’ve had both tonight…but you want more. “Want your cock.”

“Oh baby,” He chuckles, “I told you this was about you, not me.”

“But it’s what I want!” You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows.

You can’t see his reaction, but he licks a long stripe up the inner part of your leg, forcing a shier out of you. “Not tonight, angel. So, tongue, or fingers.”

God, this was gonna be a long night.

The sunlight streaming through the curtains casts a harsh glow on your face as you begin to stir. Disoriented and exhausted, you roll over to escape the brightness, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep.

Realization hits you like a semi-truck.

This bed is not your own.

The sheets feel different, the mattress unfamiliar. Your eyes snap open, and a fleeting moment of confusion sweeps over you.

Oh.

Jaemin’s room—familiar yet disorienting—greets you.

The cream-colored walls are plastered with luxury car and playboy posters, shelves showcasing an impressive array of camera models and strips of film. The floor is strewn with clothes – including your own. His desk sits abandoned of textbooks, and his backpack, which was there last night, is gone.

Looking towards the other side of the bed – it’s apparent that he’s gone too.

At least he had the decency to let you sleep.

Beneath the covers, you become aware of your state of undress, a blush warming your cheeks as the memories of the night flood back.

Just as you start to collect your thoughts, the room’s silence is shattered by the insanely loud ringing of your phone. Panic sets in as you fumble around the bed, searching for the source of the sound.

After a moment of frantic searching, your gaze lands on Jaemin’s desk. There it is – your phone, innocently plugged in to charge.

And the decency to plug in your phone? Unheard of, really.

With a hasty movement, you extricate yourself from the tangled sheets and leap to answer the phone.

Mark’s name flashes across the screen.

“Shit.” You curse, fumbling to press the answer button. Before he can get a word out, you’re already mumbling apologies and promises to make it up to him.

“Dude, calm down.” Mark's voice, though edged with frustration, carries a note of understanding. You take a deep breath, attempting to steady your nerves as you continue to explain.

"I overslept, Mark, seriously. I lost track of time. I'm on my way to the library right now. We can still work on the project, I promise."

There's a brief pause on the other end, and Mark finally answers. "I already came back to my dorm. If you wanna meet here, I don’t mind. My roommates are here though."

Shit.

Mark was one of the unlucky students this year that got placed in the freshman dorms due to a shortage of upperclassmen housing. Instead of sharing an apartment with one other person, and getting his own room, he was cramped with three other guys. And he had to share his room.

“You don’t wanna meet back at the library?”

On the other end of the line he sighs, “I waited for you to show up for an hour dude. When I left, my seat was the only one open. I’m sure it’s taken now.”

Apologizing again seemed futile. “I’ll just come to you. Be there in no time.”

“Ok, just knock when you get here. See ya.” And with that Mark hangs up.

You take a deep breath and set your phone back on the desk.

It’s only when you catch sight of yourself in his full-length mirror that you remember you’re standing naked in the middle of Jaemins room. Your tits are completely out, and judging by the dark bruises painting your chest like some kind of twisted art piece, you were definitely put through it last night.

Jesus, was he trying to brand you? Like, yeah, you get it, he’s good—but was this necessary? Now you have to strategize every outfit for the next week so you don’t look like you got into a street fight with a vacuum cleaner.

The four orgasms were totally worth it though.

You sigh, understanding that this probably wasn’t the moment to bask in the after-non-sex glow, and that you really need to get dressed and get the fuck up out of Jaemins room before 1. Haechan decided to come snooping around or 2. Mark chose to cut you loose from the project and do it himself.

You reluctantly bend down and gather your clothes from the pile on the floor. Frowning, you hold up a crumpled shirt to your nose, wrinkling in distaste. It smelled like a week-old mini bar.

Of course, the one drink you had last night would make an impression on your clothes. It’s clear that decision have consequences, and now you have to deal with the aftermath, because there’s only one option.

Borrow something from Jaemins closet.

Shit.

The closet beckons from across the room. You approach it tentatively, knowing you're crossing into personal territory. Opening the door, you scan the hangers, searching for something that won't scream 'borrowed.' But there aren’t many options for that. You see, Jaemin had three options in his wardrobe: tank tops & gym shorts, oversized hoodies & sweats, and button ups & dress pants.

Sighing, you reach for the closest hoodie, and rifle through the bottom drawers for some sweats. After a moment, you find the ones that weren’t going to be too big on you – a simple grey hoodie that had the logo of NCTU plastered across the back, and the matching pants. At least this combination would give you the cute ‘wearing your boyfriends clothes around campus’ aesthetic. Except he wasn’t your boyfriend – just your best friend who ate pussy like a starved man.

You tug the hoodie over your head and try it make it fit as comfortably as possible. It’s a little too big, but beggars can’t be choosers. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you take in your disheveled appearance.

A part of you wants to nose around the bathroom to find a hairbrush, maybe a spare toothbrush, but that’d be too much of a risk. Haechan could not catch you in a position like this.

After taking a final look around the room, you gather your belongings and prepare to make a hasty exit. The door creaks open, and you freeze, half-expecting Haechan to walk out and catch you in the act.

With one peek around the hallway, you see his door swung wide open. Chancing it, you take a couple steps out and realize that his room is empty.

The universe keeps granting you pardon after pardon.

This string of luck continues as you fumble your way out of the dorm and bolt down the stairs – still no Haechan in sight. In fact, you don’t see a single soul until you find yourself outside of the freshman dormitory. Students lounge on the hammocks situated in front of the building and you walk by without a word.

You’d only been to Marks dorm one other time, and it takes a moment to recall his room number. Honestly, each door looked the same. By some miracle you find the right one – or what you hoped to be the right one.

Delivering a semi-confident knock, you sway awkwardly. You really hoped this was the right room.

From the other side, you hear shuffling and then the door is being swung wide open.

“Hello…” This is not mark. However, the only telltale sign that you were at the right place was this guy’s bright ass silver hair. Looks like someone had fallen victim to Marks hair dye tendencies. “Can I help you?”

He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest, giving you a once over.

“I’m here to see Mark.” You reply, hoping he’d just let you in.

Of course not.

“I’m Chenle.” He responds.

You don’t know what to say, “Okay, nice to meet you.” What was this kid going to do? Interview you? Interrogate you?

“Are you a freshman?” He asks.

After about three seconds of hesitation, you respond, “Can you let me in? I’m late to meet Mark for our project.” You didn’t want to be mean, but you were over guys flirting with you. There was some actual schoolwork that needed to get done. And this scrawny, silver haired kid was in the way.

“Mark’s not here, but you can come chill with me.” His smirk lights up his entire face, eyes crinkling in delight.

“Chenle, fucking move and let her in.”

Mark’s voice comes from behind Chenle and the boy in question moves backwards in a huff. “I was just getting to know her.” He pouts.

Mark gives you a half-hearted wave and a smile, beckoning you into the dorm. As you step inside, gently closing the door behind you, you realize at how cramped the freshman dorms really were. How could four men live in these conditions?

Barbaric, really.

“Sorry about Chenle. He likes to flirt with anything that walks.” Mark gives a pointed glare to the younger boy, and it makes you giggle.

"Looks like you got a mini Jaemin on your hands” you joke, looking around the room. The small space is cluttered with textbooks, clothes, and various other items – definitely a men’s dorm.

"I was just being friendly," Chenle protests, flashing a charming smile in your direction. "Unlike someone, I know how to make a girl feel welcome."

Mark scoffs, “Oh, please.” He grabs your wrist and starts to tug you to his room, “Come on Y/N, let’s go do this project.”

As Mark pulls you away, Chenle calls after you, "If you get bored, I’m out here.”

You think his determination is kinda cute. Apparently, this offends mark “She’s never gonna go for you dude! Give it up!”

And with that, Mark slams his door shut.

See, it wasn’t that you were stupid, but composing, creating, and editing an entire song longer than a minute and a half wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do. Which, by the way, literally had nothing to do with theory.

Thankfully Mark knew guitar, could sing, and already had the song written. You decided to stick to the editing part.

Before long, the assignment was complete and turned in. And it only took half an hour – most of which consisted of trying to figure out the controls on the soundboard without deleting the recorded parts.

It took you a minute, but you finally got the hang of it.

After finishing up, Mark suggested grabbing lunch, and you agreed. The two of you headed to the campus cafe, chatting about everything from music to hockey (that conversation was fleeting), to the latest campus-wide trend of jumping into the fountains.

As you eagerly settled into your seat, ready to indulge in the heavenly experience that awaited you with the loaded tacos, a familiar voice pierced the air.

“Y/N!”

God-fucking-damn-it.

Two seconds later, a wind-blown Hyuck joins your table. His hair was in wild tangles at the top of his head, jacket precariously hanging off one shoulder, and his cheeks sported a subtle shade of tinged pink.

Mark, busy shoveling a forkful of green beans into his mouth, couldn't help but comment, "Why do you look like that?"

"Took the words right outta my mouth," you mumbled, side-eyeing Haechan.

Haechan scoffed, "Why do I look so beautiful, handsome, and sexy?"

"You wish.”

The new addition to your table shoots a glare at you. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Mark chimed in, “You look like you got caught in a tornado.”

Haechan bangs a fist onto the tabletop, making your water ripple in your glass, “I had to run here.”

“To the café?” You question, taking a tentative bite of your taco.

Haechan rolls his eyes, “No, to the architecture building – yes, to the café.”

Mark, ever the voice of reason, took a drink of water before asking, “Why?”

Haechan gave a dead serious look, treating you and Mark like you were the dumbest people on Earth. "Because it’s taco day."

“So tacos equal running?” You giggle.

Haechan glares at you again, giving you a once over. His eyebrow pops up, “Why are you wearing Jaemins clothes?”

You choke on your taco.

Swallowing hard, you respond, "What? No, these are definitely mine."

Haechan narrows his eyes, clearly skeptical. "Come on, Y/N. I’ve literally scene him wear that exact outfit, like, last week."

Of course you had to pick the one outfit Jaemin wore recently. What were the odds? Actually, knowing your luck? One hundred percent. Should’ve grabbed something from the back of his closet. Maybe a damn tuxedo, just to throw Haechan off your scent.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, attempting to downplay the situation. "Well, maybe it's just a similar style. Lots of people wear sweat suits like this."

Mark, clueless as could be, chimes in through another mouthful of green beans, "Yeah, Haechan, don't jump to conclusions. It's just an outfit."

Haechan, however, wasn't convinced. He leaned in, scrutinizing the fabric. "I know Jaemin's style like the back of my hand. I’m literally his roommate."

Your heart raced as you desperately tried to deflect his suspicion. Perhaps the best thing to do in this situation was gaslight him. "You're imagining things. It's probably just a coincidence."

He narrowed his eyes, the gears in his mischievous mind audibly turning. "Maybe, but you can't deny it looks good on you. Fits better than it ever did on Jaemin."

That catches you off guard and you struggle to reply, stammering out, “Well, um, I guess people have different body types, right?"

It made no sense. This hoodie literally swallowed you whole.

Mark couldn't contain his laughter, and Haechan throws him an annoyed look. "Stop laughing, Mark. This is serious business."

“Yeah,” Mark wipes away the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, “If you count hitting on Y/N as serious business.”

As Haechan turns to defend himself against Marks allegations, your phone buzzed on the table. A sense of relief washes over you as you check the caller ID. It was Jennie. "Sorry, guys, gotta run. Duty calls," you announce, seizing the opportunity to escape this disappointing lunch date.

Haechan, still fixated on the fact that you were definitely wearing Jaemin’s clothes, smirked. "Sure, dodge the question. Perhaps I’ll go ask Jaem about it later."

Rolling your eyes, you shot back, "You're just mad I went with him last night instead of you."

It was his turn to stammer out a half-muttered response, the apples of his cheeks turning a dark shade of pink. So, what if you’d chosen Jaemin over him? It’s not like he really cared. Okay maybe he did, but really that’s only because he didn’t trust Jaemin to take care of you like you should be taken care of.

Oh, the things he didn’t know.

“Whatever,” he brushes off casually, “I’m eating your tacos if you’re leaving.”

“Have at it.” You retort.

With a quick farewell, you stepped away from the table, answering Jennie’s call as you made your way through the bustling dining room. “Hey, what’s up.”

“Y/N, it’s an emergency! Literally capital E! Can you meet me at the quad foutain? I’m begging you; I desperately need your help! This event is spiraling into a complete disaster!”

You almost get hit in the head with a flying football the moment you step out of the cafeteria doors.

Ducking just in time, you glance around and find the culprit – a shirtless boy in cargos and a beanie – weird combo.

“My bad.” He apologizes, jogging to where you were still reeling. He scoops up the ball and spares you a glance, “You okay?”

“’M fine.” You mumble, brushing off the close call.

He gives you a grin and jogs back to where his friends were waiting impatiently. You feel like you knew him from somewhere – Johnny, you think his name was. You shrug it off and continue walking.

Just another typical day at this stupid university.

With your backpack slung over one shoulder, you navigate through clusters of students, the chatter of voices filling the air. The sun beats down warmly, casting long shadows across the pathway as you make your way towards the heart of the campus—the quad.

The quad, with its lush greenery and towering trees, serves as the central gathering point for students. As you approach, you catch glimpses of the glistening fountain at its center, water dancing in the sunlight.

Students lounge on the grass, textbooks sprawled open, while others toss frisbees or kick soccer balls around. You make sure to keep an eye out for more flying objects.

Laughter mingles with the sound of music drifting from portable speakers as you draw closer to the fountain, searching for Jennie’s familiar figure among the crowd. Yet, as you reach the edge of the quad, your heart sinks a fraction. Jennie is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, standing by the fountain like some Greek god of fuckboy temptation, is Jaemin—crisp white t-shirt, grey sweats hanging just right, and that faded pink hair. You should turn around. You should pretend you never saw him. You should call Jennie and fake an emergency. But nope. Here you are, walking straight toward your doom.

If it weren't for the grin that lights up Jaemin's face as he spots you approaching, you would have probably just walked past him without a word. “Nice outfit.” Jaemin teases, carding a hand through his faded pink hair.

You glance down at yourself, remember you're clad in Jaemin's hoodie and sweatpants, and now you’re face to face with him. A faint blush creeps onto your cheeks. "Uh, thanks," you mumble, tugging at the hem of the oversized hoodie self-consciously. "My clothes smelled like alcohol…I’m sorry if–”

"Y/n, It’s not a big deal," he interrupts, his tone light as he gives you a playful wink.

You nod, grateful for his easy acceptance. "Okay good.”

As you're about to explain your presence, Jaemin beats you to the question. "So what’s up? Whaddya doing here?"

You hesitate, wondering how much to disclose before deciding to keep it simple. "Jennie called, said she needed help with something."

Jaemin's eyebrows raise in amusement. "What a coincidence, me too."

Before you can inquire further, a commotion at the edge of the quad catches your attention. Your eyes widen as you watch Jennie darting through the crowd, her figure unmistakable, clad only in a bright green bikini.

"Girl, what's up?" you exclaim, wondering why your roommate was running through campus barely dressed.

Jennie skids to a stop in front of you, panting slightly but grinning ear to ear. "Hey, sorry I'm late! I called you guys because I need both of you to help with our event.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can respond, a few obnoxious catcalls pierce the air, directed at Jennie. Your jaw clenches instinctively, ready to defend your friend, but before you can react, Jennie flips the offenders the most glorious middle finger you've ever seen.

“Perverts.” She grumbles, “Anyways, it’s simple. Walk and talk, okay?”

You and Jaemin nod, following behind her as she guides you through the crowd while explaining what the hell was going on.

"Okay, so," she begins, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation, "Delta Gamma and Pike are hosting a car wash event to raise money for one of the local hospitals. It's all part of our philosophy, you know, brother-sister Greek life thing, whatever." Jaemin shoots you a glance, and you just shrug. You didn’t know much about Greek life either.

"But literally only four sisters and six brothers showed up – which is another problem entirely because I swear half of those new recruits are gonna get dropped for putting me through this much stress." You roll your eyes, knowing she would never do that. "And with only ten people and…"

"Holy shit," you breathe out, stunned by the sheer number of cars lined up.

The three of you halt at the roundabout on the edge of campus, two lines of cars waiting to be washed. There had to be at least thirty, all gleaming in the sunlight, eagerly awaiting their turn for a scrub-down.

Shirtless frat boys were washing one line of cars – spraying the hose water all over their chests and hurling soap bombs at each other. Laughter echoes as soap bubbles fly through the air.

On the opposite side, sorority girls in matching bikinis handle the other line of cars with finesse and charm. Their smiles are as radiant as the sunlight, their laughter tinkling like wind chimes. Despite the heat, they maintain their composure, efficiently scrubbing away dirt and grime while maintaining their impeccable appearance. Boys hang out of their cars, hooting and hollering and cheering.

Jaemin whistles lowly, his eyes scanning the line of vehicles. "Looks like we're in for a busy day," he remarks, a hint of excitement in his voice.

For a split second, you wonder if he’s checking out the girls, but he turns to you and gives you a smile.

Jennie nods, her expression determined. "I know.” she declares, a spark of determination igniting in her eyes. "If you could help out, even for half an hour, I’d appreciate it."

"Of course," Jaemin replies with a grin, his enthusiasm contagious. "We're here to help however we can."

You nod in agreement, "Count us in," you say, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. If Jaemin was staying, you sure as hell weren’t leaving—because what kind of idiot passes up the opportunity to watch six feet of pink-haired temptation scrub cars in slow motion?

“It’s not really about cleaning the cars. Just look sexy and pretend to scrub!” Jennie explains, setting her hands on her hip. She cocks her head to the side, practically begging.

Jaemin grins, “Well, if that’s the case, I can do sexy.”

You snort, “Okay. Fine. Let’s do this.”

Jaemin swiftly hoists his shirt over his head, casually discarding it on the ground. You can't help but notice how good he looks—toned chest, and a stone wall of abs. As he stretches, the muscles in his arms and torso flex and contract, and you watch in fascination.

He jogs over to the boys' side, greeting them with enthusiasm. Their ritualistic embraces appear almost painful to the untrained eye—open hands slapping backs and clasped fists.

However, for you, there was one problem: you didn’t have a bathing suit. So, you opt for the next best thing. With a hint of uncertainty, you peel off Jaemin's hoodie, standing there in your bra. Sure, it was a lacy delicate thing, but it covered up the areas that needed to be.

“Y/n!” Jennie nearly shrieks. You can sense a few other pairs of eyes turning your way, including Jaemin’s. His gaze darkens the second he sees you, a muscle twitching in his jaw. His fingers curl slightly—like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you. There’s something heavy in the way he looks at you, as if he’s fighting an internal battle between restraint and instinct.. “What are you wearing.”

“What?” You grumbled, hands peppering your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that– or maybe Jaemin’s gaze made all this worth it. “I know it’s not a bathing suit, but what can you expect on such short notice? I’m gonna keep the sweats on anyway.”

She shakes her head, “I have a spare bathing suit in my car if you wanna go change into that.” It’s obvious she isn’t going to take no for an answer, so you oblige, snatching the keys out of her hand.

You jog over to Jennie’s car parked in the lot down the brick path. Unlocking the car, you climb inside, glancing around nervously to ensure no wandering students catch you in the midst of your impromptu wardrobe change. Thankfully, there’s parked cars on either side of you, blocking you in. You just hope their owners don’t come out wanting to take a midday drive.

The car’s interior is stifling, heat clinging to your skin like a second layer. The scent of worn leather and faint perfume from Jennie’s air freshener fills the small space as you hurriedly peel off your clothes, the fabric sticking slightly to your damp skin. You hope the tinted windows provide enough cover. The spare bathing suit is a tucked into the pocket on the back of the passenger side seat, and you struggle to get it on without elbowing the car door.

As you struggle with the straps, a pair of familiar eyes catches you off guard. Jaemin, passing by, raises an eyebrow in surprise. Panicking, you duck behind the backseat, using it as a makeshift shield.

Three seconds later there’s a sharp rap on the window.

When you look up, Jaemins face is peering in.

You grab the handle and push open the door – thankful that you at least managed to get on most of the bikini.

“Well look at you.” He grins, climbing into the backseat and closing the door behind himself.

“Jaem–”

You don’t get to finish your sentence because the boy in question grabs your jaw and pushes his lips against yours. It takes you by surprise, but you find his rhythm almost immediately. It’s sweltering in the car, but nothing compares to the heat radiating off his chest as he pushes his body into yours. His tongue drives shamelessly into your mouth, and you open wider, letting him taste you.

His hands slide under you, strong and unyielding, pressing you flush against him. The heat between your bodies is suffocating, but you don’t pull away. One of your legs instinctively wraps around his waist, the friction sending a sharp jolt through your core. He exhales sharply, his breath fanning against your lips, his grip tightening ever so slightly—like he’s holding himself back.

“You look good.” He mumbles against your lips, before pulling back and tugging on the bottom one with his teeth, “Can’t believe everyone else gets to see you like this.” You don’t even realize your eyes are shut before they’re fluttering open. He rests his forehead on your own, “Thought it was just for me?”

You laugh breathlessly, “What happened to it only being friends helping out friends.”

He shares the laugh, “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I kinda got a problem and could definitely use your help. It’s your fault after all.”

His confession makes pride bloom in your chest.

Reaching a hand down between what little space there was between you, you grab him through his shorts – a heavy hand palming his growing hard-on. “Oh, this problem?”

“Yeah.” He groans, hips bucking into your touch. “That one.”

You grin up at him, making sure to look deep into his eyes, “Well, I hate to disappoint…”

“No!” He groans, rutting against you to try and feel any dwindling friction, “Don’t say that!”

His response makes you giggle, “If we stay in here much longer, Jennie's bound to come looking.”

He pouts, bottom lip jutting out, eyes like a puppy dog. When he finally understands that he won’t – that he can’t get what he wants, he smiles and steal another kiss. This one is shorter but still makes you shiver.

“After?” You ask, the hope evident in your tone.

“You just can’t get enough of me.”

“Not true!” you swat his arm, “But seeing you out there all buff and shirtless, well, I’ll probably have a problem later too.”

His response is instantaneous, “And I’ll be more than happy to help you out with that…after.”

It was your turn to steal a kiss from him. Grabbing his broad shoulders, you halfway sit up and nip at his lips. He catches you and pulls you deeper – and he keeps going into your head grows thick, and you become dizzy.

“Okay, okay.” You assert, banging weak fist on his shoulder, “We got to go.”

“Want some help with the top? I saw you struggling with it. Let me tie it for you.”

You see, Jaemin was so damn sweet sometimes – especially when he was horny and wanted something – someone. And right now, all he wanted was you.

Twisting around in the cramped back seat was hard, but you manage, and Jaemin expertly ties the back of the bikini so that it wouldn’t fall off halfway through washing someone’s beat up Toyota.

“Thanks.”

"Don’t mention it.” He dismisses the gratitude with a wave, and you push open the door, stepping out. The heat that had built up in the car hits you, and as you emerge, you feel the immediate relief of being able to finally catch a breath.

When he doesn’t immediately follow, you bend down to peek back into the car, “Are you coming?”

“You’re gonna have to give me a minute to…cool down.” He grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and gesturing to his lap that sported a rather impressive tent.

“Okay.” You laugh, shutting the door and leaving Jaemin to ‘cool down’.

The smile on your face doesn’t dissipate at you walk back to the growing line of cars waiting to be washed by hot sorority sisters in skimpy bathing suits – and Jennie notices, but for the wrong reason.

“You like the bathing suit?” she chirps, “It’s kinda small on you but it looks good!!”

“I love it.” It made Jaemin climb into a hot car with you in the middle of campus, what was there to hate?

She beams, “I knew you would! Now, it’s really simple, just grab a bucket, a sponge, and claim a car that pulls up. The rest is up to you, but as we’ve learned so far, people tend to tip if you put on a little show.” She points to where one of her fellow sisters was leaning over the hood of a Jeep Wrangler and practically using her boobs to wipe around the soapy water. The frat guys leaning out of the windows hoot and holler and cheer for her.

The last thing you wanted to be doing today was putting on a show for sleazy frat boys, but you’d do anything for your roommate.

“I really appreciate this y/n.” she remarked, pulling you in for an embrace.

Like you said, you’d do anything for this pure soul.

“Don’t mention it girl.” You take a look around at the waiting line of cars. There had to be at least fifty. "‘Now, where’s my bucket? And preferably, someone rich enough to make this performance worth it."

Washing cars isn’t so bad – you only get soap in your eye once.

The only reason you got soap in your eye?

Na Jaemin.

Because how were you supposed to focus when he looked like that?

Water sprayed against his chest, each droplet clinging to the ridges of his abs like it had nowhere better to be. His pink hair dripped, plastered to his forehead, and when he ran a hand through it—fuck—you forgot how to breathe for a second.

Was dragging him back to Jennie’s car a bad idea? Probably. Was it on your mind? Absolutely.

But before you could entertain the thought any longer, Jaemin caught your stare—and winked. And like a complete idiot, you freaked out so hard you ended up blinding yourself with soap.

His laugh carried across the row of cars, embarrassment climbing your spine.

But he was looking too. In fact, Jaemin was staring. No—Jaemin was mesmerized. He thought your tits were distracting—but this? This was something else entirely. Because when you turned, revealing bare skin and that goddamn thong bikini, Jaemin forgot how to function. His brain short-circuited, mouth going completely dry, and suddenly, he understood religion. Because this? This was divine intervention.

He must have been staring too long, because Yuta elbowed him—hard.

"That your girl?" Yuta grinned, knowing damn well Jaemin was acting like a man down bad.

Jaemin nearly choked on air. "N-no, she’s just a friend."

Yuta didn’t believe that for a damn second."*

Yuta looks back and forth between the two of you, catching the way you peek up through your lashes in search of Jaemin. When you catch Yuta looking, you duck your head.

“She’s pretty.” Yuta breathes, reaching for the bucket of soapy water he had put down five minutes before.

Jaemin nods his head absentmindedly, “Yeah she is.”

Yuta is no stranger to love. His girlfriend, Chloe, and him have been together for years – ever since they were inexperienced freshmen at NCTU. Chloe was the light of his life, his forever. And the way that Jaemin was eyeing you right now was exactly how Yuta had looked at his girl during orientation at NCTU. A gaze filled with adoration and longing. Yuta bet that if he took Jaemins pulse right now it would be elevated as fuck.

Just as Yuta is about to tell Jaemin to go over there and ask you out, a sleek BMW pulls up to the curb with a soft purr.

The owner parks the car and Jaehyun steps out.

Jaemin can't hear from where he's standing, but he watches as Jaehyun strolls up to you and Jennie with a shit-eating grin.

“Excuse me one second.” Jaemin voices, dropping the sponge in his hand on the sidewalk.

If they weren’t dating yet, it wouldn’t be long, Yuta thinks.

Jaemin reaches you just in time to catch the tail end of Jaehyun’s sentence—and honestly, it takes every ounce of self-control not to swing on him right then and there.. His fists clenching at his sides, Jaemin forces a tight-lipped smile. The sight of you, standing there with a hint of uncertainty in your eyes, serves as a reminder to keep his composure.

"Hey, Jaehyun," Jaemin interjects, his voice steady despite the itch of anger climbing in his throat. "Glad you could make it. We've got plenty of cars to wash."

He doesn’t understand the source of his anger. There's no logical explanation for it. Jaehyun hasn't done anything wrong to you. Perhaps it's because Jaemin has unofficially claimed you as his own, even if only temporarily.

Jaehyun chuckles, “I’m not here to wash cars, this isn’t NEO’s philosophy. Our philosophy is military related. But we’re having a volleyball tournament next week where people can bet, and the money will go to families of fallen soldiers. You can swing by if you’d like.”

"I'll keep that in mind, Jaehyun," Jaemin replies, his voice softer now, the edges of his frustration smoothing out.

Jennie speaks up, “I’ll definitely be there.”

Jaemin’s anger slowly dissipates. He can’t really be mad at a dude that did charity.

“I am here to get my car washed though.” Jaehyun continues, and he turns to look at you.

You don’t say a word, instead, Jennie takes charge, “Well lucky for you, that’s exactly what we’re doing. Don’t worry about payment.” She gives him a smile and Jaehyun doesn’t even bother looking in her direction.

“I was really hoping y/n here could do it?” You didn’t really know what to say. Why Jaehyun was specifically requesting you was odd. If he thought there was something between the two of you last night, he was sadly mistaken. The last thing you wanted was to be subjected to his banter.

And Jaemin wouldn’t let that happen anyways.

You exchange a hesitant glance with Jaemin, who stands beside you, his jaw set. When you look at Jennie, you can tell her heart deflates a little.

Jaehyun's request hangs in the air, and you feel a knot of unease tighten in your stomach.

"How about we all help?" Jaemin's voice cuts through the tension, his words a veiled warning to Jaehyun.

With a forced smile, you nod in agreement, grateful for Jaemin.

All four of you walk over to where Jaehyun’s car is parked, buckets and sponges in hand. Jaehyun persistent gaze lingers on you, and when Jaemin catches him staring at your ass, his anger flares up again.

When you bend down to place your bucket by your feet, Jaehyun leans in a little too close, his voice dripping with perversion as he addresses you directly. "I must say, y/n, I've been looking forward to spending some time with you again."

Your stomach churns at his words—the implication is clear, no matter how polite he tries to sound. This isn’t what you signed up for

With a subtle shift, Jaemin steps forward, effectively intercepting Jaehyun's advances. "Let's get started," he declares, his tone authoritative.

The task at hand becomes a welcome distraction, the rhythmic swish of water against the car offering a momentary reprieve from Jaehyun’s flirtation.

Well, until he opened his mouth again.

"So, have you always been this skilled with your hands?" Jaehyun's voice comes from behind you and when you look at him, you catch him smirking. "Or is it just with cars?"

Jaemin snaps.

"Okay, you know what?" he lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, hurling his bucket onto the ground with a loud slap. "I think we’re done here."

Jaehyun smirks. "What, can’t take a joke?"

Jaemin takes a step forward. "Oh, I can take a joke just fine. But here’s the thing—I don’t think Y/N finds you very funny."

You blink, caught off guard, and Jaemin doesn’t miss it.

Your heart breaks a little for your roommate. It was apparent that Jaehyuns move on you hurt her even more. And there was nothing you could do about it because you made this happen. It was your fault.

Jaemin doesn’t care to listen to Jaehyuns stammered out apology. You don’t either. You just let Jaemin grab your hand and tug you down the path. The pile of his clothes from earlier lies forgotten on the ground, completely abandoned.

Like last time, Haechans shoes sit tauntingly at the front door.

Unlike last time, Jaemin wastes no time in dragging you to his room, closing the door, and locking it.

His words come out in a low growl while he paces the room, “Don’t know why that guy thinks he can flirt with you like that. It’s so fucking weird. I mean, I know you look good,” he stops mid rant to look at you, eyes widening at the small bikini barely covering your exposed body, “So fucking good…but that doesn’t mean he can be a perv.”

Yeah, okay, hypocrite.

“Jaemin.” You whisper.

He throws a hand out, back to pacing. You watch his muscles contract and ripple with the force of his breathing. It didn’t make sense why he was getting so worked up.

“No, I get it. He’s a good-looking guy. But you…He shouldn’t even think about you. It’s like you’re here.” Jaemin puts a hand up over his head, and one far below his waist, “And he’s down here. You’re way too good for him.” Jaemin lets out a breathless chuckle, “And to do it in front of me, no less. Bastards got some really big balls.”

You barely stop yourself from rolling your eyes. The way he’s talking, you’d think Jaehyun was a bridge troll. Sighing, you sit back on the bed, not caring if you get it wet. “Not that big.” You mutter to yourself.

He ignores you again.

And you’re about sick of it.

“I mean, could he have been any more fucking pathetic? ‘Have you always been skilled with your hands? Or is it just with cars?’ Like what kind of shit is that. Any pickup line he could’ve chosen and he went with that?”

Jaemin's words echoed off the walls, his frustration palpable in the air, while you come to the realization that your slightly damp bathing suit was rather uncomfortable to be lounging around in.

And perhaps if he saw you without the bikini top, he’d finally stop his ranting and do something useful.

Like, say, fuck you into next week.

Because watching Jaemin pace shirtless, ranting about how other men didn’t deserve you, looking like he was one sentence away from going full caveman and staking a claim— well, it made you all hot and bothered.

You hated to use that phrase, but it was true.

With deft fingers, you unfastened the ties of your bikini top, the fabric slipping from your shoulders as you held it aloft in your hand. With a swift and calculated motion, you tossed it gently in Jaemin's direction, the fabric fluttering through the air before landing squarely on his path.

"Hey, what the—?" Jaemin's voice trailed off as he stooped to pick up the discarded bikini top, his confusion giving way to amusement as he held it up before him. "Well, well, well..." Jaemin turned towards you, a bemused smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Looks like you're missing something there, sweetheart."

You meet his gaze, feeling light and playful, warmth bubbling in your chest at the way he’s looking at you now—like he’s finally snapped out of his irritation and sees you for what you are: his.

“Oops! Must’ve slipped off,” you quip, stretching out lazily on the bed like you’ve got all the time in the world. “Thanks for catching that for me.”

Jaemin’s laughter fills the room, shaking his head as he steps closer, tossing the bikini top back in your direction, the fabric landing softly at your feet.

"Anytime," Jaemin replied, his tone biting.

His gaze drags down your body, taking his time, drinking you in like he doesn’t know where he wants to touch first. His jaw tenses as his fingers twitch at his sides.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” He tilts his head, voice dipping lower, more serious now.

You smirk, confidence flooding through you at the way he’s looking at you—hungry, wanting, aching. “I think you’re talking too much.”

Jaemin exhales a sharp breath through his nose, like he’s trying to hold onto the last bit of restraint he has left. Then, in a blur of movement, he’s on you—one knee pressing into the mattress, hands grabbing your hips, dragging you toward him like he owns you.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice laced with something dark and promising.

And you can’t fucking wait.

His mouth is on you before you can even breathe, kissing you with enough force to knock every last coherent thought from your mind. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging into the soft skin as he presses you down beneath him.

“You wanna tease me, baby?” he murmurs against your lips, nipping at your bottom one. “You wanna throw your little bikini at me like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing?”

You hum against his mouth, hands slipping up his bare chest, nails raking lightly over his toned muscles. “What if I did?”

Jaemin groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “Then I’m gonna have to remind you who you belong to.”

His hands move fast, slipping beneath your body to grip your ass, lifting you against him. You can feel the heat of him through his swim trunks, his hardness pressing right where you need him most. The sensation makes you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.

Jaemin takes the sound as an invitation, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, pausing only to suck a mark into your collarbone before moving lower. His lips trace over the tops of your breasts, teasing, never quite where you want him, and it makes you squirm beneath him.

“Jaem—”

He tuts, dragging his teeth over your sensitive skin. “Patience, pretty girl.”

His tongue flicks against your nipple, a slow, agonizing tease before he finally closes his lips around it, sucking just enough to send a sharp wave of pleasure through you.

Your back arches instinctively, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and Jaemin groans at the sound, switching to the other breast, lavishing the same attention before continuing his descent down your body.

He pauses just above the waistband of your bikini bottoms, glancing up at you with hooded eyes. “You gonna stop me?”

You shake your head quickly, breathless. “Not a chance.”

Jaemin smirks, fingers hooking into the damp fabric, slowly peeling them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time.”

Jaemin doesn’t waste time.

One second, you’re sprawled beneath him, breathless and burning from the way his lips and hands explore your skin, and the next, you’re being lifted. A startled gasp leaves you as Jaemin hauls you up effortlessly, arms securing you against his chest like you weigh nothing.

“Jaemin—”

You barely get his name out before your back meets the wall, his body pressing flush against yours, caging you in. The cool surface is a stark contrast to the heat radiating off him, sending a shiver down your spine. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, hands clutching at his shoulders.

Then you realize which wall he’s pinned you against.

The one that separates his room from Haechan’s.

“Haechan.” You murmur.

Jaemin freezes for half a second before his grip on you tightens, fingers pressing deeper into your thighs where he holds you against the wall. His eyes flick to yours, dark, curious.

"God, why are you so fucking worried about him?" His voice is rough, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s daring you to say more.

"I-I just don’t want him to hear us," you whisper, even though your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Jaemin’s lips curl into a slow smirk, his hips rolling just enough to remind you of the position you’re in. "You know what?"

"What?" Your breath hitches when his hands shift, pressing you harder against the wall.

"Let’s play a game." His voice is low, dripping with amusement. "It’s called ‘don’t get caught.’"

Your stomach flips, heat rushing through you. "How do you p-play?"

Jaemin leans in, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear, voice nothing but a sinful whisper. "Well, I get to fuck you against this wall, and you have to try and keep your pretty little mouth shut."

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your pulse spikes—not just at his words, but at the absolute confidence in his tone. The way he’s so sure he’s about to ruin you.

Which, okay—fair assumption.

But keeping quiet?

With Jaemin?

You were already losing.

Your head falls back against the wall with a quiet thud, a shaky breath leaving you as his words sink in. You shouldn’t be this turned on. Not by the risk, not by the idea of Haechan being just feet away, completely unaware of what’s about to happen.

But you are.

And Jaemin knows it.

"You like that idea, don’t you?" He tilts his head, pressing a soft, taunting kiss to your jawline before dragging his lips down the side of your throat. "Bet it makes you even wetter."

You let out a shaky exhale, fingers curling into his shoulders. "Jaemin—"

He cuts you off by rolling his hips again, pressing the hard length of him right against your core. A strangled sound catches in your throat, and his smirk only grows.

"Shhh, baby," he coos, mockingly sweet. "You wouldn’t want him to hear, right?"

Your face burns, but you still can’t find it in yourself to stop him. You don’t want to. The thrill, the way Jaemin looks at you like he wants to devour you—it’s all too much.

His lips ghost over your collarbone, hands gripping tighter. "You trust me?"

You swallow, nodding without hesitation. "Yeah."

Jaemin hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking over the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "Then be a good girl and take everything I give you."

His hands grip your thighs tighter, pressing you further into the wall, the cool surface grounding you for all of two seconds before he shifts his hips and drags the thick length of him against your soaked core. The friction alone sends a shudder through you, and Jaemin chuckles lowly, completely aware of how wrecked you already are.

“You really don’t want him to hear, huh?” His voice is dripping with amusement, teasing, as he rolls his hips again, letting the head of his cock nudge against your entrance but not pushing in. “Then you better keep those pretty little noises to yourself.”

You swallow down a whimper, biting your lip as your fingers dig into his shoulders. “Jaemin, please.”

He hums, pretending to think about it before shaking his head. “Nah. I like hearing you beg.”

Without warning, he pushes in, stretching you open in one slow, torturous thrust. Your breath catches in your throat, body tensing at the sheer pressure of him inside you. Jaemin groans at the feeling, forehead pressing against yours as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice rough. “So tight for me.”

Your nails scrape down his back, mouth parting as you struggle to keep yourself from moaning out loud. The stretch is too much, too good, and Jaemin knows it. He gives you a second to adjust before rolling his hips again, thrusting deep, setting a pace that has your head spinning.

The sound of skin against skin fills the room, each movement pressing you harder into the wall, the force of his thrusts making the drywall creak. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as Jaemin buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking a mark into your skin.

“Jaemin—” You choke on your own voice, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.

“Shhh,” he warns, nipping at your jaw. “Don’t want our best friend knowing you’re getting dicked down by your other best friend, right?”A deep thrust punctuates his words, knocking the breath from your lungs. Jaemin pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with something possessive. “But, since you can’t keep quiet, how about you open that pretty mouth and moan a little louder, yeah?” His smirk is wicked, taunting. “Give him a taste of what he can’t have.”

Your whole body tenses, shame and arousal intertwining into something dangerously intoxicating. “Jaemin, you’re such an ass—”

“But you love it,” he interrupts, grinning. “You love knowing he’s right there. That he could hear if you get too loud.” Your walls clench around him involuntarily, and Jaemin groans, his grip tightening on your hips. “Yeah, just like that. Let him know exactly how good I make you feel.”

You try to fight it, try to keep yourself quiet, but Jaemin’s pace is merciless, dragging pleasure out of you with every snap of his hips. Your thighs tremble around his waist, nails leaving half-moon marks on his skin as the tension inside you coils tighter and tighter.

“Go on, baby,” he coaxes, voice pure sin. “Let him hear you.”

Jaemin can feel you unraveling, your legs tightening around him, body trembling with every deep thrust he drives into you against the wall. But he’s not done.

Not even close.

With one last punishing snap of his hips, he pulls back, arms still secure beneath your thighs as he carries you away from the wall. You barely have time to whimper a protest before your back hits the mattress, the shift so sudden that it knocks the air from your lungs.

Jaemin hovers over you, eyes glazed, lips slick and parted as he drinks in the sight of you spread out beneath him. “Thought I was gonna let you off easy?” he taunts, gripping your chin between his fingers. “You should know me better than that.”

You barely have a second to respond before he flips you over, forcing you flat on your stomach, his body pressing over yours. A warm, heavy weight settles at the nape of your neck as he leans in, voice rough in your ear. “You feel that, baby?” He drags his cock through your slick folds, teasing, making you squirm. “Still so fucking wet for me.”

A strangled whine leaves you, and Jaemin chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “That’s my girl.”

Then, with no warning, he thrusts back inside you, punching a moan from your lips as your fingers fist into the sheets. The angle is brutal—deeper, sharper, every inch of him dragging against your walls in a way that has your mind short-circuiting.

Jaemin doesn’t ease into it. He’s lost now, completely caught in the way you take him, how your body sucks him in like you were made for him. His bicep curls around your throat, locking you in place, pinning you beneath him as he fucks you senseless.

“Look at you,” he groans, his jaw slack, eyes fixed on the mirror in front of you both. The reflection is obscene—your body rocking against his, his arm flexing where it holds you still, veins peeking from beneath his flushed skin.

His grin spreads, animalistic, as you let out a choked sound, your face growing hotter the longer he keeps you in that hold, pressed against hard muscle, body burning from the sheer intensity of it all.

“You can take it, baby,” he murmurs, his free hand dragging down your spine, pressing into the small of your back. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

His pace falters for half a second—just a fraction—before he lets out a shuddered breath, head dropping against your shoulder. He’s losing his grip, caught in the way you clench around him, how perfect you feel.

“She’s so pretty,” he thinks to himself, mind spinning, thoughts slurring as he fucks you through his own haze. “Need to—fuck—need to breed her.”

His teeth sink into your shoulder, a possessive growl ripping through him as he drives into you harder, deeper, lost in the only thought circling in his head:

Jaemin is gone.

There’s nothing left in his head but you—the way your body squeezes him so perfectly, the way your voice breaks every time he thrusts deeper, the way you’re letting him ruin you.

His grip around your throat tightens just a little, keeping you pressed against him, keeping you where he wants you. His breath is ragged, uneven groans slipping past his lips as he watches the way your mouth parts, the dazed look in your eyes reflecting in the mirror.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, thrusts turning erratic, desperate. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you down as he pounds into you. “You feel so fucking good. Can’t—shit—can’t hold out much longer.”

You don’t think you can either.

Your entire body is trembling, pleasure pooling low in your stomach, so tight it’s unbearable. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can only feel the way Jaemin is slamming into you, his muscles flexing beneath you as his control slips entirely.

“J-Jaemin—”

“Yeah, baby,” he pants, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. “I know. Just—fuck, just let go for me.”

And then—

A loud bang shakes the wall.

Your eyes snap open in horror, and Jaemin stills for half a second before a voice—Haechan’s voice—cuts through the air.

“Can you two shut the fuck up?! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

A sharp, startled gasp rips from your throat, but Jaemin—Jaemin just laughs.

The sound is low, deep, cocky, vibrating against your back as he picks up his pace again, rolling his hips into you with new determination. “Oh, baby,” he taunts, voice dripping with amusement, “you hear that?”

You can’t respond—you’re too busy trying to not completely fall apart, but Jaemin doesn’t care. His hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, desperate circles that make you arch into him, keening.

“Guess he heard after all.” His voice is rough, laced with a breathless chuckle. “Pretty girl getting fucked so good she’s keeping Haechan awake? And she likes it?”

You shake your head wildly, but your body betrays you, walls clenching around him so tight he nearly chokes on his own moan.

“Oh, you do,” Jaemin groans, thrusts turning punishing. “God, you fucking do.”

You can’t take it. The pressure, the tension, the way everything is building so fast—

“Jaem—”

“I got you, baby,” he grits out, fingers moving faster, hips snapping against yours. “Come for me. Come with me.”

One last thrust—deep, perfect, devastating—and you fall.

A choked cry slips past your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot pleasure consuming you whole. Your entire body convulses, squeezing Jaemin so tight he snaps, burying himself to the hilt as he follows you over the edge.

A guttural moan rips from his throat as he spills inside you, hips jerking in short, stuttering thrusts, riding out both of your highs. His arms tighten around you, holding you through every pulse, every tremor, every aftershock that leaves you utterly spent beneath him.

The room is thick with heat, with the sounds of heavy breathing, with the weight of what just happened.

Jaemin should stop.

He should be too spent. But he’s not. He can’t be.

Even as he shudders against you, panting against your shoulder. Even as his arms tremble from holding you so tight. He’s still moving. Still rolling his hips into you. Slower now but deeper, grinding himself into your swollen, overstimulated walls like he never wants to leave.

“J-Jaemin,” you whimper, voice wrecked. Your body still twitching from your orgasm.

He groans; mouth hot against your neck. His breath is ragged. “Just a little more,” he murmurs. Desperation thick in his voice. “Just—fuck—just let me give you all of it.”

His pace picks up again. Sharp. Desperate thrusts drag overstimulation through you. Making you gasp. Making you cling to him. He’s whining now. His breath hitching as he forces himself through his own sensitivity. Chasing something only he understands.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes. His forehead presses into the crook of your neck. “So fucking perfect—fuck—”

His body is shaking. His fingers bruising where they grip your hips. His thrusts erratic. Mindless. Every muscle in his body working toward one thing—

Filling you up. Making sure you get all of him.

His jaw slackens. Eyes flutter shut. His head drops back. His mouth parts around a helpless moan. “God, baby—taking me so well—taking all of it—”

And then he’s coming again.

His whole body seizes. A wrecked cry breaks from his lips as he spills into you. Warmth floods deep inside you. Making your head spin. His hips jerk. Pushing himself as deep as he can go. His cock twitches with every last pulse. Every last drop he forces into you.

He’s whimpering. Gripping you tight. Hips stuttering through the aftershocks. Milking himself dry.

It’s too much. Too good. You don’t even realize you’re moaning his name again until Jaemin shudders and collapses on top of you.

The weight of him. The heat of him. The feeling of him still buried inside you. It’s all too much.

But you don’t want him to move.

Neither does he.

The warmth of Jaemin’s body lingers against yours, the weight of him heavy, grounding. His breath is still uneven, ghosting over your shoulder as his chest rises and falls in ragged intervals.

For a moment, neither of you move. The room is thick with heat, with the scent of sweat and sex, with the quiet hum of something that feels good. Right.

But then, Jaemin shifts.

His muscles tense beneath your touch. His hands, once gripping you like he never wanted to let go, loosen and slide away. Before you can register what’s happening, he’s pulling out, the loss of him sudden, leaving you sensitive and dazed.

You recline comfortably on the bed, the softness of the sheets embracing you like a warm hug. Jaemin stands by the door, his bare torso glistening in the soft light filtering through the window. With a mischievous grin, he slips out of the room, leaving you alone.

As the front door creaks open, confusion flits across your mind. Where could he be going, and why now? Your thoughts race with possibilities, each more curious than the last. You strain your ears, trying to catch any sound that might offer a clue. Did he really just leave the fucking dorm?

Minutes stretch into eternity until, finally, the door swings open once more, and Jaemin steps back into the room, a triumphant smile lighting up his face. In his hands, he carries two plastic take out bags, their savory aroma filling the air.

“I ordered us food when we were on the way back,” Jaemin announces with a grin as he approaches the bed, setting the tray down before you. “I got you chicken nuggets!”

It’s two am when you’re jolted awake by nothing in particular.

You suspect it has something to do with Jaemins low snoring – just softly into the shell of your ear. His arms are slung around you, one curled over your hip, the other underneath your neck acting like a makeshift pillow. Despite his hard lined muscles, he was surprisingly soft.

And it all felt a little too domestic.

Not that that’s bad – but it’s Jaemin you’re talking about here, and when did he ever do domestic.

As you lay there, a subtle panic begins to creep in. You couldn’t stay the night. Not when you were wide awake and freaking out over him cuddling you. But the sheets were so warm – he was warm – and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to close your eyes and just sleep.

No. You couldn’t. No matter if you wanted to or not.

Carefully disentangling yourself from Jaemin's embrace, you glance at the clock, anxiety settling in as you calculate the time it would take to slip out unnoticed.

The room is dimly lit – just enough for you to fumble through the pile of clothes on the floor and find his clothes you were wearing earlier. It’s kinda shitty that you’re stealing his clothes and dipping at the same time, but you don’t think he’ll mind.

You grab your phone off the desk and stuff it in your back pocket. Now was the tricky part – opening the door without it creaking and waking up the entire dorm floor. But just as you reached for the doorknob, Jaemin's voice broke the silence. "Leaving so soon?" he asked, his eyes barely visible in the dim light.

Startled, you turned to face him. Of course, he’d wake up and ruin your attempted escape plan that you spent five minutes freaking out over.

Jaemin sat up, his expression unreadable.

"I didn't want to be here when Haechan woke up." you explained in a hushed tone.

Jaemin nodded, understanding evident in his gaze. "You don't have to sneak out, you know. It's not like you're one of my hoes. You're a friend, and you can stay as long as you need. You can crash on the couch if you want?"

Surprised by his nonchalant response, you stammered out a thanks. "I really should just get back. Haechan asks too many questions. Plus, he already thinks something up because of the outfit thing.” You sway awkwardly in front of the door, “By the way, with the clothes and everything, I’ll wash them and bring them back when I can…"

Jaemin interrupted with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. Friends help each other out. It's not a big deal."

Relieved, you thanked him again. When you’re about to turn around and book it, Jaemin's speaks up, catching you off guard.

"Are you going to Jeno's hockey game tomorrow?" he asked, a casual note in his voice.

You nodded, "Yeah, I was planning to."

"Great," Jaemin replied. "Get home safe, Y/N. See you tomorrow."

With that, he rolled over, settling back into bed. His fluffy pink hair being the only thing you could see.

Well, that was a lot easier than you thought.

When you get home, the first thing you do is sit on your bed and stare at the wall.

Because what the fuck just happened?

You fucked Jaemin.

Like—actual, real-life, no-going-back, holy-shit-it-finally-happened fucked Jaemin.

It still doesn’t feel real.

Like, there should have been a warning, some kind of celestial sign that this was the day you’d cross that line. Maybe an earthquake. A shooting star. Haechan suddenly becoming abstinent from redbull.

Something.

But instead? You’re here, legs still wobbly, brain still fried, and the most whorish man you’ve ever met is currently leading the leaderboard of the best dick you’ve had in your entire life.

So, naturally, there’s only one thing left to do.

You grab your journal.

Like Haechan’s rating, there isn’t really a system—just gut feelings, raw statistics, and some level of pettiness. But that doesn’t matter.

Pen scratches against the paper as you start taking notes.

Points for multiple orgasms. (Your soul left your body at least twice.)

Points for teasing. (Menace. Absolute menace.)

Points for reassuring you. (Somehow both the softest and filthiest man alive.)

Points for talking you through your orgasm. (What the fuck was that? Like, actually?)

Major points for acting like everything was normal after. (Like he didn’t just ruin you against a wall.)

And finally, points for ordering takeout after. (Chicken nuggets? Unreal.)

After much deliberation, it’s decided. Jaemin receives a 9.3/10.

You pause.

Then suddenly scribble in an extra half point for Haechan and his voyeuristic ass at the library, bumping him up to a 7.9/10.

For a moment, you debate adding Jaehyun. He wasn’t part of the challenge, but keeping a record of all your endeavors might be beneficial.

Beneficial for what, you don’t know.

Still, after a minute of deliberation, you write his name down. And next to it?

1/10. So sad. Too bad.

With a satisfied sigh, you lean back and admire your work.

Congratulations, Jaemin.

You are currently ranked as the number one best fuck in the friend group.

For now.

Everything’s fine.

Everything is jussssst fine.

Except the two boys – your best friends to be precise – are sitting on either side of your body in a densely packed stadium, and perhaps your adrenaline is at an all-time high.

Like, who even cares that you took Haechans virginity. And honestly, fucking Jaemin was going to happen sooner or later…he was running out of fresh bodies on campus.

Right?

Right??

“You want a hotdog?”

Jaemin, clad in an NCTU hockey jersey, turns his attention to you, breaking you out of your thoughts. His pink hair falls into his eyes and you resist the urge to brush it away.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” You mumble. It felt like he’d caught you in something. For a moment, you wonder if he could tell you were slightly panicking.

But if he did, he doesn’t show it. He just gets out of his seat and starts heading up the concrete stairs towards the concession stand.

Haechan watches him leave, voice whiny, “Why didn’t he offer to get me one.”

Alone now, the crowd's buzz envelops you, the distant echo of cheers mingling with the hushed anticipation of halftime. Haechan's disappointment hangs in the air like a lingering question mark, drawing your attention to the empty seat beside you.

“Want to grab one yourself?” you snark, gesturing towards the concession stand where Jaemin disappeared into the crowd.

Haechan huffs, crossing his hands over his chest, “No need to be mean.”

Jaemin returns ten minutes later, clutching a steaming hotdog wrapped in foil. The aroma wafts through the air, triggering a wave of nausea that swirls in your stomach like a tempest. He settles back into his seat beside you, a grin lighting up his face as he unwraps the hotdog with eager anticipation. “Missed out, huh?” he teases, gesturing towards the now-opened concession.

You manage a weak smile, trying to ignore the churning in your stomach. “Yeah, looks like it,” you murmur, your voice strained against the rising discomfort.

As Jaemin takes a bite, relishing the taste of the hotdog, you fight the urge to turn away, the scent overpowering your senses. Each breath feels heavier, laden with the aroma that now threatens to engulf you.

Desperate to escape the suffocating smell, you rise from your seat, a wave of dizziness washing over you. “I think I need some fresh air,” you mutter, your words barely audible over the crowd’s clamor.

Jaemin’s expression shifts, concern flickering across his features as he watches you retreat. “You, okay?” he calls after you, the worry evident in his voice.

You offer a weak nod, a feeble attempt to reassure him as you navigate through the throng of spectators. You don’t notice Haechan following behind until you pass security and step out of the arena doors.

“Hey,” his voice cuts through the cool night air, “You sure you’re okay?”

Your steps falter for a moment, “Yeah,” you manage, your voice a mere whisper against the backdrop of cheering within the arena. “Just needed a breather.”

Haechan nods, his gaze unwavering as he studies you. In the quiet stillness of the night, the distant echoes of the game fade into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your shared breaths.

“Thanks for checking on me,” you offer, gratitude genuine in your voice.

A soft smile graces Haechan’s lips, “Just because you’re mean to me doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and once again, you’re reminded of what Mark said, ‘It meant so much more to him’.

You want to believe that he’s saying this as your friend. That it’s just a friendly gesture and nothing more. But one look at his face tells you it’s not. This is something he’s been wanting to say for a while – and your stomach coils at the thought.

“Haechan.” How were you supposed to navigate this…this rejection. “We can’t do this.”

He doesn’t bother teasing you. Doesn’t bother pretending like he doesn’t know what you mean.

"I know," he murmurs, "I just had to say it." There's a palpable ache in his words, as if they’re restrained. Oh, there’s so much more he wants to say.

"I appreciate you, Haechan," you offer, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze meets yours, and you fight the urge to back track on everything you just said. The look is broken beyond repair – his water line already filled with tears that threatened to spill on his honey gold cheeks.

“Y/n.” he starts, taking a step towards you. When he reaches his hand out, aiming to land on the side of your cheek, a touch that was surely to end in a kiss, you take a hesitant step backwards.

“Haechan, don’t,” you murmur, the words catching in your throat like a plea for understanding.

His hand hesitates mid-air, fingers curling back as if recoiling from the sting of rejection. The anguish in his eyes mirrors your own turmoil.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a fragile thread, "I didn't mean to push you."

You swallow thickly, “We can’t.”

“But we can.” He counters, taking another step towards you. His eyes search yours for any ounce of longing. It couldn’t be one sided. It couldn’t. “Just give me a chance, please.” His voice breaks on the last words and so does your heart.

This was so out of the blue. You came to watch Jeno’s hockey game, and instead you’re breaking your best friend’s heart. Why did you have to be the bad guy all the time.

Haechan reaches for you again and this time you have to brush his hand away. “We can’t.” You affirm. You hated this. “I’m sorry if you’ve gotten the wrong idea–”

“So, it meant nothing?” His voice is rising, eyes swimming with anger, with hurt, “Everything that happened, everything we did…it meant nothing?”

“It didn’t mean nothing, but we already discussed–”

“Yeah.” He spits angrily. “I remember. Trust me I do. I lay awake at night going over that fucking conversation like clockwork. Over and over and over again. I’ve been getting drunk just to stop thinking about it.” His hands tear at the roots of his hair in frustration, “Fuck, y/n, I can’t get you out of my head and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Haechan…” You want to reach out, give him a hug, get your friend back. Something. Anything.

He takes another step forward, grabbing your shoulders, grip tight with desperation. “Please. I need you. I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad. It’s killing me.” You think he’s about to lean in for a kiss, but he just cocks his head to the side, “Please.”

Your heart clenches as his words hang heavy in the air, the weight of his emotions pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. You're thankful that this side of the stadium laid empty, because onlookers would have made this so much worse.

“It was a one-time thing.” you mumble, voice firm despite the tremble in your words.

“But it wasn’t.” he whispers, “The library, remember? That’s how I know this can’t just be a me thing. You have to feel something too. I know you do.”

"I..." Your voice falters, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you like a heavy burden. "Haechan, I care about you, but..." The words catch in your throat.

Tears glisten in his eyes as he takes a step back, the anguish written across his face. “Y/n…”

“Don’t say it, please, don’t say it.”

But the words tumble from his lips, a final plea, “Y/n, I love you.”

Everything comes to a crescendo, sounds and thoughts clashing together. The choked sob rips from your throat, and you let it. You let him see the pain you were feeling too. But you couldn’t return his testament. You couldn’t.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice is strong, even if the tears were streaming down his face and his throat felt thick, “I do.”

What the hell were you supposed to do. He wasn’t listening to you.

“Haechan, go home.” You plead. He couldn’t keep this up. Not here, not now. But he stands there, rooted in place, his gaze fixed on yours with a fierce determination that sends shivers down your spine.

“You have to feel the same.” He murmurs, more to himself than you.

He wasn’t going to stop this until you broke his heart completely. You might be the villain, but he wasn’t giving you any opportunities to be the hero here.

“I don’t.” You declare, not bothering to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t. “I don’t love you, Haechan. I never did, and I never will. I’m sorry.”

Avoiding his gaze, you hear him laugh bitterly. He spits on the sidewalk and shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his letterman jacket. “Wow.” He breathes, “Jennie was right. You really are a cold, stone-hearted bitch.”

What? Jennie?

You don’t have the opportunity to ask him what he means, because when you look back up, he’s already walking away, his figure fading into the night like a ghost.

He should have never followed you. Should have kept his mouth fucking shut. How could he be so stupid? To think you’d want him the same. What did he expect? That you’d throw yourself at him? That you’d accept him as yours. He should have known girls like you didn’t want to be tied down. Especially not to guys like Haechan.

Tears blur your vision as you watch him go, the weight of his words cutting deeper than you care to admit. You take a shaky breath, willing yourself to hold it together, but the floodgates open, and you're left gasping for air amidst a torrent of emotions.

Haechan's accusation echoes in your mind, a painful reminder of the fractures in your facade, the cracks in your carefully constructed armor. You overthink every word, every action, wondering if you truly deserve the label he's bestowed upon you.

You told him on night one that this wasn’t going to be anything. That it couldn’t. Yet, he was still hopeful. You ruined him.

Amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a flicker of defiance ignites within you—a reminder that you are more than the sum of his accusations, more than the pain etched into his departing figure.

His hurt is not your own.

You just hope you haven’t lost him forever.

With trembling hands, you wipe away the tears, steeling yourself to go back into the stadium. You didn’t want to. You wanted to go home and cry until you passed out with puffy eyes and a stopped-up nose. But Jaemin was waiting for your return, and Jeno needed you as his good luck charm.

You couldn’t disappoint everyone tonight.

When you return to your seat, Jaemin immediately knows something is wrong.

He shoots you a concerned glance, but you brush off his constant questions. You admit that Haechan went home, but you lie, saying it was because he was feeling sick.

As the hockey game continues before you, you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, unable to focus on the action unfolding on the ice. Not even when Jeno nearly gets into a fight with the opposing team does it manage to capture your attention. You merely watch the refs get between the clashing boys, holding on to Jeno’s fist that was already bloody from beating on the other guy’s helmet.

Jaemin doesn't press you further either, deciding to leave you alone entirely.

You only half-heartedly clap and cheer when Jeno scores the winning goal, securing victory for the NCTU hockey team. The crowd erupts in hoots and hollers, but your mind remains elsewhere.

As the final buzzer sounds and the crowd begins to filter out of the stadium, you and Jaemin make your way to the plexiglass that separates the rink from the seats. The victory celebrations fade into the background as you focus on finding Jeno amidst the chaos.

Finally spotting him, you and Jaemin exchange a glance before pressing your hands against the cold surface of the plexiglass. Jeno's eyes meet yours, a mixture of exhaustion and triumph reflected in their depths.

"Congratulations," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but the genuine warmth behind your words is unmistakable.

Jeno offers a tired smile, his fist bumping against the glass in silent acknowledgment.

That was all you could do before his coach started yelling for him to get in the locker room. Watching him skate away, you turn to Jaemin. “You going home?”

Jaemin looks at you, concern etched into his features. “Yeah, do you need me to walk you home?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “No, I think I’ll wait around for Jeno,” you reply, “You can go ahead.”

Jaemin studies you for a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of reassurance. “Are you really okay?” he asks.

He knows something is up. He wished you would just tell him.

You offer a weak nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I just... I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

Understanding flickers in Jaemin’s eyes as he steps closer, wrapping you in a comforting hug. “I’m here if you need anything,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the confusion raging within you. You cling to the embrace for a moment longer, drawing strength from the warmth of his presence. And as you pull away, a sense of resolve settles over you.

He walks away with a smile, his steps echoing through the nearly empty stadium. Turning back to the locker room, you wait patiently for Jeno, your heart heavy with anticipation. Minutes stretch into eternity as you watch the hockey players leave one by one, the coach giving you a curious glance but saying nothing.

With a deep breath, you gather your courage and approach the locker room door. “Jeno?” you call out.

The door creaks open, revealing Jeno’s tired face. “Come in,” you hear him say faintly.

You push open the door and see him sitting on a wooden bench surrounded by dark blue, metal lockers. The one in front of his hunched figure is open, hockey gear spilling out. Jeno sits shirtless, nursing the hand that was bleeding earlier.

In the dimly lit locker room, silence hangs heavy between you and Jeno at first, each of you lost in your own thoughts.

“You were amazing out there,” you finally say, breaking the silence. He had been amazing, even if you hadn’t been paying attention – too caught up in Haechan’s admittance.

Jeno meets your gaze, gratitude shining in his tired eyes. “Thank you,” he replies. “The team is going out to celebrate,” he continues, his tone hesitant. “Are you... are you going with us?”

“Didn’t know I was invited,” you laugh.

He cracks a smile too, “Well, I wasn’t going to go, but I will if you go with me.”

You consider it for a second but shake your head. “I’m a bit tired. Probably just gonna go home.”

Jeno nods, “Same. I’ll probably just go back and smoke.”

You sense a shift in the atmosphere of the locker room. Something calmer – less high-tension. Jeno's next words catch you off guard.

“My coach really thinks I’m going to get scouted for the NHL,” he says, a mixture of excitement and apprehension in his voice.

“That’s amazing,” you reply, “It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

He leans forward and reaches into the locker, retrieving white gauze. Carefully, he unwraps the roll and starts to tightly wind it around his hand. You want to help him, but you didn’t know how. You were far from the medic friend – that was Jaemins job.

“I know.” He replies, “Means I gotta be on my best these next few games though.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” You murmur.

He nods but doesn’t say anything, so you decide to sit next to him on the bench. When you sit down, he leans into you. His chest was burning, despite the frigid temperature, and you feel the heat seep through your jersey. Despite playing a long game, he smelled good. Like cologne and mint. A good combo.

He starts humming some random tune, and you find your eyelids drooping. You were beyond tired. Beyond emotions. Beyond words. If anything, you wouldn’t mind staying like this forever. The comforting presence of being beside one of your best friends in the entire world.

Before you know it, Jeno is shaking your shoulder. “Y/n.” He murmurs. You snap your eyes open, and his face was dangerously close to yours, “You dozed off.” A smile breaks out on his face, and a heat creeps up your spine.

“S-Sorry,” you blurt, standing up a little too fast. The room starts to spin and Jeno has to grab your shoulders to keep you from falling down.

“Are you okay?” He questions, eyes piercing your own.

You rub your eyes tiredly, “Yeah, I’m just…fuck, I don’t know Jeno, I just feel off.”

Jeno's brow furrows with concern, and he pulls you into a comforting embrace. In that moment, everything you’ve tried keeping hidden away for the last hour, tumbles out, and you find yourself completely losing it, sobbing uncontrollably against his chest. He doesn't know what to do at first, his arms awkwardly encircling you as you cry. But then, with a gentleness that belies his strength, he brings your face into his hands and asks softly, “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t know,” you manage between sobs. “I just... I feel lost, and I don’t know what to do.”

His thumb brushes away your tears, his touch a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. And looking up at him, you realize this is what you need. Not clingy like Haechan, not overly sweet, like Jaemin. You needed strong, steady, understanding.

You needed Jeno.

You don’t know if it’s genuine. Or if it’s the challenge. Or if you just welcomed the distraction, but words are tumbling from your lips before you know it. “Kiss me.”

He's so close. inches away, no, centimeters away. His breath, warm and enticing, mingles with the taste of mint and ice. The room contracts as he leans in. you open your mouth, he opens his.

"I can't, not like this," the words hang, lingering in the air. Tension doesn't dissipate; it transforms, a subtle shift in the locker room. "I'm not Jaemin."

“W-what?”

You may not be Jaemin, but don’t worry Jeno, you’ll get your turn.

A. NOTE. read the the note at the beginning of this post. and don't forget to reblog :)

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