#There was also the fun of having a somewhat scuffed sleep schedule but them always waking me up Earlier than necessary thanks guys

[sysig]

TMP 1 Adventures (Patreon)

[fantastic-bby]

ATEEZ vs. college

Pairing: - 

Genre: Headcanon 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Swearing

Masterlist

Hongjoong 

Fine arts major with performing arts minor

Has a slightly scuffed sleep schedule but it’s decent

But has a routine that he follows most of the time 

Always on time for class and pays attention like his life depends on it

Gets teased by Mingi a lot 

Shares an apartment with Seonghwa 

Covered the apartment in cute DIYs bcs he wants to make the place more homely

Spends his money on artisan coffee at the overpriced café on campus 

Teacher’s assistant 

He’s very patient when it comes to tutoring students

President of the performing arts club and is usually the director for plays bcs the professor in charge trusts him a lot

Usually sticks to traditional scripts but likes to go a little bit more original whenever he feels like it

Uses the same tote bag everyday (one he made himself)

Dresses in whatever he’s made himself because he thinks they��re cute and he wants everyone to see his creations

Has to wake the others up for class he complains that it’s annoying but he still does it even though no one asks him to

Practically lives in the fine arts building bcs he’s there all the damn time until he has to go home

Finishes his assignments on time 

“Hwa, is this cute?”

“Okay”

“That’s not an answer, asshole”

Seonghwa

Language and literature major 

Is the only one with a good sleep schedule

Has a routine he sticks to

Never late to classes but zones out sometimes when he’s really bored

Has to wake Hongjoong up whenever he pulls all nighters studying for tests

Works at the library because it’s quiet and he moves around a lot which gives him a lot of alone time 

Has to kick Yunho out a lot

Drinks expensive artisan coffee with Joong

Part of the nature club and has plants all over the apartment bcs he thinks they light up the place

Everyday is a different bag and all of them are super stylish and also seem to hold everything

Has to bring around things like tissues, bandaids, water bottles bcs he cares for his friends

Dresses well all the time even if he wakes up late 

Part of the campus heartthrob line

The entire campus fawns over him even the single professors

Spends most of his time reading books wherever he’s comfortable usually the park or whatever bench is the most calming

Finishes his assignments early and submits them early

“But hyuuuuuung”

“Yunho, if you don’t get your loud ass out of here—” 

Yunho

Nutrition major with a dance minor

Does not have a fixed sleep schedule, he sleeps whenever he pleases 

His routine is nonexistent

He does whatever he wants whenever he wants but actually isn’t that reckless

He just doesn’t really have a routine

Late to class and also doesn’t seem to be paying attention because he’s preoccupied with a funny meme that Mingi sent him

Is usually the first to be awoken by Joong and always waits for his hyung to hang up because he doesn’t want to accidentally cut him off mid-sentence

Shares an apartment with Mingi

Drinks convenience store coffee 

Sometimes he visits the library just to tease Hwa usually gets kicked out by said man because he’s being loud

Works part time at a bakery where the owner hired him because she thought he was really sweet

President of the swimming club

Has one bag for everyday use and it’s the same black backpack with random pins on it

Wears cute fuzzy sweaters when it’s not hot and wears plain t shirts when it’s too hot for sweaters

Spends his time at the swimming pool with Mingi

Finishes his assignments right before the deadline

“Yunho, darling, how long have the muffins been in the oven?”

“Uhm…”

Yeosang

Computer science major

Does not give a single flying fuck

Sleeps whenever he wants

Does whatever he wants

No one ever sees him in class but he still gets good grades

Drinks at least 4 cups of cheap coffee everyday which makes everyone wonder how his heart is still alive

Even though he sleeps at any time, he always wakes up on time and never answers Hongjoong’s morning calls because he thinks it’s funny

Shares an apartment with Wooyoung 

He has a job but no one knows what it is because he’s never told anyone they just know it’s something he does online

Usually has to wake Wooyoung up

He just walks into his room and repeatedly calls his name until he wakes up leaves if Woo doesn’t wake up at all

Uses a simple black backpack with nothing on it 

No one on campus really knows anything about him because he strictly sticks to his circle of friends and no one ever sees him on campus unless he’s at club events or meetings

President of the robotics club 

Spends all of his time in his room when he’s not on campus

Dresses in smart casual outfits (blazers, slacks, sneakers, t shirts) 

Is never seen doing his assignments but he still manages to finish them on time 

“Woo, look  this robot I made”

“Holy shit, that’s so cool!”

“Be careful with it!” 

San 

Majors in dance 

Also kinda doesn’t give a fuck 

Shares an apartment with Jongho 

Has the most fucked up sleep schedule 

He sleeps at like 7 pm right after classes and wakes up at 3 am (like his brain is programmed on another time zone)

Picks up Joong’s morning call whenever he feels like it

Comes to class on the dot but sometimes just doesn’t show up at all

President of the dance club 

Drinks whatever coffee he can get his hands on

Spends most of his time in the public dance studio and sometimes rents the private rooms because he wants alone time 

Dresses in t shirts and sweats because he wants to be comfy

Is part of the campus heartthrob line 

The girls, the gays and the theys are in love with him and love watching him dance

Volunteers at the local pet shelter because he wants to spend time with the cats 

Likes to go to invite himself into WooSang’s apartment where he bothers Yeosang who pretends he’s not there because he couldn’t care less 

Doesn’t have a bag 

He manhandles his laptop all over the place because he really doesn’t care that much his laptop is a beast tho it handles all the shit San puts it through

Finishes his assignments whenever he wants

“San, you should be nicer to your laptop”

“It’s fineeee” 

Mingi

Medicine major 

Doesn’t ever seem to sleep 

Like ever

Disappears and reappears out of nowhere most of the time

Whenever he disappears, no one really knows where he is and he never picks up calls everyone thinks he’s finally sleeping

Because he’s always awake, Yunho always comes into his room to see Mingi either vibing or literally doing anything but sleep

Comes to class but is always doing something else

Prefers tea over coffee 

Always picks up Joong’s morning calls and greets him really loudly just to bully him 

Part of the swimming club with Yunho 

Works part time at the music studio because he likes being able to use the studios when there’s no bookings

Barely has to try to get good grades bcs his brain is so sexy big

Always filled with energy 

Is also really strong and quite unaware of his strength 

Dresses in v casual baggy clothes and always looks really comfortable

Uses his height to tease Joong and holds his coffee above his head 

Playfully wrestles Jongho regularly

Has a cute orange messenger bag that he uses all the time 

Finishes his assignments minutes before the deadline

“Whoever holds their breath the longest wins”

“Mingi, we’re not five”

“I don’t care, Yun. It’s fucking fun”

Wooyoung

Culinary major

Is always asleep 

Bothers Yeosang during the day 

Has a very relaxed routine that he somewhat sticks to

Likes to break into Yeo’s room to bother him but usually gets a book thrown at him 

Wakes up to Joong’s morning call but likes to go back to sleep afterwards

Always in class but no one knows whether or not he’s paying attention

The neighbours know when he’s laughing but he doesn’t care because he’s happy 

Works part time at a café 

Refuses to give discounts to any of his friends because he tells them he won’t get money that way except for Yeosang bcs he has a soft spot for his best friend

Vice president of the dance club 

Dresses in casual layers (t shirts, loose button ups, jeans, sneakers)

Part of the hearthrob line

The girls, the gays and the theys love his laugh

Likes to drag San out of his apartment to do anything 

Has a cute pastel backpack that he takes a lot of care of bcs he loves it 

Spends most of his time in the culinary building bcs he wants to learn new recipes so that he can cook for his friends 

Does his assignments last minute and has missed the deadline a couple of times

“Yeosang, try this” 

“Mmm, can I spit it out?”

“You fucking—” 

Jongho

Sports major with a vocal minor 

Also has a decent sleep schedule 

Drinks only coffee and protein 

Doesn’t have a routine unless it involves him going to the gym 

Early to class and pays attention most of the time

Wakes up on time so he answers Joong’s morning call just to say hi to both of his hyungs

Works as a personal trainer at the on-campus gym because he likes helping people work out

Asks San to sit on his back while he does push ups at home

The two of them are always working out together 

President of the wrestling club and the entire campus absolutely fears him 

Always wins wrestles against Mingi but only because he knows more technique Mingi thinks it’s not fair

His love language is aggression

Likes to playfully bully his friends to the point where even they’re slightly scared of him

Dresses casually 

Has a dark blue backpack that he’s had for years and is in need of a replacement

Spends most of his time at the gym or just working out in general if he’s not practicing singing

Finishes his assignments a day before the deadline 

“Make sure you’re not using your back when you’re lifting things”

“Dude, I don’t even know what muscles I use when I walk”

“You’ll figure it out” 

[bang-to-the-tan]

Moth to Flame

Chapter 11

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot

Warnings: Denied/Ruined Orgasms, Restraints, Vibrator, Tit-Fucking, Slight Male Receiving Oral...?, Abuse/Manipulation of Power, Crooked Power Dynamics, Slight Choking, Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Slight Bloodplay?, Degredation, Somewhat Dubious Consent/Hypnosis, Possessiveness, Vampires (Biting, Blood-Sucking, Reference to Death), Language

Words: 8.2K

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…

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the muse touched me inappropriately with this one, alright lads i apologize in advance lmao

The apartment is…

Unextraordinary.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting as you’re lead up the stairs, through the plain, industrial doorframe and into the entrance hallway. But it isn’t what you’re met with. Somewhat cluttered with odd paraphernalia and boxes, but clean, and entirely unimpressive. The ceilings are low, the light fixtures scarce, and the floor is scuffed in places. You think to Jin’s house and it’s jarring, the difference between the two.

The boys file in ahead of you, Yoongi disappearing into the first door to your immediate left without raising his eyes from the floor. There’s a brief glance of the dark interior and mechanical lights before he shuts it behind himself. Hoseok and Namjoon both continue into the main area—a combination kitchen and living room—wherein Hoseok drifts towards the worn couch taking up the majority of the space. He drapes himself over it, resuming his hazed, relaxed stare into space.

“Don’t sit there too long,” Namjoon warns, tossing the keys into a bowl on the counter with a clink. They almost slide out and he moves to catch them, but the irregular sides convince the set back into the middle just as his fingers stretch out. It looks like someone’s art project, glazed weird colors and somewhat misshapen. It’s been broken, and then carefully glued back together, judged by the lines crisscrossing over the surface, the chipped edge. “You’ll get the couch moldly.”

Hoseok hums.

“So,” Namjoon continues, and you look to him as he addresses you. “This is it. Home sweet home.”

“It’s…” You start, hesitant, unsure of how to phrase what you’re thinking in a way that doesn’t sound...mean?

“It’s not Jin’s carnival house, but the rent is definitely cheaper,” His eyebrows raise with a dismissive look as he shirks his jacket and throws it at a nearby bar char.

“Carnival house?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t Jin’s house like…a mansion?”

Namjoon grins, his eyes squishing when his cheeks push upwards. Is there a joke you’re not getting?

“It’s an abandoned theme park hotel.”

“…what?”

“You really thought we could afford a mansion?”

“I—I didn’t really…think about it.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. We bought it ages ago. The park is condemned, but the hotel is fine. It never got big so the price on it wasn’t too bad after a couple lifetimes of saving up. Plus, you know. Abandoned. It was perfect for us.” His smile fades. He blinks, turning away quickly and busying himself with taking his shoes off. “When it was all of us.” He adds, quiet.

“You and Jin have history, right?” You jump on the chance to ask directly, “I keep hearing about it, bits and pieces. What—”

“So let me give you the tour,” Namjoon interrupts. He doesn’t look you in the eyes as he straightens, gesturing for you to follow him under the arch leading to the right. You decide you won’t push the matter, not when he has that kind of expression furrowing his brow. He’s not even the fun kind of upset.

The fun kind? What? You roll your eyes briefly, away from him so he doesn’t notice, banishing even just the beginning thought of whatever the ‘fun kind of upset’ is.

 “Bathroom’s through here, all the way on the end.” He strides down the hallway and opens it as you trail after him. Just a regular bathroom, maybe half the size of the ones at Jin’s, toilet, sink, shower. There’s an odd kind of relief that you feel at noting that the shower is not, in fact, big enough to hold more than one person.

“And this is the other room.” He continues, leaning back out of the bathroom and opening the door to its left so that you can peer in. After a beat, he walks inside, arms wide as if showcasing it. The first thing that strikes you is that it doesn’t look fully moved into. Boxes, just like in the living room, shoved under the desk, set precariously on top of the nightstand. The bed covers are rumpled, but hastily pulled up in a semblance of order. And the second thing you notice is that there, on the overflowing bookshelf, you immediately spot a familiar face. A ceramic frog statue. He’s wearing a hat and brandishing a fishing pole. His painted eyes are slightly crossed.

“There’s only two bedrooms?” You ask after a moment, looking away from the strange creature. “For all three of you?”

Namjoon shrugs, reaching to scratch at the back of his neck, lips pursing. “We don’t usually sleep at the same times, so we kind of all have an agreement. We all need space sometimes, but we usually use the other room for that. It’s got a computer.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“We make do.”

You make a sympathetic noise. Something sparks in you, something more understanding than you expected. Like dorm rooms. It reminds you of your dorm room at university. It always felt so crowded, and the privacy was…

Namjoon steps forward and your half-memory dissolves in on itself as he doesn’t stop moving, crowding you against the wall. You try to be indignant that he’d wreck another of your rare returning memories but the look he gives you makes you hesitate.

 “Do you have a minute?” he asks. His eyes are completely unreadable, but his tone strikes below your belt and you have to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

“I can check my schedule,” you squeak. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help.

“Cute.” He doesn’t look amused. “I’d like to talk to you about the way you talked to me in the car earlier.”

“I don’t think I’d like to talk about that right now.”

“Somewhere better to be?” His voice is so low.

“Anywhere?” You offer, shrinking at the embers in his expression.

“You disrespected me. In front of my coven.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You shouldn’t have asked it.”

 Momentarily, the spell breaks, from the sheer audacity of him and your knee-jerk reaction that rises to spill from behind your teeth. You frown, shifting back so that you can look at him properly, the back of your head resting against the wall.

“That’s really fucking unfair.”

Satisfaction claims your chest when it’s his turn to balk, his face turning incredulous, lips parting, brows raising. His head cocks, as if to consider his reply, and you take the respite to continue.

“You can’t tell me I’m a slut one minute and then beg your comrade not to brainwash me the next. It’s not fucking fair. You can’t have it both ways.”

“You have a real mouth on you when you’re awake.”

You surge forward, pressing a triumphant finger into his chest and ignoring how muscular the swell of it is. “You see? There you go again. ‘When I’m awake’.”

“I’m not going to give you a lot of warnings.”

“Answer my question.”

Namjoon stares down at you. You stare up. Finally, he blinks, wrapping one large hand around your knuckles and pulling your finger off of him.

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s bullshit, Namjoon.”

“I’m not wrong,” he continues to argue, but he’s still holding your hand by your side, distracted. “Haze can’t put you in danger—“

“That is also bullshit—“

“—That you don’t ask for. I notice you didn’t tell anyone to stop in the diner. I gave you plenty of opportunity to.”

You hesitate, and he reclaims the space you took when you stepped forward, crowding you again.

“You didn’t tell Hoseok to stop in the car. You didn’t run away from Jin’s.”

“I…I was hazed—“ You’re faltering and he picks up on it way too quickly.

“Right as you almost jumped out his window.”

You search his eyes, looking for your out. Your argument. You don’t find it. It’s hard to keep tabs on it when he’s staring at you like that, the surface of your skin prickling with phantom touches, wish fulfillment and dark desires stirring inside you. His expression clouds back over, head craning so that you can feel his breath on your cheek, hear his rumble in your ear.

“So you hesitated.”

“…I’m not—“

“And I’m not judging. I like sluts.”

“…f-fuck you.”

His hand snatches your chin and forces it up, daring you to meet his gaze again. A humorless smirk is growing at the corners of his mouth as he regards you dismissively and it sends dangerous thrills skittering down your frame.

“Only if you begged.”

Fuck him. Fuck him. But his teeth peeking out from behind his plush lips has part of you thinking of kisses and bites—god, especially bites. Your throat has gone dry. His fingers at your chin, so close to the mark he made on your neck, what feels like so long ago. It’s so easy to be mad at him, to be angry with his excuses and rhetoric, his fucking high horse, but the way he watches you tremble with rage is just that little bit off from calculating.

He’s getting off on this. And it sucks that you are too.

You rip your hand away from him, pressing forward with a sudden rush of adrenaline, shoving at his chest. He barely moves, only staggering back briefly, but it’s enough for you to turn on your heel and rush for the door. One step, all of your weight behind it, mind reeling, making a beeline for the hallway. Your thoughts spin dizzingly, fingers reaching for the handle, rush down through the door, you can make it. You can make it.

You know that you won’t.

Iron circling around your waist, your momentum carrying you into the warmth, the unyielding muscle of his arm, effortlessly swinging you around, and your feet leave the ground entirely, the world tilting, soft mattress and blankets cushioning your less-than-graceful fall, legs akimbo, tangled in the hoodie, world darkening when he blocks out the light above you, and you screech, smothered by soft skin, heat, lips pressing into yours bruisingly. Your fingers scrabble for his hair, coiling in the damp strands, wrapping it around your knuckles, tugging rough when his tongue licks into the cavern of your mouth, smothering you, filling you with his scent and his taste.

His kiss is nothing like Yoongi’s. There’s no tenderness, not soft touches. It almost hurts, the way he drags his teeth against you, sucks harshly, pushes you down into the cushion. He’s pinning you, to command your movements to a halt even as you squirm, raking down the front of his own hoodie to knead at your breast, pinch and tug mercilessly. He ruts against you like an animal in heat. And as he growls, you’re hissing, snarling, rutting back, biting and roiling with him, impatient and angry and hot.

He breaks for breath first, with a groan deep in his chest, dragging his tongue across your bruised lips as you pant.

“Are you hazed right now?” he growls through his teeth, calloused palm slipping to your neck. He squeezes, sharp, and when you gasp throatily, he eases off but only just. “Hmm? Are you hazed right now?” he repeats, low, grinding his crotch against your center. The hoodie rides up over your thighs, and the rough fabric chafes against your pussy as you buck away from the sensation. “You’re so fucking wet, think I didn’t notice? Tell me again.”

“I’m not a slut,” you spit.

He laughs, and you could tear it out of his throat. “Good girl.”

“Would it even matter if I told you to stop? Would you?” you bite, wrapping one leg around his midsection to pull him closer, and you don’t know now if the dark patch forming on his jeans is you or him.

“Is that what you want?” Namjoon nips at your lip a little too hard, pulling it with him, and it makes you arch. “You want me to stop?”

“No.” You answer a little too quickly, tugging at his shirt, desperate to pull it off him, but he doesn’t comply and only hovers, nosing into your neck as he thrusts against you. You settle for clawing up his sides under the fabric of his shirt, feeling at the muscle there, trailing up his ribs.

“What do you want, then? Hmm?”

A huff leaves you, turning into a whimper when he bites teasingly at your jaw.

“You want my fingers again?” Long, searching digits trace the bottom of the hoodie, pushing it up and away from your lower half entirely, and you can feel them ghosting against your belly, resting to hold your hips to the bed. You have to swallow down by force the plea that nearly escapes you.

“My tongue? You want me to lick you up?” Hot wetness, licking a stripe to your clavicle, dipping inside the hollow of your throat, swirling. You shudder, trying to shove him closer, but he resists with a deft movement.

“My cock?” It drips from his mouth so heavily, so thick with promise. His hips move to punctuate his words, digging into your pelvis, and you can feel him. He’s so hard, and the outline of his member snatches the air out of your lungs. “You want me to stuff your greedy cunt full of my cum?”

He chuckles again and it’s breathless, as if taking him by surprise. “You’re so greedy.” He leans back to better survey your flushed face.

“Yes.” You hiss, through gritted teeth.

“Yes what.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I want your cock. I want your fingers and your tongue. I want everything you can give me because I’m greedy. Please, sir.” You growl. The storm building in your head, in your cunt, is so loud you can’t think but for the pounding of your heart, the absent clenching around nothing. You need him to touch you, kiss you, bite you.

He barks another laugh, nose scrunching, shoulders quaking.

“Better. I like it. But,” he tsks and cocks his head, heavily lidded eyes casting over you. “No. No, you don’t deserve it yet.”

You whine, hips bucking up underneath him, brows pulling together with pure frustration. He pushes you back down, sliding ontop of you again, crushing the air out of your chest, chasing your lips so that when he speaks again you can taste his breath, can feel his plush mouth brushing yours.

“You have to earn my cock, baby. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready to be good for me?”

Briefly, you almost go back to swearing at him. But you break easily when his hips shift, humping, dragging his obvious erection against your drenched core with a delicious mixture of too much and not enough, insistent, smooth.

“Yes,” you chatter. “Yes, fuck, please, just—“

 Namjoon smirks toothily. Flicks his eyebrow up and suddenly sits back up, crawling off of you. The light hanging from the ceiling, past him, blinds you momentarily and you shield your eyes with a grimace. The bed creaks and shifts as his weight moves, and finally springs back when it’s just you left on it. But he’s not gone for too long.

You’re still blinking away the harshness from your eyelids when you feel a warm, calloused palm collecting your wrist. Metal. Cold, unmalleable, setting in place with a click. He lets go, and your hand hangs above your head, pulled short by the bite of the metal. Blearily, confused, you tug at it curiously as he takes your other hand.

Handcuffs.

Click.

Adrenaline shoots through your chest and you’re struggling upwards, but it’s no use, the son of a bitch has handcuffed you to the headboard and no matter how violently you twist, grasping the chain, kick out and bounce on the mattress, there’s no give and you remain stuck in place, your hands suspended above you.

“N-Namjoon, wait, wai—what, fuck, pl—you—“ you’re babbling, incoherent, flailing. But the slick between your thighs only grows with the thought that now, now you don’t have any choice but to obey him. Like hazing, but completely, painfully, awake. Warmth grows in your belly and fills your limbs with electricity.  

He’s pressing your legs back down to the bed, scooting forward to pin you again, his hand travelling to your hair, petting it away from your face, caressing your jaw, your neck, as he shushes you playfully.

“Shh, baby,” he coos. You hazard a glance up at him, chest heaving, but he looks so incredibly pleased with himself that arousal shoots straight to your cunt at the absent, hungry smile curving his lips. “Shh. You want to be good, right?”

“I’ll be good, I—Namjoon, you don’t have to do this.”

“I believe you, baby. You’re gonna be so good for me. But you have to be quiet.”

“I—“

“We don’t want to wake Hobi up, do we? And Yoongi…” He flicks a conspiratorial glance at the door, licks his lips nervously. “It’s probably not a good idea to scream for Yoongi. Right? We can agree on that.”

“I-it, this, this is dangerous, Namjoon,” you try to reason, halfway convinced yourself, but the attempted direness in your gaze is only met with a steady, predatory stare. “You know this is dangerous. I-I can’t even defend myself like this.”

“Apparently, you can’t defend yourself anyways,” he interrupts, brows raising. “That’s what you keep telling me.”

“N—“ Fingertips travelling from your face downwards, past the hoodie, finally, finally, find themselves between your thighs and you lose your train of thought as you feel them slip through your folds.

Namjoon huffs thoughtfully, blinking, looking back to you with his eyes hooded just as he circles your clit. “Fuck, you’re flooded. No wonder you’re so desperate.”

You can’t think of anything but the stroke of his fingers, the way he parts your lips, the drag against your electrified clit, your hips itching to follow him, but he doesn’t let you, forcing you to lay and take whatever he gives you. Seemingly content to rub and caress, as if only to familiarize himself with your most intimate parts. You’re gasping like a fish out of water, pulling absently at your wrists in time with the pleasure that shudders through you every time he so much as twitches his fingertips.

“Here’s what I’ll do for you. You’ll behave yourself, right? And if you’re good, I’ll forgive you. Good girls get what they want. Everyone wins.”

“P-please,” you’re begging with every other breath that leaves you but he only shushes you again, quiet.

“Greedy, greedy girl,” he pulls the words through his teeth. “I told you to stay away from Jin’s boys, didn’t I?”

“N-Namjoon—“

“Didn’t I?”

“Yes…”

“And you fucked all of them anyways. All of them.”

“I…” Your eyes threaten to roll back, but that stubborn streak alights in you once more and even as you clasp your thighs together, trying to trap his hand there, you’re talking back, petulant. “I was hazed.”

“That again.” Despite your best efforts, he yanks his hand out from between your legs, expression stormy. “Are you hazed now?”

Fuck, you wish.

“No,” you seethe.

“Would you fuck them now?”

You don’t answer fast enough, and he grabs your chin again, pressing your lips into a pout. He watches, mesmerized, brow furrowed, as he forces one, two of his fingers past your lips and flat against your tongue. You taste your own arousal and shiver around him.

“Would you fuck them now?” he repeats, slow.

Your cunt leaks, leaving you sticky and cold where it’s drying, too wet and too wanting where it’s still hot. Your wrists already have begun to ache. The mark at your chest flares at the thought of taking their fangs again, your throat aches with the memory of Taehyung sliding down it. How perfectly Jungkook and Jimin fucked into you. You whine, strung out by this game he’s playing, but nod. You would. God, you would.

Namjoon grunts. “Yeah. I know you would.” He releases your face, trailing an embarrassingly long line of spittle that stretches and breaks into nothing. He leans over to the side, and you hear the pull of a wooden drawer. When he comes back up, he has a small device with him. It’s unremarkable, smooth and long as his hand, but for the bright pink color. His hand disappears back between your legs and you jolt at the unfamiliar sensation of the object rubbing against the insides of your thighs, circling over your pussy lips, slipping between them to stroke down past your clit.

You hear a click, and suddenly it springs to life and you have to bite your lips hard to stop the moan that escapes you when you feel it jittering against your clit.

“We’ll borrow this,” he continues as he traces your labia with the vibrator, sending shockwaves up your spine with every nerve he nudges, “I bet Yoongi won’t mind too much.”

When he slips it down, it sheathes easily, too easily, inside of you, and your back arches at the subtle pulse that resonates in your wetness. You keen, and he hurriedly claps a hand over your mouth to cut off the worst of it.

“Have to do something about that…” he mumbles. You hear him digging around in a drawer again, but you’re bucking, thrusting towards the vibrations teasing your pussy from the inside, enough to tickle and arouse but not enough to take you to the edge. Your eyes water, and even muffled, you’re whining with every breath you take, unable to stop. His hand slides from your mouth, replaced with something soft. You look down in confusion as he pushes cotton past your teeth, encouraging your jaw open just enough to keep your noise low, muffled by the fabric.

“It’s clean,” He assures you quickly. “Can you breathe?”

Breathe…? You can’t think. The thrumming from the vibrator fills you up, snakes out through your veins and reverberates in your limbs, taking you so close and leaving you there at the mercy of something that doesn’t, can’t care how much you need, how much you want. Your hips rock, trying to soothe the feeling, trying to gain some traction, some relief, but all it does it nudge it against the crevices inside you, presses it from one overstimulated area to another.

A sharp slap lands directly on your clit and you scream at the cruel pleasure that shatters through you, garbled by the fabric locked in your jaw, arching and thrashing.

“I asked you a question,” Namjoon pulls your attention back to him, and you can only whimper, going limp, staring at his form through the tears blurring your vision. “Can you breathe?”

You whine, but nod jerkily.

“Good.”

The vibrator moves, pulled smoothly outwards and you twitch, relieved it’s being removed, disappointed it’s being removed, but it fucks back into you, slowly presses harder, deeper. You moan around your gag, jolting at the hand that forces your hip down again, stops you from roiling and curling as he slips it out and back in again, each time angling it against your clit as it comes and pressing it as far in as you can take it, the vibrations curling around the base of your spine.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, thick, barely heard above your stifled cries. “You’re making such a mess. These sheets are going to smell like greedy pussy forever now. Stained. No amount of washing will clean that off.”

Your eyes roll back, hands clenching, ears full of the sound of your wet cunt, the low buzzing of the toy, your own mewling. You can’t move but for twitching your extremities, toes curling, occasionally jerking away, but held in place.

The toy sinks in again, gliding in as deep as you’ll allow, jiggles firmly as if to make sure it won’t slip out, and stays there, pulsating against your walls. The hand at your hip leaves, returning at your hairline. You meet Namjoon’s eyes, blinking through the tears gathering in yours, and it hurts, it hurts, the expression he’s wearing now as he strokes your temple.

Quiet adoration, almost. Proud. Kind and warm. You hate it. You hate it. You wish he would kiss you. You wish he would fuck you. Sink his fucking teeth into your skin. You drool around fabric and arch towards him, keening. He watches you and his smile grows.

“You wanna cum, baby?” he mumbles.

You nod fervently, body trying to press to him.

He leans up to brush his lips against your forehead in the gentlest of kisses. After a beat, he cranes away, and you almost cry in disappointment as he backs up and slides off the bed. You watch him stand, pulling at your restraints helplessly and whining, rolling at the vibrator that still thrums inside you.

“Then go ahead,” he says gently, and you sob. “I’ll be back.”

He reaches for you again, and you’re pressing your head into his hand like a deprived animal, nuzzling into his palm, trying to encourage him closer.

“Be good for me,” he adds, quiet. “If you’re good for me, I’ll forgive you. Okay?”

You catch an eyeful of his crotch when he bends to gift you another kiss at the top of your head. He’s rock hard, straining, hand at his side absently rubbing down his front, striving for relief. You don’t understand. You don’t understand. Why doesn’t he just fuck you? You need it, you want it, you’ll be good, you’re so good, you want it inside you, you need his cock, not this unfeeling toy that teases and shakes. Your blubbering is completely unintelligible, mutilated by saliva and cotton.

He only chuckles. He straightens, casts a long, long look over your prone body, pulling his plush bottom lip through his teeth. He turns. You whine. He goes to the door, opens it, and walks through it quickly, as if he can’t afford to hesitate.

You’re alone.

The buzzing is so loud, you can feel it, taste it on the back of your tongue, your pussy so fucking wet and untouched in the ways you need, aching, teased to the brink and unallowed over the edge. You huff, whine, cry, arch and tug at your handcuffs, but nothing offers you any relief. Your legs kick out, bouncing on the bed, but you can’t even coax the vibrator out of you, only managing to jostle it from one side to another.

You writhe, panting, chest heaving, but it’s no use. Pleasure creeps up through your body, coiling in your gut, fizzling out in your limbs, setting your fingers and toes on fire, coaxing you to curl, but the release never comes even as you keen and moan and cry, fat tears of overstimulation oozing out from the corners of your eyes.

You don’t know how long you twitch and buck, sweating against the damp sheets, pressing your thighs together, rattling your chains, moaning and shrieking past the cotton, coming to the edge of pleasure only to feel it slip back away with a pang of disappointment. Your arms ache. Your jaw aches. You cunt aches and blazes, and all you can think of is kisses and teeth and bites and cock. Hands across your tits, the way Jin felt inside of you, the way Taehyung stroked his own cock, Jimin shuddering under your hands, Jungkook pounding you into the mattress. Yoongi’s lips against your core, Hoseok’s member between your fingers, his voice at your ear.

 A shape moves at the edge of the room and you look up, startled, hope and desire flooding your chest. You try to blink away your tears, but your vision is so blurry, it’s so hard to see, is it Namjoon? Is he back? You twist invitingly, humming, too drunk on the sudden euphoria, the hope, that washes over you, to realize you didn’t even notice the door opening. The light from the hallway siphons out with a click as he door closes again, and you blink again, sharply, able to make out your companion as he turns around. Your stomach plummets into your pussy.

It isn’t Namjoon. It’s Hoseok. And the way he looks over you, appraises your every twitch, deftly unbuttons his jeans, tells you that the haze is gone. He smirks, wide, trailing two fingers over the outline of his dick, your eyes snapping to follow the movement, hunger flaring between your legs and up through your throat. You moan, desperate.

“Hello,” he greets lowly. “You look busy.”

He skirts around the bed, crawls onto it, and all thoughts of self-preservation have fled your mind because you’re trying to push towards him as he slides over, watching you bounce with amused hunger coiling about his lips. He licks his teeth, his grin widening even more, pushing his eyes into crescents. His hand at your flank has your back bowing with the warmth, the rush of heat that answers inside you.

“I told him you could take it,” he cackles, hushed. “Look at you.”

Fingers trail from your hip to your pussy lips, flicking through the arousal that flows freely, rubbing it against your inner thighs and bumping your clit to watch you jump, exhausted but wired.

“Yoongi’s vibrator,” he hums. “He’ll want that back.”

Your stare burns holes in his underwear as he slips his hand inside, pulling his dick out and stroking once, twice, lazy. Even with his fluid motions, you can tell he’s more excited than he lets on, his catching breath and purpled head giving him away.

“He’ll want it back,” he repeats, shuffling closer. Fire bursts in your belly and you rattle at your chains, huffing through the fabric. “But I bet he’d appreciate it more if you didn’t clean it first.”

He giggles again at your expression when he scoots again, pulling his pants off and then his underwear, tossing both over the edge of the bed.

“I won’t stay for long,” he says. “I’m being bad. Naughty Hobi. I knew you were gonna be in here. I thought you could help me with this.” he punctuates his offer with a slick-sounding tug at his cock, visibly pleased at the craving in your eyes. “I’ll help you, too. We can help each other.” He licks at his lips again. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Your neck cracks from disuse when you nod fiercely, whining through your nose.

“I’m gonna take the sock out of your mouth,” he adds. “But you have to stay quiet. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Hobi?”

You nod again, looking at him beseechingly.

The fabric between your teeth is tugged, once, twice, and finally your jaw relinquishes it from your mouth, and you can feel how soaked, heavy, with saliva it is as he takes it away and places it somewhere behind your line of sight. Your jaw hurts when it’s finally allowed to resume its proper place but it’s nothing compared to the way your cunt flares, your legs opening shamelessly to coax him between them, trying to rub the inside of your knee against the outside of his, pelvis rolling up, hands clenching and unclenching.

“Please, please, please,” you croak, hoarse, words sticking in your throat from how roughly you’re trying to get them out. “Please, fuck me, please touch me, please—“

“Shh,” he interrupts, sliding closer, so his hot breath ghosts over your chest, over the hoodie hiding your painfully hard tits, curving his palm around his cock and continuing to pump, but you can’t help the whine that crawls out of you.

“—please, Hobi, please fuck me, I can’t—“ You try to adopt his nickname, but his free hand snakes out and coils long fingers around your throat, choking off your pleas. Your eyes roll as he starves your oxygen from your lungs, but his thumb is brushing the bitemark at your neck and it’s getting you closer than you’ve been with just the vibrator, you can almost feel it as it throbs under his touch, and even though he’s taken your ability to speak, you beg him soundlessly to continue as your orgasm threatens to finally, finally overtake you, legs going into spasm. Your entire body feels fuzzy, shaky, rushing up from your toes and cresting over the top of your head. Your vision starts to darken around the edges, but you’re so close, so close—

And he lets go, hand dislodging violently to clasp around your mouth to muffle the disappointed cries and choking noises pulled from your chest.

“I told you to be quiet,” he hums low, harsh. His smile has disappeared. “Are you going to listen or do I need to leave?”

You shake your head, trying fiercely to repress the hiccupping coughs until they subside, slowly.

“You want me to fuck you?” he says after a quiet beat, the playful tone sneaking back into his voice.

“Please,” you murmur as if in prayer, hushed, cracked and strained. “Please, it hurts.”

Hoseok’s grin returns.

“Your tits are so pretty,” he crows, and his hand ghosting over your breasts almost forces you to shriek again, your legs trembling as the vibrator continues its cruel torture inside you. “I’d love to see my cock between them.”

You sob. “No, no, please, H-Hobi, please, I can’t—“

“Let me fuck your pretty tits, pretty girl,” he interrupts, heavy. “Let me slide between those perfect little tits, and I’ll think about stuffing your cunt.” He sidles up again and you huff a disappointed whine when he officially moves past your legs, straddling your waist. His legs, thin but strong, radiate heat, and when he flicks his dick against the top of your ribs, it leaves a trail of precum that oozes from his tip to the hoodie, leaving a dark patch.

Finally, you nod.

“Yeah?” he coos, shifting to grab the edges of the fabric, shuffling it upwards to reveal your chest to him. You shiver at the cold air, but he’s already brushing his warm hands over them appraisingly, slipping his hard cock in the valley between the mounds, hissing at the softness of your skin. “Yeah?” he repeats, low.

“Yes,” you whimper, “Yes, please, yeah.”

“Mm, yeah.” His cock slides against you, eased by the way he leaks all over your skin. He gathers a tit in each hand, pushing them to the center, so he can properly fuck between them, his head briefly throwing back with a sinful groan. “Yeah, just like that.”

You bend your neck to lick at his tip when it emerges, hungry, desperate, and he grunts in appreciation, shifting his pelvis to encourage you to lave at more of his velvety head over the bunched up sweater. The bitterness of his precum lays thick on your tongue but you can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, just like that,” he chuckles, “Yeah, just like that, fuck that’s so filthy. Such a filthy little girl. You like that?”

You whine in the affirmative, trying to quell the itching in your arms to pull him closer, the neediness in your legs that wishes you could feel the supple motion of his thrusts inside you, but he said he would, he said he would, and you try to keep that in your hopes even as the vibrator brings you again to the precipice and fizzles out in your limbs.

His pace quickens, his breath coming harsher, pressing your tits closer, harder, fucking into them smoothly, sharply, quick and intent.

“Fuck, yeah, fuck, yes,” he encourages sloppily, hair hanging over his face when his neck bends, but you can still make out the flash of teeth as he bears them in a grin and grunts, rutting against you.

His breath catches, his hips stutter, and suddenly he stills, cock pulsing, and paints your chest in warmth, white spurts draining, leaking from the tip. He curses quietly, drawn-out and feral. You shift, uncomfortable, as the mess oozes off your chest, leaks into the sheets beneath you, his pants and the steady hum of the vibrator the only sounds in the entire world.

“Ahh, such nice tits,” he grunts appreciatively, tweaking your nipple and you jump towards it, twitching. “Clean it off for me, pretty girl.”

Obediently, you lick at as much of him as you can reach in your awkward position, slurping, twisting your tongue around his softening cock, tasting the salt of his cum. Satisfied with your work, he lifts his hips off you and swings his leg around, dismounting from the bed swiftly.

His hand disappears around you as he bends and your hips rise in reflex, but he retrieves the sock from behind your line of sight and you cry out in dismay.

“Y-you said,” you whine, struggling, but it’s of no use, he raises his knee to pin you down in the center of your chest and even as you thrash your head side to side, he’s collecting your face between his fingers, pressing the spit-soaked fabric back to your mouth. “You—mmph”

“I said I’d think about it,” he interrupts, chuckling deeply. He sits back to inspect the mess he’s made of you, eyebrows raising, devilish smirk growing. Your shoulders tremble as you shake in earnest, disappointment claiming your throat and pushing fresh tears from your eyes.

“And I did.”

He casts another approving look down your breasts, raising his knee. He shuffles, pulling up his underwear, tugging his pants back on. You slump. You’re defeated, sore, aching, and pathetically upset. And still the vibrator shakes cruelly inside you, keeping you wet and wanting.

Fingers curl around your jaw and angle it to face him. Hoseok pouts mockingly as you stare.

“Don’t cry, pretty thing,” he soothes, “I’ll fuck you for real later.” He rubs his thumb over your lower lip, gaze turning mildly thoughtful. “I’ll fuck you real good later.”

He pauses. His grin returns in full force, baring his teeth and he shakes your face playfully, raising his brows comically.

“Cheer up!” He croons in a childish voice.

He pats your cheek before straightening. He turns to the door and opens it just enough to poke his head around—looking to the left, then right before finally stepping through and closing it quietly, stealthily, behind himself.

 Again, you’re left in the room all alone. You can’t believe you believed him. Hurt wells inside of you and escapes in the form of tears, knotting in your throat. You try again, futilely, to rub your thighs together, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. You sob.

You were almost there. Fuck him, but he almost had you, when he was pressing on your windpipe. You would’ve let him wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you passed out so long as he kept the pressure on that scab that made you see stars. The bitemarks. You blink.

When Hoseok choked you, that was what almost did it. It was the bitemarks.

You grab the chains, adrenaline flooding your limbs at the fevered thought of forcing your own release, mind overrun with the need to orgasm, the need to finally reach that peak. Your legs are jelly, scrambled, impossible to maneuver, but somehow you manage to flip over, wincing at the sticky, wet mess on the sheets beneath you as you shift.

But now that you’re belly-down, you can pull yourself up just that little bit, the fresh wound on your chest grazing against the hem of the hoodie. You almost shriek in triumph at the pleasure that washes through you, commands your legs to convulse. It’s hard going. It’s awkward, and Hoseok’s cum is drying on your chest, into the fabric, but you manage to get into a strange, humping, swaying rhythm, rocking against the mark. Every time you press it, you feel another surge of endorphins, you remember the way they fucked you, made everything good and bright and perfect. You’re whimpering and cursing around your gag, but it’s working, fuck, it’s working, and you’re climbing those familiar heights, mounting with every twitch and every burst, singularly-minded. You’re panting, and there’s a flood of drool escaping your mouth but you can’t care, you don’t care, your eyes are rolling back and you’re approaching heaven.

 Hands suddenly appearing, gripping your ankles, and you scream in shock, fury, as they rip you upwards, flip you back over, tearing you back from the edge, and you’re trying to kick out, thrashing and writhing with renewed energy until it suddenly subsides and you’re left to arch pitifully before sinking down with another huff, swallowing down what you can of the desire to cry, though tears still slink out at the fading, abused feeling in your cunt. You look up at whoever still has his wide palms against your ankles.

Namjoon stares back at you, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. The light from above bathes his outline in gold, and you find yourself missing the paintings at Jin’s. He casts disbelieving looks down your body as your chest heaves with labored breath and you twitch.

“H-holy shit,” he breathes. “Fuck, baby.”

Gently, slowly, he parts your ankles, scalding a path with his eyes up your legs to where the vibrator hums inside your wetness, a trickle of arousal flowing steadily down your thigh. He moves to slide his hand up there, still watching in amazement, and you don’t even have the energy to jump away from him. There’s a ‘click’ and the vibrator is finally, finally stilled, and you’re crying anew, unsure if you’re disappointed or relieved. He withdraws it inch by inch from you, agape at the amount of arousal that coats its silicone surface.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he says again, his voice catching in his throat. “Oh, my god.”

He sets the toy down on the sheets, reaching forward again to slide the sock out of your mouth, tender, careful, watching as you gulp down steadying breaths and rework your jaw. Before you can speak, he’s rushed forward, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. You welcome it, sinking into his warmth, closing your eyes, taking comfort in the familiar taste of his tongue as it sweeps your mouth. He’s moving as he kisses you, shuffling and you hear the vague clink of metal. There’s a click above you and suddenly your wrists are released from their imprisonment, dropped onto the mattress heavily, like a marionette with its strings cut. You cry out into the kiss, and he takes the respite to curve his hand through your hair, cradling the back of your head. He pecks at your lips, the sides of your mouth, reverent and attentive.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans, his voice rough. “You’re so fucking wet, god. I am going to kill Hoseok, but, you, you did so good. You did so good, baby.”

He pulls back slightly to look over your face, puffy and bruised from crying and kissing, but the way he beams adoringly at you would have you thinking that you were the most beautiful person in the world. “You did so good,” he repeats, “How many times did you cum while I was gone, baby? Hmm? Did you have fun?”

“Hated it,” you wail, sniffling, between the kisses he begins raining down on you again. “Hated it, I-I couldn’t, didn’t cum, please, please.”

“Not at all?” He leans away with a confused look, but you’re already trying to move your sore wrists to his shoulders, shuddering and shaking, weakly pulling him closer.

“I-I have to cum, please, fuck, please,” you’re babbling again and he shushes you, expression turning concerned, but still excited, pleased at your change of heart.

“O-Okay, okay, shh, it’s alright. It’s alright.”

He’s shucking his pants and you’re breathless, grabbing for him, but he’s already, awkwardly, shuffling out of his bottoms. He pushes you down gently, and you let him, sinking into the sullied sheets with a relieved sob, parting wobbly knees to encourage him between your legs.

“Please,” you whisper again.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Namjoon’s lips find yours again, and you can feel his length hot against your core. “I’ve got you.”

You sag against him, too tired to do much more than wait, the muscles in your belly contracting painfully in anticipation. It’s obvious that he’s trying to sink into you slow, let you adjust, but you’re so wet and needy that you swallow him whole without so much as a stutter, your hips thrusting towards him as he slides forward. He fills you so good, so well, his cock taking every inch of you that the vibrator couldn’t, soothing the desire there with the heat and hardness of his member, swelling to stretch your walls around him.

“F—shit,” he swears under his breath, catching in his throat when you buck against him. You thread your fingers into his hair, clutching at his shoulders, humping upwards to take more of his cock into yourself.

He fucks back into you hesitantly, but quickly loses his composure at how sopping you are around him, how eagerly you welcome him inside, how you pant and grunt like a creature born of pure lust, and it only takes a few thrusts before he’s pistoning into you, hips crashing to yours with such incredibly lewd noises, breathing hard with the effort.

“Fuck,” he mouths against your lips. “You’re so hot, baby. You’re gonna make me cum. I’m so fucking hard…”

You can’t speak, can’t think—can’t do anything but jerk underneath him, trying to pull him closer, convince him deeper, deeper, purring and mewling when you feel him nudging secret, hidden away places inside of you that spark and flash. But it still isn’t enough and you hiccup a groan when you realize he’s faltering, pace turning erratic, fucking hard and fast, but too close to his own end.

“N-Namjoon,” you blubber, grabbing at what you can reach, his hair, his shoulders, frantic at the threat of again being left without the orgasm you’ve earned, you need, you need. “Namjoon, pl—I need, I—“

“Mm? What is it baby?” he growls, nipping at the base of your neck a little too sharply. “What is it, what do you need? Fuck, I’m so close.”

“N-no, I need,” you’re scrabbling for his hand, you have to make him understand, you have to have him touch the marks, he has to touch the marks, you have to cum. He allows you to drag his fingers to your breast but he becomes too eager to help and goes to squeeze at the nipple as he thrusts, impaling you on his length.

“This? You need me to touch your tits?” His voice is snagging on his ragged breaths, hissing through his teeth. “Are you gonna cum for me? Are you gonna cum on my cock, baby?”

“No,” you howl, clenching your fingers around his and pressing him more firmly to the pinprick scabs on the inside of the swell. “No, here, I-I need—I need this.”

He pauses, eyebrows creasing, but it’s too late for him and he surges forward with a powerful thrust, two, jaw dropping open as he accidentally claws at you, blunt fingernails breaking the skin, grunting and gasping, but it’s perfect, its perfect, the pain at your chest blossoming into everything you needed and you arch, shrieking, his cock shoved so deep in your cunt, filling you so entirely, stretching your wet hole around him, forcing you to feel him pulse, shake, wet heat erupting in your walls, oozing, leaking, your orgasm finally reaching the final heights and plunging you into ecstasy so intense you can’t even make any noise, body seizing, trembling, toes curling, pelvis crashing into his violently as you milk it, you take it, feeling the juices from both of you running down your thighs, nails turning to talons in his skin, the dam bursting behind your eyes and flooding your entire frame with pleasure.

He rocks into you unsteadily as you clamp down on him like a vice, easing the dregs of his high out of his cock, whispering unintelligible profanities. The intensity of your orgasm finally breaks and you ease down, all too aware of how every inch of you throbs, aches. When he slides out of you, spent, you both wince.

You attempt to catch your breath, a pang shooting through your stomach with every inhale and exhale, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Slowly, you become more and more aware of how hard Namjoon is breathing, and spare a glance towards him, unable to move your head for fear of breaking it clean off your sore neck, but still throwing a flick of your eyes towards where he still holds himself above your body. His hair, damp with sweat, sticks to his ears, his forehead, the nape of his neck. His eyes are staring, laser-focused, at your chest. He swipes two fingers across the blood that beads up from where he’s reopened your wound, swirling, intent on gathering as much as he can, before hesitantly, falteringly, raising his fingers past his plush, swollen lips and sucking on them. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his jaw work as he slips his tongue about his own digits, his eyelashes flutter closed briefly.

He removes his fingers from his mouth, his mouth lingering as though loathe to stop, licking at his lips. His dark eyes flit to yours.  

 “So.” He says after a heavy beat that begins to settle in awkwardly.

“The bite marks, huh?”

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