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“fuck! more please!”

you squeal, eyes tearing up and toes curling as sungchan jabs your prostate. he holds your waist tighter and smirks at how wrecked you were after a round of sex in the showers. sungchan chuckles amazed at your brazenness to openly moan like an absolute slut in the school showers.

“what was it, baby?” he smirks, deliberately slowing down his thrusts. sungchan just loves seeing you needy and messy just to feel his cock. how you go completely insane when he teases you by depriving pleasure by just a little bit. just like right now. he takes in the sinful sight of you holding on to his shoulders for dear life. your trembling legs wrapped around sungchan’s waist to keep his veiny cock sheated by your tight, warm walls. and your face. god, your beautiful, slutted out face, with your eyes giving the look of desperation and your lips coated in drool from how wild he devoured you when you made out just a few minutes ago.

sungchan smirks proudly, gazing at the lovely, fucked out state he put you in. he thanks his competitiveness, enabling him to win that stupid bet that whoever reaches the other side of the pool last gets fucked. you've always wanted to fuck sungchan in the ass but hey, you're being slutted out by your hottest co-member in the school's swim team. a win.

“harder, please,” you whimper, tightening your walls around sungchan's length to which his jaw clenched, breathing deeply to keep himself from ramming again into you. he's not the best in self-control. “i was close, hyung.”

hyung. god, why were you making things difficult for him? first, being sinfully cute and submissive under him. and now, calling him hyung, that magic word that sends electricity into his cock and scratches his horny mind in all the right places. it didn't help that you were looking at him with those doe eyes that never fail to make him leak precum like a fucking fountain. god, nothing keeps him going other than being with you and a dictator being ousted out of power and arrested for crimes against humanity. what a wonderful time to rejoice!

pressing your back against the cold tiled wall, sungchan impatiently angles his cock to reach deeper interiors of your tightness. he thrusts inside you, desperately, passionately, out of primal need for a sweet release of his cum inside your insanely tight walls. fuck self-control. (he admits he doesn't last long in holding his orgasm). sungchan slams his lips on yours, to which you respond by messily sucking his lips and tongue. drool coating your lips and dribbling down your chins as you moan lasciviously into each other's mouths. he reaches for your cock helplessly flopping back and forth your stomachs before giving it the sweetest strokes that drove you crazier by the minute.

“shit!” he groans, breathless as he steadies his hips, trembling as he shoots warm jets of cum inside you, painting your walls white. his head buried on your neck, he moans louder as he occasionally thrusts, pushing his cum deeper in the warmth of your tight walls. “fuck,” you whimper, gripping on his locks as you messily squirt all over your torsos. god, how long has it been since you were fucked so good that you squirt hard like waters bursting open the floodgates of a dam?

you stay clinging to sungchan, with your limbs tightly wrapped around his muscular frame and with his cock speared in your tightness. his body jerks occasionally, thrusting inside you idly as you both recover from your highs. your lips met his, engaged in a lazy makeout as you bask in the hazy feeling of post-orgasm.

you smile; school break about to start, a dictator being arrested, and being fucked by your hot best friend, how lovely life must be!

you pull away upon hearing footsteps approaching your naked form. a few feet away is anton with his abs flexed, arms crossed, and swim trunks hanging off his shoulder. your eyes immediately dart to his tall, fat erection furiously leaking precum.

“how disrespectful for both of you to start without me,” he purrs, softly pumping his angry cock as he looks at you with so much lust. “it’s been long since i last tasted my cute y/n-ie,” he continues, keeping his eyes on you.

sungchan turns around, making you face anton as well with his cock still sheathed inside you. “so, come and claim your prize,” he says flatly, lust written all over his face as he spreads your legs wider, showing how your hole can perfectly take a fat, huge, veiny cock… or two. anton’s idea of staying late after team practice wasn't so bad after all.

after your friends announced the room and bed assignments to the whole group, everyone immediately changed into their swimming outfits and headed for the beach.

anton, on the other hand, was still hunting for his swim cap. you waited patiently for him on the bed assigned to the two of you: a double-sized mattress tucked into the far corner of the room next to the bathroom.

“i thought your trunks would match my set?” you pointed out as he slathered sunscreen onto his legs.

“i forgot, baby. i’m sorry.” you only nodded in response. once you saw he was finally ready to head out, you bolted from the room first, growing impatient since everyone else was already out having fun.

you missed the sight of anton shaking the bed frame, testing it to see if it would make a noise.

when you were a short distance away, you heard his hurried footsteps jogging toward you. he caught up and instantly hooked an arm around your waist.

“you’re so hot,” he whispered, pulling you flush against his side.

“if i see someone wearing the same color as your trunks, i’m giving you away,” you joked, pulling away from his grasp to walk ahead.

he let out a playful whine. “that’s not fair.”

“okay! i’m going to ride the jetski alone,” you teased.

he pouted, giving you his best fake sulky face. “you’re mean. although i was planning to do something on the jetski.”

“huh?” you were taken aback.

what could he possibly mean by do something?

once you reached the shore, you climbed onto the driver's seat of the jetski, revving the engine and laughing with the rest as everyone was figuring out how to control the ride.

anton settled behind you, his hands gripping your waist tightly as you sped off into the open water.

once you were far enough from the shore that the group looked like tiny specks, you felt his hands wander.

one hand stayed firm on your hip while the other began to slip beneath the hem of your bikini top, his fingers tracing the curve of your skin with a bold familiarity. the sudden heat of his touch against the cold ocean air made your heart skip.

“anton, stop it,” you yelled over the roar of the engine, though you couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

not content with just a wandering hand, anton leaned forward, his plump lips grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder.

he then reached down further to tease you, his fingers hooking into the elastics of your bottoms and instantly finding your heat down there.

the way you were bouncing over the waves made your breath hitch, not helping your current situation.

“we’re going to drown here!” you yelled again, nearly causing you to jerk the handles.

you felt his chest vibrate against your back as he laughed, his lips pressing a fleeting kiss to your shoulder before he reluctantly pulled his hand away and gripped your waist properly again. “you forgot i know how to swim.”

“and you forgot we’re in public!” you remarked, slightly leaning your head back so he can hear you.

“but no one’s gonna see.” you ignored what anton had just said, forcing you to hide a smile again.

after a heavy dinner that spiraled into a night of drinking, everyone eventually stumbled back to their rooms and drifted off to sleep.

however, your boyfriend seemed to have different plans.

“should i eat you out first?” anton hissed, pausing to look up at you from where he was.

right on your boobs.

when you looked down at him, it was the exact moment his lips attached again to your hardened nipple. his free hand was busy massaging the unoccupied one, kneading it with a possessive grip.

then, he pressed his thumb firmly against the nub of the breast he was massaging, while teasingly grazing the other with his teeth.

anton earned a soft, broken moan from you, and you instinctively fisted your hands in his hair.

as he began to provide alternating, wet licks to each bud, you found yourself pushing his face closer against your chest, desperate for more.

it was sensory overload. you were squirming so much that your legs wouldn't stay still, despite anton’s weight pinning you down.

the duvet didn’t rustle much, but if anyone were to glance over right now, it would be painfully obvious that a body was draped over yours, even in the shadows of the room.

anton continued to swirl his tongue around the sensitive tips, his breath hot and ragged against your damp skin. he buried his face between your breasts to muffle a low, guttural groan.

eventually, he slid under the duvet beside you, pulling you into his side so your head rested in the crook of his shoulder.

“don’t move too much,” he whispered. the two of you were already so close, but there was a desperate need to be closer, fueled by the fear of making too much noise.

“anton. there’s other people in the room,” you hissed back, suppressing a sudden gasp by pressing your hand over your mouth.

“they’re all blacked out, i promise.” he pulled you flush against him, his hands already working at the waistband of your shorts.

you sighed before shifting in one swift motion to face him. “we should’ve gone with your jetski idea instead,” you breathed against his lips.

you felt his lips curve into a smirk. “jetski or not, you know we were always going to end up like this.” you adjusted the duvet over the both of you, feeling hyper-conscious of every rustle of fabric.

your hands slid underneath his shirt, tracing the planes of his torso as you brought your lips to his. determined to catch him off guard, you pinched his nipple, hoping to coax a sound out of him.

anton couldn’t suppress the whimper that broke through the kiss. you quickly shushed him by continuing to lap at his soft, plush lips to keep him quiet.

his fingers were already pushing inside you. he didn't even attempt to start slow or tease you first; he just surged in. “hah. i was right about you being wet already.”

as he felt your reaction, his lips pulled away from yours to roam along your jawline, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck.

the duvet was making far too much noise given the supposed secrecy of the moment. you stopped him before he could go any further. “next time, i’m insisting on a solo room,” you murmured.

he gave a pathetic yet frantic nod, immediately returning to the crook of your neck.

before he could lose himself again, you pulled his face back to look at you. “anton, i’m serious. they’ll kill us tomorrow if they find out.”

“i don’t care. just stay quiet.” you let out a silent groan. at this rate, your heart was going to burst long before you reached an orgasm.

“it’s more fun when there’s a thrill, baby,” anton murmured, continuing to mark your sensitive spots while you bit your lip to stifle a moan. “we’ll be fast.”

this was completely shameless.

yielding to the friction, you reached down to find the hardened length of him. you massaged him through the fabric first, earning that low, hitched breath you loved, before pushing his shorts down just enough to grip him. his tip was already slick, so you spread the moisture and began a steady, rhythmic motion.

it was a struggle to give him a proper handjob, given the cramped space and how tightly your bodies were pinned together, but the risk only seemed to make him harder.

he didn't waste a second, his fingers picking up a rhythmic, messy pace inside you that had you arching your back off the mattress. his other free hand pulled you closer, even more, so you can steady your body and not make any extra noise with the duvet.

the pace of your hand going up and down on his length matched his. every wet thrust was punctuated by the faint, rhythmic sound of skin hitting skin.

you buried your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your ragged breathing, feeling the friction of his knuckles against your sensitive skin.

he leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he picked up the speed, his thumb finding your clit and pinning it down with a pressure that made your toes curl under the duvet.

"babe. need to fuck you now," he urged in a gravelly whisper, his movements becoming more urgent as he felt you begin to tremble against his hand.

you managed to respond despite the continuous low gasps overflowing from your mouth. “how t-the hell?”

before eventually stopping the movements your hands were doing on his length, you squeezed his tip. he hissed at the sudden gesture, and started lapping at your lips roughly.

“turn around, we’ll make less sound.” you rolled your eyes at his crazy suggestion.

you shifted as quietly as possible, but the duvet still rustled like thunder.

definitely not a good idea. still, you like it.

you had no choice but to just swallow the huge lump on your throat.

anton hooked a leg over yours to pull you into a tight, sideways spoon. you could feel the intense thud of his heart matching your own.

"stay just like that," he breathed, his hand reaching around to grip your hip. “try not to make any noise, okay?”

"i'm gonna put it in." he guided himself in with one smooth, agonizingly slow push, the sensation of him filling you sideways making your breath hitch in your throat.

you reached back blindly, your fingers digging into his thigh as he began to move, his rhythmic thrusts shallow and controlled to keep the bed from creaking.

every time he bottomed out, he pressed a stifled, hungry kiss to your shoulder blade, his low grunts muffled against your skin. you can only bite your lip to stifle any moans.

with every shallow thrust, he tilted his hips just enough to hit a specific spot.

it was agonizingly good. anton’s grip on your hip tightened, his fingers bruising your skin as he picked up the pace, seemingly not caring about the sound of the duvet rustling too much.

“fuck, you're so tight," anton hissed into your skin, sending shivers down your spine. you can’t help but let out a grin to what he had just told you.

you buried your face deep into the pillow that you grabbed next to you, the fabric damp from your breath as you fought the urge to ruin the silence.

“harder.” you moaned out. then, his movements become more desperate and less controlled.

anton leaned down even more, his teeth grazing the sensitive part of your nape as he struggled to keep his own composure.

your heart hammered so hard against your ribs. the bed gave a tiny creak, and the both of you froze instantly.

but anton didn’t stop with his persistent movements, his thrusts are deeper now, more insistent.

you attempted to peek to check if someone from the other side of the room stirred.

“we’re good,” anton let out a shaky, hot breath against your ear.

the sound of his skin slapping wetly against yours was a rhythmic and dangerous chorus filling the room’s quiet atmosphere. it was not that loud but you can only internally offer a prayer that the others were truly as deep in their sleep.

his thrusts became shorter and more desperate, resulting in a soft moan slipping off your mouth.

“ssshh…” he rested his free thumb on your lips. your hands went feral, not knowing where to place or grip it; your toes curling against the mattress.

“you’re doing good, baby.”

anton seemed to sense you were close. you felt the familiar coil of tension tightening in your stomach, so he reached down with his thumb to find your clit, applying a grounding pressure that sent you over the edge.

this put your brain to a short circuit as his actions followed by him barely pulling out now, and opting for deep, grinding hitches that forced you to bite down hard on your lips.

overstimulation has gotten into you. “close-” your body was already shaking, your hands grabbing his nape from the back as you attempted to bring his face close so you could kiss him messily.

anton’s quads were locked tight against your legs and his hand on your hip was practically pinning you down intensely.

“we’re not doing this again, anton lee.” you squirmed while he bottomed out again.

he let out a sharp, jagged inhale through his teeth, followed by an evident smirk you felt through his breath.

then, you felt that his entire frame shuddered with the effort of keeping a low groan only heard in the tiny proximity you were keeping.

with a heavy lunge, anton buried himself deep inside you and stayed, his entire body locking up as he’s almost reaching his limit.

anton’s grip on your hips finally slackened, leaving a muffled and guttural groan right on the skin of your shoulder. he then immediately replaced it with a soft peck.

slowly, he withdrew, pulling out at the last possible second. you didn’t even have the chance to fight the soft whimper from the sudden feeling of his absence.

anton adjusted your hips while you felt your body finally relaxing as you let out your release. neither of you moved, and you can hear the loud synchronized thud of your hearts.

both bodies tensed against each other and you were exchanging ragged exhales with him in the dark.

with a quiet urgency, anton gripped himself and directed his release away from the sheets. you could hear the faint, wet sound of him moving frantically to chase his high and finish.

“fuck.” his voice barely breathed. “i love you, baby.” blurting out those words as if he was launched to cloud nine.

your eyes were still closed, tired from the sneaky situation. “tissues in my bag beside you.” your hazy mind was still able to form some words.

you felt his heavy figure slumped back against the mattress with his chest rising and falling in jagged heaves that turned into a sudden low groan.

anton crawled back toward you as he tucked his face into your neck, "worth the risk," he whispered. you scoffed in return as you felt his soft lips on your skin.

he pulled you closer and draped a heavy, protective arm over your waist.

“hell no,” your chest was still heaving. “i think i prefer the jetski idea now.”

anton pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing mindless circles on your arm. "let’s clean up, baby. " he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with exhaustion. “bathroom’s just to our right, so…”

you let out a long, shaky sigh of pure contentment as you fix your clothes. “you okay?” anton helped you up, enough to not cause the bed to groan.

once the door clicked shut, you immediately pulled him in for a quick hug. he rested his chin on the top of your head while you feel the warmth of his embrace. your legs swaying slightly from fatigue.

“careful,” anton whispered as he guided you. “here,” his voice lost its rasp and returned to its usual gentle tone.

anton gave you a quick kiss on the forehead as he started carefully cleaning you.

you mumbled, “we are not sharing a room with anyone next time.”

he let out a small chuckle. “you didn’t like the thrill?”

“that’s your fantasy?” you lightly smacked his arm while he was busy helping you.

anton just nodded, a playful glint in his eyes.

Your relationship with Heeseung had always been easy.

From the very beginning, he made things feel simple, like love was something natural, something that didn’t have to hurt to be real. He was warm and steady, all soft hands and sweeter words, the kind of boyfriend that remembered the little things. He always kept your favorite snack in the apartment, knew the exact spot to kiss behind your ear that made you shiver, and held your hand even when no one was watching.

Heeseung didn’t play games, he didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t give you reasons to doubt him, not even once. He never made you feel small.

He spoiled you, completely.

He paid attention to things no one else would, how you always got sleepy after eating, how you liked your wine poured to the halfway point only, how you always looked at yourself in the mirror a little too long when you felt insecure. And he’d counter all of it, instinctively. Wrapping you up in a hoodie, refilling your glass just right, grabbing your chin gently and kissing your pout away like it was his only job.

In bed, he was a dream.

He took his time with you, didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped you. And when you begged for it rougher, meaner, filthier? He gave you that too.

Your pretty boy could turn dark in seconds. He’d pull your hair, make you cry, call you names so cruel your face burned—and he’d fuck you through every single one of your orgasms until you couldn’t remember how to say please anymore. But he always kissed you after, always whispered, “you did so good for me, baby.” He made you feel safe in the filth, loved, even when he was breaking you apart.

He got along with your whole family, watched football matchs with your father and helped your mother bake her signature apple pie, played videogames with your little brother and dollhouse with your little sister. You were sure he was the man of your life, and that you would marry him one day.

You never wanted anyone else.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until K started spending more time around.

K was Heeseung’s best friend, had been for years, even before you were his girlfriend, they grew up together, went to the same college, even shared clothes sometimes. He was around so often it felt normal, his shoes by the door, his half-empty water bottles on the counter, his body draped across your couch like he owned the place. You were so used to his presence, and it never bothered you, not really, he was very sweet with you, always respectful, and you knew how good of a friend he was to your boyfriend.

He was different from Heeseung in every way. Older for a couple of years, taller for a few inches, louder when he laughed, rougher around the edges, casually confident in a way that made your stomach twist. Always teasing, always joking, always so present. Like, everyday. Sometimes he would even go pick you up after work when Heeseung couldn’t because he was at some dinner for his job. He was mostly a gentleman, although obviously sometimes you would hear him talk with Heeseung about the girls he slept with.

He didn’t try to charm you, didn’t even seem to care what you thought of him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You’d watch him from the kitchen sometimes, sweating in a tight shirt after a workout, gulping water like he hadn’t touched it in hours, the sharp lines of his jaw flexing every time he swallowed, his soaked, black hair sticked to his forehead, his plump lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His arms always flexed when he stretched, and he always stretched, veins popping under his skin, low groan leaving his throat.

And sometimes, when he caught your gaze, he’d smirk. Not flirty, not teasing. Just knowing, like he was aware of the way you looked at him, and he didn’t mind. Sometimes he would say “Do i look that bad today?” and you would chuckle, trying to play dumb.

You tried to ignore it, brush it off, blame it on the wine, the hormones, the stupid crushes people weren’t supposed to get once they were in love.

But sometimes, when Heeseung’s fingers were deep inside you, or when his cock was pressing into you just right, you’d close your eyes, and for just a moment, pretend.

You imagined K’s voice, rough and low in your ear. His hands on your hips, holding you still, the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress, deeper and rougher than anyone ever had.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Heeseung, or that he wasn’t enough for you. He really was, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just a thought, just a fantasy. Like a lot of people used to have.

Something you’d never say out loud.

Not to anyone.

Heeseung had always been so good at reading people. Even when he was little, he knew when his father had a bad day at work, he knew when his mother was pissed about the noisy neighbours, he even knew when his first girlfriend cheated on him before even finding something weird.

Heeseung had always known.

He didn’t need you to say it, didn’t need to catch you staring, or find messages on your phone, or hear some guilty confession through your tears.

He just knew.

Because he was watching.

From the very beginning, before you even realized it yourself, he’d seen it. That flicker in your eyes when K walked into the room, the way your whole body subtly shifted, back a little straighter, chin tilted, lips just barely parted, thighs clenched together when K leaned over to show you something on his phone.

You never flirted, never crossed a line. You were a good girl, his good girl. But the way you looked at K? that wasn’t nothing.

And Heeseung saw it, every time.

He was an expert in you.

He knew every version of your body, how you moved when you were hungry, when you were tired, when you were horny. How you bit your lip when you were anxious, how your eyes glossed over when you were tipsy and trying not to let it show. He knew when you were lying, when you were daydreaming, when your thighs were clenched under the table because you were thinking about something you shouldn’t.

Heeseung knew you.

So of course, he noticed.

K was around a lot. His best friend, his brother. They’d known each other forever, trusted each other without question, he didn’t even remember a time of his life where K wasn’t teasing him and playfully bantering with him. He trusted him, like a lot, he was the only true friendship he’d ever had, and he knew that K would never do something that would hurt him.

And that’s what made it all the more entertaining.

He watched the way your eyes dropped when K stretched, the way your breath hitched when he muttered something low under his breath, the way your smile slipped into something dazed after a few drinks when K got too close.

And he saw the way he looked at you too. How he would chuckle at the silliest thing you’d say, how he would tease you just to see you blush and push his chest playfully, how his gaze would dropp even just for a small second through your body when you were in a bikini on a hot summer day. He didn’t blame him, you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and K was a man, after all.

So he never said a word.

Most guys would’ve lost their minds, picked a fight, accused you of cheating, thrown K out of the house or pulled you into a jealous, angry fuck just to stake their claim.

But not heeseung.

He found it cute, amusing, even. The way you thought you were hiding it, this quiet, little lust that lived just under your skin. He could see how hard you were trying to be good, how guilty you must’ve felt, how much it was killing you not to give in to it.

And more than anything, that’s what got to him.

The idea that you were holding back, not because you didn’t want it, but because you thought he wouldn’t let you.

Heeseung loved you, like really loved you. But his love wasn’t soft and selfless, not really.

His love was possessive.

He didn’t just want you for himself, he wanted every part of you, every thought, every fantasy. Even the most dirtiest, nastiest ones.

If you were going to want someone else, he wanted to know. He wanted to be there.

And with K? He didn’t mind sharing. That was his ride or die, and if he were ever to do something this nasty, of course he would choose him. It was something about his ego too, to make his best friend who was always so confident and cocky watching how the most beautiful girl ever crumbled beneath him.

He liked the idea of it.

Of watching you come undone between the two of them, overwhelmed, overstimulated, broken down to nothing. He wanted to see your mouth stuffed with K’s cock while you sobbed on his fingers. Wanted to hear you beg one of them to stop while the other kept going. Wanted to see your sweet little brain go blank, ruined completely, used until you didn’t even know which one of them was making you cum anymore.

And god, the aftermath.

He could already picture you, messy, leaking, limp and fucked-out on the sheets while they cleaned you up. You, teary-eyed and dazed, whispering, “thank you.” So grateful, so good.

He didn’t say anything yet, not out loud.

You weren’t ready, he wanted you to squirm a little more.

He wanted to watch you get desperate.

But he was planning.

It was late evening when you unlocked the front door and stepped inside, heels clicking against the hardwood. The apartment was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the glare of the TV screen and the soft blue LEDs lining the shelves. You were tired, hungry, and sleepy, it was a really long day at work, you hated that you had to work on weekends.

Then you heard it.

Laughter and the unmistakable sound of button-mashing filled the air. Manly voices so loud and so familiar. You dropped your bag by the door, sighing as you kicked off your shoes, already half-expecting what you’d see when you rounded the corner into the living room.

There they were.

Heeseung and K sat cross-legged on the floor, controllers in hand, faces lit by the rapid flashes of the screen. The two of them were in the middle of an intense round of something, they didn’t even glance up when you entered. Both of them in comfy clothes, messy hairs, the smell of their perfumes in the air.

You swallowed.

“Told you I’m better,” Heeseung grinned, tapping buttons at lightning speed.

“Only because you cheat,” K fired back, focused, leaning forward as his tongue peeked out in concentration.

“You’re just bad at this,” Heeseung smirked, elbowing him. The two burst into laughter, casual and at ease, just two best friends caught up in a game they’d probably played a hundred times before.

You stood there for a second, watching them, Heeseung’s soft, worn tee hanging off his frame, K in a sleeveless hoodie that showed off his toned arms. It was domestic. Comfortable. Too comfortable.

“I’m home,” you called out finally, stepping into view, a little smile on your lips, while you loosened your ponytail and walked towards them.

Heeseung’s head turned first, his smile wide, his eyes sparkly like they always were when he looked at you.

“Hey, baby,” he said easily, not even pausing the game. “How was work?”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch behind them.

“Hell,” you muttered, already peeling off your jacket. They didn’t respond, too focused on the game, and you rolled your eyes playfully. Boys. “I’m taking a shower. You boys have fun.”

Then K glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “Welcome back, by the way.”

You winked and disappeared down the hall, feeling K’s eyes on you the entire way.

A little while later, the bathroom light flicked off and the soft pat of your bare feet padded into the living room again. You wore a silky little pajama set, tiny shorts barely covering the curve of your ass, and a matching cami with thin straps that did nothing to hide the way the cool air had your nipples poking through.

Heeseung looked up first. His gaze swept over you with familiarity, appreciation, and something playful. His lips curled up in a lazy smile as he leaned back on one hand, watching you make your way around the couch and settle down between them.

But K?

He hesitated—only for a second—but it was enough.

You saw it.

The way K’s jaw clenched. The quick flick of his eyes over your legs, your chest, your exposed skin. The way he tried to focus back on the screen, but his grip on the controller tightened just a little. His mouth opened slightly, like he was going to say something, then thought better of it.

You could feel the heat rolling off him.

Heeseung chuckled quietly. He didn’t say a word, didn’t call him out. Instead, he shifted closer to you on the floor, letting his hand rest on your bare thigh, thumb stroking lazily, like it was second nature.

It was soft. Innocent. But it wasn’t.

You saw the way K’s eyes flicked down to where Heeseung’s fingers moved, lingering. You could feel the tension in the air change, just a little.

Heeseung’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen, like nothing was happening. Like he wasn’t fully aware of the little game he’d just started.

He leaned closer to you, pressing a kiss just below your ear, murmuring a teasing “Missed you, pretty girl,” while his fingers traced the edge of your thigh, just high enough to make a statement.

K didn’t speak, but his knuckles were white around the controller. His gaze was fixed forward, but his breathing had shifted, just a bit.

Heeseung smirked.

He wasn’t mad. Not jealous. Not even remotely.

He was amused.

And from the way his eyes glinted under the low light, you could tell, he was planning something.

Something big.

You had long since disappeared into the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft finality, leaving the boys alone under the low light of the TV glow. The air was still warm with your presence, vanilla and something sweeter, something uniquely you lingering in the space.

Heeseung had gone quiet, his controller abandoned somewhere near the coffee table. K sat beside him, back against the couch, arms resting lazily over his knees as he stared at the flickering screen without really watching it.

They’d been talking for hours now, about everything, work, family, sports, and you, of course. Heeseung always yapped about how perfect you were and that he wanted to marry you. K was used to that, he always smiled and said “Don’t make me an uncle yet.” Not jealous, but supporting, like a good friend. But still, when Heeseung talked to him about you in bed, he saw how his breathing changed just a bit, not of awkwardness. Something else.

“You like her, huh?” Heeseung asked suddenly, voice casual, too casual.

K turned his head slowly, caught off guard. His eyes widened, brows frowned as if he couldn’t believe what he just asked.

“What?”

Heeseung smirked. He didn’t look at him right away, just reached over to grab his drink from the side table, took a slow sip, then met his best friend’s eyes.

“Y/N.”

K blinked, his face a mask of disbelief. He reached for his drink too, the air suddenly feeling so heavy.

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“I didn’t ask who she was,” Heeseung said, leaning back against the couch, stretching his legs out. “I asked if you like her.”

K scoffed and looked away, running a hand through his hair, then he scratched his neck.

“Bro.”

Heeseung just hummed, watching him now, really watching. The way K shifted in place, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. The way his eyes had flicked, too quickly, down the hall where your bedroom door was closed.

“You think I don’t see it?” Heeseung asked quietly, his tone lower now, edged with amusement. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at her when you think I’m not paying attention?”

K didn’t respond.

“She came out in that little pajama set,” Heeseung continued, like he was telling a story, slow and deliberate, “and your eyes were all over her. You didn’t even try to hide it.”

K shifted again, sitting a little straighter, jaw tight.

“You’re tripping.”

“Am I?” Heeseung grinned, all teeth now, a lazy kind of danger curling at the edges of his lips. He was having so much fun with this. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

That made K glance over, he tilted his head slightly.

“You’re not?”

Heeseung laughed softly. “Why would I be mad?” His voice dropped, gaze dark. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

K blinked.

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re not denying it.” Heeseung leaned closer, elbows resting on his knees, voice hushed now, like it was something private. “I’ve seen the way she reacts to you. She gets all soft and shy around you. Different than with me.”

K’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He didn’t deny that either. Heeseung kept going, his tone turning sly.

“She likes you. Even if she doesn’t say it. Even if she tries to hide it. I see it. And I think you see it too.”

K let out a long breath, raking a hand down his face.

“This is fucking dangerous.”

Heeseung chuckled darkly.

“Yeah. That’s the point.”

There was a long pause. K was quiet now, no longer trying to argue, just sitting there, staring at the blank screen, like his mind had slipped somewhere darker. Somewhere more curious.

“And you’re seriously okay with that?” he asked after a moment. “You want me to—what—fuck around with your girlfriend?”

Heeseung leaned back again, arms spread along the couch, completely relaxed, like he’d thought about this a lot.

“I want to see what happens when we both push her. I want to see how far she’ll let it go. How far we can take it.”

K looked at him, really looked at him, like he was trying to read the real intention behind the words. Lips parted, in shock.

“And if she breaks?” he asked, voice quiet.

“She won’t,” Heeseung said confidently. “Not in a bad way, anyway.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “She’ll love it.”

Another pause.

K was breathing a little heavier now, not quite realizing it. His leg bounced once, the tension showing in small cracks, in the way he kept licking his lips.

Heeseung’s voice dipped lower, velvet-smooth.

“You want to see her like that, don’t you? All cock drunk and needy. Caught between us. Letting us touch her. Use her. Ruin her a little.”

K inhaled sharply, muttering under his breath, “Jesus, man…”

But there was no fight left in his voice.

Heeseung leaned forward again, eyes locked on him.

“Her birthday. We take her out. Tease her. You dance with her first, I’ll come in after. We push. We press. And we see what she does.”

K was quiet, processing. His fingers flexed where they rested on his knees. This was such a bad idea, it could ruin this friendship and your relationship forever.

But he thought about it, he imagined it. How you’d look between them, all broken and crying, how you’d look beneath him.

Then, slowly, like the idea had finally sunk into his skin, he gave a low laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re fucking twisted.”

“And you’re into it.”

K didn’t deny it this time.

The club was alive with the beat of the music, thumping through your chest, the lights flashing in dizzying patterns as you stepped out of the car. Your heels clicked against the pavement, each step carrying you into the night. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cologne, and all eyes seemed to be on you as you made your entrance.

It was your birthday, your night, and you had every intention of owning it. You’d slipped into a sleek, form-fitting black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, just the right amount of daring without being too much. Your hair cascaded in waves, and your makeup was soft but sultry, just enough to make you look irresistible without trying too hard. You were the center of attention, and you loved it.

As you stepped into the club, the pulse of the music surrounded you. People were already gathered around the bar, laughing, chatting, their drinks sloshing in the air as the DJ spun tracks. Your friends crowded around you, congratulating you, complimenting your outfit, but your eyes were scanning the room.

Heeseung should be there anytime.

And you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest when you thought about him. Your boyfriend—the perfect, warm, loving boyfriend who had made sure tonight would be exactly how you wanted it. But even as your mind lingered on him, there was that edge of anticipation. That thought, that craving, for someone else.

K.

It was impossible not to think about him. You had tried to push the thoughts away, tried to focus on your boyfriend, on what you had, but something about K always pulled you in. The way he moved, the way he grinned at you, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, what you wanted. Like he wasn’t just watching from the sidelines, but waiting for you to make the first move.

Your thoughts scattered when you caught sight of them, Heeseung and K, walking through the entrance together, side by side like two halves of the same whole. They were a striking pair. Heeseung in his tailored jacket, casually confident, dark hair falling just right as his gaze swept over the room. And K, a little more laid-back, in a tight shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles in his chest, his smirk cocky as hell as he looked around.

The moment their eyes met yours, you felt a rush of heat flood your body. Heeseung’s smile was soft, full of warmth as he made his way toward you. But K’s gaze? It was different. It was knowing. His eyes dropped down to your dress—just for a second—and then back to your face, where a small, almost teasing smirk danced on his lips.

Heeseung pulled you into a hug, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered something sweet.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he murmured, his hands resting on your hips. You melted into his embrace, your heart swelling at the love he poured into his touch. He was perfect. He always was.

But K? K was something else entirely.

He stepped forward, his body pressing just a little too close when he kissed your cheek. The moment his lips touched your skin, your breath hitched, a shiver running through your body at the heat of his proximity.

“Happy birthday, princess,” K said, his voice low and rich, sending a thrill straight to your core.

You fought the blush creeping up your neck, trying to focus on Heeseung, on him, the boyfriend who had given you everything. But K’s presence lingered like a slow burn, undeniable, exciting. You could feel his eyes on you, even as Heeseung pulled back and started talking to some of your friends.

K didn’t go far. He hovered around you, leaning against the bar, not too far from where you stood. Every so often, his eyes would flick to yours, like he was studying you. Like he was waiting for something.

The tension between the three of you was thick, and you could feel it in your bones.

But you were supposed to be enjoying your night. You’d been waiting for this, for months, and now, it was finally here. So you threw yourself into the party, laughing, dancing, drinking. But even as you swirled your cocktail, your attention kept drifting. It was almost magnetic, this pull between you and Heeseung, between you and K. And no matter how much you tried to ignore it, it was impossible.

The club pulsed with energy as you and your friends slipped further into the night. The drinks kept flowing, shots and cocktails passed around like water, and with every drink, your body felt lighter, more free. Laughter filled the air, mingling with the thumping beat of the music as the crowd swayed and danced under the neon lights.

Your friends were all in high spirits, each of them offering birthday wishes, compliments, and teasing comments about how you were the life of the party. The atmosphere was electric, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let go of the constant buzzing in your head, the one that made you question the simmering tension between you, Heeseung, and K. Tonight was about you.

But, of course, they were still there.

You caught K’s eyes across the room. He was leaning casually against the bar, a drink in his hand, watching you with that signature smirk. The one that always seemed to make your heart race a little faster.

You shook your head, trying to focus, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him. And then, as if on cue, Heeseung wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m tired from training, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and familiar. “You go ahead, dance with your friends.”

You couldn’t help but pout, turning in his arms to face him.

“But I wanted to dance with you,” you whined, eyes sparkling with a playful challenge.

Heeseung smiled, but it was that teasing, knowing grin.

“I’m too tired, babe,” he repeated, his thumb brushing against your hip. “Go have fun. You know I don’t mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, the tip of your tongue brushing over your lips. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” Heeseung said with that same smile, but there was something in his eyes, something darker, almost predatory. “K can go dance with you.”

Your stomach flipped. You’d been thinking about K for most of the night, the heat in your veins already ignited by his presence, and now Heeseung was throwing him into the mix. But even more so, he was asking you to do it.

“Come on, I’m not gonna dance with him,” you said, your voice teasing, but your body responding to the thought anyway. “We’ll have to make it fun later.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, his hands still on your waist as he leaned in close, his lips brushing your neck for just a moment. His breath was hot against your skin.

“We will, baby. But for now—go have some fun. K’s waiting.”

So you sighed, already preparing yourself mentally. You turned to K, who was still leaning against the bar, his eyes never leaving you. There was that damn smirk again, and you knew exactly what was on his mind.

With a slight hesitation, you walked over to K. He grinned as you approached, taking your hand in his.

“Well, I guess you do need a dance partner,” he said, his voice low, the heat behind his words unmistakable. He pulled you onto the dance floor with him, and you fell into the rhythm of the music, the bass vibrating through your chest.

He was shy at first, a gentleman. Just dacing in front of you without really touching anything he shouldn’t. He chuckled as he saw you dancing, raising an eyebrow when one of your friends shoved a shot down your mouth.

K’s hands were on your hips, and you could feel his body heat radiating against yours. His movements were fluid, effortless, as he pulled you closer, guiding you as you danced together. The music was loud, the lights flashing in a rhythm that matched the pulse of your heart.

You tried to push down the thoughts swirling in your head, tried to enjoy the moment, but your body responded instinctively to K’s closeness. The way his touch lingered just a little too long, how his lips brushed against your ear when he leaned down to say something too soft to hear.

You were drunk. Or at least tipsy enough that your body wasn’t listening to your mind anymore.

The club was alive, the bass pumping in your veins, but all you could feel was the weight of the bodies around you.

You and K moved together, the chemistry undeniable. He guided you effortlessly, his grip on your waist firm as you swayed to the beat. Your movements were instinctive, body pushing against his as the music grew more intense. The alcohol buzzed in your bloodstream, making you feel light-headed, the world around you hazy, but it was K’s touch that kept you grounded, his fingers brushing along your sides with every sway.

And then, you felt it.

Heeseung’s presence behind you.

It was subtle at first, just the sensation of his warmth, his body just inches away from yours. But then, there was the undeniable press of his chest against your back, his hands slipping around your waist with his usual possessive confidence. His lips were by your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Heeseung whispered, voice a soft growl that made your body shudder in response. His words were like fuel to the fire building inside you.

You were dancing with K, but Heeseung was there too, his hands pulling you closer as you felt the steady press of his hardening body against your back. It was almost like a game now. The three of you, caught in this mix of heat and need. K’s hands moved lower, gripping your hips, guiding you closer to him, and then you felt it, beneath his jeans, his hard cock brushing against you with every movement. And then Heeseung’s hands, those strong, steady hands, gripped you tighter, forcing you back into him.

You couldn’t tell who was doing what anymore, their bodies pressing into yours from both sides. The movement was primal now, fluid, as you rolled your hips between them, your body grinding, twisting in time with the music, desperate for more. Your breath came faster, chest rising and falling, the tension building to a point where you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. You were sweating, like really sweating, strands of your hair sticking to your face as you lifted your arms and let the music and the heat guide you.

K was grinning now, that cocky, almost wicked smirk on his lips as his hands roamed lower on your body. His touch was demanding, not gentle, the way his fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them just enough so he could press closer. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes flicked to Heeseung told you everything. He wasn’t going to hold back either.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” K murmured in your ear, his words sending another shiver down your spine. You were lost in the feeling of their bodies surrounding you, hot, heavy, and insistent. There was no escape from the heat of them, no way to ignore the way they were practically grinding on you. Every part of you was on fire. Every part of you was aching.

Heeseung chuckled low behind you, his lips brushing against your neck as his hands gripped your hips with more force.

“She’s a little eager, isn’t she?”

K’s response was a quiet laugh, his hands now fully on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he slid his body closer to yours. You felt the pressure of both of their bodies, their hard chests, their toned muscles, pressed up against you. It was all you could do to hold yourself together as you moved between them, the rhythm of the music driving you, driving them.

You could feel K’s hardness pressing against your stomach, his breath hot on your ear as he kept you locked against him. But Heeseung? He was the one making you lose control. His hands were everywhere now, on your thighs, your waist, your chest. He was pulling you back into him, his body molding against yours as he whispered,

“You like this, don’t you?” Heeseung murmured, now dragging his lips down the side of your neck. “Having both of us pressed up on you. Feeling our hands. Our cocks.”

Your knees went weak.

It was a game now. A dangerous, intoxicating game of power, of control, and you were the pawn caught in between them, unable to escape. The way K moved against you was like fire, hot and reckless, every inch of him demanding more, but it was Heeseung who had you completely under his spell. His hands never stopped moving, sliding up your back, pushing you closer to K, making you press harder against him.

You didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly your body was on the edge, and you couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on anything other than the sensation of their bodies on yours, K’s rough grip, Heeseung’s possessive hands, and the growing need inside you. The music pounded in your ears, but it was their bodies, their heat, that consumed you. You felt it, you were already soaked between your legs, your clothed core pulsing in need.

K’s lips brushed against your ear again, his voice a husky whisper. “You’re mine tonight,” he said, and there was something dark in his tone, something that made your heart race. “You know that, right?”

And just when you thought you couldn’t handle any more, Heeseung pulled you even closer, his lips now trailing down your neck as his hands roamed lower, squeezing your ass, pulling you harder into him. His breath was hot in your ear. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, low and steady. “You’re going to get everything you need. From both of us.”

Your body was on fire. Every inch of you was alive, and you couldn’t decide which touch you wanted more. The way K’s hands moved on your body, the way Heeseung’s lips whispered against your skin, it was too much. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe.

But one thing was certain: you were going to lose yourself in them tonight. And you didn’t care. You didn’t care who was in control, who was leading, who was following. All you cared about was feeling them, letting them have every inch of you.

The ride home was a blur of city lights and lingering touches.

You were nestled in the backseat between them, legs draped over K’s lap, your head resting on Heeseung’s shoulder. The alcohol had warmed your skin and softened your edges, but your mind was still clear. You were aware, of everything. Every glance. Every shift in tone. Every innocent touch that wasn’t really innocent.

By the time they got you inside, your heels were dangling from your fingers and your laugh was lazy and low. You were still tipsy, still happy about your party, but your mind was somewhere still on the dance floor, with the two men that were now walking behind you.

“C’mon, birthday girl,” Heeseung murmured, brushing his hand down your spine as he guided you toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you out of this tight little dress.”

You didn’t protest. Not even a little. You just let him walk you back, K trailing quietly behind with a small smirk on his face like he was already in on the plan. But you were a little gone to even care, you thought maybe he was just gonna say goodbye and leave.

But then, inside of the bedroom, he closed the door behind him.

Your knees weakened, and you glanced at Heeseung, but he just smiled, like telling you, trust me.

So you flopped onto the bed, dress riding up dangerously high on your thighs. Heeseung stood at the edge of the mattress, tilting his head down at you with that look, the one that always made your stomach drop.

“You comfy, baby?” he asked, voice smooth.

You hummed. “Mmm, kinda.”

Heeseung smiled, eyes flicking to K for a second, like they were on the same page of something you were unaware of, and you swallowed, confused for a second not really knowing what the hell was going on.

Heeseung’s voice slid you out of your thought.

“You look a little hot,” he said, fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “Tight clothes. Warm skin. Too many drinks.” He crouched beside the bed, brushing your hair back with practiced ease. “Let’s help you relax.”

You nodded, not really knowing what he meant. But you trusted him, so you bit your lip as he straigthened in front of you. Then his gaze met with K’s again. He grabbed your hand and made you stand up, your legs trembled — already — but he just chuckled, low, deep.

“Help her,” he said simply, voice thick with something unspoken.

You blinked, slowly turning your head toward K, who stepped forward, slow, measured, like he was approaching something fragile. His eyes met yours, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, barely remembered how to breathe.

“Is this ok?” He asked, like already knowing the answer.

You tried to talk, but you were unable to find your voice, so you just nodded, slowly. His hands reached for you, careful and steady, fingers grazing your shoulders as they slid under the straps of your dress.

You shivered at the first touch.

Your skin was on fire.

The pads of his thumbs were warm as they brushed your collarbones, dragging the straps down, inch by agonizing inch. You watched his hands move like you were outside your body, like this couldn’t possibly be happening. K, your boyfriend’s best friend, undressing you with your boyfriend’s permission, with his blessing.

The straps slipped down your arms and your dress followed, slowly peeled from your skin like a secret being unraveled. It pooled at your waist first, then slipped over your hips as K knelt in front of you, hands steady, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check if you were still okay.

You were.

You were buzzing.

The dress fell to the floor, soft fabric brushing your ankles, and you were left in your tiny black lace set, barely-there panties and a matching bra, delicate and sheer. The air felt different on your skin now, cold in contrast to the heat rolling off your body.

You were so exposed. And they were still fully dressed.

But you didn’t want to cover up.

K’s eyes dropped lower, trailing down your body. His breath caught slightly when his gaze hit your thighs, then your chest. Deep, lustful, sparkly eyes making you squirm, that gaze you knew so well now completely wrecked. His hands hovered, still close but not touching.

“So pretty.”

You flushed, teeth sinking into your lip.

Heeseung stood behind you now, hands massaging your shoulders gently.

“She likes hearing that,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Tell her again.”

K leaned down slightly, one hand resting on the mattress beside your thigh.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N,” he repeated, eyes flicking up to yours. “I always thought so.”

Your breath hitched. You were so aware of your body now, of the way your skin buzzed under their eyes, of how seen you felt.

Heeseung’s fingers threaded through your hair from behind, tilting your head so he could murmur against your jaw.

“She’s been thinking about this for a long time. Haven’t you, baby?”

You whimpered, nodding. There was no way to hide it now, there was no reason to do so, you were shaking, hot, for them. For both of them. K’s hands had settled on your thighs now, thumbs stroking circles into the soft flesh as he leaned in just a little closer, breathing in your scent, feeling the heat coming off your body in waves.

“Tell him,” Heeseung whispered. “Tell him how long you’ve wanted him to touch you like this.”

Your face burned. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. It took you a second—longer than it should’ve—but when you finally spoke, your voice was small and breathy and real.

“I… I think about it a lot,” you confessed. “More than I should.”

K exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath. His grip on your thighs tightened just slightly. He smirked as if he’d known this answer for so long, his fingers felt burning against your sensitive skin, anticipation clouding your mind.

“And you don’t have to think anymore,” Heeseung said, dragging his lips along your neck. “You’re getting everything you want tonight.”

Your hands reached out on instinct, one tangling in Heeseung’s shirt behind you, the other curling around K’s wrist in front. You didn’t know who to touch, who to hold onto. It didn’t matter. They were both here, and they weren’t going anywhere.

K leaned forward slowly, his hands gliding up your sides to rest just under your bra. He looked up at you again, one last time, asking permission without a word.

You nodded, biting your lip.

And he peeled it off of you, slow, steady, every inch of exposed skin kissed by the cool air, your nipples tightening the moment they hit the air.

Heeseung hummed behind you, one hand reaching around to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your sensitive skin while his other hand slid down your stomach. Your head was spinning, not from the alcohol, not anymore, but from the heat building between your legs, the tension coiling tight in your gut, the weight of two pairs of eyes worshiping you like you were something sacred.

You felt your body lean forward without thinking, reaching for K’s shoulder to steady yourself, just so you could feel something, anchor yourself. His hand immediately came to rest on your thigh, solid, grounding, dangerous.

Heeseung’s hands slipped lower, brushing your sides, curving in around your waist.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against your skin. “You like this?”

You nodded slowly.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you breathed, eyes flicking between both of them.

Heeseung kissed your shoulder.

“It is.”

K’s thumb brushed the inside of your thigh, just a whisper of a touch, but it made you jolt.

“You’re real,” K said softly, voice lower now. “And you’re perfect.”

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, your thighs twitching where his hand rested. You were already overwhelmed, heart pounding heart against your chest, hands shaky and clumsy because you didn’t know what to do.

Heeseung laughed, low and quiet.

“She doesn’t even know what to do with herself.”

“I think she’s just waiting for us to show her,” K murmured, not taking his eyes off you.

You whimpered.

“Lay back for us, baby,” Heeseung murmured.

Your legs felt like jelly, but you obeyed, your body already trained to respond to his voice. You sank slowly into the mattress, your skin prickling against the cool sheets. The room felt too warm and too cold at once, and you were still wearing your soaked panties while the rest of you lay bare, chest rising and falling as their eyes ate you alive.

K stayed at the foot of the bed, just watching, while Heeseung leaned over you, one knee pressing into the mattress beside your hip, his fingers brushing hair out of your face like he wasn’t seconds from ruining you.

“You’re so quiet, sweetheart,” he said with a teasing pout. “Nothing to say?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Just a whimper.

“Yeah,” K muttered, arms crossed now, head tilting. “She’s gone already, huh? We haven’t even touched her properly yet.”

Heeseung chuckled, and his hand slid down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your panties.

“We don’t even have to. She’s already ruined.”

You squirmed under their gaze, hips shifting, thighs pressing together to ease the aching pulse there. But Heeseung tsked, pressing your legs gently apart with one knee.

“Don’t be shy now,” he said. “You were all over us at the club. Remember that?”

“Grinding like a little slut,” K added. “Like she wanted both of us to take her right there on the floor.”

You whimpered, covering your face with your hands. Your skin felt like it was on fire. A wave of shame covered you, too aware, too conscious.

Heeseung clicked his tongue.

“None of that. Hands down.”

You obeyed instantly, blinking up at him with wide, glossy eyes. Your whole face was red, your vision hazy, your lips parted as you tried to look for the air that had left your lungs minutes ago.

“Good girl,” he cooed. Then, he glanced at K. “Come here. Help me with these.”

K stepped forward without hesitation, hooking his fingers into your panties at your hips and pulling them down agonizingly slow. Heeseung leaned back to give him room, watching your expression the whole time. You tried not to squirm. Tried not to breathe too loudly. But when the damp lace peeled away from your core, you couldn’t help the shaky little gasp that escaped your lips.

Your bare pussy was in full display in front of them, and you felt it, soaked, glistening, needy. Their eyes settled between your legs and you almost moaned, they looked like they wanted to devour you.

“Look at that,” K said softly, his voice almost reverent now. “She’s fucking dripping.”

“Messy girl,” Heeseung murmured. “Is that for me, baby? Or him?”

You didn’t know. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t answer. They were looking at you like you were edible, like they were deciding who would bite first. And you had to look away for a second, biting your lip, it was just too much.

“She doesn’t even know,” K smirked, dragging a knuckle slowly up the inside of your thigh, so close. “That’s adorable.”

You cried out, tiny and frustrated, hips bucking just slightly, but they didn’t give in. K’s hand pulled away again. Heeseung leaned down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then higher, then higher, until he was just under your breast, still not giving you enough.

Your skin felt electric. Too tight. Every nerve was screaming. You could feel the throb between your legs with every beat of your heart, hot, swollen, soaked. Your hands gripped the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but there was no relief. Only them.

“You want something, sweetheart?” Heeseung asked, feigning innocence.

You nodded desperately, biting your lip. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All you could do was feel, the aching void where their touch should be.

“Use your words,” K said from between your knees. “Come on. You were so brave before. You gonna go all shy on us now?”

You swallowed hard, chest heaving. You weren’t shy. You were ruined.

“I—I want…”

“What?” Heeseung purred, kissing the side of your breast now, his hand sliding lazily across your ribs, not even pretending to be in a hurry. “You want me to touch you? Or him?”

“Both,” you whispered, the word shaky and soaked with desperation. It was the only thing you could say. The only thing your brain could form. You needed them. Both of them. Everywhere.

They both stilled for a moment. Then smiled.

“Oh, baby,” Heeseung said, voice like a promise, “we’ll give you both. Just not yet.”

You wanted to scream. Your thighs clenched uselessly, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse. The air felt thick, heavy with sex and tension, and your body felt weightless, like you were floating just above yourself, trapped in a haze of arousal so sharp it hurt.

K leaned in again, lips brushing the inside of your thigh this time—just once—before pulling away. You sobbed out a breath, half a plea. A single kiss. His breath was hot, his mouth barely there, and then he was gone again.

“She’s so sensitive,” K muttered. “Bet one little lick would break her.”

“I know,” Heeseung grinned. “That’s why we’re not giving it to her yet.”

You whimpered, arching up, thighs shaking. Your whole body twitched. You couldn’t take much more of this. Your heart was racing, skin damp with sweat, muscles shaking. You were so close to something, but they kept you teetering, toes curled over the edge with no way to fall. You moned again, hips lifting off the bed in a futile attempt to chase K’s mouth, Heeseung’s hands, anything.

And Heeseung kissed your mouth, slow and deep, just to shut you up. Slow. Deep. Dominant. His tongue slid against yours, catching the little, broken moans slipping from your lips. He swallowed your sounds like they were his favorite thing. He kissed you like he owned you. And in that moment, you were his. Theirs.

Your thoughts had melted into static. Your whole body was shaking with need.

Then K’s fingers inched just a little closer, brushing over your folds, barely, and your back arched involuntarily.

“She’s leaking,” K murmured, sounding way too calm about it. “It’s fucking hot.”

Heeseung smiled, looking down at you like you were the most delicious thing he’d ever seen.

“You like his hands on you, baby?”

You couldn’t answer. Not with words. Just a desperate nod, lips parted, hips twitching.

K’s hand dragged lower again, this time letting his knuckles brush directly over your slit. Just one slow pass. The contact was still light, barely-there—but it had your whole body jolting like he’d shocked you.

“Shit,” K breathed, licking his lips. “She’s so wet.”

“She’s always this wet,” Heeseung said proudly, dipping his head to finally take your nipple into his mouth, hot and wet, his tongue flicking slow. You gasped, arching into his mouth, and that movement ground your hips up into K’s palm again.

He pressed down just a little this time. Just enough pressure to have your legs shaking.

“Such a good little toy, huh?” Heeseung mumbled around your nipple, his teeth scraping softly. “She just lays here and takes it.”

“She loves it,” K agreed, dragging two fingers up your slit now, slow and intentional, but still not pushing in, still not giving you what you were aching for. “So fucking needy.”

You whimpered, your fingers clutching at the sheets, legs falling further open like your body had given up on pretending it had any shame left. There was none. Not anymore.

K leaned down, breath ghosting against your core now, and his fingers dragged back up, this time pausing to roll over your clit once.

You cried out.

But instead of doing it again, he just smirked.

“Sensitive.”

“Baby’s close and we haven’t even fucked her yet,” Heeseung said, switching to your other breast, leaving the first one wet and flushed. “Think we should make her come like this?”

K hummed.

“No. Not yet.”

“Cruel,” Heeseung chuckled.

“She likes it,” K said, eyes on you again. “Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded desperately, tears pricking at your lashes now.

“I—I do.”

“Good girl.”

Heeseung lifted his head and kissed you again, hard, tongue exploring into your mouth, catching the tiny moans you couldn’t stop anymore. While he kissed you, K dipped two fingers down again, slowly sliding between your folds, parting you, but still not going inside. Just stroking the slickness, rubbing over your clit in lazy, cruel circles that made your thighs twitch and your hips jerk helplessly up into his hand.

He pulled away again just when you felt the edge rushing up, again.

“No,” you gasped. “Please—”

Your body wasn’t yours anymore. It was theirs. Your thighs pulled open, lips parted, mind fogged over so thickly you couldn’t remember your own name, just the way their hands moved, the heat of their mouths, their voices curling around you like silk and static.

“Look at her,” K said, somewhere between amused and amazed. “Fucking wrecked.”

Heeseung was sitting beside you now, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watched K kneel between your legs again, his fingers glistening with your arousal. They kept doing it. Kept breaking you.

“Touch her again,” Heeseung said softly. “Just like before.”

K obeyed, two fingers sliding up your folds with maddening slowness, stopping right before your entrance. He rubbed your clit in small, steady circles, too slow to satisfy, too perfect to ignore. It was excruciating. It was everything. You sobbed, the tension twisting tighter in your belly, so sharp it almost hurt. Every brush of his fingers felt like electricity, dancing through your nerves, tightening your muscles, building, building, and still—still—not enough.

“There it is,” Heeseung murmured, brushing the hair from your face, his thumb catching the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Poor baby. Thought we’d let you come already?”

You nodded desperately, lips trembling, throat too tight for words. A broken whine slipped out instead, pitiful and raw.

K leaned closer, breath fanning over your drenched heat.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” His voice was low and sinful, thick with amusement. “I can feel it.”

Your hips jerked up, chasing his mouth with desperation you couldn’t control. You needed more. Needed anything.

He chuckled.

Then he stopped.

You screamed, not from pain, not even from surprise, but from the soul-crushing frustration. It felt like your orgasm had been ripped from your body with both hands. Your back arched, hands clutching the sheets like lifelines, trying to force something to stay, to hold on, to push through. But it was gone. Again.

Heeseung caught your jaw gently, turning your face to his. “Shh, baby. Don’t cry. We’ll give it to you.”

“But you have to earn it,” K added from between your legs, his voice calm, unhurried, dark. “Beg.”

“I am—” you hiccupped, your breath stuttering. Your eyes were glassy, lashes sticky with tears. “I am begging.”

Heeseung tilted his head, lips brushing your cheek.

“Not properly.”

You whimpered, completely undone.

“Please, please let me come—I’ll do anything—please, I need it so bad, I c-can’t—”

You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded. Your voice cracked, thick with tears and lust and surrender. You weren’t playing anymore. You needed them. You were soaked, ruined, trembling, your core throbbing with every heartbeat, clenching around nothing. Your thoughts were gone, lost to the ache.

K pressed his fingers back to your clit, just for a second. You gasped, your whole body jolting like you’d been shocked. The edge slammed back into you so fast it made your head spin. But then—again—he pulled away.

You sobbed, body shaking harder now, mouth open and panting, chest rising in shallow breaths.

“Please,” you cried, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m yours—yours—just make me come, please—”

Heeseung groaned softly, and you could see the heat in his eyes. He loved this. Every broken syllable, every whimper, every drop of need you spilled for them.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, thumb brushing another tear from your cheek.

“She’s so fucking cute like this,” K said, dragging his nails lightly along your thigh. “Wrecked and begging.”

You couldn’t stop trembling. Your thighs were slick, trembling open and exposed. Your lips were swollen, aching. Your chest heaved with every breath, and there wasn’t a single thought left in your head. Only sensation. Only need.

“You think she’s ready?” K asked, dragging his fingers slowly down your stomach again, stopping just above where you were soaking the sheets.

Heeseung leaned in, kissed your jaw, your cheek, then finally your mouth, soft and filthy, tongue sliding against yours.

“She’s more than ready,” he whispered. “She’s dying for it.”

You nodded frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “Please—just let me—please—”

They watched you. Not touching. Letting you feel it, that raw, trembling need.

“You hear that, man?” K said, his tone full of that same wicked playfulness. “She’s begging.”

Heeseung smiled darkly. Then finally—finally—he lowered his hand and pressed his fingers to your clit, hard and fast and perfect.

You gasped, the pressure making you twitch, your hips jerking uncontrollably.

Then K’s tongue dragged a long, slow stroke up your entrance, licking up every drop you’d soaked the sheets with. You screamed, thighs closing around his head, hands clawing at the sheets as the pressure snapped back into place, coiling so tight in your belly you thought you’d explode. Heeseung’s fingers rubbed in tight, relentless circles, precise and brutal, every stroke sparking across your nerves like lightning. K’s tongue flattened against your entrance, licking into you deep and slow, before flicking up to swirl around your clit, fast, wet, hot.

And your body—your ruined, aching, hypersensitive body—couldn’t take it.

You broke.

The orgasm slammed into you without warning. Not a wave. Not a build. It was a detonation, a sudden, violent unraveling that ripped through every muscle, every nerve, every thought you had left. You screamed, loud, wrecked, raw, as your back arched clean off the bed, legs locking around K’s shoulders. Your vision blurred, went white at the edges, stars exploding behind your eyes as the climax consumed you completely. Every inch of your skin burned with it, your thighs shaking, your fingers digging into the sheets, your mouth open and gasping as sobs mixed with moans.

It didn’t stop.

Heeseung’s fingers kept working you through it, dragging it out until it hurt, until your body was twitching helplessly, until the pleasure spiraled so high it blurred into pain and back again. K moaned against you, tongue still tasting everything you gave him, still stroking the softest parts of you until your entire body felt like it was buzzing.

“Fuck,” Heeseung breathed, watching you come apart. “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanted.”

“She’s so loud,” K muttered, voice muffled between your thighs. “She came so fucking hard…”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering, body still convulsing in tiny aftershocks as your orgasm slowly, so slowly, began to fade.

Heeseung leaned over you again, brushing his lips against your cheek, your ear.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Took it so well.”

K finally pulled back, and your legs dropped open limply. You were soaked, trembling, boneless, your skin damp with sweat, your throat sore from crying out. You felt like you were floating, detached from your body, your chest rising and falling in rapid little gasps.

You were still trembling when they moved. Your body, spent from that first orgasm, had sunk halfway into the mattress, slick and flushed and utterly wrecked. And yet, somewhere in that dizzy, floating haze, you were still aching for more.

Your thighs twitched weakly. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts. Your eyes, half-lidded and glassy, blinked slowly as you watched Heeseung stand up at the edge of the bed.

He peeled off his shirt first, slowly, deliberately, dragging the fabric up his torso, exposing inch after inch of taut, golden skin. Defined lines of muscle rippled with the motion, his abs tightening as the shirt passed over them. His chest rose and fell evenly, a light sheen of sweat catching the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

You didn’t even realize your mouth had parted.

Then K stood too, pulling off his own shirt in a single motion, and you swore your lungs stopped working.

He was just as cut. Broad chest, sharp waist, shoulders so wide they made your throat dry. His skin was smooth and pale in the low light, collarbones carved, veins just starting to raise on his arms. And the way he looked at you, those sharp eyes dragging over your limp, naked body like he owned you, it made something inside you twist painfully.

“Oh, she’s drooling,” Heeseung said with a slow, cruel smirk. He reached down and cupped your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to him. “You like what you see, baby?”

You tried to answer, but your lips were dry, trembling. A soft, pathetic sound left you instead, half a whimper, half a moan.

“She can’t even talk,” K laughed darkly. “Already so gone, and we haven’t even started.”

Heeseung let go of your chin and reached for the waistband of his jeans, dragging them down over his hips, revealing thick thighs and the obvious bulge straining in his briefs. He stepped out of them slowly, giving you time to look, to take in every inch of him. When he got rid of his boxers, you lost it even though you’d seen him so many times before. He was so thick, so hard, so perfect. His cock was veiny, red tip glistening in precum. Your mouth watered, it had been days since you last tasted him, and you wanted him now.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away.

And when K followed suit, tugging his own pants down, you made a sound, soft and broken. You felt it in your core, in your throat, in the very center of your chest. Like you couldn’t hold it in. He was even more perfect than you’d imagined. His cock was just a little thicker than Heeseung’s, but so close in size, and so hard too, he stroked himself a few times and you clenched your thighs together again.

Their bodies were unreal, built, hard, warm, male in every way that made your thighs clench and your mouth go dry. Every shift of their muscles made you twitch, every shadow dipping into the contours of their torsos made your breath catch.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide, voice hoarse.

“She’s shaking,” Heeseung said, clearly enjoying every second of your unraveling. “And we haven’t even touched her again.”

K moved closer to the bed, dragging two fingers up your shin, slow and light.

“You ever seen anything like this before, sweetheart?” he asked, voice syrup-smooth and low. Same cockiness as always, but you didn’t care, he was so hot being confident.

You couldn’t answer. Your mind had gone static, short-circuited by the way their skin looked, by the sheer presence of them standing there, cocks hard and heavy, muscles carved like statues and eyes glued to you like prey.

Heeseung sat beside you again, this time fully naked, and cupped one of your breasts in his hand, thumb brushing over the pebbled nipple.

“You’re drooling,” he murmured again, more gently this time. “So fucking cute. You wanna touch us?”

You nodded, barely able to keep your head upright.

K leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Then you’re gonna let us take you. Again. And again. Until that pretty little head of yours forgets everything but us.”

Heeseung leaned close too, his hand still teasing your chest, his lips brushing your jaw. You closed your eyes, leaning at his touch.

“You’re going to be good with K, baby?” He asked as K crawled in the bed and kneeled in front of you, until his thick length was just a few inches away from your flushed face.

You swallowed, and he winked an eye at you, that same smirk in his lips. So you nodded, glancing at Heeseung, who now was grabbing your thighs, spreading you open again, face lowering between your legs and you trembled as his breath crashed with you skin because you were still so sensitive.

Heeseung talked against your skin again, hands brushing your thighs, and you squirmed.

“Suck his dick, baby. Just as good as you do with mine.”

You nodded again, slowly this time, eyes flicking from K’s face down to where he knelt in front of you, his expression unreadable but hungry. You could feel his gaze settle over every inch of you, heavy and hot, like he already knew what was about to happen and was savoring it.

Heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs more firmly, holding you open, holding you still. His breath ghosted over your skin and you twitched, still hypersensitive, still trembling from the last time they’d brought you to pieces.

Then, with shaky hands, you wrapped them around K’s length. You stroked him slowly, mostly because you weren’t in your state of mind right now, and he hissed between his teeth, you looked up at him, eyes watering, before stretching your neck just a bit, until your lips met with the tip of his cock. And you liked, slow, wet, dragging your tongue along his member, tasting him, and you almost moaned because — finally—, you’d been thinking about this for such a long time. One of his hands landed in your head, but he didn’t push, yet. You opened your mouth, wrapping your swollen lips around his tip, and you sucked, just a couple of times, salty precum on your tongue. Finally, you relaxed your jaw, he was thick, very thick, so it was hard for you to adjust, but you did anyways, taking him deep until he touched your throat, but you gagged around him, and breathless chuckle let his lips.

Between your legs, Heeseung raised an eyebrow, his fingers brushing your inner thighs, skin soaked because of your recent orgasm, and you twitched, sighing through your nose.

“C’mon, baby, that’s the best you can do? I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint him, mh? Take him deeper, cmon, choke around him.”

You pulled back, chest heaving as you caught your breath, glanced up at K and he was smirking, he raised his chin like telling you, commanding you, to take him deeper. So you sighed again, opening your mouth wide and he grabbed your hair tight before thrusting his hips forward, sliding inside of your mouth with one hard hit, cock all the way down your throat, and you suppressed a gag, tears falling down your cheeks.

“Fuck.” he hissed, not waiting anymore before starting to rock his hips, his thick cock bumping inside of your mouth, the hot flesh on your tongue, saliva falling from the corner of your lips “Such a warm, perfect litte mouth.”

Your throat burned, eyes watering as you adjusted to the rhythm he gave you, rough and unrelenting, like he’d waited forever for this moment. K’s grip in your hair was firm, keeping you steady as he moved, muttering curses under his breath that made your skin prickle with heat.

Your hands dug into the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but there was no escape from the sensation, his pace, his voice, the way Heeseung was still between your legs, watching. Always watching. But he didn’t stay still, no, with a mischievious smirk, he spat, right onto your pulsing core, and you flinched, gagging around K’s cock. You didn’t have time to protest, it was just too much, you were still sensitive, but he didn’t care, he licked long, slow, along your soaked folds, moaning against your pussy, nose brushing your swollen clit, and hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread for him. You whined around K’s length, shutting your eyes feeling your legs tremble.

“Look at her,” K groaned, tilting your face just slightly so Heeseung could see the tears on your cheeks, the dazed shine in your eyes. “She’s taking it so well. Choking on my dick like the dirty bitch she is.”

Heeseung made a sound low in his throat, fingers stroking your pussy, as he moved his tongue in messy circles, his warm tongue making you arch your back,

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, and your stomach flipped at the praise. He lifted his head, face all a mess of your fluids and his spit, and you rocked your hips looking for more pleasure, for more of his tongue against your pulsing pussy. Whining, mouth still full of his best friend’s cock “So sensitive.” Heeseung murmured, voice thick with something close to awe. “She can barely take it.”

“She’s doing fine,” K muttered, his tone rough. “She likes it. Don’t you, baby?”

You tried to nod, but even that felt too much, your body taut like a wire, nerves overstretched and begging for relief. You felt like you were floating, not entirely present, held there only by the heat of their voices and the ache curling low in your belly.

K then started to thrust his hips faster, rougher, deeper, and you moaned around him as your fingers reached for his thighs for balance, because it was just too much, you couldn’t think straigh, not when he was face fucking you this good, not when Heeseung was eating you out like an starved man. Every touch felt like lightning under your skin. You were trembling again, toes curling against the sheets, eyes glassy and unfocused. Your body was heavy with the weight of everything they’d given you—and everything they still held back.

“Fuck, that’s it. Cry around me like the little filthy slut you are.” K’s voice was rough, deep, bathed in lust, his jaw was clenched, his hand gripped tight in your hair, a vein popping from his neck, sweat falling along his forehead, his eyes dark, fixated on you, on your mouth, how you sucked him sloppy and messy.

“She loves her mouth full of a thick cock.” Heeseung chuckled — actually chuckled— against your pussy, wet sounds of his mouth eating you, and then he shoved two fingers between your folds, you cried out, pulling back from K’s cock as you sniffed.

“P-Please— Too much” you thighs were shaking, every beat of your racing heart matching the pulsings of your soaked pussy in Heeseung’s mouth, and he just ignored your pleas, curling his fingers inside of you as his tongue worked messy over your clit.

“You can take it, c’mon. You wanted it so bad before.”

You whimpered, and K grabbed your hair again and shoved himself inside of your mouth once again, you choked, more tears falling from your eyes as you took him so deep the head of his cock was crashing against the back of your throat. He groaned, letting his head fall backwards as his hips rolled onto your face, faster, rougher.

“You like being used, don’t you? You like when we make you feel small.” He thrusted into your mouth erratically, and you moaned again when Heeseung shook his head and eat you out so good, the knot in your lower belly already building again, and you squirmed, overwhelmed, your whole body aching.

“You’re gonna let him ruin your pretty face, baby? Let him cover you, c’mon, do it K, don’t let her waste a single drop.” Heeseung spat right on your clit and you actually tried to scream around K’s cock.

He didn’t wait anymore. His orgasm came with so much force, hips hitting your face tight as he groaned guttural, his cock twitching and throbbing inside of your mouth. He took it out, warm drops of creamy strands falling on your cheeks, your forehead, your mouth. And you took it, like the good girl you were, because you wanted him to know how much you loved his taste.

“You took me so well, you were born for this baby.” K whispered.

But Heeseung kept working on your pussy, mouth full of your fluids and licking fast and messily around your clit as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. So good, so skilled, so deep. And when he gently reached your g-spot, your body couldn’t take it anymore.

The tension snapped, and the world fell out from under you.

Your back arched off the bed, a cry torn from your lips, sharp and helpless. Everything burned—white-hot and blinding—like your body had forgotten how to exist outside of the pleasure. The wave crashed over you, pulling you under, and all you could do was hold on. Wet strands of fluids soaking the sheets, soaking Heeseung’s face, his hair, his arms, it was a mess and you were shaking and gasping for air.

Your heart pounded, your limbs shook, tears clung to your lashes, and through the haze, you felt Heeseung’s hands holding you down, anchoring you. Kissing your hips like you were something holy. Whispering things you couldn’t understand.

“Fuuuuck. That’s so fucking hot.” K’s chest moved up and down as his orgasm still pulsed in his body, and Heeseung circled your clit slow, like wanting to prolong yours, but it was too much, you were aching, overstimulated.

“You came so much for us baby, you soaked me.” He kissed your inner thighs, and you whined.

“T-Too much, it’s too much—”.

“Poor thing can’t tell if she’s begging us to stop or keep going.” K’s hand caressed your hair, and you closed your eyes. You felt Heeseung moving again, but your body was already failing you, unable to move.

You wanted them to keep going, you wanted them to use you until you couldn’t take it anymore. But your body felt already so weak, you couldn’t ever raise your head, your face still covered in K’s cum.

But then you felt him, Heeseung grabbed your waist, manhandling you without any problem because your body felt so light, and you didn’t protest, you let him flip you over, ass lifted as your knees threatened to break, but you just buried your face in the pillows, arching your back creating that curve you knew he loved so much.

“You said you could take it, didn’t you? You begged for it. What happened, sweetheart?” His tone was sweet, but you could almost hear the smirk in his face.

K just laid by your side, back against the head of the bed, you felt his warm fingers on your body, on your back, on your breasts, on your ass, and you glanced up to meet with his hard cock again, he was stroking himself as Heeseung knelt on the bed behind you, hands gripped tight to your hips, helping you keep balance because you were still trembling.

“Why don’t we show K how much fun do we have, mh? Can you take it, baby? You’re already so fucked, but i know you can. Let’s show him who this pussy belongs to.”

You couldn’t talk, you had already forgot every word in your brain, so you just hummed, weak, low, broken. Because even overstimulated, trembling, body already wrecked, you felt how you pussy clenched needy when Heeseung’s cock brushed your folds, and unconsciously rocked your hips towards him.

“There it is, my greedy little whore.”

And then he slammed into you, with one hard, deep thrust, and you screamed, feeling his thick length stretch your sensitive walls, your pussy aching but clenching around him so good.

Every inch of your body was drawn tight with heat, nerves frayed, mind hollowed out by everything they’d done to you. What they kept doing to you, Heeseung’s familiar and perfect cock inside of you, K’s fingers were slow, deliberate, dragging along your sides like he was memorizing the shape of you, while his other hand still moved lazily over his throbbing cock. He was watching you so closely. Watching the way you buckled, the way your breath hitched each time Heeseung moved behind you and crashed his hips with your ass.

And Heeseung, he was nothing but steady hands and low growls, fingers digging into your hips, holding you like he knew you’d fall apart without him. Like he wanted you to. You whimpered when you felt him press against you again, the heat of him thick and unforgiving. Your knees wobbled, the overstimulation building sharp in your spine. Everything was too much, and not enough.

“She’s gone,” K muttered, amused, dragging his thumb across your cheek. “Completely fucked out.”

“Still moving though,” Heeseung answered, voice low against your back. “Still chasing it. Greedy little thing. She’s clenching me so tight.”

Your breath hitched as Heeseung’s hands slid up your waist, grounding you just enough to keep you from floating away. You didn’t know how you were still upright, your arms had long since given out, and your thighs trembled beneath you, overstimulated and slick with heat. Every part of you was humming, nerves exposed like open wires.

And then Heeseung moved, rougher, fully fucking you now. Just enough to make you jolt forward with a gasp, the motion sparking through your spine like electricity, wet sounds of your skins crashing, loud moans leaving your lips and more tears falling down your face.

“F-Fuck!”

You clung to the sheets, chest heaving. K was still in front of you, stroking himself slow and lazy, gaze fixed on your face, your trembling lips, the dazed, glassy look in your eyes.

“She’s barely hanging on,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice thick with something close to awe.

Heeseung laughed under his breath behind you, fingers curling tighter into your hips.

“She loves it like this. Don’t you, baby?” His voice dipped, almost tender. “All dumb and dripping and so, so full.”

You couldn’t respond, not with words. Just a soft, broken whimper as your body arched back into his grip, your skin flushed and oversensitive. You felt like you were vibrating, like the whole world narrowed down to the slow drag of fingertips across your thighs, the press of heat behind you, the thick cock slamming into your g-spot over and over, the low rasp of their voices echoing through the haze. And then Heeseung’s fingers found your clit again, and you sobbed.

“You feel it?” Heeseung murmured, leaning over you, his chest against your back, lips brushing your shoulder. “How close you are again?”

You nodded, tears clinging to your lashes, and he hummed in approval.

“That’s it, princess,” K said from in front of you, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

And you did.

You let go. Let the pleasure crash over you like a wave, your body shuddering, breath catching, as you tipped over the edge again. Overwhelmed. Overworked. Completely undone in their hands. Your pussy clenched so tight around him and he started rocking his hips erratically, the sound so obscene, the image of K stroking himself in front of your face.

Heeseung didn’t hold back, he fucked into you one last time and came with a long, loud groan, the veins of his neck popping, his head thrown back, his fingers gripped so tight in your hips that it burned. He spilled inside of you, warm, familiar, so good. His cum filled your insides, and you whimpered when he pulled out just to see how it leaked between your folds.

Your body felt weightless, boneless. You collapsed against the sheets, chest pressed to the mattress, cheek turned to the side as your breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. You could still feel every pulse of your release echoing through you, your skin sensitive to even the faintest touch.

Heeseung leaned down, his lips ghosting over your ear as he smoothed a hand along your spine.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He kissed your temple, slow and sweet, like he hadn’t just completely ruined you.

You felt the mattress shift as he moved, making space. You tried to lift your head, to figure out what was happening, but you didn’t have to wait long.

K was there, his presence a wall of heat behind you, hands already settling on your hips. You trembled, overwhelmed and desperate all over again.

“She’s shaking,” he said softly, thumbs brushing circles into your skin. “She’s so warm.”

“She’ll take it,” Heeseung replied from beside you, fingers tangling in your hair again. “She always does. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded. Slowly. Willingly.

K leaned over you, one hand bracing beside your head, the other still stroking along your thigh. His mouth hovered near your ear, his breath making your skin pebble.

“Tell me if it’s too much”.

His voice was different now, low and rough, but gentler. And somehow, that made the anticipation even more unbearable. You felt everything, his touch, the shift of his weight behind you, the slow drag of his fingers down your spine, the tension in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second. You were already buzzing, already teetering on the edge again, and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

He flipped you over with so much ease too, as your body was literally floating at this point, and you saw his face, his beautiful face covered in sweat, his hair sticked to his forehead. You just smiled, but so softly, because even that movement was just too much for you. Then K grabbed your thighs, gently, but still tight, pushing them against your chest, spreading you open. You felt your sensitive and overstimulated pussy pulsing again, still leaking Heeseung’s seed. He watched it too, and just smirked.

“So fucking ruined.”

K looked down at you like you were something fragile and filthy all at once, something he wanted to break and treasure at the same time. His chest rose and fell, sheen of sweat catching the low light, and when he leaned forward, your breath caught.

He kissed you, his kiss was different from Heeseung’s. It was dirtier, more primal, needier, messier. Tongue and theeth and spit, and you took it all, moving your lips against his messily because you didn’t even know what your were doing. But his taste was so sweet, his lips so plush, and your pussy clenched again, needy, still.

Your legs were folded high, thighs trembling against your own chest, held there by his strong grip. You felt exposed—utterly undone, and yet so warm beneath his gaze. You could barely meet his eyes when he pulled back.

K’s hands were so big on your legs. Firm. Confident. But he wasn’t rushing. No, he was watching, taking in every inch of you, every tremor, every ragged breath.

“She’s a mess,” Heeseung said from the side, his voice filled with that same smug affection, his fingers tracing circles over your knee. “And she loves it.”

You couldn’t argue. You didn’t want to.

K leaned down, close enough that his breath fanned across your cheek.

“You ready?” he asked softly. “You want more?”

It was ridiculous to nod, your body was already undone, used, spent. But you did. Slowly. Desperately.

He shifted forward, and you braced yourself, your breath catching, hands curling into the sheets, your body thrumming with too much sensation, too much emotion. Every nerve was alive. Every thought was him. Every muscle in your body anticipated the next wave of heat, of pressure, of overwhelming pleasure.

And then he slid inside of you, and you grabbed his arms and digged your nails in his skin, because he was a little thicker than Heeseung, but it felt so good, he stretched your already used walls, and you moaned again, broken, weak. He let out a long groan, shutting his eyes and clenching his jaw, you could feel every vein inside of you.

“So fucking tight and perfect.” His voice was broken too, and he grabbed your hips before thrusting with a strong pace, his cock disappearing inside of your dripping walls, your fluids and Heeseung’s making it so sloppy, but so good.

“She’s that tight even after i used her. She’s fucking perfect.” Heeseung was laying besides you, hands caressing your head like telling you, i’m here.

K’s pace was relentless, but not cruel, just deep, steady, intentional. You couldn’t stop the noise that left you, somewhere between a sob and a moan, as your body rocked with every thrust. You felt so full, every inch of him dragging against your walls, already raw and overstimulated, and yet somehow still aching for more.

Your nails stayed dug into his arms, not even consciously, just gripping, clinging. Your body was fire and static, too much and not enough all at once.

K’s head dropped for a second, forehead pressing into yours as he groaned through gritted teeth.

“God, you feel unreal,” he muttered, his breath mixing with yours. “So warm. So fucking good.”

Your eyes fluttered, your vision blurring, not from tears, not really, just from being so far gone. It was all too much, but you didn’t want it to stop.

You felt Heeseung’s hand still in your hair, soft, grounding, thumb stroking your cheek. His voice was lower now, close to your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Let him feel what I get every night.”

You whimpered, a broken sound, your hips twitching helplessly beneath K’s hands. It was like your body didn’t know how to stop responding, your walls clenching around him like a desperate plea.

K growled low in his throat, hips stuttering for a second.

“She’s pulling me in, Heeseung,” he muttered, almost in disbelief. “She’s so—fuck—she’s milking me.”

You could barely process what they were saying. Everything blurred into heat and pressure and the stretch of him, the way he filled you like he belonged there.

Heeseung tilted your face toward him, kissing your cheek, then your mouth, gentle and filthy at the same time.

“You’re taking him so well. So fucking good for us.”

You tried to say thank you, or more, or maybe just please, but all that came out was a whimper as your body began to shake again, that unbearable, electric pull winding low in your stomach.

K’s pace shifted, growing rougher, not cruel, but urgent, like he was chasing something just as desperately as you were. Your thighs trembled against your chest, the angle making everything feel sharper, deeper. Every time he sank into you, it felt like the air was being stolen from your lungs.

You could feel your body giving out under the pleasure, legs shaking, hands slipping from his arms to the sheets beneath you as your strength began to fail, overwhelmed. Your voice cracked on a moan, high-pitched and broken, because it was too much. Heeseung’s hands came to hold yours, threading your fingers together like he knew. Like he needed to anchor you there, in the middle of it all.

K was watching your face now, eyes low and dark.

“She’s so gone,” he muttered, chest rising and falling fast. “Look at her. Just letting me use her.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, your mind was white noise, your skin buzzing. It was dizzying, this kind of pleasure, and it kept climbing and climbing.

Heeseung turned your face to his again, pressing another kiss to your mouth, slow and deep.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he whispered, voice like syrup. “Gonna let him make you fall apart for us?”

You whimpered, nodded, whimpered again. Your body was tightening, curling into itself with every thrust, every brush of K’s skin on yours. The pressure building was unbearable, like something divine pressing down on your spine, on your lungs, curling through your stomach like heat and static and hunger.

Then, without warning, it snapped.

Your body seized, a scream tearing from your throat as the climax ripped through you, stealing your breath and blinding your vision. Your walls clenched down around K hard enough to make him gasp, his grip on your thighs tightening like a vice.

You heard them both, soft groans, curses, something between awe and desperation, and then K followed, hips jerking once, twice, and then he groaned long and low as he lost control inside you. His seed filling you up, mixing with Heeseung’s, and you sobbed again, so full, so warm.

Your body stayed arched for a moment before collapsing completely, trembling and limp. Heeseung caught you, K cradled your legs, and you just breathed, fast and shallow, lips parted, every nerve still buzzing like it didn’t know how to stop.

They were quiet now, warm hands running across your skin like they were putting you back together.

Your body was still trembling faintly, every muscle loose with exhaustion, your skin sticky with sweat and everything else. The room had gone quiet now, no more panting breaths or choked cries, just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint rustling of sheets.

You felt like you were floating.

Not in that hot, frantic way from before, but in something softer. Slower. Your mind wasn’t spinning anymore, just drifting in the warmth of their touch.

Heeseung moved first. You didn’t even realize he’d slipped out of bed until you felt the edge of the mattress rise slightly. A moment later, the soft weight of a warm towel pressed gently between your legs. You winced a little, flinching from the sensitivity, but then you heard his voice, low, apologetic.

“Sorry, baby. I know you’re sensitive… I’ll be gentle.”

And he was. Every motion was careful, slow. Not clinical, not rushed. Just loving. He didn’t speak much as he cleaned you up, but his eyes never left your face, and his free hand kept stroking your thigh in slow, grounding circles. You realized he was watching you for signs, if you were okay, if you needed anything, if he needed to stop.

K shifted beside you, still catching his breath, but then he was pulling the comforter up around your shoulders, tucking it in gently, like you were something breakable. His hand brushed sweaty strands of hair off your face.

“You ok?” he murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You blinked slowly, and nodded.

They moved around you like gravity didn’t quite apply, touching you gently, reverently. Hands stroking your arms, your hips, your face. Heeseung kissed your shoulder. K pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“You did so good,” Heeseung whispered, climbing into bed beside you again. “So perfect.”

Your throat tightened at that, not from lust, but from something gentler. Something heavier. The praise hit differently now. After everything. You weren’t crying, but your chest ached in that familiar, post-release way. Too many emotions tangled up with the afterglow: love, trust, vulnerability, relief.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. Just reached out, weak fingers curling into Heeseung’s chest, anchoring yourself to him. He was warm. Solid. Safe.

K settled on your other side, his chest pressing to your back. His arm looped around your waist without hesitation, holding you gently but firmly, like he was making sure you knew you weren’t alone.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

You were. Only a little. Not from fear or discomfort, but from the come-down. From the sheer overwhelmingness of it all.

“I got you,” Heeseung murmured. “We got you.”

The words sank into you like warmth through your bones. You closed your eyes, breathing them in. You’d never felt so wrecked and so cherished at once, your body wrung out, your heart full.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

One minute, you were listening to their breathing, lulled by the rise and fall of their chests against yours, K warm and steady behind you, Heeseung’s heartbeat beneath your cheek, and the next, the weight of exhaustion pulled you under completely.

Your breathing evened out. Your lashes fluttered closed. You let go.

K noticed first.

He glanced down, the softest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he saw your lips slightly parted in sleep, your fingers still curled in Heeseung’s shirt. He smoothed a hand down your back one more time, then looked at Heeseung across you.

“I should go,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper. “She’ll wake up and… I don’t want things to be weird.”

Heeseung met his eyes. His fingers were still drawing lazy shapes on your bare shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, just as soft. “She didn’t want you to leave before. She won’t want you to leave now.”

K’s brow furrowed.

“Still, it’s her space—”

Heeseung almost laughed, he just fucked you and now he was overwhelmed by being the third wheel.

“You’re my best friend,” Heeseung interrupted gently. “And she… she cares about you too. Don’t overthink it.”

K hesitated. Then looked down at you again, all soft edges and slow breathing, your body tucked safely between theirs.

“You really think it’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t,” Heeseung said, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep any second.”

K rolled his eyes, but his body relaxed, and he let himself settle again, his arm still resting around your waist. He watched you for a bit longer, watched your lips twitch in sleep, your brows smooth, your chest rise and fall, then exhaled deeply.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Just for tonight.”

Heeseung didn’t answer. He just shifted closer, wrapping both arms around you from the front, brushing a kiss to your forehead. And without thinking much more of it, K pressed one to your temple from behind.

Then the room fell into silence again. Not awkward. Not tense.

Just quiet. Safe.

And somewhere in the middle of the night, your body found its way back into both of theirs—Heeseung’s chest at your front, K’s legs tangled with yours from behind—your heart beating steady between theirs.

The three of you, tucked together in the quietest kind of peace.

That he blackmailed you of taking he's cock or else your popularity became in vein, just like the your sport car etc if your grade's still not improved in few months in the 2nd semester, but the worst part is with look alike your idol Eunwoo, but he's attitude is nope but sex is good and make's you turned on from pleasure of he's big cock, just last time we're you're sucking he's cock on the public bathroom, Eunwoo is not fucking scared of being caught just like now, we're your mind is back from being penetrated by alike Eunwoo "hey y/n, don't forget you have training and you need to give your essay to our Proffesor" said Eunwoo before he countinued reading again. So you have no other choice of taking he's cock whole sending bite your lips, that's how big he is that it's almost not fit to your tight pink hole, even from the start we're Eunwoo's cock head is kissing your anal lip's, but almost a half hour finally Eunwoo cummed inside your hole, before he spoke "ok, i will finished your essay on tomorrow" said Eunwoo before he folded the book that he finished reading exactly after he cummed inside your hole but he continues to spoke "unfortunately we have a guise, i think he like to joined of filling your hole" Eunwoo continues of speaking. That you slightly turned around you see Librarian Jung Suk we're already finished wanking he's thick shaft from free show, "damn!!! i should not forget creating my essay when i have time, now my name is completely ruined about someone seeing me bouncing to a cock not you're the one that woman is moaning from your cock not you're moaning" said y/n to himself while sweating cold of being caught by one of the worst people that you know is the librarian Jung Suk. Just like Eunwoo it's a big news that popular name y/n is bouncing to a cock, but you surprised from he's requested of fucked your hole with he's big cock too, now you're fucked by the librarian Jung Suk sending him turned on Jung Suk penetrating your hole with he's thick shaft, so he ask for a blowjob and now having threesome with Eunwoo and Jung Suk in the library and luckily few students still inside the library, and most of the students are don't read the books in the area of having sex with Eunwoo and Jungsuk.

Now you're sucking Eunwoo's s cock while being penetrated by Jung Suk, that you forget the time that almost all people are gone, to go to their home and to eat their dinner, but you still having sex intercourse with nerd alike Eunwoo and Librarian Jung Suk, both fucking moaning from pleasure of your hot mouth and tight hole, before one spoke "ohh fuck keep your mouth inside my cock" said by Eunwoo who enjoying your hot mouth and your tounge swirling around to he's cock before licking your he's cock's head, while your hole is penetrated by Jung Suk the librarian. There they are, Eunwoo and Jung Suk fucking y/n's hole's "damn your mouth is fucking hot, i forget that you're doing a good job of blowjob when i'm teaching you the subjects that you don't understand, and bonus if projects that you can't handle by willing me to use your hole" said Eunwoo, but it's interupted by Jung Suk "you slay as a fox Eunwoo, that you use your knowledge to your advantage and use it to blackmailed this stupid jock" said Jung Suk still penetratin your hole with he's big cock, before he continues "maybe i lured him first to experience with this tight hole, fuck!!! this bitch hole is sucking my hole non-stop" said Jung Suk who moaning from pleasure of your boll. But the not rough sex session with them changed instantly, when Eunwoo start's mouthfucking y/n faster and hard "i'm about to cum and i want you to swallow it everything you stupid jock you are, you hear me? don't waste a single drop" y/n nod's like a puppy to Eunwoo's command "you command him like a tammed animal, not a beast that bite and killed you in one day" said Jung Suk who enjoying a jock like y/n is doing a command like nerd Eunwoo just he spoke you and do want he wants, but it's interupted again when Eunwoo spoke "fuck i'm gonna take everything you cumslut" Eunwoo bucks he's hips on y/n's mouth emptying all he's gooey load. Before Jung Suk cummed deep inside your hole and he's cum is mixed with Eunwoo's cum, you taught both satisfied even for Eunwoo cumming deep inside your mouth and hole, but nope cause he's laughing before biting your ear before spoke "do you think i satisfied, how about our new friend named Jung Suk, cause you're now moaning nonstop from being penetrated by Jung Suk and Eunwoo again in your hole, its means the stupid jock y/n being double penetrated by them, and that's the last you remembered before you collapse, and just like before seeing into unknown room that you see, both sorry of what happened and that's the day of deeper relationship with Eunwoo bonus with Jung Suk, not as stress reliever but either not open relationship.

......

Year's past we're it's 2024 we're your hole is being used with Eunwoo and Jungsuk as their onahole, that it's being seened by your parents so they both hired them to be your secretary and vice president of the company, and that's how you still being fucked by former nerd Eunwoo a.k.a Dongmin and librarian Jung Suk, in a hotel after of representing a project to a company that you will be merging with if the project is successful. And just like before Jung Suk get caught you taking Dongmin's cock, but not after Dongmin cummed deep inside your hole, we're Secretary Jung Suk arrived finished talking to the share holders and CEO of other company, before he turned it of and spoke "both of is fucking unfair just like before we're fucking y/n in one of the most public area in the school, even now you're the one the most satisfied Mr. President y/n hole" said Jung Suk in he's angry tone in he's voice. But Dongmin just stretch your hole with he's hand, showing that their are still space "what are you talking about, besides who's said you do be late, it's not fucking my fault it's your's, besides we can do a double penetrated Mr, President~" said Dongmin who penetratin your hole again, and that's the past until now you're being penetrated by Nerd Eunwoo and Librarian Jung Suk cause you need to work your ass off, cause of the deal with Nerd Eunwoo and catch the act with Librarian Jung Suk because of promise you need to work your ass.

James’ lips are on you before the door even closes behind you. Your hands are all over each other’s bodies while you make out with a strong passion, taking your clothes off in the process.

He’s dripping in sweat which you love. His skin is hot and slippery, and his hair clings to his neck. His pants drop to around his ankles, while you squeeze the outline of his erection with one hand, and use the other for stability as you jump up onto a table.

Your legs dangle down the side while you take your top off and he immediately cups your boob over your bra. You spread your knees wide and stick your hand in James’ underwear. Here, you guide the erection with your fingers, while he pushes your panties to the side with his.

You don’t even have time to get fully naked. You will, later tonight when you’re back in bed. For now, while riding all that adrenaline and excitement, you just want his cock inside you – just as badly as he wants to feel your pussy.

The head quickly does. You put an arm around his neck and moan when the erection parts your folds, sharing the space with his fingertips. You’re so wet, and he so horny and slippery from sweat, that it has no trouble getting in.

Your hands slide out from between your bodies when he pushes all the way. Yours rests on his hip and you pull, while he splits your thighs wide and intensively licks your throat.

You tilt your head far back and perk out your chest. To feel the nearly naked man in your arms and his hard cock inside you is so good. His hands run up and down your body, squeezing every part of you.

“Fuck you’re sexy,” he pants and begins to thrust.

“Just fuck me baby!” you moan and push harder on his ass. “Ohhh yeah, right there. Go deeper.”

“You’re such a slut,” James whispers and chuckles. You learned on day one that he was rough in bed and had a foul mouth.

“Yeah, I am,” you say and smile, then gasp when he pulls on you hard and thrusts forward real good. “I'm yours James.”

The erection proceeds to slip in and out at high speed. You nearly fall off the edge of the table as you want to feel him as close as possible to you. He spreads his legs slightly to find his footing, while you hold on to both him and the wooden surface on which you’re sitting, and bottles of skin care products rattle and shake.

The table begins to slam against the wall by which it stands. James’ sweat refuses to dry as you’re both suddenly engaged in a real workout. His pants and underwear around his feet stretch wide, and he eventually steps out of them so he can fuck you even better.

You lean back, your head bumping against the wall. He squeezes your breasts firmly and smirks at you, occasionally looking up to meet your lustful eyes while reaching down to pull your ass back in. The wild desire on his face turns you on.

“Ahh, fuck, your pussy is so good,” he grunts. A bottle falls down and rolls onto the floor.

“Fuck. Me. James!” you pant and your lips meet. “Yes— Yes— fuck me harder!”

His thrusts become more abrupt and intense. The ass is flexing each time it pushes in. You let your hand fall down his front and reach the shaft, feeling it with your fingers each time it goes in and out. You push the erection to one side to make it rub you in just the right spot, fighting the stretched seams of your panties.

“Ohh, holy fuck!” you exclaim.

“Mm-mm-mm-mm!” he grunts loudly.

“Not so deep,” you direct him, and he pulls on your ass while you lift it slightly to meet his groin, but steps back so the full length of the shaft can feel the lips of your pussy.

“You're my best fan,” he pants.

“Don’t stop!” you say. The head nearly falls out each time his cheeks relax, and the thick root stretches you wide open when they clench and your groins clap together.

His fingers dig into your skin hard. His face is twisted while you hold on to his shoulder and moan at the ceiling. Bottles fall, wood bumps repeatedly against the wall, four boys impatiently wait outside. And that’s when the table can't take anymore.

One of the legs breaks at the top, as the screws holding it to the flat top break out. Bottles roll off and you fall down, but James catches you in the very last moment.

At first you’re shocked and surprised, your heart jolting. Then you instinctively giggle, and James does too. He meets your eyes and pulls you in as you stand up. The solid cock abruptly falls out. Then you both turn and glance at the mess you’ve made.

“Leave it,” he says and kisses your lips. He's too horny to worry about it, and he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

With a hand on your back he gives you a gentle push, just a nudge. You turn away from him and take a few steps, then fall forward to land with your hands on the armrest of a couch.

A couple of hours ago, before the show, you and Martin sat on it talking and joking, the tall man making a playful case that James should share you. You chose to take it as a joke but deep down you know they all want you.

You played along, and if you thought James wouldn’t mind you would probably be onboard with the idea. But the cock you already have is plenty, constantly filling you up, and you know James wants your pussy to himself.

Much to the horny disappointment of his friends who are right outside, congratulating staff and soaking in the remaining cheers of the crowd, you belong to James and James alone. You can be a fan of them all, but only he gets to fuck you like this.

Now, when he shoves you against that couch and his cock takes aim behind you, you want nothing more than for him to keep going.

You close your eyes hard when he spreads his legs slightly and bends his knees. With a firm grip around your hip and a thumb pulling your panties aside so far they might break by the seam, he takes aim and the head finds its way back to you. He looks straight down and extends his pelvis, when the head is swallowed and your folds open wide for him once more.

“Mm!” you groan when his fingers on your hip squeeze too hard. He doesn’t lighten up, only pulls on you even harder.

The sex resumes and he lets go of the shaft. The panties slide back but the thick cock stops them. He strokes your rear and admires your back while you’re bent over the armrest. The couch quickly begins to glide abruptly back and forth on the floor, making little scratching noises.

“Ahh, fuck yeah!” he says and lets go of you. He lifts his arms and puts his hands behind his head, while grinning and clapping his groin against your cheeks.

That’s when time is up and the door opens. You look up, another sting of surprise piercing your heart, to see Juhoon standing there with a hand on the handle and a neutral expression on his face.

“Get out!” James shouts but doesn’t stop or change his position. Martin’s head appears behind Juhoon, high above the shorter one, a huge grin on his face.

“Sorry,” Juhoon mumbles and retreats. Martin grins wide and stretches his neck to see better, before the door is slammed shut.

You turn your head to find out how James have reacted. Your activities may not be a secret, but you're usually not interrupted like this.

He quickly lowers his arm and puts a hand on the back of your head, pushing you down with force. He pulls you in, bringing the couch back. His thrusts become faster and harder, clearly to make himself come so the others can finally get changed.

You let him plough into you from behind with a violent force. He leans forward, pushing your head into the cushions while his other hand glides up and down your side. His tongue returns to your neck and shoulder, and he licks you like he wants to devour you.

“Ohh yeah, you taste so good,” he says as if the interruption never happened.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you whimper and turn your head further to be able to breathe.

His fingers pull on your hair. His weight feels heavier and more powerful with each thrust. A hand finds your front to massage your boob and squeeze it.

“YES, OHH JAMES!” you suddenly scream. “YES, FUCK ME! FUCK IT FEELS SO GOOD!”

The man shoves his cock into your pussy with such a dominant force the couch begins to slide away from him again, your body with it. It makes him stand up straight and pull on you once more, making your upper half over the armrest pull the entire piece of furniture back with you.

The noise as the couch screeches across the floor and leaves a mark overpowers the last remaining cheers of the audience outside, as the arena is gradually emptied. And that’s when your idol is abruptly brought over the edge, and comes behind you so he can finally manage the adrenaline and relax.

His fingers dig into your skin so hard a mark is left there too. A bottle on the floor behind you rolls into James’ foot and he kicks it away. His throbbing cock erupts, and he pullls out of your pussy real fast.

Normally, on the table, you would have jumped down and kneeled, to take his cum on your tongue and in your mouth. Today, you’re stuck in this position when James grabs his erection and beats it so fast his hand slams repeatedly against your cheeks.

He unloads on them, spraying your ass and lower back as he calls out: “Ah-AHHH, FUCK yea-AAHH!”

He's grimacing excessively and suddenly throws himself forward. His lips return to your skin, and his soaking wet chest glides around on your back. His cock becomes squeezed against your rear as it’s emptied, and you can feel it pulsing when you twist your neck to make out.

James pants heavily and his body begins to relax behind you. His lips and hands become softer, and your boob and hip can use the break.

“I want you to fuck me like this every day,” you whisper and push him back as you attempt to stand up.

James chuckles at the remark, because except for the new position on the couch he already is. “I will babe,” he says and hugs you, while giving your boob one last squeeze.

He doesn't understand the true depth of your wishes, at least not in the moment. There will come a day when the touring ends and it's been on your mind lately.

Your bra has slipped off it and you quickly fix it as you get on your feet. You adjust your crooked panties while James goes to find his underwear by the destroyed table. There’s a hard, startling knock on the door, and he only barely manages to cover his cock before Martin barges in.

“Times up!” the tall man exclaims with a huge smirk. He leaves the door wide open and the others rush in behind him, while you’re still putting your shirt back on, cum soaking into the fabric.

They quickly begin to take off their sweaty clothes. None of them care there’s a girl in the room, they never do. James discreetly runs a hand over your ass, before you sit down on the couch with no pants on.

You look around the room all happy and satisfied, while the boys finally get to change. Everyone is talking and laughing, and no one comments on the sex they walked in on. This has become routine after all, that you and James fuck after every performance.

Tonight, you’ll go out to dinner together with the staff. In your room, you and James will be at it again, one more time before going to bed. Tomorrow, you’ll be on yet another flight.

The tour will eventually come to an end and you all have to return to reality. But not yet. In a couple of nights you’ll do all this again, on a different continent, as life as a groupie and friend with benefits to your idol continues.

“What the fuck happened here?” Martin suddenly exclaims. You turn around and see him towering shirtless over the mess you’ve made by the table.

“Mind your own business,” James says with a laugh and slaps the half-naked man on the shoulder in passing. You laugh too, and the boys all join in.

It's a pretty damn good life you're living.

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you never really thought about the way jaehyun looked at you sometimes, so soft and so wondering, like he was trying to memorize your face. you never thought about how careful jaehyun was with you, how he always made sure you cum first, how he held you after even though you'd never asked him to. you never thought about the fact that jaehyun had stopped hooking up with anyone else entirely, even though you'd never discussed exclusivity.

you didn't really think about any of it, because thinking about it would mean acknowledging that something had shifted, and you weren't ready for that yet; you liked what you had, and you didn't want to lose it.

jaehyun felt the same way.

at least, that's what he told himself every single day.

because the truth was, jaehyun had been in love with you for months, maybe longer, maybe since that first day in psych when you'd handed him a pen and smiled at him like you'd known him forever. he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it had happened, only that somewhere along the way, you'd stopped being just his friend and started being everything.

the friends with benefits thing had seemed like a good idea at the time; a way to be close to you, to touch you, to have you in a way that felt intimate without having to say the words he was terrified to speak. he'd thought it would satisfy something in him, this arrangement.

oh, he'd been so wrong.

it only made it worse — every single time jaehyun had you underneath him, every single time you moaned his name, every single time you looked at him with that hazy pleasure in your eyes, jaehyun fell a little deeper. and he couldn't say anything, because saying anything would ruin it. you'd made it clear from the start that this was casual. you'd said the words yourself, that night after the first time;

"i'm not looking for a relationship, jaehyun. i just want this. just us, like this."

so he'd nodded and said okay, and he'd locked his feelings away in a box and pretended they didn't exist.

but the box was getting full, and tonight, it was about to burst.

it was a friday night in late october, the kind of night where the air was crisp and the leaves were falling and everything felt a little bit electric.

you'd texted jaehyun around nine, a simple "you busy?" followed by the eggplant emoji simply because you were mature like that. jaehyun’s response came less than a minute later; "never for you. come over."

so here you were, standing outside his dorm room in a hoodie and sweatpants, your heart beating a little faster than it should. you knocked twice, the way you always did, and the door opened almost immediately.

jaehyun stood in the doorway, and god, he was so pretty it actually hurt; he was wearing gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a simple white t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your mouth water. his hair was dark and slightly damp, like he'd just showered, and his skin had that warm glow it always got after a shower.

his eyes found yours immediately, soft and familiar, and he smiled that small smile that made his dimples appear.

"hey," jaehyun said, stepping aside to let you in.

"hey," you said back, and you tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped when his hand brushed your lower back as you walked past him.

his dorm room was small and messy in the way all college dorms were messy; clothes draped over the desk chair, textbooks stacked on the floor, a half-empty cup of coffee on the nightstand. but it smelled like jaehyun — clean laundry and something woodsy, like strawberry or vanilla — and it felt safe in a way you couldn't explain.

jaehyun closed the door behind you and leaned against it, watching you with that quiet intensity he had.

he didn't say anything, just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. he always did that. it used to make you uncomfortable, but now you found it endearing.

"horrible week," you said by way of explanation, kicking off your shoes.

jaehyun nodded like he understood. he always understood.

"want to talk about it?"

you shook your head. "want to not think about it."

another nod, and then jaehyun pushed off the door and crossed the room toward you, and his hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. his touch was gentle, always gentle, like you were something so precious.

"okay," he said softly. "i can help with that."

and then jaehyun kissed you.

it started slow, the way it always did with jaehyun; his lips were so warm and so soft, moving against yours with a patience that drove you crazy. he never rushed, never pushed, he just kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

you let your hands find his waist, your fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, and you pulled him closer. jaehyun made a small sound against your mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and his lips were pink and he was looking at you like you'd hung the moon.

"bed," he said, and it wasn't a question.

you nodded, and jaehyun softly took your hand and led you across the room.

the dorm bed was pretty small, a standard twin xl that barely fit both of you, but you'd eventually made it work before and you'd make it work again.

jaehyun sat down first, pulling you into his lap so you were straddling his thighs. his hands settled on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of your sweatpants.

"you're so pretty," jaehyun murmured, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw, your neck, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. "you know that? you're so fucking pretty."

you laughed, breathless, and tangled your fingers in jaehyun’s damp dark hair.

"you're biased."

"i'm not." jaehyun’s teeth grazed your collarbone, gentle but teasing. "i have eyes. i can see."

he kissed down your throat, his lips dragging over your skin in a way that made your toes curl. his hands slid under the hem of your hoodie, palms flat against your stomach, and his fingers were warm and calloused and perfect.

"off," he said against your chest, tugging at the fabric.

you rapidly pulled your hoodie over your head and tossed it somewhere on the floor, and then jaehyun was looking at you — deeply observing — and his breath caught in a way that made your chest feel tight.

"god," he whispered, almost to himself. "look at you."

jaehyun’s soft hands slowly traced up your sides, over your ribs, his thumbs brushing across your nipples in a way that made you gasp. he watched your face as he did it, cataloging every single reaction, and there was something so hungry in his eyes that made your skin heat.

"hyunie," you breathed, and his name in your pretty mouth made him shiver.

"i know," jaehyun said. "i've got you."

he flipped you over, a move that was easy for him because he was strong and you were pliant and willing; your back hit the mattress, and he was above you, caging you in with his arms, his body a warm weight that pressed you into the sheets.

jaehyun kissed you again, deeper this time, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that had you arching your back up into him. his hips rolled down against yours, and you could feel him — hard and thick through his sweatpants — and the friction made you moan into his mouth.

"fuck," jaehyun muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you. "want to take my time with you tonight. is that okay?"

you simply nodded, because your voice had apparently stopped working.

jaehyun smiled, that soft, pretty, dimpled smile that made your heart do such stupid things, and then he started kissing his way down your body.

he started at your jaw, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. jaehyun lingered at your pulse point, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, and his teeth scraped gently over the spot before he sucked a mark there. it was not hard enough to bruise, just enough to feel, just enough to make you gasp.

"hyunie," you said, and your voice came out rough, broken.

"shh," he murmured against your collarbone. "let me."

jaehyun kissed across your chest, your sternum, your ribs. his lips found one of your nipples and he sucked it into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, and your hands flew to his hair, holding him there.

he chuckled, the vibration shooting straight to your dick, and he gave the other side the same attention, biting down just enough to make you whine.

"awh, so responsive," jaehyun said, pulling back to admire his work. your chest was completely flushed, your nipples wet and peaked, and the look in his eyes was pure reverence. "you always react so well for me."

you wanted to say something clever, something casual, but all that came out was a breathless;

"please."

"please what?" he asked, and he was already moving lower, dragging his lips down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your belly button in a way that made you squirm.

"please touch me," you said. "i need—"

"i know what you need," jaehyun said, and his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sweatpants. "lift up."

you did, and he pulled your pants and boxers down in one smooth movement, tossing them aside. the cool air hit your skin and you shivered, your dick twitching against your stomach, already leaking precum onto your skin.

jaehyun made a sound, low and appreciative, and his hand wrapped around the base of your cock. his fingers didn't quite touch — he was big, but you were also bigger than average — and the sight of his hand around you made your head spin.

"so pretty," jaehyun said again, and he meant your dick, which was a weird thing to say but it made you blush anyway. "all of you. every part."

he leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside of your cock, from base to tip, and your hips jerked off the bed. his free hand pressed you back down, holding you in place, and he did it again, slower this time, his tongue flat and warm.

"jaehyun, please—"

"i said i want to take my time," he reminded you, and his breath was hot against your skin. "be patient."

he took the head of your cock into his mouth, just the head, and sucked gently. the sensation was electric, shooting up your spine and making your toes curl. his tongue swirled around the tip, cleaning up the precum, and he moaned like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.

then jaehyun sank down.

your brain short-circuited; jaehyun's mouth was so hot and so wet and so perfect, and he knew exactly what he was doing. he took you deeper than you thought possible, his throat contracting around the head of your cock, and he looked up at you through his lashes with those big brown eyes and you almost came right there.

"oh f-fuck," you gasped, fisting the sheets. "fuckfuckfuck, hyunie, your mouth—"

he pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen and shiny, and smiled up at you. "you like that?"

"you know i do."

jaehyun laughed, soft and fond, and then his mouth was on you again, bobbing up and down in a rhythm that made your vision blur. his hand worked what his mouth couldn't reach, twisting and pumping in time with his sucks, and he was moaning around you like he was the one getting pleasured.

it was too much. it was exactly enough.

"hyunie, i'm gonna—" you warned, but he didn't pull off.

jaehyun just took you deeper, his nose pressing against your pelvis, and swallowed around you.

you cum with a cry, your back arching off the bed, your hands flying to jaehyun’s hair to hold him in place. he took it all, swallowing every single drop, and he didn't stop until you were trembling and oversensitive, pushing at his shoulders.

jaehyun pulled off you slowly, licking his lips in such a hot way, and crawled back up your body. he kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and bitter, and it should have been gross but it wasn't; it was jaehyun, and everything about him made you feel good.

"told you i wanted to take my time," jaehyun murmured against your lips. "we're not done yet."

you blinked up at him, still hazy from your orgasm.

"what?"

he smiled, that stupidly pretty smile, and rolled off the bed.

you watched as jaehyun dug through his nightstand drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. he tossed them onto the bed and then stripped off his shirt, and you forgot how to breathe for a second.

jaehyun was so beautiful. you'd known that since the day you met him, but seeing him like this — chest bare, skin golden in the lamplight, muscles moving under his skin — it never got old. jaehyun’s shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and there was a seductive light trail of hair leading from his navel down into his sweatpants.

he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow.

"what?"

"nothing," you said quickly. "you're just hot."

jaehyun’s cheeks flushed pink, which was ridiculous because he knew damn well he was hot. but jaehyun still ducked his head like he was shy, and the gesture made something warm bloom in your chest.

"shut up," he said, but he was smiling.

he stepped out of his sweatpants and boxers, and your mouth went dry. jaehyun's dick was big — long and thick, curving slightly upward, with a vein running along the side that you liked to trace with your tongue. it was already hard, flushed red at the tip, and it looked almost too big to fit inside you.

but it always fit, eventually.

jaehyun climbed back onto the bed, settling between your legs, and his hands naturally pushed your thighs apart. he looked at you — like he was memorizing every single inch of you for the first time — and his expression softened into something so tender it made your chest ache.

"you're sure?" jaehyun asked, because he always asked. "we don't have to—"

"jaehyun." you reached for him, pulling him down so his chest was pressed against yours. "i want this. i want you. okay?"

he nodded, his breath warm against your cheek.

"okay."

he kissed you again, softly and slowly, and you let yourself sink into it. jaehyun’s hands slid down your sides, over your hips, and one of them reached for the lube; you heard the click of the bottle opening, and then his long fingers were slick and cold against your inner thigh.

"warm it up first," you mumbled against jaehyun’s lips, and he softly laughed.

"bossy."

but he rubbed the lube between his fingers, warming it, and then his hand slipped between your legs.

jaehyun’s index finger circled your hole, teasing, not pushing in yet, but just getting you used to the sensation, the pressure. you breathed out slowly, relaxing into the mattress, and he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

"good?" he asked.

"good."

he pushed in.

just one finger, slow and careful, and you clenched around him instinctively. jaehyun waited patiently, not moving, letting you adjust, and his free hand was on your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"breathe," he reminded you. "you're okay. i've got you."

you breathed. the tension in your body released, and he pushed deeper, his finger sliding all the way in. he crooked it, searching, and when he found your prostate you saw stars.

"there," you gasped. "right there."

jaehyun smiled and did it again, rubbing small circles against that sweet little spot, and your back arched off the bed again. he added a second finger, stretching you open, and the burn was good — so freaking good — and you couldn't stop the sounds falling from your lips.

"hyunie, please, i'm ready, i need—"

"mmh, not yet," jaehyun said, and his voice was strained, like he was holding himself back. "i want to make sure you're stretched enough."

he added a third finger, and you cried out, your hands gripping jaehyun’s shoulders. the stretch was intense, almost too much, but he worked you open with patience and precision, his fingers curling and scissoring and pressing against your prostate every few strokes.

"so tight," he muttered, almost to himself. "so good for me. taking my fingers so well."

"hyunie," you whined, and you were past the point of shame now. "please fuck me. i need your cock. please."

something in his expression shifted, darkened. jaehyun’s eyes went hooded, his jaw tightened, and he pulled his fingers out slowly, making you whimper at the loss.

"since you asked so nicely," jaehyun said, and he reached for the condom.

but you stopped him, your hand closing around his wrist. he looked at you, confused.

"no condom," you said. "i want to feel you."

jaehyun’s eyes widened.

"are you sure? we've never—"

"i'm sure." you pulled him down, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i trust you, hyunie. i want all of you."

he stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, then he nodded, slow and serious, and set the condom aside.

"okay," jaehyun said softly. "okay."

he slicked himself up with lube, his hand pumping his cock a few times, and then he positioned himself at your entrance. the head of his dick pressed against your hole, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

"tell me if it's too much," jaehyun said, and his voice was rough. "tap my shoulder and i'll stop."

"i know. i trust you."

he pushed in.

just the tip at first, and even that was a lot.

jaehyun was big, and no matter how many times you did this, the first stretch was always intense. you gritted your teeth, focusing on breathing, on relaxing, on letting him in.

"you're doing so good," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. "so good for me. just a little more."

he pushed deeper, inch by inch, and your body opened up for him. the burn was there, sharp and sweet, but underneath it was pleasure, deep and overwhelming, and when he bottomed out you both let out a moan.

"f-fuck," jaehyun breathed, his eyes squeezed shut. "fuck, you feel—you're so—"

jaehyun couldn't finish the sentence, and you didn't need him to. you felt it too — the way he filled you completely, the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this, the way his heartbeat pounded against your chest.

"move," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please move."

he pulled out slowly, almost all the way, and then pushed back in. the drag of his cock against your walls was exquisite, and you cried out, your nails digging into his back.

jaehyun found a rhythm, slow and deep, and every thrust hit your prostate dead on; you were already sensitive from your first orgasm, and the pleasure was building fast, too fast, threatening to swallow you whole.

"hyunie," you gasped, your legs tightening even more around his waist. "h-hyunie, right there, don't stop—"

"i won't," he said, and his voice was wrecked. "i won't stop. i'll give you everything. anything you want."

jaehyun’s pace increased, his hips snapping against yours, and the sound of skin on skin filled the room. he was sweating now, his hair sticking to his forehead, and he was beautiful — he was so beautiful — and you couldn't look away from him.

he changed the angle slightly, and suddenly the pleasure was blinding. your second orgasm hit you without warning, your cock spurting cum onto your stomach, and you screamed his name as your body convulsed around him.

"oh god," jaehyun groaned, and his rhythm stuttered. "you're—you just cum—"

"keep going," you said, even though you were oversensitive, even though every nerve was on fire. "don't stop, hyunie, i want you to cum inside me."

his eyes went dark, and he started moving again, faster now, chasing his own release. his thrusts were rougher, less controlled, and the overstimulation was a knife edge between pleasure and pain that made you see the stars.

"so good," he was mumbling, his voice broken and frantic. "so good, so good, you're so—i can't—"

jaehyun’s hips stuttered, and you knew he was close. you clenched around him intentionally, and he let out a sound that was almost a sob.

"fuck—i love you."

the words fell out of jaehyun like they'd been waiting for years to escape, and his eyes went wide the second he said them, and his hips stopped moving entirely.

the room went silent.

you stared at him, your chest heaving, your mind struggling to process what you'd just heard. jaehyun stared back, panic rising in his eyes, his face pale beneath the flush of arousal.

"i—" jaehyun started, and then stopped.

his jaw worked silently, like he was trying to find the words to take it back, to explain it away, but there was no taking it back now; the words hung in the air between you, heavy and real, and everything shifted.

jaehyun pulled out slowly, carefully, and the loss of him made you feel hollow in more ways than one. he sat back on his heels, still hard, still glistening with lube and your own release, and he wouldn't look at you.

"jaehyun," you said, and your voice came out raw.

"don't," he said, and his voice cracked. "please don't. i didn't mean—i mean, i did mean it, but i wasn't supposed to say it. i know we said no feelings, i know this was supposed to be casual, i know you don't—" jaehyun pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and his shoulders shook. "fuck. i ruined it. i ruined everything."

you sat up slowly, your body aching and oversensitive, and you reached for him. your hand found jaehyun’s wrist, tugging his hands away from his face, and when he finally looked at you, his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"hyunie," you said softly. "how long?"

he blinked. "what?"

"how long have you felt this way?"

jaehyun was quiet for a long moment, and then, so quietly you almost didn't hear him;

"months. maybe longer. i don't know. it just—it happened. and i tried to ignore it, i really did, but every time we—" he gestured vaguely at the bed, at your bodies, at everything. "it just made it worse. being with you, touching you, having you like this and knowing i couldn't have you the way i really wanted—"

his voice broke, and he looked away again.

"i'm sorry," jaehyun whispered, and his voice was trembling. "i know this isn't what you signed up for. i know you don't feel the same way. and i swear, i never meant to make things weird. i just—i couldn't help it. i love you. and i hate that i love you because it hurts, but i can't stop."

your chest felt like it was caving in.

because here was the thing; you'd told yourself this was casual, you'd told yourself you didn't have feelings, that you just wanted sex, that jaehyun was a friend and nothing more. but somewhere along the way, maybe the same way it had happened for him, the lines had blurred.

you loved the way he smiled at you, soft and private, like you were the only person in the world. you loved the way he said your name, the way it sounded in his deep voice. you loved the way he held you after sex, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, even though you'd never asked him to. you loved the way he remembered things — your coffee order, the name of your childhood pet, the fact that you were scared of thunder.

you loved him. you'd been loving him for a while, probably, and you'd been too scared to admit it.

"jaehyun," you said again, and this time your voice was steady.

he flinched, bracing himself.

you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. his cheeks were wet now, tears spilling over despite his best efforts, and you wiped them away with your thumbs.

"i'm not mad," you said.

jaehyun froze. "what?"

"i'm not mad. i'm not weirded out. i'm not going anywhere."

his brow furrowed, confusion replacing the panic.

"but you said—we said—"

"i know what we said." you stroked his cheekbones, his jaw, the corners of his mouth. "and i meant it at the time. but things change, hyunie. people change. feelings change."

jaehyun’s breath caught. "are you saying—"

"i'm saying i love you too." the words felt terrifying and freeing all at once. "i don't know exactly when it happened, or how, but it did. and i was too scared to say anything because i didn't want to lose you either."

he stared at you, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

"you're not just saying that?"

"i'm not just saying that."

"you really—"

"yes, jaehyun. i really love you."

a sound escaped him, something between a laugh and a sob, and then he was kissing you.

it was desperate and messy and perfect, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you could barely breathe. you kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring everything you hadn't said into the press of your lips, the slide of your tongue.

when you finally broke apart, both of you were crying a little, and it was ridiculous and sappy and you didn't care.

"i love you," jaehyun said again, like he was testing the words out loud, letting them be real.

"i love you too," you said back, and it felt like coming home.

jaehyun laughed, wet and shaky, and pressed his forehead against yours. "so what now?"

you thought about it; you thought about the mess of cum on your stomach, the lube on the sheets, the fact that jaehyun was still hard and pressing against your thigh. you thought about the way your heart was pounding, the way his hands were trembling on your hips.

"now," you said slowly with a smile, "i think you should finish what you started."

jaehyun’s eyebrows shot up.

"you want to—after everything—"

"jaehyun." you kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. "i just told you i love you. and you're still hard. and i'm still kind of stretched open from before. and i really, really want to feel you cum inside me."

he groaned, his hips jerking against yours involuntarily.

"you're going to kill me."

"is that a yes?"

jaehyun kissed you hard, his tongue sliding against yours, and then he was pushing you back down onto the mattress.

this time was different; you could feel it in the way he touched you, slower and more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. jaehyun kissed down your body again, but this time he lingered, pressing his lips to your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. he kissed the marks he'd left earlier, soothing them with his warm tongue, and a new one appeared below your navel — a gentle bite that made you gasp.

"i love you," he murmured against your skin, and the words sent shivers down your spine. "i love your shoulders. i love your collarbones. i love the way you smell, like soap and something sweet. i love the sounds you make when i touch you."

"hyunie," you breathed, and your voice was thick with emotion.

he looked up at you, his eyes soft and glowing, and smiled.

"let me worship you, baby. please. let me show you how much i love you."

you nodded, because, well… you couldn't speak, and jaehyun went back to work.

he took his time with your cock, licking and sucking and kissing until you were writhing and begging. he didn't let you cum, though — he pulled back every time you got close, leaving you teetering on the edge.

"not yet," jaehyun said, and his voice was rough. "want you to cum when i'm inside you."

he flipped you over, onto your stomach, and you heard him slick himself up again. his hands spread your cheeks apart, and you felt his breath hot against your hole, and before you could process what was happening, his tongue was inside you.

"oh f-fuck," you loudly gasped, your face pressing into the pillow. "jaehyun—"

he hummed against you, the vibration making your toes curl, and his tongue worked you open, licking and sucking and teasing. his nose pressed against your skin, and he moaned like he was the one being pleasured.

"taste so good," he mumbled, and the words were muffled but you heard them anyway. "could do this forever."

he rimmed you until you were a trembling mess, your legs shaking, your hands fisting the sheets, then he pulled back, and you heard him spit — gross, but so hot — and then the head of his cock was pressing against your hole again.

"ready?" jaehyun asked.

"yes, god, yes, please—"

jaehyun pushed in, and this time there was no burn, and no resistance. your body welcomed him warmly, opened up for him, and jaehyun slid in all the way in one smooth movement that made you both cry out.

"fuck," jaehyun groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "you feel—i can't—"

"move," you begged. "please move, i need you to move."

and he did.

slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, and the drag of his huge cock against your walls was exquisite. jaehyun was hitting your prostate with every single thrust, and the pleasure was building, a slow burn that threatened to consume you entirely.

"harder," you said, pushing back against him. "please, harder."

jaehyun obliged, his pace increasing, his hips slapping against your ass. the sound was obscene, wet and loud, and you didn't care. you wanted more. you wanted everything.

"jaehyun," you moaned, and his name was a prayer on your lips. "right there, don't stop, i'm gonna—"

he reached around and wrapped his hand around your cock, pumping in time with his thrusts, and the double stimulation was too much. you cum with a scream, your body convulsing around him, and he swore loudly.

"so tight," jaehyun gasped, and his hips stuttered. "you're squeezing me so tight, i can't—"

"inside," you managed, your voice wrecked. "cum inside me. please, hyunie, i want to feel it."

jaehyun thrust into you three more times, deep and desperate, and then he was coming. you felt it — the pulse of jaehyun’s cock, the heat of his release filling you up — and he groaned your name like a benediction, collapsing onto your back.

you lay there for a long moment, both of you panting, sweaty, tangled together. his weight was heavy on top of you, but you didn't mind. you liked it. you liked the way he pressed you into the mattress, the way his breath was hot against your neck, the way his heart pounded against your spine.

"i love you," jaehyun whispered into your skin, and you felt the words more than you heard them.

"i love you too," you whispered back.

he pulled out slowly, and you both winced at the loss.

jaehyun rolled off you, onto his back, and he stared at the white ceiling. you turned your head to look at him, and he was smiling — a real smile, so wide and so bright and so full of joy it made your chest ache.

"that was—" he started.

"yeah," you agreed. "it was."

jaehyun laughed, soft and breathless, and turned onto his side to face you. his hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, and his eyes traced your face like he was seeing it for the first time.

"i can't believe you love me back," he said quietly. "i thought—i was so sure you didn't. i was so scared of losing you."

"you're not going to lose me," you said, covering his hand with yours. "i'm not going anywhere."

his eyes glistened again, but this time the tears were happy. he leaned in and kissed you, soft and slow and full of promise.

a little moment after that, jaehyun disappeared into his dorm’s bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth. he cleaned you up carefully, wiping the cum from your stomach and the lube from between your legs. his touch was so gentle, almost reverent, and jaehyun pressed kisses to your hip, your thigh, your knee as he worked.

"you did so good," jaehyun murmured softly. "you always do so good for me."

you were too tired to respond, floating in a haze of endorphins and contentment. he tossed the washcloth aside and pulled you into his arms, arranging you so your head was on his chest and his arms were wrapped around you.

"stay," jaehyun said, and it wasn't really a question. "please. stay the night."

"wasn't planning on leaving," you mumbled against his skin.

he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, and his fingers started tracing patterns on your back. you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, the steady beat of jaehyun’s heart.

"hey," he said after a while, his voice soft.

"hmm?"

"i meant it. everything i said."

you opened your eyes and tilted your head back to look at him. jaehyun’s face was fully open, vulnerable, all his walls down for the very first time.

"i know," you said. "me too."

he smiled, that small, dimpled smile that had made you fall for him in the first place, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"go to sleep," he said. "we can talk more in the morning."

"promise?"

"promise."

you closed your eyes again, and the last thing you felt before sleep took you was jaehyun's lips on your hair, soft and warm, and the quiet whisper of his voice in the dark.

"i love you. i love you. i love you."

you woke up the next morning to sunlight streaming through the blinds and jaehyun's arm draped across your waist.

for a small moment, you didn't remember.

you simply felt warm and comfortable and so safe, and you didn't want to move at all. but then the events of last night came flooding back — the sex, the confession, the crying, the sex again — and your eyes snapped open.

jaehyun was watching you.

his head was propped on his hand, elbow sunk into the pillow, and he was looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. there was hope there, and fear, and something soft and tender that made your heart skip.

"good morning," jaehyun said quietly.

"morning," you said back, your voice rough with sleep.

he was quiet for a moment, his thumb stroking back and forth across your hip. then he said, carefully;

"do you remember what you said last night?"

you did. of course you did. you remembered every single word, every single look, every single touch.

"i love you," you said, and the words came easier this time. "i love you, jaehyun. i meant it."

his whole body relaxed, like he'd been holding his breath and had finally been allowed to exhale. a smile spread across his pretty face, bright and relieved, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair.

"i love you too," jaehyun said, his voice muffled. "i love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"i know," you said, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on tight. "me too."

you lay there for a long time, just holding each other, not talking. the morning light shifted across the room, and somewhere outside, someone was playing music too loud. it was ordinary and perfect and exactly what you needed.

finally, jaehyun pulled back just enough to look at you. his hair was a complete mess, sticking up in every direction, and there were pillow creases on his cheek, and he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen in your entire life.

"sooo," jaehyun said, and there was a hint of his usual playfulness in his voice, "does this mean we're not friends with benefits anymore?"

you laughed, the sound surprising you.

"i think we graduated to something else, yeah."

"boyfriends?" he asked, and his eyes were hopeful.

"boyfriends," you agreed.

jaehyun kissed you, soft and sweet, and when he pulled back his smile was so wide it made his eyes crinkle.

"boyfriends," jaehyun said again, like he was trying it on for size. "yeah, i like that."

"me too."

he kissed you again, and then again, and then his hand started wandering south, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

"already?" you asked.

"i've been in love with you for months," jaehyun said, grinning against your neck. "i have a lot of time to make up for."

well, you couldn't argue with that.

jisung laughed darkly, his hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper, "choke on it, baby. that's all you're good for. my cocksleeve".

he pushed the bottom all the way down his lenght, making him deepthroat him and locking his thighs around his neck. the top moaned loud, throwing his head back in ecstasy, laughing, “running here like a bitch in heat just to get fucked and discarded, can't believe my dick is that good…" yn whimpered in agreement, the degradation sending sparks straight to his dick. he hollowed his cheeks, taking jisung to the base again, until his nose pressed against his pelvis, holding there as long as he could. the humiliation felt so good. he loved being jisung's dirty little secret, loved knowing he got the parts of jisung that his partner never saw.

after a few more brutal thrusts, jisung pulled out with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting yn's swollen lips to his glistening cock. he yanked yn up by the hair and shoved him face-down onto the bed, "ass up” jisung commanded, his voice rough with lust.

he slapped yn's ass hard, the sharp sound echoing as a red handprint appeared on his skin, yn obeyed instantly, arching his back deeply, his knees spreading wide, showing his twitching hole, anticipating for the fat cock to wreck him open.

jisung spat directly onto his hole, watching it drip down before pushing two long fingers inside without warning. he scissored them roughly, curling and stretching, feeling every inch of that warm inside. "so fucking loose already. you been playing with yourself all day thinking about me?” the top growled, "fingering this slutty hole while you moaned my name?... needy cockslut”.

" yes—fuck, jisung… please…" yn gasped into the pillow, his face and neck flushed and covered in sweat already, pushing back onto the fingers desperately. his voice was already wrecked, "i need you... only you". jisung added a third finger, pumping them fast and mean, hitting that spot that made yn see stars.

“only me?... good”, he pulled his fingers out, lined up his thick cock, and slammed in balls-deep in one powerful thrust.

yn cried out, his body jolting forward as jisung immediately started a punishing rhythm. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. jisung's big hands gripped yn's waist hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him back onto every thrust, "take it. take every fucking inch like the whore you are", jisung growled, anger laced on his words. leaning over yn's back, he bit down on his shoulder, then licked the mark.

one hand fisted yn's hair again, yanking his head back so jisung could growl right against his ear, "my partner could never handle me like this. they'd cry", the thrusts becoming rougher and rougher, “but you? you fucking live for it, cock-addicted bitch".

"i'm your dirty bitch—hngh…—fuck… jisung!" yn moaned brokenly, the tears of overwhelming pleasure rolling down his face. every deep thrust made his toes curl, jisung's veiny cock dragging perfectly against his prostate and his warm walls. he was so close already, his body shaking and cock leaking thick strings steadily onto the sheets, untouched.

jisung reached around and wrapped his long fingers around yn's dripping cock, stroking him fast and tight while never slowing his hips. "gonna cum already? then make a mess for me slut. show me how much you love being my side bitch” the degradation pushed yn over the edge.

he came with a loud, broken cry, spilling all over jisung's fist and the bed, his hole clenching rhythmically around the cock inside him. jisung groaned at the overwhelming tightness, fucking him through it with even harder and rougher thrusts until he buried himself deep and came hard, cock pulsing and flooding yn’s guts with his thick cum.

they stayed locked together for a long minute, jisung's chest pressed against yn's back, both breathing heavily.

jisung’s phone lit up again on the nightstand, he glanced at the messages, then chuckled softly, pressing lazy kisses along yn's neck and the fresh bite marks, "they can wait", he murmured, voice still thick.

he rolled his hips slowly, still half-hard inside yn, churning the cum inside, "i'm not done with my toy… turn over. i want to see your face while i use you again", yn's heart swelled with that twisted, lovesick feeling as he obeyed, his legs wrapping around jisung's waist.

he gazed up at him with pure infatuation, lips parted, ready for whatever jisung wanted to give—more degradation, more rough fucking, more of being his filthy secret.

jisung smirked down at him, sliding back in with a wet sound, "look at that face. so gone for me".

yn smiled, causing a tear to rolled down his closed eyes, his flushed face lit up as if the most romantic thing has been said by the man in front of him. no matter what jisung gave him, he would receive it gratefully, this was what love means for him …

jisung spoke one more time, ‘‘smiling’’ while looking at the wrecked man under him, wiping the tear with his rough hand.

"good boy".

By the time the creative team settled, the dorm already had that strained, in-between feeling it always got before something changed. Not quiet exactly — the refrigerator still hummed, someone’s charger still blinked beside the couch, a half-finished drink sat sweating onto the coffee table — but suspended. The kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful so much as expectant. The reality crew hadn’t set up anything dramatic for it. No heavy lighting, no slate, no loud countdown. Just one handheld camera drifting between faces and one fixed lens angled loosely from the corner of the living room to catch whatever happened naturally. A “reaction moment,” the producer had called it earlier. Something candid for the episode. The boys finding out the final debut concept in real time. The audience seeing their first impressions. Soft behind-the-scenes content, on paper. But nothing in the room felt soft.

The creative director came in first with her laptop tucked under one arm and a thick stack of reference printouts pressed to her chest. Behind her were the two people the managers had been whispering about all afternoon — the film director and his producer, both dressed too simply and too expensively, both carrying themselves with the kind of confidence that came from already being obeyed. They weren’t idol people. That was obvious immediately. They didn’t walk into the dorm looking around with polite curiosity or performative excitement. They looked at the space the way people look at a location they’re already trying to strip down in their heads. The reality cameraman shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so he could catch the boys’ faces as well as the newcomers, and the atmosphere tightened by another degree.

The creative director didn’t bother with any long preamble. She dropped the printouts across the coffee table and let some of them slide onto the floor, image over image, all of it building into one dense visual field before she even opened the laptop. The board wasn’t built from anything personal. No test shots. No old trainee photos. No mockups with their faces pasted in. It was all strangers. Anonymous bodies, anonymous nights, anonymous moments pulled from editorials, old camcorder stills, documentary fragments, low-resolution nightlife photography, fashion tears, surveillance-style screenshots, film references stripped down to color and texture and posture. And even before she started talking, the mood of it was immediate — hot, reckless, gaudy, humid in a way that made your skin feel sticky just looking at it. Motel balconies lit electric pink against a violet sky. Girls in bikinis and ski masks holding drinks and handguns like both were accessories. Boys with bleached hair and smeared glitter kneeling in a church pew under blue stained-glass light. Three teenagers in candy-colored balaclavas laughing in the backseat of a convertible with fistfuls of damp bills. A drained pool covered in graffiti, bodies sprawled at the bottom of it like they’d decided not to leave. Fluorescent convenience store aisles at 3 a.m., all the colors too bright and too dead at once. Wet pavement glowing under palm-tree shadows. Glitter mixed into sunburn. Cross necklaces resting against chlorine-slick skin. Gold grills. motel ice buckets. cheap champagne. fake innocence. real danger. Every image carried the same feeling — youth with too much freedom and no instinct for consequence, beauty made louder by bad decisions, criminality made seductive by heat and light.

The creative director opened the laptop and let a loop of silent reference clips play while she spoke — not polished footage, just fragments. Grainy phone video of girls dancing barefoot on a motel bed while someone off-screen counted cash. A strip mall parking lot filmed from inside a car, all sodium-orange light and liquor store neon. Four bodies waist-deep in a pool at night, faces blurred by bad focus, the water lit an impossible chemical blue. Someone in angel wings and a thong walking through a convenience store with a pink lighter and no expression. A prayer circle in a bathroom with glitter, smoke, and a pistol left on the sink beside a tube of lip gloss. It was tacky and gorgeous and vaguely criminal in the exact way it meant to be. The reality camera stayed on the boys as much as it stayed on the screen — catching whoever looked longest, whoever looked away first, whoever tried not to react and failed.

Then the creative director finally spoke, standing over the table with one hand braced on the edge of it, her voice calm in that unnerving way people get when they’re saying something they know has already been approved. “Okay,” she said. “So. What you’re reacting to right now is the final shape of the debut era. And before I get into what the visual language actually is, you need to understand where it came from.” She gestured slightly toward the man and woman behind her. “They came to the company. Not the other way around. They’d seen early material, heard the direction we were moving in, and what they wanted was very specific. They didn’t want a normal debut film. They didn’t want polished mythology, or a performance cut with pretty inserts, or a safe little cinematic intro that still behaves like idol content. They wanted to reproduce a feeling.”

She let that word sit there for a second before continuing, and when she did, she clicked to another board — this one even more saturated, more vulgar, more feverish. “Not reference it. Reproduce it. The sensation of one very particular kind of American excess. Youth in a place that feels fake and holy and rotten all at once. Tourist paradise turned criminal playground. Sunburnt skin, motel sheets, liquor-store neon, stolen money, pool water, strip-mall Christianity, petty violence, fake luxury, no sleep, too much heat. The feeling that everyone is too young for what they’re doing and too gone to care.” Another image flashed across the screen: a group of girls in white bikinis and pink ski masks pointing finger-guns at the camera while fireworks went off behind them. “The key isn’t nostalgia,” she said. “It’s intoxication. It’s delusion. It’s the seduction of bad choices when the whole world looks bright enough to forgive them.”

No one interrupted her. The fixed camera in the corner kept blinking red. The handheld one caught little things — someone’s jaw tightening, someone shifting in their seat, someone staring too hard at the board like maybe if they kept looking long enough it would become less real. The creative director continued anyway, talking over the quiet hum of the dorm the way people do when they’re used to being listened to. “The story structure is loose, but the emotional structure is not. It follows the logic of a spring-break fantasy mutating into something darker. Escape first. Then indulgence. Then reinvention. Then crime. Then devotion. Then collapse. It’s not linear in a clean way, but that arc is there under everything. The world starts out glittery and stupid and playful — all cheap paradise. Then it gets more feverish. More intimate. More dangerous. The party and the threat become the same thing. Freedom starts looking a lot like possession. The group stops reading like a team and starts reading like a closed system. A little cultish. A little doomed. Very watched.”

She crouched then, picking up one of the larger printouts from the floor and holding it up. It was a motel room washed in blue and pink neon, the kind of room that looked both filthy and cinematic, with cash scattered over the bedspread and someone’s tan legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. “This,” she said, “is the emotional baseline. Not literally this room. Not literally this styling. But this temperature. We want everything to feel humid, overlit, slightly unreal. Like you can smell chlorine and sugar and stale air-conditioning through the screen.” She reached for another — a church interior with girls in tiny pastel dresses and rhinestone cross necklaces standing under stained glass like they were about to either confess or commit a felony. “And this is the tension. Sacred and trashy at the same time. Seduction and innocence in the same frame. Sweetness with rot underneath it.” Then another — masked figures on scooters under boardwalk lights, carrying water guns and one real gun, the whole image so unserious it became threatening. “And this is the rhythm. Play acting sliding into something real.”

When she straightened, her tone sharpened just slightly, less descriptive now, more practical. “The director’s pitch to the company was that this group already contains the emotional material for this kind of world. Tension. Silence. Possessiveness. Performance. The feeling that everybody in the room wants something and no one is saying it directly. So instead of forcing a conventional concept onto you, we’re building a world that amplifies what’s already there.” She glanced at the filmmaker, then back at the group. “That’s why this isn’t being treated like a standard music video. It’s a visual album. A full visual narrative. The songs are chapters inside one long fever dream. We’re not centering clean choreography and then decorating around it. We’re centering atmosphere, fixation, and escalation.”

She clicked once more, and the board shifted into what looked more like structure than inspiration: annotated reference stills, color maps, fragments of wardrobe notes, texture studies, scribbled words in the margins — lacquered skin, fake tan, wet heat, boardwalk glitter, motel baptism, pink violence, devotional trash, Florida noir. “The opening section is all false freedom,” she said. “Sun, skin, money, reckless fun, this idea of youth as something endless and untouchable. The middle gets stranger — more saturated, more obsessive, more enclosed. Nights get longer. Rooms get smaller. The images get closer to the body. By the end, the world should feel almost hallucinatory. Like the fantasy got so intense it started eating itself.”

The producer behind her finally spoke then, but only briefly, her voice smoother, more pragmatic. “The company said yes because nobody else in your lane is doing this at debut. They don’t want safe. They don’t want expected. They want something that feels imported from another genre entirely and still commercially lethal.” She folded her arms. “So locations are being locked. Styling is being rebuilt. The shoot structure is being changed. And from this point on, every piece of behind-the-scenes content, every dorm beat, every practice clip, every reaction — all of it feeds this world.”

The creative director nodded and closed the laptop halfway, but didn’t shut it fully, as if the concept was still breathing on the screen between them. “That’s why the reality camera is here,” she said, glancing briefly toward the handheld operator, acknowledging the obvious without making it awkward. “This isn’t the official reveal film. This is your reaction material. The audience will eventually see pieces of this through you — how you take it in, how you respond to it, how the temperature in the room changes. That matters. Because the whole point is that this era doesn’t start on set. It starts here. In the dorm. Before the styling, before the locations, before the final choreography. It starts the second you understand what world you’re being asked to live in.”

She looked down at the spread of images one last time, then back up at them, and her next line came out quieter than the rest. “You’re not debuting into a fantasy of success,” she said. “You’re debuting into a fantasy of excess. There’s a difference. Success is clean. Excess is memorable.”

The dorm went still after that. Not silent exactly — the fixed camera still hummed softly, someone in the hallway shifted their weight, the air conditioner kicked on with a low mechanical breath — but still in the way a room gets when something irreversible has just been placed inside it. The moodboard remained scattered across the coffee table and floor like evidence from a future crime scene: hot pinks and chlorine blues and money and bodies and heat and religion and danger, all the colors of a paradise already starting to rot. And the reality camera kept recording, patient and unblinking, catching whatever happened next — not the concept itself, but the moment it settled into them.

The room held its breath for a beat too long after the creative director stopped speaking. The moodboard still glowed from the laptop screen, all that neon and chlorine and skin and sin bleeding color into the dim afternoon light of the dorm, and the printed references scattered across the coffee table and floor looked less like inspiration now and more like evidence — like someone had reached into a fever dream and pulled out handfuls of it and dropped them here, in the middle of their living room, between the half-finished drinks and the charger cables and the socks someone had kicked off near the couch. The silence wasn't empty. It was thick. Loaded. The kind of quiet that happens when people are processing something too large to respond to immediately and also very aware that they are being filmed while they do it.

Jay was the first to move, though move was generous — it was more of a shift, a slight straightening of his spine against the back of the couch, his jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking hard and didn't want anyone to know what direction the thought was going. His eyes stayed on the screen for another second, tracking over the images still rotating in the slow loop the creative director had left playing: a girl in a white bikini and a pink ski mask laughing with her head thrown back in a convertible, cash fanned out in her lap like a bouquet; a boy with smeared eyeliner kneeling in a fluorescent-lit bathroom with a rosary wrapped around his knuckles and a cigarette burning between his fingers; a motel pool at night so saturated with chemical blue light that the water looked radioactive, bodies floating in it face-up like saints or corpses. Jay blinked once, slowly, and then he smiled — not a real smile, not the kind that touched anything behind his eyes, but the kind he wore when he was being watched and needed to look like he was handling something well. The camera caught it. The camera caught everything.

"Okay," Jay said, his voice measured, almost too even, the tone of someone choosing every word like it was a chess move. "So this is… bigger than I expected." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, controlled, performative, the kind of exhale that said I'm impressed but also I'm not going to let you see how much this is affecting me. "I mean — when they said visual album, I thought, okay, maybe something more cinematic than usual, maybe some narrative elements, maybe a longer runtime. But this is — " He gestured loosely toward the coffee table, toward the spread of images still lying there in overlapping chaos: the angel wings dragging on wet concrete, the convenience store aisle lit like a crime scene, the church pews full of girls in rhinestone crosses and tiny dresses. "This is a whole world. This is a whole… thing." He nodded slowly, like he was convincing himself as much as the camera. "I respect it. I respect the ambition. It's not safe. It's not what anyone's going to expect from a debut. And that's — yeah. That's the point, I guess."

He didn't say more than that. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his posture deliberately relaxed in a way that didn't quite match the tension still visible in the line of his shoulders. The creative director watched him with the neutral expression of someone cataloging a response rather than reacting to it. The handheld camera drifted slightly, adjusting its angle, and landed next on Jake.

Jake hadn't moved much since the presentation started. He was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, one knee drawn up, his back against the base of the couch, and his face had gone through something during the moodboard reveal — a series of micro-expressions too fast and too layered to fully read, cycling through surprise and confusion and something darker, something that looked almost like recognition. Like he had seen pieces of this world before, maybe in his own head, maybe in the parts of himself he didn't show on camera, and now it was being projected in front of him in glossy high-resolution fragments and he didn't know whether to feel validated or exposed. His eyes kept returning to one image in particular — a motel room shot from above, the bedspread a mess of tangled limbs and crumpled cash and cheap gold jewelry, the light coming from a neon sign outside the window and staining everything the color of a bruise. He stared at it like he was trying to memorize it. Or maybe like he was trying to figure out why it made him feel something he didn't want to name.

When he realized the camera had shifted to him, he blinked and looked up, and the expression that crossed his face was a quick, almost involuntary rearrangement — the mask sliding back into place, the performance rebooting. He smiled, but it was a strange smile, caught somewhere between genuine excitement and something more complicated. "This is insane," he said, and his voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less controlled. "Like — in a good way. I think. I mean — " He laughed, short and sharp, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that looked almost nervous. "I've never seen a debut concept that looks like this. It's not pop. It's not — I don't know what it is. It's like a movie. It's like something you'd see at a film festival and then talk about for weeks because you couldn't figure out if it was genius or unhinged." He glanced toward the creative director, then back at the camera, his smile widening into something that was trying very hard to look confident. "I'm into it. I think. I mean — I'm definitely not going to forget it. That's for sure."

But there was something underneath the enthusiasm, something the camera might catch if the editor knew where to look. A flicker in his eyes when they passed over certain images — the bodies in the pool, the masks, the weapons styled like accessories. A tension in his jaw that didn't quite match the easy grin. Jake was good at performing comfort, but this had unsettled something in him, and it showed in the small places: the way his fingers kept tapping against his knee, the way his gaze kept drifting back to the moodboard like he couldn't help himself, the way his laugh came a half-second too late to be fully spontaneous. He was excited. But he was also something else. Something he wasn't going to say on camera.

Sunghoon hadn't spoken yet. He was sitting at the far end of the couch, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his posture so controlled it looked almost architectural. His face was the hardest to read — not because he was hiding something, but because he had long ago perfected the art of showing exactly as much as he wanted to show and nothing more. The moodboard played across his features like light on water: present, visible, but impossible to hold onto. He watched the images cycle through the loop without reacting visibly, his eyes tracking from frame to frame with the detached precision of someone studying technique rather than absorbing content. The handheld camera moved to him eventually, and he let it sit there for a moment before he acknowledged it, his gaze shifting from the screen to the lens with a slowness that felt deliberate.

"It's cohesive," he said finally, his voice flat and measured, giving nothing away. "That's the first thing I noticed. It's not just random references thrown together — there's a language to it. A grammar. The colors talk to each other. The textures repeat. The mood stays consistent even when the content shifts." He tilted his head slightly, a gesture so subtle it almost didn't register, but it carried something — a flicker of genuine interest beneath the careful neutrality. "It's rare to see a concept this… committed. Most debuts hedge their bets. They try to appeal to everyone, so they end up feeling like nothing. This feels like something. Whether it works or not — " He paused, and for a fraction of a second, something almost like a smile ghosted across his mouth before disappearing. "That's a different question. But it's not boring. It's not safe. And I respect that."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't offer personal feelings or performative enthusiasm. He just stated his observations like facts and let them sit there, clinical and precise. But the creative director was watching him with something like satisfaction, and the producer beside her made a small note on her phone. Sunghoon's response was exactly what they wanted from him — controlled, intelligent, subtly appreciative without being sycophantic. He was playing his role perfectly. And he knew it.

The room shifted then, the attention redirecting itself naturally, inevitably, toward the one person who hadn't spoken yet. The handheld camera panned slowly, almost reluctantly, toward the other end of the couch, where Y/n had been sitting quietly through the entire presentation. He was folded into himself in that way he had — knees drawn up slightly, shoulders curved inward, hands tucked between his thighs like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. His oversized hoodie swallowed most of his frame, the sleeves pulled down over his fingers, the neckline slipping off one shoulder in a way that looked accidental but somehow still drew the eye. His face was half-turned toward the laptop screen, and the glow from the moodboard painted his features in shifting colors — pink, blue, gold, pink again — making him look less like a person and more like a projection of one. He hadn't reacted visibly during any of it. Not the motel rooms or the pool water or the masks or the weapons or the religious imagery or the bodies tangled in cash and cheap silk. He just watched, quiet and still, his expression so neutral it was almost impossible to tell if he was processing or dissociating.

When the camera settled on him, he didn't immediately notice. His eyes were still on the screen, tracking the slow loop of images with something that might have been focus or might have been distance — it was hard to tell with him. The creative director said his name, gently, the way you might say someone's name to pull them back from somewhere far away, and Y/n blinked once before turning his head toward her. The movement was slow, almost liquid, and when his eyes finally met the camera lens, there was a beat of stillness so complete it felt like the room had stopped breathing. Then he smiled.

It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't performative or exaggerated or trying to sell anything. It was small and soft and a little uncertain, the kind of smile someone gives when they're not sure what's expected of them but they want to cooperate anyway. "It's beautiful," he said, and his voice came out quieter than the others, almost gentle, like he was talking about something fragile instead of a concept built on neon violence and chlorinated sin. "The colors especially. And the — the way it moves. Like it's all connected, even when the images are different. Like it's telling one story underneath all the separate pieces."

He paused, and his gaze drifted back toward the moodboard, toward a still of a girl in angel wings walking barefoot through a convenience store at 4 a.m., her face lit by the refrigerator case glow, her expression so blank it could have meant anything. "I don't know if I understand all of it yet," Y/n continued, his voice still soft, still careful. "But it feels… honest. In a strange way. Like it's not pretending to be something clean when it's not. Like it knows what it is and it's okay with that." He looked back at the camera, and there was something in his eyes then — not sadness exactly, but something adjacent to it. Something that had been there before the moodboard and would be there after. "I think that's rare. To be honest about what you are. Even if what you are is a little… yeah."

The room went quiet again after that. The creative director didn't push for more. She just let the moment sit, let the camera linger on Y/n's face for a beat longer than necessary, catching the way the neon light from the screen painted shadows under his eyes and made his skin look almost translucent. There was something about the way he had responded — the softness of it, the vulnerability of it — that felt different from the others. Jay had been strategic. Jake had been enthusiastic but guarded. Sunghoon had been analytical. But Y/n had been something else entirely. He had looked at a world built on excess and decay and recklessness and called it honest. He had seen the rot and found something like beauty in it. And the camera had caught all of it — the quiet voice, the uncertain smile, the eyes that seemed to hold more than they let out. The editor would use that footage. The company would use it. The audience would see a boy who looked at darkness and didn't flinch. And they would want to know why. They would want to know what he had seen before. What he had survived. What he was hiding behind that gentle, damaged stillness. They would want to save him. Or ruin him. Or both.

The creative director finally closed the laptop fully, the click of it cutting through the quiet like a period at the end of a sentence. The moodboard vanished, leaving only the printed references scattered across the table and floor — all that heat and neon and skin now static, frozen, no longer moving but still radiating something. "Okay," she said, her voice shifting back into practical mode. "That's the direction. That's the world. From here, we start building." 

The moment the cameras powered down, the room exhaled.

It was a subtle shift at first — the handheld operator lowering his equipment with a soft grunt, the fixed lens in the corner finally going dark, the red blinking light that had been a constant presence for weeks now suddenly absent. The creative director exchanged a few murmured words with the film director and producer, their conversation too low to catch, and then the three of them gathered their materials with the efficient movements of people who had already gotten what they came for. The PA who had spread the printed references across the floor began collecting them in reverse, stacking the images of motel pools and neon churches and masked people back into a neat pile that somehow looked less dangerous when it wasn't sprawling across their living space. Within twenty minutes, the crew had filtered out through the front door in ones and twos — a camera case here, a lighting rig there, polite nods and vague promises to send tomorrow's schedule by midnight. The managers lingered longest, exchanging glances with each other that carried the weight of conversations they weren't having in front of the group, and then they too disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint smell of equipment and the heavier smell of something having changed.

The dorm felt strange with everyone gone. Not empty exactly — they were still there, the four of them, arranged in roughly the same positions they'd held during the presentation — but hollow in a way that made the silence feel louder than it should have been. The coffee table still held the ghost of the moodboard: a few stray printouts the PA had missed, a ring of condensation from someone's glass sitting right on top of a photograph of a girl in a white bikini pressing a pastel-pink gun to her own temple like she was checking her reflection in it. The laptop was gone. The camera was gone. The performance was over. And now they were just four people sitting in a room that didn't feel like theirs anymore, trying to figure out what to say to each other without an audience.

Jay was the first to move. He let out a breath — not a sigh exactly, but something heavier, something that had been held in for too long — and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to wipe away the last hour. When his hands dropped, his expression was different than it had been on camera. Harder. More honest. The carefully measured enthusiasm was gone, replaced by something rawer, something that looked a lot like exhaustion mixed with irritation mixed with something else he probably couldn't name himself.

"So," he said, and his voice came out flat, stripped of the performance polish. "That was a lot."

No one responded immediately. The words just hung there, obvious and insufficient, filling the space without really addressing it. Jake shifted on the floor, drawing his other knee up so he was sitting cross-legged now, his back still against the base of the couch. Sunghoon remained perfectly still on his end of the sofa, one arm stretched along the back of it, his fingers drumming a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm against the fabric. Y/n hadn't moved at all since the cameras cut — still curled into himself, still half-swallowed by his hoodie, still looking at the space where the laptop had been like he could still see the images playing there.

Jake broke the silence next, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different too — less breathless, less enthusiastic, more like someone thinking out loud than someone trying to be quotable. "I don't know what I expected," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the stray printout still sitting on the coffee table, the one with the girl and the pink gun. "But it wasn't that. It wasn't — " He gestured vaguely, a frustrated motion that didn't land on anything specific. "I thought visual album meant like, aesthetic. Pretty shots. Maybe some narrative stuff to connect the tracks. But that was — " He stopped, searching for the word, not finding it. "That was a whole ideology. That was a whole worldview. That was — I don't know. It felt like they were showing us a religion and asking if we wanted to convert."

Jay snorted, a humorless sound. "They're not asking," he said. "That's the thing. Did you hear how she talked? 'The company said yes.' Past tense. 'Locations are being locked.' Present tense. 'Everything from now on feeds this world.' This isn't a pitch. This isn't a discussion. This is already happening. They came here to show us what we're going to be, not to ask if we wanted it."

The words landed with a weight that pressed the silence even flatter. Sunghoon's fingers stopped their drumming. Jake's jaw tightened. Y/n's gaze flickered, just slightly, like something had shifted behind his eyes.

"Did you notice," Sunghoon said quietly, and his voice was strange — not angry, not upset, just very, very controlled in a way that meant he was working hard to keep it that way, "how much of it was about bodies? Not faces. Bodies. Skin. Sweat. Tan lines. That's what the whole board was. Flesh in different contexts. Flesh in pools. Flesh in motel rooms. Flesh in churches. It wasn't about music. It wasn't even really about performance. It was about — " He paused, and the pause was long enough to feel intentional. "Consumption. It was about making something people want to consume. And the something is us."

Jake looked at him sharply. "You think it's exploitative."

"I think it's honest about being exploitative," Sunghoon corrected, his tone still flat. "Which is different. And maybe worse, because it means they know exactly what they're doing and they've decided it's worth it."

Jay laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh. It was the sound of something uncomfortable being forced out through teeth. "Of course they think it's worth it. We're the ones they're selling, not the ones they're buying. Our comfort isn't a factor. Our opinions aren't a factor. The only factor is whether the product moves, and they've clearly decided this is the packaging that makes it move."

"But do you like it?" Jake asked suddenly, turning to look at Jay directly. "Forget whether it's happening or not. Forget the business side. Just — as a thing. As an idea. As a world. Do you like it?"

Jay held his gaze for a long moment, and something complicated moved across his face — something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite excitement and wasn't quite disgust. "I don't know," he admitted finally, and the honesty of it seemed to cost him something. "Parts of it, maybe. The ambition. The fact that it doesn't look like anything else. The fact that it's going to make people uncomfortable, which means it's going to make people pay attention." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that looked almost vulnerable on him. "But I also feel like — like we're being fitted for costumes we didn't choose. Like someone else already decided what story we're telling and now we just have to figure out how to live inside it."

"Maybe that's always what this industry is," Jake said quietly. "Maybe we were always going to be wearing costumes we didn't choose. This is just a more honest costume. A more — obvious one."

"That doesn't make it better," Jay said.

"No," Jake agreed. "But it might make it easier. In a weird way. If you know what the game is, you can figure out how to play it."

Sunghoon made a soft sound, something between acknowledgment and disagreement. "Or you can figure out how to get played by it. Because the thing about a game this visible is that everyone can see you losing."

The conversation lapsed into another silence, this one heavier than the last. Outside, the light was starting to deepen toward evening, the gold going amber, the shadows in the dorm stretching longer. Someone should probably turn on a lamp. Someone should probably start thinking about dinner. Someone should probably say something normal to break the tension. But no one moved. They just sat there, four people in a room that didn't feel like home anymore, processing something too big to fit into small talk.

And then, very quietly, Y/n spoke.

He hadn't said anything since the cameras cut. He'd been so still and so silent that it would have been easy to forget he was there at all, folded into the corner of the couch like a piece of furniture that had always been there. But now his voice cut through the quiet, soft and certain in that strange way of his — not loud, not assertive, but somehow impossible to ignore.

"I like it."

The others turned to look at him. His eyes were still fixed on the coffee table, on the stray printout with the girl and the gun, but his expression wasn't blank anymore. There was something moving in it — something complicated and hard to read, like watching weather change through a window.

"I know that's not — I know it sounds strange," he continued, his voice still quiet, still careful, like he was picking his way through something fragile. "And I know it's about consumption. I know it's about making people want things. I know it's designed to be seductive in a way that's probably manipulative. But — " He paused, and his fingers curled tighter around the hem of his hoodie sleeve. "I don't think that makes it not beautiful. I think maybe that's what makes it beautiful. The honesty of it. The fact that it's not pretending to be innocent when it's not."

He looked up then, finally, and his eyes moved across the room — landing on Sunghoon first, then Jake, then Jay. His gaze was steady, but there was something underneath it that trembled very slightly, like a surface tension about to break.

"Everything in this industry is about consumption," he said. "Everything is about making people want things they can't have. About making them feel like they need something, and then selling it to them in pieces. This concept is just — more visible about it. More upfront. It's saying: this is what we are. This is what you're buying. And I think — " His voice wavered, just a little, before steadying again. "I think there's something almost kind about that. About not lying. About showing the machinery instead of hiding it."

Jake stared at him. "You think it's kind that they're going to dress us up like motel fantasies and film us like we're for sale?"

Y/n's mouth curved, just slightly — not quite a smile, but something in the family of one. "I think everything was always for sale," he said. "I think we were always the product. This is just — a more interesting packaging. A more honest one." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped even quieter, almost like he was talking to himself. "And I think — I think I'd rather be consumed by something beautiful than something boring. If I have to be consumed at all."

The room went still again. But it was a different kind of stillness now — charged with something, heated by something. Jake was staring at Y/n with an expression that couldn't decide if it was fascination or concern. Sunghoon's carefully neutral mask had cracked slightly, something sharper showing through. And Jay — Jay was looking at Y/n like he was seeing him for the first time. Like all the irritation and resentment and complicated want that had been building for weeks had suddenly found a new shape, a new target, a new reason to exist.

Because Y/n wasn't just accepting the concept. He was welcoming it. He was opening the door to the fantasy and stepping inside willingly, and he was doing it with those soft, damaged eyes that made everything he said sound like a confession instead of a statement.

And for the first time since the creative director had opened her laptop, Jay understood exactly why the company had built this whole world around him.

Not because Y/n was the most talented.

Not because he was the most beautiful — though he was, in that strange, unsettling way of his.

But because Y/n already knew what it felt like to be consumed. He'd been living inside that knowledge since before any of them met him. And instead of fighting it, he'd learned to find it beautiful.

That was the product.

That was what they were selling.

Not the costumes or the concept or the chlorine-blue motel pools.

And the worst part — the part Jay couldn't stop thinking about even as the conversation drifted toward safer topics and someone finally got up to turn on a light and order food — was that Jay wanted to buy it too. The Los Angeles night didn’t so much fall as it did settle like a heavy, smoggy blanket over the dorm. Outside the windows, the sky was that bruised, cinematic purple unique to the city—a hazy cocktail of exhaust, ocean salt, and the neon glare of Sunset Boulevard bleeding into the clouds. Somewhere distant, the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter blade cut through the air, and the low, constant hum of the 405 freeway sounded like a long, drawn-out sigh.

Inside, the room was thick with the residue of the day. The creative director had left, the film crew had packed up their rigs, and the managers had retreated to their own phones in the hallway, leaving the four of them alone in the half-light. 

Jay had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower hissing against the tiles like a demand for silence. Sunghoon had stood up minutes ago, his movements cold and architectural, not saying a word before he slipped into his room, his footsteps heavy with a frustration he wouldn't name. That left the two of them.

Y/n was still on the sofa, looking small against the cushions. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, the oversized hoodie he’d been wearing all day finally slipping down, revealing a shoulder that looked too pale, too smooth for the world he was about to enter. He wasn’t looking at the door or the cameras; he was just staring at a stray photo on the floor—a shot of a boy’s hands tied loosely with a silk ribbon.

He didn’t look upset by the concept. He didn't look like he wanted to fight the executives who had decided his "marketable sadness" was the perfect anchor for a visual album built on the aesthetics of a beautiful disaster. There was a terrifying, quiet compliance in the way he sat. He looked like something waiting to be picked up. Something waiting to be used.

"Y/n," Jake said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. "You should probably go to bed. Early call tomorrow."

Y/n blinked, his long, heavy lashes fluttering slowly. He turned his head toward Jake, and for a second, Jake felt that familiar, sickening lurch in his chest. It was the look—that wide-eyed, dazed innocence that wasn't a choice, but a condition. It wasn't that Y/n was trying to be provocative; it was that he was so fundamentally soft that it made the air around him feel violent. He looked like he’d been born to be broken, a blank, pretty canvas that practically begged for someone to leave a mark.

"Okay," Y/n whispered. He stood up, his movements languid and dazed, as if he were perpetually waking up from a dream. The hem of his hoodie brushed the middle of his thighs, and as he walked past Jake toward their shared room, he didn't look away. He didn't offer anything. He just… was. A soft, breathing target.

Jake followed a minute later, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs.

The bedroom was dark, save for the neon glow of the L.A. streetlights filtering through the cheap plastic blinds. The light cut across the room in sharp, horizontal slats, painting the bed in stripes of blue and shadow. Y/n was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the hoodie over his head.

He didn't rush. He didn't turn his back. He just lifted his arms, and the thin, white tank top underneath rode up, exposing the delicate, pale curve of his waist. When the hoodie dropped, he was just there—a vision of fragile bones and soft skin in the amber light. He looked like a secret. He looked like something you’d find in a motel room at 3:00 AM and never tell a soul about.

He crawled into the bed, his movements shy, tucking himself under the sheets with his back to Jake’s side. He didn't take up space. He didn't demand attention. He just settled into the mattress like he was waiting for the world to happen to him.

Jake stripped off his shirt, the air in the room feeling far too hot, far too small. He climbed into the other side, the springs creaking under his weight. The space between them was barely a foot, but it felt like a canyon filled with static. Jake could smell him—the laundry detergent provided by the company, a hint of something like vanilla, and the warmth of clean skin.

"Do you understand what they're going to do?" Jake asked, his voice low, vibrating in the narrow space between their pillows. He was staring at the back of Y/n’s head, at the dark, messy hair resting against the white linen. "The concept. The visual album. They're going to make you look.... They're going to make everyone want to touch you, Y/n."

Y/n shifted, turning slowly onto his side to face Jake. The amber light caught in the corner of his eye, making the perpetual glaze there look like unshed tears. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't smirking. He just looked up at Jake with that devastating, quiet honesty.

"I know," Y/n said. His voice was a soft, airy thing. "The creative director said I have a 'ruined' quality. She said people will want to save me."

Jake’s jaw tightened. "It’s not about saving you, Y/n. It’s about the look of it. It’s about making you a product. They want to sexualize that... that quiet thing you have. They want to turn your silence into an invitation."

Y/n didn't flinch. He didn't look offended or scared. He just lay there, his hands tucked under his cheek, looking at Jake with an innocence that was so profound it felt like a provocation. He didn't seem to understand that he should be angry. He didn't seem to have the instinct to protect himself.

"I don't mind," Y/n whispered, and the words felt like a physical blow to Jake’s chest. "If it helps the group. If it’s what I’m for... then it’s okay. 

Jake’s breath hitched. The heat in his stomach flared into something sharp and agonizing. It was the way Y/n said it—so calmly, so shyly, as if his own body were just a piece of equipment he was lending to the company. He wasn't "dirty." He wasn't offering himself like a pro. He was just a boy who had been told his value was in his fragility, and he had accepted it with a soft, heartbreaking "yes."

He was the ultimate prey. The kind of boy who would let you ruin him and then look at you with those same glassy eyes, wondering if he’d done a good job.

"You're too quiet," Jake breathed, his hand twitching under the covers. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Y/n’s wrist and feel how small it was. He wanted to tell him to run, to fight, to scream—but he also wanted to be the one the camera was filming when Y/n finally broke.

"I'm just tired," Y/n murmured, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. He didn't pull the covers up to hide his collarbones. He didn't turn away. He just lay there in the low llight, a soft, beautiful sacrifice waiting for the morning to come and the cameras to start rolling.

Jake realized then that the company wasn't just building a concept. They were building a cage. And Y/n was already inside it, sitting quietly in the center, waiting for someone to turn the key.

Jake looked at Y/n’s parted lips, at the soft pulse in his neck, and felt a wave of possessive, dark hunger that made him sick. If the world was going to watch Y/n be ruined, Jake was going to make sure he was the one standing closest.

Outside, the L.A. night hummed on, indifferent to the slow, quiet breaking of the boys in the room. Jake stared at the ceiling until the amber light turned to grey, his hand resting inches away from Y/n’s skin, never quite touching, but never letting go.

The neon digits on the microwave flickered 3:12 AM, casting a sharp, radioactive green glow across the kitchen tiles.

Y/n couldn't stay in the bedroom. The air there was too thick, saturated with the heavy, rhythmic sound of Jake’s breathing and the lingering scent of heat and unsaid things. He’d slipped out from under the duvet like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound as he padded down the hallway. He was dressed only in a thin, ribbed white tank top and those soft jersey shorts that sat dangerously low on his hip bones, the fabric clinging to his skin in the humid Los Angeles night. He didn't turn on a single light. He didn't need to. The city outside provided enough of a sickly, cinematic glow—a mixture of orange streetlights and the blue-white hum of the billboard across the street—to turn the living room into a landscape of silver and deep, bruised shadows.

He rounded the corner, intending to just sit by the window and watch the helicopters circle the Hollywood Hills, but he froze.

The living room wasn't empty. Sunghoon was there, sprawled back on the leather sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his throat arched so sharply the tendons were straining like wire. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clamped in a jagged line of pure, agonizing concentration. One hand was white-knuckled, gripping the armrest so hard the leather groaned, and the other was buried deep inside his unzipped sweatpants. He was moving with a frantic, rhythmic violence, his hips jerking up off the cushions in a desperate search for friction. The sound was the worst part—the wet, sliding friction of skin on skin and the hitching, broken gasps of a boy who had been pushed past his limit in the dark.

Y/n’s breath caught, a tiny, soft hitch that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open. They were dark, the pupils so blown they were almost entirely black, shimmering with a glazed, predatory intensity. He didn't stop. He didn't pull his hand away or scramble to cover himself. He just froze mid-stroke, his chest heaving, his cock thick and straining in his own grip, glistening with pre-cum in the dim city light. He stared at Y/n standing there—pale, soft-shouldered, and blinking with that dazed, ruined innocence that made Sunghoon’s stomach do a slow, sick flip. The amber light from the window caught the slope of Y/n’s waist where the tank top had ridden up, and the sight of that soft, vulnerable skin seemed to snap something inside Sunghoon’s head.

"Come here," Sunghoon rasped, his voice a jagged whisper that vibrated through the floorboards.

Y/n didn't move at first. He just stared at Sunghoon’s hand, at the way his fingers were curled around his own length, at the raw hunger in Sunghoon’s face. He felt that familiar, heavy compliance wash over him—that feeling that he was a thing meant to be used, a vessel meant to be filled. He padded across the floor, his knees feeling like water, until he was standing right at the edge of the couch, his bare thighs inches from Sunghoon’s spread legs.

"You've been walking around like this all night, haven't you?" Sunghoon whispered, his hand finally slowing, but not stopping. He reached out with his free hand and hooked a finger into the waistband of Y/n’s shorts, tugging him closer until Y/n’s stomach was brushing against Sunghoon’s hot, damp forehead. "Looking like this. Smelling like this. Driving us all fucking insane while you act like you don't even know what you're doing."

"I... I just couldn't sleep," Y/n whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon let out a low, bitter sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. He let go of his own cock, his hand coming up to wrap around Y/n’s wrist, pulling his hand down. His skin was burning, slick with his own sweat. He guided Y/n’s hand into the opening of his sweatpants, forcing Y/n’s fingers to curl around the hot, pulsing weight of him. Y/n flinched at the contact—at the sheer size of him, the way the skin felt like velvet over iron—but he didn't pull away. He never pulled away.

"Help me," Sunghoon breathed, his eyes locking onto Y/n’s with a terrifying, possessive focus. "Finish it. You're the one who put me here. You're the one I've been picturing in the dark. Now do it."

Y/n’s fingers trembled as they closed around Sunghoon’s cock. He was so shy, his movements tentative and dazed, which only seemed to drive Sunghoon deeper into a frenzy. Sunghoon’s hand stayed over Y/n’s, guiding the rhythm, forcing him to squeeze tighter, to move faster. Sunghoon’s head fell back again, a long, broken moan escaping his lips as he felt Y/n’s soft, cool palm sliding over his heat.

"God, Y/n," Sunghoon choked out, his hips beginning to roll, thrusting up into Y/n’s hand. "You're so soft. You're so fucking soft. I want to ruin you. I want to mark every inch of you so the cameras can't see anything but me."

He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the back of Y/n’s neck and pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. He didn't kiss him; he just breathed Y/n’s air, his eyes searching Y/n’s dazed, glassy ones. He wanted to see the exact moment Y/n realized what he was doing. He wanted to see the corruption of that innocence in real-time.

"Faster," Sunghoon commanded, his voice a low growl of command.

Y/n obeyed, his hand moving in a frantic, sliding rhythm that made Sunghoon’s body go taut as a bowstring. The leather of the couch creaked under them, the only sound in the room besides their ragged breathing. Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of his throat as he felt the climax beginning to roar up through his spine.

"Don't look away," Sunghoon hissed, his eyes wide and dark. "Look at me, whore. Watch what you do to me."

With a final, violent thrust of his hips, Sunghoon’s body jerked, his entire frame shuddering as he came, thick and hot, over his own stomach and Y/n’s trembling hand. He let out a long, wrecked sound that was almost a sob, his forehead dropping onto Y/n’s shoulder as the aftershocks racked him. He stayed like that for a long time, his breath hot against Y/n’s skin, his hand still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, refusing to let him move.

The city glowed outside, indifferent and bright, but inside the dark living room, the air was heavy with the scent of sex. Sunghoon didn't let go. He just pulled Y/n closer into the mess, his heart hammering against Y/n’s chest, silently claiming the softness he had just used to break himself.

The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the smell of sweat and the sharp, cloying scent of Sunghoon’s cum. Outside, a helicopter’s spotlight swept briefly across the ceiling, a pale blade of light that illuminated the mess on Sunghoon’s stomach and the way Y/n’s hand was still trembling, slick and glistening in the dark.

Sunghoon didn't move to clean himself. He stayed slumped back against the leather, his chest heaving as he fought to bring his breathing under control. His hand was still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, his fingers buried in the dark, messy curls, keeping him close. The predatory glaze hadn't left Sunghoon’s eyes; if anything, the climax had only made him look more territorial, more consumed by the soft, dazed boy standing between his knees. He looked at Y/n—at the way he stood there, chest heaving, his mouth slightly parted in a silent, confused exhale—and felt a fresh wave of possessive heat.

“Look at it,” Sunghoon rasped, his voice low and jagged, barely a whisper meant for the space between them. He nudged Y/n’s hand, the one coated in the hot, sticky evidence of his climax. “Look at what you made me do.”

Y/n’s gaze dropped. He looked down at the mess on Sunghoon’s skin, then back up at Sunghoon’s face. He didn't look disgusted. He didn't look like he wanted to run. He just looked dazed, his eyes glassy and wide, that terrifying innocence making him look like he was waiting for the next instruction. He was so pliable, so ready to be whatever Sunghoon needed him to be in the dark.

Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, pulling him down an inch closer. “You’re so good at taking care of me, aren't you? So quiet. So shy.” Sunghoon’s thumb traced the line of Y/n’s jaw, his eyes dropping to Y/n’s mouth. A dark, cruel thought flickered behind his eyes—a need to see just how far this compliance went, to see if he could truly stain the purity that everyone else in the agency was so obsessed with.

“Don’t let it go to waste,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, commanding edge. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching Y/n’s. “Be a good bitch… Lick it. Lick it all clean, Y/n. Every drop.”

Y/n’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the wetness on Sunghoon’s stomach, then back at those dark, demanding eyes. He felt the weight of Sunghoon’s hand on his neck, the silent pressure of the Los Angeles night pressing in on them. He was a boy born to be ruined, and Sunghoon was offering him the chance to start.

Slowly, Y/n sank to his knees between Sunghoon’s spread legs. His movements were hesitant, shy, his bare knees meeting the cool floor with a soft thud. He didn't look away from Sunghoon’s face as he leaned in. Sunghoon let out a low, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Y/n’s hair as he watched the boy’s head dip.

When Y/n’s tongue finally met Sunghoon’s skin, it was soft and tentative, but the effect was electric. Sunghoon’s eyes squeezed shut, a broken, guttural groan escaping his throat as he felt the warm, wet heat of Y/n’s mouth against his stomach. He tasted like salt and sweat and the raw, heavy reality of what they were doing in the dark while the others slept.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon choked out, his hand in Y/n’s hair guiding him, pushing him to be thorough. “Get all of it. Don't leave a trace.”

He watched with a sick, possessive fascination as Y/n obeyed, his head moving in the silver city light, his dazed innocence being consumed by the very act of cleaning Sunghoon’s filth. It was the most beautiful thing Sunghoon had ever seen—the corruption of a boy who didn't even know how to fight back.

By the time Y/n sat back on his heels, his lips were damp and his eyes were wider than ever, looking up at Sunghoon with a terrifyingly pure devotion. Sunghoon reached out, cupping Y/n’s face with both hands, his thumbs dragging over Y/n’s wet lips.

“Good boy,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of hunger. “You’re mine now. Do you hear me? Before the cameras, before the fans... you’re mine.”

Y/n just nodded, a soft, dazed movement, letting Sunghoon claim him in the dark living room, the sirens of Sunset Boulevard wailing in the distance like a choir for the ruined. The air in the living room was stagnant, smelling of salt and the heavy, humid residue of what had just happened. Y/n stayed on his knees for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged hitches. The city light caught the dampness on his lower lip, making him look like something fragile that had been caught in a storm. He didn't move to wipe his mouth. He didn't pull away from the heat radiating off Sunghoon’s thighs. He just looked up, his eyes glassy and wide, searching Sunghoon’s face with a devastating, quiet sincerity.

"Are you satisfied?" Y/n whispered.

The question was so soft, so devoid of any edge or irony, that it made Sunghoon’s pulse jump. It wasn't the question of a lover; it was the question of a thing that had been used and wanted to know if it had performed its function. It was the purest form of the ruin Sunghoon was so obsessed with—the idea that Y/n could be completely debased and still look at him with that same dazed, angelic devotion.

Sunghoon’s hand, still tangled in the dark curls at the nape of Y/n’s neck, softened. He looked down at the boy at his feet—this soft, pale creature who had just licked him clean in the dark—and felt a wave of protectiveness so sharp it bordered on violent. He wanted to keep him here. He wanted to hide him from the cameras, from Jake, from the world that was about to try and take pieces of him.

He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Y/n’s face. Instead of the rough command of before, Sunghoon reached out with his other hand and gently tilted Y/n’s chin up. He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s forehead, then shifted, his lips ghosting over Y/n’s closed eyelids before finally landing on his mouth.

It wasn't a deep kiss. It was short, soft, and tasted of salt, but it carried the weight of a brand. It was the kind of kiss you gave something you’d finally admitted you owned.

"Yes," Sunghoon murmured against Y/n’s lips, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I'm satisfied."

He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n’s dazed eyes, his thumb tracing the soft line of his jaw. Sunghoon’s expression was no longer predatory, but it remained intensely possessive. He saw the way Y/n’s body was trembling, the way his bare shoulders looked cold in the artificial light of the L.A. skyline.

"Go back to bed," Sunghoon said, his voice dropping into a gentle but firm command. "Or stay here on the couch with me. Whatever you want. But you need to sleep."

Y/n blinked, his mind clearly still foggy, still caught in the orbit of Sunghoon’s gravity. He looked at the couch, then back toward the dark hallway leading to the room he shared with Jake. The thought of going back there—back to the heavy, silent heat of Jake’s presence—felt impossible.

"I'll stay," Y/n whispered.

Sunghoon didn't say a word. He simply shifted, making space on the leather cushions, and pulled Y/n up. He guided him until Y/n was tucked against his side, his head resting on Sunghoon’s chest, his small frame almost entirely hidden by the curve of Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon pulled a discarded throw blanket over them both, his hand resting on Y/n’s hip, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the thin fabric of Y/n’s shorts.

The city hummed outside, the helicopters circled the dark hills, and the neon signs of Sunset Boulevard flickered on. Inside the dorm, the silence returned, but it was different now. It was shared.

Y/n closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out as he listened to the steady, powerful thud of Sunghoon’s heart beneath his ear. He felt safe, and he felt ruined, and in his dazed mind, those two things were starting to feel exactly the same. Sunghoon stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, his grip on Y/n never loosening, watching over the boy he had claimed in the dark.

The visual album would start tomorrow. The world would get its chance to look. But Sunghoon knew, as he felt Y/n drift off to sleep against him, that he had already won a piece of the only part of the fantasy that mattered.

author’s note: hey guys! did y'all miss me? i’m so, so sorry for being away for so long. i know i kind of disappeared, and i hate that i left you hanging. the truth is, i was going through some pretty heavy things in my personal life... it was a lot to handle, and i needed to step back to breathe for a bit. but even when i wasn't posting, i was always here in the background, watching how you guys kept appreciating my work, keeping the story alive. seriously... i can’t even explain how grateful i am. seeing your comments and reblogs pop up on my notifications while i was dealing with everything? it genuinely meant the world to me. thank you so much! i love each and every one of you. i’m not making any crazy promises because life is unpredictable, but i promise to give my best to be active from now on. i’ve missed this so much. and also... please forgive me if this chapter of world class sin feels a little off or rusty. i haven't written in a long time, and i feel like i might’ve lost my touch a little bit while i was away. i was actually really nervous to post this, so please be gentle with me >.< but i really hope you guys enjoy it regardless! it feels so good to be back writing for you all. thank you for sticking by me even when i was quiet. please take care of yourselves, okay? i love you! — luke

By the time the creative team settled, the dorm already had that strained, in-between feeling it always got before something changed. Not quiet exactly — the refrigerator still hummed, someone’s charger still blinked beside the couch, a half-finished drink sat sweating onto the coffee table — but suspended. The kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful so much as expectant. The reality crew hadn’t set up anything dramatic for it. No heavy lighting, no slate, no loud countdown. Just one handheld camera drifting between faces and one fixed lens angled loosely from the corner of the living room to catch whatever happened naturally. A “reaction moment,” the producer had called it earlier. Something candid for the episode. The boys finding out the final debut concept in real time. The audience seeing their first impressions. Soft behind-the-scenes content, on paper. But nothing in the room felt soft.

The creative director came in first with her laptop tucked under one arm and a thick stack of reference printouts pressed to her chest. Behind her were the two people the managers had been whispering about all afternoon — the film director and his producer, both dressed too simply and too expensively, both carrying themselves with the kind of confidence that came from already being obeyed. They weren’t idol people. That was obvious immediately. They didn’t walk into the dorm looking around with polite curiosity or performative excitement. They looked at the space the way people look at a location they’re already trying to strip down in their heads. The reality cameraman shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so he could catch the boys’ faces as well as the newcomers, and the atmosphere tightened by another degree.

The creative director didn’t bother with any long preamble. She dropped the printouts across the coffee table and let some of them slide onto the floor, image over image, all of it building into one dense visual field before she even opened the laptop. The board wasn’t built from anything personal. No test shots. No old trainee photos. No mockups with their faces pasted in. It was all strangers. Anonymous bodies, anonymous nights, anonymous moments pulled from editorials, old camcorder stills, documentary fragments, low-resolution nightlife photography, fashion tears, surveillance-style screenshots, film references stripped down to color and texture and posture. And even before she started talking, the mood of it was immediate — hot, reckless, gaudy, humid in a way that made your skin feel sticky just looking at it. Motel balconies lit electric pink against a violet sky. Girls in bikinis and ski masks holding drinks and handguns like both were accessories. Boys with bleached hair and smeared glitter kneeling in a church pew under blue stained-glass light. Three teenagers in candy-colored balaclavas laughing in the backseat of a convertible with fistfuls of damp bills. A drained pool covered in graffiti, bodies sprawled at the bottom of it like they’d decided not to leave. Fluorescent convenience store aisles at 3 a.m., all the colors too bright and too dead at once. Wet pavement glowing under palm-tree shadows. Glitter mixed into sunburn. Cross necklaces resting against chlorine-slick skin. Gold grills. motel ice buckets. cheap champagne. fake innocence. real danger. Every image carried the same feeling — youth with too much freedom and no instinct for consequence, beauty made louder by bad decisions, criminality made seductive by heat and light.

The creative director opened the laptop and let a loop of silent reference clips play while she spoke — not polished footage, just fragments. Grainy phone video of girls dancing barefoot on a motel bed while someone off-screen counted cash. A strip mall parking lot filmed from inside a car, all sodium-orange light and liquor store neon. Four bodies waist-deep in a pool at night, faces blurred by bad focus, the water lit an impossible chemical blue. Someone in angel wings and a thong walking through a convenience store with a pink lighter and no expression. A prayer circle in a bathroom with glitter, smoke, and a pistol left on the sink beside a tube of lip gloss. It was tacky and gorgeous and vaguely criminal in the exact way it meant to be. The reality camera stayed on the boys as much as it stayed on the screen — catching whoever looked longest, whoever looked away first, whoever tried not to react and failed.

Then the creative director finally spoke, standing over the table with one hand braced on the edge of it, her voice calm in that unnerving way people get when they’re saying something they know has already been approved. “Okay,” she said. “So. What you’re reacting to right now is the final shape of the debut era. And before I get into what the visual language actually is, you need to understand where it came from.” She gestured slightly toward the man and woman behind her. “They came to the company. Not the other way around. They’d seen early material, heard the direction we were moving in, and what they wanted was very specific. They didn’t want a normal debut film. They didn’t want polished mythology, or a performance cut with pretty inserts, or a safe little cinematic intro that still behaves like idol content. They wanted to reproduce a feeling.”

She let that word sit there for a second before continuing, and when she did, she clicked to another board — this one even more saturated, more vulgar, more feverish. “Not reference it. Reproduce it. The sensation of one very particular kind of American excess. Youth in a place that feels fake and holy and rotten all at once. Tourist paradise turned criminal playground. Sunburnt skin, motel sheets, liquor-store neon, stolen money, pool water, strip-mall Christianity, petty violence, fake luxury, no sleep, too much heat. The feeling that everyone is too young for what they’re doing and too gone to care.” Another image flashed across the screen: a group of girls in white bikinis and pink ski masks pointing finger-guns at the camera while fireworks went off behind them. “The key isn’t nostalgia,” she said. “It’s intoxication. It’s delusion. It’s the seduction of bad choices when the whole world looks bright enough to forgive them.”

No one interrupted her. The fixed camera in the corner kept blinking red. The handheld one caught little things — someone’s jaw tightening, someone shifting in their seat, someone staring too hard at the board like maybe if they kept looking long enough it would become less real. The creative director continued anyway, talking over the quiet hum of the dorm the way people do when they’re used to being listened to. “The story structure is loose, but the emotional structure is not. It follows the logic of a spring-break fantasy mutating into something darker. Escape first. Then indulgence. Then reinvention. Then crime. Then devotion. Then collapse. It’s not linear in a clean way, but that arc is there under everything. The world starts out glittery and stupid and playful — all cheap paradise. Then it gets more feverish. More intimate. More dangerous. The party and the threat become the same thing. Freedom starts looking a lot like possession. The group stops reading like a team and starts reading like a closed system. A little cultish. A little doomed. Very watched.”

She crouched then, picking up one of the larger printouts from the floor and holding it up. It was a motel room washed in blue and pink neon, the kind of room that looked both filthy and cinematic, with cash scattered over the bedspread and someone’s tan legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. “This,” she said, “is the emotional baseline. Not literally this room. Not literally this styling. But this temperature. We want everything to feel humid, overlit, slightly unreal. Like you can smell chlorine and sugar and stale air-conditioning through the screen.” She reached for another — a church interior with girls in tiny pastel dresses and rhinestone cross necklaces standing under stained glass like they were about to either confess or commit a felony. “And this is the tension. Sacred and trashy at the same time. Seduction and innocence in the same frame. Sweetness with rot underneath it.” Then another — masked figures on scooters under boardwalk lights, carrying water guns and one real gun, the whole image so unserious it became threatening. “And this is the rhythm. Play acting sliding into something real.”

When she straightened, her tone sharpened just slightly, less descriptive now, more practical. “The director’s pitch to the company was that this group already contains the emotional material for this kind of world. Tension. Silence. Possessiveness. Performance. The feeling that everybody in the room wants something and no one is saying it directly. So instead of forcing a conventional concept onto you, we’re building a world that amplifies what’s already there.” She glanced at the filmmaker, then back at the group. “That’s why this isn’t being treated like a standard music video. It’s a visual album. A full visual narrative. The songs are chapters inside one long fever dream. We’re not centering clean choreography and then decorating around it. We’re centering atmosphere, fixation, and escalation.”

She clicked once more, and the board shifted into what looked more like structure than inspiration: annotated reference stills, color maps, fragments of wardrobe notes, texture studies, scribbled words in the margins — lacquered skin, fake tan, wet heat, boardwalk glitter, motel baptism, pink violence, devotional trash, Florida noir. “The opening section is all false freedom,” she said. “Sun, skin, money, reckless fun, this idea of youth as something endless and untouchable. The middle gets stranger — more saturated, more obsessive, more enclosed. Nights get longer. Rooms get smaller. The images get closer to the body. By the end, the world should feel almost hallucinatory. Like the fantasy got so intense it started eating itself.”

The producer behind her finally spoke then, but only briefly, her voice smoother, more pragmatic. “The company said yes because nobody else in your lane is doing this at debut. They don’t want safe. They don’t want expected. They want something that feels imported from another genre entirely and still commercially lethal.” She folded her arms. “So locations are being locked. Styling is being rebuilt. The shoot structure is being changed. And from this point on, every piece of behind-the-scenes content, every dorm beat, every practice clip, every reaction — all of it feeds this world.”

The creative director nodded and closed the laptop halfway, but didn’t shut it fully, as if the concept was still breathing on the screen between them. “That’s why the reality camera is here,” she said, glancing briefly toward the handheld operator, acknowledging the obvious without making it awkward. “This isn’t the official reveal film. This is your reaction material. The audience will eventually see pieces of this through you — how you take it in, how you respond to it, how the temperature in the room changes. That matters. Because the whole point is that this era doesn’t start on set. It starts here. In the dorm. Before the styling, before the locations, before the final choreography. It starts the second you understand what world you’re being asked to live in.”

She looked down at the spread of images one last time, then back up at them, and her next line came out quieter than the rest. “You’re not debuting into a fantasy of success,” she said. “You’re debuting into a fantasy of excess. There’s a difference. Success is clean. Excess is memorable.”

The dorm went still after that. Not silent exactly — the fixed camera still hummed softly, someone in the hallway shifted their weight, the air conditioner kicked on with a low mechanical breath — but still in the way a room gets when something irreversible has just been placed inside it. The moodboard remained scattered across the coffee table and floor like evidence from a future crime scene: hot pinks and chlorine blues and money and bodies and heat and religion and danger, all the colors of a paradise already starting to rot. And the reality camera kept recording, patient and unblinking, catching whatever happened next — not the concept itself, but the moment it settled into them.

The room held its breath for a beat too long after the creative director stopped speaking. The moodboard still glowed from the laptop screen, all that neon and chlorine and skin and sin bleeding color into the dim afternoon light of the dorm, and the printed references scattered across the coffee table and floor looked less like inspiration now and more like evidence — like someone had reached into a fever dream and pulled out handfuls of it and dropped them here, in the middle of their living room, between the half-finished drinks and the charger cables and the socks someone had kicked off near the couch. The silence wasn't empty. It was thick. Loaded. The kind of quiet that happens when people are processing something too large to respond to immediately and also very aware that they are being filmed while they do it.

Jay was the first to move, though move was generous — it was more of a shift, a slight straightening of his spine against the back of the couch, his jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking hard and didn't want anyone to know what direction the thought was going. His eyes stayed on the screen for another second, tracking over the images still rotating in the slow loop the creative director had left playing: a girl in a white bikini and a pink ski mask laughing with her head thrown back in a convertible, cash fanned out in her lap like a bouquet; a boy with smeared eyeliner kneeling in a fluorescent-lit bathroom with a rosary wrapped around his knuckles and a cigarette burning between his fingers; a motel pool at night so saturated with chemical blue light that the water looked radioactive, bodies floating in it face-up like saints or corpses. Jay blinked once, slowly, and then he smiled — not a real smile, not the kind that touched anything behind his eyes, but the kind he wore when he was being watched and needed to look like he was handling something well. The camera caught it. The camera caught everything.

"Okay," Jay said, his voice measured, almost too even, the tone of someone choosing every word like it was a chess move. "So this is… bigger than I expected." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, controlled, performative, the kind of exhale that said I'm impressed but also I'm not going to let you see how much this is affecting me. "I mean — when they said visual album, I thought, okay, maybe something more cinematic than usual, maybe some narrative elements, maybe a longer runtime. But this is — " He gestured loosely toward the coffee table, toward the spread of images still lying there in overlapping chaos: the angel wings dragging on wet concrete, the convenience store aisle lit like a crime scene, the church pews full of girls in rhinestone crosses and tiny dresses. "This is a whole world. This is a whole… thing." He nodded slowly, like he was convincing himself as much as the camera. "I respect it. I respect the ambition. It's not safe. It's not what anyone's going to expect from a debut. And that's — yeah. That's the point, I guess."

He didn't say more than that. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his posture deliberately relaxed in a way that didn't quite match the tension still visible in the line of his shoulders. The creative director watched him with the neutral expression of someone cataloging a response rather than reacting to it. The handheld camera drifted slightly, adjusting its angle, and landed next on Jake.

Jake hadn't moved much since the presentation started. He was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, one knee drawn up, his back against the base of the couch, and his face had gone through something during the moodboard reveal — a series of micro-expressions too fast and too layered to fully read, cycling through surprise and confusion and something darker, something that looked almost like recognition. Like he had seen pieces of this world before, maybe in his own head, maybe in the parts of himself he didn't show on camera, and now it was being projected in front of him in glossy high-resolution fragments and he didn't know whether to feel validated or exposed. His eyes kept returning to one image in particular — a motel room shot from above, the bedspread a mess of tangled limbs and crumpled cash and cheap gold jewelry, the light coming from a neon sign outside the window and staining everything the color of a bruise. He stared at it like he was trying to memorize it. Or maybe like he was trying to figure out why it made him feel something he didn't want to name.

When he realized the camera had shifted to him, he blinked and looked up, and the expression that crossed his face was a quick, almost involuntary rearrangement — the mask sliding back into place, the performance rebooting. He smiled, but it was a strange smile, caught somewhere between genuine excitement and something more complicated. "This is insane," he said, and his voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less controlled. "Like — in a good way. I think. I mean — " He laughed, short and sharp, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that looked almost nervous. "I've never seen a debut concept that looks like this. It's not pop. It's not — I don't know what it is. It's like a movie. It's like something you'd see at a film festival and then talk about for weeks because you couldn't figure out if it was genius or unhinged." He glanced toward the creative director, then back at the camera, his smile widening into something that was trying very hard to look confident. "I'm into it. I think. I mean — I'm definitely not going to forget it. That's for sure."

But there was something underneath the enthusiasm, something the camera might catch if the editor knew where to look. A flicker in his eyes when they passed over certain images — the bodies in the pool, the masks, the weapons styled like accessories. A tension in his jaw that didn't quite match the easy grin. Jake was good at performing comfort, but this had unsettled something in him, and it showed in the small places: the way his fingers kept tapping against his knee, the way his gaze kept drifting back to the moodboard like he couldn't help himself, the way his laugh came a half-second too late to be fully spontaneous. He was excited. But he was also something else. Something he wasn't going to say on camera.

Sunghoon hadn't spoken yet. He was sitting at the far end of the couch, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his posture so controlled it looked almost architectural. His face was the hardest to read — not because he was hiding something, but because he had long ago perfected the art of showing exactly as much as he wanted to show and nothing more. The moodboard played across his features like light on water: present, visible, but impossible to hold onto. He watched the images cycle through the loop without reacting visibly, his eyes tracking from frame to frame with the detached precision of someone studying technique rather than absorbing content. The handheld camera moved to him eventually, and he let it sit there for a moment before he acknowledged it, his gaze shifting from the screen to the lens with a slowness that felt deliberate.

"It's cohesive," he said finally, his voice flat and measured, giving nothing away. "That's the first thing I noticed. It's not just random references thrown together — there's a language to it. A grammar. The colors talk to each other. The textures repeat. The mood stays consistent even when the content shifts." He tilted his head slightly, a gesture so subtle it almost didn't register, but it carried something — a flicker of genuine interest beneath the careful neutrality. "It's rare to see a concept this… committed. Most debuts hedge their bets. They try to appeal to everyone, so they end up feeling like nothing. This feels like something. Whether it works or not — " He paused, and for a fraction of a second, something almost like a smile ghosted across his mouth before disappearing. "That's a different question. But it's not boring. It's not safe. And I respect that."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't offer personal feelings or performative enthusiasm. He just stated his observations like facts and let them sit there, clinical and precise. But the creative director was watching him with something like satisfaction, and the producer beside her made a small note on her phone. Sunghoon's response was exactly what they wanted from him — controlled, intelligent, subtly appreciative without being sycophantic. He was playing his role perfectly. And he knew it.

The room shifted then, the attention redirecting itself naturally, inevitably, toward the one person who hadn't spoken yet. The handheld camera panned slowly, almost reluctantly, toward the other end of the couch, where Y/n had been sitting quietly through the entire presentation. He was folded into himself in that way he had — knees drawn up slightly, shoulders curved inward, hands tucked between his thighs like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. His oversized hoodie swallowed most of his frame, the sleeves pulled down over his fingers, the neckline slipping off one shoulder in a way that looked accidental but somehow still drew the eye. His face was half-turned toward the laptop screen, and the glow from the moodboard painted his features in shifting colors — pink, blue, gold, pink again — making him look less like a person and more like a projection of one. He hadn't reacted visibly during any of it. Not the motel rooms or the pool water or the masks or the weapons or the religious imagery or the bodies tangled in cash and cheap silk. He just watched, quiet and still, his expression so neutral it was almost impossible to tell if he was processing or dissociating.

When the camera settled on him, he didn't immediately notice. His eyes were still on the screen, tracking the slow loop of images with something that might have been focus or might have been distance — it was hard to tell with him. The creative director said his name, gently, the way you might say someone's name to pull them back from somewhere far away, and Y/n blinked once before turning his head toward her. The movement was slow, almost liquid, and when his eyes finally met the camera lens, there was a beat of stillness so complete it felt like the room had stopped breathing. Then he smiled.

It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't performative or exaggerated or trying to sell anything. It was small and soft and a little uncertain, the kind of smile someone gives when they're not sure what's expected of them but they want to cooperate anyway. "It's beautiful," he said, and his voice came out quieter than the others, almost gentle, like he was talking about something fragile instead of a concept built on neon violence and chlorinated sin. "The colors especially. And the — the way it moves. Like it's all connected, even when the images are different. Like it's telling one story underneath all the separate pieces."

He paused, and his gaze drifted back toward the moodboard, toward a still of a girl in angel wings walking barefoot through a convenience store at 4 a.m., her face lit by the refrigerator case glow, her expression so blank it could have meant anything. "I don't know if I understand all of it yet," Y/n continued, his voice still soft, still careful. "But it feels… honest. In a strange way. Like it's not pretending to be something clean when it's not. Like it knows what it is and it's okay with that." He looked back at the camera, and there was something in his eyes then — not sadness exactly, but something adjacent to it. Something that had been there before the moodboard and would be there after. "I think that's rare. To be honest about what you are. Even if what you are is a little… yeah."

The room went quiet again after that. The creative director didn't push for more. She just let the moment sit, let the camera linger on Y/n's face for a beat longer than necessary, catching the way the neon light from the screen painted shadows under his eyes and made his skin look almost translucent. There was something about the way he had responded — the softness of it, the vulnerability of it — that felt different from the others. Jay had been strategic. Jake had been enthusiastic but guarded. Sunghoon had been analytical. But Y/n had been something else entirely. He had looked at a world built on excess and decay and recklessness and called it honest. He had seen the rot and found something like beauty in it. And the camera had caught all of it — the quiet voice, the uncertain smile, the eyes that seemed to hold more than they let out. The editor would use that footage. The company would use it. The audience would see a boy who looked at darkness and didn't flinch. And they would want to know why. They would want to know what he had seen before. What he had survived. What he was hiding behind that gentle, damaged stillness. They would want to save him. Or ruin him. Or both.

The creative director finally closed the laptop fully, the click of it cutting through the quiet like a period at the end of a sentence. The moodboard vanished, leaving only the printed references scattered across the table and floor — all that heat and neon and skin now static, frozen, no longer moving but still radiating something. "Okay," she said, her voice shifting back into practical mode. "That's the direction. That's the world. From here, we start building." 

The moment the cameras powered down, the room exhaled.

It was a subtle shift at first — the handheld operator lowering his equipment with a soft grunt, the fixed lens in the corner finally going dark, the red blinking light that had been a constant presence for weeks now suddenly absent. The creative director exchanged a few murmured words with the film director and producer, their conversation too low to catch, and then the three of them gathered their materials with the efficient movements of people who had already gotten what they came for. The PA who had spread the printed references across the floor began collecting them in reverse, stacking the images of motel pools and neon churches and masked people back into a neat pile that somehow looked less dangerous when it wasn't sprawling across their living space. Within twenty minutes, the crew had filtered out through the front door in ones and twos — a camera case here, a lighting rig there, polite nods and vague promises to send tomorrow's schedule by midnight. The managers lingered longest, exchanging glances with each other that carried the weight of conversations they weren't having in front of the group, and then they too disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint smell of equipment and the heavier smell of something having changed.

The dorm felt strange with everyone gone. Not empty exactly — they were still there, the four of them, arranged in roughly the same positions they'd held during the presentation — but hollow in a way that made the silence feel louder than it should have been. The coffee table still held the ghost of the moodboard: a few stray printouts the PA had missed, a ring of condensation from someone's glass sitting right on top of a photograph of a girl in a white bikini pressing a pastel-pink gun to her own temple like she was checking her reflection in it. The laptop was gone. The camera was gone. The performance was over. And now they were just four people sitting in a room that didn't feel like theirs anymore, trying to figure out what to say to each other without an audience.

Jay was the first to move. He let out a breath — not a sigh exactly, but something heavier, something that had been held in for too long — and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to wipe away the last hour. When his hands dropped, his expression was different than it had been on camera. Harder. More honest. The carefully measured enthusiasm was gone, replaced by something rawer, something that looked a lot like exhaustion mixed with irritation mixed with something else he probably couldn't name himself.

"So," he said, and his voice came out flat, stripped of the performance polish. "That was a lot."

No one responded immediately. The words just hung there, obvious and insufficient, filling the space without really addressing it. Jake shifted on the floor, drawing his other knee up so he was sitting cross-legged now, his back still against the base of the couch. Sunghoon remained perfectly still on his end of the sofa, one arm stretched along the back of it, his fingers drumming a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm against the fabric. Y/n hadn't moved at all since the cameras cut — still curled into himself, still half-swallowed by his hoodie, still looking at the space where the laptop had been like he could still see the images playing there.

Jake broke the silence next, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different too — less breathless, less enthusiastic, more like someone thinking out loud than someone trying to be quotable. "I don't know what I expected," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the stray printout still sitting on the coffee table, the one with the girl and the pink gun. "But it wasn't that. It wasn't — " He gestured vaguely, a frustrated motion that didn't land on anything specific. "I thought visual album meant like, aesthetic. Pretty shots. Maybe some narrative stuff to connect the tracks. But that was — " He stopped, searching for the word, not finding it. "That was a whole ideology. That was a whole worldview. That was — I don't know. It felt like they were showing us a religion and asking if we wanted to convert."

Jay snorted, a humorless sound. "They're not asking," he said. "That's the thing. Did you hear how she talked? 'The company said yes.' Past tense. 'Locations are being locked.' Present tense. 'Everything from now on feeds this world.' This isn't a pitch. This isn't a discussion. This is already happening. They came here to show us what we're going to be, not to ask if we wanted it."

The words landed with a weight that pressed the silence even flatter. Sunghoon's fingers stopped their drumming. Jake's jaw tightened. Y/n's gaze flickered, just slightly, like something had shifted behind his eyes.

"Did you notice," Sunghoon said quietly, and his voice was strange — not angry, not upset, just very, very controlled in a way that meant he was working hard to keep it that way, "how much of it was about bodies? Not faces. Bodies. Skin. Sweat. Tan lines. That's what the whole board was. Flesh in different contexts. Flesh in pools. Flesh in motel rooms. Flesh in churches. It wasn't about music. It wasn't even really about performance. It was about — " He paused, and the pause was long enough to feel intentional. "Consumption. It was about making something people want to consume. And the something is us."

Jake looked at him sharply. "You think it's exploitative."

"I think it's honest about being exploitative," Sunghoon corrected, his tone still flat. "Which is different. And maybe worse, because it means they know exactly what they're doing and they've decided it's worth it."

Jay laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh. It was the sound of something uncomfortable being forced out through teeth. "Of course they think it's worth it. We're the ones they're selling, not the ones they're buying. Our comfort isn't a factor. Our opinions aren't a factor. The only factor is whether the product moves, and they've clearly decided this is the packaging that makes it move."

"But do you like it?" Jake asked suddenly, turning to look at Jay directly. "Forget whether it's happening or not. Forget the business side. Just — as a thing. As an idea. As a world. Do you like it?"

Jay held his gaze for a long moment, and something complicated moved across his face — something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite excitement and wasn't quite disgust. "I don't know," he admitted finally, and the honesty of it seemed to cost him something. "Parts of it, maybe. The ambition. The fact that it doesn't look like anything else. The fact that it's going to make people uncomfortable, which means it's going to make people pay attention." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that looked almost vulnerable on him. "But I also feel like — like we're being fitted for costumes we didn't choose. Like someone else already decided what story we're telling and now we just have to figure out how to live inside it."

"Maybe that's always what this industry is," Jake said quietly. "Maybe we were always going to be wearing costumes we didn't choose. This is just a more honest costume. A more — obvious one."

"That doesn't make it better," Jay said.

"No," Jake agreed. "But it might make it easier. In a weird way. If you know what the game is, you can figure out how to play it."

Sunghoon made a soft sound, something between acknowledgment and disagreement. "Or you can figure out how to get played by it. Because the thing about a game this visible is that everyone can see you losing."

The conversation lapsed into another silence, this one heavier than the last. Outside, the light was starting to deepen toward evening, the gold going amber, the shadows in the dorm stretching longer. Someone should probably turn on a lamp. Someone should probably start thinking about dinner. Someone should probably say something normal to break the tension. But no one moved. They just sat there, four people in a room that didn't feel like home anymore, processing something too big to fit into small talk.

And then, very quietly, Y/n spoke.

He hadn't said anything since the cameras cut. He'd been so still and so silent that it would have been easy to forget he was there at all, folded into the corner of the couch like a piece of furniture that had always been there. But now his voice cut through the quiet, soft and certain in that strange way of his — not loud, not assertive, but somehow impossible to ignore.

"I like it."

The others turned to look at him. His eyes were still fixed on the coffee table, on the stray printout with the girl and the gun, but his expression wasn't blank anymore. There was something moving in it — something complicated and hard to read, like watching weather change through a window.

"I know that's not — I know it sounds strange," he continued, his voice still quiet, still careful, like he was picking his way through something fragile. "And I know it's about consumption. I know it's about making people want things. I know it's designed to be seductive in a way that's probably manipulative. But — " He paused, and his fingers curled tighter around the hem of his hoodie sleeve. "I don't think that makes it not beautiful. I think maybe that's what makes it beautiful. The honesty of it. The fact that it's not pretending to be innocent when it's not."

He looked up then, finally, and his eyes moved across the room — landing on Sunghoon first, then Jake, then Jay. His gaze was steady, but there was something underneath it that trembled very slightly, like a surface tension about to break.

"Everything in this industry is about consumption," he said. "Everything is about making people want things they can't have. About making them feel like they need something, and then selling it to them in pieces. This concept is just — more visible about it. More upfront. It's saying: this is what we are. This is what you're buying. And I think — " His voice wavered, just a little, before steadying again. "I think there's something almost kind about that. About not lying. About showing the machinery instead of hiding it."

Jake stared at him. "You think it's kind that they're going to dress us up like motel fantasies and film us like we're for sale?"

Y/n's mouth curved, just slightly — not quite a smile, but something in the family of one. "I think everything was always for sale," he said. "I think we were always the product. This is just — a more interesting packaging. A more honest one." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped even quieter, almost like he was talking to himself. "And I think — I think I'd rather be consumed by something beautiful than something boring. If I have to be consumed at all."

The room went still again. But it was a different kind of stillness now — charged with something, heated by something. Jake was staring at Y/n with an expression that couldn't decide if it was fascination or concern. Sunghoon's carefully neutral mask had cracked slightly, something sharper showing through. And Jay — Jay was looking at Y/n like he was seeing him for the first time. Like all the irritation and resentment and complicated want that had been building for weeks had suddenly found a new shape, a new target, a new reason to exist.

Because Y/n wasn't just accepting the concept. He was welcoming it. He was opening the door to the fantasy and stepping inside willingly, and he was doing it with those soft, damaged eyes that made everything he said sound like a confession instead of a statement.

And for the first time since the creative director had opened her laptop, Jay understood exactly why the company had built this whole world around him.

Not because Y/n was the most talented.

Not because he was the most beautiful — though he was, in that strange, unsettling way of his.

But because Y/n already knew what it felt like to be consumed. He'd been living inside that knowledge since before any of them met him. And instead of fighting it, he'd learned to find it beautiful.

That was the product.

That was what they were selling.

Not the costumes or the concept or the chlorine-blue motel pools.

And the worst part — the part Jay couldn't stop thinking about even as the conversation drifted toward safer topics and someone finally got up to turn on a light and order food — was that Jay wanted to buy it too. The Los Angeles night didn’t so much fall as it did settle like a heavy, smoggy blanket over the dorm. Outside the windows, the sky was that bruised, cinematic purple unique to the city—a hazy cocktail of exhaust, ocean salt, and the neon glare of Sunset Boulevard bleeding into the clouds. Somewhere distant, the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter blade cut through the air, and the low, constant hum of the 405 freeway sounded like a long, drawn-out sigh.

Inside, the room was thick with the residue of the day. The creative director had left, the film crew had packed up their rigs, and the managers had retreated to their own phones in the hallway, leaving the four of them alone in the half-light. 

Jay had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower hissing against the tiles like a demand for silence. Sunghoon had stood up minutes ago, his movements cold and architectural, not saying a word before he slipped into his room, his footsteps heavy with a frustration he wouldn't name. That left the two of them.

Y/n was still on the sofa, looking small against the cushions. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, the oversized hoodie he’d been wearing all day finally slipping down, revealing a shoulder that looked too pale, too smooth for the world he was about to enter. He wasn’t looking at the door or the cameras; he was just staring at a stray photo on the floor—a shot of a boy’s hands tied loosely with a silk ribbon.

He didn’t look upset by the concept. He didn't look like he wanted to fight the executives who had decided his "marketable sadness" was the perfect anchor for a visual album built on the aesthetics of a beautiful disaster. There was a terrifying, quiet compliance in the way he sat. He looked like something waiting to be picked up. Something waiting to be used.

"Y/n," Jake said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. "You should probably go to bed. Early call tomorrow."

Y/n blinked, his long, heavy lashes fluttering slowly. He turned his head toward Jake, and for a second, Jake felt that familiar, sickening lurch in his chest. It was the look—that wide-eyed, dazed innocence that wasn't a choice, but a condition. It wasn't that Y/n was trying to be provocative; it was that he was so fundamentally soft that it made the air around him feel violent. He looked like he’d been born to be broken, a blank, pretty canvas that practically begged for someone to leave a mark.

"Okay," Y/n whispered. He stood up, his movements languid and dazed, as if he were perpetually waking up from a dream. The hem of his hoodie brushed the middle of his thighs, and as he walked past Jake toward their shared room, he didn't look away. He didn't offer anything. He just… was. A soft, breathing target.

Jake followed a minute later, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs.

The bedroom was dark, save for the neon glow of the L.A. streetlights filtering through the cheap plastic blinds. The light cut across the room in sharp, horizontal slats, painting the bed in stripes of blue and shadow. Y/n was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the hoodie over his head.

He didn't rush. He didn't turn his back. He just lifted his arms, and the thin, white tank top underneath rode up, exposing the delicate, pale curve of his waist. When the hoodie dropped, he was just there—a vision of fragile bones and soft skin in the amber light. He looked like a secret. He looked like something you’d find in a motel room at 3:00 AM and never tell a soul about.

He crawled into the bed, his movements shy, tucking himself under the sheets with his back to Jake’s side. He didn't take up space. He didn't demand attention. He just settled into the mattress like he was waiting for the world to happen to him.

Jake stripped off his shirt, the air in the room feeling far too hot, far too small. He climbed into the other side, the springs creaking under his weight. The space between them was barely a foot, but it felt like a canyon filled with static. Jake could smell him—the laundry detergent provided by the company, a hint of something like vanilla, and the warmth of clean skin.

"Do you understand what they're going to do?" Jake asked, his voice low, vibrating in the narrow space between their pillows. He was staring at the back of Y/n’s head, at the dark, messy hair resting against the white linen. "The concept. The visual album. They're going to make you look.... They're going to make everyone want to touch you, Y/n."

Y/n shifted, turning slowly onto his side to face Jake. The amber light caught in the corner of his eye, making the perpetual glaze there look like unshed tears. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't smirking. He just looked up at Jake with that devastating, quiet honesty.

"I know," Y/n said. His voice was a soft, airy thing. "The creative director said I have a 'ruined' quality. She said people will want to save me."

Jake’s jaw tightened. "It’s not about saving you, Y/n. It’s about the look of it. It’s about making you a product. They want to sexualize that... that quiet thing you have. They want to turn your silence into an invitation."

Y/n didn't flinch. He didn't look offended or scared. He just lay there, his hands tucked under his cheek, looking at Jake with an innocence that was so profound it felt like a provocation. He didn't seem to understand that he should be angry. He didn't seem to have the instinct to protect himself.

"I don't mind," Y/n whispered, and the words felt like a physical blow to Jake’s chest. "If it helps the group. If it’s what I’m for... then it’s okay. 

Jake’s breath hitched. The heat in his stomach flared into something sharp and agonizing. It was the way Y/n said it—so calmly, so shyly, as if his own body were just a piece of equipment he was lending to the company. He wasn't "dirty." He wasn't offering himself like a pro. He was just a boy who had been told his value was in his fragility, and he had accepted it with a soft, heartbreaking "yes."

He was the ultimate prey. The kind of boy who would let you ruin him and then look at you with those same glassy eyes, wondering if he’d done a good job.

"You're too quiet," Jake breathed, his hand twitching under the covers. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Y/n’s wrist and feel how small it was. He wanted to tell him to run, to fight, to scream—but he also wanted to be the one the camera was filming when Y/n finally broke.

"I'm just tired," Y/n murmured, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. He didn't pull the covers up to hide his collarbones. He didn't turn away. He just lay there in the low llight, a soft, beautiful sacrifice waiting for the morning to come and the cameras to start rolling.

Jake realized then that the company wasn't just building a concept. They were building a cage. And Y/n was already inside it, sitting quietly in the center, waiting for someone to turn the key.

Jake looked at Y/n’s parted lips, at the soft pulse in his neck, and felt a wave of possessive, dark hunger that made him sick. If the world was going to watch Y/n be ruined, Jake was going to make sure he was the one standing closest.

Outside, the L.A. night hummed on, indifferent to the slow, quiet breaking of the boys in the room. Jake stared at the ceiling until the amber light turned to grey, his hand resting inches away from Y/n’s skin, never quite touching, but never letting go.

The neon digits on the microwave flickered 3:12 AM, casting a sharp, radioactive green glow across the kitchen tiles.

Y/n couldn't stay in the bedroom. The air there was too thick, saturated with the heavy, rhythmic sound of Jake’s breathing and the lingering scent of heat and unsaid things. He’d slipped out from under the duvet like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound as he padded down the hallway. He was dressed only in a thin, ribbed white tank top and those soft jersey shorts that sat dangerously low on his hip bones, the fabric clinging to his skin in the humid Los Angeles night. He didn't turn on a single light. He didn't need to. The city outside provided enough of a sickly, cinematic glow—a mixture of orange streetlights and the blue-white hum of the billboard across the street—to turn the living room into a landscape of silver and deep, bruised shadows.

He rounded the corner, intending to just sit by the window and watch the helicopters circle the Hollywood Hills, but he froze.

The living room wasn't empty. Sunghoon was there, sprawled back on the leather sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his throat arched so sharply the tendons were straining like wire. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clamped in a jagged line of pure, agonizing concentration. One hand was white-knuckled, gripping the armrest so hard the leather groaned, and the other was buried deep inside his unzipped sweatpants. He was moving with a frantic, rhythmic violence, his hips jerking up off the cushions in a desperate search for friction. The sound was the worst part—the wet, sliding friction of skin on skin and the hitching, broken gasps of a boy who had been pushed past his limit in the dark.

Y/n’s breath caught, a tiny, soft hitch that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open. They were dark, the pupils so blown they were almost entirely black, shimmering with a glazed, predatory intensity. He didn't stop. He didn't pull his hand away or scramble to cover himself. He just froze mid-stroke, his chest heaving, his cock thick and straining in his own grip, glistening with pre-cum in the dim city light. He stared at Y/n standing there—pale, soft-shouldered, and blinking with that dazed, ruined innocence that made Sunghoon’s stomach do a slow, sick flip. The amber light from the window caught the slope of Y/n’s waist where the tank top had ridden up, and the sight of that soft, vulnerable skin seemed to snap something inside Sunghoon’s head.

"Come here," Sunghoon rasped, his voice a jagged whisper that vibrated through the floorboards.

Y/n didn't move at first. He just stared at Sunghoon’s hand, at the way his fingers were curled around his own length, at the raw hunger in Sunghoon’s face. He felt that familiar, heavy compliance wash over him—that feeling that he was a thing meant to be used, a vessel meant to be filled. He padded across the floor, his knees feeling like water, until he was standing right at the edge of the couch, his bare thighs inches from Sunghoon’s spread legs.

"You've been walking around like this all night, haven't you?" Sunghoon whispered, his hand finally slowing, but not stopping. He reached out with his free hand and hooked a finger into the waistband of Y/n’s shorts, tugging him closer until Y/n’s stomach was brushing against Sunghoon’s hot, damp forehead. "Looking like this. Smelling like this. Driving us all fucking insane while you act like you don't even know what you're doing."

"I... I just couldn't sleep," Y/n whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon let out a low, bitter sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. He let go of his own cock, his hand coming up to wrap around Y/n’s wrist, pulling his hand down. His skin was burning, slick with his own sweat. He guided Y/n’s hand into the opening of his sweatpants, forcing Y/n’s fingers to curl around the hot, pulsing weight of him. Y/n flinched at the contact—at the sheer size of him, the way the skin felt like velvet over iron—but he didn't pull away. He never pulled away.

"Help me," Sunghoon breathed, his eyes locking onto Y/n’s with a terrifying, possessive focus. "Finish it. You're the one who put me here. You're the one I've been picturing in the dark. Now do it."

Y/n’s fingers trembled as they closed around Sunghoon’s cock. He was so shy, his movements tentative and dazed, which only seemed to drive Sunghoon deeper into a frenzy. Sunghoon’s hand stayed over Y/n’s, guiding the rhythm, forcing him to squeeze tighter, to move faster. Sunghoon’s head fell back again, a long, broken moan escaping his lips as he felt Y/n’s soft, cool palm sliding over his heat.

"God, Y/n," Sunghoon choked out, his hips beginning to roll, thrusting up into Y/n’s hand. "You're so soft. You're so fucking soft. I want to ruin you. I want to mark every inch of you so the cameras can't see anything but me."

He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the back of Y/n’s neck and pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. He didn't kiss him; he just breathed Y/n’s air, his eyes searching Y/n’s dazed, glassy ones. He wanted to see the exact moment Y/n realized what he was doing. He wanted to see the corruption of that innocence in real-time.

"Faster," Sunghoon commanded, his voice a low growl of command.

Y/n obeyed, his hand moving in a frantic, sliding rhythm that made Sunghoon’s body go taut as a bowstring. The leather of the couch creaked under them, the only sound in the room besides their ragged breathing. Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of his throat as he felt the climax beginning to roar up through his spine.

"Don't look away," Sunghoon hissed, his eyes wide and dark. "Look at me, whore. Watch what you do to me."

With a final, violent thrust of his hips, Sunghoon’s body jerked, his entire frame shuddering as he came, thick and hot, over his own stomach and Y/n’s trembling hand. He let out a long, wrecked sound that was almost a sob, his forehead dropping onto Y/n’s shoulder as the aftershocks racked him. He stayed like that for a long time, his breath hot against Y/n’s skin, his hand still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, refusing to let him move.

The city glowed outside, indifferent and bright, but inside the dark living room, the air was heavy with the scent of sex. Sunghoon didn't let go. He just pulled Y/n closer into the mess, his heart hammering against Y/n’s chest, silently claiming the softness he had just used to break himself.

The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the smell of sweat and the sharp, cloying scent of Sunghoon’s cum. Outside, a helicopter’s spotlight swept briefly across the ceiling, a pale blade of light that illuminated the mess on Sunghoon’s stomach and the way Y/n’s hand was still trembling, slick and glistening in the dark.

Sunghoon didn't move to clean himself. He stayed slumped back against the leather, his chest heaving as he fought to bring his breathing under control. His hand was still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, his fingers buried in the dark, messy curls, keeping him close. The predatory glaze hadn't left Sunghoon’s eyes; if anything, the climax had only made him look more territorial, more consumed by the soft, dazed boy standing between his knees. He looked at Y/n—at the way he stood there, chest heaving, his mouth slightly parted in a silent, confused exhale—and felt a fresh wave of possessive heat.

“Look at it,” Sunghoon rasped, his voice low and jagged, barely a whisper meant for the space between them. He nudged Y/n’s hand, the one coated in the hot, sticky evidence of his climax. “Look at what you made me do.”

Y/n’s gaze dropped. He looked down at the mess on Sunghoon’s skin, then back up at Sunghoon’s face. He didn't look disgusted. He didn't look like he wanted to run. He just looked dazed, his eyes glassy and wide, that terrifying innocence making him look like he was waiting for the next instruction. He was so pliable, so ready to be whatever Sunghoon needed him to be in the dark.

Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, pulling him down an inch closer. “You’re so good at taking care of me, aren't you? So quiet. So shy.” Sunghoon’s thumb traced the line of Y/n’s jaw, his eyes dropping to Y/n’s mouth. A dark, cruel thought flickered behind his eyes—a need to see just how far this compliance went, to see if he could truly stain the purity that everyone else in the agency was so obsessed with.

“Don’t let it go to waste,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, commanding edge. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching Y/n’s. “Be a good bitch… Lick it. Lick it all clean, Y/n. Every drop.”

Y/n’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the wetness on Sunghoon’s stomach, then back at those dark, demanding eyes. He felt the weight of Sunghoon’s hand on his neck, the silent pressure of the Los Angeles night pressing in on them. He was a boy born to be ruined, and Sunghoon was offering him the chance to start.

Slowly, Y/n sank to his knees between Sunghoon’s spread legs. His movements were hesitant, shy, his bare knees meeting the cool floor with a soft thud. He didn't look away from Sunghoon’s face as he leaned in. Sunghoon let out a low, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Y/n’s hair as he watched the boy’s head dip.

When Y/n’s tongue finally met Sunghoon’s skin, it was soft and tentative, but the effect was electric. Sunghoon’s eyes squeezed shut, a broken, guttural groan escaping his throat as he felt the warm, wet heat of Y/n’s mouth against his stomach. He tasted like salt and sweat and the raw, heavy reality of what they were doing in the dark while the others slept.

“That’s it,” Sunghoon choked out, his hand in Y/n’s hair guiding him, pushing him to be thorough. “Get all of it. Don't leave a trace.”

He watched with a sick, possessive fascination as Y/n obeyed, his head moving in the silver city light, his dazed innocence being consumed by the very act of cleaning Sunghoon’s filth. It was the most beautiful thing Sunghoon had ever seen—the corruption of a boy who didn't even know how to fight back.

By the time Y/n sat back on his heels, his lips were damp and his eyes were wider than ever, looking up at Sunghoon with a terrifyingly pure devotion. Sunghoon reached out, cupping Y/n’s face with both hands, his thumbs dragging over Y/n’s wet lips.

“Good boy,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of hunger. “You’re mine now. Do you hear me? Before the cameras, before the fans... you’re mine.”

Y/n just nodded, a soft, dazed movement, letting Sunghoon claim him in the dark living room, the sirens of Sunset Boulevard wailing in the distance like a choir for the ruined. The air in the living room was stagnant, smelling of salt and the heavy, humid residue of what had just happened. Y/n stayed on his knees for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged hitches. The city light caught the dampness on his lower lip, making him look like something fragile that had been caught in a storm. He didn't move to wipe his mouth. He didn't pull away from the heat radiating off Sunghoon’s thighs. He just looked up, his eyes glassy and wide, searching Sunghoon’s face with a devastating, quiet sincerity.

"Are you satisfied?" Y/n whispered.

The question was so soft, so devoid of any edge or irony, that it made Sunghoon’s pulse jump. It wasn't the question of a lover; it was the question of a thing that had been used and wanted to know if it had performed its function. It was the purest form of the ruin Sunghoon was so obsessed with—the idea that Y/n could be completely debased and still look at him with that same dazed, angelic devotion.

Sunghoon’s hand, still tangled in the dark curls at the nape of Y/n’s neck, softened. He looked down at the boy at his feet—this soft, pale creature who had just licked him clean in the dark—and felt a wave of protectiveness so sharp it bordered on violent. He wanted to keep him here. He wanted to hide him from the cameras, from Jake, from the world that was about to try and take pieces of him.

He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Y/n’s face. Instead of the rough command of before, Sunghoon reached out with his other hand and gently tilted Y/n’s chin up. He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s forehead, then shifted, his lips ghosting over Y/n’s closed eyelids before finally landing on his mouth.

It wasn't a deep kiss. It was short, soft, and tasted of salt, but it carried the weight of a brand. It was the kind of kiss you gave something you’d finally admitted you owned.

"Yes," Sunghoon murmured against Y/n’s lips, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I'm satisfied."

He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n’s dazed eyes, his thumb tracing the soft line of his jaw. Sunghoon’s expression was no longer predatory, but it remained intensely possessive. He saw the way Y/n’s body was trembling, the way his bare shoulders looked cold in the artificial light of the L.A. skyline.

"Go back to bed," Sunghoon said, his voice dropping into a gentle but firm command. "Or stay here on the couch with me. Whatever you want. But you need to sleep."

Y/n blinked, his mind clearly still foggy, still caught in the orbit of Sunghoon’s gravity. He looked at the couch, then back toward the dark hallway leading to the room he shared with Jake. The thought of going back there—back to the heavy, silent heat of Jake’s presence—felt impossible.

"I'll stay," Y/n whispered.

Sunghoon didn't say a word. He simply shifted, making space on the leather cushions, and pulled Y/n up. He guided him until Y/n was tucked against his side, his head resting on Sunghoon’s chest, his small frame almost entirely hidden by the curve of Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon pulled a discarded throw blanket over them both, his hand resting on Y/n’s hip, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the thin fabric of Y/n’s shorts.

The city hummed outside, the helicopters circled the dark hills, and the neon signs of Sunset Boulevard flickered on. Inside the dorm, the silence returned, but it was different now. It was shared.

Y/n closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out as he listened to the steady, powerful thud of Sunghoon’s heart beneath his ear. He felt safe, and he felt ruined, and in his dazed mind, those two things were starting to feel exactly the same. Sunghoon stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, his grip on Y/n never loosening, watching over the boy he had claimed in the dark.

The visual album would start tomorrow. The world would get its chance to look. But Sunghoon knew, as he felt Y/n drift off to sleep against him, that he had already won a piece of the only part of the fantasy that mattered.

author’s note: hey guys! did y'all miss me? i’m so, so sorry for being away for so long. i know i kind of disappeared, and i hate that i left you hanging. the truth is, i was going through some pretty heavy things in my personal life... it was a lot to handle, and i needed to step back to breathe for a bit. but even when i wasn't posting, i was always here in the background, watching how you guys kept appreciating my work, keeping the story alive. seriously... i can’t even explain how grateful i am. seeing your comments and reblogs pop up on my notifications while i was dealing with everything? it genuinely meant the world to me. thank you so much! i love each and every one of you. i’m not making any crazy promises because life is unpredictable, but i promise to give my best to be active from now on. i’ve missed this so much. and also... please forgive me if this chapter of world class sin feels a little off or rusty. i haven't written in a long time, and i feel like i might’ve lost my touch a little bit while i was away. i was actually really nervous to post this, so please be gentle with me >.< but i really hope you guys enjoy it regardless! it feels so good to be back writing for you all. thank you for sticking by me even when i was quiet. please take care of yourselves, okay? i love you! — luke