🎶Bug🎶

You hadn’t meant to go snooping.

What you had expected had been up, nonsense files full of musical mambo jumbo that you didn’t quite understand, long unread emails that made your head spin just glancing at then, his giant google doc full of song ideas and random lyrics he thinks of perpetually pinned as it always is. What you hadn’t expected was a separate browser to be open, too. You didn’t even realize it was there at first, content to skim through some of his lyrics, but when your mouse brushed the bottom of the screen on accident, it pulled up two windows, the second one an incognito tab.

Really, you hadn’t! It’s not your fault that your boyfriend left his computer wide open on the kitchen table. It’s not your fault that he had just left for the gym, so you knew you would have time to take a teeny tiny peek. Really, it didn’t seem like it would hurt! He had been so secretive on it lately, always sending you little side glances when he would curl up with it in the corner of the couch, screen angled away. Part of you had just assumed it was music-related - some new beat he was working on, or the concept for the next comeback, or some boring emails that reading would force you to sign an NDA. You honestly didn’t care, and you wouldn’t have been thinking about it that deeply if he hadn’t left it wide open in the kitchen like an invitation.

Seriously, who’s fault is it, yours or his? His, you tell yourself, fingers creeping to press a few keys on the keyboard, his password always the same. A little peek can’t hurt…

“How scandalous, Christopher.” you say to no one in particular, and with a precursory glance at the door, you’re clicking on it.

You can’t help it, not when Chan is usually a terrible secret-keeper. He doesn’t like secrets - says they make him feel heavy and gross - so for him to have a mysterious incognito tab is just a bit abnormal.

Immediately, you’re greeted with not one, not two, but ten tabs open in this browser, the tabs crowded together at the top of the screen. An orange and black website greets you, and your fingers freeze over the mousepad when you realize that your boyfriend has Pornhub open on an incognito tab on his computer. There’s a Brazzers ad headlining the top, the margins filled with blinking ads with AI girls begging you to “breed” them, a dick growth pill pop-up instantly covering a third of the screen the second you get your bearings enough to start moving the mouse again. 

The video is titled something corny: “Taking Daddy’s Big Cock Until I Choke on His Cum!”. It’s generic, and you barely can bring yourself to sit through a full minute of the shitty acting at the beginning of the video before you’re cringing, pausing the video, and dragging the timebar back to zero, not wanting Chan to know you were watching his porn. It’s not something that you’d ever really considered him being into - you knew he was a bit into choking, his eyes always fluttering and body tensing whenever your hand found his throat - but you suppose it would make sense that it would translate to choking on your dick, too.

The second title is just as bad (“Hot Neighbor Teaches Me How to Eat His Homestyle Hot Dog”), and you don’t even give it a click, nose crinkling at the cheesy thumbnail of a guy kneeling on what’s clearly a set of a suburban backyard. It looks just like the first video, and you’re clicking to the third tab before the AI girl on the corner of the screen can even beg to be your “AI slut” (whatever that means).

This video is a little more homebrew, the title some Japanese thing you can’t translate. You can vaguely make out the words “take” and “stretch”, or at least that’s what you think the characters would translate to. You honestly can’t be bothered to translate it, because the video starts to autoplay, a very loud Chaturbate ad echoing off the kitchen walls, and you turn the computer volume down a few clicks and skip the ad, sighing with relief when the volume drops in the real video.

This video is different from the others you’ve seen so far - faces are covered with masks, and everything is pixelated, though it’s not hard to know what’s happening. There’s two boys on the screen, and they seem like amateur stars, because their movements are less practiced and smooth than the usual actors, more genuine and natural. There’s no viagra or faked moans or fake set, just a plush mattress, wrinkled sheets, and the two honey-skinned boys on the center of the screen. 

They start off naked, and there’s no intro, no half-baked scene to build up to the porn. The bigger of the two boys, in both height and in size, guides the one boy off the bed and onto his knees on the side of the bed. The mask is pulled down and then off, carefully folded and placed next to the boy who’s still on the bed. He positions himself so that his legs are hanging off the side of the bed, and guides the boy on his knees to sit between his knees, pixelated mouth just a breath away from his cock.

He murmurs something low and sweet, and the boy on his knees drops his jaw, tongue lolling out. It’s a simple command, but it sends a wave of heat rolling through you, imagining having Chan like this. You wonder if that’s what he’s imagining as he’s watching these videos. You wonder if he’s watching them right in front of you, big headphones on like he’s doing work on the couch, but he’s actually watching porn and trying not to moan.

The bigger boy makes a content sound, something that sounds like praise rolling off his tongue, and his fingers creep forward to press on the other boy’s tongue. He uses his partner’s mouth like he’s stretching open his hole, starting with one finger, prodding and teasing, until a second joins and scissors his cheeks open. The other boy’s eyes roll back as his partner forces his fingers down his throat, a third finger joining in and “stretching” his mouth like it’s his entrance. You really wish you understood Japanese even a little bit, because the boy starts to dirty talk while he “fingers” his partner’s mouth, the words sounding somehow condescending and sweet. 

Only once the other boy starts to cry, fingers twitching weakly on his lap, does the bigger boy take his fingers out of his mouth. He uses the excess of spit coating his fingers to slick up his cock, and then says something low and commanding again. The other boy understands, and he’s quick to lean in and start to suck the boy off, working deeper and deeper with each bob of his head.

He’s choking and gagging, drool dribbling down his chin and decorating his throat and chest with a sheen in the low light, but he seems to be enjoying himself, cock bobbing between his legs as he swallows around the other boy. 

You have to stop the video before you get too committed to it, though you’re hesitant to, because it was just getting real good, fingers tangling in hair and using it as an anchor to fuck into the smaller boy’s mouth. You restart this video too, brain a little foggy and pants more than a little tight.

The next two tabs are much the same: homebrew amateur porn, one nearly identical to the last video, and the next one a boy alone in his room, using dildos of increasing size to “train” his throat. The next tab is no longer black and orange, instead a simple black and white, and a glance at the upper corner of the screen shows that you’ve switched over to X now. The shit in the rest of the tabs is truly homebrew, filmed on iPhone cameras and shaky. In the last video, they go so hard they knock the camera over from where it’s propped up, and the video ends with them laughing, scrambling to turn the camera off and just do what they were going to do.

The captions of these are much like the earlier ones, though a little more laid back. The video titled “throat training my boyfriend until his gag reflex goes away: day 30 ♡” catches your eye, and you watch that one in full, watching the way the boy who hovers over the other coos and coddles the boy choking on his dick. It’s hot, and you’re starting to understand why Chan was so into this in the first place.

You put everything back into place quietly, brain whirring and full of obscene thoughts and also a few questions. Mostly, you’re envisioning what it would look like to put Chan on his knees or spreading him out on the mattress and gently guiding your cock into his mouth, carefully stretching him open. You know his gag reflex isn’t the worst, but it’s still there, and he’s never been able to take your full cock in his mouth, and you’ve never asked. He might like it rough sometimes, but you’ve never wanted to make him choke, too worried about hurting him too much. It seems you had nothing to worry about, considering Chan’s very clear fantasy of experiencing just that, and now you’re left to plot how you’re going to make his dream come true.

You’re mostly lost on why Chan hasn’t brought it up himself. He’s not exactly shy about what he likes, and although he doesn’t necessarily enjoy asking for things, he knows better than to hide it now, and he’s usually completely shameless in what he wants. He’ll come home from the studio in the wee hours of the morning and wake you up, pleading you to push his face into the mattress and make him forget, but he can’t ask you to try deepthroating? You hum curiously, and then decide, as you hear the keys clink into the apartment door, that you’re going to let him bring it up himself.

…at least, you were going to, but it’s been two full weeks, a third week looming around the corner, and Chan hadn’t breathed a word of his little fantasy. In fact, he’d been a little more hesitant than normal to suck your dick at all, claiming something about schedules and recording, but when you checked in with Jisung, they wouldn’t be doing any actual recording until next week at the earliest, still hashing out the beat and the lyrics to perfection. You’d respected his decision, of course, but part of you wonders if he’s scared that you’re going to put the pieces together if he actually puts his hot mouth around your dick. 

It’s now, that you’re lying on your shared bed, that you can’t take it anymore. Chan doesn’t wear clothes around the house, not really (“it’s more comfortable that way!” he claims), so he’s fully nude under the comforter, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. You’re clad in only a pair of boxers, unable to resist the chance for some skinship with your boyfriend, fingers itching to drag him against you and kiss him silly. He’s lying on his side, face away from you, and as you zero in on the curve of his neck, the ripple of his back muscles when he so much as shifts, you decide that you’re tired of waiting around for him. You know he has nothing going on tomorrow besides an interview at two and then dance practice afterwards, and you’re going to take full advantage of his very open morning to use him into the early dawn (if he’ll let you, of course).

“Channie.”

He hums, not looking away from his phone, still scrolling through what looks to be Instagram reels. You’ll scold him for rotting his brain later.

“Channie.” You drag out the ‘ie’, and he tilts his head, but still doesn’t look back.

You roll over, wrapping your arms around his middle, pressing yourself into his back. Your chin hooks onto his shoulder, your breath hot on his ear as you pretend to be peering at his screen.

“Watching more homebrew porn on Twitter?” You say bluntly. Fuck beating around the bush - the sooner you get to the point, the sooner you can have Chan spread out underneath you, that glassy look in his eyes.

He sputters, going rigid in your hold, choking on his own spit as he drops his phone and turns his neck at an awkward angle to make eye contact with you.

“What?” He finally manages to get out, cheeks hot, obviously dusted pink even in the low lamplight of your bedroom.

“You heard me,” you say, smirk evident in your tone, pressing a teasing kiss to a sensitive point of his neck just to make him squirm more, “You watching porn, Channie?”

“I don’t - I’m not watching porn - why would you think I’m watching porn?” He exclaims, using his strength to spin around in your hold, eyes big and ears bright red, giving him away.

“Sure, maybe you aren’t right now,” you hum, eyes predatory, “But you have before. Does ‘Training My Slutty Throat to Take my Boyfriend’s BIG Dick’ sound familiar?”

He flushes, jaw dropping, staring up at you with big eyes. You feel his cock swelling against you, pressed between your thigh and his abdomen. You have to bite back a grin.

“What - how did you - hey, when did you…did you go through my computer?” He whines, really blushing now, so red you would normally tease him for it.

Fortunately for him, you have better things to tease him about right now. “You left it wiiiiiide open on the dining room table a couple weeks ago, bubs. I thought maybe it was a new fantasy, that you would bring it up, but this isn’t new, is it? You’ve always wanted me to stretch your pretty little mouth open around my cock, haven’t you?”

He somehow manages to turn even more red, burying his face in your chest and making a weak sound. Again, his cock twitches against you, already nearing full mast and you haven’t even touched him. You press your thigh forward just to watch with satisfaction as he fights back a groan.

“‘s okay Channie, I want to do that, too,” you coo, reaching a hand to cup his jaw and force him to look up at you, “Want to make you gag and choke on me until your head is full of cock. ‘til you’re just a dumb little baby, drunk on the feeling of my tip kissing the back of your throat.”

He moans now, unable to hold it back, mouth dropping open as he stares up at you, tears already dancing across his waterline. You run a thumb across his bottom lip, dipping it into his mouth just to make his lips part for you. You lean down, slow and teasing, claiming his lips gently. It’s a chance for him to back out, a chance for him to pull back and tell you that he’s pissed that you breached his privacy like that, a chance for him to tell you that he doesn’t want to do this tonight.

He kisses you back so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you.

His hips start to gently rock against you, leg slotting between yours so that your thigh is fully pressed against the heat of his cock. He’s wet already, a needy keen slipping past his lips when you pull away from him.

“Jagi.” He whimpers, but you shush him, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead as you disentangle.

“Don’t you want to feel my cock in your throat, sweet thing? Isn’t that what you were craving?” You say, slipping the comforter off of both of you.

He nods, tongue coming out to wet his lips, body language begging you to get to it already. You’d laugh if you weren’t needy too, cock straining against your boxers, a wet patch forming where the tip is pressed against the fabric.

You guide Chan into your favorite position from one of his stupid Twitter porn videos. He’s on his back, but his head is dangling off the side of the bed, eyes following your movements (even though you’re upside down to him). You stand up, cock right at his mouth level. Drool escapes the corner of his mouth, dribbling down his cheek and mixing in with the sweat at his hairline. A shiver runs up your spine at how pliant he looks like this, ready and waiting for your cock.

You drop to your knees and place a long, loving kiss to his lips - the last kind thing you’ll be doing to his body tonight. It’s more like a spiderman kiss than a real kiss, and the angle’s a little awkward, but it’s worth it, because the content sound Chan makes into your mouth makes you leak a little more.

“You’re going to tap my thigh three times quickly if it gets to be too much, okay?” You say, voice low but kind. “Do it for me once now.”

His fingers reach out, long and lithe, and he taps your right thigh three times in succession, each tap firm and purposeful.

“If I get any sign that you’re trying to tap, even if it’s not as firm and nice as you did just now, I’m going to stop, okay?”

He nods, and you shake your head, giving his neck a gentle warning squeeze. “Words, jagi.”

“Yes, I understand, can you get to it now?” He huffs, eyes trying to glare up at you.

It’s mostly just cute because he’s upside down, a drool trail running up his cheek, and he’s still trying to give you commands. You laugh, the sound rumbling out of your chest, and he pouts, cheeks puffing out. You might, on another day, make fun of him for his desperation, but a part of you is pretty sure you’re not going to last very long in his throat, not when he’s spread out so pretty for you like this.

“I’m going, I’m going.” You respond, spitting into the palm of your hand and using it haphazardly to “lube” your cock.

It’s not a very efficient lubricant, but you have a feeling that Chan’s mouth is going to be more than wet enough to accommodate you. You cup the back of his head, angling his mouth just right, and start to slide in.

You take it slow, knowing how easy it is to make him gag around you. As hot as it is to make him choke on your cock, you don’t want him to throw up on it. You’re pretty sure that would be extremely unsexy, and you’d probably never get Chan to try and live out this fantasy ever again.

He moans when he tastes you on his tongue, and because he’s upside down and at your mercy, he’s having trouble controlling his spit. It’s already bubbling out the corners of his mouth, rivulets of it streaking down his cheeks. The hardwood floor below the two of you is probably going to have a puddle later, but that’s an issue for later.

Because right now, Chan’s barely taken half of your dick, and you can already feel the telltale signs of his throat trying to constrict around your cock and push it out. You stop right at the edge, just half of your cock stretching his mouth wide, the girth of you making him gargle and drool around you.

“Shhh, baby, that’s it,” you murmur, voice dripping with honey as you press just a little further into his mouth, “Breathe through your nose for me, okay? That’s it, so good, letting me stretch out your pretty little throat like this.”

He hums around you, a broken sound, and you have to do everything in your power not to just force the rest of your cock down his throat. You can’t really see his eyes, not from this angle, but a tilt of your head shows you that he's already blinking away tears, streaking into his hair or onto the floor if they flow just right. You twitch inside his mouth, and it makes him choke a moan out around you.

“No need to make any sounds, just lay there and take it, okay?” You hum, carefully sliding back just a bit only to press further than you were before, “Make me feel good, there we go. So pretty like this, so perfect and pliant.”

His hands clench in the sheets at your praise, a puddle of precum forming in the ridges of his abdomen where his cock lays, untouched and twitching pathetically. He’s never been good at being complimented, at being told how good or how pretty he is, but when he’s like this, he has no way to oppose you, no way to fight back. It makes you keep cooing little praises at him, reminding him how good he’s being and how he’s taking it “like a pro.” 

You’re dangerously close to being buried to the hilt when your thumb comes to brush his throat, and a sick thrill runs up your spine when you realize that he’s literally stretching to accommodate your cock, throat bulging subtly where your cock fills it up. You let out a choked sound of your own, high in your throat, a quiet “fuck” escaping your mouth as you trace the shape of you lightly with your fingertips.

“Jagi, jagi,” you coo, voice trailing off into a breathy moan, “Oh, sweet thing, look at you. Throat stretching like a good little cocksleeve. My perfect cocksleeve, making me feel so good.”

You reach the hand that was tracing his throat forward to tap twice on his bicep, and he gets the memo, fingers coming up to tangle with yours. You guide his hand to his own throat, and as you finally get yourself buried to the hilt, you let go of his hand and wrap his fingers around his own throat, around the outline of your cock that’s there.

His hips buck into nothing off the bed, and he chokes obscenely on your dick, a wet and broken sound, eyes rolling back into his head. You’re so incredibly close, the tightness of his throat and the heat of it around you almost unbearable, but you pull back a bit, letting him collect himself before you push forward again.

“Can I fuck your throat, jagi?” You ask, voice breathless and tight with tension, “Please, baby, wanna fuck your throat, want to fill you up. You’ll let me, won’t you? Let me fuck your pretty throat full, let me stretch you wide open.”

You pull out of his mouth and he takes a heaving breath, blinking fat tears out of his eyes to look up at you past your cock. His tongue darts out and he strains his neck so that he can swirl his tongue around the crown of your dick, teasing the slit and dipping into it. You groan, hand cupping the back of his head squeezing it appreciatively.

He tries to speak, but no words come out, just a croak, and he hacks, trying to get his voice back.

“Please.” His voice is quiet and broken, barely able to crackle out, but you know what he means.

“You know what to do if you want me to stop.”

It’s the only warning he gets before you’re pressing back into his mouth. You start slower, carefully angling his head so that it’s easiest for you to slide all the way to the hilt without choking him. Once you reach the hilt though, and Chan’s hand, still on his throat, squeezes you through his own skin, you can’t help the way your hips start to roll. Your thrusts are shallow, careful, but they aren’t slow, and he gags when you thrust just a little too hard and your tip presses against the back of his throat too harshly. He tightens up so nicely when you do, though, so you do it a couple more times, revelling in the sound he makes every time.

It doesn’t take much for you to get close - you were already worked up before you even pressed into the heat of his mouth, and now that it engulfs you fully, you can see stars dancing at the corner of your vision. You’re babbling out praise, tongue loose and words jumbled because he just squeezes around you so good, throat shaping around your dick in a way that makes your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, I’m guh-gonna come, gonna fill you up,” you grit out, pace getting a little uncontrolled and bucks getting a little harsher as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap, “Swallow it all like a good boy, my good boy, I love you, love you, thank you jagi, thank you thank you thank you-”

You cut yourself off, a soundless moan forcing your jaw to drop and your cock pressing as deep as you can go into Chan’s throat. He chokes around you, and it just makes you come even harder, spurts of hot cum coating the inside of his throat. Some of it escapes past the corner of his mouth, overflowing as you just keep coming, filling him up more than he can take. He moans around you, still gagging as you thrust a few more times, riding out your high. His fingers come to dig into your thighs, but they don’t tap, so you keep your cock at the back of his throat until you start to soften in his mouth, oversensitivity blurring into something painful instead of pleasurable.

The second you’re out of his mouth you don’t waste a single second. You manhandle him so that he’s still on his back, but now his head is laying on the pillows near the headboard, eyes teary and mouth coated with your release. You surge forward and taste yourself on his lips, the kiss messy, a swirl of your spits and your own cum mixing in your mouths.

You shimmy down his body until you’re eye level with his cock, and while he’s smaller than you are, he’s still got some heft to him, and your mouth waters as you swoop down to swallow around him. His hands scramble to tangle into your hair, both of them, and he wails, hips bucking up into your mouth. It doesn’t take long, Chan too keyed up to hold on very long. You let him thrust into your mouth once, twice, three times, and then on the fourth he’s coming, the salty taste of him filling your mouth. You swallow as much as you can just as he did for you, humming when you can tell he’s starting to get sensitive just to watch him squirm.

With his come still in your mouth, you slide back up and kiss him, and the kiss is nasty. Your cum and his, your spit and his, it all becomes one in your mouths, the kiss all teeth and tongue and salt. Chan moans weakly, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you impossibly close.

When you can no longer support yourself, body aching and tired from your release, you collapse onto the bed next to him, rolling onto your back. Chan slots himself under your arm and presses his head to your chest, hand coming to rest right over your heart.

“I love you,” he says quietly, once the silence has slipped into something comfortable and familiar, “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Channie.” You say with a yawn.

“Who loves me?” He huffs back, gently nipping your chest to make you jolt.

“Ow. I love you, Channie,” you say, rolling your eyes, though it’s affectionately, “I love you so, so much. Now go to bed, and rest your voice.”

He hums contently, and drifts off, and once you slip the comforter over the both of you, you drift off too. You’ll probably both be feeling sticky and gross in the morning, but that’s a problem for tomorrow morning, not for now. For now, you just curl into your pretty boyfriend, glad that curiosity got the better of you. Curiosity may kill the cat, but satisfaction surely brought it back. With one last kiss to the crown of Chan’s head, you let sleep overtake you, more than satisfied with the results of your curiosity.

✶ ⋆ ©wonroha . . est ‘26 ୧٭✩

✶ ⋆ ©wonroha . . est ‘26 ୧٭✩

You always worked best alone. Especially in the studio.

Nothing beat the low hum of equipment, the slow burn of inspiration coming together track by track, and the sterile silence broken only by loops and retakes. You could sit for hours fine-tuning a single synth layer if it meant getting it right.

Which is why, when the buzzer rang on the security door and you saw Lee Minho on the monitor holding a paper bag and an iced coffee, your eyes narrowed.

You buzzed him in anyway.

He looked like he rolled out of bed—messy hair under a beanie, an oversized hoodie hanging mid-thigh, loose socks and chunky slides slapping the hallway floor as he wandered in.

“You’re working through lunch again,” he said instead of greeting, placing the bag beside your keyboard. “You’ve been in here since ten. It’s two.”

“I’m in flow,” you replied, barely glancing up.

“You’re in hermit mode,” he corrected, leaning over your shoulder to watch your screen, his scent curling into your nose. “You don’t even answer my texts when you get like this.”

You almost didn’t notice the way he sprawled out on your couch behind you.

Until he stayed there. Silent. Not scrolling. Not snoring. Just... watching.

You tried to tune him out, but every few seconds, you could feel it—that weight of his eyes, lingering, sharp, and mischievous. The soft sounds of him shifting in his seat. A faint rustle of fabric. A stifled breath.

Then your phone buzzed on the desk.

1 New Message — Minho 😼

guess what i’m not wearing under this hoodie.

You paused.

A second ping followed.

Image attachment.

It was dark, taken just now from the couch, camera angled low. His knees spread wide, hoodie tugged high on his thighs, nothing underneath. Bare, flushed skin and his fingers tucked between them—thumb brushing over the base of his cock. Lips parted. Eyes hazy.

And the next message:

come play with me.

“Minho…” you warned.

He tilted his head, mouth pursed in mock innocence.

“Distraction, remember?” you muttered, but your voice lacked conviction.

He grinned. Didn’t say a word. Just kept his legs spread, fingers ghosting over his skin, slow and sinful.

You tried to keep working. You really did.

Ten more minutes. Five. Two.

Then your chair scraped back, and you stood.

Minho perked up, biting his lip when he saw the look in your eyes. You didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. He knew.

He dropped to his knees the second you got close.

“Thought you’d never come over,” he whispered, hands already tugging at your waistband.

Your pants hit the floor fast. Your briefs next. Minho’s mouth was hot and wet and perfect, tongue licking a stripe up your shaft before taking you fully between his lips. The groan you let out was loud—too loud—but fuck, you’d earned this.

You grabbed his hair, guiding him slow and deep, and Minho moaned around your cock like it was what he’d wanted all morning. Like the teasing was just foreplay for this.

But you didn’t let him finish.

You pulled back with a sharp hiss, cock dripping with spit, and grabbed his chin.

“Desk,” you said, voice thick. “Now.”

Minho didn’t argue.

He turned, bent over the soundboard, hoodie riding up, bare skin glowing under studio lights. You stepped behind him, one hand squeezing the back of his thigh.

“You really came here like this?” you muttered, dragging your cock over his ass, watching him twitch. “No underwear, nothing underneath—just hoping I’d snap?”

“Maybe,” he whispered, breathless. “Knew you couldn’t resist…”

“Slut.”

You spat into your hand, pumped yourself once, twice, and lined up with his entrance.

Minho whimpered. “Please—just do it. Just—ahh—!”

You pushed in slowly—tight heat stretching around you inch by inch—and Minho broke. He gripped the edge of the board, knuckles white, trying not to scream.

“You better be quiet,” you growled into his ear. “Studio’s not soundproof.”

Minho whimpered again, nodding fast. But the moment you bottomed out and thrust deep—sharp and hard—he let out a high, muffled moan, burying his face in his arms.

You started fucking him slowly at first, savoring every squeeze of his heat, every twitch of his thighs. But he was already dripping, body begging for more, and when he started rocking back against you—chasing the rhythm—you lost patience.

The thrusts got faster. Rougher. You yanked his hips back with every slam of your cock. He was shaking, body jerking with each stroke, face contorted in helpless pleasure.

“You love being fucked like this, huh?” you snarled, slapping his ass. “Bent over my mixing board—risking someone walking in.”

He whined, voice wrecked. “Yes—fuck, yes—keep going—”

You bent over him, pressing down hard as you railed into him—balls slapping against his ass with every thrust. Minho bit his sleeve, trying to stifle his moans, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

You reached around, grabbed his cock—already leaking—and jerked it in time with your thrusts. His whole body seized.

“I’m gonna—gonna—!”

“Do it,” you panted. “Cum on my board. Let me ruin you.”

Minho came with a choked sob, twitching under you, his release spilling across the switches and knobs. He nearly collapsed, trembling, but you didn’t stop.

You weren’t done.

You kept fucking him through it, deeper now, slower but harder—until you felt yourself getting close.

“Inside,” you growled. “Gonna fill you up raw, you want that?”

Minho nodded, voice gone. “Yes—yes—please, inside—want it—”

You slammed in one last time and came deep, thick pulses of cum spilling into him as your hips shuddered and stilled.

You stayed there, panting, wrapped around him, your cum leaking down his thighs.

For a long moment, the only sound in the studio was your shared breathing. Then Minho finally turned his head, cheek still pressed to the board, and mumbled, “Hope your sound levels didn’t spike too hard.”

You laughed.

“You’re insane.”

“I’m yours.”

You pulled out slowly, watching the mess spill onto the floor, and helped him to the couch. He collapsed against your side, hoodie still halfway on, dazed and flushed.

You kissed his forehead.

And promised him a round two—somewhere soundproof—next time.

a little birthday gift for myself heh

BANGCHAN.

You'd just gotten home from a long day, expecting peace—but the second you step through the door, Chan’s already in front of the bedroom mirror, legs trembling where he’s bent over, fully naked with one of your t-shirts clinging to his chest, damp from sweat and nerves. His fingers are stuffed inside himself, dripping wet, pushing in and out with an almost feverish pace.

“You were taking too long,” he huffs breathlessly, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “And I—I needed to—”

He doesn't even finish the sentence. You’re behind him in seconds, dragging his fingers out of his slick pussy and replacing them with your cock. Chan gasps—loud and sharp—back arching like you’ve shocked him.

“So desperate you started without me?” you growl, hands gripping his hips as you push in deep. “You wanted to squirt all over the floor before I even touched you?”

“No—! I mean—” He’s already clenching down on you, soaking wet. “I was gonna wait—was gonna save it for you—!”

“Bullshit.”

You start pounding into him, the mirror rocking in its frame as Chan’s cries turn high-pitched. His knees buckle with every stroke, dripping all over your thighs and the floor, soaked to the point of shame.

“Fuck, fuck—‘m gonna—!”

“Let go,” you command, one hand snaking between his legs to rub his puffy clit. “Let me see how messy you get when you come on my cock.”

He sobs as his body convulses, squirt gushing in pulses down his thighs, spraying onto the mirror, the floor, your stomach. His pussy clenches erratically around you as you fuck him through it, and when he finally slumps forward, panting and ruined, the mirror fogged up in front of him, you lean in close.

“Next time, you wait like a good boy.”

MINHO.

It always happens when he rides you.

Lee Know’s control is impeccable—until he loses it. And he always does, right around the fourth time his hips sink down and your cock grazes just the right spot inside him.

Tonight, he’s wearing nothing but one of your button-downs, halfway undone, collar hanging off his shoulder, and his knees are planted on either side of your thighs as he bounces with precision. Controlled. Tight. Beautiful.

But his pussy is messy already—slick dripping down his inner thighs, lips swollen around your cock, clenching harder the more praise you give.

“Feels so good when you ride me, baby. So greedy.”

He bites his lip, hard. He always pretends he’s unaffected.

Until you grab his hips and start fucking up into him.

That’s when it changes.

Lee Know claws at your chest, whining sharp and breathless as you hit deep and fast, rocking into him hard enough to make his thighs tremble. “N-no, not like that—gonna—!”

You smirk. “Gonna what?”

The sound that rips from his throat doesn’t even sound human. His whole body jerks, and then you feel it: wet, hot, sudden.

He squirts around your cock, his pussy fluttering violently as clear fluid sprays across your stomach and the sheets beneath him. He’s gasping, eyes unfocused, barely riding it out as you keep thrusting.

The second stream comes just a few seconds later, shorter but somehow messier, dripping down your thighs and the backs of his.

He collapses forward, panting into your shoulder.

“...Don’t say a word.”

But you feel him clench again just as your cock twitches inside him—like he wants to do it again.

CHANGBIN.

It starts with his legs shaking.

Changbin always tries to act tough—cocky even—when you fuck him. Even now, he’s on all fours on your bed, looking back over his shoulder with that bratty little grin, pussy already twitching around your cock like it’s starving.

“You like watching it suck you in, don’t you?” he pants, hips rolling back with each thrust. “Bet you couldn’t last without this—”

You slam in deeper, and his words crumble into a gasped moan.

But it’s only when you pin his hips down and really give it to him—hips slapping fast, low angle hitting that spongey spot deep inside—that the brat act falls apart. His hands claw at the sheets. His voice breaks.

“Wait—fuck, it’s—too—!”

Then you feel it.

His whole body trembles as slick bursts around your cock in a sudden gush, soaking your thighs and the sheets under him. His pussy squirts, uncontrollable and messy, clear fluid spraying as he lets out a low, broken cry.

You pull out just slightly, watching him flutter, then sink back in hard—earning another rush, a weaker one, but his body reacts the same. Wrecked. Boneless.

You smack his ass, grip tight. “So greedy you squirted all over me.”

He hides his face in the pillow. “Y-You were hitting it too good.”

You’re already sliding back in, unrelenting.

“That’s the point.”

HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin’s always been a romantic.

He makes everything feel like a performance—arched back, flushed skin, that theatrical cry every time your cock hits deep. But tonight, it’s different. No velvet sheets or candlelight. Just the harsh clatter of your belt buckle as you fuck him over his own drafting table.

“F-fuck—you’ll ruin it,” he gasps, voice high and fluttering as his sketchpad tumbles off the edge.

He shouldn’t have worn that sheer, silky robe. Shouldn’t have bent over and whispered that he “needed inspiration.” Now your cock’s buried to the hilt in his tight, soaked pussy, and Hyunjin’s practically melting—legs trembling, chest pressed to torn sketches of himself.

You tug his hair, angling him deeper. “What’s the real inspiration, baby?”

His answer is a breathless moan—then his whole body locks up.

He squirts.

A sudden, hot stream gushes around your cock, soaking your thighs, the table, dripping to the floor. His moans are shattered, hand grasping for nothing as the squirting pulses with each deep thrust you give him.

“Y-you're making me—again—!”

And he does. A second gush, weaker but messier, his pussy clenching greedily, wet and twitching around you.

You grab his waist and fuck through it all, growling into his ear, “You’ll be my masterpiece by the time I’m done.”

HAN.

It always happens when he’s overstimulated.

Jisung’s got one hand clawing the sheets and the other fisted in your hair, his legs shaking around your waist as you piston into his soaked pussy. He’d already cum twice—both times loud, messy, begging—but you didn’t stop. He told you not to.

“W-want you to break me,” he’d whispered, tongue dragging along your jaw, still leaking from his second orgasm.

Now he’s folded nearly in half, toes curled, body flushed to his ears, and when you shift his knees higher and grind in deep—he lets out this pitchy, startled moan.

Then squirts.

It’s sudden—a high, wet splatter against your abdomen, his pussy spasming wildly around you. Another gush follows, just from your slow grind, soaking his inner thighs and making a slick mess of the sheets beneath him.

He pants, eyes hazy and teary. “A-again—please, fuck, I’m—!”

You hush him, thumb swiping through the slick between his thighs, teasing his puffy entrance until he’s leaking more. He twitches, thighs clamping shut, but you ease them open again.

“Gonna keep going ‘til you drench this bed, baby.”

FELIX.

Felix is so sensitive after cuddling all morning, cheeks pink from soft kisses and whispered praise. You’re slow at first—hips grinding into him from behind while he lays curled on his side, gripping the pillow with one hand and your wrist with the other.

His pussy makes the filthiest sounds, clenching down with every gentle thrust, fluttering when you brush just the right spot.

“I—I feel funny,” he whimpers, his voice barely above a breathy moan.

And then it happens.

A sudden gush of wetness spills from him, soaking the sheets between his thighs. He squeaks, thighs trembling. “Oh my god—what was that—!”

You still inside him just long enough to glance down. The sheets are drenched, and your cock’s completely coated with slick. He’s panting, dazed.

“Baby,” you murmur, thumbing the dripping mess from his inner thigh, “you squirted all over me.”

Felix covers his face with both hands, whining, “Don’t say it like that—!”

But his pussy clenches again when you slide back in. Another warm gush follows, and this time you both moan through it.

SEUNGMIN.

He always puts on that defiant front—rolling his eyes when you tell him to ride you, claiming he’s “not that desperate.”

But tonight?

He’s the one bouncing in your lap like he’s trying to win something. Hands gripping your shoulders, hair sticking to his temple, pussy swallowing your cock down to the base every time. You’re barely even helping—just sitting back, letting him use you.

And then…

“Wait—nghh—don’t—!”

It hits so fast he can’t stop it. Seungmin’s pussy flutters violently and then gushes, warm and sudden, a high-pitched whimper escaping him as slick spills between your thighs.

“Oh my god,” you groan, gripping his hips as more wetness coats your lap.

Seungmin stares down at the mess he’s making, stunned, lips parted. His thighs are soaked. Your abs are glistening.

“…Shut up,” he mutters, flushed ear to ear, even as his pussy clenches again.

You thrust up into him just once—and he squirts again, harder.

JEONGIN.

You knew Jeongin was sensitive. He got shy even when you kissed his neck. But once he finally let you fuck him—nervous fingers curled into your sheets, begging you to be slow—you realized just how sensitive he really was.

His pussy sucked you in like it was made for you. Wet, tight, and fluttering so much you had to pause and breathe through it.

“D-Don’t stop, please,” he whined, voice trembling.

And when you reached down to thumb at his clit, still buried deep inside him—he screamed.

You barely registered it at first. The sudden splash of warmth. His hips twitching uncontrollably. It wasn’t until he sobbed and tried to close his legs that you realized:

He was squirting. Hard.

“Fuck, Jeongin,” you gasped as his cunt gushed again, coating your thighs, the sheets, everything.

He looked dazed—pussy dripping, mouth parted, eyes glossy as he whined, “I didn’t mean to, I—I can’t stop…”

You kissed his temple and didn’t stop either.

BANGCHAN.

It had started with a lazy kiss. Just a brush of his lips against yours as you sat beside him on the couch, half-distracted by the TV. But Chan’s hand had wandered, creeping beneath your shirt, and yours had followed suit, trailing lower until he’d squirmed into your lap with a breathless, “Need more.”

Now he’s flat on the bed, arms stretched above him, wrists tied loosely to the headboard with his own hoodie sleeves. His thighs are shaking, cock flushed dark red and twitching against his stomach, already soaked and leaking onto his skin. You’ve been edging him for nearly an hour—touching just enough, then stopping, again and again.

“Fuck,” he whines, hips jerking up as your hand wraps around him again. “Please, I—I'm gonna—”

“Not yet,” you murmur, but your thumb swipes across the tip anyway, smearing precum down the shaft. Chan sobs under his breath, back arching, stomach tight.

His voice is wrecked when he begs. “I’ll make a mess—swear I will—I’ll ruin your sheets if you let me.”

That’s all it takes.

You stroke him with purpose now—slow but tight, dragging your hand up and twisting just beneath the head. Chan’s body reacts instantly, heels digging into the mattress, legs spreading wider, his whole body trembling.

“Please—please—fuck—!”

When he finally comes, it’s like you’ve broken something in him. His breath cuts out entirely as hot spurts of cum shoot up his chest, the first one so strong it lands on his neck, the rest painting his abs in thick ribbons. His entire lower half tenses and trembles as he rides it out, almost whimpering from the force.

You don’t stop until he’s whining your name, trying to squirm away from your still-moving hand, overstimulated and gasping, the mess dripping down his sides and onto the sheets just like he promised.

When you finally untie him, Chan melts into your chest, cock still twitching in aftershocks, skin flushed to the tips of his ears.

“…Told you I’d make a mess.”

MINHO.

Lee Know swears he’s not sensitive.

You’ve heard it a hundred times, even when his thighs are trembling and his back’s arching off the mattress, even when his hands are scrambling for your wrist as you jerk him off slow and mean.

But you know better.

He’s sprawled on the couch now, one leg thrown over your lap, pants long gone, and your mouth pressed tight to the underside of his cock. Your fingers stroke him in rhythm—steady, controlled, relentless.

He’s flushed everywhere. Neck, chest, tips of his ears. His voice comes out in broken whines as he grips the armrest behind him. “D-Don’t—don’t tease, I can’t—”

But you don’t stop.

“Feels too good?” you murmur, licking a stripe up to the head. “So sensitive you’re gonna cum just like this?”

He doesn’t answer, just nods, frantically, until the tension breaks all at once. He shudders hard, gasping as he cums with no warning—thick, messy spurts that catch on your knuckles and his stomach, splashing up with every twitch of your hand.

But he doesn’t stop—his cock keeps throbbing in your grip, more cum spilling out, soaking the fabric under his hips.

“S-Shit—” he whimpers, half-hiding his face in the crook of his arm. “Y-You made me—fuck, it’s so much—”

It takes several long seconds for him to stop shaking. You just grin and wipe your hand across his inner thigh, admiring the mess.

“You sure you’re not sensitive?”

He shoots you a look.

CHANGBIN.

He was just supposed to be riding your thigh.

Changbin loves it. Loves the burn of it, the pressure. The way you flex under him and grab his waist, murmuring praise right into his ear. He gets so into it, grinding faster and faster until his eyes roll back.

But tonight?

Something’s different.

You feel how soaked he’s gotten—his cock smearing precum everywhere as he whines under his breath. His hips are frantic, chasing more, his hands braced against your chest as he pants, “M’gonna cum, wait—fuck—”

You’re about to tell him to slow down—until you feel it.

Not just cum. A gush.

Hot, wet release shoots across your abs in heavy spurts, completely soaking your shirt as his cock twitches again and again. He’s shaking like he’s short-circuited, cumming so hard he squirts across your stomach and down your lap.

“Holy—Changbin.”

He collapses on your chest, breathing uneven, voice hoarse. “That’s… never happened before.”

You run your hand through his sweaty hair and smirk.

“Then let’s make it happen again.”

HYUNJIN.

He asked to try something new.

Hyunjin’s always shy about it—voice soft, lashes low. But tonight, he slips into your lap in the backseat of your car with no underwear on, pants already open, cock hard against his belly. The windows fog up fast.

“Ride me,” you whisper, hands gripping his hips.

He starts slow, gasping at the stretch, cock bouncing against your chest as he takes every inch. But it’s the rhythm—your hands guiding him, your praises warm in his ear—that breaks him open. His pace grows frantic, sloppy, desperate.

“Feels so full—too full—”

Then it happens.

A shudder ripples through him, and without even touching his cock, he squirts—a sudden, unexpected burst of hot cum splashing between your chests, ropes hitting your throat, your shirt, the dash.

He freezes, thighs trembling, face going red.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

You groan, bucking up into him hard, loving how he clenches again. “You’re gonna do it again.”

And he does. His voice goes ragged as another weaker squirt sprays out, dripping down both your stomachs. You kiss his throat as he sobs into your shoulder, fucked dumb from pleasure.

HAN.

You find him on the couch of your shared home studio, face buried in his arms, headphones on, his cock already leaking against his thigh.

“I can’t focus,” he says when you nudge him.

You sit beside him and slip a hand between his legs. He gasps, hips jerking. “S’too much—been hard all day—thinking about you.”

It doesn’t take long before he’s straddling your lap, mouth open in a dazed moan as you fuck up into him. His cock drips precum constantly, leaving wet smears across your chest where it rubs.

Then he tenses.

“Ah—fuck, I’m—!”

You look down just as he squirts—thick, creamy release shooting from his cock with no warning. It sprays across your stomach in short, desperate bursts, a messy trail that doesn’t stop until he’s slumped forward, twitching with aftershocks.

He pants against your shoulder. “N-not done,” he mumbles.

And he isn’t. You feel him throb, leaking steadily as you thrust up into him, his body still eager to give more. The next release paints your chest again, less forceful but even messier, all while his cock stays untouched.

FELIX.

You’d stayed behind to help him close the café, and now his apron is bunched up around his waist as he straddles you on the back counter.

He’s flushed from exertion, freckles bright, cock twitching untouched while you grind into him. The moans he lets out are soft and melodic, full of whimpering pleas to go just a little harder, deeper, faster.

You reach between you both to stroke him—and he jerks, gasping.

“No—d-don’t—gonna—!”

His cock twitches again. Then he squirts.

The first stream hits your stomach, fast and sudden. The second splatters your chest. Felix chokes on a whine, trying to curl forward, but you hold him firm—making him take every inch while his cock pulses and spurts like it can’t stop.

“Fuck, baby,” you murmur, watching another gush leak down his shaft. “You really couldn’t hold it, huh?”

“I—mmnh—can’t help it,” he cries, face buried in your shoulder. “It just—keeps coming…”

It does. And you don’t stop thrusting until he’s boneless and dripping, twitching with overstimulated pleasure.

SEUNGMIN.

It’s the way he teases you during meetings, pretending to be focused while grinding just slightly in your lap. The way he says he’s “not needy” even as his cock leaks against his stomach the moment you unzip his pants.

By the time you’ve got him bent over your desk, Seungmin’s gasping for every breath.

You jerk him in time with your thrusts—quick, firm—and his voice breaks on a moan.

“I’m not—gonna—mmh—!”

But then his cock twitches wildly, and he squirts.

Not a dribble. A sharp, forceful burst that paints your desk and his shirt in ropes of cum. It doesn’t even stop right away—another squirt follows, and another.

“Fuck, Seungmin—” you mutter, stunned at the sheer volume.

He’s trembling under your hands, panting so hard he sounds on the verge of tears. “I didn’t mean to—it just—hhnn—!”

You keep fucking him through every spurt, the wet slick sounds of his orgasm spurring you on until he’s slumped and shuddering against the wood.

JEONGIN.

He’d asked for this—whispered it into your neck the night before, blushing like mad. “Can you make me lose control? Like... for real?”

So today, you had him tied to the bed. Nothing too intense—just soft cuffs around his wrists, spread wide and aching for it.

You’d edged him once. Twice.

Now, he’s barely coherent. His cock’s flushed purple, leaking nonstop. He’s crying a little, babbling things even he doesn’t understand.

“P-Please… wanna cum… pleaseplease—”

You fuck into him hard, wrap your hand around his cock just once, and—

He squirts.

A thick, sudden burst shoots up his stomach and hits his chest, Jeongin choking on a gasp as more follows. It’s messy. Loud. His cock jerks with every pulse, and it doesn’t stop after the first round. Another shot. Then another.

When you finally pull out and let him rest, he’s soaked and shaking, eyes wide.

“...Was that—normal?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You just smile. “You tell me.”