xau

Ormund had been pleased. He spoke none of Lord Godric Ashford or the excitement in the solar. He simply conducted himself as he usually did at such feasts, discussing philosophy and politics with the visiting lords, occasionally asking for your thoughts and praising you to anyone who would listen– commending how wise his ward was, how faithfully you attended the sept. All the while, his hand remained on your thigh beneath the table, squeezing gently as his thumb moved back and forth over the silk. Just as he usually did. 

This should have pleased you. His touch always did. Tonight, though, your mind was muddled with flashes of memories. 

The conversation with Lord Ashford you were not meant to hear. Ormund’s rings cutting into your face as he gripped your chin. The cool sheets of his bed twisted in your fists. His hand at your waist, his voice low as he hushed you and told you to be still. 

The seventh day. 

Following Lady Hightower in the Citadel, your small hand tucked in hers. Playing in the gardens with the Hightower boys. The letter from your queen mother coldly explaining why you could not visit the Red Keep on your sixteenth nameday. The burning pressure. Entering. Stretching. Confessing. 

The seventh day.

Ser Joldwin Mormont and the ashes of his fur-trimmed cloak. Lying across Ormund’s bare chest afterward, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. His lips against yours, tasting faintly of wine. Watching one of your siblings’ dragons fly overhead, its giant shadow blackening the earth. 

The seventh day. 

Being held. The knowledge you were never truly wanted. 

The seventh day.

“You are fidgeting.”

Ormund’s voice broke whatever spell your thoughts had cast over you.

You lowered your head. “I am sorry, my lord.”

Ormund hummed. Beneath the table, his hand shifted higher on your thigh, pressing into the soft flesh through the silk of your gown. The feast carried on around you, laughter mingling with the chords of lyres and flutes as they echoed through the Great Hall. No one could see the way their host groped you in plain sight. “Are you thinking of tonight?” 

Yes, you were. And of so much more. “No, my lord.” 

“You appear sad.” He leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, and you shivered. “Have you a reason to be?”

You shook your head quickly. “None, my lord.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Then stop pouting so unbecomingly before our guests and smile.”

You obeyed, because you always did. You arranged your lips into something soft and pleasant, as he liked. Ormund grinned in return and squeezed your thigh once more, hard. “Much better, my dear.”

“Lord Hightower! I do hope we are not intruding, but I simply had to introduce myself properly to your esteemed ward.”

Ormund’s hand stilled upon you, though he had not yet removed it. 

A broad, heavyset man stood before the head table, clad in a fine orange doublet. The wine cup in his hand was filled to the brim, sloshing around as he gestured. Drink had reddened his round, bearded face, and a crooked grin seemed fixed upon it. Behind him stood a tall young man with dark curly hair, fine features, and bright brown eyes. Those eyes were fixed entirely upon you. Something in his look sent warmth rushing into your cheeks.

“Lord Ashford,” Ormund greeted tensely. As the man drew nearer, Ormund briefly brushed one finger beneath his nose, the faintest crease appearing between his brows. “I was under the impression that only your son would attend the harvest feast this season. It is a… surprise to see you here as well.” 

“And miss the finest wine in the Reach?” Lord Ashford chortled, lifting his cup so enthusiastically that a little spilled over the rim and onto the marble floor. Ormund’s eye twitched as he looked at the puddle. “Of course I had to come.”

Lord Robert Ashford. You knew of him, if not the man himself. He was said to be kind, if somewhat silly, with a particular weakness for feasts and fine drink, but there was not one wicked thing about him. Which meant the young man standing behind him must be…

“And this is my son, Godric,” Lord Ashford continued, stepping to the side with a proud flourish to the young man behind him. “Though I understand the two of you require little introduction. He spoke with you earlier about a certain…someone, did he not, Lord Hightower?”

Godric coughed. “Father–”

“Oh, the boy has heard such wonderful things about the princess,” Lord Ashford went on, tipsy enough he was either failing to notice his son’s embarrassment or actively choosing to ignore it. “Her grace, her devotion to the Seven, and of course I would be remiss not to mention her beauty. I fear he has scarcely spoken of anything else since the prospect of betrothal was–”

“Father, please,” Godric interrupted him, a flush creeping above the collar of his doublet. “I am certain the princess has no wish to hear you recite every private conversation we have shared.”

Lord Ashford chuckled and clapped a broad hand against his son’s shoulder. “There is no shame in admiring a fine young lady. Nor, surely, in allowing two young people the opportunity to become better acquainted.”

Ormund’s fingers pressed so deeply into your thigh that you were certain they would leave marks. You did not dare look at him, though you imagined his face had gone terrifyingly blank.

Oblivious to the storm gathering beside you, Godric bowed. “It is an honor to meet you properly, Princess.”

Remembering Ormund’s warning in the solar– and with his hand still gripping you beneath the table– you offered Godric only the smallest inclination of your head before lowering your eyes once more.

“The honor is mine, my lord,” you murmured.

Godric smiled. Ormund, however, did not. 

“Lord Ashford, I am not sure if your son made you aware of the extent of our earlier discussion,” Ormund moved the hand that was on your thigh to the back of your chair. “He made his intentions sufficiently clear. As did I with him.”

Lord Ashford’s crooked smile lowered. “Well, yes…Godric did tell me some of the conversation. But I had hoped that perhaps, upon further reflection–”

“There is nothing upon which to reflect.”

Silence quickly consumed the small gathering at the head table. Ormund smiled urbanely, one hand still gripping the back of your chair. You felt caged. 

“Your admiration for my ward is noted, Lord Ashford,” Ormund said coolly. “You are certainly not the first to admire her, and I doubt you will be the last. But this match will not be considered.”

Humiliation ravaged you like a wildfire. You fixed your gaze on the grain of the table, afraid that if you looked up, the Ashfords would see the tears stinging your eyes. You wished– prayed– that they would go away. 

Ormund sighed and leaned back in his chair. At last, he released your chair and reached for his cup, lifting it with an air of studied levity. “Now then, I would hate to keep you from the wine you traveled so far to enjoy, Lord Ashford.”

“I– well, of course, Lord Hightower,” Robert stammered, plainly attempting to smooth over the moment. He summoned an easy smile, though it came out strained, and bowed low. “Thank you again for your gracious hospitality.” 

Godric’s eyes shifted between you and Ormund before he followed suit. “Lord Hightower. Princess.”

And then, finally, they were gone.

You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears. Ormund had already retrieved the pomander from his breeches and lifted it beneath his nose, breathing deeply. 

“Lord Ashford reeks of cheap wine and horse shit,” he grimaced, keeping the pomander close. “You should thank the Seven that you will not be sent away to live among such people.”

You had smelled neither cheap wine nor horse shit when the Ashfords stood before you. You wanted to tell him so. You wanted to tell him it was cruel to speak of them with such contempt when they had done nothing more than ask for your hand. Instead, you lowered your head. “Yes, my lord.”

Ormund’s eyes narrowed as he studied you over the silver pomander. His gaze moved from the wet shine of your eyes to the stiffness of your pouted lips to your quivering chin. He knew you more than anyone had or would ever know. He could see right through you. You knew it. For a second, it looked as if he was about to say something. 

A steward suddenly appeared at his shoulder. 

“My lord, Lord Uffering requests a private word regarding the grain levies before tomorrow’s council.”

“Lord Uffering can wait,” Ormund replied swiftly, eyes never leaving you. 

The steward shifted uneasily, wringing his hands. “Yes, my lord, but, erm…Lord Orme has joined him in the western gallery…and now they are disputing with each other. Quite loudly, I may add.”

Ormund exhaled hard through his nose. “If you could use your eyes, you would see that I am currently occupied.”

“Yes, my lord. But the matter is drawing attention, and…”

Ormund’s fingers tightened around the pomander before he finally lowered it. “Fine.”

He turned back to you, regarding you with such intensity that the clamor of the feast seemed to ebb around you. “You will remain seated here until I return.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I will not be long.” His hand settled briefly at the nape of your neck, thumb pressing into the divot beneath your ear. “When I come back, we will retire for the evening.”

Your stomach churned. The seventh day.

“Y-yes, my lord,” you whispered.

Ormund held your gaze for another moment, as though searching for the truth only he could uncover. Then he withdrew his hand and rose from the table. You watched him follow the steward toward the western gallery and disappear beneath the archway.

The moment he was out of sight, the stiffness in your bones left you. You slumped in your chair and looked across the crowded Great Hall. The feast continued all around you– lords and ladies mingling, eating, drinking, laughing without a care. Without any knowledge of what these walls truly held.

Why did Ormund restrain you so? Why did he keep you from everyone? Why did he refuse to do the one thing expected of him as your guardian? You were of age. You were a woman in every sense. Would it not serve his interests as your kin to arrange a marriage for you? His sons had gone, and he had been widowed for years. Would it not suit him to be rid of you at last, free to take another wife of his own?

The thought made bile turn in your throat the moment it formed.

Why?

Why did the idea of Ormund with a wife make something sick and vicious twist inside you? Why was any of this happening?

Why was he so cruel? Why did you want him to be?

You understood, at least, his refusal of Aemond. Ormund had told you often enough what such a match meant: brother wed to sister, blood folded endlessly back into itself. Targaryen wickedness in its truest form. He would not permit you to remember that such customs belonged to your heritage as well.

But what of the others? Ser Joldwin, all those years ago, broad and steady and strong. The Martell boy. Every lord and heir who had been dismissed for some fault Ormund alone had deemed unforgivable. Perhaps each of them had shortcomings, that might have been true. But Godric seemed precisely the sort of man Ormund should have wanted for you– young, courteous, well-born, heir to a respectable house.

So what did Ormund want? To keep you as his ward forever? To hold you in his bed one night, kiss your mouth, and tell you how good you were, only to admonish you hours later for whatever sin he had decided lived inside you?

The ceaseless shifting in reality left you dizzy.

“Princess?”

So lost were you in thought that you had not noticed Lord Godric Ashford return to the head table and lower himself into the empty seat beside you.

You startled, and he immediately raised both hands in apology. “Forgive me, Princess. I did not mean to frighten you. I only hoped for a moment to speak with you, if I may?”

Your eyes flitted from Godric to the archway through which Ormund had disappeared. At any moment, he might return and find you speaking to the very man he had forbidden you to entertain. He would punish you, surely. The thought made something low in your belly begin to warm like embers. “Lord Godric, I…I am not certain it is proper for us to be speaking without a chaperone.”

Godric hesitated, glanced out over the crowded Great Hall, then looked back at you with a small, playful smile. “Surely a chaperone of a hundred feast guests would suffice?” 

Ormund would not think so. You bit your lip. You knew precisely what he would have you do. Turn up your nose at Godric and tell him you obeyed your guardian in all things. Then scurry obediently to Ormund and confess what had happened, so he might find some reason to bring about the end of House Ashford. 

But you always did what Ormund wanted. When had you last considered what you wanted?

The answer should have been simple. Godric was young, kind, and handsome. He wished to marry you. Surely this was what any young woman would want: to be admired by a good man and offered a life beyond the walls that had confined her.

Did you want to speak with him? Perhaps.

Or perhaps you only believed you ought to want it.

“I promise you, my lady, I shall do nothing to scandalize your reputation– aside from perhaps subjecting you to a few poor jokes.” Godric placed a hand solemnly over his heart. “I swear it upon my life.”

You could not help but giggle. You could scarcely remember the last time someone had been so light with you. Years ago, perhaps. “I believe you, Lord Godric.”

“Now my father, on the other hand…” Godric glanced towards the table where Lord Robert was engaging in a loud and animated recounting of some story, wine cup spilling with every exaggerated hand movement. Godric sighed. “He seems to be on the precipice of a scandal every time he steps foot out of Ashford. I am certain you could guess that from his earlier…revelations…which I should apologize again for.”

“There is no need to apologize. Your father was very kind.”

“Ah, you are being lenient with him. He can be a fool, but he is also my father, so I suppose that makes me one as well,” Godric chuckled, and his grin widened when you laughed with him. 

For a few moments, the two of you sat together and watched as Lord Robert continued his tale. Then Godric’s expression softened. 

“Did…Lord Hightower tell you anything of our conversation earlier?”

Your smile faltered. You remembered every word, pressed against the boarded door in that forgotten corridor. But you could hardly admit you listened to a conversation never intended for your ears. Or that Ormund refused you any true explanation of what happened. 

You chose your words carefully. “He told me only that you had spoken with him.”

“I see.”

“I do hope he was not unkind to you.”

“No more than might be expected of a man guarding something very precious to him.”

The words flooded you with warmth. Your gaze dropped to your hands, pressed into the sky-blue silk of your gown. The one Ormund chose for you. 

Godric continued, voice genuine. “Lord Hightower seems very protective of you, Princess.”

“He has always been so. Ormund is like a…a father to me.” You felt bile briefly rise in your throat. You swallowed it. “He took me in when I was just a girl. Oldtown is all I have ever known.”

“There is much virtue in that, my lady. A guardian should be concerned for his ward’s safety and reputation. Truly, I would think poorly of him if he were not. But…” He hesitated, glancing toward the western gallery before leaning nearer, his face suddenly gone serious. “You are no longer a child, Princess. And marriage, as you know, is not some minor matter to be settled without your input. A guardian may offer counsel, certainly, but I do not believe any woman should be forced into a marriage she does not desire…or denied one she might.”

You blinked at him, stunned. Ormund spoke of unsuitable bloodlines, weak heirs, vulgar fathers, and men whose intentions he did not trust. He spoke endlessly of what he would permit and what he would prevent. Never once had he asked what you desired. The concept was as foreign to you as Dothraki. 

Godric cleared his throat after a few seconds of silence. “Forgive me. I do not mean to speak against Lord Hightower.”

“N-no, no,” you stammered quickly. “You have said nothing wrong.”

He nodded, though concern lingered in his eyes. “Then may I ask you something else?”

You should have refused. You should have told him it was time to retire. You should have found Ormund. Instead, you found yourself nodding.

“Are you…happy here?”

The question struck you like a slap to the face. 

Happy? 

You had never considered it. Happiness was not a concept widely spoken of in the Hightower. Maybe there were moments. As a child, playing with the Hightower boys in the gardens. When Lady Hightower would sing you lullabies to sleep. Ormund’s bed, warm beneath you in the darkness. His lips against your brow when you memorized all your scripture. 

Moments that were fleeting. But moments that stuck. 

Then you thought of locked doors. Of punishments. Of Ormund’s voice, loud and raging, his mood shifting at the drop of a pin. Of the seventh day. Of sin. 

“I…” Your fingers tightened together in your lap. Would you confess? “I am…content.”

Godric did not appear shocked. Nor did he demand an explanation. He merely regarded you with a quiet sadness that made you feel more exposed than Ormund’s scrutiny ever had.

“I hope you will not think me forward, Princess, but I meant what I told Lord Hightower,” he said. There was a sincerity to him more pure than anything you knew possible. “I have heard nothing but good things of you, and what little time I have spent in your company has only made me wish to know you better.”

Warmth rose into your cheeks. 

“I cannot pretend to know whether you might ever desire such a match,” he continued. “But if you were willing, I would still like the opportunity to…entertain the prospect. If that is what you wished, of course.” 

Surely you should wish that. Surely you ought not to be thinking of Ormund’s hand gripping your thigh beneath the table. Surely you ought not to wonder what it would feel like if Ormund were the one offering you such a choice.

If he were asking you to be his.

Before you could respond, the musicians reached the end of their song. A livelier tune began almost at once, the beat of the drums rising above the conversations as couples moved toward the center of the hall. Godric glanced toward them, then stood. 

“Now, this may embarrass me so thoroughly that you decide to be rid of me altogether, but I must ask regardless.” He turned back to you and held out his hand. “Would you dance with me, Princess?”

You looked once more towards the archway. Ormund would return any second now. He would see you, dancing with Godric in front of the entire feast. He would see you being held by another man. If he did not kill you, he would surely kill Godric. 

“Yes,” you whispered, heart beating violently against your ribcage. You placed your hand in Godric’s. “I would.” 

Godric led you into the center of the hall crowded with dancing bodies, one hand holding yours while the other hovered near your waist, as though he feared even the smallest impropriety might send you fleeing back to the head table. 

“You should know,” he spoke loudly over the music as he guided you into the first turn, “that I was once declared the finest dancer in Ashford.”

“Oh, really?”

“Well…I was seven,” he admitted. “And the only competition was my sister, who could not yet walk. And the judge was my mother.”

Your laughter rang through the hall as he spun you beneath his arm and guided you back into step.

You should have been happy. You were dancing with a handsome young man who had made his interest in you plain. Godric was courteous. He kept his hands precisely where they belonged and made no attempt to grope or possess you. He complimented your dancing, whispered jokes near your ear, knew every step, and led you well.

Yet all you did was look over his shoulder, searching for Ormund.

Your gaze swept over every face, every couple, every archway. He was nowhere to be seen. Something inside you deflated and the realization came with a flush of shame: perhaps you were doing all of this for him. You wanted him to see you. You wanted him to want you. 

When the final notes rang through the hall, Godric drew you gently to a stop. Around you, the other dancers bowed and separated, their laughter mingling with the applause.

“I must say, my lady,” Godric was still slightly breathless from the dance, his hand holding yours lightly, “I think we make quite a fine pair of dancers.”

You blushed and lifted your free hand to smooth a few stray hairs from your face. You were about to say something, what exactly you could not remember, when a familiar, low voice spoke directly behind you.

“Lord Godric.”

You turned. 

Ormund stood only a few paces away, the crowd having parted around him. Conversations nearby were already quieting. His eyes, blue and still as a frozen pond, were fixed upon your intertwined hands. His face was empty. Terrifyingly, completely empty.

With sudden, perfect clarity, you knew you had gotten what you wished for. And you knew you had made the worst mistake of your life.

“Lord Hightower,” Godric said, his voice turning cautious. He followed Ormund’s gaze and untangled his fingers from yours. “I was only telling the princess that she is an excellent dancer. Whatever lessons you must have arranged for her–”

“Do you make a habit,” Ormund uttered, his voice carrying loudly enough to silence those nearest you, “of disrespecting your hosts?”

Godric blinked and glanced at the confused faces gathering around you. “...My lord?”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“I– of course not, Lord Hightower.” Godric gave a nervous, uncertain laugh. “We were only dancing.”

“Dancing? Only dancing?” With slow, imposing steps, Ormund advanced into the center of the hall, closer to you. “No, Lord Godric, I think not. I think what you have done is force yourself upon my ward after being expressly forbidden to do so.”

Panic overtook Godric’s expression. “Lord Hightower, I-I did no such thing–”

“But you did, did you not?” Ormund continued, his composure making every word more horrible to endure. “I made my refusal perfectly clear. You pretended to accept my authority, and then, the moment my back was turned, you disregarded my wishes. You disrespected my house. You disrespected her.”

You wanted to interject and defend Godric. You wanted to cower behind Ormund. You did neither.

“You took advantage of her,” Ormund declared, gesturing toward you as though you were evidence to be presented before the hall. “You knew the princess to be quiet and kind. You knew she was too gently raised to humiliate you with a refusal before half the Reach. And so you waited until I was absent and imposed upon her courtesy.”

Godric’s face reddened with the pressure of the entire Great Hall watching this encounter unfold. “The princess agreed to dance with me. She wanted to.”

Ormund’s eyes shifted to you and the hall seemed to contract. Something sharp flickered in his gaze as he tilted his head. 

“Did she now?” he asked, so softly it was barely a whisper. 

Godric turned to you, an obvious plea in his expression for you to absolve him of whatever crime Ormund had laid at his feet before the assembled houses of the Reach. You felt as though you had committed treason against the Crown itself. No– worse than that. As though you had sinned beneath the very eyes of the Seven.

Contrition flooded you so completely that you could scarcely bear Ormund’s gaze. Instead, you fixed your eyes down at the marble floor of the Great Hall– the same floor you had once raced across as a child. 

“Is it true?” He stepped closer until the polished leather of his shoes entered your lowered vision. “Did you wish to dance with him?”

Your voice trembled when you finally answered. “...yes.”

Tears blurred the marble beneath you. Still, you forced yourself to lift your head. Ormund’s face had gone flat once more.

He regarded you for what seemed like minutes, then gave a single, measured nod, as though you had confirmed something he had already known. “I see.”

Ormund’s gaze lingered upon you for another awful moment before he turned toward the watching hall, putting his hand on your arm. His grip was tight. “The princess is plainly unwell,” he announced, his voice once again smooth and measured. “I fear the excitement of the evening has overtaken her.”

A few sympathetic murmurs moved through the crowd. You were unwell, but not for whatever reason Ormund was claiming. You simply kept your eyes fixed above the crowd and willed yourself not to start crying. 

“Please,” Ormund continued, offering the gathered guests his courteous, practiced smile that did not reach his eyes, “return to your dancing. There is no reason our feast should be interrupted.”

Then he looked to Godric. “You may rejoin your father.”

Godric’s mouth parted as though he might object, but whatever he saw in Ormund’s face silenced him. He bowed stiffly instead. “Of course, Lord Hightower.”

Ormund moved his hand from your arm to the small of your back. “Come, my dear. I believe it is time to retire for the night.”

You allowed him to steer you through the parting crowd and out of the Great Hall. By the time the noise of the feast had faded behind you, you were sniveling like a pathetic child. Nothing remained but the sharp echo of Ormund’s footsteps and the hurried patter of your own as you struggled to match his long strides through the stone corridor.

Perhaps you should apologize. Perhaps you should explain yourself. If you could only make him understand, then perhaps he would–

Your head snapped backward.

A cry tore from your throat as Ormund seized a fistful of your hair and wrenched you toward him. You stumbled helplessly beneath his grip, dragged backward until your spine struck the stone wall.

“You fucking insolent slut,” he hissed. His fist tightened against your scalp, wrenching your head back until tears sprang anew to your eyes. “I cannot leave you out of my sight for a single minute before you whore yourself before a hall full of lords?”

He yanked again and the back of your head struck the stone with a dull crack. You clawed at his wrist, desperate to relieve the searing pull at your roots, but he twisted easily beyond your grasp.

“O-Ormund, I am– I did not–” you sobbed, reaching for him again.

His grip only tightened. You felt strands of hair pull and snap beneath his fingers.

“Please,” you cried. “It hurts–!”

“I have given everything to raise you. Everything.” Ormund spat the words, flecks of spittle striking your cheeks. “My house. My food. My protection. My own bed. All I have ever asked of you is obedience and respect.” He wrenched your head farther back. “And this is how I am repaid? You make a cuckold of me before half the Reach, shamelessly flaunting yourself for some boy?”

“It was only– we only danced–”

“You might as well have sucked his cock in the Great Hall.” His body crushed yours against the wall until you were flattened beneath his weight, the scabbard of his sword digging painfully into your hip. “Is that what you wanted to do? Hmm? You accomplished so much in the little while I was gone. Perhaps you did that as well.”

Your face flushed in shame as you gasped at his words. “No, Ormund! No–”

He leaned closer until his face hovered mere inches from yours, pure vitriol burning in his eyes. Ormund’s fist remained tangled in your hair, holding you helplessly in place. Then, suddenly, he froze. The fury in him shifted as he lowered his head, the bridge of his nose grazing your jaw. 

He breathed in. Ormund’s face twisted at once with disgust, as though he were suppressing the urge to gag. “You smell of him.”

A broken sob escaped you, your scalp still burning beneath his grip. There was no reasoning with him. Still, your heart twisted, and you tried. “I b-barely touched him, my lord. Please. You must believe me!”

The muscle in Ormund’s jaw flexed. Without warning, he wrenched you away from the wall and dragged you after him. His pace quickened as he marched you through the corridor, forcing you to stumble in order to keep from being pulled from your feet. Servants flattened themselves against the walls at the sight of him– the master of the Hightower hauling a princess of the realm by her hair while she sniveled and sobbed behind him. None dared intervene. They only lowered their eyes and stepped aside.

“You are an ungrateful, treacherous brat,” Ormund growled. “You may lie to me. You may lie before every lord in that hall. You may even kneel in the sept and lie beneath the faces of the Seven.” He shoved open the door to his bedchamber and pulled you inside. “But the Father sees what is hidden.”

The door slammed shut behind you. Ormund released your hair only to seize the back of your neck. Though the force of his grip kept your head fixed, your eyes shifted toward the bed, already knowing what would come next.

Instead, he steered you toward the adjoining bathing chamber and threw open the door. Heat and steam billowed from within. Servants still moved around the claw-footed tub, pouring steaming, scented water from brass ewers. At the sight of Ormund storming inside with you trapped beneath his hand, they startled and pressed themselves against the tiled walls. 

“The Father judges every falsehood,” Ormund continued, his mouth close to your ear. “Every wicked thought. Every secret desire.”

“I did not–”

“Do not lie to me again.” His fingers dug harder into your neck. “You may deny it until your tongue rots in your mouth, but your body has already betrayed you.”

Ormund lowered his face once more, breathing against your hair, your cheek, the bare skin above your collar. A shudder of revulsion passed through him. “His stink is everywhere.”

He dragged you toward the filled tub. “You will wash it off.”

One of the servants, an older woman with a weathered face, hesitantly stepped forward. “My lord, we were not expecting the princess until later. The water is still too hot–”

Ormund’s head snapped toward her, his gaze blazing. “Leave. At once.”

The servants did not argue. They bowed hurriedly, abandoned the remaining ewers, and fled from the chamber. You did not blame them. For who would want to defend you, who had so obviously sinned before your lord?

Ormund pushed you towards the tub. “Undress.”

You did not move. You could not. Perhaps Ormund had seen glimpses of you before, the shape of your body beneath the sheer nightgowns he often gifted you, the outline of your breasts when candlelight illuminated the fabric. But those moments belonged to the night, in the darkness, when you could tell yourself his eyes were closed or turned elsewhere. 

You had never stood naked before your guardian. 

Your hair hung tangled around your face, scalp still throbbing where he had pulled. Tears and snot wetted the cupid’s bow of your lip, and you were shaking so violently that your teeth had begun to chatter. You had been diminished to nothing. 

“M-my lord,” you whispered, turning towards Ormund. “I can call the women back, they will help me–”

“No.” Ormund stared at you with open contempt. “You will not. You were comfortable enough flaunting yourself for that boy. Now, you discover modesty?”

Your cheeks burned and you hung your head. “Please, my lord…”

Ormund stepped nearer, hands twitching at his side. “You behaved like a harlot in my hall. You may undress like one here.”

Humiliation rippled through you like a wave. You began to believe he was right. You had disobeyed Ormund. You had accepted Godric’s hand. Why? Because you wanted a reaction from Ormund. And now, you had one. 

Your fingers fumbled for the ribbons at the back of your gown. They would not obey you. Each time you caught one, it slipped from your trembling grasp. 

“You are moving too slowly.”

“I-I am trying…” you sputtered. “But my hands…they will not cease trembling…”

The faint rasp of metal leaving leather made you freeze. Ormund drew the small dagger he carried at his belt.

“My lord, please don’t–”

Ormund caught the back of your gown in one fist, and with one swift movement, he cut through the ribbons. The bodice split open with a series of sharp snaps, the ruined ties falling loose around you. Ormund dragged the blade downward, severing embroidery and silk without care until the gown sagged from your shoulders and exposed your breasts. You gasped and tried to catch the fabric, but Ormund had already sheathed the dagger. He seized the torn gown and wrenched it down over your hips, leaving you naked in a pool of shredded blue silk.

Feebly, you crossed your arms over yourself. Ormund was quicker. He grabbed you by the upper arm and hauled you toward the steaming tub, his chest rising and falling with each furious breath.

“In.”

You lifted one trembling foot over the rim. The instant your toes touched the water, scalding heat shot through you. You recoiled with a yelp. “Ormund, it is too hot–”

“Good.” His hands closed around your shoulders. “Perhaps it will burn his stink from you.”

He forced you down. You cried as the searing water engulfed your body. You tried to rise, but Ormund held you beneath the surface of the bath, his fingers biting into your shoulders. Before you could catch your breath, he had dropped to his knees beside the tub and seized a sponge from the tray. 

He caught your wrist and began scrubbing your arm. The rough sponge dragged over your skin again and again, leaving it flushed pink and burning. Ormund’s eyes were wild, his movements frantic. Beneath the fury, there was a panic, a desperation you had witnessed only a handful of times before. It terrified you. 

“Men bow to their lords,” he muttered, dragging the sponge from your wrist to your shoulder as though he meant to strip away the skin itself and uncover something clean beneath it.

You recognized the words at once. Scripture, recited in the sept while you knelt beside Lady Hightower. Now Ormund spoke them in the bathing chamber she had once shared with her husband– only she was dead and rotting somewhere in a crypt, and you were grown and naked beneath his hands. 

“Repeat it,” he hissed. “As I taught you.”

“M-men bow to their lords.”

“Lords bow to their kings.” The sponge moved across your collarbone, then up the side of your neck.

“Lords bow to their k-kings…”

“And kings and queens bow before the Seven Who Are One.” He scrubbed the tender skin beneath your jaw. The same place where, in the darkness of night, he so often buried his face. 

Your voice shook. “Kings and queens bow before the S-seven Who Are One...”

The sponge dragged down your other arm. “All sins may be forgiven.”

“All sins may be forgiven...”

Ormund seized your knee and yanked your leg toward him, scrubbing harshly over your calf. “But crimes must still be punished.”

You swallowed a sob. “But crimes must still be…punished.”

At last, the sponge slipped from his hand and struck the tiled floor with a wet slap. Your entire body was rubbed pink and raw from his touch. Ormund remained kneeling by the tub, chest heaving as though he had just come from hours in the training yard. The water had finally cooled in the tub around you, though your tears had never once ceased. 

Men bow to their lords. Kings and queens bow before the Seven Who Are One. Crimes must still be punished.

The words could not cease circling your mind. 

Crimes must still be punished. Crimes must still be punished. Crimes must still be punished.

Steam from the bath had loosened Ormund’s brown curls, leaving them wild around his face. The sleeves and front of his doublet were soaked through. His collar sat crooked. Strands of hair had fallen across his brow.

You had never seen him so disordered. Ormund was particular about every detail of his appearance. Now he looked just about as ruined as you felt.

He rose and reached into the tub. You flinched, but his hands closed around your waist and lifted you to your feet. Water streamed from your body, droplets tracing the curves of your breasts and the softness of your stomach before falling back into the bath. The cooler air tightened your skin, your nipples pebbling as you shivered beneath his hands.

Ormund held you there, naked and trembling before him. Then he bent toward you. His nose brushed the wet skin beneath your ear. He inhaled once before moving lower to breathe against your neck and shoulder. You scarcely dared move.

At last, the terrible tension in his body eased.

“Clean,” he murmured. His hands tightened possessively around your waist. “You are clean again.”

Seemingly satisfied with his work, Ormund stepped back and surveyed you. His gaze traveled from your wet hair to your breasts, then lower still, lingering over the glistening curls at the apex of your thighs. 

He drew a slow breath, steadying himself, before turning away to restore some measure of order to his appearance. He straightened his collar and smoothed a hand over his damp curls, though the soaked fabric of his doublet clung stubbornly to him. Then he reached into the tub and took your hand. “Out.”

Water streamed from your body and pooled across the tiles as you stepped over the rim. Ormund kept one hand around yours and the other at your waist. Then he retrieved the linen nightgown the servants had left folded over a nearby chair and tossed it toward you without looking. “Dress yourself.”

You clutched it against your chest, relieved merely to have something with which to cover yourself. “Y-yes, my lord.”

With shaking hands, you pulled it over your head. The fabric caught against your wet skin, clinging to your breasts and thighs despite your efforts to tug it loose.

When you had finished, Ormund turned back. For a moment, the two of you merely stared at one another. Then he lifted a hand and brushed a wet tendril of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle after the same hand had scrubbed your skin raw only moments before. “Do you understand why I do this for you?”

You nodded slowly.

“Then tell me.”

You swallowed. “To…purge me?”

“Yes.” He stepped nearer, cupping your cheek. “I have told you before, and I will continue to tell you. At your core, you are a wicked creature. However earnestly you may struggle against it, the sins of your forefathers live within you. That is why you disobey. Why you cannot always recognize the corruption in your own desires.”

Your breathing grew shallow at his words.

“It is my duty to purge it from you, to discipline what is wicked and preserve what may yet be made good.” Ormund’s hand settled more firmly against your cheek, holding your face toward his. He studied you expectantly. “Do you understand me?”

“I understand you, Ormund.”

“Good girl.” His hand fell away. He turned and left the bathing chamber without another word. You remained where you were for a moment, waiting until you trusted your legs not to collapse beneath you, then wobbled after him.

The bedchamber had grown dim behind the closed shutters, illuminated only by the wavering glow of candlelight and slivers of moonlight. Ormund stood beside the wardrobe, peeling the soaked doublet from his body and revealing the muscled planes of his back. Though he so often slept without a shirt, you turned away bashfully. 

When Ormund faced you again, you kept your gaze fixed upon the ornate rug beneath your bare feet.

“Right,” he said. He dragged a hand over his jaw and glanced from you to the bed. Then he inclined his head toward it. “On the bed, then. Ready yourself.”

Your heart seemed to stop. Your gaze snapped up to him, your brows drawing together. “M-my lord?”

He scoffed as though you were a fool for questioning him. “It is the seventh day. Surely you did not imagine yourself excused…particularly after tonight. I have all the more reason now to question your purity.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again. “B-but, my lord…the bath–”

“The bath did nothing but remove the taint of horse shit from you,” Ormund spat. He advanced upon you. “As I told you before, you managed a great deal in the few minutes I was gone. How am I to know you did not give yourself to Lord Ashford?”

The accusation was absurd. Ormund had been absent for perhaps ten minutes. The hall had been filled with half the Reach. Surely he could not truly believe that you had…

“I said, on the bed,” Ormund repeated, each word sharpened by warning. “Do not make me say it again.”

You hurried toward the bed and crawled onto it. You had done this so many times that the motions should have come as second nature. Yet each time, every part of you trembled with the same terrible mixture of dread and anticipation…and something hotter beneath them both that you could never bring yourself to name.

You shuffled backward until your head met the pillows, then lowered yourself flat against the mattress. Ormund remained at the foot of the bed, the pale skin of his bare chest almost luminous in the candlelight. He looked at your position with a scowl, then closed his hands around your ankles. With one sharp pull, he dragged you toward him until your ass rested at the very edge of the mattress.

He tapped the outsides of your quivering thighs. You parted them, allowing him to step between your legs.

Ormund looked down at you. Your breasts rose and fell beneath the damp nightgown, each breath shallow and unsteady. “You are nervous tonight.”

You began to shake your head, but he clicked his tongue. “Remember what I told you. Do not lie to me.”

Your throat tightened. “I-I am nervous, my lord.”

“Why?” The question was edged with mockery. Ormund reached down and caught the hem of your nightgown between his fingers. “This should hardly surprise you by now. Or…is there something you are trying to hide from me tonight?”

“No, my lord. I swear, I have nothing to hide–”

“We shall see.” He began to draw the nightgown upward. Higher and higher, until the cool air brushed over your calves and thighs, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Higher still, until the fabric gathered around your waist and your sex lay completely exposed beneath his gaze.

Ormund inhaled, and you could have sworn his breath trembled. His thumbs pressed against your puffy pussy lips, parting you beneath the candlelight. You were unbearably sensitive after the scalding bath, and the sudden touch of cool air on your exposed flesh drew a helpless whimper from your throat.

Ormund stilled. His hands remained firmly in place, holding you open as his narrowed eyes lifted to your face. “What was that?”

You swallowed. “N-nothing, my lord.”

“Nothing?” he repeated softly. “Have you learned nothing tonight?”

“I did not mean–”

“Your mouth lies,” Ormund murmured. “But your body confesses so readily.”

Humiliation burned through you. You turned your face toward the pillows, but his voice sharpened.

“Look at me.”

You obeyed. Ormund studied you with a feverish focus. Without speaking, he prodded your entrance with the tip of his middle finger. The sensation made you jolt. He steadied you with a hand pressed firmly upon your hip. “Stay still.”

You tried, desperately. You fixed your eyes upon his face and willed every muscle to quiet, though your breath came shallow and uneven. 

Ormund paused, the tip of his finger still pressing against your hole. “What shall I find tonight, hmm? That you have been faithful to the Seven above? Faithful to me? Or shall I find you have let Lord Ashford fuck this pretty little cunt?”

You squirmed beneath his gaze, feeling as though you had been scalded again by his brazen words. “N-no, my lord.”

Ormund hummed in response. Then, once again, he used his other thumb to spread your pussy lips open, his gaze transfixed on where his finger rested.

“Look at you…” His voice was hushed, contemplative. “I have barely touched you, and your pussy is already fluttering.”

You whined, horrifically embarrassed, but he shushed you before you could protest.

“You are thinking of that Ashford boy, aren’t you?”

You shook your head immediately, adamant. You could hardly remember Godric’s face now. 

Ormund tutted. “Words.”

“No! No, I am not.”

“Then why,” he asked, his gaze never leaving you, “is your cunt weeping?”

You had no answer, other than your body had answered before your mind.

“It is no matter,” Ormund sighed, thumb still holding you open. “You are a deceitful bitch who will learn her lesson regardless.”

Slowly, Ormund began to push his fingertip into you. A broken moan tore through you at the burning intrusion, though you had felt this so many times before. The walls of your pussy clenched around him, and you tried to will yourself to relax your muscles. Breathe, you commanded yourself. Obey. 

His hand stilled, the tip of his finger seated inside you. He did not look away. 

“If you are not wet for Lord Godric,” Ormund whispered, finally lifting his gaze to yours, “then who is it for?” 

For a moment, you were no longer in Ormund’s chambers. You remembered attending the sept with Lady Hightower, kneeling beside her before the bejeweled statue of the Father. You remembered her lessons, her gentle voice, the certainty with which she had spoken.

“You must always tell the truth,” she had taught you. “For the Father sees all.”

The words echoed now, impossible to ignore. You were compelled. You had to confess.

“You.”

Ormund groaned at the confession, his hand tightening at your waist. 

“Do you hear yourself, you harlot?” His voice rattled maniacally, the rings on his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of you. “Do you not hear the lewdness of your own words? Lusting after me, your own guardian?”

Shame flooded through you. You should have lowered your eyes. You should have taken back the confession. But there was something in his voice that told you he was not reprimanding you. Ormund wanted you to say it. He wanted you to confess.

Before you could even think of a response, Ormund’s mouth twisted. Then he spat.

A hot, wet glob landed directly on the swollen pearl at the top of your cunt, obscene and shocking enough that your whole body shuddered. The sensation was like nothing you had ever felt before. Vulgar in a way that made humiliation burn through you even as a moan slipped from your throat.

Ormund saw it, because just as the Father did, he saw everything. A wicked, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Theeere it is,” he murmured, voice low and rough with satisfaction. “Moaning like a bitch in heat. Acting like the whore you are.”

Your face burned and you turned back into the pillows, trying to stifle the whimpering sounds that were attempting to escape you. 

Ormund leaned closer, caging your body in with his, the tip of his finger still inserted into you. “You think I do not know you? I raised you. I made you.”

Your thighs twitched instinctively, as if you could push him away. For a moment, he withdrew slightly, as if it were finished. As if Ormund would simply wipe his hand on the handkerchief he always kept on him and declare the matter settled. It had always been that way before.

The ritual– the inspection that occurred every seventh day– always ended the same. Ormund would stop at the first knuckle, claiming only to feel enough to confirm that your maidenhead was still intact. Then he would withdraw, disappear into the bathing chamber for a few moments while you caught your breath alone on the bed, and return composed once more.

Afterward was the part you cherished most. Perhaps it was the only reason you endured the ritual at all. Ormund would take you into his arms. He would press his lips to your brow, your cheek, sometimes even your mouth, and tell you how good you had been. How faithful. How untouched. He would allow you to rest against him, your head upon his chest, while he kissed the top of your head and held you as though you were something precious.

And for a little while, you no longer felt like a ward. No longer like an unwanted addition to his household. For a little while, you felt like a wife would.

You felt wanted.

But this time, Ormund did none of that. Instead, he pushed forward. 

You gasped at the invasion, hands tightening around the sheets as his finger slid deeper than it ever had before. It was only one finger, and still you felt stretched open by it, your body struggling to make sense of the unfamiliar pressure. Pain mixed with pleasure, a strange concoction that was better than anything you had ever known. 

Ormund watched the reaction move across your face.

“She is so tight,” he whispered, almost in a trance as he looked down at where his finger disappeared inside you. “So untouched. So desperate for more.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. Of course you were untouched. You could not imagine ever being touched by anyone other than Ormund. 

“So obedient for your lord,” Ormund added, voice husky. “And still you asked me not to stop.” 

His thumb moved slowly, the pad of it pressing against your aching clit right above where his finger held you open. The sensation struck through you so sharply your thighs closed his hand, though he pried them back open with ease. 

Ormund’s thumb began to circle your clit, slow and deliberate, while his finger remained seated inside you. The two sensations seemed to pull against one another: the deep stretch of him, the slick pressure of his thumb, the unbearable intimacy of being watched while your body answered him so honestly.

“Do not be so quiet now, my sweet girl,” Ormund commanded you. “Not when your body is finally telling the truth.”

His finger began to move. Slowly at first, dragging almost to the tip before pressing back in. The stretch came easier now, slicker with your growing arousal. His thumb kept circling with maddening precision, steady enough that something began to gather low in your belly.

A coil. A warning. A want. It was overwhelming. It was maddening. It was completely and utterly terrifying. 

“Ormund…”

His finger curled slightly inside you, pressing against a soft place that made you see stars, and you cried out, back arching. 

“There we are,” Ormund breathed. “That is what you have been trying to tell me.”

“N-no,” you said, though the denial sounded weak even to your own ears.

Ormund leaned closer, mouth skimming your jaw. “You want this. You have wanted this every time I stopped.”

Your lips parted, but no answer came.

The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, every pass of his thumb dragging you closer to some precipice you did not understand. Your thighs began to tremble. Your breath broke into small, helpless whimpers. Panic and pleasure tangled together until you could no longer tell which one made you shake.

“Ormund, please,” you gasped. “S-something…something is happening!”

“Is it?” His voice was calm, almost cruelly so, his eyes fixed on your face. Then, just as the feeling rose so sharply it frightened you, Ormund withdrew completely. His finger slipped out of you, and his thumb left your clit all at once.

The loss was immediate. You whined, hips lifting after him before you could stop yourself, your cunt clenching around nothing. 

Ormund stepped back from the bed, composed and distant, as though whatever had existed between you moments before had vanished entirely. He reached for the handkerchief he kept in his back pocket, and cleaned your glistening arousal off of his finger with a maddening calmness. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows, chest heaving. Sweat had beaded on your forehead from the intense pleasure that was there just moments before. When you spoke, your voice was small and confused. “...My lord?”

Ormund did not look at you. “I have confirmed what I needed to know. You are untouched. That has not changed. But you still disobeyed me.”

You stared at him, searching his face for some sign that he did not mean it. Some indication that this was a test, that Ormund would relent as he always did. That he would gather you in his arms, kiss your face, and fall asleep.

He did not. 

“You are not forgiven,” Ormund said matter-of-factly. Then came the words you never expected to hear. “You will return to your own chambers tonight.”

Your own chambers. You had not slept there in years. Not since before Lady Hightower had died. 

The feast, the bath, the feeling of something coiling in you as Ormund used his fingers upon you like an instrument– it all came crashing down at once. You were unsteady, disoriented. Lost. 

He was sending you away from the only place where you knew how to exist. The only place where you had ever felt wanted.

You scrambled from the bed, your feet landing unevenly against the rug. Before you could think better of it, you reached for his arm.

“My lord, please.” Your voice shook. “I-I cannot sleep there.”

Ormund did not move.

“Please,” you whispered. “I can only sleep here. I have only ever slept here.”

He refused to answer. He remained focused on the handkerchief, wiping the finger that had been inside you moments ago. 

“Please, Ormund. I-I love you.”

He always liked hearing that. You lifted yourself onto your toes and pressed a desperate, open-mouthed kiss to his cheek, waiting for the familiar response. Waiting for his hand to come to your face, for his voice to soften, for him to tell you that everything was all right.

Ormund did not.

Your heart seemed to collapse inside your chest. You could not understand how he could stand there so calmly when you felt as though you were breaking apart.

“I was so ungrateful,” you sobbed. “I was t-treasonous, my lord. I was wicked.” Your hands tightened around him. “I should have rebuked Lord Godric. I should have listened. I was an insolent fool.”

Not knowing what else to do, you sank to your knees before him, head bowed as though you were kneeling before the altar in the sept. The posture came instinctively from years beneath Ormund’s instruction, a familiar act of surrender and supplication.

“Please forgive me,” you whispered. “I will do anything you ask of me. Please.”

You remained there before him, the room silent save for your trembling breaths and quiet sobs. Your forehead stayed bowed, your hands clutching the fabric of his breeches as though letting go would mean losing him entirely. 

Finally, Ormund looked down upon you. “You hear yourself, do you not?” 

You lifted your swollen eyes toward him.

“You beg for forgiveness, but you do not yet understand what it is you are asking forgiveness for.” Ormund crouched until he was level with you, hands on your shoulders. “This is not about Godric or a dance or a foolish mistake. It is about what lies beneath it, the thing I have warned you of for years.”

You shivered beneath his touch, the words chilling you. 

“The dragon within you.”

It felt as though the entire world had narrowed to this room, to this moment, to you kneeling before him. As though every lesson in the sept, every warning, every correction had led you here. 

“I have spent years trying to protect you from the worst parts of yourself,” he continued. “And still, when temptation came, you reached for it. That is why an apology is not enough.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You must learn that your impulses do not rule you. Your desires, your pride, they do not rule you. Not even the dragon that plagues your soul.”

“What rules you is none of those.” Ormund leaned closer, his nose brushing yours. “It is me.”

With that, Ormund rose to his feet, though you remained kneeling. His hand went to the leather belt at his waist, the same belt from which his sword scabbard hung. Slowly, he unfastened it and set the scabbard aside on the chest near the bed. He turned to you and gestured for you to stand. 

You obeyed instantly, rising on shaky legs. 

“If you want forgiveness, you will listen to me,” Ormund said, undoing the belt until it came loose in his hand. “You will disrobe. You will set yourself upon the bed. And you will take the strokes of my belt in penance for your sins. Will you do that for your lord?”

You nodded. You would do anything he asked of you. Hands trembling, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head. You were bare, naked as the day you were born. It felt different from the bath. This time, there was no steam to soften the room. This time, you could clearly see Ormund take all of you in: the line of your calves, the curve of your hips, the plane of your stomach, the weight of your breasts. His eyes moved over your body shamelessly, intense and hungry.

“Onto the bed,” he ordered. “Face away from me.”

You complied, turning from him and crawling onto the mattress. Before you could move too far, Ormund caught your calf in one hand, signaling for you to stop once you were on all fours near the edge of the bed. His touch lingered there for a moment, and then his hand slid upward, palm dragging from your calf to your thigh, then higher still, until it settled over the soft curve of your ass. His fingers squeezed once, firm and possessive, before dropping lower.

You heard the soft whisper of leather as Ormund folded the belt in his hand. You could not see his face from where you knelt, turned away from him, but you could feel his gaze moving over you. The back of your neck, your trembling spine. Your exposed cunt, surely glistening now with arousal though you could not understand why. And then your ass, presented bare and vulnerable to him, where he intended to mark you. 

“You will pray the Seven’s lesson as you were taught,” he said, though his voice had gone strained. 

A familiar molten heat, like what you felt just a few minutes earlier, had begun to unwind in your belly. You nodded, eyes on the bed below you. “Yes, my lord.”

Leather cracked across your skin. The sound came before you could even register the pain, sharp and booming like thunder. You cried out as a bright line of heat bloomed over your ass, fingers clutching uselessly at the sheets. 

“The Father,” Ormund breathed, voice low. “Tell me His vow.”

You remembered learning your lessons. It was Ormund who taught you when you were just a girl. Before you knew what you would become. What he would become. 

“I-I submit to all judgement,” you recited shakily. 

The belt came down again, landing just below the first one.

You jolted forward, a broken sound spilling from your mouth as the second stroke landed just below the first. Heat spread through you in terrible waves and your knees trembled, but Ormund’s free hand caught your hip to hold you up. 

“The Mother.”

“I seek mercy.”

The third stroke fell harder.

You sobbed again, and shame burned through you at the sound, but Ormund only stepped closer. You could feel him now, the heat of his body just behind yours, the roughness creeping into his breathing. 

“The Warrior.”

You pressed your forehead into the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut, willing yourself to submit. “I will have c-courage.”

The fourth stroke cracked across you, closer to your wet sex. The sound that came from you this time was not a sob, but a moan. You heard Ormund utter a low curse under his breath from behind you. 

“The Maiden, now, girl. You should know this one by heart.”

“I will guard my innocence.”

Next, the fifth stroke. You cried out, smothering your sounds in the sheet, but this time Ormund made no attempt to hide the rough, ruined exhale he made in response. 

You realized there, completely naked on his bed, the bed you had shared with him for years, that Ormund was enjoying this. 

“The Smith,” he ordered you. 

“I will be remade.”

The sixth stroke landed and pain sparked through you, body sagging slightly before Ormund caught you with his hand. His wide palm moved from your waist to the punished, red flesh of your ass. 

“Ormund,” you whispered, though you didn’t know what you wanted of him.

His breath shuddered. “The Crone.”

“I will s-seek wisdom.”

You could hear how close he was. Hear it in the uneven pull of air through his teeth, in the way his hands trembled against your skin.

“Now, the last,” he said.

Like a final judgement, the seventh stroke came down. Hard.

Your cry broke open, high and helpless, your body finally collapsing forward into the sheets as the hurt bloomed through you in a final, burning wave. Ormund followed you down at once, his body bowing over yours from behind.

“The Stranger,” he panted into your ear, bare chest pressed against your back. “Tell me His vow.”

“I will leave behind what I was.”

The belt slipped from his hand and hit the floor. You heard the unmistakable frantic tug of laces being loosened, the rustle of breeches as Ormund shoved them down with no patience at all. 

You did not understand what was happening at first. You only knew he was behind you, breathing hard, one hand gripping your hip so hard it bruised while the other was moving between your bodies with a frenzied desperation. 

Then you felt him. The hard length of his cock, pressed against the swollen skin of your ass. You gasped at the silky, heavy, throbbing sensation. Perhaps you had felt it before, but between sheets, between linen, pressed against your back in the dead of night. You did not know, or did not want to know, or even fully understand what it was. But you knew now. 

You heard movement, skin rubbing skin. Ormund’s fist worked himself in quick, uneven strokes, the leaking head of him pressed against the raw flesh. 

Ormund groaned low in his throat, the sound muffled against your shoulder as he bent over you.

“Do you feel that, Princess?” he rasped. His hips jerked forward, the stiff length of him dragging on your ass. The contact made him shudder violently against you. “Do you feel me on you? This is what you do to me. You have bewitched me, heart and flesh alike.”

Your face burned so hot you thought you might cry from the humiliation of it. Bent beneath him in the bed he once shared with his wife. Marked by him. Listening to the rough, wet sound of his hand moving over himself while his body trembled against yours. 

You turned your head instinctively, trying to look back. To see the reality of what was happening to your innocence. Ormund’s palm came down between your shoulders, forcing your face down into the sheets. 

“No,” he ordered, voice ragged. “Do not l-look at me. Stay down.”

You obeyed. A broken sound left him at that, like a laugh. 

“My good girl,” Ormund breathed. “My sweet, good girl.”

His hand moved faster. From behind, you could feel every frantic pull of his fist in the rhythm of his body: the way his hips twitched, the way his thighs pressed against the backs of yours, the way his hot breath puffed against your neck. Ormund dragged the head of himself lower, close enough that you could feel the swollen head of his cock brush your cunt. 

“Do you want it?” he asked. “Do you want your guardian to finally take you? Do you want me to give you my cock and fill you with my seed so everyone will know who you belong to?”

You did. You wanted it so badly. You wanted Ormund to fuck you, to finally take the virginity he treasured so much. 

“Do you want it, my darling girl?” Ormund repeated shakily, dragging his cock up and down your slick folds, the leaking head of it bumping against your swollen clit. “If I pushed in right now, would you open for me? Would you let me take what is rightfully mine?”

Your fingers twisted into the sheets. You did not even know what you were asking for. You only felt the compulsion of the Father move through you. “Yes, my lord! M-make me yours…”

Ormund groaned. But, to your dismay, he did not push himself into you. Instead, he drew himself back, dragging his cock against your skin as his fist resumed its desperate rhythm. 

His mouth found your shoulder, open and trembling. His teeth grazed you once, biting down lightly. 

“You are mine,” he said against your skin. “Whether I fuck you tonight or keep you untouched for the rest of your life, you are mine.” 

Ormund’s hips stuttered hard against you. “Tell me whose you are, Princess.”

“Y-yours…”

“Say it properly for your lord.”

“I am yours, Ormund!”

With a final, low groan, Ormund collapsed over you, body shaking. You felt something hot and wet spurt across the marks of your ass. His hand kept moving through the violent pulses, dragging every last wave out of himself while he panted your name into the back of your shoulder. 

Finally, the spasming of his cock subsided, and his weight softened over you. Ormund remained bowed over your body, trembling as he pressed his forehead between your shoulder blades. His lips moved slowly along your spine. His palm, sticky with release, spread tenderly over your waist, drawing you more firmly beneath him. 

“My precious girl,” he whispered, pressing another damp kiss to your back. “My beautiful, perfect princess. You did so well for me.” 

You could do nothing but lie there beneath him, overwhelmed and exhausted, your body aching everywhere he had touched you. 

Ormund wrapped both arms around you, rolling onto his side and bringing you with him. He gathered your naked body so tightly against his own it felt like he had never intended to let you go. His release remained warm upon your skin, trapped between you as he fitted himself along your back. One arm circled your waist and the other slipped beneath your head, drawing you into the shelter of his bare chest. Ormund kissed the hairs at the nape of your neck, then your shoulder, his mouth lingering over every place it touched.

“Come here,” he murmured. “My pretty little thing.”

Ormund turned you carefully within his arms until you faced him. His hand moved slowly through your hair, smoothing it back from your flushing, tear-streaked face as he pressed kisses across your cheeks. He did not seem to care that you were both disordered and sweaty, that his breeches remained tangled around his thighs, or that his seed still clung to your body.

Your eyes burned. “I-I thought you hated me… That you would send me away forever.”

“No.” Ormund cupped the back of your head, keeping you against him. “No, my love. Never that.”

A sob escaped, and you buried your face against him, clutching at him as though the Hightower itself were crumbling around you.

Ormund drew you fully atop him, arranging your body over his with practiced intimacy. Your cheek rested above his thumping heart. One of your legs slipped between his, your naked bodies fitting together beneath the rumpled sheets as naturally as though you had been made by the Seven for this. 

“You frightened yourself tonight,” he murmured, rocking you gently against him. “You forgot what I taught you. But you remember now, do you not?”

You nodded silently. Ormund tipped your face upward. His gaze moved over your swollen eyes and trembling mouth with such devotion it hurt. 

“I forgive you.”

Finally.

Finally, the words you had spent the entire night longing to hear. The words you had wanted since the moment you realized your Valyrian blood was something impure. 

The weight of it all overwhelmed you, his forgiveness, his naked body beneath yours, the certainty that he was not sending you from his bed. It all crashed over you at once, and your body shook with the force of your tears. Ormund gathered you closer, shushing softly as he kissed your forehead, your temple, your quivering lips.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you. Must I say it a thousand times? I love you.”

You pushed yourself further into him and sobbed harder. You believed Ormund. You always did. For he always told the truth.

“I-I am sorry for the wickedness in me, Ormund,” you stuttered, tears wetting his chest. “I should have been better for you.”

“Oh, my sweet girl.” His fingers combed gently through your hair, the same hair he so often praised for lacking the silver-gold of your blood. “You are not the first woman to struggle against the wretchedness within her.”

Ormund shifted beneath the covers, drawing you higher upon his chest until your face rested within the curve of his neck. His lips brushed your brow again and again as though he could not bear to stop kissing you.

“The Seven have blessed you, though,” he continued. “They did not leave you among your diseased kin who would encourage that fire. They did not leave you in the Red Keep. They did not leave you to dragons.”

You lifted your face from his chest. The candles had long since sputtered out, leaving only moonlight to illuminate the handsome angles of his face. The face you loved, the face you worshipped so dearly. Ormund cupped your cheek and brought your mouth to his.

The kiss was slow and delicate, nothing like the frenzy whose presence still marked your bodies: the angry welts left by his belt, his seed drying against your thighs. Ormund kissed you with the solemnity of a husband sealing a vow before the gods. When he pulled away, he did not allow even an inch of space to form between you.

“You were given to me,” he whispered against your mouth. “To raise. To correct when you wandered. And to cherish when you returned.”

A smile spread across Ormund’s face, full of such love and adoration that your soul ached with it. “And you will always return to me.”

Ormund took your hand in his and pressed it flat over the steady beating of his heart. Then he brought your fingers to his lips and kissed each tip one by one. “The Seven knew you needed something greater than blood or the Iron Throne. Greater even than dragons.”

Your eyes grew heavy as the last of your terror loosened beneath his attention. Ormund drew the covers more closely around your entwined bodies and tucked your head beneath his chin. “They knew you needed a home. A father.”

You nestled deeper into his chest, lulled by the heart beating beneath your ear. Sleep had nearly claimed you when his arms tightened around you.

When Ormund spoke again, his voice was so hushed that you thought perhaps you had dreamed it.

“They knew you needed me.”

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"You're late." Ormund spoke, his hands clasped behind his back and a displeased look on his face.

You curtsied, walking closer to him. The echo of your boots bouncing off the wall of the sept.

"I am sorry, my lord. I did not intend to—"

"It does not matter what you intended, darling. You were late and lateness is not tolerated."

Your eyes were fixed on the floor, your green gown shifting against your body.

"Yes.. yes, I apologize. Please forgive me."

He stepped forward, bringing his fingers to your face— lifiting your chin so that your eyes could meet his.

"I forgive you, It would be wrong for me not to."

You nodded, still holding your breath and waiting foe the other shoe to drop.

"Thank you." You mumbled.

He gave a half smile, moving his fingers away from your face.

"Do not do it again. It is unbecoming of you and me as your guardian. Punctuality is important to me and to the very gods that you've come to pray to this morning. Sloth behavior is a sin, a sin that I will not tolerate."

"I understand, my lord."

He nodded and usehered you to the altar.

Both of you knelt at the altar, the candles and candlelight overtaking it. You brought your palms together, glancing into the flames.

Ormund glanced at you, his eyes raking over your appearance, the thing that he had the most control over. He stared at you often, his face unreadable— but deep down you knew that it was disdain. You knew that your your silver hair, violet eyes, your formidable dragon, your vulgar tongue—all of it angered him. An anger that was boundless and grew by the day.

Just as you were about to begin you your prayer, Ormund leaned closer to you— his lips near your ear.

"You will be punished for your lateness."

You felt your stomach drop at his words, a chill running down your spine.

He wasted not a moment longer as he began his prayer. A prayer that you knew all too well and had practically memorized word for word. He asked for strength in the brewing war, for understanding, for patience while being your guardian, for forgiveness in his sins.

You however stared off into the distance again, a tear running down your cheek. You always prayed for different things, some things within your grasp and others not. That morning, you prayed for love— the one thing that you wanted so badly and could never reach.

You wanted a husband or even a betrothed like your siblings would have. You wanted to be like the other noblewomen around the realm, singing praises about their husband. You wanted it so badly and Ormund constantly denied you of it.

Ormund always finished his prayers before you did, leaving you in the sept with the two knights that were tasked with watching your every move, Ser Bronn and Ser Humfrey.

The cool air in the sept crept up your skin, the sadness flowing through your veins like an aged wine. You did nothing to deserve the fate of being forced to live in Oldtown, seperated away from your mother and siblings for most of your life.

It was truly an accident, you didn't mean to hurt Aemond on purpose. You only wanted to defend Jace, but your grandsire saw this as a necessary course of action.

It was an accident that you had been paying for ever since, an accident that would rob you of any joy that you could've had.

When you first came to Oldtown, all of it was unfamiliar to you. Your mother had never forced the faith onto you, it was at your discretion whether or not you'd follow them. She gave you a choice, the one thing that you would not have under Ormund.

After praying in the sept, you went back to your chambers— waiting to break your fast at the usual time. You sat at the at the seat near the window, looking out into the distance— thinking of home and what you had missed. Being under Ormund's thumb meant that you did not receive messages from them often, if you did, they were read by him beforehand to make sure that they were suitable for you to read.

He did not want you ingesting more of their heretic words or ideolgies, you were already too far in when you came to him and he had to fix you. He had to make you better, show you that what you knew was wrong and improper.

Living in Oldtown was like a beautiful, specially crafted cage that was wrapped in gold. The bars would have just enough of an opening that you could imagine being free, you could feel the freedom on your fingertips and the fresh air against your skin. You watched as everyone walked around your cage with a smile, their smiles often making you forget about the cage altogether. It was when the night would settle in and you'd want to spread your wings, when you'd realize that you were still in a cage. A rare bird that lived in a beautiful gold cage.

Fed, bathed, loved, but punished when you would chirp too loudly and grab the attention of the people around you. Always reminded that you were just merely a bird, his bird, his pet.

Despite your grievances, you did not hate him. You should've, you should've hated every fiber of his being— but some part of you found him to be the closest thing to your home. He protected you from yourself, from unruly men, unsuitable marriage proposals, from sin, from your incestous ways. He was your guardian and he had your best interest in mind, at least that's what you'd tell yourself.

You repeated those words over and over again, "He is protecting you."

"It's for your own good."

That was why he'd have your feet or hands whipped when you were caught misbehaving, when he'd make you sit in the tub and scrub your skin raw if he thought that you had sinned, make the maester check your sex to see if you'd betrayed him, hurl vile insults at you when you overstepped.

It was love and his protection, just as he'd said.

You were an uruly girl, made with tainted blood and in vile sin. You needed his guidance or you'd be doomed like the rest of your family.

Your food was brought to you on a tray, set on the table near the chair. You glanced over it, bowing your head before indulging.

"Mother above, I ask you for mercy in this war. Not for me, but my family. I ask that you keep them safe and whole in the pursuit for my mother's throne. I ask for mercy, because they might not and I know that they will need it. Warrior, I ask that you give my father and brothers strength in battle. I ask that you guide them to victory." You whispered to yourself.

"Your mother's throne?" A voice questioned.

Your head snapped the direction of the voice, your heart stilling in your chest.

"Forgive me.. my lord. I did not hear you come in." You stammered.

He stood across the room from you, his eyes fixed on you.

"The throne does not belong to your mother, which you know. The true king and rightful heir is your uncle, Aegon."

"Grandsire named my mother his heir, he defended it publicly and privately." You replied softly.

Ormund nodded, his head slightly tilted.

"Stand up."

You stood up, your palms sweaty and your heart racing in your chest like a rabbit.

He walked closer to you, his steps slow and calculated. He stood in front of you with his hands clasped, the pomander swinging at his hip.

"Your mother is a treasonous bitch, along with the rogue fraud that she is married to."

Your face twitched instinctively, his words wriggling under your skin like a worm in soil. He knew how much his disparaging remarks about your mother bothered you, yet he still made them. Perhaps, it was because they were true and you needed to hear them, or because he was cruel. Somedays it was hard to tell.

You kept your eyes on the wall instead of looking at him, because if they looked at him then he might see how your eyes had become glassy and that would be troubling. It would be troubling for your guardian to see you crying over the people who opposed the rightful heir, crying over the people that had you living in sin.

"You've been served a delicious meal by the servants here in the home of your guardian, yet you waste a prayer on those traitors. Why? Do you still not understand their actions and the gravity of this war?"

"I do understand, my lord." You replied.

"Look at me." He commanded.

Your eyes slowly shifted from the wall, glancing over his frame as he stood in front of you.

"Why would you pray for traitors to the realm?"

You hesitated, your mind racing for an answer.

"I prayed for them.. because in the eyes of the seven there is no person that cannot be prayed for. No one is perfect, which means that all of us sin and have sinned. In the eyes of the seven there is no such thing as treason or a rightful heir, just people who have strayed and should pray. No one is above being prayed for and this war is the will of men, not the gods."

Ormund smirked, stepping closer— bringing his hand to your face. You leaned into his touch, his hands holding your face as if it had always belonged there.

He began to grip your chin.

"Do you like disappointing me?"

Your eyes stared into his, "no, my lord."

"Do not let me hear you saying prayers for those bastards again. It is beneath me and you.. you are an extension of me."

"Yes.. my lord."

Ormund smiled, letting go of your chin and placing a kiss to your forehead.

"Good girl—"

"Now, eat your food before it gets cold. I would not want it going to waste."

Ormund walked to the door, leaving you standing there— the door shutting with a thud behind him.

A bird trapped in a beautiful cage.

Instead of eating, you sat back down in your seat. You tried so hard to fight back tears, but they came out anyway. It felt hard to breathe, your fingers gripping the fabric of your deep green gown. You wanted to tear it, feel it rip between your fingers. Higtower green, the colors of the people that betrayed your mother and stole her throne.

The gown felt tight against your skin, constricting your movements. The pins in your hair dug into your scalp, pinning up your silver locks up to make you fit the look of a proper noblewoman in Oldtown. The seven pointed star rested against your chest, the necklace rubbing against your skin. Every part of you was precisely picked and constructed by him. You were his and the worst part was that some part of you liked it.

You liked him and the control that he had over you, because control was all that you knew. It was a cage, but it was your cage and it could've been worse.

You wiped the tears that painted your cheeks and began to pick at the food on the tray, most of your appetite being lost after his visit.

While you sat in your chambers an emotional mess, Ormund was in his solar continuing a conversation with Gwayne.

"I'm glad that you have cleaned yourself up and began to settle in here." Ormund mentioned, blowing out the candle in front of him.

The smell of citrus and sandalwood drifted through the air.

Gwayne sat in the chair, his hands in his lap as he stared around the room. His eyes took notice of the tidiness in the room, how everything had a specific place, how everything was nothing less than perfect.

"Yes, it was nice to get a warm bath." Gwayne nodded in agreement.

"How is Daeron?"

Ormund leaned back in his chair, "he is fine. He's learning the fundamental importance of his new role as king."

"King?" Gwayne questioned, his brows furrowing.

"Yes, king. Aegon is dead and it seems as if Aemond is too, or he's willfully abdicated. Which means that it would be him that is next in line. He must be prepared."

"Rhaenyra sits the throne." Gwayne reminded him.

Ormund scoffed, "the bitch with dragons? that will not last long and it is being handled as we speak."

"She will not abdicate, you are setting him up for failure."

"She will, if her own people are starving and cannot trust her. There are still plenty that do not support her and that will be used to help us." Ormund protested.

"What of my sister? My nieces?"

Ormund's lip twitched at his questions. There were two things that Ormund could not stand, rotten smells and people who questioned his decisions. A lack of faith made his skin burn hot.

"You are full of questions it seems. Perhaps, it would've been wise for you to stay with Cole and finish out what you were tasked with."

Gwayne tilted his head, his face filled with confusion.

"Cole was on a suicide mission. He has no intention of coming back at all from battle, he intends to die in this war even when it is not necessary."

Ormund's brow raised, "do you suppose that you will get your nephew on the throne without bloodshed?—"

"It might be a bit too late for that sentiment."

Gwayne gritted his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. It felt as if everyone around him had lost their senses, no one was interested in listening to his reason.

"What of the girl?"

Ormund sat up in his chair at the mention of you, his facial expression changing within an instant.

"What of her?"

"If this half-baked plan of scaring Rhaenyra from the throne does not work, what then? Her and Daemon will come for their child, Gods help us when they do." Gwayne noted.

"What makes you so sure that she will want to go with either of them? She has spent years here in Oldtown with me as her guardian, both her and Daeron growing up under my wing. They have been cared for and taught the proper things."

Gwayne hung his head in defeat, "that is her mother, Ormund! Do not be a fool and let your feelings for her cloud your judgement. She is not your wife and she's not required to stay at your side."

Ormund's brows furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening as he leaned closer to his desk.

"What is that supposed to mean? She is my ward."

Gwayne chuckled, bringing his eyes to Ormund's.

"I have been here merely three days and I have heard the whispers. I will spare you the indignation of asking whether the two of you have been intimate, but she goes beyond being your ward—"

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Ormund interrupted.

"Whispers of you sharing a bed with her on some occasions, bathing her or with her, dressing her in some of your late wife's gowns. It is wrong."

"Those are vile insinuations." Ormund Argued.

Gwayne laughed bitterly, "insinuations are they?"

"You come here to Oldtown with your tail tucked after abandoning your men, yet you want to lecture me on my ability to be a guardian to my wards? This pursuit of the throne is for our blood and yet, you are too craven to see it through. It is a disgrace, you are a disgrace." Ormund spat, his patience thinning.

Gwayne nodded his head, listening to his words.

"As you say, cousin. I just hope that she is not truly aware of what has happened in this war thus far or you shall have an even bigger war to fight."

Ormund shrugged, "she is only aware of what I tell her and the same goes for Daeron."

"How do you suppose that he can be king, if you only tell him small tidbits of information?" Gwayne pried.

"He does not need to know everything at this moment, only what is necessary. I cannot guarantee that he will not share certain pieces of information with her as they are close. We need them on our side, that gives us two extra dragons."

"You truly believe that she'd get on dragonback and fight her own blood, kill them if need be?"

Ormund smirked, "you have far too little faith."

"Or maybe I have seen enough." Gwayne countered.

There was a silence that lingered between the two of them, not that they were at a loss for words— but there was truly nothing more to say. It was clear that Ormund had his mind made up and was not going to budge on the ideas that he's constructed in his mind.

"I must attend to something else, but I will talk to you more during supper." Gwayne spoke as he stood up from his chair.

"Very well." Ormund replied, watching Gwayne leave his solar.

Once Gwayne left the room, he could feel the anger brewing inside him. How dare he question him about you? about what he does for you? About his efforts in this war?

Ormund yelled, knocking everything off his desk and onto the floor in a bit of rage.

Once you had finished your food, you spent time with your septa as you tended to your studies.

That day, Septa Lyra had you working on needlework. Septa Lyra was nice, but you found needlework to be fatally dull. You would've rather spent your time reading or sneaking off to see your dragon, Vermithor.

Ormund had Vermithor chained as soon as you arrived, but not before he burned three dragon keepers. You pleaded for him to keep him free, because he would not like it— but you were scolded and chastised for your feelings regarding it.

Ormund hates dragons, he hates feeling inferior to them, and he hates knowing just how powerless he is because of them.

"Pay attention to what you are doing, you don't want to poke yourself." Septa Lyra spoke.

You adjusted how you held your needle and snapped back into the moment.

"Apologies." You mumbled.

She glanced at you, placing down her fabric in her lap.

"What has gotten into you today, child? You've barely spoken, not even a snide remark about your disdain for needlework."

You kept your focus on the fabric, guiding the needle through it—poking your finger to take your mind off of him.

"I was late to meet Lord Ormund in the sept for prayer this morning and then, he caught me praying for my mother and family in this war. He was not pleased."

The sound of the bells tolling clouded your mind for a small moment, reminding you that it would soon be time for you to pray again.

"Hmm.. Lord Ormund can be strict about people's commentary on this war. It has everyone worried, wondering what shall come the next day. I don't think that you should be too hard on yourself about a prayer."

You brought your eyes to hers, "he said that it was wrong of me to pray for them. I want them safe, but I don't want him harmed either. I just do not like being in the middle of this."

Septa Lyra's facial expression softened, reaching her hand for yours.

"Lord Ormund might be in charge here, but he cannot control what you pray for as that is yours and your relationship with the gods. He might find it to be in poor taste, but that is merely his own opinion."

"But, he was right. It is ungrateful of me, he has been too kind and good to me."

She sat back in her chair as she gave a half smile, one that didn't reach her eyes all the way.

A look of pity for Ormund's caged bird.

You began working the needle into the fabric again, your mind thinking of him. Thinking of things that weren't appropriate. He was your guardian, but why did he make you feel weak? Why did he make you want to be close to him, in his bed with his lips on yours?

Your skin felt warm, the memories flooding your mind.

For the rest of the time that you were in the prescence of Septa Lyra, you were quiet. You had hoped that being quiet would've changed the thoughts that consumed your mind, but it didn't. He consumed you, plagued your mind.

Once the time with Septa Lyra came to an end, you said your goodbyes and made your way to the sept for prayer. As Ormund wished, you visted the sept twice a day to pray and prove your devotion. In his mind, if he kept you busy with prayer then that meant less time for you to sin and cave into your innate herectic desires.

You walked to the sept, your stray hairs blowing in the wind with Ser Bronn and Ser Humfrey behind you. During your walk, you saw Gwayne— his eyes lingering on you for only a moment before he averted his gaze. He seemed like he was afraid to look at you, like he'd been ordered not to.

Your guards were merely one step behind you, almost on your heels— walking you to the doors of the sept as they stood outside of it. You weren't able to say anything to Gwayne, but even then you doubted that he would've held a conversation with you. You knew that Ormund would've forbid it.

At that hour, the sept was almost empty as most came to pray in the early hours of the morning or later in the afternoon before supper.

The sound of your boots clicking against the floor consumed the sound of the faint prayers that could be heard from the two nearby septa's.

You knelt at the altar, lighting a candle and pressing your palms together. With a bowed head and closed eyes, you began whispering your prayer in high valyrian— something that Ormund would never allow.

"Please, Mother above, I beg that you grant me peace. I cannot carry the burden of these feelings any longer, they fill my body and linger within me. Lord Ormund is my guardian, he is not mine to have and yet some part of me craves him. I think unsavory things, even after his punishments.."

"I am a rotten girl, a girl who does not deserve him and his leniency. Please, take away this feeling. I don't want to sin, I don't want to disappoint him. I want to be good, I want to be proud and I cannot be that with those thoughts." You begged silently, tears flowing down your cheeks.

Praying normally didn't bring you to tears, but that day it did. It brought out something in you that you had refused to admit for years.

After prayer, you went back to your chambers. You had hoped for a nap before supper as you had nothing else to fill your time.

You took your boots off and walked back over to the window to glance out, when you saw it or rather, them. Two large shadows flew over Oldtown, they looked to be Caraxes and Sunfyre. It was clearly a message being sent to Ormund, something meant to rattle him.

They hadn't forgotten about you, something that had brought you more hope than you had ever experinced. One day soon you could be leaving your cage. You could finally be free.

Even though you had thought about it plenty, you truly had no idea what it would mean to be away from him. Would you be happy? Would you miss him? Would you regret it? Would you mourn him, if he died?

You shook your head, stopping the questions as they entered your mind. You'd be lost without him, because who would teach you the proper things? Punish you when you were being a rotten girl?

The sound of panic and chaos could be heard from below with the dragons startling everyone, you even heard roaring from Vermithor and Tessarion. People rushed into their homes and knights cleared through the alleyway's.

You sat there, wondering if they'd fly over again.

The sun had dipped low in the sky as you sat in the window seat, blissfully unaware and deep into your accidental nap. It was the sound of a servant entering your chambers that startled you awake.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, my lady. I've come to prepare your chambers for the night." The woman spoke softly.

Your eyes fluttered open, a yawn escaping your lips.

"I can return in a few minutes, if necessary?"

You stood up, "no, that will not be necessary. I did not intend to fall asleep anyhow."

The woman came in and lit the fire in the fireplace.

You noticed that you still had his book on your desk, the book that you borrowed to advance your knowledge. It was supposed to have been returned, but it had slipped your mind. You grabbed the book, immediately rushing to bring it to his chambers, Ser Humfrey and Ser Bronn following in tow.

The shilouette of your dress moved along the wall as you passed the lit sconces. Servants gave half smiles and quick nods as they passed you.

It didn't take long before you reached his doors—the tall, heavy, oak doors with two knights standing outside of it.

"My lady, I do not think Lord Ormund wishes to be bothered at this moment." Jon Roxton spoke, standing on the left side of the doors.

"I came to bring something that belonged to him, that is all. It shall only take a moment." You mentioned.

All of them shared a look, both of them sliding out of your way. You rose your hand with a bit of dread, lightly knocking against the door.

"You may enter." Ormund called out.

You opened the door, shutting it behind you with a loud click.

His chambers smelled of a hint of vanilla with a deep wood smell, a smell that you knew all too well. The fireplace crackling with a small fire.

You turned to face him, holding the book in your hand— when you realized that he was in the middle of bathing.

"Oh.. I am sorry for the interruption, my lord." You stammered.

He gave a troublesome smile, the kind that made knots form in your belly.

"It is not interrupting if I told you to come in. To what do I owe the visit, sweetling? —"

"Supper will be happening here shortly."

Your eyes lingered on the tapestries in his room.

"Look at me, I will not tell you to do so again." He commanded harshly.

Your eyes darted to him, staring at him in the tub as the steam curled around him. He looked even better when he was relaxing and undone. He looked like a piece of art, the kind that takes years to paint, the paintings that you can't look at for too long without getting lost in them.

"I still had your book in my room and I had forgotten to bring it to you, my lord."

"Ah, you seem rather forgetful today. Forgetting when to arrive at the sept for prayer, forgetting who you should be praying for, and now my book."

Your palms began to sweat as you held the book, standing there in front of his judgement.

"I apologize.. forgive me. I don't know what has gotten into me. I will not make habit of such behaviors."

He motioned for you to set the book on the nearby table, which you did with a quickness. You didn't want to upset him more than you had nor did you want to remain in his chambers.

You curtsied and began to walk back towards the doors.

"I didn’t dismiss you, did I?"

Your fingers dug into your palm, your tongue poking your cheek. Just a few more steps and then you would've been out of his room, instead you found yourself scared for what could come next. Out of respect, you turned to face him.

"You did not, my lord."

He stood up in the tub, the water falling off of his body as he stepped out. Your heart stilled in your chest, your eyes immediately finding the floor as he stood bare in front of you.

"I see that on top of not remembering, we must also have issues with listening?" He questioned.

You immediately knew that he was referring to you keeping your eyes on him. You slowly brought your eyes over him and his body, every inch of it. It wasn't your first time seeing him bare, but it was wrong. He wasn't yours to admire.

He put his green robe on, tying the fabric in the front and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Neither of you spoke as you were at a loss for words, trying to fight the image of his length in your mind.

His footsteps pattered against the rug as he walked over to his desk, opening one of his drawers.

"Come here."

You blinked hard and gulped even harder, a pit in your stomach.

"My lord?"

"Do not.. make me repeat myself, girl." He gritted.

You slowly walked over to his desk, standing in front of it— trying to see what he had in his hand.

"Hands on the desk, palms up." He instructed.

Your lips started to quiver, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

"Please, Ormund. I am sorry."

He laughed, walking around the desk with a small, black whip in his hands. It was the same one that he had used for punishment before. The same one that he had Jon Roxton use on your feet when you were caught sneaking to the kitchens with Daeron late at night.

He hovered over you, his body just barely touching yours as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"Sorry is not good enough."

You closed your eyes, your cheeks already wet from tears as Ormund walked away from you.

The whip hit your left palm first, a cry escaping you.

"Make no mistake, I take no joy in punishing you and making you cry. You must learn to listen and be obedient as you've been taught—"

He struck your right palm.

"What kind of guardian would I be if I didn't punish disobedience? Would you rather live in sin and insolence?" He lectured.

The whip came down again. Your cries getting louder with each instance.

"You will learn, it doesn't matter if it takes until my last breath. You will do better, you will learn, you will be an exact reflection of me as your guardian." He reminded.

The whip came across your hands several more times, your knees wobbling with each hit as he forced you to stand still and take each one. If you cried too hard, interrupted him, or pulled your hands away— it was worse, always worse.

When he finished, he put his whip away and walked over to you with a smile. You took deep breaths as you fought through the pain, your hands still on his desk.

He wiped your tears with his thumb.

"Why must you make this so hard? Disappoint me so greatly?" He questioned.

You didn't answer, because you didn't have one and anything that you could've said would've gotten you another punishment. Your left hand had began to bleed, blood seeping into your palm.

"I shall have the Maester come attend to this wound, stay in here while I go fetch him. I want you to eat supper in here with me tonight—"

"I will inform Gwayne that I will be busy."

Of course you weren't perfect, but why did he punish you so harshly? You listened to him, followed him and that still did not spare you his ire. You submitted to him, you were his in your mind and heart, even when you didn't want to be. Why wasn't it enough?

A few moments later, the Maester came in and cleaned your wound, applying a bandage to it. He didn't ask questions as he knew what had happened and he knew better than to ask.

Ormund came back into the room, while you sat in one of the chairs. He came in with a good mood as if nothing had happened, but maybe nothing had happened in his mind. Punishment wasn't something to linger over, especially when he found it necessary.

"There has been great news these last few days about how this war is progressing."

You stared into the fire, thinking over the right words to say. You knew that his very statement was a trap, another lecture waiting for you. The best thing would be to acknowledge it and change the subject, but you couldn't.

"Was that mother on Sunfyre, flying over Oldtown with Caraxes?" You asked before you could stop yourself.

He pursed his lips and you could see the irritation all over his face within an instant.

"That bitch—"

His words were interrupted by the servants bringing supper into the room. They placed your trays on the table and left quickly, the door shutting behind them.

You glanced at the food and back at the fire in the fireplace while he prepared to dig in.

"Are you not going to eat?" He asked.

"I'm not hungry."

His fork tapped against his plate, a deep breath escaping his lungs.

"Do not be wasteful, eat."

"I am not hungry, my lord."

He did not bother to hide his irritation, " if you do not eat this food tonight, then you will not eat at all tomorrow. How does that sound?"

You caved as you didn't have much of a choice. You sat there silently, taking a few bites from the meat and vegetables on the plate.

"Back to talking about your bitch mother as you couldn't help but to bring her up, that was her on her dragon earlier. She was lucky that we did not have the scorpions ready to shoot the two of them down."

"You would dare kill a dragon?" You responded, your brows furrowed.

"Those filthy beasts are just that, something that you incestous aliens should've never trifled with." He griped, taking a sip of wine.

"Those beasts are loved by most of the small folk and made in the eyes of the gods. They would not be happy to witness such acts."

His eyes looked as if they could've popped from his skull, "made in the eyes of the gods? You know better than anyone to say such a thing, that is not true. It is odd that you could even suggest the mere notion."

Your fork scraped the plate, a blank look on your face.

"The gods would not will them to live if they were such abominations, yet they continue to live and thrive."

He dropped his fork onto his plate, his fists slamming against the table.

"You will cease this nonsense and heretic talk! I am in no mood for this, you rotten girl."

You scoffed in your mind, but you knew better than to do it outwardly.

"I am sorry, please forgive me. I have just had an overwhelming day, my lord."

Ormund nodded his head and resumed eating. His ability to regain control over his anger was something that you hadn't seen before. It was a perfected skill.

"All is well, just do not say those things again."

The rest of supper was quiet on your end, while Ormund complained about small things here and there. It wasn't anything that was of importance or that would matter to you, because the last thing he needed was for you to get to curious.

Once he finished eating, the servants came into his room— taking the leftover food and emptying the tub. The sun had gone down, the moon sitting in the sky.

You stood from your chair, "it is getting late and I should get to my chambers."

"Sleep in here tonight, it's been a while since you've last laid with me."

The last servant glanced at you, her face saying everything her mouth couldn't as she grabbed the empty pitcher and left the room.

"Okay." You agreed with a nod.

He brought over the silk nightgown that he kept of yours in his room. You took it from his hands with a small smile, watching as he walked to the window to look out while you changed.

You stripped out of your clothes and put on the nightgown, "you can turn around now."

He looked at you like it was the first time that he'd ever seen you, a look of possibly adoration. It was hard to understand, because you didn't know what it meant to be adored, not genuinely.

The servant had put out the fire in the fireplace, leaving the room to just the small slit of moonlight that came from the now closed shutters. You crawled into bed beside him, sleeping in the spot his late wife slept in, wearing a nightgown identical to the one that he had made for her years ago.

He pulled you close against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, his warm breath grazing against your ear. It felt as if you belonged in his arms, a home away from your true home. He kissed your head, a low hum in his throat.

"I've missed you sharing a bed with me, sweetling. It pains me to keep you away from it." He whispered.

He kissed your head again, taking in the scent of your hair. You could feel his cock hardening against you, a wetness forming in between your own legs.

His fingers would find your wet folds, gliding between them and rubbing your sensitive bud. His breaths ragged as he chased friction against your skin through his thin breeches. You were still unwed and his ward, it was wrong. It was a sin, something that would ruin you for any suitors.

Sometimes you'd pull away, but he pulled you closer and whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

When he fell asleep, you laid awake— staring at the ceiling. Even when you felt most at ease in his arms, that night you found yourself questioning it all. Was any of it real? Did he truly care about you or did he pretend that you were her? His do over, his chance to mold you into what was desirable. Had you lost your senses for feeling that way?

The next morning as the sun crept in, Ormund was already awake and had left his chambers. The maids came in at the time that they always did, bringing your gown for the day and preparing a bath. When they came in, they had hushed voices and low eyes, never allowing themselves to ask questions about the obvious.

You took your bath, sitting in the water for longer than you normally would. It was hard to place how you felt that morning, but you didn't feel happy. 

After your bath and getting dressed, you had time before you were to meet Ormund at the sept for prayer.

The maids had left the room, leaving you to yourself. You opened the door to peak outside and you had no one standing guard. Your heart raced in your chest as your eyes scanned the hall and you walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you. You walked quickly through the hall, hoping not to be noticed by anyone.

Once you were outside, it was easier with everyone beginning to get up for the day. It created a distraction for you to effortlessly blend in. You finally reached it, the dark pit where the dragons were being held. It was dark, the sound of your breathing almost loud enough to echo, the dim firelight from the sconces guiding you.

There he was, sleeping peacefully— chained like an undeserving animal. It pained you to see him chained, he was the bronze fury, a formidable dragon, a good dragon and yet he was punished. When you walked closer to him, you stopped in your tracks as you noticed Daeron near Tessarion.

"I won't tell." He spoke in a hushed voice.

Neither of you were supposed to be in there with your dragons and you could only hope that you hadn't been spotted.

You walked to Vermithor, his eyes opening as he nudged against you. You rubbed his head, bringing yours close to his.

"I've missed you." You whispered, your eyes watering.

Being away from your dragon was a special kind of torture, feeling so connected to something and not being allowed to be close. 

"Are you alright?" Daeron asked.

"I would be, If me and him could fly again."

He glanced down at your bandaged hand, "what happened?"

You looked down with confusion like you had forgotten what had happened, until you realized. Daeron saw the hesitation on your face and he immediately understood. 

"It is easier, if you just listen." He murmured.

You scoffed.

"It is easier, because he treats you differently. You are not a child that was born by his enemy, he protects you."

Daeron shook his head in disagreement.

"It is not me that he protects so fiercely. In your years here, you've grown to take over the spot of his late wife and he's turned down every marriage offer for you."

You gave a blank stare, a lump in your throat.

"Can I ask you something?" You replied, your voice wavering.

"What is it?"

"Do you know if my family is okay during this war? Do you know what has taken place?" 

He rubbed Tessarion's head, his eyes looking elsewhere instead of at you.

"You know that you shouldn't ask that." He gently reminded you.

"I know, but—" you started and then stopped. 

Daeron walked over to you, looking to make sure the two of you were still alone.

"You should just drop it, while you're ahead. It is truly best if you do not know."

You grabbed his hand, your eyes widening into a look of desperation. 

"Please, Daeron. I have lived here for years, completely in the dark. I can count on one hand the letters that I've been able to read from them. I just want to know."

Daeron was conflicted as he understood your position all too well, but he also didn't want to anger Ormund. 

"Rhaenyra has taken King's Landing with Daemon, my uncle Gwayne said so once he returned." 

Your brow raised, "she has taken King's Landing? Are you sure?"

He nodded.

You felt genuine hope again, she did what she had set out to do. She was the queen of the seven kingdoms.

"Is everyone okay as well?" You followed up.

He shrugged. "I do not know, he doesn't tell me everything as I've told you before. Perhaps, you can get a raven out to ask?"

You rolled your eyes, biting back a sarcastic laugh.

"That would never work, the risk is far too great."

Daeron hesitated again, going back and forth on what to tell you.

"There's a box in his solar, in the bottom drawer on the right side of his desk. It's filled with all the messages that are correspondence about the war with your mother.. you should find your answers in there."

"How.. would I do that when he's always nearby?"

"Go after dinner, I shall stall him for a short time. Read as much as you can and don't get caught. If you get caught, I will deny my hand in this."

You hugged him, something that was foreign to both of you. Despite your families being on opposing sides, the two of you did look after one another when you could. You were truly all each other had in Oldtown, both of you under his thumb.

"Thank you."

"I would want someone to do the same for me." He admitted.

He started to walk towards Tessarion, "I cannot stress this enough, no matter what you read, do not tell him. Do not react, please."

The bell rang, which meant you only had a few moments to get to the sept. Both of you shared a look before you gave Vermithor a head rub and left to get to the sept.

You rushed through the streets, hurrying to get there in time. When you entered, Ormund was finishing up a conversation with Gwayne as he awaited your arrival.

Gwayne gave a nod as he walked past you, leaving the sept.

"I see that you have arrived on time this morning." He smiled as he approached you.

He pulled you into a hug, his body flushed against yours— his chin resting on the top of your head. He sniffed you a few times, an unusual smell coming from you.

He pulled back to look at you, his brows furrowed.

"You reek of dragon back."

You feigned ignorance, "I have no idea what you mean, my lord. I haven't been able to see Vermithor for a while now."

He brought his hands to your face, causing you to flinch. He pulled your closer, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss.

Ormund did occasionally kiss you, normally in situations where he was happy. You had no idea why he would've been so happy in that moment.

He pulled back from you, his lips curling into disgust.

"Do not lie to me, my love. I would hate to punish you again."

"I'm not.. I promise." You reiterated, your stomach turning.

He brought his pommander to his nose, taking a sniff of the citrus oil inside of it.

"Very well, let's not waste more time than necessary. Let us pray."

The two of you walked over to the altar and knelt, both of you praying as you always did. 

Instead of praying for love, you prayed to find the answers to your questions— even if the answers broke your heart in the process. You wanted to trust Ormund, be sure in the reasons that you cared for him so deeply— but you needed the truth.

The entire time that you were in the sept you felt unwell, your nerves had gotten the best of you. After prayer, the two of you stepped outside. While standing there, you threw up— catching Ormund off guard and getting vomit all over your gown.

"What is the matter with you?" 

You shook your head, your hand pressed against the wall as you leaned over.

"I just have an upset stomach, my lord."

He had you escorted back to your chambers so that you could change and be cleaned up, but not before he almost threw up himself at the smell.

You took another bath and upon further inspection, the maids noticed that your other gowns had been taken to be cleaned. You were left with only the gowns that your mother had sent to you a year ago, beautiful gowns in your house colors. 

As beautiful as the gowns were, Ormund had forbade you from wearing them. Hightower green was the color that you wore or he'd allow you to wear House Arryn's colors, since that was your grandmothers house.

You didn't want to disobey him, but you had no choice this time. Surely, he'd understand?

All throughout the day your nerves had been a jumbled mess, you could barely think straight— worried about what you'd find out. It was wrong of you to plan going through your guardian's belongings, but why couldn't he tell you what was going on? Did he intend to keep you in the shadows forever? If he cared about you to the lengths that he claimed, wouldn't the two of you share information and be one?

Luckily for you, Ormund was going to be busy for most of the day as he prepared for the small feast being held. Lord Borros had sent an envoy of Baratheon men to pledge his support for the greens during the war. You hoped that by the time the feast started at least one of your gowns would be cleaned and you could change gowns before he noticed.

You weren't going to see Septa Lyra that day as she had other duties to attend to. Instead of sitting in your chambers all day, you decided to go to the library. You didn't want to spend the day trapped in your mind with no escape until you got into his solar.

As you walked the halls, servants and maids gawked at the sight of you in your gown. A beautiful, silk gown with small dragons at the hem of it. House Targaryen colors, something they knew Ormund would never let you wear. They knew the punishment would be severe for even wearing such a thing.

It didn't stop them from whispering and commenting you on the gown.

You spent most of the day in the library, getting lost in the few books that they had on the histories of House Targaryen. It brought you comfort reading them and being left alone to your own thoughts, not having your thoughts controlled for you.

You loved reading about your family and Old Valyria, you wanted to embrace the side of you that made you proud. He could embrace embrace being a Hightower, a traitor to his queen— but you couldn't embrace being a Targaryen? It wasn't fair.

As the hours had passed on, you went to the sept and even returned back to the library. Ser Humfrey came in to ask if you were okay, if he needed to notify Ormund but you reassured him that you were fine. 

The halls outside of the library clattered with noise from the bustling of servants and maids. The Hightower would be in perfect condition as guests were due to arrive. 

You finished two books before you left the library. You peered down from the window and saw that guests were arriving. You knew that you needed to make an appearance shortly or you'd risk a conflict with him.

When you stepped out of the library, Ser Humfrey glanced at you again.

"Are you sure that you are alright, my lady?"

You nodded, twisting your fingers.

"I am fine, Ser Humfrey. However, I do appreciate your genuine concern." 

Him and Ser Bronn shared a look, but both decided that it was best to let you be.

While walking the halls, you could hear the faint sound of music being played in the dining hall. Guests lingered in the hall, talking amongst one another. A few of them saw you, even tried to approach to ask questions but they were stopped. You gave a half smile and continued on as you'd been told to.

When you walked into the dining hall, it was decorated beautifully. The feast was not a grand event, but just one to show appreciation— but it felt more than that. The Baratheon men would have no qualms with bending the knee and being shown such hospitality. That level of hospitality would certainly be rewarded.

The table that you'd be seated at was at the front of the room. Everyone at the table was present, but you. Ormund was in the middle of a conversation, his focus elsewhere. As you walked up to the table, Gwayne's eyes followed your every move in shock, while Daeron found you to be bold.

You approached Ormund as he stood near the table, preparing to take your own seat. His words paused in the conversation, his eyes raking over you and that gown.

"Please, excuse me." Ormund smiled, waking away from the man.

He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into you.

"How dare you?—"

"What do you have on?"

"My other gowns had been taken away for cleaning at your request, so when I threw up this morning I had nothing else to wear." You admitted.

The scowl on his face only deepened, his grip growing tighter. He leaned closer towards your face, "you mean to make a mockery of me on such an important day?"

You couldn't bare to look at him, you never could when he was angry. His anger made you feel small, made you feel worthless, it made you feel the exact opposite of what he'd whisper to you in bed.

"No, I didn't intend to do that, my lord. I could return back to my chambers, if you wish?"

"I do not fucking wish for you to go to your chambers, but this.. this will not go unanswered." He fumed.

You stared into his eyes, "what was I supposed to do? I would be punished for not attending, but now I am to be punished for what I had available."

"You could've put on one of Samantha's old gowns!—"

You pulled your arm back from his grip, your brows furrowed.

"Samantha? As in your late wife?—"

"You'd want me to wear one of her gowns? You kept them?"

He huffed, realizing that maybe he'd said to much.

"I did not mean to—"

Before Ormund could respond, Gwayne called his name and got his attention. He saw the way that he was with you and wanted to save him from everyone else seeing the same thing.

You took your seat in the chair beside his, a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Samantha was his late wife, she'd been long dead by the time you were brought to Oldtown. You'd heard that she was a beauty, that she was kind, and gentle. Ormund always said that despite everything, their marriage was merely a political match. 

It didn't matter much when you heard his words years ago, but now it struck a nerve— a nerve that you thought was neatly tucked away.

She was a ghost in the Hightower, someone seldom mentioned but fondly remembered. Ormund had only ever called you by her name one time, when he was yelling at you. An accident is what he claimed, but it didn't hurt you any less.

A place holder, a rotten girl, a mistake, tainted, someone that would never be Samantha.

A servant came around the table, filling your goblet with wine— which you happily accepted. Anything to make you feel even a fraction of less shame and the disappointment than you felt.

Ormund took his seat beside you as he finished his conversation with Gwayne. 

"We will talk more later." He mumbled.

You raised your brows, bringing the goblet to your face once more— the sweet wine gliding down your throat.

People approached the table, speaking with Ormund on different matters that pertained to the war. You watched silently, waiting for the moment that you could leave. Underneath the table, Ormund had his hand on your thigh— giving you a subtle reminder to behave.

The plates were brought out to everyone, forks clinking and scraping their plates. The smiles on their faces were big, bellies full, everyone in support of the greens. They gave Ormund looks of pity for having you as his ward, raising Rhaenyra's rotten seed must've been the hardest thing that he'd ever done in their eyes.

You toyed with your food, only taking a few bites and instead filling your belly with more wine.

As people finished their food, they began to get up and mingle again— some even dancing. Ormund sat beside you with a pleased look on his face, proud of the support that he'd rallied.

Daeron left his seat at the further end of the table, approaching him for a conversation. You scooted your chair back, getting his attention.

"I do not feel well, I need to step out for a moment."

"My lord." Daeron spoke, standing to the side of Ormund.

Ormund glanced at him and back at you, "very well. Do not stay gone for long."

Darron mouthed words to you as you stood up.

"Go now."

You walked away from the table, your feet stumbling some as you had indulged in too much wine. When you got outside the dining hall, you realized that all the guards were in the room. The hall was practically empty as you walked down it, everyone was so busy with the feast.

When you got to Ormund's solar, you took a deep breath and entered the room— quietly shutting the door behind you. 

The room was dimly lit with a small fire going in the fireplace.

"The bottom right drawer at his desk." You whispered to yourself.

You walked to his desk, kneeling behind it as you opened the drawer. There it was, a small brown box as daeron had described. 

Your hands trembled as you held it, walking closer to the fire so that you could read. With a click the box opened, filled to the top with letters. You decided to start at the bottom and then work your way to the top.

At first, most of the letters were just small and meaningless things— but it didn't stay that way.

Your breath hitched in your chest, tears falling onto the papers as you read most of them. You stopped reading them, pulling your knees to your chest as you sobbed on the rug.

Luke was dead, Rhaenys was dead, Jace was dead, Rhaena was believed to be missing, and Ormund was actively having gold cloaks killed in the city to sow discord.

He always said that your mother initiated the war when she heard the news of your grandfather's passing, but that was far from the truth. Aemond used Vhagar to chase down and kill your little brother, sweet Luke.

Your family had been falling apart while you slept in the bed with a man that celebrated it. You were a fool.

In a bit of rage, you took the letters and dumped all of them into the fire— placing the box back into the drawer.

You took longer than you should have, but you walked out of his solar with wet eyes and your stomach felt like you could vomit at any moment.

How could he betray you that way? You knew that he wasn't perfect, that he opposed your mother— but never to the scale of the letters that he had written. The letters were so cruel, cold, and just evil— far too evil for a pious man.

Drinking the multiple goblets of wine had caught up to you, you stumbled through the hall— your hands holding onto the wall for stability.

Your heart was shattered into pieces, everything that you thought that you knew faded into the wind.

When you walked back into the dining hall, Daeron was standing up from your seat that he had been sitting in.

"There you are, I was about to go looking for you." He spoke as you stumbled past him.

He noticed your red eyes and he could smell the wine on you, but his thoughts were interrupted.

"My lord, the envoy from House Baratheon has arrived to treat with you." The man spoke.

Ormund stood up, an even bigger smile than he had on his face earlier.

"Let the stormlands lead the way, HighGarden will have no choice but to follow."

Gwayne stood from his chair and approached Ormund, the rests of the guests still talking amongst themselves.

"Let me do the talking."

You stood near Ormund, almost swaying in place— causing Gwayne to stare at you for a moment.

The men walked in towards the table and Ormund, the stench of them stronger than cow shit. It was the kind of smell that made your lips curl. It was truly insulting that they were sent to treat and we're beyond filthy, tracking in mud.

"Lord Ormund Hightower, beacon of the south, defender of the citadel, and voice of Oldtown." Jon Roxton spoke, grabbing the attention of a few guests.

Ormund's face had turned a hint of red, the unexpected smell beginning to overwhelm him.

"Well met, Lord Ormund. I come as an envoy of Lord Borros Baratheon. Lord paramount of the stormlands." The man greeted.

Ormund coughed clearing his throat, clearly overwhelmed— but he wasn't the only one. The smell was making it harder to keep down what had went into your stomach.

"You are quite welcome, Ser—"

"Ser Arrion Baratheon, cousin to Lord Borros."

The men stared at you like they knew you, yet you could not place any of their faces. It could've been the wine, but they seemed off.

Ormund took a step back, standing closer to you.

"I most regret presenting ourselves in this state. The road was long and filthy, but I thought it best to speak to you immediately." Arrion admitted.

Gwayne stood there, his eyes scanning the face of Arrion. 

Ormund shook his head, "we are honored to receive you and what word from Lord Borros?"

"Well, House Baratheon bends the knee to his grace, Aemond Targaryen and offers it's many banners in alliance with House Hightower." 

Arrion struggled to keep his eyes off of you, his hands making a small movement for his sword.

"That is good news. Your lord has made a wise choice." Ormund claps, a miserable smile on his face.

There was a beat of silence amongst the men.

"I hope you do not mind the question, but is that Rhaenyra Targaryen's daughter?" Arrion asked with his head slightly tilted.

Gwayne grabbed the blade from Ormund's belt, lunging and slitting the man's throat.

Ormund stood in front of you, "no! Stop him." He yelled.

The dining hall got quiet, people starting to panic at the havoc that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Your hands shook as you stood behind Ormund, terrified of what could happen next— to you and him.

"These are assassin's sent for you and me, from the Queen." Gwayne yelled, chopping a man in two.

You watched as Jon Roxton disemboweled a man with his valyrian steel sword, cutting through him like warm butter.

"Ser Arrion Baratheon has hair of light chestnut.. and he is far more comely."

Ormund leaned against the table, his face redder than before and his breathing ragged. He turned his gaze to you, "what did you do?" He gritted.

"I will cleave the bitch.. from crown to cunt—"

"She will die wishing she never dared.. dared."

Ormund started throwing up on the table, causing a few people to gasp around you.

Your day had just worsened as it continued… You stumbled from the table and down the steps towards the other tables. Servants rushed in to clean up the mess and keep the scene from being too much of a spectacle, but it was far too late.

Gwayne chased after you, helping you down the stairs as you almost fell. His hand held you up, his hand pressed against your backside but lower than it should've been.

Ormund saw, a rage taking over him.

While everyone else was too busy trying to understand what happened and preparing to leave, Ormund pulled you from Gwayne's hold— grabbing a fistful of your hair.

"Ow!" You cried out, your hands reaching for his as he dragged you into the hall with no shame.

"You filthy whore." He fumed.

"Ormund, you're hurting me." You cried out.

His grip on your hair was tight, it felt as if he could pull it from your scalp. 

Due to the fact that you had drank so much wine, you couldn't keep up with him— your feet tripping over eachother. 

You fell onto the ground, but that still didn't stop him. He walked you like a dog down the hall, a tight grip on your hair and unwavering level of anger. The few servants that saw it, closed their eyes and shut their mouths. If he'd do that to you, then he'd do far worse to them.

He opened the door to his chambers, slamming it shut behind him.

You struggled to stand up, tears falling from your eyes.

"Let go of me." You whined.

He brought his face closer to yours, pulling your hair and neck back— making you look at him.

"You dare flirt with Gwayne in front of me, allow him to put his hands on your body?"

"I almost fell and he helped me, it was not like that. I swear." You breathed.

His face twisted into something that you'd never seen before.

"You swear? You are the daughter of a whore, nothing more than the biggest mistake of her life. You probably would've sucked his cock in his chambers tonight, had he continued being nice."

You pushed against him, his grip loosening. 

"You lied! You fucking lied to me—"

"Praying to the gods and condemning my blood, yet you'd commit grievous atrocities and sins for yours?"

He pulled his shoulders back.

"What are you talking about?"

You laughed bitterly, tears rolling down your neck and chest.

"I saw all of the letters, all of them." You gasped, beginning to sob.

"They murdered Luke, Rhaenys, and Jace.. they murdered them and you praised them for their efforts."

"You went through my things? you ungrateful, sniveling bitch." He roared, his eyes dark with nothing behind them.

"I would've crossed oceans and mountains for you.. because I loved you. I believed—"

"I believed that you loved me too, but you Ormund Hightower are no better than a Dothraki savage."

He grabbed your arm, pinching it.

"I could never love someone so rotten and so utterly foul. If your mother loved you then she would've killed me to get to you, so I must not be the only one with that sentiment." 

You stared at him, unable to recognize the man that you'd known for most of your life. 

You spat in his face, his hands leaving you as he took a step back in disbelief. He wiped the spit from his face, his breathing deep and heavy.

Ormund reached forward, wrapping his hands around your throat.

Both of you stumbled back, your hands tapping at his as you couldn't catch your breath—your foot hitting the tub that was near the wall.

"Ormund.. I can't—" you gasped.

It felt like the room was closing in around you. Your chest felt like a fire consumed it, your eyes bulging as you tried pulling his hands off.

It felt like an eternity, but Ormund let go of you with a push—causing you to stumble back and fall.

There was a heavy thud as you hit the floor, your head hit the edge of the tub. 

You laid on the rug, blood streaming down your face from the small wound. You blinked and blinked, feeling as if you'd been in the same place forever. For a moment you'd sworn that you might've died, that those might've been your last moments in the world.

After a moment, you picked yourself up. Ormund watched you and slowly regained his senses. You touched the wound, bright red blood coating your fingers and dripping down onto your face.

He approached you, grabbing your face into his hands— his touch softer than a mere moment ago. A feeling of disgust overtaking you.

"It was an accident, I shouldn't have—"

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, please forgive me."

"I'm going to leave you alone here one day and I'll never look back." You muttered, staring into his eyes.

His facial expression softened, maybe because he believed you more than he ever had before.

He let go of your face, grabbing your hand instead.

"I love you, I love you more than I can put into words."

It was the first time that he'd truly said it and it sounded like that, like he meant it— but he wasn't ready to say it. He loved you, but only when you were good and not rotten.

He pressed a kiss to your lips, your blood smearing onto his skin. He kissed you like he'd never get the chance to again and even after everything, you didn't deny him. You should've killed him on the spot, but instead your heart fluttered like it always did. He had a grip on you, one that you would never truly outrun and that grip was mutual.

"I am going to leave you." You reiterated, your lips against his.

"I will make you mine, I will not lose you. I cannot. I would go to war for you, sin for you. You are mine as you always have been."He mumbled against your lips.

You pulled back, a singular tear sliding from your eye.

"Bend the knee to my mother then and I will forgive you for your actions tonight."

He shook his head, his lips pursed as if your statement was painful to hear.

"I would never."

You scoffed, pulling away from him.

"Then, none of this—" you spoke, pointing around the room.

"Is good enough."

He sighed as if were out of options, "do not force my hand on this. I am begging you, because you will not like the outcome."

chan is the only one who sometimes remembers you have a name. he makes you feel like he could either pat your head or fire you without raising his voice. mostly he just nods when you hand him something, mutters “thanks” and keeps walking like you’re part of the wallpaper. one time he actually said “good job” after you fixed his in ear monitor in under ten seconds during soundcheck. you almost dropped dead from the shock.

lee know says maybe twelve words to you a day if you’re lucky. you hand him water, he takes it. you remind him something, he goes “mhm.” you accidentally bump into him backstage and he just sidesteps. you wonder if he even knows you’re the new assistant or if he thinks you’re just another staff member.

changbin is the only one who consistently doesn’t make you feel disposable. he always says “thank you so much” when you pass him anything. once you brought him his favorite hoodie you knew he likes and he looked at you like you hung the moon. “ah… really? you didn’t have to…” he still forgets your name sometimes but at least he tries. “you… the new one, right? sorry, what was it again?” cute fucker.

you want to kick hyunjin up. he’ll take the coffee you’re offering, and go “hm. a little cold already” like you personally pissed in it. you stand there wondering if you should spit in his next one. he’s not outright cruel, just lowkey evil in that hot way that makes you wanna smack him and also maybe climb him. he’s lucky you’re professional.

han seems to be fine by himself most of the time but says “thank youuu~” to you at leadt. pretty chill guy. doesn’t pay you much mind though. doesn’t pay much mind to anything.

felix manages a “oh, thank you” when you get him something but that’s mostly it. you swear he’s the only one who makes eye contact. lowk distant, not like you expected him to jump into your lap, just saying. you brought him throat candies once and he looked genuinely touched. “you noticed? ah, i’m sorry for the trouble.” bro you’re literally paid to notice.

seungmin doesn’t care much either. oh, staff, nice, gets me shit. helps me with shit. it’s their job, my job, that’s fine.

jeongin manages to thank you too, time to time. sometimes he’ll add a tiny “you’re fast” when you’re quick with something.

you hate working for them, to be honest.

just again, why would anyone expect these celebrities to be nice to you, but still. eye contact at least would be nice, dude. or dudes.

mornings are the worst. you’re running around with eight different demands at the same time. chan wants you to tell other people like, sixty things. hyunjin complains whatever drink he asked for is too sweet even though he didn’t fucking specify. lee know just takes whatever you give him and stares into the void. changbin thanks you three times. han acts hurt when you ask him something bc wdym he has to think when it’s your job. felix politely asks if you can find his missing earring. seungmin is on his phone all the time and jeongin is hiding behind his hood pretending he’s not awake yet.

when they’re not just rotting in the recording booths, you’re shoving water bottles, towels, monitors, this and that into their hands while they barely look at you.

“here.” “thanks.” “mhm.” “fuck, this cord is tangled again, who the hell—” (that’s seungmin).

hyunjin once threw his in ear back at you because it was “buzzing weird” and you caught it mid air. he actually looked surprised before going back to ignoring your existence.

but most of the time, you’re background noise. a pair of hands that brings things and fixes things and stays out of the way.

but just again, they’re not your friends and you do not expect them to be. they’re eight men in their twenties living in pressure all the time and they simply don’t have the energy to care about the new assistant beyond “does this person make my life easier right now?”

that’s fine with you. you get paid. you get to stare at handsome faces all day.

plus they’re all massive dramatic bitches when the stress gets too serious.

well, they never scream at you or anything, that would be unprofessional and they’re way too image conscious for that shit. but the passive aggressive energy? the tiny huffs? you want to strangle them.

hyunjin is like the final fuckass boss. you want to peg him just tor the way how he acts when something doesn’t go exactly his way. and not peg in the good way.

one morning you handed him his coffee and it had one too many ice cubes or whatever the fuck and he just stared at the cup.

“this again?” he muttered, then shoved it back into your hands without looking at you. “make it properly.”

later during rehearsal when his mic pack was acting up he actually clicked his tongue loud enough for you to hear and gave you that gut curling side eye like you invented technical difficulties yourself. bitch. you fixed it in thirty seconds flat and he didn’t even say thanks.

still, when he’s not in bitch mode he tolerates you fine. sometimes he even nods in your direction when he sees you. progress.

chan can get angry. “where’s the updated timing?” he asked you once, voice flat, like you were supposed to read his mind.

you scrambled, fixed it, handed it over. he took it without a word, scanned it, then just exhaled through his nose real hard.

the manly equivalent of slamming a door.

later he remembered to mutter “sorry, long day” but it still felt like you got lightly bitch slapped by responsibility.

you once brought lee know the wrong flavor of sum drink and he just looked at the bottle for five full seconds, then set it down slowly. he still takes whatever you give him most days and grunts “mhm” but on bad days that grunt sounds like it’s coming from the depths of hell.

changbin tries to behave, but he gets irritated at shit too. he’ll smile through it at first, “ah it’s okay…” but then he starts avoiding eye contact. not brave enough to actually point it out.

one time the stylists changed his outfit last minute and he had to wait for you to find the right shoes because it was put down somewhere. he stood there quietly for ten minutes, then very politely went “…it’s been a while, hm?”

you felt bad as fuck even though it wasn’t your fault. you got a thanks, at least.

han will still say thank you but it’s almost sarcastic. “thanks. really needed that.” said in a tone that implies he needed it five minutes ago. he wants you to be in place, you work for him after all.

felix stays fair at least. “it’s fine.” he’ll say. “just… next time maybe check twice?” you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. beautiful men should not be allowed to do this.

seungmin will take what you hand him, say thanks in the most neutral tone possible, and that’s it. says thanks but says it wirh the energy of thx.

sometimes he’ll just look through you like you’re not even there. one time you reminded him about something in twenty and he went “yeah i know” so flat you felt stupid for opening your mouth.

he’s not mean exactly, just… done. existing in his own bubble and you’re outside it.

jeongin will mumble thanks when you help him but if he’s stressed he gets his little attitude. “you sure this is the right one?” he asked once, holding up the wrong anything you accidentally gave him. made you feel so dumb. wanted you to feel dumb. then he smiled like he didn’t just lowkey call you incompetent. little shit.

still blushes when you catch him off guard though, so at least there’s that.

the days they’re huge bitches are usually the ones with back to back schedules, zero sleep, and zero breaks. you get it. so yeah, they snap a little. they get pissy. they sigh loud and click tongues and give you the cold shoulder.

but they don’t hate you, actually. none of them has ever complained about you to management or asked for someone else.

they like you enough not to make your life hell, but not enough to treat you like a person most days. you’re useful. reliable. that’s about it. you’re like any other staff, assigned a little closer to them, maybe.

you like watching chan lead them thru another flawless performance like he didn’t almost bite your head off six hours earlier.

men.

and it’s always, a l w a y s, y/n this. y/n that. y/n where is my nonstop. they’re on your dick 24/7.

“y/n.”

“y/n get me water.”

“y/n my in ear is messed up again.”

“y/n where’s the schedule?”

“y/n, hurry.”

even when they’re being bitches they still need you. especially when they’re being bitches.

hyunjin is your favorite to be honest. not because oh bias or anything, just because you actually kinda fuck with the way he’s like this. it’s like those female teachers loving the boys even though the boys are annoying and disrespectful.

“y/n. fix this.” he’ll say, pissy, shoving his half buttoned shirt at you. the stylist buttoned it for him perfectly before, mind you. fuck did he unbutton it for? bitch go tell the stylist this not y/n. (you did it for him)

one time he was in a full mood during rehearsal, everything was wrong, and he kept calling your name every thirty seconds. “y/n this light is too bright.” “y/n the floor feels sticky.”

you fixed it all but told him under your breath “then lick it cleaner, princess”

he actually heard you. you thought you were getting fired right there. wouldn’t even have minded it either, but he just gave you the deadest stare but didn’t say shit because deep down he knows he’s being a hoe.

when chan asks you to bring the this, the that, you bring it. two minutes later: “y/n, the pens?” you bring pens. five minutes later: “y/n—” you almost throw the whole fucking folder at his head.

lee know doesn’t even say full sentences anymore. just “y/n.” and then points at whatever he needs. water. towel. phone charger.

once he did the finger point while staring straight ahead.

you almost broke his finger.

you handed him the thing and he went “mhm”

changbin at least can get a nice tone on for FUCK’s sake. “y/n, sorry, could you get me the…?” it’s every ten minutes. you catch him looking a little guilty sometimes, mayb he knows they’re all overusing you, but then five minutes later he’s doing it again because his brain is fried and your help is nice.

han says thank you at least. he, compared to the others, lowkey leaves you alone. but that’s compared to the others. he still needs this and that and oh also—

felix really likes calling for you. sometimes he adds a tiny “sorry for bothering you again” but then asks for thirty things at once after that.

seungmin takes what you give him and barely look up, but god forbid you’re two steps too slow. he’ll just exhale hard through his nose. he’s on your dick just as much as the rest, just quieter about it.

“y/n…” jeongin mumbles at first, then if you take too long he gets this little smirk. “y/n, you sleeping or what?” he gon get his arm broken very soon, you’re capable of many things. whoop foreshadowing.

anyways, one time he called your name four times in a row because he couldn’t find his own fucking socks and when you finally found them he went “wow you’re slow today” you wanted to stuff the socks in his mouth.

you’ll be in the middle of fixing something on hyunjin(he’s a bitch but still lets you this close to him, says a lot tbh) and chan will call from across the room “y/n, timing?” and han will chime in “y/n i need my phone” and suddenly it’s a chorus of your name from eight different directions.

y/n.

y/n.

y/n.

yeah it’s not rare that you get called for from multiple directions at the same time.

take it when hyunjin and changbin both go y/n at the exact same second.

hyunjin’s voice is already pissy because his shirt collar is sitting weird. “y/n, fix this, it’s choking me.”

changbin is just as demanding but has a nicer tone to it. “y/n… sorry, can you pass me the throat spray? my voice feels off.”

you freeze for half a second while both of them stare at you expecting you to split in two.

hyunjin clicks his tongue. “well?”

you end up tossing the spray to changbin first because he was nicer about it, then you’re on hyunjin adjusting his stupid pretty collar while he looks down at you.

“faster.” he mutters. you want to bite his neck. not in the sexual way. you actually want to rip his veins out.

you two lowk like each other.

then chan. “y/n, is my laptop there?” lee know just lifts one hand lazily without even looking up. “water.” han is waving at you with that big smile that hides how tired he is. “y/n, my protein bar, the chocolate one!” felix raises his hand too “yo y/n, any chance you got my phone?“ seungmin next “y/n, mind grabbing me a coffee? black, thanks.” and jeongin is peeking from behind his phone. “y/n? can you check if my shoes are laced right? feels weird.” he could do it himself, mind you. he just likes to slave you around. all eight do.

all eight. at once. you’re one woman. you have two hands and one brain that’s currently dying.

when y’all have somewhere to be, every five minutes someone needs something. “y/n, my earphones are tangled.” hyunjin, pissy. “y/n, do we have any gum?” felix. “y/n, what time are we arriving again?” chan. lee know doesn’t even say your name, he just looks at you and you already know, water. han is the only one who adds a cute “please” most times, but even he piles on. changbin tries to be independent, at least. seungmin throws a “y/n, charger?” your way. jeongin entertains himself, he’s usually not that big of a problem when you’re out.

one night after a crazy schedule when all of them are quiet for once, changbin murmurs a “y/n, my neck hurts, any painkillers?” and “y/n—” “y/n—” “y/n, me too actually—” “yeah, if you have extra.”

you had to take the deepest breath. you’ll be a good mother after all this practice at least.

but let’s be real, after all this time and you not quitting, the hoes started to slowly trust you.

not in the let’s be besties way, but they know they can count on y/n.

they stop watching you like a hawk when you hold their phones. they leave expensive watches and half used shit on tables and don’t triple check if you moved anything. they even complain about managers infront of you sometimes.

they know you won’t fuck them over.

the biggest change happened because of chan.

it was genuinely a disaster of a night. everything went to shit. at 1:17am he pulled out his phone, texted you that he needs help with something. dorm if you can.

and you went because you’re a damn good assistant. security also let you through because apparently chan had already cleared it.

he opened their door in a black hoodie and sweats, hair so cute, looking equal parts grateful and dead. but he was really, really, really relieved to see you. “come in. sorry it’s a mess.”

it was messy, but sure, they’re men.

andyou spent the whole night at their tiny dining table with him. everything work related was on the table. chan was surprisingly open once the door was closed.

you even massaged his shoulders for ten minutes when he looked close to death. he kept muttering “thanks… seriously y/n” every hour or so. woah, gratitude we see there?

he really needed you that night. he needed the help he doesn’t usually take.

then jeongin’s little bitchass walked out of his room around 3:30am wearing nothing but black boxers, hair sticking up everywhere, half asleep and scratching his stomach.

he just gave you a lazy little slap on the arm as he passed. “hey, y/n.” he mumbled, walking weird(nothing happened, men just walk weird sometimes we know that), drank a huge glass of water, then casually walked back to his room.

your mouth went dry. he looked so hot.

chan just shook his head.

you powered through. by 6am chan had everything solid.

he told you to “go home. take the whole day off tomorrow— today. whatever. you earned it. i’ll tell management.” you tried to argue but he just shook his head. “no. sleep.” like okay dada.

each of the others had their opinions of this night, of course. most of the disagreement was pointed towards chan, not you. it was chan who let staff this close into their finally earned personal space, and you were just doing your job. but just again, this was most. the ones who think less in general, felix for an example, or seungmin but he does use his brain, those were the ones who did feel a little bit different about you.

but even they got over it because they have bigger shit to deal with.

plus… you’re actually fun to be around.

they realized that.

chan, after that all nighter, looks at you with actual respect. you’re not just staff anymore but someone who has his back, even though you’re doing it because you get paid for it.

“y/n, handle this for me?” and you do, because you’re reliable as fuck and he knows. you’re pretty much the only staff member who doesn’t make his head hurt.

then one afternoon you were sitting on a couch and… minho sat down next to you? like so next to you that his whole thick sidewas pressed up against yours. thigh to thigh, arm to arm, everything.

and he talked to you??? “i don’t like this schedule.” he muttered. “they keep adding shit. you notice that too?” you nodded like a dumbass and he kept going, complaining about this and that.

five whole minutes of lee know having a conversation while basically cuddling you on a tiny couch. you didn’t move. you didn’t breathe too loud. when he finally got up he just gave you one nod and left. your leg was asleep for twenty minutes after. men are disgustingly hot.

all because he saw that chan put trust in you.

changbin has straight up adopted you. he follows you around whenever he’s not needed, chatting about random stuff just to talk to you. other staff have literally gotten used to seeing the two of you walking side by side down every corridor.

you’re delivering papers? he’s right there beside you, chatting. you’re grabbing coffee for everyone? he tags along carrying one cup just to talk.

hyunjin started this disgusting new habit where he’ll stress eat half a fucking sandwich, or a granola bar, or some random pastry, then shove the sad remains straight into your hand.

“here. it’s yours now.”

one time it was a half eaten banana and he just pressed the mushy end into your palm while looking you dead in the eye.

“finish it.”

you stood there holding warm banana goo wondering how the fuck your life got to this point.

you were starving though. his saliva didn’t even taste that bad.

one night, like really late night when the others were still recording in the booth and you were sitting in the couch of that room, han just… sat in your lap??

“y/n, bounce me.”

so you kept talking to another staff member while you had your arms around the man and bounced your knees up and down. his ass was warm and heavy and every bounce made your thighs burn.

the unprofessional ever.

he enjoyed it though and that’s what matters. (this action will have consequences ahh)

one evening felix texted you saying he needed help with some paperwork shit at the dorm because he was too wiped to think straight. other staff usually deal with it for him but this time they shoved it into his hands and he had to take it home.

anyways. when you were there you made the mistake of saying “that shirt looks nice on you” professionally!!

felix paused, looked down at it, then just peeled it off right there, tossed it at your face and said “keep it.”

you caught it on instinct, fabric still warm from his body, and stood there holding a shirt worth a kidney.

seungmin usually keeps his distance but one night he was heading down to grab late night food for the boys. he asked the boys first, the usual, then turned to you. “y/n, you want anything?”

you stopped. seungmin remembering the staff exists? seungmin offering?

you muttered something about candy and he nodded, came back twenty minutes later with your little chocolate bar.

you’d been promoted from staff to lowkey pet.

some night you had to stand outside with some important smoking higher people while the boys were indoors, it was freezing. jeongin noticed from the window, disappeared for thirty seconds, then came out and draped his own jacket over your shoulders with a friendly smile. you thanked him hundreds of times but he just waved you off and went back inside. he jacket smelled like him. boy sweat, cologne, whatever detergent they use with chan. your mouth watered a little remembering the boxers incident. men make you feral.

as long as you’re around, shit runs smoother.

you’re just trying not to moan out loud when another one of them does something intimate while calling your name for the hundredth time that day.

fucking men. fucking hoes.

fucking unbelievable.

fucking sweet.

you’re back in chan and jeongin’s dorm again, way past midnight , because apparently “just one more hour of reviewing this” turned into “let’s camp out until the sun comes up.”

jeongin is already passed out in his room.

the whole situation screams unprofessional from every angle. you, sitting on the floor next to chan’s bed with your laptop balanced on your knees while he sits in his gaming chair, elbows on the desk, staring at his own screen.

the room smells like him. you like it.

you’re in your boss’s bedroom at 2am helping him work. assistant duties, sure. but still. hope we can all see what’s up.

chan rubs his eyes with one big hand and sighs. “y/n… you any good with this negotiation shit?”

you stretch your back. “yeah, i’m decent. learned a bunch from the last company i was at. act like you’re doing them a favor. also i’m good at reading between the lines on email tone, when they’re bluffing, when they’re actually pissed, that kinda thing.”

he nods, listening.

“honestly, i’m good at a lot of shit.” you say. “i know, uuh, spreadsheets, schedules, calming down people, giving killer blowjobs when the situation calls for it.”

the second the words leave your mouth your soul leaves your body.

you slap both hands over your face. “oh my god, chan, i’m so fucking sorry. that was disgusting. i was joking. i’m just exhausted, my brain’s not working, please pretend i didn’t say that. holy shit i wanna die.”

he stares at you for a second, then lets out this little surprised laugh, shoulders shaking a little. that whole combo looks good on him.

“fuck, okay. it’s fine, y/n. really. we’re both running on no sleep. don’t worry about it. shit slips out.” chuckling a little, eyes crinkling at the corners. “didn’t expect that one, though.”

you nod fast, mumble a “heh yeah mhm” face burning, wanting to disappear, and force your eyes back to your screen.

the silence that follows feels different than before.

minutes tick by. you’re both typing again, but the energy in the room has changed. bad. human energy. physical.

chan keeps glancing over.

then he clears his throat. “y/n.”

you look up. you know you’re going to get fired in this saint second.

“would you… be down for it?”

huh?

“down for what?”

he exhales through his nose, he can’t believe he’s saying this out loud. “the blowjob.” and immediately he leans back, hands coming up. “fuck, sorry, that came out wrong. i didn’t mean to make it weird, this is so unprofessional, i’m your boss basically, we’re both tired, this is crossing every line, i haven’t had any action in months and i’m tired, just forget i said anything—”

“sure.”

“sure?”

you swallow. “i mean… yeah. if you want. we can keep it professional. i’m offering to help because it’s my job. i don’t mind helping. really. like no weirdness after. or any attachment if that’s what you’re afraid of. just… relief. like the other stuff i do for you guys. we both know this stays between us.”

he watches you for a long time, searching your face. making sure you’re not fucking with him.

holy shiiiiit.

the leader in him is clearly fighting the man who’s been running on stress for months.

finally his eyebrows move lower on his face. he looks so good. “you sure? i don’t want you feeling like you have to. if it’s a hard no, say it. we go back to work and pretend this conversation never happened.”

you nod, setting your laptop aside on the bed. “i’m sure. we’re both adults. you trust me enough to let me in here. i trust you enough to keep it between us. it’s just… helping. professionally, i guess.”

chan rubs his face with both hands, then drops them, looking at you with disbelief. “fuck. okay. yeah. if you’re really down… that would actually be… shit, i don’t even know how to say it without sounding like an asshole.”

he shifts in the chair, the move making his sweats pull tighter across his lap. you don’t let your eyes drop there. not yet.

“i want to, chan. shut up and let your assistant help.”

“alright. if you’re sure.”

you nod, heart racing, moving toward him on the floor.

the air between you crackles with how fucking human and inevitable this whole thing is.

wait, no, i meant to say professional.

totally fucking professional.

he watches you approach, throat working as he swallows. hot. “y/n…”

“mm?”

“thank you. seriously.”

you smile, sweet, beautiful, even as you settle down between his spread legs. “anytime, chan. now relax and let me do my job.”

the laptop screen glows behind him, forgotten. for the first time in weeks, mr leader looks like he actually feels something besides depression.

you keep your voice to a whisper, soft and comforting, you’re so good at it. “it’s okay. you’ve been so wound up. let me take care of it.”

his eyes are locked on yours, and now you can actually feel them do something to you. you can already see the outline of him straining against the front of his sweats, tented up nice and obvious now, the shape of his cock pushing forward cuz it’s been trying to wave hello after you two danced around the idea for ten whole minutes.

you drag one finger in slow, lazy circles on the inside of his thigh. god, that’s a muscle there. up and down.

“that’s it.” you whisper. “just let it happen. you’re safe with me tonight.”

he lets out a low, shaky breath through his nose, thighs spreading wider. the outline gets thicker, harder, the head of him nudging more obviously against the fabric until the whole thing is basically throbbing there, begging.

you keep circling that finger, pressing a little firmer each time, watching the way his cock jumps every time you get close but never quite touch it yet.

when he’s fully hard, cock standing so stiff it’s almost pathetic how it strains the waistband of his sweats, a tiny wet spot already forming where the tip is leaking, you finally hook your fingers into the elastic. slow as fuck. you tug the sweats down his hips inch by inch, letting them bunch around his cute ankles. his boxer briefs come next, black and snug, the front stretched obscenely over the fat length of him. you peel those down too, careful, watching his cock spring free and slap up against his stomach with a soft, heavy sound.

and jesus fucking christ.

he’s big. not porn star ridiculous ofc, but real man big. thick, veiny, kind of cock that makes your mouth water. like wdym your boss has been packing this the whole time? the head is flushed, already shiny with pre cum beading at the slit. his balls are heavy underneath, drawn up tight from how turned on he is, nestled in a bush of dark pubes that get light when going up his pretty little stomach. makes your stomach flip.

“y/n… shit, i haven’t had time to, i’m not really shav—”

you press a finger to your lips, a soft shh, then slide a hand up his thigh and squeeze the thick muscle there, reassuring. “don’t. seriously. it’s fine. you’re perfect like this.”

you don’t mind. you expected it. this man barely has time to sleep, let alone shave his junk.

his eyes go wide.

hungry.

that little thing, you telling him he’s perfect just changed something in his dumb man brain and now he’s stupidly, suddenly attracted to you in a way that goes waaaay past professional relief. not just attracted, attached.

his cock twitches hard in the air between you, confirming it, another bead of pre sliding down the shaft.

you spit into your palm. lands loud in the quiet room. not so ladylike but after all it is, because you use it to wrap your hand around the base of him. slow. so fucking slow. feels so funny. in the hot way.

you stroke up from the root all the way to the head, thumb swirling over the leaking tip to spread everything nice and slick. down again, twisting your wrist a little, spreading your spit around, feeling the way his pubes tickle the side of your hand on every pass.

chan’s head falls back against the chair. he lets out these low little sounds. guttural might be the best word. a deep “mmph” when you squeeze tighter on the upstroke. a shaky exhale that turns into a quiet little groan when you drag your thumb right under the head where he’s most sensitive. his balls are basically in love with you.

you keep it slow, just learning the shape of him, the way his cock pulses in your grip, learning how he’s built.

work’s gonna be real difficult after this, knowing the exact shape of your boss’ cock, but whatever. now’s not the time to think about that.

another spit, right onto the head this time, and you spread it with your palm, making everything messy.

looks obscene. looks like him.

he’s leaking constantly now, precum mixing with your spit and dripping down over your knuckles.

you twist your hand on the way back up, firm, perfect, and chan’s hips jerk once, oh fuck he didn’t mean to, a “fuck”slipping out.

you keep going like that. long strokes. base to tip. tip to base. sometimes you pause at the head and just milk him with your thumb and fingers, watching more pre ooze out. sometimes you roll his balls gently in your other hand, feeling how full they are, how manly.

every sound he makes is quiet but real, that’s why it’s so hot, low grunts, shaky sighs, the occasional deep something in his chest that you can’t quite identify. his hands are gripping the arms of the chair.

you glance up at him every few strokes, catching the way his jaw clenched, eyes half lidded, so so so hot, and fixed on your hand working him, that beautiful face flushed and fucked up already.

he looks like he came six fucking times already and you’ve barely even started. he looks fucking gone. the outline in his pants was nothing compared to the real thing, big, heavy in your hand, twitching and leaking.

shit, like he hasn’t been touched in months.

chan lets out another quiet groan, hips shifting, moving up into your hand. his cock is flushed darker now, veins standing out, the head glossy and swollen. beautiful.

you squeeze his thigh again with your free hand, comforting, and he melts a little more into the chair, another “mmh…” escaping him.

you’re really fucking good at this.

you keep stroking him slowly and slick for a few more (torturous) seconds, watching his cock live in your fist, veins bulging, the head shiny and leaking. chan’s thighs are tense as fuck around you, muscles flexing in pleasure. his breathing is rough, the low grunts turning into shaky little huffs that he’s clearly trying to keep quiet because jeongin is still in the building.

you lean in closer, spit one more onto the tip. it lands and slides down the shaft, mixing with all the pre already dripping everywhere.

then you finally stop the foreplay.

you take him into your mouth.

the second your lips wrap around the swollen head chan has to take a biiiig breath, head tilted back, his mouth shut, teeth gritted.

you sink down fast, taking as much of his thick cock as you can in one go, lips hugging the girth. so snug. half his length disappears into your (hot, wet) mouth and you hollow your cheeks immediately, wow, sucking like you’re trying to pull the stress right out of his balls.

chan’s hand flies to the back of your head, then leaves it because he remembers you’re his assistant, and flies to the chair instead. his hips thrust up, chasing you, and you let him, relaxing your throat so another inch slides in.

his eyes actually cross.

the head bumps the back of your throat and you swallow around him, throat muscles struggling, but still milking the tip. spit is already pouring out the corners of your mouth, dripping down his shaft and soaking into the dark pubes at the base. you don’t care. you bob your head, then again, and again, sloppy and greedy(for your boss’ cock), gluck gluck gluck.

chan has to breathe with his mouth open to bear with the pleasure.

every time you pull back you swirl your tongue around the head, sucking hard on the sensitive underside before diving back down, nose pressing into his pubes on the deepest strokes.

it’s so obscene. so filthy. has that human smell that’s almost disgusting but more hot.

his balls are right there, heavy(makes him even hotter in your eyes), so you reach up with one hand and roll them gently, fingers slipping through the soft hair covering them, tugging, massaging, making his cock jump in your mouth.

the sounds he’s making are pure porn.

“y/n… fuck— y/n—”

music. to. your. fucking. ears.

it’s the only opinion he can get out. pure disbelief that his quiet, sweet little assistant is sucking his soul out through his dick like a pro. where the fuck did you learn to do this? the question is written all over his fucked face, but all that comes out is another desperate “y/n… shit—”

you hum around him. his cock twitches violently on your tongue, another thick spurt of pre flooding your mouth. you swallow it down greedily, moaning softly so he feels it, then pull off just long enough to spit on him again. messy, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening cock, so unprofessional(well no fucking shit), before you dive back in even harder.

you’re giving him your best. head bobbing fast and sloppy, one hand stroking what your mouth can’t reach, twisting. the other hand keeps playing with his balls, feeling how full and heavy they are, how the skin wrinkles under your fingers.

spit is everywhere. dripping down your chin, running down his shaft, soaking his pubes.

every time you take him deep your throat makes these disgusting gurgling noises and chan’s thighs start shaking around your shoulders.

he’s panting now, chest heaving under his hoodie, head thrown back against the chair. his whines are getting higher, god, he can’t believe how good it feels.

his cock is rock hard and pulsing, the head basically exploding in pleasure everytime it hits the back of your throat. you suck harder, cheeks hollowed, tongue working the underside.

good little assistant you are.

you pull off for a second to catch your breath, strings of thick spit connecting your swollen lips to his cock. you stroke him fast with your slick hand, watching the way his balls tighten even more, the way his pubes are soaked and clinging to his skin. then you lean down and take him back down, burying your nose in his pubes until your throat is bulging around him.

chan is gone. completely gone. not here anymore. his whines turn into these animal groans that he tries to muffle with his fist, but they still leak out.

you go faster now. sloppier. throat relaxing so you can take him even deeper, nose grinding into him. spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and drips onto his balls. your hand keeps working the base, stroking in time with your mouth, squeezing. his cock is so wet it sounds disgusting, loud, wet, filthy sucking noises that would be embarrassing if either of you gave a single fuck right now.

his thighs are trembling hard around you. his abs are clenching under the hoodie.

you look up at him through wet lashes, eyes watering from how deep you’re taking him, and the sight of the big strong leader completely dying because of your mouth is enough to make you moan around his cock.

you feel the power of your situation. your jaw is starting to ache but you don’t care. you love it. you love how his thighs are shaking around your shoulders, how his balls feel in your palm, how every time you pull off for a breath a string of spit connects your swollen lips to his glistening cock and he stares down at you like he’s seeing god.

he’s leaking so much it’s constant now, salty and warm and kinda ew, sliding down your throat while you moan around him because you’re so fucking turned on it hurts.

you feel powerful. you feel wanted. you feel the stress melting out of his body.

he doesn’t want this to end, but he’s so close that it might very soon. because you’re that good.

that’s why his hips don’t stop twitching, squirming around, and his thighs spread more, trembling, and that “y/n… y/n…” turns into one long moan.

you push deeper, swallowing around him, throat squeezing tight as the first thick rope of cum shoots down your throat. it’s hot, salty, a lot, months of stress and no release all pouring out in wild spurts that you swallow greedily, cheeks hollowed, eyes watering you keep sucking through it, milking him with your mouth and hand while he cums and cums and cums like he’s never going to stop. doesn’t taste that good but you’re just doing your job, aren’t you, y/n?

“y/n— fuck— y/n—” his voice is so fucking whiny it makes your pussy clench.

you take every twitch, every throb, every spurt as it coats your tongue and slides down. your toes are curled. the musky smell of him mixed with fresh cum is so filthy and human it makes your head spin.

you keep working him through the whole thing, slow and gentle now, sucking softly on the sensitive head while the last weak pulses dribble onto your tongue.

his cock is twitching, now just half hard, shiny and messy with spit and cum when you finally pull off. sounds wet. a string of saliva and semen connects your swollen lips to his tip for a second before it breaks and drips onto his balls.

you swallow one last time, then back on your heels, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. “all done, boss.”

chan’s slumped in the chair, chest heaving, eyes half lidded and kinda crossed??, mouth open. he looks like he doesn’t know whether to propose or cry.

he sighs. reaches down slowly, tucking his spent, spit shiny cock back into his boxers with shaky hands, then yanks his sweats up over his hips. the wet spot on the front is lame. funny. then sits there for a second, rebooting.

then he stands up on slightly unsteady legs, runs a hand through his messy hair, and mutters “i’m… gonna take a quick shower. you can go home. i mean— fuck, not like i’m sending you home, god no, i’m not that much of an asshole. i just… you’ve been here all night, you should rest—”

“i know what you mean. it’s okay. i’ll head out.” voice sweet and professional like you didn’t just swallow his load two minutes ago.

he nods, relief and some emotional dilema on his face. he looks like he wants to say something bigger but doesn’t know how. instead he just says “do you want tomorrow off? you earned it. more than earned it.”

you shake your head, standing up and smoothing your clothes. “no, i’m good. i’ll see you. don’t worry about me.”

he watches you gather your stuff for a second, then nods.

you slip out of the apartment as quietly as you can.

your lips feel swollen, your jaw aches, and you can still taste him. your panties are soaked through, thighs sticky, and your brain is a mess of what the fuck did i just do and holy shit that was hot.

back inside, chan stands under the shower for a long time, hot water pounding on his shoulders, trying to wrap his head around the fact that his you, his assistant, just got on her knees and sucked him dry.

he keeps thinking of the way you looked up at him, the way you swallowed everything, the little cheeky “all done, boss” after. god, that was hot. cherry on fucking top.

his chest feels tight. it has nothing to do with the orgasm and everything to do with how much he suddenly wants to pull you close and make you his girl. and with the stress and anxiety, of course. how will tomorrow go? will you act normal? how will the boys find out? ugh. he might just go and cuddle up next to jeongin in hopes of getting some comfort, for fuck’s sake.

and… oh my god, you’re back at it the next day like nothing happened, running around. like, for all eight of them again. y/n get this, y/n fix that strap, y/n where’s my fucking charger, y/n my coffee’s cold.

y/n you deserve a month off. a year. a life. respect to you.

and you and chan are scarily professional. no signs. no weird eye contact, no blushing, nothing. wow.

you hand him something and he says “thanks” you fix something on him and he just nods.

but there’s this new tension in the air that the other seven clock immediately.

chan is… softer. more boy than man. or maybe more man than boy. his shoulders aren’t as locked up. that’s good. he laughs a little quicker at han’s dumb jokes. and his eyes keep flicking to you when you’re across the room, then away. he even says “take it easy today, y/n” once in passing, and you smile at him like you didn’t have his cock down your throat eight hours ago.

the boys aren’t stupid. they’ve known chan for years, we know that. they can read that man easily.

so the second they’re alone, one of the bigger studio rooms or green rooms or whatever after the afternoon schedule, doors shut, no staff, just the eight of them sprawled on couches...

“okay what the fuck is up with you and y/n?” han asks legs kicked up on the coffee table. “did something happen?”

chan freezes mid sip of his water. “what? no. shut up.”

hyunjin leans forward. “no, something’s up. are you okay?”

chan rubs his face, puts the water down. he keeps glancing at the door. “it’s not— look, it’s nothing. we’re fine. drop it.”

changbin watches him. “you know you can tell us.”

“no, it’s not about y/n.”

“then?”

chan groans, head falling back against the couch. he’s quiet for a long minute, jaw working, chewing on his mouth, clearly fighting with himself. plus he just lied about it not being about you. fuck.

the silence is killing them.

“…y/n blew me, okay?”

dead silence.

“like..?” han mumbles, grabbing imaginary hair in front of him and thrusting his hips forward into the air like he’s face fucking someone.

hyunjin watches. giggles. says “like..?” and tilts his head back, opens his mouth wide, and jerks both hands up and down like he’s milking a cock into an open mouth. “like this?” his voice is so cute, giggling, laughing, smiling ear to ear. he’s beautiful.

“like..?” felix pokes his tongue hard into his cheek so it bulges out while he jacks the air next to his face with one hand.

“like..?” changbin twists both hands in the air like he’s gripping a thick shaft, then leans forward and makes loud sucking noises above it, hollowing his cheeks, eyes big and looking up at chan while he does the most pornographic blowjob mime you’ve ever seen. “mmh… mmh… like this? deepthroat?”

“like..?” jeongin smirks and makes a fist, then bobs his head down on it fast while making exaggerated gagging sounds. “y/n taking the whole thing?“

“like..?” seungmin leans back and acts like he’s holding a hair above his crotch, pulling the imaginary hair up and down.

minho giggles out loud. “like..?” then starts thrusting up into the air, holding himself up with his back on the couch he’s sitting on.

chan buries his face in his hands, ears red.

they’re all laughing their fuckasses off but are also genuinely shocked. like did this really happen? in their years of careers this actually happened? to chan??

“no fucking way—”

“how the hell did she take you?”

“you didn’t tell us?”

“did she swallow?”

“was it good?”

chan groans. head in his hands. “yes, okay? it was… fuck, it was insane.” he slaps his face with the two hands holding it up. “she’s really good at it. i didn’t even know… i still don’t know how. and we’re keeping it professional. it was just… stress relief. one time. that’s it. i asked her for it and she said yes.”

the room goes quiet.

then han starts thrusting into the air again, laughing in chan’s face.

felix pokes his tongue in his cheek again, then pulling it away and poking it back really fast, going into chan’s face.

changbin is screaming laughing, still twisting the air. minho can’t breathe and keeps slapping changbin’s shoulders as he twists around from silent laughter.

“and you did that next to me?” jeongin whines but he’s smiling ear to ear. he’s so entertained.

“when’s my turn?“ hyunjin asks.

chan throws a pillow at him. “shut the fuck up. none of you say shit to her. i’m serious. this stays here.”

they all nod, still laughing, still processing. they’re shocked as fuck. horny. jealous. proud. men.

and now every single one of them is now lowkey wondering how the fuck they can get on your good side next.

and boom, they’re suddenly… nicer. not in a fake polite way. in a scary, intentional, grown man way. suddenly, they’re not huge assholes.

minho sits next to you again. and again. and again. always watching you talk, chin in his palm usually, nodding along, smiling, laughing with you. what the fuck.

changbin finds you on the halls again. “y/n, how long have you been doing this kind of work? do you like it? does it get exhausting dealing with us all day?” his pretty eyes focused on your face. when you say it can be hard, he smiles and says “you’re really good at it. we notice, you know.” then he lightly bumps your shoulder with his. you notice that too.

hyunjin actually waits until you’re close and gently tugs your sleeve. “y/n. come here for a second.” when you step closer he holds out his iced coffee like an offering. “taste this. too sweet again?” you take a sip and he watches your mouth the whole time, eyes intense. baby stop. “hm. ‘kay.” then he gives you this tiny half smile and walks off. you stand there blinking like he just grew a second head.

han full on grabs your arm during break, tugging you over to the couch he’s sitting on. “y/n sit with me for a bit. my shoulders are bad from yesterday, can you press here?” he makes you touch him.

felix leans against the wall next to you during a break, not in the cringe way but in that boyish loose way that’s so ggrgrghghh, sipping his drink, and goes “so what do you do when you’re not running after us? any hobbies? boyfriend? …no? hm.”

seungmin also uses the digging technique first. “you got family around here? siblings? what made you want to work in this industry?” he asks you. listens. anything for his dick tbh, even though your answers aren’t boring.

jeongin usually smiles ear to ear when he gets close to you, using his voice. using it good. or asks you to pass things that are literally in fucking arm reach, putting his fingers on yours purposely. his best attempt at flirting.

and chan is trying so fucking hard. he’s professional, respectful, gives you space… but his eyes follow you constantly.

“y/n, thanks.” “y/n, good job.” oh suddenly he can be grateful.

when no one’s watching he squeezes your shoulder gently, even.

uhuh there goes being professional and he knows that.

why isn’t he stopping himself? why can’t he listen to his brain when it’s about something this important? it was a one time thing. fuck.

the way they’re all suddenly tugging your arm, asking about your life, watching your mouth when you talk, finding excuses to be close… it’s too coordinated. too on purpose. too curious. too hungry. too boy.

you have a pretty strong guess that chan cracked and told them at least some version of what happened that night.

the thought makes your face hot every time one of them calls your name now because now it feels meant. like they’re all imagining the same thing.

and they’re so good at it. these are grown men who’ve spent years charming fans, interviewers, sponsors. they know exactly how to act, what to say. they learned this.

they’re doing this to get something. it’s lowkey mind games. that’s their whole life already.

because they’re wondering the same thing. if she did that for chan… what would she do for me?

plus they value chan so much that the fact he let you that close somehow makes you… safe. approved. part of the inner circle now. it’s weirdly sweet when we ignore the fact that they’re only doing it to get some game too.

my actual respect goes for the way they’re still pros on the surface, perfect smiles for cameras or other people, flawless interviews and public presence, but the second the staff clears out or the doors close, you’re left and their imagination of the position you sucked chan off with.

but around you, so unprofessional.

which is horrible, but they keep doing it.

minho actually contains himself, kind of. just sometimes puts an arm behind you when sitting with you on a couch. testing how you’d feel under him. or he’ll press his palm flat against your waist to gently move you aside when he wants something from the table behind you. like hello to you too daddy.

changbin catches you in the hallway, gently grabs your waist to turn you toward him. “y/n, wait, can you—” all the time. he’s wondering how you’d look looking up at him with those same helpful eyes while your mouth is full.

you’re helping hyunjin adjust his collar(it’s the fucking stylists’ job, why did he demand you to do it?) when his hand slides around your waist from behind, holding onto you.

“tighter on the left.” he mutters.

when you’re finished he gives your waist a tiny squeeze before letting go.

han actually gives you hugs now. like a saying hi hug in the mornings which always he initiates. hugging just to touch, no emotion behind it. it’s unprofessional and annoying. he’s not a smart man but has a goal now. he’s interested and so is something else on him.

felix keeps it casual. he leans in while you’re handing him water, but leans in on purpose. “thanks, y/n.” oh hello getting polite aren’t we.

seungmin is not touchy. respect tbh.

not like jeongin, who tugs you by the waist constantly now. “y/n, come here real quick.” wants his dick sucked NOW.

and they’re talking to you more than ever. and they exchange the information they got. they are standing on business. they’re horny boys first, idols second right now.

plus they can see that the energy between you and chan is thick as fuck now. he texts you more, he lets you into his space easier. during a late rehearsal he pulls you aside and tells you “that night, it helped. a lot. more than you know.”

the tension is there, but nothing sexual has happened again. yet. he’s holding back, trying to be professional, but you can feel how bad he wants more.

too bad the other seven want a piece of whatever chan got that night.

felix is the straighest about it. during a break he leans in, eyes dragging over you, slowly(he was trained to do this), and goes “you look good today, y/n. really good.” it sounds friendly on the surface, like a casual compliment, but the way his gaze lingers on your lips and then drops to your chest makes it anything but. he smiles after, boyish, beautiful, like he didn’t just eye fuck you in broad daylight. waiter waiter a whole box of xanax please

the others are sneakier but still deeply unprofessional and they know it. they ask about your life like they’re actually interested, but the questions always have this undertone now. because they just want your body.

minho sits next to you again, thigh pressed to yours DADA, and has actual conversations. “you like taking care of people, huh?” he says, eyes on your face. then, quieter, “must feel good when someone takes care of you back.” he wants to be the one making you feel good.

changbin is with you in the hallway again. “do you ever get lonely? with how much we keep you running around? you deserve someone who takes care of you too, you know.”

hyunjin keeps shoving half eaten shit into your hands but now he watches your mouth when you eat it. “good?” he asks. yeah sure whatever dude pull the willy out if you want it sucked so bad.

han once asks “you got any plans after schedule? maybe we could hang… talk more.” ??? the unprofessional ever.

seungmin asked you one day “you ever think about what you want outside of work? like… personal stuff?” the way he looked at you when he said “personal” made it clear he was imagining you spread out and moaning someone’s name. probably his.

once when the boys were talking, jeongin turned to you and asked “you, y/n? what do you do for release?” he clearly could have said to unwind or something, and he makes that known with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows too. fucking hell.

and you can tell chan is fighting with himself sometimes.

he’ll be in the middle of a conversation with you, genuinely business shit, and then something will run across his face. a tiny frown, a quick glance away, the responsible leader part of his brain is yelling “what the fuck are you doing, she’s staff” while the rest of him is just glad you exist. glad he has you. glad there’s someone who saw him at his really stressed and still chose to help without making it weird after.

most of the time the glad part wins. he lets you closer now.

the other seven? they don’t have that conflict.

they just want to hit.

bad.

they want to know what that mouth feels like. what those hands would do if they asked nicely (or not so nicely). they want to see if their sweet little assistant would get on her knees for them too, if she’d moan their name if it cane to that.

it’s horny, selfish, and they know all of them are on the same page. chan’s always so done with them when the topic comes to this.

and oh, hyunjin, the evil shit.

he waits until changbin mentions during lunch that he’s sleeping over at chan and jeongin’s dorm tomorrow night. boys are so cute when they’re excited about their little sleepovers. like aw they planned it one day sooner. hyune just nods and says nothing.

next day, after the evening schedule wraps, hyunjin finds you alone in the hallway while you’re packing up something.

he tugs your arm, pulls you closer than necessary, and says “y/n. come over tonight.”

“to yours?”

“yeah. changbin’s gone. it’ll just be me. i need help with something. personal. you know how it is.”

he doesn’t say it outright but the implication is thick as fuck. he waited until his own roommate, his best friend, was safely out of the picture. didn’t even hint to changbin. didn’t mention it to chan. just saw his opening and took it like the selfish pretty bitch he is. it’s an asshole move, one hundred percent. but hyunjin doesn’t care right now. he wants his turn. he wants to see if you’ll help him the way you helped chan.

you stand there, heart hammering, because you know exactly what he’s asking. he doesn’t know you know.

and you’re tempted.

and that’s how you end up at their place. well, right now just his.

you’re barely two steps inside when the door clicks shut behind you and hyunjin turns around.

oh, the lighting is actually nice. this is absolutely a nice place, fits them too, looks so good and combined with the smell of men—

“i want you to suck me off.”

you choke. your eyes go wide and you cough once, hard, hand flying up to your throat. “jesus fucking christ, hyunjin.”

“what? you did it for chan. i want it too.”

the confidence is insane.

you’re not even against it, the thought has been sitting in the back of your head ever since they all started acting weird, but jesus christ the delivery.

“okay… wow. straight to it, huh?” you mumble.

“why drag it out?” he says, already walking past you toward the couch. “we both know why you’re here. you’re not stupid. i’m not stupid.” he drops onto the couch, legs spread. “you can have a glass of wine first if you want. there’s some. or water. whatever makes you comfortable. but i’m not waiting all night.”

you stand there blinking, mouth still a little open. the audacity is actually impressive. “right.”

“then sit down for a second. talk if you want. or don’t. i don’t care.“

you do sit, on the other end of the couch, legs crossed, trying to act like this is a normal conversation. you talk a little about the schedules, how tired everyone looks, how you noticed they’ve all been… different lately.

hyunjin listens, nodding once or twice, but his eyes keep dropping to your lips. he’s not subtle. he clearly gives zero fuck about your feelings and wants his cock sucked like yesterday.

he’s straining against his jeans, god, but also… there’s this… romantic tension radiating off him. or maybe it’s leaning into the sexual territory too, but it is romantic, somewhere. both of you know something is about to go down and both of you know the other knows.

after a few minutes you sigh, rubbing your temple. “okay. sure. i’ll do it.”

his whole face changes. not a big smile, he’s too cool for that, but his eyes light up. eyebrows go up. he’s visibly more excited. “yeah?”

“yeah. just… keep it between us.”

“obviously.”

fucking liar.

okay both of you know chan did not hold his fucking mouth so saying it was straight up pointless. hyunjin seems even worse at keeping secrets, you’re putting less hope into this staying a secret than you did with chan.

but you’re just doing your job, after all. he’s your boss, up to him if he keeps it.

he yanks his belt open right then right there right away, the metal clinking and it sounds hot for some reason, then pops the button on his jeans but doesn’t push them down yet. just leaves them open, the zipper halfway down, the black waistband of his underwear already visible. he spreads his legs wider, one arm draped over the back of the couch ,and looks at you.

“come here then.”

okay. wow. right. okay. you move closer, then slowly sink down on the floor. it’s humiliating, considering he’s so above you in all aspects. that’s why it’s so hot.

the second you drop to your knees between his spread thighs his face, his expression shifts into something evil. satisfied, mostly. that beautiful smile, small, smug, evil, spreads across his pretty face.

“look at you.” he mutters.

he’s so hot it’s actually fucking unfair. like so unfair. fuck your fucking chungus life. that body relaxed on the couch like he was born to be serviced. this might be the perfect way to say it, born to be serviced. shame he’s also dumb and evil and weirdly romantic.

but right now he’s just a horny boy who waited until his roommate was gone so he could have you all to himself.

you settle between his legs, hands resting on his thighs. the denim is warm under your palms. his cock is already hard, been for a while, pushing against the black fabric, the outline calling your name. the tension in the room is stroking it by itself.

hyunjin reaches down, slow, and threads his fingers through your hair. “go on then, y/n. show me what you showed channie.”

you’re here for work.

so you lean in, breath ghosting over the bulge in his underwear, and watch the way his thighs tense under your hands and that satisfied smile spreads more. like he’s so happy that he’s smiling. it’s cute, if you think about it.

you reach up slowly, fingers helping tug the jeans down his thighs. they pool around his ankles and he kicks them off lazily, leaving him in just the black boxers that are so tented.

then you, slowly, peel those down too, his cock springs out, slapping up. makes your mouth water.

completely shaven, by the way. oiled and all this morning but wouldn’t tell a soul. prepared like a whore. knew he was gonna get his dick sucked tonight and wanted it perfect.

doesn’t care about you but gives a shit about how you experience him.

you wrap your hand around the base first, feeling him up. learning how the little guy works.

you squeeze gently, feeling the signature silky skin texture of dick, of genitals in general, slide over the hardness underneath, and hyunjin lets out this soft, breathy little sound that you’ve never heard from him before. a quiet “mmh…”

you start stroking him slow as fuck, up and down the whole length, thumb swirling over the head every time you reach the top. there’s not much pre for now, his dick isn’t as desperate as chan’s was, but you can work with anything.

you can always work with anything.

you spit into your other hand, loud and wet, and wrap it around him too, using both now, slicking him up until everything’s shiny and messy and dripping down over his bare balls. a little lube would help a lot but you won’t kill the mood now by having the audacity to ask for it.

hyunjin’s head tips back against the couch. “fuck… that’s good.” he murmurs, voice angelic. “just like that… yeah.“

he’s enjoying the hell out of it.

his balls are drawn up tight already, adorable how men’s bodies work, smooth and warm, and when you drag your fingers down to cup them he lets out another one of those pretty sounds, a quiet “ahh… shit” that makes your pussy throb because who the fuck knew evil reincarnated, hwang hyunjin(he’s not even that bad you two are just dramatic about each other) could sound like that.

you keep it torturously slow, just like you did with chan. long strokes from base to tip, twisting at the head, squeezing just right so some pre oozes out.

you lean in close enough that your breath ghosts over the wet head and hyunjin’s fingers tighten in your hair. he likes the power situation he’s in.

his cock is finally leaking now, easier to work with. slick. shiny. you can feel his heartbeat in it, pulsing under your palm, so smooth and pretty because he fucking prepared for you.

“mmh. fuck, y/n… slower for a second.” he breathes. he’s so into it his cheeks are flushed, lips parted, that pretty evil face looking soft and unreal, best word for this man, while you work him.

you slow down even more, dragging your fist up inch by inch, feeling every little part of him, all the textures he has to give you.

only if changbin knew.

you squeeze a little tighter on the upstroke and he moans. his hips thrust up into your fist, chasing the feeling, you can tell he’s a good dancer just by the way he moves his hips. how he’s rolling into your hand.

he’s enjoying this so much it’s almost sweet.

you spit on him again and keep going. slow, slick strokes. both hands working him perfectly. some spit running down your wrist.

his head stays tipped back, eyes mostly closed, mouth open to let those beautiful moans slip out.

you keep stroking him slowly with both hands(one would work too but his cock is more entertaining than his cute little balls so you took that hand up too), twisting at the head every time you reach the top.

then you lean in a little closer, part your lips, and poke your tongue out.

you swirl it around the swollen head once. the moment your tongue pushed down hyunjin gasps, “ah—!” as he snaps his head down at you, pretty face twisting into this grimace of pleasure. wasn’t really ready for how fucking good it feels.

“ah… yeah… mm—” he mumbles, hips twitching up into your fist, wanting more.

slut.

you open your mouth wider, take the head between your lips and suck, starting hard already, tongue flicking fast against the sensitive underside while your hands keep working the base in tight strokes.

his fingers tighten in your hair. his eyes close. his mouth is open.

you bob your head faster, taking him deeper with every slide, cheeks hollowing on the way up so you suck him tight and wet. also leaving spit behind so it glides smoother.

you pull off for a second just to spit on him again, then dive right back down, taking him halfway, then deeper, until the head bumps the back of your throat and you swallow around him.

he gasps, and his free hand grabs the couch cushion hard. you feel another spurt of pre cum coat in your mouth. ew but also hot.

you start a brutal rhythm, fast, sloppy, wet, head bobbing, hands twisting and stroking everything you can’t fit, sucking hard every time you pull back so your lips drag over the head. everytime you take him deep your nose presses against his skin and you can smell whatever product he used mixed with that warm musky boy scent that makes your pussy ache.

you were made for men.

hyunjin is making all these soft, breathy, pretty little sounds now that he knows he can, no one else around, no reason to stay quiet. little “ah… ahh” everytime you swallow around him, moans when you twist your hands just right, little whimpers when you suck hard on the head and swirl your tongue around the slit at the same time.

his hips start rolling up to meet your mouth, shallow little thrusts. you let him, opening your throat more, taking him deeper until your eyes water and spit runs down your chin in thick strings.

you reach down with one hand and cup his balls, rolling them gently, tugging to make him moan louder,

“ah, yes, fuck. right there—”

he looks down at you the whole time, eyes barely open, making you feel things(wtf), that pretty face flushed and grimacing with every wave of pleasure. he knew you’d be this good.

a bitch to you at work, by the way.

you pull off with a disgustingly(in the hot way) wet sound, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock, then immediately lick a long stripe from his balls all the way up to the head, then kissing back down, sucking one ball into your mouth and humming around it while your hand strokes him fast, tight.

hyunjin’s back arches off the couch, a loud moan coming out of him as his thighs flex, holding him up.

you switch to the other ball, sucking gently, tongue rolling over the silky skin, then lick back up and swallow him down again in one move.

you set a sweet little pace, deepthroating him over and over, gagging softly when he hits the back of your throat, spit and pre everywhere, dripping down your chin, soaking his balls, running down your wrist.

“ahh… mmh— god yes… just like that… you’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard…” his fingers are tight in your hair, guiding you just a little, hips rolling up to fuck your mouth, kind of.

you’re so turned on it hurts.

he throws his head back, mouth open, pretty face completely twisted up as he lets every sound out. breathy moans, humiliating whimpers, everything you can imagine coming from that pretty mouth that usually just hints for you to fuck off.

you suck him like a fucking vacuum. you take him as deep as you can, relaxing your throat until the fat head pushes past a muscle ring, your nose pressed into him as you gag and choke.

hyunjin is seeing heaven.

you hold there for a second, swallowing around him, struggling to, letting your throat squeeze and milk him while your tongue works the underside as much as you can make it.

hyunjin’s hips jerk up(painful to you) and he lets out this little “ahh— fuck—!” that sounds way too pretty for how evil he usually is.

you pull back slowly, dragging your lips tight along every inch, sucking hard so his cock comes out glossy and throbbing, a string of spit and pre stretching before you dive back down, head bobbing again, gluck gluck gluck.

you gag on him on purpose sometimes, wet little chokes, makes your eyes water and spit run down your chin in rivers. everytime you do it he moans louder.

you’re doing amazing and you know it. you switch it up constantly, not keeping a pace on purpose so he won’t cum that fast, deepthroating him until your nose is buried and your throat bulges, then pulling off to focus just on the head, sucking hard and fast while your tongue flicks and swirls around the sensitive slit, lapping up every fresh bead of pre that keeps leaking out.

you spit on him again, letting it drip down his smooth shaft before you stroke it in with both hands and suck the head back into your mouth. natural talent.

hyunjin’s mouth is hanging open now, pretty face completely twisted up, one eye closed as he stares down at you.

his mouth forms this perfect little o, eyebrows furrowed. the pleasure is unbearable. the soft breathy moans turn into real loud moans.

every time you swallow him deep his voice cracks higher, prettier, more powerful, and you don’t leave him hanging.

your head bobs faster, sloppy, throat suffering around him on every downstroke while your hand twists around the base you can’t fit without pain in your throat.

you press two fingers right behind his balls, rubbing that sensitive spot, and hyunjin’s whole body jerks, mouth dropping open wider as he lets out the loudest, prettiest moan yet.

thin hot ropes of cum shoot straight down your throat. pulse after pulse. weak, kind of, not what chan had. the taste is bitter and salty and kinda gross, but you keep sucking through it, swallowing every drop because he’s hot and mean and evil and you want it.

hyunjin’s hips stutter up into your mouth, cock jerking and twitching as he keeps cumming, more and more spurts meeting your skilled tongue. his fingers are gripping your hair so tight it hurts while his balls pulse in your hand, emptying everything he’s been saving up for this.

you swallow again and again, throat working around his throbbing cock, drinking down every bitter salty spurt until he’s finally empty and oversensitive.

even then you don’t stop right away, keep sucking gently, tongue swirling softly now over the head, getting the last weak drops out while he twitches and whimpers, soft little “mmh… mmh…” sounds.

his fingers loosen in your hair, stroking through it now almost tenderly. crazy that we got here from him shoving half eaten things into your hands. what a bitch.

you finally pull off, glad for air, strings of spit and leftover cum connecting your swollen lips to his spent cock. you swallow one last time, wiping your chin with a finger.

he stares down at you, eyes blown, chest rising slowly now.

“holy… fuck.” he breathes. “you’re… actually insane at that.”

you sit back on your heels, lips shiny and puffy, wipe your spit off your chin. like you didn’t just swallow his entire load while gagging on his dick.

“told you i’d do it.”

he takes his hand from your hair to tuck his spent cock back into his boxers with those pretty fingers. he pulls his jeans up just enough to button them.

“you want me to order something? food? anything you like. or… there’s drinks in the fridge. water, juice, that wine i mentioned earlier. i can get it for you. or— fuck, you can stay a bit longer if you want. just… chill.” a little too gentle for the usual hyunjin.

your jaw aches and your panties are soaked. “tempting, but was there actually something you needed help with tonight? or did you just want your dick sucked?”

he blinks. then lets out a short, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “…just wanted my dick sucked.”

hm. you nod, then reach up and give his thigh a comforting, very professional squeeze. “okay. then i’ll head home now. you should get some rest too.”

his face drops instantly. disappointment. those pretty eyes widen a bit, brows pulling together, mouth opening. because who the fuck is hyunjin if not the type to catch feelings the second someone drains his balls properly? he just got the best head of his life and now you’re about to leave??

“wait— already?” he looks actually… kind of lost. “you don’t have to go right now. it’s late, but… stay for a bit. we can talk or something. i’ll order food, seriously. or at least let me drive you home.”

you stand up slowly, smoothing your clothes, keeping that sweet professionalism on your face even though your legs feel a little shaky. “i know, hyunjin. but i really need to sleep. goodnight, okay? get some rest.”

he looks so fucking disappointed it’s funny.

“y/n…” he tries again, softer, romantic. “c’mon. just a little longer. i— fuck, that was really good.“

“i’m glad you liked it. but i’m going home now. sleep well.”

it hits him like ice water. as hard as the cold water was explained in titanic. you… you don’t feel the same way he does. you have no “maybe next time i’ll stay” energy coming off you or a lingering look that says you want more.

you don’t give a fuck about him.

???

this was a clear message that this was a one time service, not the start of anything. that you’re not interested in him like that. not tonight, and probably not ever.

you turn toward the door and get your shoes on before he can come up with another excuse. he stands up fast, jeans still half open, and follows you a couple steps.

so needy.

“y/n…” he starts. at the door, he’s towering over you. still radiating that post nut warmth, and for a second he looks like he really wants to kiss you. eyes dropping to your swollen lips.

you just pat his chest once, light and friendly, right over his heart. “goodnight.”

then you let yourself out the door before he can say anything else.

he’s… hurt. the dismissal? the polite squeeze on his thigh? the pat you just gave him? the way you made it crystal clear you’re not staying, not cuddling, not interested in him beyond “helping” like you helped chan?

he wants you more now. fuck.

he wants to wipe that professional little smile off your face. he wants to hear you moan his name instead of just sucking him off in silence. he wants to make you stay next time, make you beg a little, make you look at him the way you probably looked at chan that night.

(you looked at him and chan the same way when you sucked them off. unlike them, you’re actually doing this for the business)

he drops onto the couch, still smelling like spit and cum and your perfume, and stares at the ceiling.

sigh.

okay. where is his phone? on the ground. must have fallen out his pocket when he fought his pants off.(pants off. you were the reason for that. you sucked him off. wow.)

group chat with the boys it is.

hyunjin: y/n sucked me off

hyunjin: came over

hyunjin: left already

let’s quote what you two talked about before you gave him head. “yeah. just… keep it between us.” “obviously.” genuinely how men keep secrets. dearest reader, don’t trust a boy with your secrets, ever.

han: WHAT

han: ???

jeongin: bro… you waited until bin was gone??? that’s so fucking foul lmao

jeongin: but also respect

jeongin: how was it tho?? she deepthroat? swallow?

hyunjin: both

jeongin: 🤤

felix: omg what

felix: my turn when

seungmin: respect ig

minho: 😂😂😂

(he’s looking at his screen with a straight face)

chan: hyune what the fuck did you do?

changbin just seen the messages.

what’s currently happening is changbin and chan are looking at each other. chan has his eyes about to fall out of his head. changbin has his little mouth open. the shock in the air.

then jeongin comes out of his room in just boxers again, phone in hand, laughing at the two.

changbin finally closes his mouth, cheeks pink. “he didn’t even tell me he was inviting her over. that’s so mean.”

“he’s an asshole for not saying anything.” chan mutters.

and hyunjin is pissed you left so easily. pissed you didn’t stay. pissed you made it feel like just another task.

but mostly he’s horny again.

the next day, the moment you step into the practice floor, you fucking know they know.

because they’re all… calm. weirdly, suspiciously calm.

eight grown men who definitely know you sucked two of their dicks.

hyunjin is sitting against a mirror, stretching his arms overhead. when he sees you come in he lifts one hand in a cute little wave.

“morning, y/n.” the asshole.

you nod back, polite as ever. “morning.”

chan is checking something on some tablet, but when you hand him something he asked for yesterday, he looks up at you.

“thanks. you sleep okay?”

you smile. “yeah, i did. you?”

“better than usual.” then goes back to his tablet.

changbin smiles at you and bows a lil. han gives you a little “woah, you’re early today” giving you space like a respectful grown man. it’s almost scarier than when he was all over your lap. felix nods once with a small, friendly smile. jeongin looks a bit shy, smiling at you with that beautiful mouth. minho stays cool, as usual. you admire how mature he is. seungmin, mr nonchalant, takes his stuff with a neutral “thanks” y’know, the usual.

and… the day’s normal. it’s fucking eerie. “y/n, towel please.” “y/n, can you check my phone?” y/n this, y/n that.

how are you not fired yet? you had two of their dicks in your mouth. two.

by the time the day ends at 11pm everyone is exhausted. god, you’d give them a break if you could. but for now, all you can do is make their days easier.

they thank you one by one as they head out, eye contact, small nods. manly. they’re cute.

cute on purpose. these are actors.

chan squeezes your shoulder gently before he leaves. “good work today. go home and sleep.” and hyunjin smiles at you with a raise of his brows.

that’s about all the extra shit that happened. nothing else, for now.

you finally make it back to your place close to midnight, feet aching, brain dead, full of thoughts. surprisingly, even though you get anxious easily, you know you can’t come off wrong from this situation, so you don’t feel bad.

the boys have whole careers at stake doing this, not you. so you’re fine. horny. feel powerful.

you can feel how every single one of them is now waiting, patient and polite(on the surface, just again, they were trained to act), to see what happens next.

tomorrow is going to be another long day.

cuz like… every single one of them is trying, really trying, to stay professional. they’re idols, after all. contracts, image, cameras everywhere.

but they also just really, really want to get some.

that comes out on different levels, though. and they control it on different levels too.

like, chan is relatively good at it, even though he already got a taste. he just… wants it again, that’s the case.

he’s doing the best job at pretending nothing changed, but every time you lean close to give him something or adjust his collar he remembers your mouth stretched around him and his throat goes tight.

he’s glad he has you, genuinely glad, but the guilt is eating at him. conflict looks good on him.

minho is way too mature to act on his desire. i mean, when the time feels right he’ll ask, he thinks. or maybe he won’t ask at all. maybe he’ll just pull you into his lap one day and see what happens. for now he sits, and sees.

changbin feels a little betrayed that hyunjin didn’t tell him, but mostly he feels this warm, nervous want. he’s scared to ask. terrified, actually. so he just stays close, hoping you’ll notice how great he is.

“does your back hurt carrying all our stuff? you can lean on me if you want…” NOT. SUBTLE. BUDDY.

hyunjin, fucking hell, hyunjin. he’s noticeably nicer to you. much more fair because boys are only nice to girls who they would fuck. and hyunjin, as we know, wants that cookie. bad.

well, he doesn’t like you, he likes your mouth. big difference.

han wants to ask so bad. he wants to know if you’d bounce on his dick the way you bounced him on your lap. but even he has enough brain cells to know blurting “can you suck me off too?” would be insane. so he just keeps touching, keeps hoping you’ll offer like you did for the others. embarrassiiiing.

felix is praying. like, literally. plus, he doesn’t know how he should reach out, or if he even should. he’s waiting for the right moment, playing it cool while internally begging whatever higher power exists to let him have a turn. plus he has more serious mental tortures than this now, he wants pussy but it’s not his main goal now.

oh, seungmin notices when hyunjin is nicer to you. he notices when chan watches you longer or wants you around for a longer time.

the thought of actually asking you “hey y/n, can you suck me off like you did for the others?” makes him want to throw up from nerves. he’s too shy.

jeongin, with the boys, aka his comfort zone, he’s all cheeky, clapping arms and making gross jokes and whatever thing only boys do and is so cute actually. but the second he’s alone with you, he gets shy. his cheeks go pink when he has to ask you for something simple.

he keeps replaying the night you saw him in just boxers, god, why wasn’t he interested in you(the services your mouth has) then?

everytime he opens his mouth to say something flirty it dies in his throat and he ends up mumbling “thanks, y/n…” and he scurries away to hide behind minho.

he’s your boss. he’s bigger than you in any possible situation. but right now he feels small and stupid and so fucking horny he could cry. he likes you. that makes asking for head feel impossible!

and through the next days, you really clearly begin to see them lose their professionalism. well, not completely lose it, they’re not that piss brained, but they’re clearly doing shit they can get castrated for if caught.

but they trust you though not to spill anything.

chan talks with you during lunch one day. like, the two of you separate from other people. it’s nice, he actually opens up more, tells you about a song he’s writing that’s too personal(boundaries daddy, boundaries), asks what you think. his hand brushes your lower back when he thanks you. his dick is hard the entire conversation. he wants your mouth again so fucking bad but he’s also starting to want the conversations. duality of man.

jeongin tries to talk to you twice and both times chickens out. first time he opens his mouth, says “y/n, can i—” then turns bright red and pretends he needed water. second time he just blurts “hi hey hello” and immediately wants to die.

minho sits next to you on a couch while you’re on your laptop. doesn’t say much, just lives around next to you. when the boys start shouting at each other across the room he laughs loud with them. it’s cute. he has a beautiful smile.

seungmin gives you the usual quiet “hi” when you hand him something. later you overhear him making every one of them laugh their fucking asses off. around you? radio silence. weird, how he works.

the others behave. mostly. nothing else weird happened, but still, their brains are 90% cum and 10% “what if she sucks me off next.”

hyunjin is the best at the whole nothing happened game. he’s a professional little actor when he wants to be. during morning rehearsal he barks “y/n, my water” in the exact same pissy tone as always, but then he actually throws a “thanks” your way?? in this economy??

he wants to drag you into a storage closet or something and make you stay this time, but he’s too good at pretending. he just gets a little nicer, holding a door for you once, even. holy shit.

changbin does try though. again, unprofessional, and he knows that, and he follows you down the hallway again anyway.

“y/n, do you like strawberries? i saw this new cafe that does strawberry milk… not that i’m asking you out or anything, just… if you ever want one after schedule…” he trails off, cheeks pink, then quickly adds “or i can just bring you one here. or whatever.”

when hyunjin walks past and gives you a tiny nod changbin wants to go after him and choke the guy.

usually, the days just blur together, and you’re thrilled to see how they’re going to reach out next.

one afternoon hyunjin “accidentally” drops his towel right in front of you and when you bend down to pick it up he mutters “keep it” like it’s a gift instead of his sweaty ass towel. chan sees it and gives hyunjin the world’s most disappointed dad look(paired with a boyish little scoff, wow chan you almost looked mature for a second) but then later pulls you aside himself, asking if you want to go over some things with him after practice “just the two of us, no pressure.” you say sure and he’s visibly nervous.

what a time to be employed.

yeah, you and chan do start building something, even if it’s not consciously built.

he pulls you aside more during work, technically always asking about work related things but really it’s just hanging out. he needs something only you seem to give him.

he wants that cookie so fucking bad.

mostly the relief it gives. the way your mouth turned his brain off for ten beautiful minutes and let him breathe like a normal twenty something guy instead of the guy carrying eight careers on his back.

one afternoon after a killer dance practice he’s drenched in sweat that you so want to lick off, chest heaving, and he waves the others off. “i’ll stay a bit longer. y/n, can you help me go over the new formation notes?”

the boys leave, shooting looks, but nobody says shit.

it’s just you and chan in the empty practice room, mirrors reflecting you two from every angle.

he sits on the floor against the wall, legs stretched out, and pats the spot next to him. you sit. he smells like humans(in the good way) and that expensive cologne and pure man.

you go over the notes but after ten minutes the papers are forgotten on the floor between you.

“you know… that night.” he starts, staring at the mirror instead of you. “it helped more than i thought it would. not just the… physical part. having someone who doesn’t expect anything back. who just helps.” he rubs the back of his neck, cringe ass but it actually means a lot, coming from him. “i keep thinking about it. it was nice. you’re nice to have around, y/n.”

“thank you. really, means a lot that i can help.”

now you’re professional. you don’t tell him what you feel on a deeper level, just the surface shit. noncommittal.

he wants the relief again so bad he can taste it. he wants to feel your throat squeeze around him he wants to cum so hard he forgets the comeback schedule for five whole minutes.

but he doesn’t ask. he’s really trying to keep himself in line because he has shit to focus on. he has work, for fuck’s sake.

it’s… a fucking joke. their careers, their contracts, their reputations, all of it could go up in flames if one wrong person finds out, but right now every single one of them is thinking with the head between their legs instead of the one on their shoulders.

chan feels the most responsibility, but he’s still using every charm trick in the book. just again, they were trained to charm people, and he’s using that.

mr leader knows exactly what he’s doing when he pulls you into quiet corners “just to talk.” when his voice gets a little softer, a little slower. what a charmer.

even though he’s aware of all the risks, he still does it.

because he wants the relief so bad. he wants your mouth again. he wants the way you make the torture in his head stop.

so he charms you gently, carefully, building whatever this is. he feels bad about it. but not bad enough to stop, because it’s… it’s like an addiction. it is an addiction, the way addicts know the drug is bad for them but they’re already reaching for the next dose because their body got to know it and now needs it. that’s what’s happening, basically.

blowjob can NOT be this good.

(it can. you really are a talent at giving them, y/n)

the others don’t feel anything at all. they just want to get some action. plain and simple.

like, hyunjin is nicer???(it’s working. you can feel it.) han asks questions that feel personal??? minho uses that idol trained eye contact that makes you feel like the only girl in the room even when there are twenty staff members running around??? seungmin lets you go ahead of him??? felix giggles at everything you say??? jeongin’s eyes are always on you whatever you’re doing??? changbin follows you around all day???

it’s all so fucking unprofessional it’s almost impressive.

these men have everything to lose.

but they’re still thinking with their dicks.

they know one leaked rumor could end everything. but the thought of your mouth, your hands, some relief, pussy, makes their heads turn.

they linger. they find excuses. it’s stupid.

but they’re trained to charm.

they’re trained to get what they want.

and right now what they want more than anything is you getting them off. men can really want a thought when they already settled into it in their heads.

and work is just so much, so stressing, that chan just neeeeds you at their place again!

so you go.

it’s late. jeongin’s already asleep in his room. the only light is the soft glow from chan’s laptop on the desk and the small lamp beside his bed. you’re both sitting on the edge of his bed, laptops open, going over shit.

but the air is thick.

chan has been restless the entire evening, shifting his weight, rubbing the back of his neck, whatnot. you can feel the tension coming off him.

finally, after ten straight minutes of him staring at the same line on the screen without typing anything, he closes his laptop with a quiet click.

“y/n.”

you look up.

he takes a rough breath, eyes flicking away for a second before they come back to you. visibly fighting with himself. “i… fuck. this is hard to ask. i know we said one time. but tonight… i… i think i really need another… one. if you’d be willing to… do that again. for me.”

you immediately close your laptop, set it aside, slide off the bed, dropping to your knees between his spread thighs without a word.

holy shit.

his eyes actually widen.

wow.

how did he get his lucky?

“thank you.” he says immediately, shakily taking the laptop off his lap. “i— i appreciate this more than i can say right now. seriously. you don’t know how much.”

you smile up at him, hands resting on his thick thighs. “i got you.”

your palms slide up his thighs, feeling the hard muscle tense under the thin sweatpants. you press your thumbs into the seam where his legs meet his hips, rubbing small circles, feeling him under the fabric. the human. the man.

chan’s breath hitches, watching you.

you’re an angel. sent to him personally from the clouds of heaven.

you lean in and press a soft, open mouthed kiss to the inside of his left thigh, right above the knee, then another a little higher.

chan’s fingers twitch against his legs.

you move to the right thigh, repeating the same kisses, working your way up inch by inch while your hands keep rubbing soothing patterns on the outside of his thighs.

when you reach the crease where his leg meets his groin you pause, breathing warm air through the fabric right over the growing bulge. you can already see the luring outline forming, starting to push against the (disgustingly expensive, but he can afford it so whatever) material.

“fuck… y/n…”

you take a soft breath, then mouth gently along the length of him through the sweatpants, lips parted, tongue pressing on the fabric so he can feel what’s about to come.

you trace the entire shape of him, base to tip, slow and sensual, feeling him thicken and harden under your mouth until the fabric is stretched.

this is the hottest thing anyone has ever done to him.

your hands slide higher, fingers hooking into the waistband. you kiss the spot right above the waistband, then drag your tongue in a slow, wet stripe up the center of his abs over his shirt. the muscle jumps.

chan’s head tips back slightly, throat working as he swallows hard. fucking hell, this is unreal. he’s going to bust now.

your tug the pants down reeeaaal slow, letting the fabric move on his skin. letting him feel he’s alive. he lifts his hips to help, breath catching when the cool air hits him.

his boxers come next, you peel them down carefully, watching his cock come free.

he’s manscaped now. oh, hello. completely. smooth skin all around the base, not a single hair left, balls silky and bare because he took the time to do this just in case you ended up here again.

the sight makes your mouth water. the intent makes your mouth water. his cock looks even bigger without the hair. it twitches the second your eyes land on it, bobbing once like it knows you’re looking. hi to you too.

you wrap one hand around the base first, gentle, feeling the warmth of him, the way the smooth skin slides over the hardness underneath. chan lets out a low, shaky exhale through his nose, thighs tensing under your palm. you give him one slow stroke from root to tip, thumb pressing lightly right under the head(where you learned he’s most sensitive. that’s intimate.) his cock jumps in your grip, a thick drop of pre leaking out and sliding down the shaft, making your work easier.

god, this man is pouring pre compared to what you had to work with on hyunjin. but you’re not complaining about either.

“fuck…” he mutters, one hand coming down to hold on the back of your head.

you smile up at him, then look back down to lean in closer, breath ghosting over him, and drag your tongue in one long stripe from the base all the way up to the head.

chan’s whole body shudders.

you swirl your tongue around the head once, tasting the saltiness, then pull back to watch his reaction.

his cock twitches again, harder this time, another bead of pre pushing out right where your tongue just was.

you lean back in and lick it off slowly, dragging the tip of your tongue over the slit, pressing hard enough to make him hiss softly between his teeth.

one hand strokes him long while the other cups his smooth balls, rolling them gently in your palm, feeling how warm and heavy they are, how they tighten up everytime you lick over the head. you tug lightly on his sack, making his hips twitch up, and chan groans, fingers flexing in your hair.

“thank you… fuck, thank you.”

you’re welcome, daddy.

you lick him again, slower this time, tracing every vein with the tip of your tongue, feeling the way his cock jumps and leaks for you with every pass. you pull him down slightly with your hand so you can drag your tongue along the sensitive underside, right where the head meets the shaft, and chan almost leans forward from the pleasure. this is way better than fucking his first in the shower.

his cock is fully hard now, standing thick and flushed and glossy with your spit and his pre, the shaved skin making every little reaction so much more visible. the way it throbs, the way the head swells darker every time you swirl your tongue around it, the way his balls draw up tighter in your hand because they’re already getting close.

you keep stroking him with a slow, sensual rhythm, twisting your wrist just right at the top, thumb pressing into the slit to spread the fresh pre around while your tongue follows right behind, licking and teasing and tasting.

chan’s breathing is getting heavier, chest rising and falling under his shirt. he’s already relieved.

you pull his skin down again, licking slow circles around the head, then take just the tip into your mouth, sucking softly while your hand keeps stroking the rest of him, tight.

chan lets out this low groan, head tipping back, the sound vibrating through his whole hot body.

you look up at him from between his thick thighs and jesus fucking christ he’s hot.

his chest is rising and falling under his (white)shirt, sweat starting to bead at his hairline because he’s running so fucking warm. his cock literally radiating warmth in your hand. it’s been dying for this. for your touch again.

he reaches down to pull his shirt off.

chan. shirtless.

skin and pure muscle right in front of your face. his abs and pecs flex when he tosses the fabric aside, a light layer of sweat already making him glow under the lamp. oh that’s dada. big manly body, veins standing out on his arms, bruises from all the treatments he gets, cupping and allat, that deep v line pointing straight to his smooth shaved cock. no need to point here you come.

you open your mouth wide, tongue flat, and take him in deep right from the start. the head slides over your tongue, thick and hot and salty, unpleasant but also hot, and you don’t stop until your nose is buried in that smooth shaved skin at his base.

he actually has to whip his head up.

you hold him there for a second, swallowing hard, letting your throat work him while your nose presses into his warm skin.

you pull back slowly, lips dragging along every thick inch, sucking hard so your cheeks hollow. you don’t pull off tho. you bob your head instead, taking him to the back of your throat over and over, gagging. spit runs down your chin. everytime you push down your throat squeezes around the head and chan’s hips twitch up.

“thank you, y/n… god thank you…”

you look up at him while you suck, eyes watering, lips formed obscenely around his shaft, and the eye contact makes him cry out. jeongin sleeping next room be damned.

he’s so hot like this. you can see how much he wants this, how bad he’s been thinking about your mouth since last time. that’s also told by the way his cock leaks constantly now, just again, brutal compared to what hyunjin gave you, thick salty pre coating your tongue and sliding down your throat every time you take him. he’s too hot for you to mind the taste.

you pull off with a wet squelch, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock, and spit on him, then stroke your fingers up and down his slick shaft while you suck just the head hard. your tongue swirls around the sensitive underside, flicking right where it meets the head, and chan’s whole body jerks.

“ah, fuck— right there—”

you take him back down, nose to skin, and start bobbing faster, head moving, gluck gluck on him. spit is everywhere, running down your chin, dripping off your jaw, soaking his smooth balls and thighs.

you reach up with one hand and roll his balls gently, tugging them down to make him hiss then moan. cock jumps hard in your mouth at that, another spurt of pre arriving on your tongue. you like how much he gives you.

the attraction between you two is insane. you can feel how much he wants you, how grateful he is, how he’s truly living in this moment. and you’re so fucking attracted to him it hurts. it’s mutual.

you suck harder. deeper. sloppier. you take him all the way every time, throat working around him, nose pressed to him while your tongue licks the underside. you gag on purpose, letting your throat spasm around the head, and chan groans loud and long, head falling back.

he’s actually letting out little moans now between the loud hisses. you can feel how close he is, how bad he wants to cum.

you look up again and lock eyes with him while your lips are stretched around the base of his cock, throat full, spit dripping down your chin, and the pure animal attraction in his gaze makes your stomach flip.

he’s so fucking grateful and so fucking turned on he doesn’t know what to do with it.

you’re doing it so fucking well. you’re making him feel so good.

his hips snap up. his thick cock drives straight into your throat with a desperate thrust. the head punches past the ring of muscle in there and buries itself deep, stretching your throat wide open.

you gag hard around him, throat convulsing, eyes watering instantly as spit explodes out the corners of your mouth and you instinctively try to pull back.

but oh, look at that, he’s holding your head in place.

“fuck, sorry.” he moans, but his hips do come up again, slower this time but still greedy, pushing another inch deeper.

he starts thrusting.

animal, hungry snaps of his hips that force his thick cock in and out of your face. every thrust makes a wet, obscene ack sound as your throat bulges around him. spit flies everywhere, splattering onto his balls, running down your neck.

his big hand tightens in your hair, gripping hard to hold you right where he needs you. his other hand braces on the bed behind him so he can fuck your mouth deeper. his abs are clenched and moving, v line flexing every time he drives up, sweat sliding down the lines and dips of his muscles.

he’s whining and moaning and groaning for you. holy fuck you might die but he’s hot.

tears spill down your cheeks, mixing with the spit, but you keep your eyes locked on him the whole time.

fuck, he looks... angelic. naked, sweaty, mouth open, eyes dumb as he watches his thick cock disappear between your lips over and over. sometimes head tipping back for a second before he looks back down.

he starts really pounding.

deep, brutal thrusts that force his cock all the way down until his balls smack wetly against your chin.

spit bubbles out around the sides of your stretched lips, dripping in long strings onto the floor. it’ll dry, no big deal.

you take it. you want it. even when your eyes are streaming tears and your gag reflex keeps trying to fight back and it hurts both your throat and stomach, you relax your throat as much as you can and let him ruin it. your nails dig into his thighs, holding on for dear life.

you can feel how close he is. the way his thighs shake around your head. the way his abs clench harder. the way his body moves.

he fucks your face faster, hips snapping up desperately, using your mouth like a toy. “y/n— i’m— fuck— i’m gonna— ahh—”

one last deep, brutal thrust, cock buried to the hilt, your nose smashed against his smooth skin, throat stretched wide around him, and he starts cumming with a long, wild groan.

you gag around his length, cum and spit forcing its way back up around his cock because there’s just too much. it leaks out the corners of your stretched lips, running down your chin, white and disgusting, running down your neck while he keeps pumping cum into you.

chan’s whole body is shaking, groaning as he empties himself.

“fuck— yes— good girl, yeah.”

okay suddenly it doesn’t hurt.

who are you kidding it hurts so much.

some of it comes back up, mixing with all the spit, making everything disgusting, your nails still dug into his thighs as you throw his cum up around him.

when the last weak spurt finally dribbles onto your tongue, chan slumps back against the bed, chest heaving, cock still deep in your throat.

you slowly pull off, coughing and gasping for air, strings of cum and spit and lowk stomach acid connecting your swollen lips to his cock. you have to spit out what’s left in your mouth, really wouldn’t be able to take that down now, then wipe your chin with the back of your hand, smearing it across your skin, breathing loud.

chan reaches down immediately, thumb brushing your wet cheek. “fuck, y/n, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to be that rough. you okay?”

you look up at him, lips puffy, face messy, and nod. it hurts. “i’m fine. i wanted it.” you sound so bad.

he lets out a shaky breath. wow. “thank you.”

“anytime, chan.”

…

the air changes from the eye contact alone.

…is this really going to happen?

your heart starts hammering so loud you can hear it in your ears. you can see the exact moment the thought crosses his mind.

his eyes drop to your mouth again, then lower, tracing the mess on your chin, the way your chest is heaving. his hand, still in your hair, flexes in it.

he shouldn’t.

he knows he shouldn’t.

you’re his assistant. this already crossed multiple lines two times now.

but the way he’s looking at you says he wants to cross every single one of them tonight.

is this really going to happen?

is he really about to cross that line?

fuck it.

he leans down, and kisses you.

line crossed.

it’s deep, hungry, and shockingly soft at first. his lips are warm, so big, so manly. then it deepens. his mouth opens in time with yours, tongue slides against yours, slow, wet, making you shiver.

he murmurs a “come here.” and his hands slide under your arms, lifting you up towards him.

you climb up his body, knees sinking into the bed on either side of his hips, and he leans back until he’s lying flat, pulling you down on top of him so your chest presses against his bare, sweaty one.

his hands immediately find your ass.

big, warm palms cupping you fully, fingers digging in. he squeezes, he’s been dying to know what you feel like there.

a satisfied groan escapes him when he realizes how perfect you fit in his hands.

“fuck…” he breathes against your mouth, kissing you again, slower this time but just as deep and wet and disgusting, tongue licking into you. he knows you taste like this because he was in your mouth. maybe he’ll get to experience your mouth purely one day too. his hips roll up, searching for you(so cute), poking the head of his thickening cock against your lower stomach.

he wants it so bad.

he wants to be completely naked under you while you stay fully clothed.

he wants to feel every inch of your body pressed against his bare skin, your clothes rubbing against his cock, your hands on his chest while he lies there exposed and desperate. he wants to watch you live on the line between professional and the girl who just swallowed his load. he wants your weight on him, your ass in his hands, your mouth on his again while he’s completely vulnerable underneath you.

there is no more “fuck i know i shouldn’t” both of you are completely in it now. both of you have accepted that this is happening, even though you don’t exactly know where it’ll end up. but it’s happening. and it feels so fucking good.

and god, the way he’s sucking on your bottom lip, biting it gently, then licking into your mouth again with these low groans and moans? irresistible.

your bodies are pressed together so tight it’s… it’s the most intimate you’ve been with this man and you’ve literally had his dick down your throat twice. his bare chest is sweaty, hot under your shirt, nipples hard little points, the little guys basically looking for you as you’re holding yourself up above him.

he breaks the kiss with a wet pop and immediately latches onto your neck.

“fuck…” you whisper, head tilting to the side.

his lips are warm and big and perfect on him and for you, sucking marks you’ll have to cover tomorrow.

are you really letting your boss do this?

yeah, no doubt. it’s too addictive to stop.

he keeps going, sucking a bruise right where your neck meets your shoulder, then just softly sucking at it some more.

“mmh… you taste so good.” mr unprofessional mutters into your skin, sucking another mark. his hands squeeze your ass harder, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, kneading it, pleasuring his little man mind.

he takes the two big handfuls and pulls your cheeks apart, spreading you wide even through your pants. you can feel the stretch. you can feel the fabric of your underwear pulling against your asshole, the cool air hitting the sensitive little ring for a split second before his hands push you back together. he does it again, harder, pulling your ass open so wide that the seam of your pants digs right against your clit and you actually feel your hole stretch a tiny bit, that weird, dirty little tug that makes your whole pussy clench hard.

you cry out.

high and needy and shocked at how good it feels. your hips jerk down against his cock on instinct, grinding, god, what a good girl you are, and chan exhales into your neck with a sound.

because oh… you like that?

he does it again, slower, pulling your ass cheeks so far apart you feel your asshole stretch open just a little more, tells you everything. he’s testing. he’s curious. he’s so fucking turned on by the idea that his sweet little assistant likes having her ass played with that he can’t help himself.

he keeps kneading, keeps spreading, imagining what it would feel like without clothes.

every time he pulls hard you feel that delicious, dirty stretch, the way your asshole flutters and it’s all for your boss.

you’re whimpering into his shoulder now, face buried in his neck, hips rolling around to bear with the feeling.

chan might actually marry you.

he’s so hard again it has to hurt. his cock is leaking between you, you can feel the wet spot on your pants from it, the head of his dick catching right against your mound when he rolls his hips up to meet you.

he pulls your ass apart again, really hard this time, thumbs spreading you so wide you swear you can feel the cool air in your actual hole for a second.

“ah, fuck—” you cry out.

that makes his cock jump against you. so sweet, the way it reacts to your voice.

he spreads you wide, mouth still sucking marks into your neck, holds you open for a long second, then lets your cheeks snap back together before doing it all over again. every pull makes your asshole stretch and flutter, every squeeze makes your pussy clench and leak into your panties. you’re so wet it’s embarrassing.

you shift, you can’t even decide who’s more unprofessional now, you or him, because you do that so your clit can be the part where his cock is grinding to.

holy fuck.

his breathing gets hotter, humanly intimate, hot puffs against your neck. his cock is sliding between your folds now through two layers of clothes.

he pulls your ass open one more time, extra slow, extra wide, thumbs pressing right next to your hole.

he’s thinking about something.

you can feel the way your asshole stretches, the little ring of muscle pulling, and the pleasure of it makes your eyes roll back for a second. you cry out again, louder, hips stuttering down hard against his cock.

one of his hands shifts. his pointer finger slides down the crease of your ass, pressing over your pants, right against that stretched little hole. rubs slow circles over it, feeling the way your asshole flutters under the fabric every time he presses down.

the cheeky little shit.

and he keeps kissing your neck, sucking marks, grinding his cock up against your clothed pussy while his finger teases your asshole over your clothes. and here you thought he was vanilla.

oh, right, yeah, you. you’re shaking on top of him now, whimpering, grinding down desperately while his finger keeps pushing your hole.

he’s so hot under you. so fucking big and warm and hard and grateful and greedy all at once. his other hand is still kneading the other cheek, spreading it open so his finger can keep playing with your asshole. his mouth is still on your neck, sucking and licking and biting, leaving himself behind.

it feels so fucking good.

deep down, you needed this almost just as much as he needs your blowjobs. you’re stressed too, well, not carrying your whole group on your back like he does, but no matter how deep the water is if someone’s drowning.

point is, you’ve been pent up too.

and you really needed this tension now.

but… okay, you do need it, but how will it affect your career? you’re building a life for yourself still. you’re so young, and if you fumble this chance to grow yourself now…

fuck. fine.

“chan, wait.” you stammer, breathless. your hands push lightly at his chest, feeling the sweaty muscle underneath your palms. “we… we shouldn’t—”

“c’mon…”

it’s dripping with everything he’s not saying out loud, how bad he wants you, how good you feel on top of him, how he’s been thinking about this since the first time you dropped to your knees.

his finger presses a little firmer into your asshole, and his other hand squeezes your ass harder, pulling you down so his cock grinds up against your soaked pussy again.

your breath catches. for one stupid, weak second you almost give in. he feels so fucking good under you, and…

“just a little more. feels too good to stop now.” he mutters into your neck. it tickles. it’s hot. it’s inviting.

fuck. he’s so convincing.

no.

you’re gonna be professional(bit late for that innit) even if he’s not.

you sit up straighter, hands still on his chest, and shake your head even though your body is screaming at you to keep going.

chan freezes under you. his hands stay on your ass for a second longer before they finally slide away, and he lets you go.

he’s panting under you, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his abs, cock still rock hard and ready to go against his stomach.

for a moment he just stares at you, fighting the ugre to grab you and pull you back down. then reality seems to hit him. his mucsles relax a little. he runs a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose.

“yeah.” he mutters. “you’re right. fuck.”

he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, and closes his eyes. trying to pull himself the fuck together. when he opens them again there’s a mix of frustration and something like respect, maybe even a little shame.

“i’m sorry.” he says quietly, still panting. “i got carried away. you’re… you’re much smarter than me right now.”

the tension is unfinished, but maybe it’s meant to be. (it’s not. you two are MEANT to fuck, you two basically have been created for each other, just sadly, both of you value your careers)

“thank you.” he says quietly. “for stopping me. and… for everything else tonight. i mean it.”

you look beautiful, to him. straddling him, panting, neck covered in his marks. he wants you.

“it’s okay, chan. we’re good.”

you take a breath. okay. you climb off him carefully, legs not stable at all, and sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. he sits up, reaches over and grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his lap to cover his still hard cock and those smooth thighs. the fabric tents obviously, but at least it’s something.

for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

then you look at each other.

then you smile.

then you laugh.

not on purpose. really do laugh, you couldn’t stop it even if you tried to.

you can both feel it, this human understanding in the air between you two. this is so going to happen again. not tonight, but soon. the tension isn’t gone. it’s just paused. not even paused, just resisted, for fuck’s sake. both of you get this.

you clear your throat, trying to sound normal. “uh… do we have anything else to work on? the schedule tomorrow or—”

“no. go home, y/n. you need to rest.” he pauses, then adds with a small smile “i’ll tell management to give you the day off tomorrow if you want it. you’ve earned it. more than earned it.”

“i won’t take it. you know i won’t.”

“yeah. i know.” he reaches over and gives your knee a gentle squeeze, but soon pulls his hand back. he wanted to keep it there longer. “but seriously. go sleep. i’ll see you in the morning.”

you stand up slowly, legs still shaky, and fix your clothes. your neck tickles where he sucked those pretty marks, your panties are soaked, and your lips feel puffy.

chan watches you the whole time, blanket still over his lap, eyes… fucking shining.

“goodnight, chan.”

“goodnight, y/n.”

you nod, pack your bag in like three fucking moves, and slip out of the room as quietly as you can.

jeongin’s door is still closed. good.

your neck is going to be a nightmare to cover tomorrow. your pussy is still throbbing. and you can still feel this thing between the two of you. it’s so… raw.

inevitable, really.

so it’s only natural that the next day’s gonna be torture too.

okay, it’s not torture anymore. when you freshly started working for them, it really was, but now even though you do have the perfect reasons to call it torture, really, you like it. you like the push and pull. cat and mouse game that you can feel, you just don’t know if they know you feel.

you walk into the building in the morning with a high neck shirt and enough concealer to paint a house. chan did a great work on your neck. purple and red marks all over the side of your throat where he sucked.

hot.

every time you swallow it still hurts from how deep he fucked your face last night.

you’re exhausted, horny, and professional as always.

now though, the guys don’t know about last night. hyunjin thinks he’s the latest conquest. chan is keeping his mouth shut for once.

so the energy is… weird.

and they’re too busy to notice you’re marked.

“morning, y/n.” that’s hyunjin. not suspecting a single thing, which is good for his ego, actually.

you nod and keep moving.

chan’s trying so hard to act normal it’s almost funny. when you hand him his drink he takes it with a quiet “thanks” (remember that at the very start of this he wouldn’t even look at you, not alone grunt a thanks out?) and his eyes flick to your high collar, then away.

you can see the guilt(not about what he did to your neck, about what he did to his career) and the horniness mixing in his expression.

the memory of his mouth on your neck, his hands spreading your ass, his cock leaking against your clothed pussy.

he clears his throat and goes back to his laptop, but his eyes are obviously kept there with force. you just noticed how cute his mouth is.

minho? acts the same as usual. he’s so professional that you couldn’t even tell he wants his cute little assistant to suck him the fuck off.

changbin finds you on the hallway again. babe, go back to work. “you look a little tired today.” he says. “did you sleep okay?” boi just say you want to hit.

he has no idea you spent half the night with chan’s tongue in your mouth and his finger teasing your asshole and it’s an amazing feeling. you just smile and say you’re fine.

han is also normal. why wouldn’t he be, he doesn’t know of the nasty shit you do.

felix comes at you with the “you smell nice today. new perfume?” no baby it’s your best friend’s body’s natural smell and cum that you’re kind of nasty for not washing off but we’re not shaming anyone here. anyways, you shake your head. he smiles, his prettiest on purpose, convinced he’s gonna tap that one day.

seungmin, not much to say either. looks up at you only when you talk to him first. acting aaaaall nonchalant, we know you want some, minnie.

jeongin manages to talk to you with proper sentences this time!! “you okay? you look like you got attacked by a vacuum or something. long night?”

your heart jumps, does he know?, but he’s just teasing. he has no idea how right he is. how on point he was with the vacuum, while really he just meant your hair being a little messy, not the actual suction your neck endured.

during afternoon practice chan pulls you aside for two seconds in the hallway when no one’s looking.

“you okay?” he asks, eyes flicking to your covered neck. “i didn’t… go too far last night?”

you shake your head, smiling(your pussy clenches at the memory of his thumbs spreading your ass). “i’m fine. really.”

he nods, looks away, looks back, then reaches up and gently adjusts your collar.

the tension is insane.

he wants to kiss you again. you can see it in his eyes. he wants to drag you into the nearest room and finish what you started.

but he doesn’t. he just drops his hand and steps back.

“good. go rest when you can.” he says. then he walks back, holding the door open for you.

your panties have been uncomfortable all day from how wet you stayed thinking about his hands.

the sexual tension with him is unbearable now. every day, every time you’re alone for even thirty seconds it wakes up again. the restraint is killing him, and it’s… well, it’s not killing you.

just again, you’re here for work. you have no reason in the world to worry.

he was going to text you hundreds of times. how he couldn’t stop thinking about how you felt on top of him, dumb, vulnerable shit like this, but he stopped himself. unprofessional.

hyunjin is a close second, and he’s getting impatient.

he wants his second round so badly it’s fucking funny. hilarious. you’re slapping your thigh bending over laughing the second you get home.

he starts finding excuses to be alone with you, asking you to help with this, help with that, saying “you owe me another visit sometime” it all tells you he’s dying for it. he wants to feel your throat again.

the fact that you’re keeping him at arm’s length is only making him want it more.

they’re just boys. that’s the thing.

biologically they’re built like fucking animals once their dicks get hard. testosterone floods the system, logical thinking takes a backseat, dopamine and vasopressin are flooding their dumb little brains.

suddenly the logical, professional brain that knows you’re staff and this is dangerous to their lives gets completely overridden by the part that just wants to fuck and claim and cum. it’s not even their fault, millions of years of evolution made sure that this happens.

that’s why they’re moving, circling like this. why chan can’t stop touching you when no one’s looking. why hyunjin gets pissy and horny every time you stop looking at him. why the rest of them keep finding excuses to be near you, eyes lingering on your mouth, your neck, your ass.

now that we’re at asses, fun fact, the reason why we’re so attracted to them is brutally biological. same with breasts. big tits? signals good milk production for babies. fat ass? means wide hips for carrying and birthing. smooth skin, soft curves, the way you smell when you’re turned on, their brains see it and their bodies don’t care that you’re their assistant. they just want. they want to touch, to taste, to fuck, to claim.

that’s why they all go stupid the second they get a taste. one blowjob and suddenly they’re obsessed, wanting, touching more, eyes lingering on your body, thinking about how fast they can get you naked, how would your tits look bouncing.

it’s not even their fault. it’s just biology.

they’re all just boys at the end of the day.

twenty something guys with insane schedules, zero real privacy, and dicks that don’t understand the concept of boundaries. once they know you’re the kind of girl who gets on her knees and swallows without making it weird, their brains go crazy.

plus let’s count it in that these boys are not the smartest. to be pretty fucking real.

but anyways, these are idols. professionals. but strip away the image and they’re just horny animals who saw one of their own get his dick sucked and now their monkey brains are screaming me next me next.

attraction isn’t logical. it’s tits and ass and the way your lips look when they’re swollen from sucking cock. it’s the smell of a turned on woman and the memory of a warm throat.

so, point is, that’s why they’re acting like this. evolution doesn’t care about contracts or image. it just wants them to fuck.

so. you keep rushing when they call your name, fixing slash holding things, handing out this and that, remembering.

but underneath it all you’re a walking mess.

men affect you hard. especially when they’re his attractive.

your neck is still marked up, your pussy stays in a permanent state of dear god i need them but i’ll let them chase, and every single time one of them looks at you for too long your brain helpfully replays the feeling of chan’s thick cock grinding against you while his finger spread your ass open.

he’s the worst. (for now)

the sexual tension with him is unbearable now. every interaction feels like foreplay that never quite tips over.

nobody has ever got him feeling like this before. it’s crazy for him too, trust.

every time your eyes meet across the room there’s this acknowledgment.

we almost fucked. we’re going to fuck. it’s only a matter of when.

the tension is so bad that during one long break he actually had to excuse himself to the bathroom for five minutes because he couldn’t stop staring at you.

the others are still manageable. sure, you’ll deal with it, you’re below them anyways. plus they’re cute. you don’t really mind the attention.

especially the amount you’ve been getting from jeongin.

you’ve started feeling his eyes on you more than anyone else’s.

he watches you when you’re not looking, when you’re bent over getting something from somewhere, when you’re handing someone water, when you’re laughing at something minho said. he’s more intense.

practices are hell. to you. sweat, movement, bodies everywhere. every time someone peels off a shirt you have to look away. you’re not unaffected.

plus sometimes you can’t help but think of chan shirtless under you.

hyunjin catches you looking once and smiles with an eyebrow raise. bitch keep it in your pants.

you keep doing your job. barely.

it’s hard.

just as hard as it’s for jeongin to man himself up and try to talk to you. to shoot his shot, not just business talk.

only if you knew he heard the whole face fucking chan performed on you.

author’s note: holy shit what a basic trope. (saying this but i don’t recall seeing one fic w it. i just know, i can tell. tf. wait no there was a smau i think. i don’t read since i started writing so pleaseeeeee don’t take this as me copying anyone, i purely used this scenario to go to sleep these days(wrote this as i’m at the start of the fic, and writing now, it’s not the one i use anymore) and wanted to put it down somewhere. or i mean shii tell me if someone copyrighted it but i didn’t take the idea from anyone. just wanted to make sure y’all know this!!) this is not an accusation of how the boys act in real life!! purely a fictional characterization to my liking and the people’s who enjoy it. also this is not a high effort fic so shame on me for not making research on what an assistant would do, i’m just here for the dick.

‎"Is this something you really want, baby?" you asked, kissing Chan's jaw, your hand gripping the side of his t-shirt, the other slipping under it to feel his skin. He shivered as he melted under your touch, his head dropping down, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. His lips found yours once more. "Yes, but only if you're really ok with it," he breathed into the kiss. You could feel his arousal through his sweats, bulging onto your lower stomach.

"I am, because it's something you want," you replied. "And I have to admit, I am not opposed to them sharing me at all, but I would never want it unless it's something you also want for us," you continued. Chan smiled against your lips before deepening the kiss. "How did I get so lucky with you?" he then whispered.

"If by lucky you mean you got yourself a woman who's willing to be shared by two of your chosen brothers, who also are in a relationship together, because you want to watch your woman get fucked by someone else, before getting to fuck her yourself..." you replied, making a breathy giggle release from deep down his throat.

"That's exactly what I mean," he replied, his hands trailing down to grab the hem of his t-shirt that you were wearing, pulling it up. "Then I guess the answer to it is, that you didn't get lucky. I did. I spent so long trying to get your attention, and when you finally saw me... I knew I had won," you admitted, blushing slightly as the t-shirt fell to the floor. Your bralette and a matching thong were all you had underneath.

Even though you were open to try anything, being the centre of not one, but three men's attention at once was apparently something that had your cheeks dusting with pink, the skin warming under Chan's palms as he again cupped your face.

"Trust me when I say this, it's me who won, babygirl. I'm already so fucking turned on even just by the thought of others touching you without me. And it shouldn't be arousing, which is why it's twisted, but you don't judge. They don't either, which is why I trust them with this, with you."

"I'd never judge, baby. And even though Minho and Ji will be included, at the end of the day, this is for you, for us," you breathed, drunk on the situation. You were already starting to dampen through your thong, the idea of being fucked by two other men who also had become your friends over the years while Chan watched...

Even if you'd never before been shared like this, it excited you, because it excited him. You had been shared before, of course, but never without him being one of the men sharing.

"You're absolutely certain of this? We can stop at any moment if you don't feel comfortable, just say the word," Chan asked, searching your eyes for any uncertainty or wavering. He didn't find any. "Yes. Are you? Certain?" you asked in return. "Yes," he exhaled.

"Guys?" he asked, not taking his eyes off yours. "We've been certain from the moment you asked, hyung," Jisung replied. Neither Chan nor you were looking at him or Minho, but you could hear he was smiling. Knew that Minho was too. Probably smirking.

Chan kissed you once more, and then turned you around, nudging you to take the few steps towards Minho and Jisung that still separated you. He stepped behind you, pushing his front flush to your back, his arousal pressing against your lower back through his sweats, as he cupped your left breast with his left hand. You arched into his touch.

His right hand snaked down your front, dipping into your thong. Your eyes closed as you inhaled sharply, his fingers brushing past your clit, through your folds to your entrance. Chan kissed your neck, murmuring into it. "Open your eyes, babe, look at Minho and Han while I prep you for them," he coaxed.

As you opened your eyes, your senses were almost overloaded as two of Chan's fingers dipped into you, just for a moment, before going back up to your clit where they started to circle. While you fought to keep your eyes open, you realized Jisung and Minho were both watching you, their gazes intense.

They still continued to stroke each other, and they had both lost their sweats and shirts, while you and Chan had been ensuring each other of your desire to continue with this. They were both naked, looking at you with such hunger it made your knees weak.

"She's already soaked," Chan groaned, grinding his hips to your ass, trying to get some friction, as his left hand let go of your breast, and snaked between you to unclasp the bralette hooks. You let the bralette fall, somehow losing your shyness along with it.

Jisung's eyes darted to your revealed breasts just as Chan cupped the underside of your left one, while Minho's eyes stayed where they were, on your nethers, where Chan's fingers again found their way inside you.

"Is she fully prepped?" Minho asked, arching a brow, spreading his legs to get more comfortable. Knowing what he meant, you replied, as you leaned onto Chan's chest. "If you're asking about my back door, then yes. You'll see in a moment." Chan chuckled. "Oh she is prepped. I made sure of it."

Chan pulled his fingers out of you, taking the fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. As he kneeled behind you, and started to pull your thong off, he continued in a voice lower than usual. "I can't thank you two enough for agreeing to this. But even so, I have three rules."

"One: no hurting her. She is mine, and any pain play is mine alone to indulge in with her." You stepped out of the thong and after kissing your right cheek, Chan got back up, discarding his own sweats while he was at it, your insides preening at the ownership he displayed over you. He didn't have underwear under his sweats, and his cock rested right above your ass, along your spine.

"Two: no marking her. Same as in number one, she is mine, and only mine to mark. No bruises, no hickeys, no nothing." He kissed each of your shoulders, then turned you for a final kiss, before twirling you back around and slapping your ass gently.

"Three: only I get to know what she tastes like." His deep voice gave you shivers as you watched the guys in front of you accept the rules, nodding together. "Anything else is ok. Kissing, fucking, fingers, anything, and if she asks for something and you're ok with it, go for it. Clear?" he continued.

"Clear, no pain, no marking, no licking or kissing down-under, everything else ok," Jisung replied. "Clear as day, indeed," Minho agreed, smirking.

Chan nudged you lightly with his hips. "Take the reins baby", he said, his voice so much gentler now that he was talking to you again. You nodded, and felt him move away from you. He sat on the recliner next to the couch the guys were sitting on, his very hard cock resting against his lower abdomen.

"May I?", you asked Jisung and Minho, both of whom nodded as a reply.

"Words, boys", you tutted. "Yes", they replied in unison. You smiled, cocking your head to the side, already sensing Chan was about to say something.

"Oh and one more thing. Not a rule, but something for you two to know. She is a cumslut, so please come inside her", Chan said. You could hear a smirk playing in his tone even without seeing him.

"Mmmh, that I am. And, you'll enjoy seeing their cum leaking out of me when you get to fuck me after watching them share me", you added, kneeling in front of Minho as he spread his legs wider to allow you to fit in between.

"You two are weird... but we like weird," Jisung commented, chuckling while his eyes fixated on your mouth, moving closer to Minho's cock that Jisung was still fisting. "We certainly do. I think that can be arrang— oh fuck," Minho groaned as you closed your lips around his tip.

Jisung retracted his hand, allowing you more space to take Minho's length into your mouth. Minho let Jisung's arousal go also, and squeezed his thigh. Your fingers wrapped around Jisung's cock and began to slowly pump, as your mouth descended on Minho, taking him deep right away.

Your nose met the skin around his base, and he let out a guttural moan. "Fuck," he exhaled, hissing as he inhaled when you came up. "She has no gag reflex," he groaned, and you smiled around his cock as you heard Jisung let out a shuddering breath while your hand worked around him.

"I know. I'm a lucky man," you heard Chan's voice reply, deep, husky, aroused to the extreme. You should have tried something like this a lot earlier. You would have agreed to anything when it came to him, if you knew it was something he wanted, needed.

I mean, you had already had a few threesomes with some of his other chosen brothers, friends, and you knew he enjoyed watching you get fucked and filled, but he had always participated before. Had you known he was into just watching before getting his own turn too...

You started to bob your head slowly, taking Minho's length to the back of your throat, sucking as you came up, licking the underside as you went down. Minho swept your hair into a makeshift ponytail to keep your hair out of your face so he could see better, so Jisung and Chan also could.

You kept moving your hand on Jisung, pleasuring him with your hand and fingers. You swiped your thumb along his slit, smearing the precum on the tip, making him hiss. "Holy shit, even her hand feels like... fuck it's so soft," he moaned. Chan let out a small chuckle. He was enjoying how the guys marveled at you. He was... proud.

With a plop, you released Minho's cock, letting it fall against his lower abdomen. "Shit. She's... you're...," he breathed, almost panted, looking down at you.

"Cat caught your tongue?" you asked, licking your lips. Chan chuckled at your quip. He liked it when you were lippy, especially with him.

"Can you scoot down a bit, Minho?" you then asked, still kneeling, letting Jisung's cock go as well. "Yes, I can, but why?" he asked as he slid on the couch, his deliciously thick, strong thighs working as he positioned his ass closer to the edge of the couch, but still keeping it on it.

You reached for a few pillows, and signaled for Minho to sit up. He did, and you placed the pillows behind him, then pushed his shoulder so he'd lean back. "So you can watch me sucking Ji while you fuck me from below," you replied, taking Jisung's hand that he offered for you to get up.

"Thank you Ji. Can you sit on top of the couch backrest right above Minho and spread your legs?" you asked, instructing them to get to positions you wanted them in for this. Chan said to take the reins, so you did.

He enjoyed seeing you take control, especially with others. With him? Sometimes, but mostly it was him dominating you. Which is exactly what you preferred, but the way he was willing, actually asked you to because he needed to, to let go of all control sometimes... the way he trusted you made your insides turn into butterflies, and melt into a puddle, at the same time.

"Oh, ohhh," Jisung exhaled, his pretty lips forming a perfect little 'o', realizing what you were after. You glanced back at your man as Jisung moved, positioning himself right above Minho's line of sight. "You want to watch from the back so you see Minho's dick disappearing into me, or from there so you can see everything else?" you asked, practically purring.

"I'm good right here, babygirl. Gosh, I adore you. You're so divine," he crooned. His hands were on his thighs, you knew he'd try to refrain from touching himself as long as possible, as it would heighten his pleasure once he'd finally get to join, or take you after the guys were done. He knew you'd ask him to join if you needed him, and he knew he could join whenever, if he needed, wanted to.

You took the few steps separating you to him, leaned down a bit, to kiss the corner of his lips. "I adore you," you replied, emphasizing 'you', to make sure amongst all that was happening, he knew that he was the one you wanted, the one you loved, needed, craved.

Chan lifted one of his hands to gently wrap it around your neck, to pull you into a proper kiss, before releasing both your neck and lips. He dropped his hand, and then nudged his chin up, to signal you to continue.

You pursed your lips, air kissing him as you moved away from him, back to Minho and Jisung again. Chan winked, and placed his hand back onto his thigh, a bit closer to his thick arousal than before. You turned back to Minho and Jisung.

Minho had closed his manspread a bit, making it easier for you to climb onto him. Jisung again offered you his hand, and taking it, you placed your feet on either side of Minho's body on the floor.

Minho watched you with pure lust as you let Jisung's hand go and leaned onto his chest, lowering yourself on him, lifting your legs on the couch, shins on it and your insteps on Minho's thighs. Jisung leaned back to the wall behind the couch.

You sat on Minho, your dripping wet cunt sliding over his hard cock as you leaned forward with an intention to kiss him. "Are you both ok with kissing?" you asked, your lips a breath away from his.

As a reply, Minho nudged his chin up, connecting your lips, while his hands grabbed your hips, pushing you down on him to get more friction. His lips opened for you, allowing you to dip your tongue inside his mouth, to glide along his.

"Hey, not cool, he's getting all your attention, bug," Jisung whined playfully. You huffed out a small laugh against Minho's lips, before pecking him once more and sliding a hand between you.

You sat up, your knees still on the couch next to Minho, and grabbed his cock. "Don't worry Ji, you'll get your attention and kisses soon enough," you replied, guiding Minho to your entrance.

Minho's breath hitched as you lowered yourself on him, slowly, making him feel every wet inch of you, taking his length to the hilt. You dropped your head back for a moment, reveling in the feeling of being completely filled.

"Fuck me sideways. Now I know what you mean that she's prepped," Minho groaned under you, making you lift your head back up and moan as you smiled, rolling your hips on him. You reached forward with one hand, cupping Jisung's balls gently, making him let out a hiss.

You moved your hand to his shaft, starting to gently pump him once more, while you rolled your hips on Minho, his fingers digging into the skin on your hips, his eyes rolling back. "Told you," Chan chuckled.

"What do you mean? Someone fill me in too," Jisung asked. "She has a plug in," Minho groaned, thrusting his hips up to meet your moves, making you let out a moan as he hit a sweet spot. "And it's structured, ahh, shit... fuck that feels good," he continued.

"Fuck. Ok you have to let me feel that too," Jisung almost whined, his cock leaking precum. "You'll have your turn in a moment," you purred, leaning forward, looking into Jisung's eyes. His eyes dropped down, and he licked his lips, ready to see and feel you go down on him with your nonexistent gag reflex.

Planting one hand on Minho's shoulder, and one under Jisung's thigh on the couch backrest to ground yourself, you licked Jisung's balls, continuing up his shaft, all the way to his tip. "Minho, can you please start to move? I can't properly focus on riding you if I'll deepthroat Jisung at the same time," you asked and explained. Without replying, Minho took control under you, starting to thrust up, slowly at first.

The tip of Jisung's hardness passed your open lips, and you sucked, gently, trying to look up under your lashes to see his reaction. His brows were scrunched together, a silent moan caught in his throat as he looked down, pure and delirious desire flushing his golden honey skin. You looked back down and took him in, slowly, all the way to the back of your throat and past it right away.

You heard Jisung curse under his breath before letting out a low moan. You came up, hollowing out your cheeks as you did, sucking him harder. While you started to bob your head, taking Jisung deep each time, moaning around him to send the vibrations through his cock to his soul, Minho picked up the pace under you, starting to thrust deeper, harder, and slightly faster.

"I didn't know it could be this hot watching Jisung from below, getting head, while I'm fucking the one giving said head," Minho panted. "Kitten, you're too good for us," he added, lifting himself up just slightly to kiss your left nipple, making you moan around Jisung's length.

While the euphoria of being so full, of having two cocks and one toy in you almost took over your mind, Chan and his pleasure in all this still stayed in the forefront of your thoughts. You turned your head just so, signaling Jisung to grab your hair. He did, and knowing what you wanted, he grabbed it so that it fell over his thigh that was furthest from Chan, giving him a clear view of you blowing Jisung.

"Mmmh, babygirl, you look so gorgeous getting fucked like that, sucking and taking cock so well," you heard Chan say. You smiled around Jisung's cock, taking him deeper once more, until your nose touched his base. Keeping yourself there, you let your tongue slide to his balls, licking them, and made a small choking sound. Not because you were choking, but because you knew it would send Jisung's arousal to the edge.

"Fuck," Jisung sighed as he moaned, pulling you up from your hair. The pull was gentler than you'd normally like, but he was adhering to Chan's rules of not hurting you. Minho continued to move, fucking his length into you, now slower, grinding so that he hit the deepest depths of your slick walls, the ridges of the plug inside your ass probably rubbing him just right. His pelvic bone was rubbing your clit with every grind, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Jisung leaned down, claiming your lips into a desperate, needy kiss. With a loud plop, he released your lower lip, and attached one of his hands on your breast, kneading it, feeling your hard nipple against his palm, between his fingers. You inhaled sharply as Minho thrusted up, hitting your cervix.

"Ji, she feels so good, fuck—," Minho groaned, looking up at Jisung, who in turn looked down between his legs, locking eyes with Minho. "She's so tight with the plug in her ass," Minho continued. You were still looking up, your hair in Jisung's fist, so you could see his eyes flashing, the need clearly becoming almost unbearable.

"I need to get my cock inside you, bug," Jisung said, leaning down to catch your lips into a searing hot kiss again, letting your hair go and grabbing your cheeks to pull you closer. "Then get inside me," you moaned, right onto his lips as Minho thrusted up and stayed there, halting to possibly avoid coming too early.

"I'm about to reach my first," you admitted, turning your head just enough to look at your man while you again lowered your lips around Jisung's cock as he leaned back to the wall.

Chan's hand was wrapped around his length, and very, almost torturously slowly rubbing it up and down. The sight made your mouth water and your insides clenched around Minho's cock.

He suddenly pulled out, lifting you from your waist. His cock landed onto his lower abdomen, smearing it with your slickness. You let out a small whine, disliking how empty you suddenly felt. You let Jisung's cock spring free from your lips, your saliva coating his lower abdomen. His eyes were half closed with pleasure.

"Fucking hell she loves you, hyung. She had one cock inside her and one down her throat, and the second she looked at you, her insides started to tighten, like she was about to come just because she saw you enjoying seeing her like this. Had to pull out before she milked me dry," Minho panted.

"I know. And I love her just the same, if not more," Chan replied, his thumb brushing over his slit, making him shift in his seat, manspreading more. He lifted one arm behind his head. How in the everloving fuck can he be so gorgeous? You are the luckiest fucking woman in the universe.

"I belong to him, body, heart, mind and soul," you replied, standing up. "You guys are so grossly in love," Jisung sighed as he stood up on the couch before plopping down to sit on it, next to Minho. "I love it," he added, before kissing Minho.

Minho kissed him back, before pushing Jisung back from his chest, breaking the connection of their lips. He got up, stood next to the couch, then turned to look at you, his cock deliciously swinging to one side with his movement.

"Time for Jisung to get his dick inside you too, no?" he smirked. "It is indeed," you replied, breathily. The orgasm that had started to build was ebbing away, but you didn't mind. The one that would no doubt soon come, would feel all the better for it.

"Ji, can you get up on your knees on the couch?" you asked, watching him do exactly that. You took one step towards him, turning your back to him. "Hey, I wanted kisses too," Jisung complained, a small whine and smile in his voice. You turned your head back. "You'll get them, sweetcheeks. In a moment. But first you can fuck me like this," you replied.

You extended your hand to Minho, and he took it, stepping closer to you. You then put both of your hands on his shoulders, and arched your back a bit, presenting yourself better to Jisung. He let out a sharp puff of air, hands landing on your behind. Kneading your cheeks, he spread them a bit, only to slightly tug on the plug that was in your ass. "It's glittery," Jisung chuckled.

You had a split second to catch the smirk playing on Minho's lips before he slotted them onto yours, one hand sliding to the back of your head, the other to the small of your back. At the same time, the tip of Jisung's cock appeared on your entrance. Teasing you and himself, he slid his hard length between your folds, his tip hitting your clit a few times, before finally pushing it in, holding you by your waist.

Jisung thrusted, slowly, bottoming out, while Minho's lips travelled from your lips to your jaw, to your neck. He kissed along the line of your neck, from below your ear to your shoulder, no doubt looking at either Jisung, or how he and you joined at the hips. Jisung halted inside you for a bit, and you actually felt a shiver run through him as his cock pulsed inside you. "Fuck, so tight. Minho you were right, she feels so fucking good and the ridges in the plug... Oh hell," Jisung breathed.

"Told you," Minho added, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he kissed a sensitive spot on your neck.

"Remember Minho, no marking," Chan then rumbled, and you turned your face to him, to allow Minho better access to the sensitive skin on your neck. "I know, hyung," he laughed, and you could feel his smile on your skin as he kissed and licked along your neck.

"You have sharp bunny teeth, I just want you to be careful with them. She's only mine to mark," Chan added, looking into your eyes as he continued to stroke himself. You smiled at his possessiveness.

"I know, but I won't bite her. Not even a nip. Just lips and tongue, I promi—" Minho replied, his sentence cutting short as you let one of your hands travel down his front, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock.

Jisung started to move behind you, and you let out a low moan, starting to stroke Minho in the same pace as Jisung was thrusting into you. You continued to look at Chan, and seeing his eyes wander all over the scene before him made you absolutely feral.

You didn't know what the psychology behind it all was, but seeing your man watching you getting fucked by his closest friends, his chosen brothers... It was so... taboo. Maybe that's why it was also so very exciting for both of you.

Chan's eyes fixated on your behind where Jisung was pushing his hips to meet your ass for a moment before moving to the hand between you and Minho, which was pumping him in the same rhythm. It was so devastatingly, deliciously, deliriously arousing, the way he looked at you.

His eyes flicked to yours just when Minho kissed you again, and you were just able to see the way Chan's pupils dilated and his eyes widened, lips parting with a low moan slipping from his throat before Minho grabbed your chin to make you look at him as he slipped his hand that had been on the small of your back between you too.

Minho's fingers landed on your now extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, and he began to rub it, slowly, gently at first, before picking up the pace just as Jisung's hips started to thrust into you faster too. Minho was breathing heavily, his lips too far away for you to kiss, because he held you by your chin to be able to look into your eyes. Jisung was panting behind you, moans escaping his throat whenever the plug or your clenching pussy dragged along his length just so.

"Jisung," Minho then said, giving a quick peck to your lips before looking past you at Jisung, still holding your chin. You tried to look at Chan, but were unable to move your head in Minho's grip. "Yeah?" Jisung replied, his pace slowing down for a few thrusts. "Let's give our good kitten her first orgasm, shall we?"

"We shall. And then we can both fill her up," Jisung replied, and you heard the smile in his voice. "Exactly. Do that thing to her what makes me see stars too whenever you do it to me," Minho said, and started to circle your clit, his fingers dipping further down, alternating between spreading his fingers so he could feel where you and Jisung joined, and to give your bundle of nerves the exact pressure and stimulation you needed to be so, very close on tipping over the edge.

You had no idea how Jisung started to move within you, but suddenly he felt bigger, and you felt him deeper, grinding into you so perfectly that you whimpered between them, Minho catching your lips with his again, for just a moment, before letting your chin go and grabbing your waist right above Jisung's hand.

You continued to drag your hand up and down his cock, precum pearling his tip. You brushed over his slit to gather it as extra lubricant. Minho stepped a tiny bit closer, and whispered into your ear. "Look at Chan while we make you come for him, kitten," making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You were assaulted with too many sensations at once. Jisung ground his hips into you in some sort of wave-like motion, making your insides clamp down on his cock, just as he tugged at the plug in your ass and slowly, oh so slowly, started to pull it out, before pushing it back in and pulling it slightly out again. Two of Minho's fingers, slick with your desire, caught your swollen clit between them, gently, but with enough pressure as he started to slightly move his fingers around it, that your knees almost buckled.

Minho's lips found the sensitive spot right below your ear again, and he kissed it, slightly sucking, without leaving a mark, before he blew cool air on it. You fought to keep your eyes open as your cheek landed on Minho's shoulder, so you could see Chan as you came. Chan let out a growl, but it came from so deep within his chest that you felt it in your core even though he was not even touching you.

And then, Jisung started to really move, his hips thrusting his length into you so fast you had a hard time staying in place. Minho was pushing you back to Jisung with the hand on your waist, as his fingers continued to work your clit.

And as Jisung finally pulled the plug out of you, dropping it next to you on the towel on the couch, and sheathed himself to the hilt inside you, you unraveled between them.

A high-pitched cry escaped your throat as your orgasm rushed through you, intense and fast. Your insides were throbbing, your walls clenching around Jisung's cock just for a moment before he pulled out, hugging your back to his chest. Minho stepped in closer, to hold you up between himself and Jisung, and they were kissing each other while they let you ride out your high.

You pried your eyes open as the aftershocks of the orgasm were pulsating through you and looked at Chan. His eyes were impossibly dark, oozing lust and desire, and pure adoration. One side of his plump lower lip was caught between his teeth as he gripped the armrests of the lounge chair, a bit tighter than he probably needed to, but he was trying to ground himself so he'd not come alongside you just seeing you getting fucked, without getting to touch you first.

"Gods, you look so fucking gorgeous, babygirl. I can't wait to get my hands and mouth on you and my cock inside you," he breathed out. "You want to claim me already?" you asked, your voice hazy with the orgasm you just had. Fuck that was intense. "I do, but not yet. Let them fill you up first. I need to see their cum leaking out of you while I claim you."

"I don't know why, but your dirty talk is turning me the fuck on and I'm already way too turned on to even last long before I bust," Jisung commented. "That was too good. And now I need to know where you bought that exact plug because we need to have one as well," he added. Minho chuckled. "Yeah, we really do," he agreed.

"I'll send you the details later," you said, lifting your head from Minho's shoulder. "Ready to have more fun, butt hunter?" you asked him, winking as you did. His tongue slipped between his lips as he tried to keep from bursting to laugh out loud. You turned around to face Jisung. His boba eyes were already looking up at you, as he was still kneeling on the couch. "Ready to have your kisses while you both fuck me?" you smiled down at him, pushing his chest.

Grinning, he replied, "Sure am, bug," as he re-positioned himself, sitting on the couch. "Baby?" you asked as you stepped closer to Jisung while he spread his legs so you could step in between them. "You wanna see them both pound into me or watch me?" you continued, turning your face to your man again.

He was smiling, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. "I think now I need to see them fill you up, babygirl," Chan replied, cocking his head to the side a bit. His lips were parted, and his chest was rising slowly with the deep breaths he was taking.

His cock looked painfully hard. But he preferred it that way. Said he comes so hard he sees the stars whenever he restrains himself from you first, essentially almost giving himself blue balls before rearranging your insides. You pressed your thighs together.

Just the thought of how he'd claim you after Minho and Jisung was making your breath catch. You licked your lips, then dragged your eyes up, allowing them to roam over his chocolate bar abs before catching his eyes. His eyes that were burning. Just for you.

Without you asking, you felt Jisung move. He moved to the corner of the couch, facing Chan as he scooted down so that his head rested on the armrest of the couch, one of his legs down, foot on the ground, while the other was stretched straight on the couch. You turned your head to him, almost giggling as he made grabby hands at you.

"These hands have an acute deficiency of boobs, bug, and my lips are in need of those promised kisses," he said, smiling. Minho almost snorted behind you. "As if I don't kiss you enough or let you fondle my pecs twenty four seven," Minho teased his boyfriend.

"No, you do, but come on. Boobs," Jisung protested, pointing at yours, then making grabby hands at them again with a wide grin. "Yeah yeah, I know, they're pretty spectacular," Minho agreed, slapping your ass. "Not as spectacular as your jiddies though, jagi. No offense, kitten. I'm just biased," Minho added, shrugging.

"None taken. I know you are," you replied, smiling, while climbing on Jisung's lap. "Baby, pass the lube to Minho," you then said as you hovered over Jisung's length, leaning forward. Jisung's hands found your breasts, palms up as you lowered your upper body, leaning in to kiss him. "You know what to do, kitty," you mumbled against Jisung's lips, directing the comment at Minho.

You heard him huff out a laugh as he caught the bottle of lube Chan chucked at him. "I do indeed," Minho replied and you heard the crack of the cap opening. Jisung was massaging your breasts, his hands overflowing with the size of them. While his hands were actually the same size as Chan's, somehow Chan's felt much bigger. As if your breasts knew how to fit perfectly only into his palms.

You placed one of your hands on Jisung's shoulder as you presented your ass to Minho and Chan, sliding the other hand between you and Jisung to wrap your fingers around his cock. Slowly pumping him, you kissed him and swallowed his moan, before he nudged you up a bit so he could catch your right nipple into his mouth. As he sucked slightly on it, circled his tongue around it, making you tremble, Minho's slick fingers found your back entrance.

The cool liquid on them made you shiver, as Minho spread it on you, before pushing first one, and then a second finger in, coating you in the lube also from the inside. You moaned, clenching at the sensation, your pussy tightening around nothing. "Fuck," you breathed as Jisung flicked his tongue on your nipple before switching to the other.

Minho repeated the process once more, before you heard him squirt some more lube onto his palm. Knowing he'd lather his length in it for a few seconds, you moved slightly, making Jisung whine in the process as your nipple slipped from his mouth. But then that whine was replaced by a loud gasp-like moan, as you lined him up on your entrance and lowered yourself down on his hard length.

One of his hands grabbed you by the back of your head as he pulled you down to a kiss, nipping at your bottom lip as you slowly ground on him, lifted your hips a few times, dragging your walls on his cock before Minho stepped in closer. He positioned himself over Jisung's leg, one leg on each side of it for a moment, before lifting the one closer to the couch onto it, his foot planting next to Jisung's outer thigh.

He leaned down, kissing your upper back, right on your spine. "Ready?" he asked, his voice breathy with anticipation. "Chan, baby, you can see what you need to see, yeah?" you asked. "I can, babygirl, go right ahead," he said, giving you permission to go forward.

You'd always check if he had what he needed. Even if this was the first time you were doing this with two others, you had always checked when he had fucked you with someone else. Always.

Because no matter the fact that it was Jisung and Minho who were fucking you, or someone else with Chan at other times, this was all for Chan. For you and him. So he'd better have the best view of this, when both of his brothers stretched you.

"Say please," you teased, smiling against Jisung's lips. Jisung and Minho both paused, but you could feel Jisung holding in a laugh, and failing, as his body was shaking with a silent giggle. "Aishh, babygirl... You're never letting that go, are you?" Chan chuckled. "Nope," you smirked, and kissed Jisung again. Minho lined himself up, ready to start slowly pushing his cock inside your ass.

"Come on Channie hyung, say please so I can fill up her beautiful ass for you," Minho drawled, no doubt smirking and looking at Jisung, if the way the corners of Jisung's eyes were creasing with the laugh he was trying to keep inside his chest. He cleared his throat, and failed at not laughing while his laugh escaped in between his words.

"Yeah Channie hyung, come on, say please." He thrusted slightly under you, making his cock brush against your g-spot. You moaned. You knew Chan was tonguing his cheek again, slight annoyance at the teasing of the guys just amping up his arousal. "Oh the hold you have on me, babygirl. Fine. Please," he huffed, laughter lacing the edges of his voice. He dragged the word out, elongating it. Pleeease.

Just as the word left Chan's lips, Jisung's found yours and one of Minho's hands appeared on your waist, as the other held his base as he pushed the tip in. You stilled, and so did Jisung, allowing Minho to move his hips closer to yours.

You were prepped, and properly lubed, as was Minho's cock, but the fit was so fucking impossibly tight with Jisung's cock inside you already. And Minho was definitely bigger, way bigger, than the plug.

Judging by the inhale Chan took, he had grabbed his cock again. You wished for a mirror on the wall in front of you, so you could see him stroke himself as he watched two cocks disappearing into you. "All good?" Minho asked, pausing, as you drew in a sharp inhale through your teeth. "Yes," you moaned. "Please," you added, needing him to push deeper.

"Ohh, now see, she can say please even without prompting," Minho teased, but then gave neither you nor Chan any time to quip back, as he thrusted in, slowly, but fully bottoming out. "Oh fuck," both you and Jisung breathed at the same time. You breathed deep, trying to allow your body a few inhales to get accustomed to the intrusion, but you already felt the need for more friction.

"Shit," you heard Chan breathe as he shifted in his seat. You knew he was aching to get inside you already but he needed to see you filled with cum first. Your entire body shook with goosebumps over the thought of how he was going to ruin you after.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to last long," Jisung admitted, pulling your face towards his to kiss you, desperately trying to ground himself. "Me neither," Minho groaned. Your breasts got caught in between your bodies, pressing against Jisung's chest. "Minho, please move," you groaned against Jisung's lips, trying to move your hips between them.

"See, she's such a good little kitten, knowing when to say please," Minho drawled again, just purely riling Chan up at this point. He pulled his cock halfway out, then slowly pushed back in, as his fingers brushed along your spine, making you shiver. Jisung stayed still under you, still kissing you through the first thrusts of Minho's thick length inside you, eating up your moans that were escaping your throat.

You came up for air, arching your back as you supported yourself on the couch armrest with your hands. Minho took that, and the "fuck yes", that slipped past your lips as his pelvis once more slowly connected with your ass, as a sign that he could move faster. As he did, Jisung craned his neck, lifting his head off the couch armrest to be able to catch your left nipple between his lips as his hand moulded around your right breast.

Minho thrusted deeper, faster, snapping his pelvis against your behind as he fucked your ass, while Jisung began to slowly grind his cock into you from under you. He was dragging it in and out of your cunt the best he could while being pinned down under you and trying not to slip out while Minho really started to move, now pounding into you, making his cock not only massage your walls, but along Jisung's length.

The sounds you were making were nothing short of pornographic, skin slapping on skin, the wet suction-like noise both the lube and your wetness were making, your moans and heavy breaths filling the air. And despite it all, you could hear Chan move his hand on himself faster, chasing his pleasure now, seeing you being fucked, both of your holes filled with cock, neither of which his.

"Oh my gods, fuck me," you let out, as Jisung actually bit your nipple, getting lost in the moment. You didn't think it would leave a mark, but you nudged his chin up with one hand while you lowered your lips onto his again, preventing him from doing it again. "She's so fucking tight," Minho groaned, thrusting into your ass balls deep, halting in place for just a few breaths.

"I know," you heard Chan say, his voice closer than you expected it to be. Suddenly he was in front of you right beside the couch armrest, his throbbing cock in his hand, hand on your hair yanking you up from Jisung's lips. "Open up," he said in a low grunt, as you were already doing so, mouth open, tongue out, looking up at his eyes through your lashes.

"Good girl," he moaned as he stepped one more step closer and slid his cock into your hot, wet mouth, the underside vein throbbing as it slid alongside your tongue. He managed a few thrusts past your uvula right down your throat, before releasing with a loud moan and a shudder, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail, wrapping it around his wrist.

Chan pulled out of your mouth, his cock still rock hard. You knew he would be ready for his round two right after the guys would finish inside you. You swallowed his load, licking your lips, moaning loud as Jisung now licked at your right nipple, but remembering not to bite this time. Chan quickly walked right next to the couch, behind you, so he could see the grand finale of this, assuming, rightly so, that you were all close.

"Shit, fuck," Minho grunted behind you, suddenly releasing into you, shunting his hips right against your behind, his cock as deep inside your ass as it could possibly be. Chan's climax down your throat apparently caused a chain reaction, making all of you erupt one by one. Feeling Minho unload deep inside you, his cock throbbing, ignited your second orgasm as your clit rubbed against Jisung's pelvic bone just so.

It caused the exact friction you needed to be tipped over the edge. You came, panting, moaning out your pleasure. You were loud. And you didn't care.

As Minho stopped moving, holding himself inside your ass, his cock still pulsating inside you, Jisung slightly lifted your hips so he could start to push his cock in and out of you. Wasting no time, he pummeled his length so deep into you that Minho almost slipped out of you, but he held onto your waist, keeping himself sheathed to make the feel of your pussy tighter for his boyfriend.

"Oh f-", Jisung managed before he hissed, followed by a few very imaginative curse words, as his hips bucked up, suddenly losing control. His orgasm made his whole body shake, thrusting his cock even deeper inside you. You felt Jisung's warmth spread into you, some of it even spilling out with how big his load seemed to be.

Chan inhaled sharply behind you, the breath he took hissing between his teeth. You could only imagine how obscene but yet so fucking arousing it looked for him. His woman, filled with two cocks that weren't his, both spurting cum inside you, so that some of it was already leaking out.

Jisung went entirely limp under you, and you wanted to kiss him, but assumed he would not appreciate the taste of Chan's cum on your lips so you didn't. Then things happened fast, as if Minho and Chan had already practiced what to do next. Minho pulled out of you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness, but moan at the gentle kiss he placed on your left ass cheek.

He practically lifted you off Jisung, making more of his cum spill out from your already spent cunt, before laying you down on the couch, your head now on the opposite armrest than Jisung's was. You saw him turn and lift Jisung a bit so that Jisung was still slouched on the couch. Then he kneeled in front of him, licking Jisung's cum that had leaked out of you off his stomach, and took Jisung's softening cock into his mouth.

You assumed Minho was cleaning Jisung, licking and sucking both your desire and his cum off, making Jisung squirm and moan. Probably sensitive as fuck. But you couldn't see what actually was happening, because Chan appeared above you.

You'd never seen him move with as much quickness as he did now, placing your ankles on his shoulders, lifting your hips just slightly so he could align his still hard cock to your leaking entrance, before pushing in with one swift thrust. All the way to the fucking hilt.

The sensation made your eyes roll to the back of your head and your breath caught in your throat. He is so fucking big. Even after all the times he's been inside you, it never ceases to amaze you how big he feels. Especially when he folds you under him like a fucking pretzel.

He folded you in half, placing his hands next to your shoulders to be able to lean down and claim your lips into the most searing, ravaging, desperate kind of kisses that he had ever given you. As if his entire life was hanging on a thread, his only salvation to be found through the connection of your bodies.

He utterly, completely, claimed you. With his cock, his lips, his heart and his soul.

No matter how truly and well fucked you already were, no other could ever compare to the feeling of his perfect dick inside you. It was as if he was moulded just for you. Carved into the perfect, delicious, almost too big for you length, but still just so fucking perfect with the way his thickness stretched you.

"You're mine", he murmured against your lips, almost too tenderly, a stark contrast to the situation you were in. "Yes", you breathed. "Say it", he demanded, biting your lower lip between his teeth, pulling gently as he rocked his hips into you. You moaned as his cock hit your cervix.

"Yours", you sighed. "I'm yours. Only ever yours. Always yours. Forever." Because he loves you like this. Fucked, filled, and still feral and dripping, just for him. His to claim.

"Fucking damn right you are. Mine. Only mine. Forever mine", he grunted, each word highlighted with a sharp thrust. You felt Jisung's cum leaking out of you with each one, your insides already starting to tighten around Chan. So impossibly fast.

"And you are mine", you said. "Yes", he managed to breathe, before you were already pulling his lips into yours, opening for him. His tongue slid against yours, desperately finding another anchor to sink into the depths of your soul that already belonged to him. He parted you for air, pushing himself up to his knees, continuing to move in and out of you, now looking down.

"My fucking god, you look so exquisite. Dripping someone else's cum and yet this cunt, this body, it all belongs to me", he moaned. "Are you going to fill me up, baby? Make that pussy drip with yours, fucking give it to me, every last goddamn drop", you breathed, panting, moaning, whining under him. "Ahhh, fuck yes", Chan groaned, before pulling out for just a moment. Admiring the view, seeing now both your pussy and ass dripping with cum. For him.

His eyes burned with raw, unfiltered lust, before he looked deep into your eyes. The lust melted into overpowering love, as he pushed his cock back in. One of his hands snaked under your ass, his thumb pressing inside you as his cock pumped in and out of your cunt. He moved his other hand between your legs, pushing down on your lower abdomen, feeling his cock move under your skin, inside you, poking your lower belly from the inside.

He then moved his hand down, pressing his thumb on your clit, starting to rub it in circles, perfectly synced with his powerful thrusts. "Chan, baby... fuck... Chris", you moaned. Your legs dropped from his shoulders, landing on his hips and the tops of his thighs. "I'm gonna-", you exhaled, your navel pulling itself towards your spine, your third orgasm right around the corner. A tidal wave, waiting for a rumbling earthquake to release it.

"Let go babygirl, come for me. Give it to me", he breathed, a single drop of sweat making its way down his temple, along his neck, right onto his collarbone. You wanted to lick it off.

"Come with me baby, please", you begged, reaching for him with your hands. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him to you, but he suddenly pulled his thumb out of your ass, lifted his other away from your clit and grabbed your hands, pulling you up to him.

Staying on his knees, he effortlessly lifted you up, as if you weighed next to nothing even with all your curves. He guided your arms onto his shoulders before grabbing you from under your ass. Your hands automatically found their way into his hair, your fingers brushing through his sweaty curls before grabbing a hold of them.

Chan connected your foreheads, needing to look down still so he could see his cock disappear into you, Jisung's cum dripping out now with every thrust. You felt Minho's release drip out of you too, probably onto Chan's cock or thighs, or onto the couch. You'd need to replace the cover fabrics after this.

Chan moved you on him, dragging his cock in and out of you, watching it disappear into the warmth of your dripping wet walls. You watched it with him, and suddenly the sight, the sensations, the emotions, everything, crashed over you as your tidal wave released itself. Your head dropped back, revealing your neck to Chan.

He planted his lips hungrily right where your right clavicle met your neck, and sucked, marking you as he followed you into the whirlpool of your shared climax. Thrusting deep one last time as he brought you down onto his cock so that he was as deep inside you as he could be, he released with a rumbling groan, panting onto your skin.

As you slowly came down from your high, you realized Chan had moved you. He was now sitting on the couch, you were straddling him but your legs were untangled and next to his thighs. He was hugging you to his chest, and your face was facing Jisung and Minho. You blink your eyes open as Chan kisses your hair on top of your head.

Jisung was lounging on Minho, between his thighs, Jisung's back against Minho's chest. One of Minho's hands was resting on top of Jisung's chest, while the other was on his waist, drawing small circles. Jisung's fingers were laced through Minho's on his chest, while his other hand was on Minho's thigh.

They were watching you and Chan, smirking, smiling, but clearly content and happy. For being asked to participate, for being able to give something to you both that both you and Chan clearly thoroughly enjoyed. And you had a feeling that they were also happy to witness what they did. They were happy for you.

Chan's cock was still inside you, slowly softening. You smiled at the guys next to you. "Thank you," you sighed. "Thank us?" Minho cocked one of his brows up. "More like thank you, both of you," Jisung said dreamily.

"You guys are literally way too hot and disgustingly beautiful together," he continued. "Like being allowed to participate was one thing, but watching you two get completely lost in each other afterwards," Jisung added. "Yeah, that was something else," Minho finished his boyfriend's thought.

Somehow at that, you suddenly blushed. "Not you blushing at a compliment after being fucked by three guys with your man's cock still inside you," Jisung chuckled. "Gosh, if I didn't before, now I really get it, Chan. I really do," he added.

"Get what?" Chan asked, his voice deeper than normal, the vibrations of it making their way through your spine, taking root in your brain, making you feel like a field of spring flowers bloomed inside you. "Why you're so completely gone for her."

Chan huffed out a laugh through his nose. "Yeah. I really am," he said, nudging your chin with one finger, making you turn your head to him and look up, only to be met with his lush lips on yours. "I'm gonna make her my wife one day," he murmured against your lips, causing your entire soul to be set on fire.

You forgot how to breathe for a second or two. You froze, your eyes flashing open, the drowsiness caused by three orgasms completely dissipating into thin air in an instant. You parted your lips, looking right into the deep, dark, rich chocolate brown of his eyes. You could fucking drown in them and die happy.

You searched them for any sign of a joke, any sign of panic that he might have felt due to the sudden confession. But you found none. Instead you found a bottomless well, full of absolute adoration and limitless love.

"You mean that?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as your throat was threatening to close due to the tears already welling up your eyes. "I do," Chan breathed. A single tear escaped your eye, rolling down your cheek until Chan caught it with his lips. "Gosh hyung, save the 'I do' for the altar," Minho groaned. "You're so in love it's making my teeth rot with how sweet it is."

The comment made both you and Chan laugh, Jisung and Minho himself joining in, breaking the sudden small tension Chan's confession created in the atmosphere. Chan's cock was now fully soft inside you, but you didn't want to move. You wanted to get even closer to him, to dive under his skin and live inside his heart.

But you were starting to feel sticky. You needed a shower. "So," you said. "Is it safe to assume we'll be doing this again?"

Chan chuckled. "I'm all for it babygirl, if they are too," he replied. "We are," Minho and Jisung replied at the same time, almost before Chan even had finished his sentence. "Good," Chan replied. You knew he meant it too.

He really did love watching you while you were getting fucked. But he loved filling you up even more when you were already pumped full of cum. "But next time Han, no biting her," he added, his tone serious but not stern or threatening.

"Shit, did I bite? Fuck, man, I'm sorryyyy," Jisung groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. "And to think you warned me and my bunny teeth," Minho said, clearly trying not to laugh. You chuckled out a breathy laugh. "Baby it's ok, it was just a small nick really, he just got lost in the moment and forgot. It won't even leave a mark," you said.

"I know, but I noticed it. Didn't like how it made me react," Chan breathed out. "I know, but he didn't mark me, so it's all good. They followed the other rules. They didn't hurt me, mark me or taste me. Hmm?" you said, kissing the corner of his lips.

"Actually, Minho did, though. Not directly of course, but he did lick me clean," Jisung said, before yelping. You and Chan both turned to look at them. Minho had slapped Jisung on his chest. "Jagiya! Why did you have to out me like that?" he scoffed, laughing as if he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Ouch, jagi, shit. Because I don't want to be the only one who broke the rules," Jisung laughed as he replied, rubbing at his left pec.

"Aishh, why do I even bother with these rules if you're not gonna follow them anyway," Chan groaned. "Because your OCD ass requires rules and order in everything you or we do," you replied for everyone, making both Minho and Jisung huff out a laugh.

"But he didn't taste directly from the source, so I'd say he didn't actually break the rules. Just like Jisung didn't either, he didn't mark me."

Chan sighed, letting out a loud exhale. "I guess so then. But maybe I'll still punish you instead of them," he said. "Looking forward to it," you purred, your insides clenching around him. Chan smirked, his cock twitching inside you, as he tongued the inside of his cheek.

"Ugh, we need to get out of here jagiya before they start fucking again. I'm feeling sticky with all the lube and as much as I enjoyed that, I don't need to witness them going at it again right now," Minho said, suddenly getting up, actually scooping Jisung up bridal style.

"We'll come back for our clothes later," Minho said and winked at you and Chan, starting to walk them over to the door connecting your conjoined houses. The other door leading to the apartment shared by Hyunjin and Felix was locked from your side.

"But jagiiii, I could have watched more," Jisung whined as Minho reached for the door. You giggled at them. "Next time Ji, we can have more fun and you can watch all you like the next time," you shouted after them before Minho pulled the door shut behind them.

"They're so going to fuck when they get into the shower," you added. "Probably. Feral rabbits," Chan agreed, turning your face towards him again, kissing your lips gently.

"Shower or bath?" he asked, breathing in your shared breaths.

"Bath first, please, then shower so I can wash you at least, because I know you'll want to take care of me the rest of the night. You deserve some aftercare too," you said, smiling onto his lips as you pressed yours against his.

"Hmm. Deal. Then lots of water, food and movies after while I rub your legs, back and shoulders? Maybe a glass of the red we have open too," he continued. You nodded. "And maybe you can brush my hair and give me a scalp massage?" Chan asked, getting up, his cock slipping out of you as he too switched you into a bridal position in his arms.

"I can do anything you want, baby," you replied. "So maybe even back scratches?" he whispered, as if he was afraid someone might hear him asking for it. "Yes, even those." You giggled, kissing his neck making him shiver.

He started to walk you upstairs to the ensuite bathroom. In the stairs, you spoke up. "You know," you started. "Yeah?" Chan murmured gently. "You'll say yes," you replied. "Yes to what?" he asked. "When you'll ask me to be your wife," you confessed. Chan stopped right at the top of the stairs.

"You will?" he asked, almost breathless. "Of course you will." Chan beamed down at you. "You want to marry me?" he asked, almost giddy all of a sudden. "Yes," you replied.

"Really? Like for real? Because you weren't joking when you said you'll make me your wife," he suddenly spluttered, his Australian accent thickening with the growing excitement. Both in his tone and down below. You guess thinking about you as his wife was arousing to him.

"Really, really. You're not joking either. You've been ready to be your wife since even before you asked him to move in with you," you replied. Chan started to walk towards the bathroom again, but blindly this time, as he suddenly kissed you so feverishly that he stole your breath away.

"I need to plan the most amazing proposal ever and surprise you. Gosh I fucking adore you," he then breathed against your lips. "And I you," you replied. He placed you onto the floor of your bathroom, right next to the tub, before stepping in closer, his arousal pressing against your lower tummy.

"Please say we can shower first and then have a bath?" Chan asked, his hands finding their way to your behind. "Why?" you asked, your voice breathy. You were ready to go again too. Knowing he wanted to marry you, too, suddenly had you feral. "Because I really need to fuck my future wife right now," he admitted, making millions of tiny butterflies start to swarm in your heart and stomach.

"Well. At least our future wedding hashtag will be fitting," you replied, taking his hand and leading him behind the glass wall into the shower corner, turning the waterfall shower on. "Wedding hashtag? How so? Do you already have one in mind for us?" he smiled, stepping under the water, pulling you to him.

You lifted your arms over his shoulders, pulling him into a wet kiss. "I do, yeah," you said, lifting your left leg onto his hip. He grabbed you from under your thigh, your leg dangling over his arm as he lined himself onto your entrance again, already knowing you'd still be ready for him, wet from before and now again.

"Mmmh, hearing you say 'I do' does things to me," Chan said and pushed his cock inside you with one fluid movement, moaning onto your lips. "Now tell me, what's the hashtag?" he asked, staying in place.

"#shebangs," you replied, making him pause, before bursting out into a laugh that elicited those tiny adorable squeaks from his throat that you loved so goddamn much. "I fucking love your brain," he then said, still giggling. You couldn't help but smile, joining him in his laughter.

"But it fits, right? She bangs, because I do bang you, let you bang me, let others bang me so you can watch and bang me after, but also I'm going to become a Bang, well Bahng, but anyway. And it's a Ricky Martin song too, so the innocent people will think it's a funny reference to that and a play on me getting your last name."

"Yeah, and the not so innocent ones will know exactly what you meant by it," he murmured as he pulled halfway out of you, and pushed his cock back in, making you moan. "That's exactly the point," you replied. "It's settled then, that'll be our wedding hashtag," Chan chuckled, moving slowly inside you again, pressing his lush lips on yours.

"Now, future Mrs. Bahng. Let me bang you, so you can confidently say that you do, in fact, bang."

A/n: Welp, that's the end of this rollercoaster of a story. I really tried to limit the amount of minsung portrayed here as much as I can for those who aren't comfortable with it 😞. Anyways, thanks for reading.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

You are hanging out with 3racha, just laying on the couch while they work on some music. It had been a minute since you’d really spent time with Changbin and this was the only way you could right now. But you didn’t mind; you actually loved being in here with them and watching them work. Chris treats you like he always has but there’s subtle little changes that only you and he notice, mostly in the form of lingering looks. 

“Oh it’s so scary,” Han says, his eyes ginormous as he looks at you, “You have to come watch it! Let’s have a sleepover!!!” 

“I’m out,” Chris holds up his hands.

“No one invited you anyway; we know you’ll be here all night,” Changbin joked, poking Chris’s side and making him giggle. 

“I’m in,” you shrug. You, Han, and Changbin love horror movies and it had been a minute since you guys had had a movie night sleepover. 

You loved going to the Minsung dorm. It didn’t happen very often but when it did, it was like a special treat. Despite the leather couch that you absolutely must tease them about every time, it’s very comfortable and welcoming there and Minho always cooks the best food for you. Plus, you adore adore adore being around them when they can relax and just be themselves. Their love is so pure, so domestic, so…loving that just being around it makes you feel all warm and toasty inside. Besides, you never passed up a chance to watch a good horror movie and watching it with Han and Binnie just made it extra fun. 

“Yeah me too,” Changbin nods, adjusting the glasses on his face, “Why not?” 

You’re there for a few more hours then you part ways to get your things together to spend the night. You grab some drinks and snacks on the way over to share and Han lets you in with a big smile when you get there. You bum around for a while, just hanging out with him and Minho in the kitchen until you and Han are shooed away for being distractions and not helpers. Your phone vibrates and you swipe the text from Changbin open, expecting him to be on his way or picking up snacks but you pout when it’s him bailing. 

“What’s that face?” Han asks, peeking over your shoulder nosily to look at your phone screen. You tilt it toward him.

“He’s not feeling well,” you say sadly. 

You are looking down at your phone again, already typing back to see if he needs anything, and you miss Han looking suspiciously delighted. He darts back into the kitchen while you’re distracted. Changbin declines your offer and insists that you just have fun at the sleepover and you tuck your phone back into your pocket, looking up to find yourself alone. You drift back into the kitchen and stop short when Han and Minho suddenly cut off their whispered conversation as you enter. You look at them warily. 

“Sorry,” you say, assuming it’s some sort of private couple matter, “I’ll go wait in the living room.” 

“No, stay!” Han insists, his voice taking on a smooth, cajoling tone. He comes over to you and slings an arm around your shoulders and you laugh.

“Your arm is heavy,” you half-heartedly complain. The dude is built. 

“If you think that’s heavy-”

“Okay, time for dinner,” Minho cuts Han off and you can’t help but laugh, which makes Han look very pleased with himself. Even Minho is smiling as you gather around the table. 

The rest of the evening is just as nice as you thought it would be - you eat well, you and Han screech happily at the movie then Minho joins you for a second one since he likes to sleep after or during horror podcasts and movies (which, even for a pair of horror movie lovers like you and Han, is wild). You somehow end up in the middle of them, leaning against Han’s solid side, his arm up on the back of the couch; your legs on Minho’s lap. He’s pretty cuddly when he’s in the mood and though you think sometimes they include you like this because they take pity you don’t have a relationship, you’ll never complain. Usually, when you have a sleepover here with Changbin, you and he and Han will sleep on the living room floor like kids. Minho always just goes to bed. This time, since there are only two of you, Han invites you to the guest room. You assure him you won’t be offended if he sleeps with Minho but he won’t hear of it. 

“That’s not how sleepovers work,” he says, like it’s obvious. 

Minho tucks the two of you in, which delights you both to no end, and then you’re left alone with Han in their insanely comfy guest bed. 

“Thanks for having me,” you murmur as you snuggle in. 

“Anytime,” Han replies and you can hear his smile. It makes you smile too. 

You sleep like the dead. But you are pulled from your deep sleep with a jolt that makes you jump the next morning. You blink your eyes open in shock, squinting in the sunlight, and then make a startled noise as Han pops up over you with wide eyes, shaking you again. 

“What the fuck?” You grumble, disoriented. 

“Get up!! Hurry,” he insists, still shaking you. 

“Why??” You ask, sitting up; heart pounding. 

“It’s the morning! Minho will be in here soon.” 

“Okayy..?” You say, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“You have to present,” Han says and gets into a ridiculous bent over position. You’ve seen all of their content and you’re friends with them so you know all about the whole Minho throwing Han on the bed and Han getting into position for Minho in the mornings, but you still give a disbelieving laugh. 

“That’s insane, I am not doing that,” you say, “I can’t believe you woke me up like that for this!” You give him a punch on his solid bicep, which absolutely doesn’t hurt him, but he still yelps like it does. He’s too dramatic too early. 

“If you don’t, he’ll punish you,” Han whispers with wide eyes.

“Dude this is none of my business; I’m not involved in that!” You say, incredulous. Really, what the fuck? 

You have no more time to do anything else then because the bedroom door is opening. Han gives a little arch and you can’t help but laugh. This is a wild thing to be witnessing first hand. But, when you look over at Minho, he doesn’t look amused. He stands there, arms crossed, looking at you with a weird half-pleased, half-disappointed expression. He tuts and shakes his head. 

“First thing in the morning and already breaking the rules, I see.” 

“W-what?” You stammer. Though Han technically warned you about exactly what was happening, your brain just could not reconcile this with reality. 

“Did you tell her the rules?” Minho turns his intense gaze to Han, who is flushing. You look warily between them. 

“Yes, sir,” Han responds, completely seriously, and you once again are just flabbergasted. You can’t believe they’re doing this in front of you. When Minho’s eyes land on you once more, you can’t help but gulp like a cartoon character. 

“Well then there’s really no excuse, is there?” You open your mouth though you don’t have a clue what is going to come out of it. But Minho stops you with one firm shake of his head. To your own surprise, your mouth snaps shut. The heated pleasure in his eyes makes your tummy do a little flip. “Ah so you can listen,” he muses, leaning casually against the door. He looks deceivingly cute - hair all fluffy from sleep, sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, bare-faced. But his posture belies the strength and tension beneath. 

“You know,” he continues, “it’s really too bad you couldn’t listen to our Hannie, here. He’s being so good and deserves a reward but the reward was supposed to be you sitting on his face,” Han whimpers softly beside you and you can’t help but glance at him. He’s actually pouting, his hips shifting a little like he can’t help it. That would be a reward to him? He wants that? You feel as if you’ve jumped into an alternate dimension. “But you are not being very good; are you, slut?” 

Your mouth drops open as you look at him in surprise and half-offense. That’s not something you ever thought you’d like and there is a part of you that is puffing up at it, but the way he said it…the way he’s looking at you…. Having the full force of Minho in sexy dom mode focused on you is very intense and you do not think you hate it. He pushes off the door frame and strides across the room. Next thing you know, his fingers are gripping your chin and cheeks, tilting your face up toward his. 

“Surprised? You shouldn’t be. You didn’t really think we wouldn’t hear all about your little….escapades recently, did you?” He tuts with false sympathy and all you can do is stare. He leans in, then, putting those pouty lips right to your ear. The timbre of his whisper sends a shudder through your body when he speaks again, “Would you really deny us such a delicious opportunity?” You are still gaping up at him when he pulls back. He doesn’t go far; he keeps that beautiful face right by yours, slightly above, and smirks. Then he’s turning your head to the side, giving you a view of Han, who is still in position, and watching the two of you with barely concealed desperation. “Look how badly he wants it.” 

Now it’s your turn for a tiny whimper to work its way out of the back of your throat. Han’s eyes somehow get even wider at the small sound. He’s practically vibrating over there. Minho’s grip loosens and he’s gentle now as he guides you to look back at him once more. His grip turns into a caress and he looks seriously into your face. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. We don’t actually think you’re a slut and you don’t owe us anything. We can pretend this never happened if you prefer; no hard feelings whatsoever. What do you think?” He tilts his head to the side just a little at the end, looking very cat-like. 

Your mind still hasn’t truly caught up, but your body is responding anyway. You don’t need to think. You’re nodding before you can form any semblance of a coherent thought. Dark satisfaction crosses Minho’s face and you find yourself very much looking forward to being on the receiving end of whatever he comes up with. 

“Give us a verbal confirmation, dove,” he requests lowly.

“I want it,” you breathe. His head tips again and he looks at you expectantly. You think for a second, frozen. Damn, you’re already messing this up. What does he - oh. “I want it, sir,” you try again. 

“What a good girl,” Mino purrs, his fingers stroking down your cheek then your neck. He smirks and pauses, “I can feel your pulse, dove. It’s so fast. Are you nervous?” You nod. His hand slides to wrap loosely around your neck and he gives a soothing stroke along your skin with his thumb. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “Are you excited?” You nod again. “Mmm a perfect slut. Maybe you do deserve a reward after all. And look at Hannie. Such a patient boy. Why don’t you give him what he wants, hmm?” 

Minho steps back and watches as you turn to Han once more. He’s in the same position, cheeks all pink. He’s looking up at Minho and when Minho nods, he finally uncurls himself. You gasp before you can think to try to stop it. He’s hard through his pajama bottoms, enough to be standing straight out. It’s less of a bulge and more of a tent. And it’s sticking out….far. Han looks borderline embarrassed but just as needy at the same time and you have to admit that it’s doing something for you. 

“You really want me?” You have to ask. His eyes somehow get wider and he nods vigorously. 

“Please,” he says. 

Before you can say anything else, this strong, talented, gorgeous man flops onto his back like a fish and reaches for you. You try to move, to help him get you into position, but he’s so fucking strong that even laying down like that, he manages to pick you up and put you where he wants you. You’re wearing pajama shorts; flowy and soft and loose, and Han immediately pulls them to the side and yanks you down onto his tongue. It’s all so much so fast and holy shit he is good at this. You cry out, your back arching in surprise and pleasure. 

“Pull his hair, he likes that,” Minho says in a light tone that seems suggestive but you know better now than to not listen to him. 

You look down and Han’s boba eyes have turned into siren eyes. He is looking up at you from between your thighs, his tongue moving against you like he could actually consume you from the inside out, and you see a flash of the man that grabbed the most dominating man you’ve ever met by the back of the neck in front of thousands of fans, cowing him. You push a hand into his thick, messy morning hair and gently scratch your nails against his scalp as you gather a handful and give a little tug. His eyes roll back and he opens his mouth wider, covering as much of you as possible, and sucks. It’s almost like a massage and it feels nice. You hum and close your eyes, just letting yourself sink into the feeling of it. But when he spears his tongue up inside of you, you’re right back to gripping his hair. He wiggles it and your hips roll against him on their own. 

“That’s right,” Minho hums, sounding a little closer than before, “Fuck his pretty face. He wants to drown in that wet little pussy, don’t you, baby?” 

You and Han make pathetic noises at the same time, repeating when you start to rub yourself against him. 

“Be good and don’t stop until she comes and I’ll let you suck my cock,” you hear Minho say. 

You look over your shoulder to find him leaning on one hand braced on the mattress near Han’s hip, arm straight and head dropped to one shoulder. He reaches over with his free hand and deftly yanks at the strings on the PJ bottoms, oh-so-casually undoing them with one flick of his fingers. You let out a breath. He’s fucking hot. He glances up at you from beneath his lashes with a smirk that has you getting even wetter on Han’s tongue. You watch as he pulls Han’s PJs down…down….down…down and - finally - he springs free. Now Chris’s dick was just all around massive, as was Seungmin’s but the sheer length of this man’s cock is astounding. 

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Minho says, sounding very proud and very affectionate indeed. 

“Yes,” you sigh, nodding. 

Han’s hands tighten on your thighs, his tongue pausing, and you can feel his breath coming faster on your skin as Minho’s fingers ghost up his shaft. 

“I can’t hear how wet she is anymore, jagi,” Minho warns, not lifting his eyes from Han’s cock, “You’d better not be stopping.” 

“Jesus,” you breathe, wide-eyed. 

Han gets right back to work, even sloppier and more desperate than before. You writhe on top of him as he works you almost too quickly toward an orgasm. When he cries out against you, you have to look back and when you make eye contact with Minho, who is watching you with dark eyes and a smirk, his hand wrapped around Han’s dick, stroking it perfectly, you lose it. 

“A-ah! Fuck,” you moan, your eyes closing on their own against the onslaught of pleasure. Han is licking up every drop you are giving him, greedy. When you come down, your hips jerk against his mouth, sensitive. You try to lift off of him but his grip is like iron bands around your thighs. Finally, Minho has mercy. 

“Alright, that’s enough. Don’t want to tire her out when we’ve only just begun do you?” 

Han reluctantly releases you but manages to get one last lick in as you move, making you give a breathless little laugh. He grins at you, eyes hazy and face shining. 

“Just as beautiful as they said,” Minho praises you, running a hand down your hair. You shiver a little at the contact. “Are you as tasty as they say?” 

With that, he leans over and grabs a handful of Han’s hair, yanking him closer and smashing his lips against his. The kiss is sloppy, you can see tongues swirling and teeth flashing. Minho deviates from the kiss a bit, licking your juices off of Han’s face and you clench around nothing, just staring. He kisses down Han’s jaw and then nuzzles affectionately into the crook of his neck. Han slings a bulging arm around Minho’s shoulders. Then they move at the same time, Han’s head tilting down to look at Minho and Minho lifting his to look at Han. It’s like they’re connected; not even two separate people. Minho looks at Han like he is his whole world and Han gives him a gentle smile then they’re kissing again. This time, it’s deep and slow. You can’t look away; they’re so captivating. Though you are feeling a little bit like an intruder just now. When you shift a little, Minho’s hand clamps down on your thigh and you jump, startled. He lifts up again, still looking down at Han as he speaks to you. 

“I know you don’t think we’re done with you, dove. It’s time for your punishment; I didn’t forget.” 

You gulp as they both look over at you but you nod. Minho stands and waltzes over to the chair at the desk. He drops his pants unashamedly then plops down into the chair like it’s a throne. He leans back, tilting his head as he regards the two of you. He couldn’t be sexier if he tried. Thick, strong thighs spread to display his perfect cock and balls. His cock is hard as a rock, up on his stomach, the head resting against the soft black t-shirt he still wears, making a little wet spot of precum on the fabric. One elbow is resting on the arm of the chair and he runs the fingers of that hand idly over that sinful mouth of his. His eyes are dark and narrowed, burning into you. 

“Come here.” 

When you look to Han, you find him glancing at you as well. You’re both hesitating; not sure who he is talking to. Minho gives a short sigh and your heads snap back in his direction. 

“Both of you.” He watches you get off the bed and smirks again, “And you’d better crawl.” 

You flush all the way from your cheeks to your chest but this time you join Han in sinking to your knees. You make your way together across the floor toward Minho, who gets more and more imposing the closer you get. Your mouth is watering by the time you reach him. You lick your lips, looking him over. 

“Want a taste?” Minho asks, watching you. You nod, watching raptly as he slowly wraps his hand around himself and gives a stroke. “Aw too bad you didn’t listen earlier.” Your eyes dart to his face in disbelief but you can immediately tell he means it. Your pout only seems to please him more. “Come here, jagi.” 

Han closes the distance between them until he’s kneeling between Minho’s legs. Minho strokes his fingers down Han’s cheek. 

“Suck me, baby. She can watch.” Han leans in eagerly and Minho stops him with a gentle but commanding finger under his chin. He tilts his face up to meet his eye. “Make me feel extra good, yeah? We want her to be begging.” 

“Yes, sir,” Han breathes.

“Good boy,” Minho releases him and leans back again, casual as anything. Only the way his dick twitches toward Han gives away how turned on he is. 

You couldn’t look away if you wanted to. Han glances over at you with a loaded expression, eyes flashing. Then he lifts them back to Minho and keeps eye contact as he wraps his lips around him and sinks down slowly. His eyes are so big and almost innocent, which somehow makes it even hotter. You squirm a little where you sit just from the way Han is looking at Minho. You really didn’t expect to be so into this but it is fucking hot, the way Minho disappears inch by inch into Han’s mouth. Minho is biting his lip, staring right back at Han. When Han starts to bob, Minho’s head falls back with the most wanton moan you have ever heard in your life, his hand going into Han’s hair. You can’t stop the little moan that punches right out of your chest at the sight and the sound of it. One of Minho’s eyes cracks open to look over at you and he smirks. 

“Already? You really are our little slut, aren’t you? Slutty fucking noona, so hungry for my cock, hmm?” 

“Yes, oh my God,” you whimper. 

“Not yet,” he insists through another moan, his lip catching between his teeth once again. 

You don’t know where to look - Han’s stunning body, his face, the way he’s working Minho, Minho’s bare lower half, or Minho’s face. Your eyes flit between it all, greedily drinking it in. You can feel your wetness on your feet where you’re sitting back on your heels. You press your thighs together, hips shifting. When Han’s name slips out of Minho’s mouth, your hand moves on its own. You manage to stop it in its trajectory, balling into a painfully tight fist on your thigh instead of touching yourself like you really want to. Somehow, you just know Minho will know even though his eyes are closed in bliss at the moment. He’s panting lightly but it’s not loud so you’re able to hear the subtle, wet sounds of Han sucking on him and you move your hips again. This torture goes on another moment or so until you can’t take it anymore. You can tell there are marks from your nails on your palm and you won’t be able to stop yourself much longer but you don’t want another punishment. 

“Please! Please, please, can I, sir? I’ll be so good,” you beg. 

“What do you think, Hannie?” Minho asks, “Feel like sharing?” 

Han pulls off of him with a wet pop and licks his lips, nodding. When Minho jerks his chin to signal that you can approach him, you sag in relief then practically run over as fast as you can on your knees. Minho widens his stance and Han scoots over to make room for you and this is already so hot. Han’s glossy lips quirk up in a cocky half-grin and you’re momentarily stunned at how sexy he is. Of course you know but he really hits hard when he turns it on like this. The smirk widens and you know he is fully aware of the power he holds. He leans in, his hand sliding up the back of your neck into your hair, and he pulls you in for a kiss. You let your eyes drift closed and revel in the feeling of another new kiss. His lips are so pouty, so soft. They taste faintly like you still, and like spit and skin and you press closer, opening your mouth for his tongue. He licks it into your mouth, running it along everything he can reach. Usually this would be way too much tongue but in this moment, it couldn’t be more perfect. You moan into his mouth. 

His hand tightens in your hair and he pulls back. He uses the grip he has on your hair to guide you toward Minho now and you moan again as Han pushes you down. You open your mouth once more, eager to take it all in. He hits your tongue first but you don’t have time to lick at him; Han is still pushing you down. Instead, you wrap your lips around him and let Han guide you down, down, down. He is going slowly but steadily. He slows even more but when you don’t push back, he lets out a breathy sound and keeps going until Minho is down your throat. It earns you one of those high, pained moans from Minho and your hips shift once more. Han loosens his grip and lets you take over and you bob and suck like it’s your job. When Minho’s hand joins Hans in your hair, lacing their fingers together to feel you going up and down, you moan around him. 

When you pull off for some air, Han is ready. He starts licking at Minho’s shaft. He tilts his head, lips around him from the side, leaving the other side open for you. You dive back in and it’s sloppy. Wet. Absolutely filthy. You are sucking a dick and you are doing it at the same time as someone else. You feel the dirtiest you’ve ever felt and you fucking love it. You and Han are making little noises as you move - together, in opposite motions, using your lips and sometimes just your tongues. You find yourself licking at his head at the same time as Han, which turns into a messy makeout with Han; Minho’s cock slipping in and out of the kiss as he lifts his hips every once in a while as he watches. Finally, he can’t take it anymore. You and Han are pulled - not unkindly - off each other and off Minho by your hair. You open your eyes to find Han looking as fucked out as you’re sure you do, and Minho all flushed and sweaty. 

You move back to make room for him to stand and he helps you carefully to your feet, thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he gives you a small, encouraging smile. You return it with a dopey one of your own and he laughs lightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as Han presses one to your ass cheek. You both help Han up too. He steps closer to Minho and slowly pulls his shirt off, revealing his insane physique. When the shirt drops to the floor, Han runs his hand over Minho’s pecs reverently; Minho simply watching him once more. Han’s hand glides up and around his neck then they’re kissing again. After a moment, Minho pulls back, turns to you, and pulls you in for a kiss of your own. You’re expecting him to kiss like Han - dominating, sloppy, consuming. But he kisses you slowly and surprisingly lightly. It only makes you want more and you step closer to press against him, chasing more contact. His lips turn up against yours but you’re too far gone to care. 

Han comes up behind you and runs his hands over your waist and hips and ass. You kiss Minho as Han pushes your sleep shorts down your legs and off. Then your tank top is next and you hate to pull away from the kiss but it’s worth it when Minho looks down and makes a soft noise at the sight of Han’s hands coming around to cup your breasts. His nimble, guitar-player fingers tweak your nipples perfectly and you arch, pressing your ass back against him; feeling that long cock pressing against your back. Minho pulls away again and seats himself on the edge of the bed, manspreading again. His hand comes out - to you this time - and you place yours in his, letting him pull you close. He guides you into his lap, your feet tucked under his thighs and your thighs bracketing his hips. 

“Ready for me, dove?” He asks softly, looking up at you with those sparkling eyes. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply just as quietly, unable to help yourself from giving the side of that pretty face a caress. He smiles. 

Then he grips your hips and pulls you firmly down onto his length. It’s not too sudden, but he’s not exactly moving slowly either. You moan, your nails digging into his shoulders now as your body tries to adjust to the stretch of him. He settles you fully onto his lap then places a hand on the small of your back, pulling you into a little arch. He grips your ass cheeks next, squeezing them and pulling them apart. You think maybe you’re about to get it in both holes again but you gasp when you feel Han’s tongue on your ass instead. Minho gives your ass a little slap before grabbing it again and you take the hint, slowly moving up and down his shaft, keeping your back arched to give Han room. Han moves from your ass to where you stretch open to take Minho’s cock, licking at that sensitive skin. Then he’s licking your slick from Minho’s shaft then sucking on his balls. Up and down he goes, licking on you with every downstroke and at Minho whenever you lift. 

Minho starts to kiss at your neck as you move and you close your eyes to feel it all. You flutter around him and he nips at your collarbone. 

“Are you going to come already?” 

“Yes, sir,” you moan helplessly. 

“Do it, then. Come all over my cock and Hannie’s tongue like the perfect little slut you are,” He encourages, a dark edge to his tone that has you pulsing around him again. He groans and sucks a mark onto your neck. You move a little faster and no one stops you. They’re simply there, holding onto you, making you feel wanted and perfect and so fucking good. You give a particularly hard grind and Han swipes his tongue up over your asshole once more and you’re hit with another orgasm. Minho actually whimpers at the feeling of you tightening around him and it amplifies the pleasure. As does Han’s tongue, which is lapping at you anywhere he can reach. 

You’re rigid against Minho for a long moment then you relax with a big huff of a breath. His hands release your ass and rub your back instead. Han’s licks turn into gentle kisses along your spine. You hum, grateful for the sweetness. 

“Think you can take more, dove?” Minho asks after a moment. 

“Yes, sir,” you murmur. You’re putty in their hands - you’ll do whatever they want at this point. 

“Good girl.” 

You’re handed to Han, then, who holds you against his chest as you stand now and watch as Minho lays on his back on the bed. He pulls you to straddle his face, but reverse cowgirl style. Han crawls on the bed and Minho opens his legs for him. Minho’s tongue starts rubbing against you as Han pours some lube from the nightstand drawer into his hand. He coats himself in it then drags the head of his cock up and down the cleft of Minho’s ass. You feel his breath hitch. You don’t think you’re breathing at all. You’re grateful Minho is moving slowly, gently, just like he kissed your lips. The faintest, teasing pressure. Han makes eye contact with you as he starts to press forward but you break it to look down and watch him disappear into Minho. It seems like it’ll never end and you’re in awe at how long it takes, but then Han is fully inside of him and Minho’s fingers press into your thighs. 

Han runs a hand down the front of Minho’s chest and abs in a loving caress, admiring him, then he starts to move. His hips roll sinuously and you can’t look away from where his slick cock is pumping in and out of Minho. When you finally do, Han is watching you, biting his lip. 

“Wow,” you say, unable to help yourself, “He takes you so well.” You’re really impressed. And turned on. Minho gives a long, low moan against you, rewarding you with a slow, deep lick. Your hips twitch. 

“Hear that, baby? Taking me so fucking well,” Han sighs, snapping his hips a little harder against Minho’s ass and thighs. Minho makes a noise against you but seems determined to not neglect you. He’s eating you out for real, now, and dragging moans from you. How they are both good at this, you really aren’t sure, but you’re grateful. 

Han takes your hand and flips your palm toward the ceiling. He pours some lube into your hand then guides it down to Minho’s straining cock. It’s still shiny from you fucking him but the lube makes it extra nice and easy as you wrap your hand around him. His dick jumps at your touch and you start to stroke him in time with Han’s thrusts. Minho adjusts one of his arms, reaching around your thigh until he’s got his fingers on your clit. You cry out when he starts to rub in tight little circles, lapping hungrily at your soaking entrance. You grip him a little tighter, moving your hand a little faster. Han is watching everything and he starts to fuck into Minho faster and harder, too, matching your pace. 

“Come for us one more time,” Han pants, catching your eye. 

“I-I don’t know if I can,” you whimper. Really, you do know. You’ve done it before and you can feel it building but you’re afraid of the intensity. 

“You can, noona,” Han nods, reaching over to cup your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples and you gasp. “You deserve it. Say it.” 

You gape at him and it takes everything in you to keep stroking Minho with all of these sensations and now Han being like this. 

“Say. It,” he commands in time with his next thrusts.  

“I deserve it!” You moan out, your breath hitching as he pinches your nipples hard enough to border on pain. It has you clenching around Minho’s tongue, which makes him moan into you. His fingers rub relentlessly on your clit, slipping a bit in your wetness, but he doesn’t let up. Han lifts one hand from your tits to grab the back of your head once more and leans in to kiss you hard. You can hear him fuck Minho harder as he does, the sound of their skin meeting echoing sharply out into the room. Minho is just moaning constantly now, licking up into you desperately. His cock is so hard in your hand you think he may actually burst. Han starts to whimper into your mouth after a moment and you assume he’s getting close too.

“F-fuck,” you breathe against his lips. 

“Come for us. Please,” Han grits out, then his tongue is in your mouth again. 

You concentrate on letting it happen instead of warding it off and it only takes moments for you to shatter once more. As you feared, it’s intense - nearly painful - but in the best way. You grip Minho’s dick a little harder in your ecstasy and feel his cum work its way up his shaft until he’s pulsing hard in your hand, his hot cum shooting up onto your tits and spilling over your knuckles. You pull back to gasp for air, but seeing how close Han is now, you lift your dripping hand to your mouth, lick a greedy mouthful of cum from it, then kiss Han once more, rolling it into his mouth with your tongue. He moans, one hand dropping to squeeze your thigh and the other to squeeze Minho’s hip as he slams home one last time, coming himself. His orgasm lasts long enough that you notice and you watch his beautiful face contort as he empties himself into Minho. He lets his head drop back, chiseled chest heaving. 

You’re all suspended there for a long moment, frozen as you come down from the heights of pleasure. You’re the first to move, not wanting to suffocate poor Minho. He looks absolutely wrecked when you see his face again. Han pulls out carefully and pats Minho’s thighs once as if to say ‘good game.’ It makes all of you laugh, then you’re collapsing into a cuddle puddle. Minho gets his arms around your and Han’s shoulders and Han laces his fingers together with yours, resting them on Minho’s stomach. None of you mind how slippery everyone’s skin is with sweat and cum. Once you’ve all truly caught your breath, Minho gives you a little nudge. When you look up at him, he’s searching your eyes and face seriously. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“So good wow,” you say truthfully. 

“It wasn’t too much?” Han asks a little shyly, which you find adorable. 

“It was perfect,” you assure him, giving his hand a little squeeze.” 

“I’m so glad. We thought it might be,” Han says proudly. 

“Hey is this what you were talking about in the kitchen last night?” You suddenly realize, lifting your head up off Minho’s chest to look at them both. 

“Yup,” Han grins and Minho laughs, his eyes squeezing shut happily. 

“You’re wild,” you giggle, settling back in again. 

“Any plans today?” Minho asks. 

“No,” you hum, closing your eyes. You hear the smile in his voice when he replies. 

“Stay a while. We got ingredients for blueberry pancakes.”

You crossed your legs, throwing one leg over the other and pressing them together to have some sort of friction. You sat on the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, watching both of your boyfriends.

“‘m sorry”, Jisung muttered while gasping for air, looking up to Minho from his position on his knees, “‘m soo sorry”.

The older man huffed, angling Jisungs head up with a harsh grip on his hair, making him whine both in pain and in pleasure. His other hand was pressed to the wall for leverage.

“I don’t think you really are”, Minho snarled, guiding his wet cock back to his mouth, “Open”.

Jisung obediently did what he was told, opening his mouth widely and lolling his tongue out so his boyfriend could slide right back in.

When the younger man had come home from the studio, you had figured he was feeling a bit uneasy. After Chan had been listening on the phone to all of you having sex, this conversation had been doomed to be weird. But you had never thought that Jisung would suggest for his bandmate to actually watch the three of you next time.

While you had been lost for words, Minho had been kinda mad. It hadn’t taken him that long to corner a wide eyed Jisung against the wall and force him down to his knees.

You ended up on the chair, watching Minho punishing Jisung like this. He held him close by the hair, stuffing his dick as deep into the younger man’s throat as he managed, but letting him breathe every now and then. He would always gasp apologies and whine about it, just for Minho to start all over again.

The soft gagging sounds he choked out echoed against the walls of your shared bedroom, mixing together with the grunts Minho made with every sharp snap of his hips.

But the rhythm soon began to falter, that’s when he pulled him off again.

“Please-“, Jisung whimpered, “I am sorry, I- I thought you would like it”.

There was a thick string of saliva connecting his lips with Minhos weeping cock, the sight of it made your pussy clench around nothing.

“Don’t lie, you’re just getting off to the thought of Chan-hyung watching you getting railed”, Minho scoffed, he caught a tear on Jisungs cheek - shed by the sensation of his gag reflex being bullied relentlessly, “You’re getting off to your punishment right now as well - Did I say you could touch yourself?”.

The younger man was caught mid act, stopping to palm himself through the fabric of his pants, moaning out as he watched Minho licking off the tear from his thumb.

You stood up and walked over to them, caressing Jisungs cheek for a second before he leaned into the touch.

“I think it could be- intriguing”, you cooed, your other hand rising up to Minhos neck to beckon him closer to you, “Maybe you really would end up enjoy being watched. And if you don’t, we can stop whenever you want”.

Minho hummed.

“Fine. You’re lucky I love you”, he finally sighed, easing in your hold.

“I am”, you smiled, leaning forward to kiss him.

It was short but intense, all of him so captivating, you found it hard to stop yourself getting lost in it. Your heart jumped when he chased your lips, giving you another quick peck before separating.

Jisung whined, wrapping a hand around your calf to get your attention.

“I also want a kiss!”, he said, eyes big and lips already in a sweet pout.

“Of course, baby”.

You leaned down to press your lips to Jisungs, it was wet and sloppy, tainted by the salty taste of Minhos pre cum.

“Make him cum, yeah?”, you patted his cheek before going back to your chair, taking a seat and making yourself comfortable to enjoy the show.

“Hmm, you heard her”, Minhos grin was mean, but it still made the younger man writhe in his spot.

But just when you got to the best part with him taking his boyfriends cock in his mouth again, the doorbell rang. They either didn’t seem to notice or to care though, Jisung moaning sinfully around his girth while Minho pulled him closer.

With a sigh, you decided to get up instead and open the door. You didn’t expect to see Chris standing there, looking kinda anxious with disheveled hair and nervous eyes.

“Ohhh”, you made a surprised sound, “Hey Chris, nice to see you”.

The blond looked at you for a few seconds, quickly averting his gaze and started furiously blushing. He had sounded so confident on the phone, now he just seemed to be very embarrassed.

“Yeah, hi”, he looked down to his feet, “It’s nice to see you too. Uhm- did Jisung talk to you?”.

“About you wanting to watch us?”, you decided to tease him a bit and it was worth it, because he looked up with very wide eyes immediately, “Yeah he did”.

“He asked me to!”, Chris blurted out, “I was just- Well, it sounded intriguing”.

You chuckled, opening the door a bit further for him to come in.

“I didn’t think you’d come over that quick though”.

He stroked his hair back in a nervous habit, combing through them with sweat stained hands. He looked kind of lost in your apartment.

“Innie has guests over and- well, I thought about what Han said and- I- got hard?”, he muttered, sounding like he didn’t really believe what he just said.

“Ohh”, another surprised sound from you.

You could still see the slight outline of a bulge in his pants. He caught you staring, you didn’t care.

“Is this inconvenient? I can come over again tomorrow or-“, he got interrupted by a loud groan out of the bedroom.

“Are they-?”.

You laughed, taking his hand, thumb slightly stroking the back of it.

“It’s actually very convenient. You wanna take a look?”, you cooed gently, pulling him with you as soon as he nodded hastily.

The scene in the bedroom was the same as you left, Jisungs pretty mouth and throat getting abused by his boyfriend, both hands holding his head in place now as he roughly fucked his face. From the sounds Minho made, he was finishing the second you came in with Chris, grinding his hips and shoving his cock down his throat as deep as possible to force Jisung to swallow his cum.

“Oh fuck- I- Jesus-“, Chris almost stumbled seeing this, but his eyes were glued to the picture, every second of it burning into his brain.

You could heavily relate to that though, seeing how both of your boyfriends acted with each other, how rough Minho was in combination with the other being so submissive, it stirred something inside you every time you saw it.

Jisungs sounds were making you squirm, he sounded like he could cum from this too. Guttural moans erupting from him and ringing in your ears clearly when Minho pulled off to give him some air to breathe.

“Open”, Minho ordered breathlessly for the second time, “Show me”.

Jisung was too far gone to be disobedient or even notice you standing in the doorframe, showing off that he indeed swallowed everything his partner had given him, tongue coming out past his swollen lips. Not even a single drop of cum wasted.

“That’s a good boy”, the older man cooed, cupping his jaw gently, “Good job”.

When Jisung thanked him for the praise with that dumb fucked look on his face, Chris couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“You enjoying the show?”, Minho huffed, holding a hand out to you, “Come here, kitten”.

“Chan-hyung?!”, Jisung scrambled on the floor, trying to shove his boyfriend away as if he was suddenly embarrassed, “I- I didn’t know you would be here this fast?”.

Chris was too stunned to speak, automatically sitting down while watching you walk over to the scene where the oldest in your relationship greeted you with open arms.

“I wanna punish Hannie for bringing Chris here”, Minho whispered, nuzzling into the spot behind your ear, “You’re going to help me, kitten?”.

You snorted at his possessiveness, but you also found it kinda endearing. So of course, you nodded and helped Jisung up on his wobbly legs.

“I- uhmm-“, Chris’ lips were parted, nothing productive coming out.

The younger man sat down on the edge of the bed before being pushed to lay flat on his back. Minho was quick to get his pants off, manhandling him to lift his hips for it before he prepped some pillows underneath his ass.

His dick twitched relentlessly because three pairs of eyes were watching him attentively, the thrill of having an extra person - who wasn’t a part of the relationship - being there also filled you with a strange kind of lust.

You put on a little show as you were taking off your clothes, much to Minhos dismay. He pulled you close by your waist, shielding your body with his own.

“Don’t worry, Min”, you whispered, so quietly that only he could hear it, “There’s only you two, yeah? Ignore him, focus on me”.

His fingers trailed over your naked skin. He wasn’t jealous, he knew there was no reason to be. He just wasn’t so sure if he wanted to share the view, you were his to look at, to play with, to own.

But still, because he knew you and Jisung were keen about this new experience, he let it slide. He grinned when you climbed on top of Jisung, but facing you. Reassuring him by making grabby hands for him to lean down and kiss you.

You rocked your hips like this, Minho guiding you to do so and Jisungs hard cock slid through your folds like this.

“Hahh- please, can I-“.

“You wait”, Minhos voice was thundering, putting his boyfriend back into his place with just two words and making you and Chris gasp out.

You loved this side of him, the roughness, how he could easily make everyone fold.

“Don’t you dare touch her”, he growled, “You were acting up and now you’re going to take what we give you. Know your fucking place”.

Jisung whined, bucking his hips up into you. He was being ignored, left to shiver underneath you in anticipation while Minho kissed you in such a demanding manner, it punched the air out of your lungs.

You were dripping at this point, the desire inside you bursting out in dopamine washing through your veins. It made the drag of your hips more delicious, sloppier, and Jisungs whines even louder.

“H-hyung, please”, he stretched and turned to reach out for the guest, “Channie, tell them to go easy on me. Please please please”.

You could hear Chris moan, muffled by the back of his hand, clothes rustling.

Minho wasn’t having it, a hand leaving your waist to reach down to his boyfriends ass, nudging at his hole without warning to thrust a finger in.

“Hahh- wait wait wait- Min, jagi, baby, please”, he arched his back off the mattress at this sudden intrusion.

“Better think about who you’re crying out to, baby”, Minho warned, adding another finger, “I’m right here”.

Jisungs trembling got more intense with every second, his dick pathetically throbbing underneath you in dying need of some attention.

“Sorry- sorry, but please, I need-”, he whined, you loved when he did, “Inside-?”.

You decided to be generous, because he was behaving so good so far. He thrusted his hips into your hand immediately when you grabbed him, gave him a quick squeeze before guiding him in.

The sound he made was delicious, so broken, so needy - you clenched around his length although he wasn’t even inside completely.

“Ohh- fuck”.

You turned your head to see Chris lazily stroking himself to the sight, the sounds, the situation in general. He had pulled his pants down just enough so his cock was free and he could reach for it in long pumps.

Minho followed your gaze, noticing Jisung looked at him as well. He sighed and tilted his head slightly, thrusting his fingers in rougher.

“You wanna call for help again, Hannie? Go on”, he curled his fingers, finding the prostate with ease and making him cry out just for him, “Pathetic slut”.

You wondered what Chris thought about Minho degrading his younger partner, how he’d behave around them in the future. The thought of it was thrilling, knowing the relationship between the three of them would change forever, had some kind of appeal to you you couldn’t really lay a finger on.

“Hahh- hyung”, Jisung coaxed out in a sob, Chris jolted with a grunt, jerking off faster, “Hyung, please”.

Yeah, how could Chris look into his eyes, with Jisung knowing he found deep dark pleasure in the way he got called ‘hyung’?.

The younger held his hand out, what bribed Chris to stand up and sit down again on the bed, so the younger could take his hand in a tight grip.

“Channie-hyung”, Minho cooed, “You have a hyung kink? That’s good to know”.

Jisung whined at the loss of his fingers when he pulled them out to replace his cock with them. Minho almost purred when sliding in, leaning forward to silence the soft sound with your lips.

This whole situation was making you insane. This quickly turned out to be more than just Chris watching, he was close, right next to you - you could hear his ragged breath and the wet smacking sound of him pleasuring himself to this whole scene.

“Oh, shut up Lino”, Chris sighed, not knowing where to look at.

It was torturing for everyone involved at this point. You alternated between rocking your hips back and forth and bouncing on Jisungs dick, while he did his best to fuck up into you occasionally, but with Minhos quick thrusts, it was so hard for him to hold onto the last piece of sanity. It felt so incredibly good, how he literally came undone right below you.

“More”, he sobbed, sounding like he was on the verge of crying, “I need- hahhh- please, too much”.

His knuckles on Chris’ hand turned white by the force of his grip, his wails and cries making your walls lock around him, preparing to milk him.

“Hahh- wait”, he choked on his words, more sobs coming out, “Don’t, please don’t stop”.

Jisung was slipping into the gut wrenching sensation of overstimulation, you could feel him twitch inside you with every roll of your hips.

“You want more? You have to earn that, baby”, Minho grinded his hips into him, holding you close by a firm grip of your neck, “Channie-hyung has no right to do what he pleases”.

His lust filled and blown eyes showed you how much he relished in his dominating role, how much he enjoyed being this mean to your shared boyfriend and teasing his older bandmate at the same time. It seemed like Chris’ presence wasn’t such a big deal for him anymore if that meant he could degrade one more person occasionally.

With that confirmation, you dared to slightly turn around, reaching for Chris’ leaking cock with confidence to take over for him now.

“Ohhh god”, the blond arched into your touch, craving more from being so touch starved, hips twitching.

“No no no no no”, Jisung began to sob again, being even whinier when his watery eyes followed the motions of your hand around Chris’ dick, “I- I wanna touch, please let me- please please, I’ve been so good-!”.

“You wanna make Chris feel good instead, huh? Because it was your idea to invite him?”, you asked, your voice cracking more than you thought it would.

But you couldn’t help it, the pants and groans and sobs of four people really had a crushing weight on you. You could literally taste how close you were.

“Yes! Yes yes, please- I’ve been so good- you said I was doing good”, Jisung threw his head back, writhing in the sheets.

“Ohh, you think you were good?”, Minho thrusted once more, bottoming out and staying still.

You already knew what he was referring too, but of course, Jisungs fucked mind couldn’t catch up that quickly.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll be good”.

Well, he agreed to this without asking you two. This was his punishment for it. So of course, Minho wasn’t happy with his answer.

“Uh-huh, think again”.

His thrusts were punishing, every snap so hard, it made your whole body bounce on top of him. Minho grinned shamelessly, palming your tits and holding onto you instead for leverage.

“Please please please please”, it seemed like something snapped inside of Jisung, he was only babbling at this point, whole body tensing up, but not coming.

“Lino”, Chris sighed, looking so tempted to catch your wrist to stop you from making him cum so soon, “He’s crying”.

“Poor baby”, he retorted with a scoff, not relenting.

That damn stamina of his, the combination of this with him being the least on edge of you all because he already got to his climax once, it was dangerous.

“Just- let me kiss him-“, Chris tried.

But Minho continued to let his hands roam over your body without a care, making you whine out in pure bliss. He fucked Jisung with so much force, you were rocked back and forth automatically.

“He said you would watch, not participate”, he said flatly, his voice bordering on a growl, “Be grateful I let her touch you”.

“So I don’t-?”.

“No!”, Minho snapped, “You get what I allow you to have, stop whining”.

You felt Chris twitch in your hand and you slowed down a bit, mostly because your body couldn’t catch up anymore. Sweat was dripping down your chest, in between your tits - your boyfriend was quick to lean forward and lick it off before it was out of reach. His tongue was even hotter against your boiling skin - almost burning where the air hit his saliva.

“Min-“, you cooed, a hand in his hair, caressing him so gently it made him look up to you with a stern gaze, “Just think about it, Jagi. Channies tongue in my mouth, moaning your name to thank you for it-“.

He slowed down a bit as if the thought of it really got to him, as if he needed a moment to compose himself.

Jisung got louder with the loss of stimulation, his sobs making your heart and pussy squeeze at the same time. It looked like he was about to crush his hyungs hand.

“What can I do to convince you, Min? I’ll do anything baby, I promise”, you smiled at him, peppering kisses up his throat.

There was the purr again, the low grumble of pleasure in his chest. But turned out, you actually didn’t need to do anything, Minho stayed still eventually.

“Fine”.

And with that, he grabbed Chris by the collar of his shirt, aggressively pulling him in into a searing kiss which muffled Chris’ surprised sigh.

Oh, the sight of it.

You whimpered, grieving over the opportunity to be the first one to kiss Chris and let him join this properly. But seeing your boyfriend manhandling the older man so easily, it sent you over the edge with dizzying speed and intensity. Your body was seizing, pussy clenching down hard around Jisungs cock, which seemed to trigger a chain reaction.

The sobs and cries he let out would probably be heard in the apartments next door. He filled you up, body reacting on his own to fuck his cum deeper inside you. Even now, he knew he would behave, clawing into the sheets and holding on for dear life while his legs shook around Minho.

He groaned loudly into Chris’ mouth while he felt his cock being squeezed tightly and you trying to hold on somewhere on his body for leverage, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck- stop that, fuck”, his halfhearted warning was swallowed by his hyung as he caught your wrists, finally following the two of you with sloppy and quick thrusts of his hips.

You were panting, gasping for air. Wet slapping sounds subsided, only heavy breaths breaking the silence until Jisung was the first to speak.

“Please- can I- hnngg-“, he scrambled, his tongue too slow for his words, “Need to touch- please- can I?”.

Minhos lips curled into an exhausted smile.

“Yes, you can touch, baby. Whatever you want”, he sighed, pulling out with a hiss and watching his cum drip out of Jisungs abused hole, “You did good, baby. So good, I’m proud”.

“I did good”, he echoed, hands on you immediately, holding onto your hips to pull you down onto his aching cock one last time.

But he let you get up after all, hands still holding on to you, rubbing you, feeling you. You felt sore, emotionally and physically exhausted.

His eyes were hazy, as if he was in trance, holding onto Chris with no intention to let go soon enough, his lips searching for his skin. The younger man was sweating and trembling hard, lost in subspace as he turned to the side and locked his hands around his hyungs arm.

You muttered endless praises, stroking his hair back and out of his face. You knew he’d be locked in this state for some time before he’d whine about needing more again. But he was safe in the presence of his partners like this, he just needed to breathe properly for a few minutes.

Chris looked equally spent, but was also restless, being the only one to not reach his orgasm in this tangle of touches and moans.

“Ahh, Channie-hyung”, Minho taunted him, watching the older man’s cock twitch and his body tremble at the nickname with a grin - he would probably never letting him live this down, “You want us to take care of you now? I know you can be good for me, too”.

Jisung seemed to regain his consciousness slowly, looking up to Chris in awe to study how his face scrunched up with lust and desire - but he still wasn’t able to say coherent sentences.

Minho knelt on his side while you settled between Chris’ legs, your hand wrapping around his base while your boyfriend gently massaged the head.

“Ohh- oh god- wait”, he moaned out, “Jesus- fuck”.

His reactions were addicting, no matter how tired you felt. Thinking about it, you were actually grateful Jisung managed to get him here. The way he looked at you filled you with immediate want.

You leaned down, darting your tongue out to lick over the head, tasting the salty head of precum with a gasp.

“Is it good?”, Minho asked you, diving in himself and mimicking your movements.

“Ahh- fuck”.

It was so different with him. Usually, you would find yourself in this position on top of Jisung whose natural reaction was to be obedient almost immediately, while Chris wanted to take, raising a hand to hold onto Minhos hair but he was quick to pin down the older man’s wrist.

“Greedy”, he clicked his tongue, “You gotta take what you get, you’re not in the position to ask for more”.

It was your turn to take Chris’ cock into your mouth, at least the first inch, sucking him in and swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part. You let go again quickly though, give Minho some room to take him past his lips, a bit further than you were doing.

You began to play with him like this, switching places every few seconds and it didn’t take too long for Chris to fall apart like this. The muscles on his stomach were flexing, body tensing up every time he would dive into the warmth of a mouth while his chest heaved quickly with gasped breaths.

“You know, you look pretty like this”, Minho cooed, catching your lips with his for a second instead of taking him in when it was his turn.

You were too pent up again to scold him for this dumb remark, you kissed him back with a matching urgency. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, asking you for permission instead of taking what he wanted - you just melted into the kiss.

Chris felt kind of neglected though, hips bucking up and cock twitching in need for attention. Luckily, Jisung was there to take care of him while the two of you got lost in the heated kiss.

“Hyung-“, Jisung raised a hand to cup his cheek, forgetting how he reacted to this nickname- another helpless whine and futile thrust into nothing, “What’s wrong?”.

He came closer to the older man, caressing his face with a graze of his lips against his jaw.

“Is it because they’re not paying attention to you?”, he muttered.

He was right though, Minhos lips too distracting against yours. His taste dizzying, his tongue working in your mouth with practiced expertise. It made you shiver, your body immediately forgetting how tired you had been as you moaned into his needy mouth and pressed your thighs together.

Jisungs hand sneaked down to grip his cock to soothe the ache, Chris whimpered.

“Does that feel better? Am I making hyung feel good?”.

And with that, Chris was gone. He couldn’t hold back the upcoming orgasm, cock twitching as he came and spilled over Jisungs hand, his stomach and, well - Minhos and yours faces.

“Fuck- fuck, sorry, I-“, Chris arched his spine, back rising off the mattress, “It feels- haahh- fuck”.

His release made you separate, Minhos eyes flickered from you to Chris and then back to you.

For a split second, you thought he would snap. But instead he groaned, kissing your cum stained lips once before lolling his tongue out to lick flatly over your cheek to gather and swallow it.

Your stomach dropped at this, adrenaline flooding your system and making you do the same in a twisted kind of rush. You cleaned his jaw with your tongue, but held it there which he saw as an invitation to connect with you again, moaning into the open mouth kiss and savoring Chris’ cum with you all together.

“Fuck”, Chris muttered under his breath, “That was- fuuuck”.

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