૮꒰⸝⸝♡ ̫♡⸝⸝꒱ა

monday .°˖✧

tuesday .°˖✧

wednesday .°˖✧

thursday .°˖✧

friday .°˖✧

saturday .°˖✧

sybau

pictures

slurs at work

robby's fav

mugshot

mugshot bonus

loser squad ig dump

whitaker bday

whitaker bday party

joy & ogilvie intro

the pitt girlies

coming out

gay hockey show

gay hockey show pt 2

gay hockey show pt 3

dip

vape break

new girlies

midweek pitt party

insta dump

pizza boy

the whitakers

exposed

lucky's

lucky's pt 2

aftermath

bitchy langdon intermission

aftermath pt 2

mcvadi intermission

we're mad at him now

dana to the rescue

apology

goodbye ogilvie

poor alfredo

samira's sick of this shit

mama whitaker

mama whitaker pt 2

brotherhood

back to work

uh oh

bisexual panic

dennis hogging all the dilfs again

damage control

robby on ig

i'm tired of this grandpa WELL THATS TOO DAMN BAD

dennis baby you are NOT subtle

dennis i cant keep defending u honey

mini drabble :3

foreshadowing or whatever

insta bs cuz i couldnt think clearly for some reason lol

lol

manwhore

me when i get cancelled

guiltmaxxing (religious trauma vibes)

bro

spiral

daddy issues

robby backstory (content warning for mentions of suicide and nonsexual child abuse)

mom and dad are fighting

loser squad

homelessness

robby's reaction (content warning for mention of sexual trauma)

hurt/comfort - lil drabble continuation of ^

project hucklerobby

silly twinny shenanigans

house party 1/10

house party 2/10

house party 3/10

house party 4/10

house party 5/10 (nsfw)

house party 6/10

house party 7/10

house party 8/10

house party 9/10

house party 10/10

party aftermath - langdon

party aftermath - dennis

party aftermath - robby

halloween

scorpio girlie

robby get a hold of yourself man

dennis you lil hoe

robby joins the ragebaiting game

plans are being made

sad boy hours

full mental breakdown era

lmao

rename that shit project apology tbh (cw for mention of self harm)

concerned friends and family

besties are bestieing - a drabble (cw for discussion of self harm)

apology tour lol

therapy - a drabble

debrief

queer boy

winter go brrr

No photos. No bullet points about ‘respectful boundaries’ or ‘shared Netflix password.’ Just that blunt, cocky little block of text, like they knew exactly what kind of person would bite anyway. The rent figure was unreal, half what you'd been paying for your shoebox studio that smelled faintly of regret and yesterday's takeout. You stared at it for a full minute, thumb hovering over your phone screen, heart doing that stupid flutter thing it does when you're about to make a decision that's either genius or catastrophic.  

And then there was the line written in red pen, scrawled untidily, looking like a disastrous attempt at cursive.

“She better be hot lol”

Crossed out once, aggressively. Then underlined twice, like whoever wrote it had second thoughts about the shame and decided to recommit. You stared at that part the longest.

Your current apartment smelled like damp carpet and stale air no matter how many candles you burned. The windows rattled every time the train passed. Your landlord had the audacity to send out a mass email about a “maintenance fee adjustment” that was definitely just code for I bought a new car and you’re helping pay for it.

Rent had started to feel like a chokehold. And this, four guys, one girl, big downtown apartment, utilities split five ways, was a stupidly good number. Too good. Which should have been your first red flag. 

Your reflection in the lobby mirror looked tired. A little reckless. The kind of girl who was one bad decision away from either ruining her life or improving it dramatically. You took a picture of the flyer. You hesitated.

You zoomed in on the red scribble. You told yourself you were an adult. That you could handle four random men in a shared space. That this was just housing, not a horror movie opening scene.  Then you texted the number before your common sense could wrestle your thumbs away.

You: Hi, saw the flyer for the roommate spot. Still available? Interested if the details match up. What's the move-in date?

The three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Your stomach did that awful, fluttery dip it does before you step into something you can’t undo.

Unknown: yeah it's open. u got a name sweetheart?

Sweetheart. You actually rolled your eyes. You told yourself you rolled your eyes. But something warm slid low in your stomach anyway. Casual ownership. Teasing. A test.

You: Y/N. And yeah, I do. When can I come see it?

The typing bubbles came back. Stayed. Disappeared. Came back again. Then your phone vibrated with a voice note instead of text. You stared at it for a full second.

Who the fuck sends voice notes to strangers?

You slipped in one earbud like you were about to overhear something you weren’t meant to. You hit play. Chaos. Not the polite kind. Not the muffled, distant kind. The kind that sounds like bodies moving and furniture scraping and too many voices in one space.

“—told you the flyer was too obvious, dumbass—”

“Shut the fuck up, she texted, didn’t she?”

“Bet she’s mid. Fifty says she’s mid.”

“Fifty says she’s a freak who’ll cry after one night.”

Explosive laughter. Low and rough and layered. Someone swore. There was a thud like someone got shoved into a couch. Another voice yelling, “Give me the phone—”

Your pulse was in your throat. It felt intrusive. Intimate. Like you were already inside their space, hearing something raw and unfiltered. Then the chaos snapped. Cut clean. A different presence took over. Closer to the mic. Lower.

“...Y/N, right?” Your name sounded slower in his mouth. Like he’d rolled it around once before saying it.

“This is Heeseung.”

The way he said it wasn’t introduction. It was declaration. The background noise dimmed, not because the room got quieter, but because he stepped away from it. You could picture it without trying: him turning his back to the others, leaning against something, one hand braced on a counter, phone lifted close enough that his breath ghosted the mic.

The kind of voice that didn’t rush. The kind that didn’t need to. “Place is still open. Come by tomorrow. 7 p.m. sharp. We’ll be here.”

We’ll be here. Not I’ll be here. A collective. A warning. There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Deliberate. “Bring your shit if you like what you see. We don’t do second viewings.”

And then it ended. No goodbye. No emoji. No softening. Just the click of the recording stopping, leaving his voice hanging in your ear like smoke in a closed room. You sat on your sagging futon with the cheap springs poking through the cushion and replayed it. Twice.

The arguing in the background. The laughter. The careless comments. The way he had cut through all of it like a knife sliding into silk. You told yourself they sounded like idiots. You told yourself this was exactly the kind of environment you’d sworn you’d never put yourself in. But your thighs pressed together anyway, tension curling low and restless, not quite fear and not quite excitement.

You imagined the apartment. Exposed brick. Too much space. Music playing too loud. A kitchen that actually had room to breathe in. Four men who moved through it like they owned it. And one empty room.

Waiting. You should have blocked the number. Should have deleted the thread. Should have found a nice, quiet girls-only share in the suburbs where the biggest drama would be someone stealing your almond milk. Instead, you typed back.

You: 7 p.m. tomorrow. Address?

The reply came faster this time.

Heeseung: [pinned location]Don’t be late, sweetheart. We hate waiting.

You read that last line more than once. We hate waiting. It sounded less like a preference and more like a rule. You packed that night with a strange kind of calm. One duffel bag. Just enough clothes to rotate for a few days. Toiletries. Charger. The essentials. You folded each item slowly, like you were preparing for something bigger than just a new address.

Your studio looked even smaller with your things missing. The walls felt closer. The air heavier. You stood in the middle of it and imagined tomorrow. The elevator ride up. The door opening. Four sets of eyes. The apartment smelling like expensive cologne and something darker. Smoke, maybe. Leather. Ego.

You imagined him. Them. All four of them. Either unfairly good-looking men who were complete assholes, or unimpressive men who were still complete assholes. The asshole part was a constant. The hotness was the only variable.

Not that it mattered. Of course it didn’t.

You didn’t know his face, but you knew the voice. Low. Steady. Amused. The kind of voice that didn’t rush for anyone.

You imagined the smirk you’d heard through the speaker, lazy, confident, practiced. Probably rich, too. Not new-money loud, but old-money careless. Daddy’s money had a look. It looked like never checking price tags.

You zipped the duffel closed. This was reckless. Stupid, even. The kind of decision that looked sensible only from far away, like a bruise that passed for lavender in low light. Rent had been pressing in for months, a dull gray weight at the base of your skull, constant as weather. You told yourself that was all this was. Survival. Logistics. Math.

But that wasn’t the whole truth. There was something about his voice. Not the depth of it, not even the amusement. It was the contrast, the velvet laid carefully over something serrated. Chaos humming behind glass. Control presented like a gift.

It had sounded dark blue through the speaker. Not navy. Not midnight. Something electric and expensive. The kind of blue that didn’t apologize for swallowing light. You should have been afraid of it.

Maybe you were. But the risk didn’t feel like falling. Falling was abrupt. Colorless. Final. This felt different. It felt like stepping across the gold line in a painting, the one the artist never meant anyone to cross. Like touching wet paint just to see if it would stain. Like walking into a story that had already decided what to do with you.

7 p.m. Sharp. You arrive at 6:58 p.m.

Not because you’re punctual by nature, but because something about Don’t be late. We hate waiting. lodged under your skin and stayed there all day.

The building is taller than you expected. Glass-fronted. Industrial. The kind of place that tries to look effortless and ends up looking expensive instead. The lobby smells faintly of artificially scented cleaner, probably lemon, and polished concrete. Exposed brick climbs one wall in a deliberate, curated way that says urban charm instead of structural compromise.

You stand in front of the elevator with your duffel bag hooked over one shoulder and a medium-sized suitcase at your side. You told yourself you’d bring only what you needed for a week.

You lied.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft metallic sigh. You step inside. Your reflection in the mirrored walls looks smaller than you feel. Lip gloss reapplied in the car. Hair brushed back into place. A quiet, deliberate choice in your outfit, effortless enough to pretend you didn’t try, fitted enough to know you did.

The numbers climb. Your pulse climbs with them. You tell yourself this is housing. Just housing. Four men sharing rent in a five-bedroom apartment isn’t unheard of. This isn’t a cult. This isn’t a frat house. This isn’t—

The elevator dings. The doors part. And the first thing you hear is laughter. It spills into the hallway like it lives there. Low, overlapping, careless. The door to their unit is already open. You don’t knock. You step inside.

The apartment is bigger than the pictures could’ve shown. High ceilings with steel beams running across them. Floor-to-ceiling windows pouring in late afternoon light that turns everything gold. A massive sectional couch in charcoal gray dominates the living space. There’s a long dining table made of reclaimed wood, scuffed in places that look intentional.

Music hums low from somewhere, bass-heavy, lazy. And then, you see them. All four of them. Shirtless. You stop walking. They’re scattered across the living area in a way that suggests they were doing something physical, lifting, maybe, but not something that required shirts. One is crouched by a stack of flattened cardboard boxes. Another leans against the kitchen island with a bottle of water tipped to his lips. Someone else stands near the couch, forearms flexed as he adjusts the hem of his joggers.

They notice you at the same time. Conversation dies. It’s not dramatic. Not loud. It just… stops. Four pairs of eyes land on you. And stay there. You feel it before you process it. The weight of being looked at. Not glanced. Not politely assessed. Looked at. Slowly. Thoroughly. Like you’re an answer to a question they’ve already been debating.

The one by the kitchen island lowers his bottle first. He’s tall. Lean muscle, not bulky. Collarbone sharp under the light. Damp hair pushed back from his forehead like he’s just showered or run a hand through it too many times. His gaze drags over you without apology. From your shoes. Up your legs.

To your waist. Your chest. Your mouth. Your eyes. He doesn’t look away when you meet his stare. That has to be Heeseung. The voice fits.

“Y/N.”

It isn’t a question. Your name sounds different in the open air of the apartment. Deeper. Warmer. More tangible. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out steady, which surprises you.

He pushes off the island and walks toward you. The other three follow slower, not crowding but not retreating either. You become aware of everything at once. The quiet click of your suitcase wheels settling. The way your fingers tighten around the strap of your duffel. The faint sheen of sweat along their collarbones.

They must’ve been moving furniture. Or maybe they just wanted an excuse to be shirtless when you arrived. The thought hits you uninvited. And then,  you realize you’re staring, too. One of them, broader shoulders, dark hair falling into his eyes, lets out a low whistle.

“Not mid,” he mutters.

The guy beside him elbows his ribs. A cocky grin already spreading over his lips nonetheless before he disrupts it by caging his lower lip between his teeth. “Shut up.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Heeseung stops about three feet in front of you. Close enough that you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to smell something clean and subtle, soap, maybe, or skin warmed by movement. He tilts his head slightly.

“You’re on time.”

“I said I would be.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. Behind him, one of the others steps forward and grabs your suitcase handle before you can protest. “We’ll take that.”

It’s said casually, but there’s something about the way he says we again that makes your stomach dip. The fourth one finally speaks. “You bring everything?”

“Just enough to survive a week,” you reply.

He laughs. “Smart.” They move around you with unsettling ease. Not touching you. Not yet. But close enough that the air shifts when they pass. You step fully into the apartment as your suitcase is rolled toward the hallway. The door shuts behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. You turn slowly, taking in the space.

The kitchen is massive, marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, open shelving that somehow looks organized despite the presence of four men. There are plants near the windows. A guitar propped casually against the wall.

This isn’t a mess. It isn’t chaotic. It’s lived-in. Comfortable. Dangerously comfortable. “Room’s down the hall,” Heeseung says. “Last one on the right.”

You nod, but you don’t move yet. Because they’re still looking at you. Not in a way that feels crude. But undeniably… interested. Assessing. One of them, taller than the rest, sharper features, leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. His eyes crinkle,  “So,” he says slowly. “You cool living with guys?” The question isn’t innocent. You lift your chin slightly.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

His gaze flickers, approval, maybe. The broad-shouldered one smirks.

“You get easily offended?”

“No.”

“You snore?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Got a boyfriend?”

The question lands differently. You glance at Heeseung. He hasn’t spoken. He’s watching you. Waiting. You meet his eyes and answer evenly, “No.”

The silence that follows is subtle, but it shifts something. Like a door quietly unlocking. Heeseung gestures down the hall. “Come see your room.”

You follow. The hallway is lined with closed doors. Music grows fainter as you move away from the main space. Your suitcase wheels roll softly against polished concrete. He opens the last door and steps aside to let you in first. The room is bigger than you expected.

Large window. Soft gray walls. A queen-sized bed frame already assembled. A desk near the corner. Closet doors sliding open to reveal empty hangers. It doesn’t feel like someone just left it. It feels like it was waiting.

You step inside. He follows. The others hover at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like they’re watching a show. “Well?” one of them asks. You set your duffel down on the bed.

“It’s… really nice.” Heeseung walks to the window and pulls the curtain slightly, letting more light in.

“Told you. No bullshit.” He turns to face you fully. There’s something different now that you’re in a smaller space. More contained. More charged. You can feel the other three just outside the room. Listening. You cross your arms loosely.

“What’s the actual catch?”

One of the guys snorts from the hallway. Heeseung’s lips twitch. “No catch.”

“Four guys, one girl, cheap rent, no second viewings. There’s always a catch.”

He steps closer. Not enough to trap you. Just enough to make you aware of proximity. “We don’t like flakes,” he says quietly. “We don’t like drama. We don’t like people who pretend they’re chill and then aren’t.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then you won’t last.”

The words aren’t cruel. They’re factual. You swallow. “Is that a threat?”

His gaze drops briefly to your mouth. Then back up. “It’s information.”

The other three laugh softly behind him. “You scared?” someone calls.

You step closer instead of back. “No.” And that’s the truth. You’re not scared. You’re wired. There’s a difference. He studies you for a long second. Then nods once.

“Good.” He steps back, creating space again. “You can move in tonight if you want.” Your heartbeat stutters.

“That was the deal.” One of them pushes off the doorframe. “Guess we’ve got a new roommate.” The broad-shouldered one grins. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

They disperse slightly after that. Not fully. But enough to let you breathe. You kneel on the bed to unzip your duffel, aware of eyes tracking the movement. A shirt comes out. Toiletry bag. A pair of heels you probably won’t need but packed anyway.

From the hallway, a voice says quietly, “She’s staying.”

“Obviously,” another replies.

You pretend not to hear. But your skin hums. Because beneath the jokes. Beneath the cocky questions. There’s something else. A tension that hasn’t snapped yet. An understanding that this isn’t just about splitting rent. You don’t know the rules. You don’t know the lines. But you feel them. Drawn. Invisible. Waiting. You stand and smooth your hands down your sides.

“I’ll bring the rest tomorrow.” Heeseung leans against the wall now, arms crossed. “Take your time.”

Your gaze locks again. The eye contact lingers too long to be accidental. Too steady to be polite. It’s not crude. It’s not rushed. It’s slow. Deliberate. Like he’s memorizing you.

And maybe, you’re memorizing him, too.

Friday night settles in outside the window, the sky deepening from gold to blue. You came here for cheap rent. For square footage. For practical reasons. But as the music in the living room turns louder and someone calls your name like you’ve always belonged here, you realize something quietly, dangerously simple. This wasn’t just a listing.

It was an invitation. And you accepted it. The kitchen island becomes your first battlefield.

Someone, Jay, you learn later, has already spread out a chaotic spread of takeout: greasy fried chicken in red-and-white buckets, japchae tangled in sesame oil, bulging containers of tteokbokki still steaming, a few lonely mandu that look like they've been fought over. Plastic forks and chopsticks clatter. No plates. No pretense of civility.

You slide onto one of the high stools, thighs sticking slightly to the leather from the heat still clinging to your skin after the move. Your thin white tank clings in all the wrong-right places, damp from nerves and the apartment's lazy, cold thermostat. No bra underneath because you'd changed into "comfy" clothes after unpacking the bare minimum. Big mistake.

Or the best one you've made all week. They circle like sharks who've already scented blood. Heeseung claims the stool right beside you without asking. His bare knee knocks yours under the island the second you settle. He doesn't move it. Neither do you. Jay drops onto the one across from you, broad shoulders taking up too much real estate. He leans forward on his elbows, forearms corded, watching you like you're the next thing on the menu.

Jake sprawls next to him, legs spread wide under the counter, one foot hooking casually around your ankle like it's always belonged there. He grins, pretty, boyish, filthy.

Sunghoon perches at the end like a king on his throne, long legs stretched out, one hand already tearing into a chicken wing. He licks sauce off his thumb slowly, eyes never leaving the front of your tank.

"Alright," Heeseung says, voice low and amused as he pops open a beer and slides one toward you without asking if you drink. "Introductions, since you're staying."

He drags a knuckle down your bare arm, slow, deliberate, like he's testing how soft you are. Goosebumps erupt instantly. "I'm Heeseung." His fingers linger at your wrist, thumb pressing your pulse point. "You already knew that." You nod, throat dry. Take a sip of the beer. It's cold. Sharp. Does nothing to cool the heat pooling between your legs.

Jay jerks his chin up. "Park Jongseong. Jay." He reaches across the island, grabs a piece of tteokbokki with his fingers, holds it out to you. "Open." You hesitate half a second. He raises one brow. "Don't make me feed you like a baby, sweetheart."

Your lips part. He pushes the sticky rice cake inside, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he pulls back. Sauce smears. He doesn't wipe it off. Just watches it glisten there.

"Jake Sim," the one with the foot around your ankle says. He leans in, elbow on the counter, chin in hand. His gaze drops blatantly to your chest. Your nipples have pebbled hard against the thin cotton, traitorous little peaks begging for attention. He bites his lip, lets out a soft, appreciative hum. "Fuck, you're not wearing a bra. Bold move, roomie."

Heat floods your face. Also lower. Sunghoon doesn't bother with words at first. He just stares, cold, assessing, predatory. Then he speaks, voice velvet and mean.

"Park Sunghoon." He drags a fry through sauce, offers it to you the same way Jay did. When you lean forward to take it, he pulls it back at the last second, makes you chase. You feel ridiculous. Wet. "Good girl." The praise lands like a slap. Your thighs clench.

Heeseung chuckles low beside you. His hand finds your knee under the island, big, warm, possessive. Slides up your inner thigh slow enough that you could stop him. You don't. His fingers stop just shy of where your shorts end, thumb stroking the crease where thigh meets hip. Back and forth. Lazy. Teasing the edge of your underwear.

"So," Jay says around a mouthful of chicken, eyes locked on the outline of your nipples like they're speaking to him personally. "What's your deal, Y/N? You always this easy to read?"

Jake snorts. Leans closer. "Bet she's already soaked just from us looking."

"Shut up," you mutter, but it comes out breathy. Weak.

Heeseung's thumb presses harder. "She is," he says quietly, like it's a fact he's confirming for the group. His other hand reaches up, casual, like he's reaching for more food, and brushes the side of your breast through the tank. The pad of his thumb grazes your nipple. Circles once. 

You gasp. Small. Involuntary. Sunghoon smirks. "Told you. Instant slut for attention." Jay exchanges a look with Jake, dirty, conspiratorial. They both laugh under their breath.

"Pass her the spicy one," Jake says. "See if she cries."

Heeseung finally pulls his hand from between your legs, only to slide it around your waist instead. Tugs you closer until your side is flush against his bare chest. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. "Eat," he murmurs against your ear. Breath hot. "You're gonna need the energy."

You pick up a piece of chicken with shaking fingers. They watch every bite like it's porn. Sunghoon leans forward. "Question." You meet his eyes. Dark. Unblinking.

"You gonna pretend you're not dripping for us all night, or can we skip the bullshit and get to the part where you spread on the counter?"

Your chopsticks freeze halfway to your mouth. Jake groans softly. "Hyung—"

"What?" Sunghoon shrugs. "We're all thinking it. She's sitting here with her tits out, clit probably throbbing, acting like she didn't come here to get fucked stupid by four guys who don't even know her last name."

Heeseung's hand slides higher again, this time under your tank. Palm flat against your bare stomach. Fingers splay wide. Claiming territory. Jay licks sauce off his lips. Slow. "Rent-free, remember? That pussy's been ours since you texted back."

Jake's foot slides higher up your calf. "Bet she clenches just hearing that." You do. They know. Heeseung's thumb finds your nipple again, pinches lightly through the fabric. Rolls it.

"Finish eating," he says, voice deceptively gentle. "Then we're gonna show you how we collect rent around here."

The words are disgusting. The way your body responds is worse. You swallow hard. Sauce still sticky on your lip. They wait. Patient. Filthy. Certain. Because they already know, you're not leaving this island until every inch of you is marked.

And the food? It's barely started getting cold. The takeout disappears faster than it should, mostly because your mouth is never empty for long.

Jay keeps tearing off pieces of chicken, dipping them in sauce, holding them to your lips like it's his personal mission to keep you full. His fingers linger every time, brushing your tongue, smearing gloss and grease across your chin until you're sticky and flushed. "Good girl," he murmurs once, low enough that only you hear it, but loud enough that the others smirk.

Heeseung never stops touching. His hand starts at your knee again, then climbs, slow, shameless, until it's high on your inner thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles over the damp cotton of your shorts. When you shift, trying to close your legs, he just spreads them wider with his knee. Casual. Like adjusting furniture. His other hand stays under your tank, palm flat against your stomach, fingers occasionally drifting up to pluck at your nipples like he's testing how hard they can get before you whimper.

They do get hard. Painfully so. The thin fabric does nothing to hide it.

Sunghoon leans back, legs spread, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweats while he watches. "Bet she's clenching every time Jay feeds her," he says, voice dripping. "Like a little hungry bird. Open wide, princess, here comes the next load."

Jake laughs, soft and filthy, leaning so close his breath fans your ear. "You're so fucking cute when you're pretending not to like it, baby. Look at you, your body is begging, thighs shaking. You gonna come just from us looking at you like the slut you are?" He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear. "Say 'please' and maybe we'll let you grind on the stool till you soak it."

You don't say please.

You just swallow another bite Jay pushes past your lips, choke a little when Heeseung's fingers slip under the leg of your shorts and graze the edge of your folds, wet, swollen, traitorous. They all hear the tiny, broken sound you make.

Sunghoon groans. "Fuck. That's the sound I wanna hear when she's choking on my dick later."

Dinner ends like that, messy, humiliating, electric.

When the last container is shoved aside, you mumble something about needing to unpack. Your voice is wrecked. Legs unsteady as you slide off the stool.

Heeseung's hand finally leaves your body, but not before he gives your ass a firm, possessive squeeze. "Go on, sweetheart. Get settled."

Their laughter follows you down the hallway, low, overlapping, knowing. "She's dripping down her thighs, I can smell it from here."

"Bet she locks the door and fingers herself thinking about us."

"Door stays unlocked from now on. House rule."

You shut yourself in the bedroom anyway. Heart hammering. Cheeks burning. Cunt throbbing so hard it hurts. You tell yourself you're just going to unpack. You don't.

The apartment feels smaller now, the air thicker, like the walls themselves are breathing. You’re still sprawled on the edge of the mattress, knees wide, thin cotton shorts shoved down just far enough that the waistband bites into the tops of your thighs. Your tank top has ridden up under your breasts, nipples stiff and visible through the damp fabric. Two fingers are buried inside you, knuckle-deep, curling, pumping, while your thumb mashes frantic, messy circles over your swollen clit. Every stroke pulls a slick, obscene sound from between your legs. You can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

The apartment is quiet for maybe ten minutes. Then you hear it. From the living room, muffled at first, then unmistakable. Low grunts. Wet, rhythmic sounds. Skin on skin. "New roommate's pussy looked so fucking tight," Jake's voice, breathy. "Bet she'd cry if I went in raw."

Jay, rougher: "I'd make her ride me reverse so I could watch that ass bounce while Heeseung fucks her throat."

Sunghoon, colder, meaner: "I'm breaking that little cunt open first. Gonna make her squirt all over the couch before the night's over."

Heeseung's voice cuts through, low, controlled, dangerous. "We're breaking her in slow. Let her think she has control for a day or two. Then we take turns stretching her till she forgets her own name."

More groans. Faster strokes. Someone swears. Someone moans your name, your actual fucking name, like it's already theirs. Your cunt clenches hard around your fingers at the memory. A fresh gush of wetness coats your palm. You’re dripping onto the sheet now, dark spot spreading beneath your ass. You try to muffle the next whimper by biting the inside of your cheek, but it still leaks out, high and broken.

You come hard. Silent at first, then a choked whimper slips out when your fingers push inside, chasing the aftershocks. Your thighs shake. The bed creaks. The apartment has been dead silent for thirty seconds.

Then, floorboards creak. Not fast. Not rushed. Slow. Measured. One deliberate step after another. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently you’re sure they can hear it through the thin walls. You freeze, fingers still stuffed inside you, walls fluttering helplessly around them. You don’t dare pull them out. Don’t dare move. Every nerve feels peeled open, raw, screaming.

The footsteps stop right outside your door. You hold your breath. The knob turns. No knock. No warning. The door swings inward on silent hinges. Heeseung fills the frame.

No shirt. Sweatpants slung obscenely low, the thick ridge of his cock still half-hard and outlined against the gray cotton like it’s trying to tear through. A faint sheen of sweat glistens along his collarbones, down the cut of his abs. His hair is wrecked, fingers-raked, damp at the temples. His eyes are black, pupils blown, and the corner of his mouth curls in something that isn’t quite a smile. It’s possession wearing amusement like a mask.

He doesn’t step inside. Not yet. He just leans one bare shoulder against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, and lets his gaze drag over you, slow, deliberate, filthy. From the way your thighs tremble, to the hand still buried in your shorts, to the wet spot darkening the sheet, to your bitten-raw lip and glassy eyes.

“Caught you,” he murmurs. Voice so low it vibrates in your chest. Your fingers twitch involuntarily inside yourself. A tiny, helpless pump. You can’t help it. His voice alone is enough to make your cunt spasm. He notices. Of course he notices. His head tilts. “You didn’t even lock the door, baby.”

The endearment lands like a slap and a caress at once. Your mouth opens, maybe to deny, maybe to beg, maybe just to breathe, but nothing comes out except a shaky exhale.

He takes one step forward. The floor creaks under his weight. Another step. Your pulse is in your throat, your clit, your fingertips. You’re so wet it’s obscene, every tiny shift of your hips makes a slick sound you’re sure he can hear.

He stops at the foot of the bed. Close enough that you can smell him, clean sweat, faint cologne, the dark musk of arousal still clinging to his skin from whatever they were doing out there.

“Look at you,” he says softly. Almost tender. “Legs spread like you were waiting for an audience. Fingers stuffed in that greedy little hole while you listened to us talk about ruining you.” His eyes flick to where your hand disappears into your shorts. “Did you come thinking about Sunghoon splitting you open? Or Jay making you bounce on his cock while I fucked your throat raw?”

You make a sound, half sob, half moan. Your hips jerk up without permission, chasing your own fingers. Heeseung’s gaze darkens. “Don’t stop.”

Your breath hitches. “Keep fucking yourself,” he orders, voice dropping into something darker, quieter, more dangerous. “Let me watch how desperate you got listening to us plan all the ways we’re gonna break you.”

Your fingers move before your brain catches up, slow at first, then faster, wetter, louder. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit with every thrust. Your other hand claws at the sheet. Your thighs shake so hard the bed frame rattles. Heeseung doesn’t touch you. He just watches.

Eyes heavy-lidded. Breathing slow and controlled while yours comes in ragged little pants. The outline of his cock has thickened again, straining harder against the sweats. A dark spot blooms at the tip. "You were moaning our names," he says, tilting his head. "Heard you clear as day."

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He walks closer. Stops at the edge of the bed. Looks down at you, spread, flushed, fingers still glistening.

"First rule of the house," he says, voice velvet and final. He reaches down, grips your chin, tilts your face up so you have to meet his eyes. "If we hear you moaning our names, if you touch that pretty pussy thinking about us, you don't get to come alone anymore."

His thumb drags across your bottom lip, collecting the spit and gloss there. "You finish with one of us inside you. Or on you. Or watching. Your choice."

He leans in until his mouth is a breath from yours. "But tonight?" He smirks, slow, filthy, victorious. "Tonight you go to sleep wet and aching. No more touching. That's rule two."

He straightens. Steps back. "Get some rest, sweetheart."

He turns for the door. Pauses. Looks over his shoulder. "And tomorrow?" His smile is all teeth. "Rent's due."

The door clicks shut behind him. You lie back on the bed, heart slamming, thighs slick, body screaming. You don't touch yourself again. Not because you don't want to. But because you know, he's right outside. And they're all waiting for the next time you break.

Your gasp rips through the dim bedroom like a blade, but it’s not fear that claws up your throat, it’s the raw, electric shock of Jake’s iron grip clamping around your upper arm, yanking you upright so violently the mattress squeaks in protest. Your eyes fly open to the sight of his wicked grin, teeth flashing white in the pale morning light filtering through half-drawn blinds. The sheets are torn away in one savage sweep, cool air slamming against your overheated skin like a slap. Your thin tank top is already bunched uselessly under your tits, the fabric twisted tight around your ribs, while your tiny sleep shorts have ridden so high they barely cover the swell of your ass cheeks, the crotch seam digging intently into your folds.

“Morning, roomie,” Jake purrs, voice dripping with mock sweetness and pure venom. He drags you out of bed like a ragdoll, your bare feet scrambling for purchase on the icy concrete floor, toes curling against the chill. His free hand instantly mauls your left tit, thick fingers sinking deep into the soft, heavy flesh, squeezing so hard your nipple hardens between his knuckles like a ripe berry. His thumb flicks it once, twice, three times, fast and brutal, like he’s punishing a disobedient little button. Pain blooms hot and sharp, shooting straight to your clit, and you hiss through clenched teeth, back arching involuntarily, pushing your chest further into his greedy palm.

He laughs, low, filthy, delighted, and crashes his mouth against your cheek in a wet, sloppy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. The flat of his tongue drags slow and deliberate across your flushed skin, leaving a thick trail of spit that cools instantly. He pulls back with a loud smack, lips shiny, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Breakfast’s waiting, princess. And you’re the main fucking course.”

He hauls you down the hallway, your legs stumbling, tits bouncing freely under the ruined tank, shorts still tangled around one thigh. The living room hits you like a fever dream: thick with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, printer ink, and the unmistakable musk of four horny men who’ve already been stroking themselves thinking about this exact moment. Jay’s lounging like a king on the massive sectional sofa, legs spread wide in nothing but gray sweats that do nothing to hide the monstrous bulge tenting the fabric, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, the other lazily palming his cock through the material. He doesn’t even stand. Just crooks two fingers at you, slow and commanding, a lazy smirk playing on his full lips.

Jake shoves you forward hard. You stumble straight into Jay’s waiting hands, rough, calloused palms gripping your hips like vices, and he yanks you down onto his lap in one fluid, possessive motion. Your bare ass cheeks land flush against the scorching heat of his massive morning wood, the thick ridge of it nestling perfectly between your cheeks through the thin sweats. He groans deep in his chest and rocks up once, grinding his fat cock against you so you feel every throbbing inch, every vein, the blunt head nudging right against your folds like a promise.

“Sit pretty for me, slut,” Jay growls hot against the shell of your ear, breath smelling like mint and sin. One thick arm snakes around your waist, locking you down like a seatbelt made of steel. His other hand shoves up under your tank top, claiming your right tit fully, squeezing, kneading, rolling the nipple between rough fingers until it’s swollen and aching. You squirm helplessly, already leaking slick down your thighs, but he just chuckles darkly and pinches harder. “That’s it. Feel how hard you make me first thing in the goddamn morning?”

Heeseung leans against the kitchen island like a statue carved from ice and hunger, arms crossed over his broad chest, black tank stretched tight across his muscles, sweatpants slung low enough to show the deep V of his hips. His dark eyes drink you in with that calm, terrifying amusement, lips curled in the barest smirk. Sunghoon’s perched on the arm of the couch like a predator in repose, long legs dangling, one hand already shoved inside his boxers, slowly fisting his long, pretty cock, tip flushed angry red, leaking precum in shiny beads that he smears down the shaft with lazy twists.

A single crisp sheet of paper is taped to the stainless-steel fridge, bold black Arial bullet points screaming authority.

Roommate Rules.

Jake claps once, sharp and theatrical, the sound cracking through the room like a whip. “New roommate orientation, baby! Time to learn the house rules. Stand up, oh wait.” He grins viciously as Jay’s arm tightens, keeping you impaled on his lap, grinding slow circles so the ridge of his cock drags deliciously against your dripping cunt. “Never mind. Stay right there.”

Jay doesn’t let you move an inch. Jake rips the paper free and slaps it into your trembling hands. “Read it. Out. Loud. Every word.”

Heeseung’s voice cuts through like velvet over steel. “And don’t you dare stop.”

Your fingers shake so badly the paper rattles. Jay’s free hand dives straight down, past the waistband of your shorts, two thick fingers spearing into your soaked cunt without mercy, no teasing, no warmup. They curl viciously against your G-spot instantly, pumping in and out with wet, filthy squelching sounds that echo obscenely. Your walls clamp down greedily, sucking him deeper, and you choke on the first syllable.

“R-Rule… one…” Your voice cracks into a broken moan as Jay adds a third finger on the next thrust, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally. “N-No panties… in the apartment… after 8 p.m. Fuck—ahh!”

Sunghoon hums low, shoving his boxers down to his thighs, his long cock springing free, veiny, curved slightly, glistening as he strokes faster, thumb swiping over the leaking slit. “Louder, whore. Let us hear how wet that rule makes you.”

Jake drops to his knees between your spread thighs like he’s worshipping at an altar. He rips your shorts down your legs in one violent yank, tossing them across the room, leaving you completely bare from the waist down on Jay’s lap, pussy lips puffy and shining, clit throbbing visibly. He spreads your thighs wider with both hands, thumbs digging into soft flesh, and leans in. His tongue, hot, flat, and obscene, drags from your dripping hole all the way up to your swollen clit in one long, sloppy stripe. He sucks your clit into his mouth like it’s candy, tongue flicking rapid-fire while Jay’s fingers keep moving.

“Rule two,” you sob, hips jerking wildly, trying to ride both sensations at once. “You… sit on someone’s lap… during movie nights, oh god, Jake, please—ahh!”

Jake pulls back just enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit, watching it drip down to mix with your juices coating Jay’s knuckles. “Good fucking girl. Keep reading while I eat this sloppy cunt like breakfast.”

Your voice is pure wreckage now, high, breathy, broken. “Rule three… Whoever cooks… the others get to fuck you… on the counter… while dinner’s in the oven, fuck, I’m gonna—”

Jay slams his fingers deeper, adding a fourth, stretching you to the burning limit. Your pussy gushes around him, slick squirting out in messy pulses that soak his sweats and the couch beneath you. The wet sounds are pornographic, schlick-schlick-schlick, loud enough to drown out your whimpers.

Heeseung is stroking himself now, thick, heavy, perfectly shaped, veins pulsing as he strokes slow and controlled, eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every twitch of humiliation and pleasure. “Almost there, sweetheart. Finish it. Then we give you the welcome gift you’ve been dripping for since you moved in.”

Jake stands, shoving his shorts down. His cock slaps heavy against his abs, thick, girthy, the head red and angry, already drooling precum in long strings. He strokes himself right in front of your face, the wet sound of his fist mixing with Jay’s fingers destroying your cunt. The tip keeps brushing your cheek, smearing precum across your skin like war paint.

You force the last words out between guttural moans, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaking your face. “First… official use… read the rules out loud… while being used—nnngh! And… and it ends with all four… cumming on your face… and tits… as welcome gift, please, I can’t—!”

Silence crashes down for half a second, only the obscene sounds of fingers plunging into soaked pussy and four men stroking their cocks. Then Jay rips his fingers out with a wet pop. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness, pussy clenching around nothing, a gush of your own slick dripping down your thighs onto the carpet.

Heeseung steps forward first, voice calm as death. “On your knees, cumdump.” Jay lifts you like you weigh nothing, strong arms tossing you onto the floor between them. The rough carpet bites into your knees as you kneel, back straight, tits heaving, cunt visibly throbbing and empty. They circle you like wolves, four towering, muscular bodies, cocks hard and leaking, surrounding you in a filthy halo of dominance.

Heeseung speaks, low and final. “Welcome to the house, sweetheart. Open that pretty mouth and take what you earned.” They don’t ask permission. They just ruin you.

Jake goes first, groaning loud and theatrical, fist flying as thick, ropey jets of cum erupt across your face. One stripe lands right across your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat. Another paints your left cheek, dripping down to your jaw. A third splatters across your forehead, sliding into your hair. He milks every drop, slapping his spent cock against your lips. “Swallow what you can, baby. The rest stays.”

Sunghoon’s next, quiet, intense, eyes dark as midnight. He aims low, long powerful spurts painting your tits in pearly white. Thick globs land on your left nipple, sliding down the curve of your breast like icing. Another heavy rope coats the valley between them, dripping down your stomach. He keeps stroking through it, smearing the head of his cock through the mess on your skin, marking you deeper.

Jay growls your name like a curse, “Fuck, look at you”—and unloads across the right side of your face. Hot cum hits your cheekbone, your eyelid, your lips, mixing with Jake’s in sticky rivers that drip off your chin onto your cum-glazed tits. One stray shot lands directly on your tongue and you moan, swallowing reflexively.

Heeseung saves the best for last. He steps closest, tipping your chin up with two fingers so your teary eyes lock onto his. “Eyes on me while I paint my new toy.” His strokes stay slow, deliberate, until the first powerful pulse shoots straight across your lips, forcing you to taste him, thick, bitter-sweet, coating your tongue. The next stripes your chest, adding fresh layers over Sunghoon’s mess, dripping off your nipples in heavy rivulets. He keeps coming, pulse after pulse, until your entire face and tits are a glistening, ruined masterpiece of four loads, cum sliding down your body in obscene trails, pooling in the hollow of your throat and between your thighs.

When they finally step back, you’re a trembling, kneeling wreck, face and chest absolutely drenched, lips parted, tongue still out like a good little cumslut, thighs shaking, pussy clenching and dripping onto the carpet in desperate need.

Heeseung crouches, thumb scooping a thick glob of mixed cum from your bottom lip. He pushes it deep into your mouth. “Suck. Clean every drop like the rules say.” You do, hollowing your cheeks, sucking his thumb clean with a wet pop, eyes fluttering as the salty, musky taste of all four of them floods your senses. He smiles, slow, dark, satisfied. “Rules are rules, baby.”

Jake laughs, tucking his cock away with a satisfied sigh. “Shower’s down the hall, princess. But we won’t mind if you don’t shower today. Or ever again.”

Jay leans down, pressing an almost tender kiss to the top of your cum-matted hair. “Welcome home, roomie.”

Sunghoon just stares, licking his lips as you instinctively drag your tongue across them, chasing every stray drop. “Rent’s cheap as fuck now, huh? But you are gonna pay every single day.”

You can’t speak, voice wrecked, body owned. But your cunt is already fluttering, aching, dripping for the next rule they’ll break you with. And they know it. They always will.

The rest of the day unravels like a slow, deliberate fever dream, every ordinary second laced with the kind of casual, relentless violation that makes your pulse thunder and your cunt throb like a second heartbeat. You try so fucking hard to pretend it’s just another lazy Saturday. That the thick, salty ghosts of their cum aren’t still drying in flaky trails across your tits and cheeks no matter how hard you scrubbed in the shower. That the taste of all four of them, bitter, musky, addictively filthy, doesn’t coat the back of your throat every single time you swallow.  

The shower is a war zone. Scalding water pounds against skin still blooming with faint red handprints and fingertip bruises, steam thick enough to choke on. You soap yourself raw, trying to erase the evidence, but every glide of your own hands over your sore nipples, your swollen clit, your tender skin just reminds you how easily they marked you. When you finally step out, the oversized black tee you pull on clings to your still-damp skin like a surrender flag, hem barely skimming the bottom curve of your ass, nipples already stiff and obvious against the thin cotton, pussy lips puffy and exposed every time you move. No bra. No panties. It’s not even close to 8 p.m., but the rule is already branded into your brain like a collar. You tell yourself it’s just comfort. Practicality. Not the first step in learning to live with your holes on permanent display.

They let you cling to that lie for exactly twenty-three minutes.

You’re in the kitchen, stretching up on tiptoes to grab a glass from the top shelf, the tee riding all the way up to expose the full, bare globes of your ass and the slick shine already coating your inner thighs, when the first crack lands.

Jake’s palm connects with your right cheek like a gunshot, sharp, loud, viciously playful. The sound ricochets off the marble counters. Your whole body jolts forward, glass clattering against the shelf, and a hot bloom of pain explodes across your skin. Before you can even gasp, he’s right there, chest pressed to your back, hips grinding his half-hard cock against the cleft of your ass through his sweats.

“Careful, princess,” he drawls, voice syrupy and mean. Both hands shove up under the tee from behind, claiming your tits like they were built for his palms, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh until it bulges between his fingers, thumbs and forefingers rolling your nipples in tight, cruel pinches that send lightning straight to your clit. “Wouldn’t want you breaking shit on your first full day. Or maybe we should make you clean it up on your knees.”

You white-knuckle the counter, breath sawing out of you, thighs pressing together uselessly as fresh slick drips down your legs.

Heeseung strolls past like he’s fetching orange juice, not even sparing you a glance, until his arm snaps out mid-stride and his open palm cracks across your left cheek so hard the sting blooms white-hot and immediate. Your knees buckle. He keeps walking, cool as ever, but you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jay’s waiting when you bend over to grab a yogurt from the bottom drawer of the fridge. The oversized tee flips up completely, baring your dripping cunt and the pink handprints already decorating your ass. His bare foot hooks your ankle, yanking your legs apart with zero warning. Then his hand comes down, once, twice, three brutal, stinging slaps in rapid succession, each one harder than the last, the wet smack of skin on wet skin echoing obscenely. Your pussy clenches visibly with every impact, a humiliating string of slick stretching from your hole to the floor.

“Good reach, roomie,” he mutters, already back to scrolling his phone like he didn’t just turn your ass into a throbbing, cherry-red masterpiece. “Keep bending over like that and I might have to test how deep that pretty throat is before dinner.”

Sunghoon doesn’t bother with words. He simply appears behind you while you’re loading the dishwasher, hips slamming forward to pin you bent over the open rack, his massive erection grinding slow and filthy between your spread cheeks. One arm bands around your waist, the other shoves under the tee to grope your tits with lazy, proprietary thoroughness, palms rolling the soft mounds like ripe fruit, fingers tugging and twisting your nipples until they’re swollen, aching peaks. He pinches so hard you cry out, then releases you with a low whistle, walking away like he just checked the mail.

It never stops.

Every single movement is an invitation they cash immediately. Reaching for the remote? Jake’s fingers plunge between your thighs from behind, two thick digits sliding through your soaked folds just long enough to coat themselves before he pulls away, sucking them clean with a wink. Bending to pick up a dropped spoon? Jay’s palm cracks down again, then stays, middle finger dipping into your cunt, pumping once, twice, curling against your G-spot until your knees shake, then withdrawing with a wet pop and a casual “oops.” Stretching up to dust the top shelf? Heeseung’s mouth finds the back of your neck, teeth grazing, one hand sliding between your legs to flick your clit in rapid, teasing circles until you’re whimpering, then he’s gone, leaving you edged and gasping.

By late afternoon you’re a walking wreck, skin flushed scarlet, ass a lattice of overlapping handprints burning with every step, nipples raw and hypersensitive against the cotton, cunt so swollen and empty it aches like a bruise. Your thighs are shiny with constant slick. Your brain is fogged with need. You’re trying, failing, to fold laundry on the living room couch when Jake decides he’s done playing.

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t warn. He simply drops to his knees in front of you like a man starved for weeks, hooks your trembling legs over his broad shoulders, and buries his face in your dripping pussy with a guttural groan that vibrates straight through your clit.

No warmup. No mercy.

His tongue is everywhere at once, broad, flat, filthy laps from your clenching hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, then sucking the swollen bud between his lips like he’s trying to pull your soul out through it. He alternates, hard, punishing suction that makes your back bow off the cushions, then soft, fluttering licks that leave you sobbing. Two thick fingers spear into you without resistance, curling viciously against that spongy spot inside while his tongue flicks your clit in rapid, relentless strokes. The wet sounds are deafening, your slick gushing around his knuckles, dripping down his chin, soaking the couch beneath you.

You grab fistfuls of his hair, half trying to rip him off, half grinding your cunt against his face desperate for release. “J-Jake, fuck—too much—ahh!”

He growls into your pussy, the vibration making your vision spark white. Three fingers now, stretching you wide, pumping brutally, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while his tongue spears inside you, fucking you in shallow, messy thrusts. Your thighs clamp around his head like a vice. Your back arches so hard you nearly levitate. The orgasm rips through you like lightning, violent, shattering, squirting messily all over his face as you scream, walls convulsing, vision whiting out completely.

He doesn’t stop. He rides you through it, through the aftershocks, through the oversensitive whimpers and the frantic pushing at his head, tongue and fingers relentless until you’re a sobbing, twitching wreck, another smaller orgasm crashing over you before the first even fades.

Only then does he pull back, face glistening, lips swollen, chin dripping with your cum like he just won a war. He climbs up your body slow, caging you against the cushions with his powerful frame, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh through his sweats. Then he kisses you. Not the brutal, claiming way you expect after he just devoured your cunt like a starving animal.

Sweet. Devastatingly soft. His mouth moves against yours like a promise, gentle, coaxing, tongue sliding in lazy, velvet strokes that taste like your own slick and his spit. One hand cups your cheek with shocking tenderness, thumb stroking your jawbone like you’re fragile, precious. The other rests low on your belly, warm, possessive, fingers splayed like he’s claiming the space where his cock will eventually live.

It breaks something in you. Filthy-sweet. Disorienting. Dangerous. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling, eyes half-lidded and shining. “Good girl,” he whispers, so soft it feels like a secret. “Tasted so fucking sweet. Could eat this pussy for every meal.”

Then he’s gone, standing, wiping his shiny face with the back of his hand, flashing that boyish, wicked grin like he didn’t just ruin you twice in five minutes. You lie there panting, legs still hooked open and shaking, lips tingling, cunt still fluttering and leaking onto the ruined couch. The others don’t even pretend to look away anymore.

Heeseung glances over from the armchair, dark eyes gleaming, one brow raised in quiet approval. Jay keeps scrolling, but his free hand is palming the massive bulge in his sweats. Sunghoon licks his lips slowly, deliberately, like he’s already tasting his turn. You yank the tee down over your trembling thighs with shaking hands, trying to catch your breath, trying to remember how to be a person.

The clock on the wall glows 7:42 p.m. Eighteen minutes until the first rule locks in for the night. And every single one of them is watching the seconds tick down with hungry, patient eyes.

The day was “normal.”

But normal in this house means your body is their favorite toy, teased, slapped, groped, eaten, and edged until you’re dripping and desperate. The night hasn’t even started.

The apartment is shrouded in that heavy, post-midnight hush, only the low, constant hum of the AC and the faint, faraway pulse of city traffic bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The clock on the wall glows 12:34 a.m. Your panties have been gone for hours, the rule now a permanent, throbbing law between your legs. Every step you take reminds you: bare, slick, exposed, owned.

You’re trying to ghost down the hallway like a shadow, bare feet silent on the cool hardwood, oversized tee clutched in one fist to keep the hem from riding up, when Heeseung materializes out of nowhere. His long fingers wrap around your wrist like a steel cuff, firm but not cruel, and he yanks you sideways without a single word. The door to his room swings open, swallows you both, and clicks shut with the finality of a prison gate. The lock engages with a soft, damning thunk.

The second the bolt slides home, the mask drops. Heeseung spins you around and slams you back against the door so hard the wood rattles in its frame. His mouth crashes into yours, teeth clashing, tongues battling, no sweetness, just raw, starving hunger. One big hand fists your hair, yanking your head back so he can devour your throat, sucking bruises into the skin while the other shoves up under your tee and finds your already dripping cunt.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls against your pulse point, two thick fingers spearing straight into you without warning. “Been walking around all night with this greedy little hole empty? Bad girl.”

You moan brokenly, hips jerking into his hand. He adds a third finger instantly, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally while his thumb grinds hard circles on your swollen clit. Your knees buckle; he doesn’t let you fall. Just pins you to the door with his body and finger-fucks you so viciously the sound echoes louder than your gasps.

He rips the tee over your head in one motion, leaving you completely naked. Then he’s spinning you again, bending you over the edge of his massive bed, face pressed into the black silk sheets that smell like him, dark, expensive, masculine. He kicks your legs wider, slaps your ass once, twice, hard enough to make the flesh jiggle and bloom pink.

“Look at this pretty cunt clenching for me,” he snarls, lining up the fat, leaking head of his cock and slamming in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The stretch burns so good you scream into the mattress. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and starts pounding.

Skin slaps skin like thunder. His heavy balls smack your clit with every savage thrust. The bed creaks violently under the assault. He fucks you like he’s trying to split you in half—deep, punishing strokes that drag against every sensitive ridge inside you, the thick head battering your cervix on every inward slam.

“Take it,” he grunts, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back, the other reaching around to slap your clit in time with his thrusts. “This is what you signed up for, roomie. This cunt belongs to the house now, belongs to me tonight.”

You’re sobbing, drooling onto the sheets, pussy gushing around his cock so loudly it’s embarrassing. He reaches down and spreads your ass cheeks wider, watching his thick shaft disappear into your stretched hole, the creamy ring of your arousal coating every inch.

“Fuck, look at that. Greedy little slut sucking me in.”

He pulls out suddenly, flips you onto your back, and hooks your legs over his shoulders. The new angle lets him drive even deeper. His hips snap forward like a machine, relentless, punishing, perfect. Your tits bounce wildly with every thrust. He leans down and sucks one swollen nipple into his mouth, biting hard enough to make you wail, then soothes it with his tongue before moving to the other.

You come first, hard, screaming, walls clamping down on him like a vice, squirting messily around his cock as your whole body seizes. He doesn’t slow. Just fucks you straight through it, growling praises and filth into your ear.

“That’s it, milk my cock, baby. Give me another. Come on this dick again like the house whore you are.”

You do, second orgasm ripping through you even harder, vision whiting out, nails raking bloody lines down his back. Heeseung follows with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and flooding you with thick, hot ropes of cum, pulse after pulse until it’s leaking out around his cock, dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets.

He stays buried inside you for a long moment, both of you heaving, sweat-slick bodies glued together. Then he pulls out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum pours from your ruined hole in a creamy waterfall.

But the brutality ends there.

Heeseung rolls off you with surprising grace, chest still rising and falling hard. He sits up, runs a hand through his wrecked hair, then stands, completely naked, still half-hard and shining with your combined mess. You lie there boneless, thighs trembling, cum leaking steadily onto the bed, mind completely blank.

He disappears into the attached bathroom. You hear the faucet run, the soft clink of glass. When he returns, he’s carrying a warm, damp cloth and a small bottle of something. You flinch when he kneels between your spread thighs again, instinct, not fear, but he just shushes you softly.

“Easy, baby.”

The cloth is blissfully warm. He starts at your inner thighs, wiping away the sticky trails of cum with slow, careful strokes. Then higher, between your folds, dabbing gently at your swollen, puffy entrance. You hiss when the fabric brushes your oversensitive clit; he pauses instantly, waiting until you relax before continuing. He cleans every inch of you with the patience of a man who’s done this before, thorough, reverent, almost worshipful. When he’s satisfied, he sets the cloth aside and pours a small amount of cool, soothing lotion onto his fingers, massaging it gently into the red handprints on your hips, your ass, the bite marks on your breasts.

You can only stare at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, heart hammering in a way that has nothing to do with the orgasms.

Heeseung meets your gaze, those dark eyes steady, unreadable for a heartbeat, then the corner of his mouth lifts in something softer than a smirk. “I may be an asshole, baby,” he says, voice low and gravel-rough from how loud he’d moaned your name, “but I know how to treat what’s mine right after I break it.”

He finishes with the lotion, then grabs a clean, fluffy towel from the dresser and drapes it gently over your hips like a blanket. Pulls the black silk sheet up to your waist, tucking it around you with careful hands. Finally, he leans down, brushes sweat-damp strands of hair off your forehead with his knuckles, light, almost sweet, and presses the softest kiss to your temple.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re gonna need every ounce of strength for what the rest of them have planned tomorrow.”

He doesn’t stay. Just stands, flicks off the bedside lamp with a soft click, and pads out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough that a thin, golden line of hallway light spills across the floor like an invitation… or a warning.

You lie there in the dark, body aching in the most delicious, ruined way, pussy still fluttering with aftershocks, skin tingling from his gentle hands, mind spinning in dizzy circles.

Because he is an asshole. A cruel, rule-making, cum-painting, pussy-destroying asshole. But tonight, for the first time since you moved in, you’re terrifyingly certain that’s not all he is. And that single, dangerous crack in the armor?

It scares you more than every filthy rule they’ve written on that fridge. Because if Heeseung can fuck you like a toy and then care for you like something precious…

What the hell are the other three capable of? You get your answer somewhere around an hour after Heeseung leaves.

The apartment has gone quiet, city lights bleeding through the blinds in faint orange stripes, the distant hum of traffic like white noise. You’re half-asleep in your own bed again, body still humming from earlier, skin too sensitive, mind too full of everything that’s happened since you walked through the front door. The sheets feel cool against the faint bruises blooming on your hips.

You don’t hear the door open. Just feel the mattress dip behind you, slow, careful, like whoever it is doesn’t want to startle you awake. Then warmth. Jay’s chest presses to your back, not crowding, not possessive in the usual way. Just… there. Solid. His arm slides around your waist from behind, palm flattening low on your stomach. Fingers splay wide, covering as much skin as they can without gripping.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just breathes, slow, even, against the nape of your neck. His nose brushes the baby hairs there once, twice. Then his thumb starts moving.

Slow circles. Lazy, deliberate swirls over the soft skin just below your navel. The kind of touch that feels like he’s tracing something fragile. Like you’re made of blown glass, or spun sugar, or something that might crack if he presses too hard.

It’s nothing like the way they’ve touched you all day. No slaps. No gropes. No mocking whispers or filthy promises. Just this. Quiet. Steady. Almost reverent. You tense for half a second, waiting for the punchline, the shift into something meaner.

It doesn’t come. Instead, his lips find the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. Not a kiss. Just a resting place. Warm breath fanning over your skin in time with the slow rub of his thumb. “You okay?” he murmurs eventually. Voice low, rough from sleep and whatever else he’s been doing in the dark. Not demanding an answer. Just… checking.

You don’t know what to say. Your throat feels tight. You nod once, small, barely there. His hand keeps moving. Same rhythm. Same gentleness. Circles widening a little, then tightening again, like he’s memorizing the shape of you under his palm.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says against your skin. “Any of it. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever.”

The words hang there, simple, quiet, sincere in a way that doesn’t match the asshole roommates who printed rules on the fridge and came on your face like it was a housewarming tradition. You swallow. “I’m… okay,” you whisper. It’s the truth, mostly. The rest is too tangled to name.

He hums once, soft, approving. His arm tightens just enough to pull you closer, back flush to his chest. No grind. No wandering hands. Just holding. The circles don’t stop. Slow. Soothing. Like he’s trying to rub the tension out of you molecule by molecule. You feel your breathing start to match his, deeper, slower. The ache between your legs dulls to a low throb instead of a sharp pulse. Your eyelids grow heavy again. Jay doesn’t move to leave.

Doesn’t push for more. Just stays. Palm warm on your waist. Thumb still drawing those endless, careful circles. Like you’re something worth being gentle with. Even here. Even now. You fall asleep to the rhythm of it, his heartbeat steady against your spine, his breath even against your neck, the soft scrape of calluses on your skin.

And for the first time since you moved in, the apartment doesn’t feel quite so dangerous.

Sunlight slices through the half-open blinds in thin, golden bars across your bare back. You wake slowly, first to the sensation of heat, then weight, then the unmistakable press of something thick and heavy sliding past your lips before your eyes are even open.

Heeseung. He’s already there, kneeling at the edge of the mattress, one hand braced on the headboard, the other cradling the back of your skull with surprising care. His cock is hard, morning wood, thick and flushed, veins prominent under the skin, and he’s feeding it to you slowly, not thrusting, just… settling. Like he’s been waiting for you to wake up around him.

Your lashes flutter. A soft, sleepy sound escapes your throat, half protest, half surrender, as your mouth stretches to accommodate him. He doesn’t push deeper than you can take. Just holds still once the head bumps the back of your tongue, letting you adjust.

“Shh,” he murmurs above you, thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw. “Morning, baby.”

His voice is gravel-rough from sleep, softer than it has any right to be. You blink up at him through damp lashes. He’s shirtless, hair a wreck, eyes dark but not cruel. There’s something almost apologetic in the way he looks down at you, like he knows exactly how many times he’s already used this mouth, this body, in the last forty-eight hours and still can’t stop.

You don’t pull away. Instead, you flatten your tongue along the underside, hollow your cheeks just enough to make him hiss quietly. His hips twitch once, small, involuntary, then still again.

“Good girl,” he breathes. Not mocking. Quiet. Almost reverent.

That’s when you feel the mattress dip on either side. Jake slides in behind you first, warm chest pressing to your back, knees nudging yours apart. His cock, already leaking, slides between your thighs, not inside yet, just rocking slow and lazy along your folds. He kisses the nape of your neck, open-mouthed and gentle, like he’s tasting sleep-warmed skin instead of claiming territory.

“Morning, princess,” he whispers against your ear. One hand slips under you, cupping your breast, not squeezing, just holding. Palm warm. Fingers splayed. Thumb brushing the nipple in slow, soothing circles.

Sunghoon appears on your other side, long limbs unfolding gracefully. He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches your face while Heeseung rocks shallowly into your mouth. Then he leans in, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches around Heeseung’s length.

Sunghoon’s hand finds your hip. Strokes down the curve of your waist, then back up. Like he’s memorizing every dip and swell. Like he’s sorry for every bruise he’s left there. Jay’s the last to join.

He’s fully dressed, gray sweats, black tee, hair still damp from a shower, sitting in the armchair across from the bed with a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. Vertical hold. Red recording dot blinking steadily.

He doesn’t say anything filthy. Doesn’t bark orders. Just watches. Sips. The corner of his mouth lifts when your eyes meet his over Heeseung’s shoulder. Not a smirk. Something quieter. Almost fond. “Pretty,” he mouths. No sound. Just the shape of the word.

Heeseung starts moving then, slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Never deep enough to choke you. Just enough to fill your mouth, to let you taste the salt and musk of him. Your hands come up instinctively, fingers curling around the base he can’t fit, stroking what your lips can’t reach.

Jake shifts behind you. Lines himself up. Presses in, slow. So slow. The stretch is lazy, unhurried, like he has all morning to sink into you. When he bottoms out, he stays there. Doesn’t thrust. Just grinds in tiny, rolling circles, letting you feel every inch pressed against that spot inside that makes your toes curl.

Sunghoon’s hand slides between you and the mattress. Finds your clit. Circles it with the same gentle pressure Jake’s using on your nipple. No frantic rubbing. No pinching. Just soft, steady friction that builds slow and syrupy.

You moan around Heeseung, muffled, needy. The vibration makes him groan low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s it.”

They move like they’ve rehearsed it. Like they’ve agreed, silently, somewhere in the dark hours after Jay held you last night, that today they won’t break you. Not more than they already have.

Jake rocks into you in time with Heeseung’s shallow thrusts. Sunghoon’s fingers never falter, patient, coaxing. Your body starts to tremble, not from overstimulation, but from the slow, relentless climb they’re building together.

Jay’s phone stays steady. He tilts it slightly, capturing the way your back arches, the way Jake’s hand splays protectively over your stomach, the way Sunghoon’s lips brush your shoulder every few seconds like he can’t help himself.

Heeseung’s breathing grows ragged first. “Gonna come,” he warns, voice strained, almost pleading. “Where do you want it, baby?” You can’t answer with words. Just tighten your lips around him, suck harder, look up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

He swears under his breath. Pulls out at the last second, strokes himself twice, and spills across your tongue in thick, warm pulses. You swallow what you can; the rest drips from the corner of your mouth. Heeseung catches it with his thumb, pushes it back between your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers again. This time his voice cracks. Jake’s rhythm falters behind you. His forehead drops to your shoulder. “Fuck—can I—inside?”

You nod frantically, around Heeseung’s softening cock still resting on your tongue.

He groans, long, low, broken, and buries himself deep. Comes with a shudder that rocks through both of you. Hot. Thick. Filling you until it leaks out around him, down your thighs. He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays seated, grinding lazily through the aftershocks, letting you clench around him like he’s trying to keep every drop where it belongs.

Sunghoon’s fingers speed up just enough, still gentle, still careful, and you come like a wave breaking slow. No scream. No violent shaking. Just a long, trembling release that leaves you boneless, whimpering softly into Heeseung’s thigh.

They don’t rush to move.

Jake stays inside you, softening but not leaving. Sunghoon keeps petting your clit through the aftershocks, light, soothing touches now. Heeseung strokes your hair back from your face, tucking strands behind your ear.

Jay finally lowers the phone. Stops recording. Sets the mug on the side table. Walks over. He kneels on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, and cups your cheek. Thumb swipes away the last trace of Heeseung from your lip.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You nod. Eyes heavy. Body humming. He leans down. Kisses your forehead, soft. Lingering. Then he looks at the others. “Group chat,” he says simply. “She’s gonna want to see it later.”

Jake chuckles, soft, breathless, against your neck. “She’s gonna come again just watching.” Sunghoon finally pulls his hand away. Presses one last kiss to your shoulder blade. Heeseung helps ease you onto your side, careful, like you might shatter. Jake slips out slowly, both of you hissing at the loss. Cum leaks immediately, thick, white, obscene. Jay grabs a clean towel from the nightstand, wipes between your thighs with the same gentle care Heeseung used last night.

No one speaks for a minute. Just breathing. Skin cooling. Hearts slowing. Then Heeseung breaks the quiet. “We were… a lot,” he says. Voice rough. Eyes on yours. “Yesterday. The day before. If it’s too much—”

You shake your head before he can finish. Reach up. Curl your fingers around his wrist. “I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m staying.” Something flickers across his face, relief, maybe. Guilt, definitely.

Jay’s hand finds yours. Squeezes once. Jake presses his lips to the back of your neck, soft, apologetic. Sunghoon just watches you. Then leans in. Kisses the corner of your mouth. Slow. Sweet. “Breakfast,” Jay says eventually. “In bed. No rules for the next hour.”

You laugh, small, wrecked, real. They move like they’ve been given permission to be soft. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself believe they might actually mean it. The rest of the day unfolds like something borrowed from another life.

No one touches you. Not in the hungry, claiming way you’ve come to expect. No wandering hands under your shirt while you’re making toast. No casual spanks when you bend to pick up a stray sock. No one pins you against the counter or drags you onto a lap. The rules, those printed, obscene bullet points on the fridge, might as well be written in invisible ink for how irrelevant they feel in the soft, lazy hours that follow breakfast.

They just… stay.

All four of them orbit you without crowding. The living room becomes this strange, sunlit island: blankets dragged from bedrooms, pillows piled into a makeshift nest on the sectional, takeout containers from last night still scattered like evidence of a truce. Someone puts on music, low-fi beats, nothing aggressive, just enough rhythm to fill the quiet without demanding attention. Jake sprawls across the floor with his head in your lap, scrolling memes on his phone and reading the funniest ones out loud in increasingly ridiculous voices until you snort-laugh and accidentally knee him in the ribs.

“Ow, princess, you trying to murder me?” he whines, but he’s grinning, grabbing your hand to press a dramatic kiss to your knuckles before going right back to his phone.

Jay sits cross-legged at the other end of the couch, one of your feet in his lap. He massages your ankle absentmindedly while he argues with Heeseung about whether the new season of some crime drama is trash or genius. Every time you shift, he squeezes your calf once, gentle, grounding, like a silent check-in.

Heeseung’s on the armchair opposite, legs kicked up on the coffee table, nursing the same lukewarm coffee from this morning. He catches your eye every so often and just… holds it. No smirk. No heat. Just a small, almost shy tilt of his mouth, like he’s still surprised you’re still here.

Sunghoon is the quietest. He’s tucked into the corner of the sectional, long legs stretched out, one arm slung over the backrest behind you. He doesn’t say much, just watches. Watches you laugh at Jake’s dumb jokes. Watches the way your shoulders slowly unclench. Watches the way the afternoon light turns your skin gold.

You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time someone shifts closer, every time a hand brushes your arm or knee, your body tenses on instinct, bracing for the grab, the grope, the inevitable slide into filth. But it never comes.

Instead: Jake starts a pillow fight that lasts exactly thirty five seconds before Jay declares himself referee and tackles Jake into the cushions. Heeseung orders fried chicken and insists on feeding you the first piece, holding it to your lips like Jay used to, but this time there’s no sauce-smeared thumb, no dirty promise in his eyes. Just a soft “Open up, baby,” and when you do, he smiles like you’ve given him something precious.

Sunghoon eventually migrates closer. Not crowding. Just enough that his thigh presses warm against yours. You glance at him, skeptical, guarded, still half-expecting the mask to slip. He notices. Of course he does. His hand lifts, slow, telegraphing every movement so you can pull away if you want. You don’t.

Fingers gentle, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers there, knuckles grazing the shell lightly, before he lets his palm cup the side of your face for half a heartbeat. You freeze. He smiles. Not the cold, cutting one he usually wears. Something smaller. Softer. Almost sad.

“You are our friend, sweetheart,” he says quietly. His voice is low enough that the others have to strain to hear, but they do. The room quiets around the words like they’re something fragile. You blink. Throat tight. Sunghoon’s thumb brushes your cheekbone once, barely there.

“We fucked this up from the start,” he continues, softer still. “We saw you walk through that door looking like you were ready to bolt at the first wrong move… and we made sure every move was wrong. On purpose.” His gaze drops to where his hand still rests against your skin. “Thought it’d be easier if you hated us. If you left on your own. If we never had to admit we wanted you to stay for more than just—”

He stops. Swallows. “—for more than just the easy parts.” The confession hangs there, heavy and unpolished. Jake’s head is still in your lap; he’s gone unnaturally still, staring up at the ceiling like he’s afraid to interrupt. Jay’s thumb has paused on your ankle.

Heeseung sets his coffee down. Slowly. You look around at them, all four, and for the first time you see it: the guilt. Not performative. Not a tactic. Real. Raw. Sitting under their skin like a bruise they’ve been ignoring. Sunghoon’s hand finally drops from your face, but he doesn’t move away.

“We’re not asking for forgiveness,” he says. “We don’t deserve it. Not yet. But we’re not gonna keep treating you like—” He exhales through his nose. “—like you’re disposable. Not anymore.” Silence stretches. Then Jake, sweet, chaotic Jake, breaks it by pressing the softest kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“Friends can still cuddle, right?” he mumbles against your skin. “Because I’m not moving. My head’s too comfy.” A tiny, surprised laugh bubbles out of you. Jay squeezes your calf once. “We’ve got time,” he says simply. “No rush. No rules today.”

Heeseung leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell us what you want,” he says. “Right now. Anything. We’ll listen.” You look at them, really look. The assholes who printed rules on the fridge. The ones who marked you, used you, laughed while they did it. The ones who just spent an entire day proving they know how to be gentle when they choose to be. You swallow.

“I want…” Your voice is small at first. Then steadier. “I want to believe you.” Sunghoon’s eyes soften. “Then we’ll keep showing you,” he says. “Until you do.”

Jake nuzzles closer into your lap like a cat claiming territory. Jay resumes the slow massage on your ankle. Heeseung picks up the remote, queues up some mindless comedy you’ve all seen a hundred times.

And Sunghoon, quiet, beautiful, regretful Sunghoon, leans in just enough to rest his forehead against your temple. “Friends,” he whispers again. Like a promise.

Like a beginning. The afternoon bleeds into evening. No one fucks you. No one even tries. They just stay. Laughing. Joking. Touching you like you matter. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself lean into it.

Just a little. Just enough to see what happens when the rules stop mattering and the people start to.

The apartment feels different when the others are gone, quieter, yes, but not the hollow kind of quiet that echoes off the walls. It’s softer, warmer, like the whole space exhales once Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon finally slip out the door with their jackets half-zipped and promises of “real food” still lingering in the air. Twenty minutes ago they each pressed a kiss to your forehead, Heeseung’s lingering the longest, his thumb sweeping slow circles over your cheekbone as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were letting all four of them stay, Jay’s quick and teasing with a wink, Sunghoon’s almost shy, lips brushing your skin like a secret. They told Jake to behave, and the second the door clicked shut behind them, Jake’s grin turned wicked, golden-retriever energy dialed up to eleven, like the instruction itself was foreplay.

He’s been orbiting you ever since, turning half-hearted chores into an excuse to stay glued to your side. You’re folding laundry on the couch, and he keeps “helping” by snatching shirts out of your hands just to hold them up like trophies before tossing them back in a messy pile. In the kitchen he hip-checks you every time you reach for a dish towel, laughing low and bright when you swat at his chest. The late-afternoon sun pours through the big windows in thick golden slabs, catching on the fine hairs of his arms, turning his skin warm and honeyed. You’re both a little sweaty from moving around, the faint scent of his cologne, something clean, mixing with the laundry detergent and the leftover smell of last night’s fried chicken still clinging to the air. 

“You’re terrible at this,” you say, watching him wrestle a fitted sheet into something that vaguely resembles a rectangle. The elastic corners keep snapping back at him like they have a personal grudge.

Jake flashes that devastating, all-teeth smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m excellent at distractions. Watch this, baby.”

Before you can protest, he shakes the sheet out with dramatic flair, like a matador taunting a bull, then whips it over both your heads in one smooth motion. The world narrows instantly to white cotton filtered sunlight, the fabric draping around you like a private tent. You’re both laughing before you can stop it, deep, helpless belly laughs that make your ribs ache and your eyes water. The sheet muffles everything, turning the sound intimate and close. Jake’s body is right there, heat radiating off him, chest brushing yours with every breathless chuckle. He tugs you deeper under the fabric, arms wrapping loosely around your waist, and suddenly the playful game shifts. His nose nudges yours. You feel the brush of his lashes against your cheek. The laughter fades into something heavier, warmer, the air between you thickening like honey.

“See?” he murmurs, voice low and rougher now. “Masterclass in procrastination.”

You roll your eyes, but your hands are already sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You don’t push him away. You pull him closer.

The sheet eventually slips to the floor in a crumpled heap, forgotten. You move down the hallway together, the basket of clean clothes balanced on your hip, Jake trailing so close his fingers keep ghosting the small of your back. You bend over to grab a stray sock that’s escaped onto the floor, nothing exaggerated, just a natural lean, your thin cotton shorts riding up just enough to expose the curve where thigh meets hip. Behind you, Jake sucks in a sharp, punched-out breath, like the sight physically winds him.

You freeze.

His hand settles on your hip, palm broad and hot, fingers spreading wide over the soft flesh through the fabric. Not a slap, not a grope. Just… claiming. Resting there with deliberate weight, thumb stroking a slow, lazy circle that makes your skin prickle. You feel every callus on his fingertips, the faint tremble in his touch like he’s fighting the urge to squeeze harder. Heat blooms low in your belly, liquid and slow.

You straighten up slowly, deliberately, and his hand stays glued to you, sliding with the motion so it ends up cupping the full cheek. He turns you around with the gentlest pressure on your hip, like you’re made of glass he’s terrified of cracking. Your back meets the cool wall of the hallway with a soft thud. Jake crowds in immediately, but not aggressively, his body cages you without trapping, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand still kneading your ass with slow, possessive squeezes that make your breath hitch.

His eyes have gone dark, almost black, pupils blown wide. Not the usual playful hunger. Something deeper. Hungrier. Worshipful.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice gravel-rough. “You good? Still with me?” You nod, small and shaky, because the air has turned thick, syrupy, every inhale dragging like molasses. Your nipples are already tight against your shirt, and you know he can see it. He leans in like he’s giving you every chance to stop him. The first kiss is feather-light, barely a brush of lips, testing, asking. You answer by tilting your head, parting your mouth just enough, tongue flicking out to taste him. That’s all the permission he needs.

Jake kisses you like he’s been starving for it since the day you moved in, like every shared glance and late-night movie marathon has been foreplay leading to this exact second. Slow. So fucking slow. His lips are plush and warm, sliding against yours with wet, deliberate pressure. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, tongue tracing the seam until you open wider, then he licks inside, deep, lazy strokes that map every inch of you like he’s memorizing the taste. You moan softly into his mouth and he answers with a low, guttural groan that vibrates straight down to your clit. His hand on your ass tightens, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he already is, thick, heavy ridge straining against his sweatpants, pressing right against your lower belly.

One of his hands cradles your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone while the other slides up under your shirt, palm flat and scorching against the bare skin of your stomach. He doesn’t rush. His fingers splay wide, stroking up your ribs, tracing the underside of your breasts with reverent touches. When his thumb finally brushes over your nipple, already pebbled and aching, he circles it slowly, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp and arch into him. He swallows the sound, kissing you deeper, tongue fucking into your mouth in filthy, rhythmic strokes that mimic exactly what you wish his cock was doing somewhere else.

You’re grinding on his thigh now, small, helpless rolls of your hips that drag your soaked pussy along the hard muscle. The thin fabric of your shorts is useless; you can feel how wet you’ve gotten, the slickness coating your inner thighs, probably leaving a damp spot on his sweats. Jake breaks the kiss only to drag his open mouth down your jaw, sucking wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. He bites down gently, then soothes it with his tongue, leaving faint red marks that bloom under his lips. You tilt your head back against the wall, exposing more of your throat, and he takes full advantage, licking a hot stripe down to your collarbone, sucking hard enough that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, little purple galaxies only the four of them will see.

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he groans against your skin, voice wrecked. “Sweet. Like you’ve been waiting for me to do this all day.”

His hand leaves your breast only to slide down, cupping your pussy through your shorts. He doesn’t push inside, just rubs the heel of his palm in slow, firm circles right over your clit, feeling how soaked the fabric is. You whimper, hips jerking, and he chuckles darkly into your neck.

“Yeah? That feel good, baby? You’re dripping for me already.”

You can’t answer with words, just a broken moan as two of his fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, tracing your slick folds without pushing in, spreading your wetness up to your clit and rubbing tight, teasing circles. Your hands are frantic now, one fisted in his hair, the other palming the thick length of his cock through his sweats, squeezing and stroking him until he’s panting against your mouth, hips twitching like he’s fighting not to rut into your hand.

You kiss for what feels like hours, messy, spit-slick, tongues tangled and sliding. Your lips are swollen and tingling, jaw aching in the best way. He keeps breaking away only to come right back, sucking on your tongue, biting your bottom lip, whispering filthy little praises between kisses.

“So fucking pretty when you’re desperate like this… making those sweet little sounds for me… gonna ruin me, baby, you know that?”

Your legs are trembling. He notices, always notices, and presses his thigh harder between yours, letting you ride it properly now, the friction perfect and relentless. His fingers keep working your clit in lazy strokes, dipping just inside your entrance to gather more slick before sliding back up, never giving you enough to come, just keeping you right on the edge, trembling and whimpering into his mouth.

When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, both of you are breathing like you’ve run miles, chests heaving, lips shiny and red, his hair a complete mess from your fingers. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, cock throbbing visibly against your palm.

“Shit,” he laughs, breathless and shaky. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, I just—”

You cut him off with another kiss, slow, deep, pouring everything you’re feeling into it. When you pull away, you whisper against his swollen lips, “I know. I wanted it too.”

He smiles, that crooked, boyish, heart-stopping smile, and kisses the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then pulls you tight into his chest. His arms wrap around you completely, one hand still cupping your ass possessively, the other stroking soothing circles up and down your spine. You can feel his heart hammering against yours, his cock still hard and insistent between you, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t grind. Just holds you there in the hallway, the distant hum of the fridge and the faint city traffic the only sounds left.

You stay like that for a long, indulgent stretch of minutes, bodies pressed together, breaths syncing, the ache between your legs still pulsing but somehow perfectly satisfied by the simple fact of being wrapped up in him. His lips brush your temple.

“Friends can make out, right?” he murmurs, echoing the joke from earlier, voice warm with affection and something deeper.

You laugh softly against his chest, the sound muffled and content. “Yeah, Jake. Friends can definitely make out.”

And for now, for this golden, sun-drenched afternoon, that’s more than enough. The others will be back soon, but right now the apartment is yours and his, and he just keeps holding you like he never wants to let go.

The hallway still smells faintly of Jake’s cologne, clean and warm skin, and the soft, powdery scent of laundry detergent clinging to the crumpled clothes you never quite finished putting away. His lips are swollen and glossy from the long, lazy make-out against the wall, cheeks flushed a deep pink, pupils blown so wide the pretty hazel is almost gone. He’s breathing hard through his nose, forehead pressed to yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded, hands still shoved up under your shirt, palms hot and broad against the small of your back, thumbs tracing slow, idle arcs that make your spine tingle.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked and soft all at once, raw like he’s been shouting your name for hours even though he hasn’t. “I need you on me, princess. Need to feel that pretty pussy sliding down my cock right fucking now.”

The words drop straight into your belly, heavy and molten. You swallow hard, thighs pressing together on instinct, and he feels the tiny clench, grins against the side of your neck, boyish and filthy at the same time.

He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t grab. Just brushes his mouth over the shell of your ear, hot breath ghosting, voice a low rasp that curls straight between your legs.

“Ride me. Please. On the couch. Slow. Let me feel every inch of you taking me like you own it.”

Your cunt throbs at the plea. You nod before you even realize you’re doing it.

Jake laces his fingers through yours, gentle, almost sweet, and leads you back down the hall like you’re going for a Sunday stroll, not about to fuck him stupid in the middle of the living room. The late-afternoon light has shifted, pouring across the big sectional in thick, golden rivers; the cushions are still dented from earlier folding sessions, the air warm and lazy. He drops onto the couch first, sprawling wide, legs splayed, grey sweats already tented, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric like it’s trying to escape.

He then hooks his fingers against the edge of your shorts and drags them down, along with your panties. His eyes darken as he gulps and looks up at you.

He pats his thigh once, slow, inviting, eyes locked on yours with that crooked, heart-melting grin.

You don’t hesitate. You climb on, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, and the first slow grind of your bare, soaked cunt against the hard, hot length of him through the thin material rips a twin hiss from both your throats. You’re dripping, have been since he pinned you to the hallway wall, and the fabric is already darkening under you, slick. Jake’s hands settle on your hips, not guiding yet, just holding, thumbs stroking the skin right above the waistband of your shorts like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

You start slow. Torturously slow. Tiny, rolling rocks of your hips that drag your swollen clit along the rigid ridge of his cock again and again. The friction is perfect, wet, hot, teasing. Every pass makes the fabric cling tighter, the head of his dick bumping right where you need it. Jake’s head falls back against the couch, throat working on a low, broken groan, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Goddamn, baby… look at you. Already so fucking wet you’re soaking through my sweats. That little pussy weeping for me.”

You giggle, breathless, giddy, almost embarrassed at how turned on you are, and lean down to kiss him. Soft at first, just lips brushing, then deeper: tongues sliding lazy and messy, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the sweetness of the iced americano he had earlier. His hands slide back under your shirt, palms scalding against your ribs, thumbs circling the undersides of your breasts in slow, reverent strokes until your nipples are tight, aching peaks. He pinches them gently, rolls them between thumb and forefinger, and you arch into his touch with a whimper that makes him smile against your mouth.

“You’re so fucking soft,” he mumbles between kisses, voice thick. “So perfect. Been dreaming about this tight little cunt wrapped around me since the second you walked through that door and smiled at all of us like we hung the moon. Gonna let me feel it now, princess? Gonna sit on my cock and ride me nice and slow?”

You lift just enough to shove his sweats down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, veins standing out, the tip already glistening with a fat bead of pre-cum that streaks down the shaft when you wrap your fingers around him. One slow, firm stroke from base to head has him groaning, hips twitching up into your fist. You line him up, notch the blunt head against your dripping entrance, and sink down.

The first inch is heaven.

You both moan, long, filthy sounds, as he stretches you open, thick and hot and perfect, splitting you so deliciously slow you feel every ridge, every vein. Your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut. He bottoms out with your ass flush to his thighs, balls pressed tight against you, and the fullness is so overwhelming your walls flutter around him like you’re already close.

“Fuuuuck,” Jake breathes, hands flexing hard on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. “That’s it. Take every fucking inch, princess. Look at you, swallowing me like you were made for it. So goddamn tight and wet and perfect.”

You start riding him properly, long, deliberate lifts and sinks, rolling your hips on every downstroke so your clit grinds against his pelvis. The sounds of your cunt taking him echo in the quiet apartment: slick, filthy squelches every time you drop down, his cock glistening with your arousal when you rise. Jake’s eyes are glued to where you’re joined, watching himself disappear inside you over and over with something like awe.

“Listen to that,” he groans, voice cracking. “That sloppy little sound every time you take me. You’re dripping down my balls, baby, making such a pretty mess all over me. Gonna stain the couch and I don’t even care.”

You bury your face in his neck for a second, flushed and turned on beyond words, then bite down on the skin there, light, teasing. He jolts, cock twitching hard inside you, and groans louder.

“Fuck, do that again. Mark me up, princess. Want the others to see who got to have you first.”

You do, sucking a faint pink bloom into his throat while you ride him harder, faster, breasts bouncing under your thin shirt. His mouth finds your nipple through the fabric, sucking hard, teeth grazing, soaking the cotton until it’s transparent and clinging. You cry out, high and needy, hips snapping down faster now, chasing the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.

Jake’s losing it beautifully, head thrown back, throat exposed, hands gripping your ass and spreading you wider so he can watch every inch of his cock sliding in and out of your greedy cunt.

“Shit, ride it harder, baby. Fuck yourself on me. Use my cock like the greedy little slut you are. Come all over it, wanna feel this pussy milk me dry.”

The filthy words spoken in that sweet, reverent tone send you spiraling. You slam down harder, clit grinding relentlessly, thighs burning. He slides one hand between you, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, firm circles.

“Come on, princess. Give it to me. Soak my cock. Make it messy. Wanna feel you gush.”

You shatter with a broken cry, head thrown back, back arching, clamping down around him in hard, pulsing waves. Your vision whites out. Thighs shake violently. You gush around him, slick flooding out around his base, soaking his balls and the couch beneath you. Jake swears, low and guttural, hips stuttering up once, twice, burying himself to the hilt as he comes, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls, filling you so full it leaks out immediately around his throbbing length.

He holds you flush against him through every aftershock, arms banded tight around your waist, forehead pressed to your collarbone, breathing ragged and shaky. You stay like that, sweaty, trembling, his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum slowly trickling out, while he kisses your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth with soft, lazy presses.

“Best fucking ride of my life,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and sated, nuzzling into your hair.

You laugh, soft, spent, glowing, and nuzzle back. “Friends can do that too, right?”

He chuckles, kissing your temple. “Friends can do whatever the fuck they want.” You’re still seated on him, his cock twitching occasionally inside your cum-filled pussy, when the front door clicks open.

Neither of you moves fast enough. Sunghoon steps in first, grocery bags dangling from one hand, keys in the other, the faint scent of fresh produce and restaurant takeout wafting in with him. He freezes mid-step. Eyes lock on the scene: you straddling Jake on the couch, shirt rucked up to your collarbones, thighs spread obscenely wide, Jake’s cock still half-hard and buried inside you, thick white cum already leaking in slow, creamy rivulets down his balls and onto the cushion.

The bags hit the floor with a heavy, forgotten thud. A carton of eggs probably cracks, but no one cares. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens so hard you hear the sharp click of his teeth. His eyes, usually cool and calm, go black, dangerous, glittering with something possessive and furious.

“What. The. Fuck.”

His voice is ice wrapped in velvet. Low. Deadly calm. Jake startles, arms tightening around you protectively, but he doesn’t dare pull out. Doesn’t even try to cover you.

“Hyung—wait, it’s not—”

Sunghoon crosses the room in three long strides, towering over both of you. He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t shove Jake. Just reaches down, grips your chin between thumb and forefinger, firm, not bruising, and tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb drags slow and deliberate across your bottom lip, then presses inside. You suck instinctively, tongue swirling around the digit, tasting the faint salt of his skin.

His eyes flick to Jake, cold as winter.

“Get out from under her. Now.”

Jake hesitates half a second. Sunghoon’s voice drops even lower, lethal.

“I said now.”

Jake lifts you carefully with a wet, filthy sound that makes Sunghoon’s nostrils flare. The moment he slips free, a thick gush of his cum pours out of you, sliding down your inner thighs in white trails. Jake stays seated on the couch, chest heaving as he watches warily.

Sunghoon never looks away from you. He steps closer, one hand sliding to the nape of your neck, thumb pressing right over your racing pulse, while the other grips your hip hard enough to anchor you. “You let him fuck you the second we walked out the door?” he murmurs, voice velvet and venom, lips brushing your ear. “Spread this pretty pussy for whoever was home first? Without waiting for me? Without even texting?”

You shake your head, small, instinctive, breath caught in your throat. “No?”

He leans in closer, breath hot against your skin. “Then why the fuck are you stuffed so full of him, hmm?”

Two of his long fingers dip between your thighs without warning, sliding deep into your cum-slick cunt with a wet squelch. You gasp, knees buckling. He curls them slowly, deliberately, scissoring, feeling the warm, sticky mess Jake left behind, pushing it deeper before dragging it out again. When he pulls his fingers free they’re coated thick and white. He holds them up between you, shiny, dripping, then brings them to your mouth.

“Clean.”

You open obediently. Suck his fingers clean, tongue swirling, tasting yourself and Jake and the faint metallic tang of Sunghoon’s skin, moaning around them while he watches with dark, unblinking eyes.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice low and rough. Then, suddenly, he yanks you forward by the neck and kisses you, hard, possessive, teeth clashing, tongue fucking into your mouth like he’s erasing every trace of Jake’s kisses. When he pulls back his lips are wet, eyes blazing with jealousy and hunger.

“Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for you to walk. Just scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, cum still dripping down your thighs and onto his shirt. Jake scrambles up and follows, sweats tugged up haphazardly.

Sunghoon kicks the bedroom door shut behind the three of you with a bang that rattles the frame. He drops you onto the bed, gentle enough not to hurt, rough enough that you bounce, thighs splaying open automatically. He looms over you, tall and broad and radiating controlled fury.

“Strip. Everything off. Let me see exactly what he got to play with while I was gone.”

You obey instantly, tugging your shirt over your head, shoving your shorts down, kicking them aside until you’re completely bare, pussy puffy and glistening.

His gaze rakes over every inch of you, slow, possessive, furious, hungry. He licks his lips. “You’re mine tonight, princess. All fucking mine. And you’re going to feel exactly who this cunt belongs to until you can’t remember anyone else’s name.”

He glances at Jake, standing frozen by the door, eyes wide and cock twitching in his sweats.

“You can watch,” Sunghoon says coldly, voice like a blade. “But you don’t touch. Not until I say so. You sit there and watch me take back what’s mine.”

Jake swallows hard. Nods once. Sinks into the chair in the corner, hand already palming himself through his sweats like he can’t help it.

Sunghoon turns back to you. Grabs your thighs in both hands and spreads them wide, wide enough that your folds spread, dripping. He lowers his head slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

The first long, vicious swipe of his tongue through your folds is punishing, hot, wet, claiming, licking every drop of Jake’s cum straight out of you like he’s erasing the evidence. You arch off the bed with a sharp cry, hands flying to his hair. Sunghoon doesn’t stop. He eats you like a man starved, tongue fucking deep inside your cum-filled hole, sucking noisily, swallowing every filthy mix of you and Jake with low, possessive growls that vibrate straight to your clit. He sucks your swollen folds into his mouth, tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit, then dives back in to lap at the creamy mess still oozing out of you.

You’re moaning, loud, broken, shameless, hips grinding against his face while he devours you, chin and lips shiny with cum and your fresh slick. He pulls back just long enough to growl against your thigh,

“Gonna lick every last drop of him out of this pussy until it only tastes like me. And then I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow when the others take their turns.”

His mouth seals back over your clit, sucking hard, two fingers plunging deep, and the jealousy is only just beginning.

The bedroom is thick with the sounds of Sunghoon’s mouth devouring you, long, filthy drags of his tongue through your cum-slick folds, sucking Jake’s release out of your fluttering hole like he’s personally insulted by every drop. He’s relentless, humming low against your clit, two fingers curled deep inside you, scissoring and stroking that spongy spot that makes your thighs quake around his ears. Your back is arched off the bed, hands fisted in his dark hair, moans spilling out broken and shameless as another orgasm teeters right on the edge.

Then the door bangs open.

Heeseung fills the frame like a storm cloud, broad shoulders tight, jaw locked, one hand fisted in the back of Jake’s t-shirt. Jake looks wrecked already: lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed crimson, cock still half-hard and shiny with your slick, the cocky little grin from earlier completely wiped away. Heeseung doesn’t even glance at you at first. His voice is low, calm, the kind of calm that makes the air feel heavier.

“Living room. Now.”

Jake opens his mouth, probably to whine, to joke, to try and charm his way out of it, but Heeseung’s grip tightens, fabric stretching across Jake’s shoulders. Jake stumbles forward instead, casting one last wide-eyed look at you before they disappear down the hall. The living-room door shuts with a soft, deliberate click that somehow feels louder than a slam.

You’re left panting, chest heaving, Sunghoon’s tongue still lazily circling your clit like the interruption was nothing more than background noise. He presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your dripping pussy, then pulls back slowly, lips glossy, chin glistening with a messy mix of you and Jake. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, slow and deliberate, eyes dark and glittering with dark amusement as he rises to his knees between your spread thighs.

“Looks like someone earned himself a timeout,” he murmurs, voice velvet-rough, thumb brushing a lazy stripe up your inner thigh to collect the fresh slick still leaking out of you. His gaze flicks toward the hallway, then back to your flushed, trembling body. “Guess that leaves the three of us to remind you exactly how this works, princess.”

Jay appears in the doorway a heartbeat later, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against the frame, eyes raking over you with that cool, assessing hunger that always makes your stomach flip. He takes his time stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet snick, the lock clicking into place like a promise.

You try to push yourself up on your elbows, instinct, nerves, the sudden awareness of how exposed and messy you are, but Sunghoon’s large hand plants flat on your sternum and pushes you right back down into the mattress. Firm. Unyielding. Possessive.

“Stay right there,” he says softly, almost sweet, but the edge underneath it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “We’re not done with you yet.”

Jay stops at the foot of the bed, looking down at the obscene picture you make: completely naked, skin flushed pink, thighs shiny with slick and cum, nipples tight and begging, pussy puffy and still leaking. He reaches out, fingers threading through the hair at your scalp, tightening until your breath hitches. He yanks your head back just enough to expose the long line of your throat, thumb stroking once over your racing pulse.

“You let him fuck you raw the second we left,” Jay says, voice low and dangerously even. “Without asking. Without waiting. Without even a text to let us know our pretty little slut was getting her cunt filled.”

His free hand slides down your body, possessive, claiming, cupping your soaked pussy like it belongs to him. Two thick fingers push inside without warning, rough and deep, curling hard against that spot that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes. You cry out, hips jerking, walls fluttering greedily around the intrusion.

Sunghoon watches with a mean little smile, one hand lazily stroking his own thick cock. “This pussy,” Jay continues, voice dropping to a growl as he pumps his fingers faster, “is ours. All of ours. You don’t get to decide who fills it first when we’re not here. Understand?”

You nod frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure already pricking your eyes. “Y-yes—fuck—yes, it’s yours—”

Sunghoon’s hand replaces Jay’s on your throat, long fingers wrapping around the column, squeezing just enough to make the edges of your vision sparkle and your cunt gush around Jay’s fingers. Not cutting off air. Just reminding you who’s in control.

“Good girl,” Sunghoon breathes against your ear, leaning down to bite your earlobe. “Now prove it.”

They move like they’ve choreographed this a hundred times in their heads.

Jay flips you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, face pressed into the sheets that already smell like sex, ass up high, back arched deep. He keeps one hand fisted tight in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bends in that perfect, aching curve. Sunghoon shoves your thighs wider apart, knees sinking into the mattress as he kneels behind you. His cock is flushed dark, angry, veins throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip as he lines up and slams in, deep, brutal, one single punishing thrust that punches the air straight out of your lungs.

You scream into the sheets, the stretch burning so good it borders on too much. Sunghoon doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a ruthless pace immediately, hips snapping forward, balls slapping wetly against your clit with every brutal drive, the wet squelch of your cum-filled pussy echoing obscenely. Jay releases your hair only to wrap his hand around your throat from the front instead, squeezing in perfect time with Sunghoon’s thrusts, thumb pressing under your jaw so you feel every heartbeat.

“Take it,” Jay growls, voice rough with arousal. “Every fucking inch. You wanted cock so bad you couldn’t even wait for all of us? Then you’re gonna take everything we give you, princess. Gonna let us ruin this greedy little hole until you remember who it belongs to.”

Sunghoon leans over your back, chest slick with sweat against your spine, one hand fisting your hair now while the other reaches around to slap your clit, sharp, stinging little taps that make you clench and sob. Jay’s free hand comes down hard on your ass, once, twice, three times, each smack leaving a bright red handprint that blooms hot across your skin.

“Whose pussy is this?” Jay demands, voice low and filthy.

“Yours—” you sob, voice cracking. “Yours—fuck—yours—Sunghoon—Jay—please—”

Sunghoon yanks your head back harder, lips brushing your ear as he pounds into you. “Say it louder. Let the whole fucking apartment hear who owns this cunt.”

The rhythmic slap of skin on skin, your choked moans, Sunghoon’s low possessive growls—“This tight little pussy is fucking mine”—carry clearly down the hallway.

In the living room, Heeseung has Jake pinned against the wall by the collar, fist raised, knuckles white with restraint. The first muffled scream from the bedroom makes them both freeze. Then another, higher, broken, needy. The unmistakable wet slap of Sunghoon’s hips. Jay’s dark chuckle. Your desperate, gagged whimpers around whatever they’re doing to your mouth now.

Heeseung’s fist slowly lowers. Jake’s eyes go wide, cock twitching visibly in his sweats.

Heeseung turns toward the bedroom door, expression unreadable but eyes burning.

Then they’re both moving, fast. 

They burst through the door just as Sunghoon buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. You’re a complete wreck: face down, ass up, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, tears streaking your cheeks, ass glowing red from Jay’s handprints, cunt stretched obscenely around Sunghoon’s thick cock, creamy cum from Jake and your own slick coating your thighs.

Heeseung stops at the foot of the bed, takes one long, possessive look at the scene, then climbs on without a word. 

“Move,” he tells Sunghoon, voice low and lethal.

Sunghoon slows just enough to pull out with a wet, filthy pop, thick strings of cum and slick connecting his cock to your gaping hole. Heeseung grabs your hips, flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing, and hooks your legs over his arms, folding you in half until your knees are by your ears. He lines up and slams in, harder, deeper, angrier than Sunghoon, bottoming out in one brutal thrust that makes you scream his name.

Jay pulls back from where he’d been feeding you his cock, letting you gasp for air, then moves behind you. Sunghoon shifts to your side, hand wrapping around your throat again, thumb stroking your pulse almost tenderly now.

Jay presses the blunt head of his cock against your ass, already slick from the mess dripping down, and pushes in slow, relentless, the burn intense and overwhelming as he stretches you open around him. Heeseung stays buried to the hilt in your pussy, holding perfectly still while Jay sinks deeper, until both of them are fully seated inside you, rubbing against each other through the thin wall, filling you so completely you can feel them in your throat.

You’re sobbing, overwhelmed, stretched to your limit, pleasure so sharp it hurts, in the best possible way.

“Breathe, baby,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice softer now, fingers loosening just enough on your throat. “You’re taking us so fucking well. Such a good girl for us.”

They start moving, slow at first, testing, letting you adjust to the impossible fullness. Then harder. Deeper. Alternating thrusts, Heeseung driving in while Jay pulls out, Jay slamming home while Heeseung retreats, until the rhythm syncs and they’re both fucking into you at the same time, stretching you open on two thick cocks with every synchronized thrust.

Jake stands frozen by the door, cock rock-hard again, hand wrapped tight around it, stroking himself slow and desperate, eyes wide and glassy with guilt and raw arousal. Sunghoon notices. His voice cuts through the wet sounds of flesh. “Watch, Jake. You started this. Now you get to watch how we remind her exactly who she belongs to.”

Jay’s fingers find your swollen, oversensitive clit, rubbing fast, rough circles that make your vision spark white.

“Come,” he orders, voice rough. “Come on both our cocks. Milk us. Show us who this perfect body belongs to.”

You shatter harder than you ever have, screaming, back bowing, spasming violently around both cocks, gushing slick down Heeseung’s shaft as your orgasm rips through you in endless waves. Heeseung comes first with a deep, broken growl of your name, flooding your pussy with hot, thick pulses. Jay follows seconds later, burying himself deep in your ass and filling you with rope after rope until it leaks out around his base. Sunghoon strokes himself twice, fast and rough, then spills across your stomach and tits in long, creamy stripes, marking you visibly.

They don’t pull out right away.

Just stay buried deep inside you, panting, sweating, chests heaving, holding you between them like something precious and thoroughly, beautifully ruined.

Heeseung leans down first, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your tear-streaked cheek. “Mine,” he whispers against your skin.

Jay echoes it against your shoulder, lips brushing the fresh bite mark Sunghoon left earlier. “Mine.”

Sunghoon’s fingers loosen completely on your throat, turning into gentle strokes along your jaw. “Mine too, princess. Always.”

You’re trembling, wrecked, full to overflowing, claimed in every possible way. And Jake, still standing by the door, cock leaking in his fist, eyes shiny with regret and desperate need, looks like he’s never wanted forgiveness more in his life.

The entire room smells like sex and sweat and something deeper, something dangerously close to devotion. None of them move to let you go. Not yet.

The room is thick with the aftermath, sweat, sex, the faint metallic tang of overstimulation hanging in the air like smoke. Your body feels liquid and heavy, every muscle spent, every inch of skin marked in some way: fingerprints blooming on your hips, faint red lines from Sunghoon’s grip on your throat, the slow leak of them all still inside you, warm and obscene between your thighs.

No one moves right away.

Heeseung is the first to shift. He eases out of you carefully, slow, deliberate, hissing softly at the drag. Jay follows, pulling out with the same measured gentleness, both of them watching your face for any flicker of pain. Sunghoon’s hand leaves your throat last, fingers trailing down your sternum in a soothing path before he sits back on his heels.

You’re trembling, small, involuntary shivers that ripple through you like aftershocks. Jay notices first. He reaches over the side of the bed, grabs the soft throw blanket that’s been kicked to the floor sometime in the last hour. Drapes it over your lower half, tucking it around your waist like he’s wrapping something fragile.

“Easy,” he murmurs. Voice low, rough from use. “We’ve got you.”

Heeseung slides off the bed, still naked, still glistening, and disappears into the en-suite bathroom. Water runs. A minute later he returns with two warm, damp cloths. One for your face, one for between your legs.

He kneels beside you. Presses the cloth to your cheek first, gentle swipes over tear tracks, then your swollen lips. You lean into it without thinking. Heeseung’s free hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking the base of your skull in slow circles.

Sunghoon moves to your other side. Takes the second cloth from Heeseung when he’s done with your face. Parts your thighs carefully, murmurs a soft “shh” when you flinch at the cool air, and cleans you with careful strokes. Between your folds, down your thighs, over the sticky mess on your stomach and chest. He’s thorough. Patient. Every pass of the cloth feels like an apology he doesn’t know how to say out loud.

Jake is still hovering near the door, shirtless now, sweats low on his hips, looking like he’s not sure he’s allowed to come closer. Heeseung glances at him once. Sharp. Then softer.

“Water,” Heeseung says. Not an order. Just a word. Jake nods, quick, grateful, and bolts. Heeseung turns back to you.

“Can you sit up a little?” You nod, weak, but willing. Jay helps, arm around your shoulders, easing you against the headboard. Pillows get rearranged behind your back until you’re propped comfortably. The blanket stays tucked around your waist; someone (Sunghoon) pulls the sheet up to cover your chest without smothering you.

Jake returns with a tall glass of water and, somehow, a small tray he must have grabbed from the kitchen. On it: a bowl of cut fruit (strawberries, mango, grapes, someone’s idea of “recovery food”), a few pieces of the chocolate they keep stashed in the fridge, a packet of electrolyte powder already stirred into a second glass.

He sets it on the nightstand. Doesn’t try to climb on the bed yet. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you might vanish if he blinks.

Jay picks up a strawberry first. Holds it to your lips.

“Open.”

You do. The fruit is cold, sweet, bursting on your tongue. Jay feeds you slowly, another strawberry, then a piece of mango. His fingers brush your bottom lip each time, wiping away juice with his thumb.

Sunghoon takes over with the chocolate. Breaks off a small square, places it on your tongue. Watches you melt it slowly, eyes dark but soft.

“You did so good,” he says quietly. Almost to himself. “Took everything we gave you.”

Heeseung handles the water, holds the glass to your lips, tips it carefully so you can sip without spilling. When you’ve had enough, he sets it aside and wipes your mouth with the edge of the sheet.

Jake finally moves closer, slow, like he’s approaching something skittish. He perches on the very edge of the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Voice small. “For earlier. For not waiting. For—” Heeseung cuts him off with a look. Not angry. Tired.

“Later,” Heeseung says. “She needs rest now.” Jake nods. Swallows hard. Jay reaches over, squeezes Jake’s shoulder once, firm, forgiving, then turns back to you.

“More?” he asks, nodding at the tray.

You shake your head. Full. Heavy-lidded. The ache between your legs has dulled to a low, satisfied throb; your limbs feel like warm honey.

Sunghoon takes the tray away. Sets it on the dresser.

Heeseung pulls the covers up higher, tucking them around your shoulders, smoothing the fabric over your chest. Jay adjusts the pillows again so you’re lying flat but elevated just enough. They surround you, four bodies, four sources of warmth, without crowding.

Heeseung lies on your left. Arm draped loosely over your waist. Not possessive. Protective. Jay on your right. Hand resting on your hip under the blanket. Thumb stroking idle arcs. Sunghoon stretches out at the foot of the bed, long legs hanging off the edge, head pillowed on your thigh like it’s the most natural place in the world.

Jake curls up against your legs, face tucked into the crook of your knee, one arm thrown over your shins like he’s anchoring himself there. No one speaks for a long minute. Just breathing. Slow. In sync.

Heeseung’s fingers find yours under the blanket. Laces them together. Squeezes once. “Sleep,” he murmurs against your temple. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Jay presses a kiss to your shoulder, soft, lingering. Sunghoon’s hand strokes down your calf, slow, soothing.

Jake mumbles something sleepy against your skin, too quiet to catch, but it feels like “thank you.” Your eyes flutter closed. The room smells like them, all of them, mixed with clean sheets and the faint sweetness of fruit. Just warm bodies. Gentle hands. Quiet promises. And the steady rhythm of four heartbeats lulling you under.

The idea starts innocently enough.

It’s been three days since the jealousy the three had that they claimed was just ‘heat of the moment’ but you knew better, and the apartment has settled into something dangerously close to domestic. Mornings are soft now, coffee passed hand-to-hand, lazy kisses traded over toast, rules quietly ignored unless someone’s feeling particularly mean. The fridge note is still taped up, but no one’s enforced them. It’s almost… normal.

Almost. Jay is the one who brings it up first. You’re sprawled across his lap on the sectional Sunday afternoon, legs tangled with Sunghoon’s, Jake’s head pillowed on your stomach while Heeseung scrolls through takeout apps from the armchair. Jay’s fingers are tracing idle patterns on your bare thigh, higher than friendly,lower than any action, when he says it.

“I want to take you out.”

The room stills. You lift your head from Jake’s hair. “Like… a date?” Jay’s mouth quirks. “Yeah. A date. Just you and me. Dinner. Somewhere nice. No roommates crashing.”

Sunghoon snorts without looking up from his phone. “Good luck with that.”

Heeseung glances over the top of his screen. “You’re asking permission?”

Jay shrugs. “I’m telling you. Friday night. She’s mine for the evening.”

Jake sits up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Wait—solo? Like, no sharing?”

Jay’s hand tightens on your thigh. “No sharing. One night. My rules.”

You feel the shift immediately, the air thickening with something possessive and unspoken. Heeseung’s jaw ticks once. Sunghoon finally looks up, eyes narrowing. Jake just pouts. But no one argues. Friday comes fast.

Jay picks the restaurant himself, small, upscale Italian place downtown. Dim lighting, velvet booths, candles that cost more than your old rent. He texts you the address at 6:45 p.m. sharp.

Jay: Wear something pretty baby ;) preferably no panties sweetheart

You roll your eyes at the winky face and the last obligation, but you obey anyway.

The dress is black, silk, short enough to make you nervous when you sit. Heels that click satisfyingly on the pavement. Hair down, lips red. When Jay arrives to pick you up, he stops dead in the doorway.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Steps close. Cups your face with both hands and kisses you slow, deep, claiming, tasting like mint and want. “You’re killing me.”

The drive is quiet. His hand rests high on your thigh the whole way, thumb stroking the inside seam, never quite reaching where you’re already wet. He doesn’t speak. Just smiles every time you squirm.

The restaurant is perfect.

A corner booth. Wine list thicker than a novel. Jay orders for both of you, pasta, seared scallops, tiramisu for later. His knee presses against yours under the table. His fingers brush yours when he passes the bread. It feels… romantic. Normal. Like you’re a real couple on a real date.

You’re laughing at some stupid story he’s telling about Sunghoon trying to cook once when the first text comes through.

Jake: picture of him pouting on the couch  

Jake: miss u already princess 😩

You snort. Show Jay. He rolls his eyes. “Ignore them.”

Another buzz.

Sunghoon: timestamped selfie, him shirtless in the kitchen, knife in hand, looking bored  

Sunghoon: hurry up. food’s getting cold here

Jay exhales through his nose. “They’re children.” Heeseung’s text is last.

Heeseung: Enjoy your date. We’ll behave.  

Heeseung: …mostly.

Your not sure what that means, you’re not sure if you want to find out. You laugh, soft, nervous, and slip your phone face-down. Jay reaches across the table. Takes your hand. Laces your fingers. “I meant it,” he says quietly. “Tonight’s just us. No crashing. No rules. Just you and me.”

You believe him. For about seven more minutes. The scallops arrive. Perfectly seared. You’re mid-bite when the restaurant door opens. And four familiar silhouettes step inside. Jake first, grinning like he invented mischief. Sunghoon behind him, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. Heeseung last, calm, collected, scanning the room until his eyes land on you.

Jay’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.

“Motherfuckers,” he mutters.

They don’t hesitate. Jake slides into the booth beside you first, arm slung casually over the backrest, fingers immediately finding the nape of your neck. “Hey, princess. Fancy seeing you here.”

Sunghoon takes the seat next to Jay, long legs stretching out, forcing Jay to shift. “Nice place. Bit pretentious, though.”

Heeseung pulls up a chair from a nearby table, unapologetic, sits at the end like he owns the booth. “We were in the neighborhood.”

Jay’s jaw is so tight you’re worried it’ll crack.

“You said you would behave.”

Heeseung shrugs. “We are. We’re not fucking her on the table. Yet.”

Your face burns. Jake laughs, bright, delighted, leans in and kisses your cheek. Loud. Wet. “You look so pretty. Red lipstick’s a nice touch.”

Sunghoon reaches across Jay to steal a scallop off your plate. “He’s right. You do look fuckable.” Jay slams his fork down.

“That’s enough.” The table goes quiet.

Jay’s voice is low. Dangerous. “I said one night. Just me and her. You had your turns. Back off.”

Heeseung leans forward. Elbows on the table. “We’re not here to take her. We’re here to watch you try to have her all to yourself.” His gaze flicks to you, dark, heated. “And see how long it takes before she’s begging for the rest of us.”

Jake’s fingers tighten on your neck. “C’mon, hyung. Don’t be dramatic. We can share the appetizer.”

Sunghoon smirks. “Or the main course.”

You’re throbbing under the table. The silk dress feels too tight. The wine too warm in your veins. Jay looks at you, really looks. “Are you okay with this?”

You swallow. Meet his eyes. Then glance at the others. Then back to him. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “But… maybe we skip dessert here.”

Jay exhales, half-laugh, half-snarl. “Bathroom,” he says. “Now.” He stands. Pulls you up with him. The others don’t move. They just exchange knowing glances. Jake just grins. “We’ll keep watch.”

Jay drags you through the restaurant, hand firm on your lower back, past the bar, down the narrow hallway, into the single-stall bathroom at the end.

He locks the door. Spins you around. Pushes you forward until your palms slap the sink. The mirror is huge. You watch your own reflection, lips parted, chest heaving, dress already rucked up to your hips.

Jay’s behind you, fly open, cock hard and leaking. He doesn’t speak. Just yanks your dress higher, notches himself at your entrance, and thrusts in, hard. Deep. One brutal stroke that makes you cry out.

“Quiet,” he growls against your ear. Hand clamps over your mouth. “They can hear.” He fucks you like he’s proving a point. Fast. Rough. Hips snapping. The sink rattles. Your tits bounce with every thrust. His other hand fists your hair, yanks your head back so you’re watching yourself in the mirror.

“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking it so good. Even when they crash. Even when I try to keep you to myself.”

You moan into his palm, muffled, desperate.

He reaches around. Finds your clit. Pinches. Rolls. Hard.

“Come,” he orders. “Come on my cock before they barge in.”

You do, fast, violent, clenching around him so hard he swears. He follows seconds later, burying deep, spilling hot inside you with a choked groan.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just holds you there, chest to your back,breathing ragged. Then he kisses your shoulder. Soft. Apologetic. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t help it.” You laugh, shaky, wrecked.

He pulls out slowly. Fixes your dress. Wipes between your thighs with paper towels from the dispenser. When you open the door, Jake’s leaning against the opposite wall. Arms crossed. Smirking. “Took you long enough.”

Jay glares. Jake pushes off the wall. Steps close. Kisses you, quick, filthy, tasting Jay on your tongue. “My turn to watch the door,” he says. “Go wait in the car. Round two’s on us.”

Jay takes your hand. Leads you out, past the hostess who definitely knows what just happened, into the cool night air.

The car is parked in the back lot, tinted windows, engine already running. Sunghoon’s in the driver’s seat. Heeseung in the passenger. Both turn when you climb in the back. Sunghoon’s eyes drop to the wet spot on your dress. Smiles, slow, predatory.

“Missed the show?” Heeseung reaches back. Pulls you onto his lap. “Plenty of time for round two,” he murmurs against your neck. Jay slides in beside you. Jake climbs in last, locks the doors. The engine starts. And the night? The night is far from over.

The black SUV idles in the shadowed back lot behind the restaurant, engine a low, steady rumble beneath the distant pulse of music leaking from the outdoor speakers. Tinted windows seal the interior into a private world, leather seats already radiating warmth, the air heavy with Jay’s cologne, the sharp bite of expensive whiskey on their breath, and the unmistakable, intimate musk of sex that still clings to your skin.

You’re straddling Heeseung in the center of the back seat, silk dress shoved up around your waist, thighs spread wide over his hips. His dark jeans are damp where your leaking cunt has pressed against him. Heeseung doesn’t flinch. His hands are beneath the fabric, broad palms cupping your bare ass, fingers spreading you open with deliberate care, holding you exposed and vulnerable in the dim glow filtering through the windows.

Jay sits to your left, shirt untucked, collarbones still flushed, lips swollen and red from the way he’d fucked you against the marble sink in the bathroom minutes earlier. Sunghoon occupies the right side, long legs stretched out, one hand already working the thick outline of his cock through tailored slacks, eyes fixed on the sight between your thighs. Jake has twisted around in the front passenger seat, forearm braced on the headrest, gaze dark and unblinking.

For several long seconds, no one speaks.

Only the rhythm of heavy breathing, the soft creak of leather as bodies shift, the faint metallic tick of the cooling engine. Then Heeseung’s voice, low, gravel-rough, breaks the silence against the shell of your ear.

“You’re still dripping him,” he murmurs, one hand sliding from your ass to slip between your legs from behind. Two fingers push into the slick, swollen heat of your cunt, gathering Jay’s release and pressing it back inside with slow, unhurried strokes. The wet sound is obscene in the confined space. “Can feel it leaking out. Can’t let that go to waste.”

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, inner walls fluttering, a soft, helpless whimper slipping past your lips as your hips twitch forward. Jay’s hand joins Heeseung’s without hesitation. Four fingers now, stretching you wider, scooping the thick cum deeper, curling against the front wall until your breath hitches sharply.

“He’s right,” Jay says, voice quiet but edged with something darker, more possessive. “We should keep you full. All night. Every time one of us finishes, the next one pushes it right back in.”

Sunghoon leans in closer, breath ghosting hot along the side of your neck. His voice is velvet and steel. “Full until it takes. Until you’re so thoroughly bred there’s no question who put it there.”

The words hit like a physical blow, low in your belly, sharp and electric. Your cunt clenches hard around their fingers, a fresh gush of slick coating their knuckles.

Jake’s eyes widen in the front seat. “Fuck—did you just—”

“I said,” Sunghoon repeats, slower, darker, each syllable deliberate, “full until it takes. Until this perfect little cunt is swollen and leaking and carrying exactly what we give it.”

Heeseung’s free hand slides up to cradle the front of your throat, not squeezing, simply holding, thumb resting over your racing pulse. “You like that thought, don’t you?” he asks softly, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. “All four of us pumping you full, one right after the other. No pulling out. No wasting a single drop. Just letting it stay deep until your body has no choice but to keep it.”

You nod, frantic, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes because the fantasy is suddenly too vivid, too real, too close to everything your body has been silently begging for.

Jay’s fingers crook harder, pressing ruthlessly against that spot that makes your vision blur. “Use your words.” 

“I want it,” you gasp, voice cracking. “Want you to, to breed me. Fill me until I can’t take any more. Until it’s all inside me. Please—”

A chorus of low, guttural groans fills the car. Heeseung lifts you just high enough to shove his jeans and briefs down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He doesn’t tease. He simply guides you down onto him in one long, controlled descent, stretching you open around his length until your ass meets his hips and he’s buried to the hilt.

You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearms.

“That’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take every inch. Take every fucking drop I’m about to give you.” He begins to move, deep, rolling thrusts that grind the head of his cock against your cervix with punishing precision. Jay’s hand stays between your legs, fingers circling your clit in tight, relentless loops while Heeseung fucks up into you with measured force.

Sunghoon has already freed himself completely, long, elegant fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking slowly, eyes never leaving the place where Heeseung disappears inside you over and over. “My turn comes next,” he says, voice low and certain. “I’m going to add to it. Make sure nothing escapes.”

Jake’s hand is inside his own pants now, stroking himself in perfect time with Heeseung’s rhythm, breath coming in short, ragged pants. “Look at her,” he mutters, almost reverent. “So fucking desperate to be filled. Greedy little thing.”

Heeseung’s pace builds, hips snapping up harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the car. “I’m going to come inside you,” he warns, voice strained. “Going to flood this tight cunt until it’s overflowing. You ready for it?”

“Yes—please—Heeseung—”

He buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a long, broken groan, hot, thick pulses painting your walls, filling you so completely you feel the pressure build behind your navel. Even as you clench down hard, trying to keep it all in, the excess begins to leak out around his base, coating his balls and dripping onto the leather.

He doesn’t pull out. He simply holds you there, still hard, still buried deep, while Jay shifts.

Jay moves to kneel on the seat beside you, one knee braced against the cushion. He nudges Heeseung’s softening length aside just enough to press his own cock against your already-stretched entrance. The stretch is immediate, two thick cocks forcing their way inside the same slick channel, rubbing against each other through the thin barrier of your walls. You scream, muffled against Heeseung’s shoulder, body shaking violently.

Jay fucks into you with short, brutal thrusts, the friction almost unbearable. “This pussy is going to take all of us tonight,” he growls, voice rough with possession. “Going to be so full of cum you’ll feel it moving inside you every time you breathe.”

Sunghoon reaches over, fingers finding your clit again, pinching, rolling, tugging, pushing you higher and higher while Jay pounds relentlessly.

The orgasm crashes through you without warning, sharp, blinding, walls spasming so violently around both cocks that Jay swears under his breath. His hips stutter, then slam forward one last time as he comes, hot spurts mixing with Heeseung’s release until you’re overflowing, thick rivulets running down your thighs and soaking the seat beneath you.

Sunghoon doesn’t give you time to recover.

He yanks you off both of them, strong hands manhandling you onto all fours across the wide back seat, ass presented high, face pressed into Heeseung’s lap. He lines up and drives in with one punishing thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single motion that forces the air from your lungs.

“This cunt is getting bred tonight,” he snarls, voice low and dangerous. “I’m going to pump you so full you’ll be leaking for days. Every step you take tomorrow, you’ll feel us still inside you.”

He fucks like it’s a claiming, like he needs to imprint himself deeper than the others. One hand fists your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arches sharply. The car rocks with the force of his thrusts.

Jake climbs over the center console into the back, kneeling in front of your face. He guides his cock to your lips. You open for him immediately, taking him deep, sucking with sloppy, desperate hunger while Sunghoon rails you from behind.

Sunghoon comes with a guttural sound, hips locked flush against your ass, flooding you with another hot load until it spills out around his base and runs in sticky trails down your inner thighs.

Jake pulls free from your mouth, strokes himself twice, and spills across your lower back in thick, warm ropes, marking your skin. They rotate again, Heeseung sliding back in, then Jay, then Sunghoon, each one adding more, fucking it deeper, pushing it against your cervix with every thrust until you’re trembling, sobbing, body overwhelmed and exquisitely full.

When the final round ends, Sunghoon pulling out with a wet, filthy sound, a fresh gush of cum following, your legs give out completely. You collapse forward onto Heeseung’s chest, shaking, panting, utterly spent.

Jay reaches into the center console and withdraws a small black velvet pouch. Inside are three plugs, smooth black silicone, flared bases, graduated sizes. Heeseung selects the largest, coats it generously in the creamy mess still leaking from you, then presses the blunt tip against your swollen entrance.

“Gonna keep every drop where it belongs,” he murmurs, voice soft now, almost reverent. He works the plug in slowly, watching your face the entire time, until it pops past the rim and settles deep, the weight immediate and grounding.

Jay takes the smaller one, slicks it with the same care, and presses it gently but firmly into your ass. The dual fullness is overwhelming, possessive, complete.

Sunghoon cleans between your thighs with a packet of wipes from the glovebox, slow, careful strokes that feel almost tender after everything. Then he helps you sit up, smoothing your dress back down over your hips, fingers combing gently through your tangled hair. The car falls quiet again. They surround you, Heeseung’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, Jay’s hand resting warm and steady on your thigh, Sunghoon’s fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm, Jake leaning over the seat to press close from the front. After a long stretch of silence, Jake speaks, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “We don’t want anyone else,” he says simply. “Not ever. Not like this.”

Jay nods once. “You’re not just something we fuck. You’re ours. Completely. For everything.”

Sunghoon’s fingertips brush the line of your jaw, tilting your face toward him. “We thought we could keep it light. Keep some distance. Pretend it didn’t matter.” He exhales, the sound almost pained. “We were wrong.”

Heeseung’s hold tightens, lips brushing your temple. “No one else touches you. No one else fills you. No one else gets to love you the way we do.” The word, love,lands soft and heavy, undeniable. You turn your face into the warm curve of Heeseung’s neck, feel the first tear slip free, not from pain, not from overwhelm, but from the sudden, terrifying certainty that this is exactly where you want to be.

“I don’t want anyone else either,” you whisper against his skin. They exhale as one, like they’ve been waiting weeks to hear it. Jake leans farther over the seat, presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good.” Jay draws you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.

Sunghoon drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, still warm from his body, carrying his scent. Heeseung climbs over the console, settling in the driver’s seat, he glances up at you through the rear view mirror, starts the engine, and pulls out of the lot with careful precision. The drive home is quiet. The plugs shift inside you with every turn, constant, heavy reminders. Their hands stay on you, gentle now, grounding.

When you reach the apartment they carry you inside, Heeseung’s arms strong and sure, straight to the largest bed. They undress you slowly, silk peeled away, heels slipped off, every movement careful and deliberate. They clean you again, warm washcloths, soft touches that linger.

Then they slide into bed around you, skin on skin, bodies fitting together like they were made for it. Heeseung at your front, chest pressed to yours, one leg thrown possessively over your hip. Jay at your back, arm wrapped securely around your waist, lips brushing your shoulder. Sunghoon curled lower, head resting on your thigh, long fingers tracing soothing circles. Jake pressed to your side, fingers laced tightly with yours.

No words. Just the slow, even rhythm of their breathing syncing with yours. Until the plugs feel less like possession and more like quiet promise. Until sleep finally claims you, safe, full, irrevocably claimed. Your dreams aren’t about running. They’re about staying.

perm taglist:

“That was amazing!” you yelled as you ran towards Taehyun, who just made the winning shot right at the buzzer. It was forty to forty-three, the home team taking the championship. You jumped into his arms and he spun you around, his hold on you tightening. He was dripping with sweat, but you didn’t care one bit. Taehyun put you back down on your feet and you took a step back to get a good look at him. “That,” you started, catching your breath a little, “was amazing! You got it on the buzzer too!”

Taehyun smiled at you as he looked over at his cheering teammates who were still on the basketball court. They caught sight of the two of you and he waved them over. “Wasn’t it?” Taehyun asked rhetorically. “I wasn’t even expecting it—I wasn't even thinking when I shot from halfway across the court, but it went in anyway!”

You pulled his attention back down to where you stood next to him so you could kiss him. Taehyun smiled into the kiss, rocking you back and forth for a moment before the two of you parted just in time to be engulfed by the rest of the team.

Sweaty limbs were all over you and the air around you was filled with laughter. It was such an electrifying moment, that you couldn’t help but feel like you were part of the team. Taehyun liked to call you his “good luck charm.” He claimed that whenever you were at one of their basketball games, which most of them, that they always won. You’d like think that it was just their pure talent, but you bathed in how the team hoisted you up onto their shoulders and chanted, “Good luck charm! Good luck charm!” Some even went as far to tell the opposing team to suck it.

You were laughing so hard that your stomach was hurting, but the night was far from over. The celebrations have only begun.

Taehyun pulled you to where him and his close friends on the team stood and away from the rest of the team who were now making their way to the locker room. Yeonjun pulled you into his sweaty side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “So, are you gonna reward us for winning the championship?” Yeonjun asked with a flirty tone, looking down at your frame.

Taehyun made a face as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest. “What the fuck, man? She’s my girlfriend!” Taehyun said, disgusted. Yeonjun just laughed at him, the other four boys joining in. The smile grew on your face and you buried it into Taehyun’s chest.

“That didn’t seem to be a problem last game,” Beomgyu replied. Taehyun’s disgusted attitude dropped and he harshly nudged Beomgyu away. He fought the smirk on his face as he pushed away the boys and kept you at his side.

Yeonjun yanked you into his chest, his hands traveling down to cup your ass. “Come on,” he dragged out, “It was so much fun last time, wasn’t it?” Yeonjun leaned down and whispered the latter half of his sentence in your ear as his hands traveled back up your body. “You can’t even deny it, we were all there. We could start right now—right in the locker room.”

Beomgyu pulled you away from him, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder. “At least treat her like a lady, Yeonjun!” He hissed at him.

“She wasn’t asking to be treated like a lady when we were all inside of her,” Yeonjun threw back. The group laughed and heat rose to your face as you thought about what happened between the six of you at their last game. Flashes of a hotel room crossed your mind and you could almost feel the stickiness and the sweat all over your skin. You crossed your legs at it, laying your head on Beomgyu’s shoulder to try and focus on the conversation that they were having.

“You two are quiet, what are you thinking about, huh? Thinking about how you’ll try to last longer than five minutes this time?” Beomgyu asked Soobin and Kai, the vibration of his voice travelling down your side. The boys laughed and Soobin and Kai grew red. “Or maybe they’re thinking about different positions to put her in when it’s their turn…” Beomgyu trailed mockingly, and Kai laughed.

It was a little embarrassing how they were talking about all of this so out in the open, like they werent even aware that there were others still around them. Fans of both teams were passing you by, staring with wide, lustful eyes at the teammates and they didn’t even give them a single look. They were completely tuned in to the conversation they were having about putting you into different positions and splitting you completely open like it was just another day, like they were talking about the weather.

They didn’t even mind that they were talking about you in front of you either. “Yeah,” Kai started a bit awkwardly, “Maybe this time I’ll just have her suck me off. Maybe deepthroat her?” Soobin then hurriedly chimed in, “Dude, you’ll be missing out! Her pussy is heavenly, I’ve never felt anything like it before.” While they talked, Beomgyu’s hands trailed lower and lower until his thumb was playing with the hem of the skirt you wore. Occasionally he dipped it under and rubbed his thumb along the smooth skin there.

“All that I know,” Taehyun spoke over the others, his voice a bit louder than before and catching the attention of a group that walked past you all, “is that she’s my girlfriend, so I get to finish her off completely.” You cringed a little at how the passing group’s eyebrows raised at the innuendo.

Yeonjun snorted at Taehyun’s words, “Not that there’ll be much left when we’re done with her.”

Taehyun glared at him. “Fine, then we’ll go oldest to youngest.” The group groaned, but Yeonjun smirked at you, his eyes trailing you up and down and stopping at Beomgyu’s thumb at the hem of your skirt. His nose twitched a bit before he looked away.

“How is that any fair?” Kai asked. Soobin quickly cut in, “You said that you just wanted to deepthroat her! You don’t need her to be not fucked out for that, Kai.”

Kai rolled his eyes at him, muttering under his breath. “Let’s go then,” Yeonjun spoke, walking up to you and pulling you from Beomgyu’s grasp. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t even realize that the others are there once I’m done with you. I hope you like me being rough.” He looked back at you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your hand in his as you followed him like a waiting puppy. “What am I even saying? Of course you do. Let’s hope your boyfriend doesn’t get too jealous.”

The six of you walked back to the locker room, chuckles and muttered words leaving your lips at each twist and turn of the way there. The closer you got to it, the more your heart raced. For some reason, this time made you more nervous.

When they jokingly purposed the idea last time—which was mainly Yeonjun’s doing—it was all excited nerves and fiery skin. The thought of them all taking turns being inside you thrilled you, especially since you found them all attractive. That time was them just testing the waters, seeing how far you would let them push your buttons until you pushed them away. After all, you were still Taehyun’s girlfriend. This time, however, all bets were on the table, all opportunities. And this wasn’t just any regular win—this was the championship win. The big, golden shiny medal. And you were the celebration, the prize.

To say you were excited and nervous was an understatement, and the boys weren’t shy on voicing exactly what they wanted to do to you either.

Yeonjun pushed the locker room door open and that zealous feeling overwhelmed you. Thankfully, the rest of their teammates have already filed out, most likely doing interviews somewhere in the building. The room was completely empty—not that you would have cared if you had a broader audience at this point—and Yeonjun looked back at where you stood in the doorway and smirked. “Looks like I got you all to myself.”

“We’re all still here, dipshit,” Taehyun scoffed, taking your hand and leading you further into the room. He walked you to the bench near the lockers and motioned for you to sit. “Take your clothes off,” he then said, his voice soft, as he looked up at his teammates getting their stuff together around the room. You did as he said, shaky fingers excitedly tugging at the hem of your shirt. Taehyun pulled at the collar of his jersey behind his neck before taking it off all in one motion. He tossed it down onto the bench next to you before moving to grab his things from his locker.

You were wiggling the skirt you were wearing down your legs when Kai appeared in front of you. He trapped you against him with his arms at the sides of your body with a teasing smile. Kai was shirtless too, and you looked down at the way his abs tightened with his laugh. He leaned in closer to you, and in a low voice he said, “You’re eager.”

“What girl wouldn’t be?” you responded, your lips brushing up against his with each word you spoke. Kai chuckled again, shaking his head a little, before he pressed his lips to yours. You leaned more into the kiss and your tits pressed up against his chest. Your arm wrapped around his torso to pull him closer as your lips parted to give him more access to your mouth.

Kai graciously accepted your invitation, groaning into your mouth like its been ages since he’s kissed anyone. His hand moved to the top of your thigh and your back practically arched at the electrifying touch, at the hint of what was to come. “Please,” you muttered into his mouth, the sound coming out muffled, but Kai heard you anyway as his hand trailed to your inner thigh.

It was like the two of you were the only ones in the room. You didn’t care one bit that you were suppose to be with Yeonjun right now instead of Kai. The rules flew completely out of the window as soon as Kai’s lips were on yours. All you wanted to do was show him just how well you could use your mouth, and you were sure that Kai was wondering about the thought as well. The only person you sucked off besides your boyfriend was Beomgyu, and he made sure to show the rest of the group how deep your throat could take his big cock. “Wow, Taehyun… you really trained her to take dick well! I wasn’t expecting this,” Beomgyu remarked as the sound of you gagging and the other boys’ moans filled the hotel room as they got themselves off at the sight of it.

You remembered looking at Kai then, tears streaming down your hot face and saliva dripping down your chin. It must’ve stuck with him this whole time.

Before you and Kai could go any further, he was ripped away from you with a short gasp. Yeonjun had a tight grasp in Kai’s damp ashy blonde hair and his eyes held a fury unlike anything you’ve seen from him before. He was completely naked, save for a towel haphazardly thrown over his shoulder, and you greedily took him in despite him not sparing you a single glance. His focus was completely on Kai.

“Do I have to teach you a lesson on waiting your turn?” Yeonjun hissed in Kai’s ear, his grip tightening. Kai winced, but shook his head at the question, breathing out a quick “No!” Yeonjun pushed him to the side and away from where you still sat on the bench, half naked and panting with desire as you watched the scene unfold. Your cheeks were burning, but not because you were embarrassed at being caught. You wanted Yeonjun to turn his attention onto you next, to scold you too.

You quickly looked around the room. The rest of the boys were in various stages of being naked too, their items scattered as they put stuff away and got ready for their celebration. Taehyun caught your attention from across the room. His boxers were hanging low on his hips and his sweaty hair was pushed back off of his forehead to dry out of his eyes. He just shook his head at you, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Taehyun already knew what you were trying to do, it came as no shock to him. You smirked and hid it by biting your lips as you looked back to Yeonjun.

Yeonjun looked over his shoulder at your boyfriend, “I knew your girl was a slut, but I didn’t know it was to this extent. Can’t even get my hands on her before she’s flying to someone else.” Finally, Yeonjun turned to look at you, and you inhaled sharply.

His brows were drawn together and his face was twisted into one of almost disgust along with the underlying anger from catching Kai with you before him. Yeonjun’s lips were pulled back in a mocking smile that showed his teeth. It was almost embarrassing how hard you were breathing, how your chest rose and fell vigorously with how excited you were. You locked eyes with him, licking your lips as you wiggled to push down your soaked panties and let your skirt fall to the tile with it, and bared yourself to him completely.

Yeonjun just turned and walked away from you.

Your mouth fell open, and you hunched into yourself a bit. “Where are you going?!” Taehyun asked Yeonjun as he passed by him, annoyed on your behalf. Yeonjun’s answer was short in response, “To shower.”

Taehyun looked back at you for a moment and you stared at him with wide eyes. “What about her? It’s your turn!” Yeonjun walked back to where the showers were and threw his towel over the side of the wall. His other shower supplies were already sitting there. “Tell her to come on,” Yeonjun simply said and turned the water on.

Your gaze returned to Taehyun, hesitancy radiating off of you. He tilted his head back to where Yeonjun was showering and returned back to getting his stuff together. You sat on the bench for a moment before you stood on shaky legs.

The walk back to the showers seemed endless and the sound of the water only grew. You peeked around the wall to the shower Yeonjun was at to see his back was turned to you as the stream of water poured over him. “Yeonjun?” you called in a soft voice, stepping into the open shower. Your feet were met with warm water as you stepped closer.

Yeonjun turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes half closed so the water didnt drip into them. He ran his hands through his wet hair to get a better look at you and you lingered a couple feet from him. “Why are you acting so shy now? Come here,” he says while stepping out of the water a bit.

You don’t know why you were so shy either. Maybe it was the way Yeonjun turned from you like he didn’t want to fuck you, despite it all being his idea. Maybe it was because he was the only one who didn’t voice exactly what he wanted to do to you besides asking if you liked him being rough. The showers weren’t what you were imagining when he said “rough,” and you struggled to picture how you’d even manouver in here.

When you were right in front of him, Yeonjun didn’t hesitate to bring you closer. He hugged your naked body tight to his and roughly kissed you like he had a problem.

Yeonjun drowned out your gasp by sticking his tongue inside your mouth instead at the golden opportunity. His hand was on the back of your neck so you couldn’t move from his hold, his fingers tangled in the strands of your hair as your lips moved as one. You couldn’t help but moan, and that seemed to egg Yeonjun on even further as he pushed you up against the wall and away from the water completely.

He pulled away from you, just mere inches so your face was fully in his view. “Never do that again,” he said lowly. That same anger from earlier lingered deep within it, but you decided to act clueless to it anyway. You look up at him with big eyes, glancing at how his lips were wet with your shared saliva and how it still connected the two of you. “Do what again?” you asked innocently.

Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed at you, not as amused as Taehyun would be if it was the two of you in this situation. “Don’t play dumb with me,” Yeonjun said in response. “You’ll only piss me off more. You know what I’m talking about.”

You just smiled at him, your hands running up his abs and towards his chest. “What if I like pissing you off, hm?” You leaned in closer so your lips were just against his. “What if I think it’s hot?”

Yeonjun’s hand at the back of your neck pulled at your hair just before your lips could fully connect. His gaze was dark, but the corners of his plush lips were raised ever so slightly at your confession. “I don’t like sharing,” Yeonjun spoke, his voice still low. “Especially not with them.”

Your smile grew and you had to resist the urge to laugh. “You don’t have much of a choice, now do you?”

Yeonjun chuckled, “That’s what you think.” He parted your legs with his knee. “They all have to fuck you after I do, not the other way around. By then, you’re already used goods. Not even that boyfriend of yours gets to have you first. You’re all mine.”

He settled his knee in between your legs, right against your heat. You bit down on your bottom lip as you tried to hold in your moan and you adjusted the way you stood. Slowly, you began to roll your hips, your gaze never leaving Yeonjun’s. You felt his cock twitch against your thigh and you smiled more. “What are you waiting for then?” you asked him. “I’m yours.”

Before you could even fully finish your sentence Yeonjun was kissing you again, rough and sloppy like he just wanted to shut you up. You moved your hips faster, the water from his shower making it easier along with just how aroused you were, as a moan spilled past your lips. Yeonjun swallowed it whole.

His hands moved down to your hips and he moved them against his thigh for you. Yeonjun bit down on your bottom lip and you whined, pulling away from his lips a little.

Your moans were loud, even over the abandoned shower stream. You turned to look behind you at the boys, your gaze scanning them all. Taehyun leaned against the wall that divided the lockers from the showers, completely naked like you all now were, an unreadable expression on his face. His cock was in his hand and he lazily stroked the base of it.

Soobin was the one who seemed the most unraveled so far. His cock was leaking and red and he stroked it with quick movements. Soft pants emitted from his open mouth and every so often he threw his head back when you moaned a particular way. Soobin’s hair stuck to his forehead with the effort he was exerting. He could barely stand up on his own two feet against the lockers.

Beomgyu was leaning against a locker a few feet away from him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He was the only one without his cock in his hands, but it still stood tall anyway. His arms were crossed against his chest and he seemed almost bored. You could tell he was expecting more action like how the last time was instead of Yeonjun hiding you behind a wall. Beomgyu didn’t dare to open his mouth and say anything about it, though.

Kai sat at the bench you were previously at, ears red with his barely controlled lust. He had a tight hold on the tip of his leaking cock as he rubbed it slowly. It looked like he was trying to savor every moment, edge himself on until it was finally his turn and he could cum down your throat instead. When you looked at him, he nearly jerked in his spot and his face grew redder.

It all turned you on even more, made your moans louder and your hips move faster. Yeonjun’s lips were on your neck, his teeth nipping at your unmarred skin before anyone else could. He was clearly staking his claim on you for the rest of them—and for everyone else once you were all done—to see. Yeonjun trailed sloppy kisses back up and over his work, relishing in how your body jerked each time your clit dragged along his thigh and his teeth grazed over the sensitive hickeys he just left. But, he wouldn’t just let you cum that easily, not when you weren’t even looking at him—focused on him.

Yeonjun pulled his knee out from under you and you would’ve fallen to the wet tile had his hands not been at your hips. Your gaze flew to his and the look on his face alone could’ve made you cum. His head was slightly tilted and his face was a perfect mask of calmness and composure, but you could see the cracks. Yeonjun’s jaw was tense as he worked it and his eyes were darker than ever. He didn’t even bother to move his black hair out of his eyes so you could really see how much you pissed him off.

Instead, Yeonjun dragged you back out to the lockers right in the center of all of the boys and pushed you down to the bench next to where Kai still sat. Kai hesitantly looked at the two of you before standing to his feet and moving to the other side of the wall where Taehyun stood. You ran your hands down your thighs, the skin still slightly wet from Yeonjun’s. He threw a leg over the bench next to you and roughly angled you to the side. You understood his intention and got on your hands and knees on the bench.

“Little slut is dripping,” Yeonjun says loudly, enough for the rest of the boys to perk up and lean to get a look as he pushes his hand down your back. Thr same hand smacks your ass before he’s spreading your pussy open more to get a better look. “Needy little thing, aren’t you? You’re so fucking desperate for cock that it has you clenching around nothing,” Yeonjun continues, rubbing his thumb in your wetness. You wiggle your ass back at him, but he just tsks.

“Stop teasing and just fuck me already,” You murmur through gritted teeth against your arms. You were already annoyed that he stopped you from cumming once, you didn’t need him dragging his teasing out.

Yeonjun just ignored you and ran the tip of his cock between your folds. The sound your pussy made was obscene and you heard Soobin groan in front of you as he rounded the bench to stare at it. You moaned into your arm, not wanting to give Yeonjun the satisfaction anymore, but that only seemed to piss him off more. Without warning, he fully pushed himself inside of you, his thick cock stretching you out so deliciously. You cried out as you were pushed forward from the force. “Fuck!” you gritted out, biting down hard on your lip. It just reminded you of how Yeonjun did the same thing minutes before and you moaned again.

“That’s it, baby, let them all know how good my cock feels.” Yeonjun didn’t miss a beat.

He didn’t start easy either, didn’t grant you with the slow drag of his cock that increased with each trust. Instead, Yeonjun was all rough edges and a quick pace. He held your hips in place and basically fucked you on his cock himself.

The sound of skin against skin and pleasurable moans bounced around the walls of the locker room. Not just from you and Yeonjun, but from all of you. If you were outside of the locker room right now you would’ve thought that an orgy was happening inside, not just two people fucking and the rest crowded around to watch.

You didn’t realize there were tears in your eyes until your chin was being grabbed and your head was being lifted. Your blurry vision barely made out Taehyun’s face, nor did you fully recognize that he was in front of you. You were too focused on Yeonjun’s cock splitting you open and the pathetic mewls and moans that left your mouth. Each thrust of his sent you flying forward before his rough grip brought you right back down on his length. It made you dizzy, and it made your knees weak with each wave of pleasure that hit you when the tip of his cock kissed your sweet spot.

A loud mix between a moan and a gasp was ripped from your throat when you felt Yeonjun’s fingers in your hair pulling you back towards his chest, still fucking you. His lips were near your ear and you heard his grunts clear as day. “Why don’t you tell your boyfriend how much of a cock-hungry bitch you are?” Yeonjun’s voice filled your ear. “How fucking pathetic you are on someone else’s cock? Go on—” Yeonjun gritted out each word with a perfectly timed thrust “—tell him.”

You shook your head as your nails dug into Yeonjun’s thighs, causing him to curse when they broke the skin. He laughed in your ear.

Yeonjun’s hand left your hair, and you almost whined at the loss. His grip against the strands hurt, but it hurt so good. It trailed along the side of your neck before sitting at the base of your throat. Yeonjun left it there for a moment, his other hand grabbing your hip so hard that you were sure it’ll leave a bruise, as he fucked into you with a laugh.

You could tell he was laughing at the way your heart rate picked up, at how you clenched around him so hard he struggled to fuck you at the same pace. “Such a dirty little slut…” Yeonjun trailed lowly into your ear, nibbling at your lobe a bit. “You like this, don’t you? Does it turn you on?”

Before you could even respond, even think, Yeonjun was wrapping his bicep around your throat and halting the breath from your lungs from the pure shock. He didn’t hold back—his arm around you was just tight enough to make you a little lightheaded and seeing stars. Your ears rang and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You didn’t even hear how much louder you suddenly got at the action, nor did you hear the orgasmic moans emitting from the other boys that you forgot were in the same room.

“Tell your boyfriend how much of a whore you are. Tell him how he could never make you feel like this, how forgettable he is. Tell him how you’re mine.” Yeonjun’s headlock got a fraction tighter with each sentence, teetering you right along the edge before throwing you over completely. Your pussy fluttered wildly around Yeonjun’s cock and his harsh thrusts that he refused to soften. You felt like putty in his arms, fully moldable for him, and he knew it—that was the worst part. “Tell him,” Yeonjun whispered in your ear, and you could hear his wicked smirk.

You completely unraveled, melted right into Yeonjun’s arms as your body shook and a moan that only could be heard in a cheap porno moved right through you. Cum spilled from out of you and around Yeonjun’s hard cock, but he just used it as a way to slip deeper into you.

“I’m a whore,” you spoke in a cracked voice, barely heard through your breathless pants and shallow moans. Your eyes fluttered closed from the ripples of pleasure as Yeonjun fucked you through your orgasm, his bicep still tight around your throat and his pace fast that sent you further into a haze. “And-And everyone’s forgettable and I’m yours. I’m yours…”

More tears fell down your cheeks as you felt Yeonjun’s cock throb inside of you. Your body moved on it’s own, getting all that it could from him as you circled your hips. That’s not what made Yeonjun’s head fall into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering and his grunts turning to almost pained moans, though. You sighed out another breathy moan, your eyes finally fluttering open as Yeonjun came inside of you.

Yeonjun’s thrusts finally slowed as he kept fucking you through his own orgasm, pressing wet kisses to the side of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. When he was milked dry, his arm left your throat and you fell forward onto the bench, barely catching yourself in time.

“That was so fucking hot,” you heard Beomgyu moan out. Your surroundings clarified in an instant and hit you full force. Your body felt weak, and the feeling only got worse when Yeonjun pulled out of you and your mixed cum dripped down your inner thighs. How were you supposed to go four more rounds if Yeonjun’s turn basically took you right out of the game?

You felt your ass being grabbed and being spread apart. Looking behind you on wobbly knees, you found Soobin’s nose practically shoved into your messy cunt. A layer of sweat stuck to you, and you suddenly wished that the building had better A/C.

A hand guided your face forward again, and you looked up to see your boyfriend in front of you. Taehyun smashed his lips against yours, not even bothering to disguise how much he wanted you right now. You’d bet he was regretting going from oldest to youngest right now. “Okay, baby?” he murmured against your lips, barely parting from you to speak. You nodded, too breathless to speak. Fingers gripped your chin and you were being pulled from Taehyun’s lips. Soobin’s face came into view, and he replaced Taehyun’s lips with his own.

Soobin’s big hand found your waist, steadying you up on your knees as you gained your strength back. You raised a hand to cup his cheek before running it through his hair to get it out of his face. Giggling as the two of you parted, you took in Soobin’s appearance—how red and hard his cock is, and how messy it and his stomach were with his own cum.

“You’re so messy already!” You laughed at him, the smile lingering on your face. Soobin’s smile was just as big, his sneaky hands coming to cup your breasts. “You are too!” he responded a bit awkwardly with a laugh. Soobin’s turn shouldn’t be long, if his cum splattered all over himself and pink-tinged cheeks was anything to go by.

You bit your lip a little as you looked at him, the corner of your mouth raising. You then adjusted yourself on the bench. Sitting down on the bench, you leaned back onto your hands as you spread your legs to give Soobin a full view of yourself, your eyes never leaving his wide ones. With how he was practically drooling over you, you would’ve thought that this was his first time seeing a naked woman—let alone the first time touching and being inside one.

It was surely a sight to see, cum messily smeared all over your folds and dripping down the insides of your thighs. The heat radiated off of your body and the thin sheen of sweat made you glisten, the fluorescent light of the locker room casted a spotlight onto you and made you glow. Soobin’s eyes hungrily took in every part of you like this was his last meal on death row, and he wasn’t going to waste any of it.

Soobin stepped towards you in a trance. He stepped over the bench so his long legs hugged it and made his way to your waiting body, cock throbbing and already leaking his precum. When he got to you, he grabbed the back of your thighs and pushed them to the sides of your body, mesmerized in the way your pussy spread open and your pretty entrance welcomed him in. Soobin grabbed his cock with one hand, giving it a couple rough tugs as he licked his dry lips.

“I’m ready for you,” you whispered, back arching a little despite not even being touched. “Please, put your cock in me already.”

Unlike Yeonjun, Soobin took his time with entering you. He let his fat cockhead stretch you out inch by inch, savoring the small whimpers you let out and how warm his cock gradually got from your heat. Soobin groaned, he could cum right then and there from the feeling, but he didn’t want to get teased again for cumming too fast.

Speaking of, Yeonjun’s voice cut through the mirage, “We all know you have five seconds in you, Soobin. Why don’t you hurry this along so the others can have their turn?”

You glanced over at him, brows knitted together from the feeling of cock getting deeper inside of you and filling you up. Yeonjun was leaning back against a locker behind Soobin, his head tilted to watch his cock enter you. His hand absentmindedly trailed along the marks you left with your nails in his thighs, the wounds angry and bright red. If they hurt, Yeonjun didn’t show it. You held his gaze for a moment before Kai spoke up.

“Maybe he’ll last longer this time,” he said, still in his same spot from Yeonjun’s turn. Taehyun was next to respond. “He’s already cum, like, twice—and he hasn’t even been inside her yet.” Beomgyu and Yeonjun laughed at that.

It was like Soobin didn’t hear them. He was too focused on the way he was buried so deep inside of you and still your pussy was sucking him in more. Slowly, he began to pull back out, groaning at his cock sliding against your walls. He pulled out until just the tip of him was still inside of you before slowly pushing back in. Soobin did this a few times, his speed gradually increasing until he found a steady rhythm to fuck you at.

The slowness of it all drove you crazy. It was such a change from your previous orgasm that your body needed more. You arched your back desperately for any sort of faster friction, wiggled and whined and moaned Soobin’s name so he knew how badly you needed more of him to no avail. Soobin pinned you down beneath him, pants falling from his lips as he hovered above you. “Stay still,” he demanded.

To satiate you, he rubbed a thumb into your clit as he fucked deeply into you slow and steady. His thumb went at a different pace than his hips did, the pad of it rubbing quick circles into your bundle of nerves. It made you jolt, like lightning struck you and you had come alive.

You wrapped your arms around Soobin’s neck to bring his lips to yours. The kiss was sloppy, the two of you too caught up in your moans of pleasure and catching your breaths to keep your lips together for too long. You felt the pressure build up in the pit of your stomach as it demanded to be unleashed.

Soobin’s pace increased as he started to chase his own release. He threw his head back, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as his hold on the back of your thighs tightened, and his hips moved wildly.

You choked back a moan, still entirely too sensitive from your previous orgasm, as you began to tremble. Your chest pushed into Soobin’s with the arching of your back. Before you could even get the words out you were cumming around Soobin’s cock.

Soobin let out a string of curses as he looked down to where your two bodies met—the both of you messy and painted white. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed as he quickly pulled out of you.

You whined at the sudden loss, pussy clenching around air. Soobin just groaned as he fisted his wet cock above you, the wet sounds almost too much. A small wave of disappointment hit you at not being able to feel him cum inside of you.

With a loud moan, white spurts of Soobin’s cum shot from his cock down onto your tits. He kept stroking himself until he was milked dry and you were even more of a mess and cum-covered. He sat back on his knees, his chest rising and falling roughly as he looked down at his work with a tinge of a smile.

He ran the tips of his fingers across your chest, smearing his cum along your perked nippes and down your stomach. His touch continued until he was dipping them between your folds and smiling when you started to squirm. “Her pussy is something else,” he said, mainly to the other boys—who were still recovering from their own highs—instead of you. Soobin pushed his fingers inside of you and watched how more cum spilled out. “It’s so addictive that I just want to keep fucking her no matter how spent I am.”

You grabbed onto the sides of the bench as you raised your hips towards his fingers, a loud whimper passing through your lips when they pushed in deeper. Your head was completely clouded, the only thing that broke through the haze was complete lust.

“It’s too bad your turn is over,” Beomgyu’s voice says before his face comes into view. He’s looking over you with a smirk before he’s grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. You wobble, and his hands find their way to your hips and gives them a little squeeze.

Beomgyu looks over you, at how you’re a mess of sweat and cum, and tsks while shaking his head a bit, “What am I gonna do with you?”

He almost played the question off as a worried one, like one finding a crying child with a scraped knee or something of the sort, but you knew his words had a different meaning. Beomgyu was wondering what position to put you in—one he hasn’t put you in before.

Beomgyu spun you around so your back is to his chest. His hands glide down your hips before he’s nudging your feet apart with one of his own. The boys come around the two of you so they’re all in front of you, red and eager cocks in their hands at the next portion of the show. Beomgyu wastes no time at prodding at your entrance with the tip of his leaking cock. He rubs it through your creamy folds before pushing himself inside of you with ease because of it. A small whine pushes through your lips and you stumble forward the slightest bit.

“Next time,” Kai says while licking his lips, “we should record this.”

The thought of a next time and the prospect of it being recorded made you clench around Beomgyu’s cock. He hummed at it, inhaling sharply as he started to chuckle. “You like that, don’t you?” he asks almost mockingly. His hands move to your elbows and brings them tight behind your back.

Beomgyu roughly thrusts into you, using your elbows to bring you back down onto his cock. “I can practically feel you heating up over it,” he smirks.

He was right, your body was alight with the idea. Your cheeks seared and you had to close your eyes from the slight embarrassment of it all since the boys were all in front of you, smirking and laughing in your face. A string of moans rang from you with each thrust Beomgyu gave to your poor spent cunt, tits bouncing with each stroke.

“Eyes open, baby,” Taehyun said, a tight grip on your chin. You swallowed hard and opened your eyes to look at him, causing a wicked smile to spread across his face. “That’s my good girl, you’re halfway done.”

Beomgyu wrapped an arm around your elbows, his other hand trailing down your thigh and leaving goosebumps before he lifted it in the air by your knee. You cried out at the sudden new angle and the boys let out various moans as the ducked down to see your pussy get fucked harder.

You were a loud, whimpering and moaning mess. The overstimulation was finally starting to kick in and tears formed at the corners of your eyes as you cried out Beomgyu’s name over and over, too dumb on his cock to say anything else. It just urged Beomgyu to go faster and deeper, and you could hear the grin in his voice when he said, “Yeah, just like that. Keep crying my name.”

When your words turned to sputters and your pussy fluttered around Beomgyu’s cock, his arm moved from where it was wrapped around your elbows and his hand ran along your breasts and up your throat to grab your chin in a vice grip. Beomgyu pulled your mouth open before sliding two fingers down your tongue slowly. Graciously, you sucked and licked them as they went further down your throat. You could taste Soobin’s salty leftover cum from your tits.

Beomgyu’s fingers were so far down your throat that when he fucked into you they would go deeper and make you gag a little. Each time a chorus of groans followed and you felt how hard Beomgyu throbbed inside of you. If he wasn’t holding you up right now you would’ve collapsed to the tile below already. Your body shook so vigorously that it was almost too much, but it felt so good.

“Beomgyu…” you cried around his fingers, vision becoming blurry. Your voice came out broken and muffled and through half a gag. You were seconds from breaking completely, stomach tight and legs wobbling.

The sound of sex penetrated the air. Creamy noises and whimpers filled your ears and you think this is the closest you’d get to heaven. You could tell that everyone was lost in it—sweaty backs leaned against walls and lockers and red leaking cocks, parted mouths that sang symphonies, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin. It was beautiful, a wonderful celebration for a grand achievement.

“Fuck, you were right, Soobin. Her pussy is addictive, I can’t get enough of it. Taehyun’s lucky he gets this whenever he wants,” Beomgyu groaned as he spoke through gritted teeth.

By some miracle, you and Beomgyu came at the same time and your body went completely limp in his arms. That didn’t stop him from fucking through the rest of his orgasm, his fingers still in your mouth making you gag as his cum pushed out from around his cock and down your leg that wasn’t in the air.

When he filled you up completely, he called his teammates over to get a closer look at the way cum spilled out of your pussy when he pulled out. Beomgyu pulled his fingers from your mouth and you inhaled deeply, leaning back against his chest to look up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re so pretty when you cry,” Beomgyu says, placing a chaste kiss on your swollen lips.

He ran his cock through your folds a couple of times, thrusting against your clit and laughing at how your whole body jolted from the sensitivity. “You’re lucky my turn’s over or I’d have you crying all night,” Beomgyu continued, pushing you from his chest.

You flew forward with a startled yelp before landing in Taehyun’s toned arms. He gave Beomgyu a quick glare before pulling you closer to him, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He leaned back a little to get a good look at your face. “Isn’t she so pretty?” Taehyun says, mostly to himself, as he wiped away your tears with the pad of his thumb. It was no use for what he was about to do to you.

“And she’s all mine,” Taehyun murmured, bringing his lips down to catch yours in a searing kiss.

“Not right now she isn’t,” Yeonjun scoffed, laughing afterwards.

Taehyun just ignored him, moving you back over to the bench so you could catch your breath. He threw a leg over it before sitting down, keenly fisting his cock as he looked up at you. Taehyun helped you over the bench before sitting you right on his cock. You had to bite your lip to not whimper.

“At the end of the day, she is my girlfriend. We’re just being nice enough to let you guys join us sometimes because it’s fun. Why are you trying to ruin that, Yeonjun?” Taehyun finally responded, his attention entirely focused on you as he spoke. You stared lovingly at him, completely in a trance as he touched you.

“Yeah, shut up before you ruin it for the rest of us,” Beomgyu chimed in.

Taehyun smirked at you when you leaned back on your hand and started to roll your hips towards his, moaning softly. “Besides, nothing any of you could do to her compares to what I can do to her. I know her the best,” Taehyun continued, grabbing your hips as his eyes fluttered shut.

Whatever comeback Yeonjun had died out when you placed your feet on Taehyun’s thighs and began bouncing on his cock.

“Oh my god,” Soobin drawled, the locker behind him ringing from his head being thrown back. You were almost sure he had fucked his cock raw by now.

Taehyun’s hips rose to meet yours and you nearly blacked out from how good it felt. You stopped bouncing, mewling at the feeling and already trembling. “Keep going,” Taehyun demanded, “I didn’t tell you you could stop.”

You lifted your hips until you were halfway up his cock slowly, body shaking the entire way. Taehyun thrusted upwards so he was fully inside you again. “Faster,” he said.

The way his voice sounded, the firm demands but soft tone threw you over the edge. You picked up the pace as best as you could until your arousal was splattering over Taehyun’s stomach with his strokes.

“Just like that, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

Your nails tried their best to dig into the polished wood of the locker room bench to no avail. If you were honest, it was a little embarrassing just how fast Taehyun could wrap you around his finger, especially in front of everyone else. He didn’t need to do these big displays or make you choke to show them how you belonged to him—though, he wasn’t opposed to doing that either. It was simple in the way your body responded to him, pushing itself past its limit just to do what he says.

You think you understood now why he decided to go from oldest to youngest this time—because the decision was all his. If it were anyone else, if it wasn’t him waiting near the end for you, you would’ve been passed out by now from exertion. Deep down, the others knew that. And from the last time the six of you did this, you knew deep down that Taehyun wanted to show that to Yeonjun.

Because you were his girlfriend, his to do whatever he pleased with—his.

Your hips jolted towards Taehyun’s and a whine left your lips. You thought that you were all stretched out already, but your boyfriend always managed to prove you wrong. His cock had you seeing stars and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer bouncing on it like this. Your body would completely give out once and for all from the intense euphoria. 

You began shaking your head but Taehyun just shushed you, his hand moving from your hip so he could rub circles in your swollen clit with his thumb. Your body reacted immediately and there was no warning you could give before you were shaking like a leaf and cumming with a vigor you haven’t felt thus far.

“Turn around for me,” Taehyun spoke, still circling your clit with his thumb and sending lightning through your body. 

You tried to move from him, but the other hand he had on your hip moved to your back and held you in place firmly. You shook your head more, “I-I can’t…”

Taehyun pulled you to him so you were chest to chest. He leaned down so his lips were at your ear, his thumb at your clit not stopping its mission to help overstimulate you more. “Don’t you want to show them how good you are? Do you really want me to punish you in front of them all?” Taehyun said in a low voice, pushing his cock in and out of you slowly. “You can,” he then said in a louder voice.

You bit your lip hard and pulled yourself off of his cock, knees almost giving out as you stood to turn around. Looking behind you, you watched Taehyun line himself up with your entrance before you sunk back down on him again, your lips parting in bliss. You sat back in his lap and placed your feet back on his thighs, shivering at the cold air on your cold and messy exposed cunt.

Leaning back against Taehyun’s chest, you looked up and kissed along his jawline. You grabbed his hand that was inching towards your clit again and brought it to your tit with a cheeky smile. You moved your hips in a circle, still not having quite the energy to start bouncing again yet.

Taehyun kissed your cheek and down your neck where Yeonjun’s marks had time to darken all while his hands moved to distract you. He started fucking into while one hand moved to play with your clit and the other came to wrap around your throat. Your heart rate picked up and immediately you were loud with the way your body felt. Taehyun’s hand just got tighter around your throat, squeezing at just the right places that made you feel extra cloudy and like you were floating.

“You think you’re funny?” he joked, grunting in your ear while fucking you harder.

You were in such euphoria that all of the pleasure almost hurt. Your hips bucked wildly on their own towards Taehyun’s hand and that motion nearly made you black out with his cock pistoning into you. But, you couldn’t stop, it all felt so good that you wouldn’t have it any other way—not that Taehyun would let you anyway.

Taehyun moaned when your pussy tried its hardest to completely suck in his cock, his pace slowing and his fingers at your clit halting with the effort of trying not to cum right then and there and spoil the rest of his turn. “Greedy little pussy,” he breathed, lips near your ear. “Feels so fucking good.”

Your hips still bucked, trying to get as much stimulation as possible despite it already being entirely too much. You needed more of him, needed his cock pounding into you harder. Head falling back on Taehyun’s shoulder, you gave him better access to your neck, which he didn’t take for granted. His hand moved further up throat, cupping around just the right spot to have you dizzy and squealing.

“S-Slow… down…” you managed to get out along with a string of broken curses. Your chest rose and fell heavily and your skin felt so hot that the two of you might start a fire right there. “Fuck,” you then loudly cried out, squirming.

Taehyun told you to stay still but you couldn’t. You were shaking so bad that had it not been for his cock inside you and the way you and Taehyun looked right now, it would’ve caused concernment. Your ears rang and you could barely hear how loud you were being nor Taehyun’s words. All you felt was his hands move and your body being shifted.

Taehyun wrapped his arms behind your knees before he brought them up next to your chest. His hands then sat at the back of your neck, locking you against him completely.

He didn’t slow, in fact, he fucked into you faster and harder. The sound of his cock fucking your pussy was pornographic, and it just spurred you forward and made you wetter. Your stomach tensed and untensed rapidly and you cried out Taehyun’s name over and over when you realized what was about to happen.

“Please, please, please, please—” you begged him, not exactly sure if you were begging him to slow down again or to keep going.

Your begging was of no use. Seconds later you were squirting halfway across the room with a loud squeal, body limp and shaking and covered in sweat. You clenched down around Taehyun’s cock so hard that he jolted, stilling inside you for a brief second at how tight you felt before fucking his cum inside of you nice and deep.

“Good fucking girl,” Taehyun praised you, his hips finally slowing and his grip around you ceasing. He brought his fingers back down to your clit and rubbed circles into it, shushing you when you started to whine his name. He kissed along your jaw before grabbing your chin and turning your head to kiss your lips. “You did so good for me, baby, I’m proud of you.”

Taehyun didn’t pull out of you until you stopped shaking, helping ease you along with his fingers at your clit. Though, when he finally did it almost sent you spiraling again. He held you close to his chest and although you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was grinning widely.

“What the fuck?” A voice spoke next to you, reeling you back to reality and sending the fact that there’s others still in the room back into your mind at full force. You had completely forgotten about Taehyun’s teammates with their cocks in their hands. “Why didn’t you tell us she could do that?!”

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked over at Kai’s bewildered expression and then over to the wide eyed looks of the other boys. Their eyes nearly popped out of their skulls.

Taehyun just shrugged. He gently closed your legs and moved them to the side so you could sit more comfortably.

“I've never seen a girl squirt in person before,” Soobin murmured, looking at you stunned. You just gave him a weak smile and chuckled a bit.

You heard Yeonjun scoff and without looking at him you could practically hear him rolling his eyes at Soobin. “You’re acting like it’s some rare commodity. It’s just squirting, it’s not that hard to do.”

Without missing a beat, Beomgyu asked him, “So then why didn’t you do it?”

As the boys argued around you, Taehyun made sure that you were alright. He had gotten one of the towels he brought and wet it so he could start cleaning you up so you didn’t have to finish the celebration with dried and sticky cum all over you making things uncomfortable. His hands were delicate, asking you if anything hurt every few seconds when he got between your legs. You shook your head and gave him a big kiss for being so sweet. If anything, besides feeling a little weak, you felt amazing.

You were standing, trying to stop the boys from a naked cat fight, when Taehyun pulled you over to him to stand between his legs. He brought his lips to yours roughly, sticking his tongue in your mouth, before turning you around and pushing you down to your knees. Taehyun called Kai’s name and beckoned him over to the two of you.

Taehyun grabbed your messy hair into his fist, angling your head back a bit. “She’s all yours,” he told Kai, who visibly gulped.

You smiled up at him, licking your lips, before you grabbed onto his already throbbing and leaking cock. You used his precum, and already previous rounds, to stroke him with a firm grasp. When you got to the tip of his cock, you ran your thumb along the slit of it and Kai moaned while pushing his hips towards your hand.

Pumping Kai’s cock a little more, you brought your lips to the tip of it and circled your tongue around the fat cockhead. Slight saltiness hit your tastebuds, but you didn’t mind. In one swift motion, you took Kai’s length down your throat, bobbing your head as you sucked in your cheeks. The tension at your head from Taehyun’s tight grip on your hair made you moan, and Kai nearly toppled over from the vibrations of it.

You pulled your mouth off of him inch by inch slowly, his cock leaving your mouth with a ‘pop!’ It hit against your lips and you smiled up at Kai. 

“Her mouth is nearly as good as her pussy,” Kai breathed. His head was thrown back and his eyes were shut. You saw the way his chest rose with staggered breaths and the way his abs tightened each time you touched him. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, hands focusing at the base of his cock.

Flattening your tongue, you licked a stripe underneath Kai’s length from the base of it to his tip before taking him in your mouth fully again. You liked seeing him squirm.

This time you were rough and sloppy sucking his cock. You took Kai as far down your throat as you could, but Taehyun pushed your head down farther until you gagged. He would pull you back up by your hair just a little before doing the same thing over again.

Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin, but you kept your stare up at Kai. He was too flustered to look down at you for longer than a minute. His ears were bright red and his cheeks were flushed a soft pink to match. You dug your fingers into his toned thighs and bobbed your head faster.

“Ah, my god,” Kai groaned. He brought his hands to the top of your head and his hips pushed into your face. “Your mouth feels so good, so warm.”

Each time your mouth moved up Kai’s cock, he thrusted into your mouth to bring it back down, making you gag without Taehyun’s assistance. Slowly, Kai started to fuck himself with your mouth without you having to move. His hands dug down to your scalp and he moved your head back and forth for you.

Kai hummed, brows knitted together before his hips jerked and he stopped. You gagged at the sudden movement and he squeezed his eyes shut. You felt him twitch inside your mouth and behind you Taehyun laughed at him.

“God, I hate you guys,” Kai gritted out, trying his best not to cum down your throat yet. His words just got him teased by the rest of the group.

You gagged again loudly when Kai started to fuck your throat, his strokes fast and sloppy as he pushed his cock down halfway your throat and held your head in place with his hands.

Moaning around his cock, you shifted on your knees and dug your nails in his thighs as arousal dripped down your pussy and onto the tile.

“Why are you acting like you’ve never fucked someone’s throat before?” Taehyun asked Kai incredulously. Kai didn’t answer for a moment, pure bliss and your wet mouth drowning out the words. “I-I don’t want to hurt her…” he trailed.

Taehyun laughed, “You won’t. Fuck her face harder.”

Kai didn’t hesitate, he grabbed your head and roughly brought it down his cock fully, his balls slapping against your chin and his abs tensing more at the way you gagged around him. 

Kai’s cock barely left your mouth and you did nothing but gag around his length, pussy clenching around absolutely nothing. Kai was sent into pure euphoria as he used your mouth as his own personal fleshlight, and with Taehyun’s permission he didn’t hold back.

You breathed hard through your nose all while Kai’s cock throbbed in your throat. He looked down at you, at the way you looked up at him with big, watery eyes and tears streaming down your face, at how drool dripped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin and onto your pressed together thighs, it made him completely unravel and moan like he hasn’t done since the first time he fucked you. Kai threw his head back again, sloppy thrusts quickening.

Moments later, he was holding your head down and spilling his cum down your throat. He relished in the way you choke on his cock and the pain in his thighs from your nails digging in it. “Shit,” Kai sighed, shoulders dropping in relief.

He pulled his cock out your mouth slowly, breath hitching at the way your cheeks hollowed more with every inch. You swallowed thickly, the salty taste of his cum lingering behind. Taehyun tilted your head towards him and you stuck out your tongue to show him you swallowed it all, then turned back to Kai to show him too.

“Jesus, where did you find this girl, Taehyun?” Beomgyu asked, running a hand through his hair before him and the rest of the boys came near you.

Taehyun stood to his feet, the corner of his mouth raised as he looked down at you.

They all came close to your face, their throbbing cocks in their hands and they began fisting them rawer than before above your face. You shut your eyes, tongue still hanging out of your mouth and waited patiently, mouth lifted into a smile. There was a chorus of groans and whimpers above you and it made you want to start the whole celebration over again. It made you a little sad that it was over now, and so was the basketball season.

Just as spurts of cum splattered across your face and onto your tongue, the locker room door flung open loudly and startled you all. Your eyes opened and the boys turned to the door to see who was walking in. You caught the tail end of their sentence.

“—right? Honestly, I’m just glad I don’t have to do anymore interviews until next season,” came Heeseung’s voice, the boys basketball captain. There was a big smile on his face that immediately dropped when his head turned and he looked to see what you all were doing in the locker room.

There was silence in the room for a long moment as Heeseung took in each and every one of you. The sound of the abandoned shower still running pierced your ears. You licked the cum off of your lips. “What… the actual fuck are you guys doing?!” Heeseung asked.

The boys all smiled awkwardly at him, cocks in their hands still aimed at your face. “Hey, captain…” Yeonjun drew out, his smile growing along with the awkward tension in the room.

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ ASKS APPRECIATED!

✉️   ⦂   me, yeonjun, and taehyun can settle this subtle fighting in bed hehehe,, sorry if the ending was a bit rushed (>w< ;) i realized that this fic was already like 10k and started to panic LMAOO… i legit blacked out while writing this, gangbangs and sixsomes hard

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @vampsol @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @fangel @xylatox @whosserina @jellymochii @minaateez @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @sumsumtingz @riribelle @starrias @sunoosgfv @adelusionalwhore69 @byshens @bows4tyun @taebatu @writingmochi @1-800-jewon @feet4liferss @maewphoria @matchacake2 @i4tzy @hyukasningdungie @akitfffr @bingsoob @lailols @urgirls-posts @loyipampam @binzdoll @bunnysoonie @loveziehomu @yeosangslutz

© faeyun - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

Kai Kamal Huening wasn’t good at hiding secrets.

It was something his sisters never let him forget—especially when he accidentally let it slip that a boy had been talking to them, right in the middle of family dinner.

Kai would only shrug in response, because it always ended the same way anyway: with him being rewarded with extra gummies for dessert.

It was a trait he had kept into adulthood, mostly because he found lying to be far too much effort.

But times had changed.

Kai had changed.

He was no longer the little boy who played the recorder while his sisters ‘traded’ his plushies for one of their uglier ones.

He was a man now—one who still played the recorder, but who also got to keep all his plushies to himself. And somehow, impossibly, he had something no one in his life ever thought he would have: a girlfriend.

Him having a girlfriend wasn’t entirely out of this world, but it was something everyone around him seemed convinced he couldn’t manage.

Maybe it was his lack of social activity.

Maybe it was his tendency to stay in his room.

Maybe it was his complete disregard for “trendy clothing.”

Regardless of all these very real factors, Kai had managed to get a girlfriend—you, to be specific.

He had met you on one of the rare occasions he decided to go on a solo trip around Seoul. Everyone else had a schedule that day: Yeonjun was busy working on his solo, Taehyun and Beomgyu were at the gym—mostly because Beomgyu was tired of being thrown around by the members—and Soobin was probably getting lectured about his lack of media training. After all, who publicly admits they can eat a watermelon in three seconds and expects the internet to forget about it?

Which left Kai all alone—and, for once, ready to go outside.

The plan was simple. Kai wanted to visit the café down the street from the HYBE building that had been temporarily converted into a Pokémon lover’s dream. While the fact that it was a manga café by design had always interested him, it wasn’t until the Pokémon theme that finally pushed him to go.

Which is exactly what he did.

Kai messaged his manager, put on his mask, and embarked on his journey.

The walk there was about as nice as a walk could get. The weather was good, his playlist was playing every song he wanted it to, and—most importantly—he hadn’t stepped in dog shit yet.

All in all, it was pretty good.

It was safe to say Kai was in a good mood when he stepped into the café.

Only for his good mood to be ruined by a sign plastered across the cashier area that read, with zero remorse: Out of Pokémon Trinkets / Merch.

Kai couldn’t help but slump in on himself.

He sighed as he checked the time on his phone. It was 3:24 in the afternoon, which meant that if he made the fourteen-minute walk back to HYBE now, he’d be stuck doing work—something he very much did not want to be doing.

Which left him with only one option: to suck it up and enjoy the ambience of the café.

It wasn’t as if he was deprived of Pokémon merchandise, or that this was his only chance. He was an idol, for crying out loud—he’d been to the Pokémon Center more times than he could count. Still, he had to admit it would’ve been fun to get something from a place just down the street from HYBE.

Kai allowed himself to wander into the café, taking in the posters plastered on the walls and the cute Pokémon-themed drink series.

He figured he should probably find something to do before ordering a drink—he didn’t want to risk juggling one hand holding a drink while the other flipped through manga, something he had learned inevitably ended with at least one item hitting the floor.

Which left him wandering into one of the aisles lined with manga. He soon found himself scanning for Gintama, a familiar favorite.

Kai walked up and down the aisle, hoping to see the familiar spine.

Kai was so focused on finding his manga that he didn’t notice he wasn’t the only one in the aisle. He didn’t realize you were only four steps away—until he walked right into you and sent your drink spilling all over his hoodie.

He looked down at his comfiest blue hoodie, now soaked in iced coffee.

“Oh—oh my gosh!” you exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

Kai froze, trying to understand what was happening. He watched you pull your purse forward and dig for napkins, a small smile of relief appearing once you found some. He hesitated, unsure if he should say anything as you raised the napkins toward him, silently asking if it was okay to touch his hoodie.

You were pretty, really pretty.

Which made him want to curl up in a ball and never leave his room again because the one time he did he made an absolute fool of himself in front of the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

You cleared your throat, shaking the tissues as a reminder of the situation, snapping Kai back to reality. He quickly grabbed them from your hands and started dabbing at his hoodie, employing the method Yeonjun had once taught him when he was sixteen and utterly incapable of doing laundry.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Kai could only nod.

You nodded back.

Kai decided he was finished trying to salvage the hoodie. If the stain survived the wash, it would simply be downgraded to a pyjama hoodie rather than an outdoor one.

You held out your hand, silently gesturing for him to give the tissues back, which he did without a word.

It was then that he truly saw your face for the first time.

His heart skipped. Your mouth slowly formed an ‘o,’ and a spark of recognition lit up your eyes.

Kai couldn’t help but tense. He remembered practicing scenarios like this during media training seminars: if a fan recognizes you in public, you simply say hi, maybe sign something—but never give personal information or take pictures. Stay calm. Stay calm.

And yet, you didn’t react with excitement or demand anything. You simply closed your mouth, quietly took the tissues from him, and held them with that calm, easy grace.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” you replied.

Kai decided then and there that you were precious—because your voice sounded just as charming as you were.

The two of you stood in that aisle, quiet, each trying to think of something to say.

It was then that he noticed the orange keychain hanging from your purse—a Charmander, to be exact.

“Is that…” he cleared his throat, “the Charmander keychain from the café?”

Your eyes lit up, and Kai silently thanked the fact that his mask hid just how pink he’d gone at the sight of you.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed. “I got it last week, actually!”

You looked at him directly. “Did you get one too?”

Kai shook his head, smiling at how infectious your excitement was. “I wanted to, but they were out of all Pokémon stock by the time I got here.”

He noticed your small frown, as if you were a little disappointed he hadn’t gotten one.

Then, carefully, you unclipped the keychain from your purse. “Here,” you said, holding it out toward him.

Kai’s eyes widened. “Oh… I couldn’t take this—”

“It’s okay,” you said with a small smile. “Consider it an apology for spilling my drink on you. I mean, it’s not every day you spill something on a famous idol.”

Kai nodded, bringing his hands forward to accept the precious gift. “Are you sure?” he found himself asking.

He found himself fumbling with the keychain, looking up to see if you had seen that.

“Take it,” you insisted. “Seriously, just take it.”

He placed it in his pocket, already imagining where he would put it in his room.

Then his eyes drifted to the manga you had been holding before the incident, and he froze at the familiar spine of Gintama.

“Wait… is that Gintama?” he asked, a spark of excitement cutting through his embarrassment. “You like Gintama?”

You nodded, and just like that, the conversation fell into easy territory. The two of you traded favorite arcs and characters, Kai gesturing animatedly, completely forgetting the wet patch on his hoodie, the spilled drink, and even the passing time.

Then his phone rang, and the name on the screen made him groan: Soobin.

“Where the hell have you been?” the voice demanded, half-angry, half-panicked.

Kai shot you a glance. “Uh… just a sec,” he said, still distracted. You smiled and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

“Here,” you said, handing it to him. “You’ll probably need it for… you know, emergencies.”

He looked down. Your number. And even though his stomach did that weird fluttery thing, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face.

“Right. Got it,” he said softly, tucking the paper into his pocket. “I’ll… uh, text you.”

Soobin continued whining in the background, but Kai, manga in hand and Charmander keychain safely pocketed, realized that maybe spilling his hoodie wasn’t the worst thing that could happen on a solo trip to a Pokémon-themed café.

After all, it was where he met his girlfriend.

His girlfriend, who would listen patiently while he ranted about whatever he was watching at the moment.

His girlfriend, who would sit prettily on her couch as he came over to show her something he helped create.

His girlfriend, who, over time, grew bold enough to tease him relentlessly, because in your words, “You're too pretty to not be appreciated.”

Because of you, Kai finally got to do all the “couple things” he had watched Lea gush about on the phone with her friends.

He could hug you whenever he wanted.

He could formally “adopt” plushies together with you.

He could talk about anything he wanted, knowing you’d always listen and respond.

He loved having a girlfriend.

In fact… he loved you.

He told you on your three-month anniversary.

You responded by showing him matching figurines of Plusle and Minun holding hands in a heart-shaped box you’d painted.

Was it quick? Probably.

Did the two of you care? Absolutely not.

It was on your four-month anniversary that you asked the question that made his stomach flip:

“Do your members know about us?”

He watched as you slowly lifted yourself off his chest, the two of you still sprawled on the bed, watching Team Rocket get absolutely destroyed by ten-year-olds.

He hated to admit it, but he always missed you—even if you were only ten centimetres away.

He shook his head, silently saying ‘No’.

“Why not?” you asked.

Kai opened his mouth, then closed it again. The only answer he could come up with was… weird. How do you tell the people who had practically raised you since the age of thirteen that you’re dating at twenty-three? How do you explain to the four people who had traveled the world with you, who had suffered with you, that you were no longer the kid with plushies that they had to take care of? That the kid remained a loser with plushies… but also now made out with the prettiest girl in the world every other weekend?

How do you even begin to explain that?

So all he could manage was, “It just… hasn’t come up in conversation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you expect it to come up in conversation?”

Kai groaned and let his head fall back. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed dramatically, which made you giggle.

He turned to look at you, voice exasperated, “How do you tell people who’ve taken care of you—and shared diarrhea with you—that you’re suddenly dating someone?”

You made a face. “Too much information,” you muttered.

Kai shrugged. “Besides, what if they don’t like it? It’s not like I can run away from them—I’m legally required to spend the next seven years with them!”

You hummed, weighing his words. Then you moved back to your spot on his chest. “Fine,” you said, “don’t tell them—but don’t hide it from them either.”

Kai nodded.

“They’re important people in your life,” you continued, smiling down at him. “They deserve to know that we’re together.”

Kai nodded again.

You leaned up and planted a soft kiss on his lips—a kiss he gladly returned.

Regardless of his members, Kai simply loved his girlfriend.

THE FIRST TIME: WHY DO YOU HAVE HADILAO ON SPEED DIAL?

Yeonjun loved eating.

When it came to deciding the group’s archetypes, he had claimed the “foodie” title immediately—and no one argued. He would eat anything. Everything.

But he knew his limits. After three consecutive days of takeout, a hand-made meal became necessary—even if it meant risking death by Taehyun’s glare. And he knew every other member shared this belief.

Which was why he was utterly confused when he saw the maknae frantically searching for the fastest route to Haidilao from their photoshoot location.

It was a photoshoot for something—he wasn’t exactly sure what—but all Yeonjun had to do was pose and post it on Instagram. Simple enough.

And yet, there was the maknae, plotting a route to hotpot like his life depended on it.

There was nothing wrong with it. It was just… peculiar. Yeonjun could have sworn Kai had gone to Haidilao three days ago. And wasn’t he supposed to be dieting?

He narrowed his eyes at the maknae, trying to decipher the master plan.

“Hyung?” Kai’s voice broke him out of his trance.

Yeonjun blinked, looking up. “What?”

Kai shook his head, smirking. “Why are you looking at me like I drew three-dot YJ again?”

Yeonjun squinted at him. “You’re a brat, you know that, right?”

Kai simply smiled and nodded, as if this accusation was an everyday occurrence. (It was.)

Unsatisfied, Yeonjun glanced around, searching for backup.

Soobin was being debriefed by the photoshoot director about the promotion plan.

Taehyun was getting his outfit refitted—his arms having somehow grown overnight.

Beomgyu was in the makeup chair, half asleep and fully unhelpful.

Which left Yeonjun alone, forced to interrogate the maknae’s sudden devotion to hotpot by himself.

The plan commenced with a subtle shift—moving from standing in front of Kai to sitting beside him. Then leaning in, peeking over the maknae’s increasingly broad shoulder, and glancing at his phone screen.

Kai was scrolling through the Haidilao menu. Specifically, the soup bases.

“What’cha doing?” Yeonjun asked casually.

Kai flinched and immediately locked his phone.

“Nothing,” he stammered.

Yeonjun froze.

Now this was interesting. He had never seen Kai this shaken before.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

Kai nodded—but it was far too frantic to be convincing.

“Because it looked like you were searching how to get to Haidilao from here.”

Yeonjun watched as Kai visibly slumped, like a man caught red-handed.

“I promised someone I’d eat with them there today,” Kai admitted.

Yeonjun’s curiosity sharpened immediately. Kai never mentioned meeting new people—ever.

“Who,” Yeonjun pressed, “are you planning to meet there?”

Kai muttered something under his breath and turned his head away.

Yeonjun bit back the urge to roll his eyes. Why was he suddenly this difficult?

“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun said sweetly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “I couldn’t hear you.”

Kai straightened, as if bracing himself, and forced eye contact with his hyung.

“My girlfriend.”

Yeonjun stared at him.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Kai sighed, turning fully toward him now, resignation written all over his face. “My girlfriend. I was trying to figure out the quickest way to get to Haidilao because I promised my girlfriend we’d eat there together.”

Yeonjun blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Did the word girlfriend just come out of Kai’s mouth?

No. It couldn’t have.

It had to be something else. A misunderstanding. A joke. A lie. A very elaborate excuse involving hotpot.

The sheer absurdity of the idea hit him all at once, and Yeonjun burst out laughing—loud enough that Beomgyu jolted awake in his makeup chair.

“What—what’s happening?” Beomgyu croaked.

Kai remained entirely unimpressed, staring at Yeonjun like this reaction was deeply offensive.

“If you wanted to go to Haidilao,” Yeonjun wheezed between laughs, “you don’t have to make up some fake girlfriend just to do it.”

Kai blinked at him.

Once.

Slowly.

And then—

“She’s not fake.”

“Sure,” Yeonjun said, very close to ruining his eye makeup from how hard he was laughing.

Kai only sighed and went back to scrolling on his phone.

It took three full minutes—and two increasingly concerned side-eyes from nearby staff—for Yeonjun to finally calm down.

“I’m so happy that the idea of me dating someone makes you want to pee your pants,” Kai said dryly, already tired of bowing apologetically to staff members who looked genuinely worried about the two of them.

Yeonjun snorted. “You know you don’t have to make up a whole fake girlfriend just to go eat hotpot.”

He pushed himself upright, having nearly folded in half during his laughing fit. “It’s okay if you don’t want to eat Taehyun’s cooking today,” he continued, reaching out to pinch his maknae’s cheeks. “I’ll tell him you got called away by the producers or something. It’s not like he’s going to murder you for skipping one healthy meal.”

Kai nodded along, deadpan, wondering if the concept of him having a girlfriend was truly that unbelievable that his members’ most logical conclusion was that he was lying just to avoid eating clean.

“Yep,” Kai said quietly. “That’s exactly what’s happening.”

Satisfied with the maknae’s answer, Yeonjun turned around and went to his phone.

Kai has a girlfriend?

Yeah right!

When Kai finally spotted you waiting in a booth, scrolling on your phone, he felt the weight of the day melt off his shoulders.

You were sitting there in one of the hoodies that existed in joint custody between the two of you, your bag resting on your lap. A Plusle keychain dangled from it—perfectly matching the Minun clipped to the belt loop of his pants.

He couldn’t help but stand there for a moment, silently debating whether he should wait for you to notice him or poke you into acknowledging his presence.

The decision was made for him the moment you realised there was a 183-centimetre shadow looming in front of you, prompting you to look up.

“You know, if you keep standing there, someone might think you’re haunting me,” you said, trying to get him to sit down.

Kai let himself slide into the seat—not across from you, but beside you.

He couldn’t help it. You were comfort personified, and why would he want a table between the two of you when he could sit right here?

He wrapped an arm around you, slowly letting himself melt into your side.

Photoshoots weren’t new to Kai, but they were always just exhausting enough to make him want to curl up into a ball afterward.

Now, he could curl up with you beside him—and that made everything better.

“Are you ready to eat?” you asked, leaning into him just as easily.

As his head slowly drooped to rest against your shoulder, Kai briefly thought that this must be what people meant when they complained about couples being disgustingly affectionate in public. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to care if anyone was watching.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small nudge. He followed your finger to the tablet displaying the menu.

He straightened up and ordered with you, making sure both of your cravings were met. He listened as you talked about your day—about the new anime you were watching, about your friend’s upcoming birthday—and he realised he felt full in a way food had nothing to do with.

He really loved you.

When the food arrived, he made sure you ate first, even though this was the first proper meal he’d had all day.

It was halfway through feeding you your seventh bite that you asked, “So… how was the photoshoot?”

Kai made sure the chopsticks were perfectly loaded with everything you liked. “It was okay,” he said. “We filmed some TikToks—you’d probably like them. The outfits were fine.”

He lifted the chopsticks again, waiting patiently for you to open your mouth. “The only weird thing was that Yeonjun laughed at me when I told him I was meeting you here.”

You immediately choked on your food.

Kai rushed to grab a glass of water, holding it up to your lips and steadying it as you drank.

Once you finally signalled that you were okay, he set the glass down and watched you try to compose yourself.

“He—” you started. “You told him?”

Kai nodded. “Yeah. I said I was meeting my girlfriend here, and then he laughed like the Joker for twenty minutes.”

You snorted.

Then you started giggling.

Was he secretly a comedian? Why did everyone keep laughing at him?

“Well,” you said between laughs, “I guess they wouldn’t believe it even if you told them you had a girlfriend.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you saying that, in my members’ eyes, I am eternally bitchless?”

You nodded, still laughing.

“It’s okay,” you said, finally calming down. “I’ll still be with you—even if the entire world thinks you can’t pull.”

Kai couldn’t help but smile, because he knew the same thing.

No matter what anyone said, he’d choose you every single time.

THE SECOND TIME : SINCE WHEN WERE YOU INTO SHOUJO ANIME?

Soobin practically knew everything about Kai.

He knew his likes and his dislikes. He knew which of Kai’s many plushies was his favourite. He knew the small, subconscious habits Kai carried without realising—things Soobin had memorised over years of shared dorms and overlapping schedules.

Which was why this felt wrong.

Maybe it was because they’d been busy lately—the new comeback, the sudden surge of solo schedules, or simply the lack of proper one-on-one time—but Soobin never imagined walking into the living room to find Kai willingly watching Kimi no Todoke.

For fun.

Not ironically. Not because someone else had it on. Not because he’d lost a bet.

No—Kai was curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, fully immersed as Sawako awkwardly fumbled through her feelings.

Soobin stopped walking.

He stared.

Since when was Huening Kai into shoujo anime?

Soobin knew Kai had been trying to get more into anime lately—but he distinctly remembered nineteen-year-old Kai declaring that he would rather get abs than watch shoujo.

Soobin blinked, needing to confirm whether what he was witnessing was real or simply the result of his horrible sleeping habits finally catching up to him.

He closed his eyes.

He opened them again.

Kai was still there. Still watching Kimi no Todoke. Still wearing an expression of genuine focus that couldn’t possibly be faked.

Soobin couldn’t help himself.

“What the hell are you watching?”

Kai flinched, whipping his head around to find Soobin standing behind him.

Soobin slowly raised a hand and pointed at the TV. “Want to explain this?”

Kai tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Hyung, you’ve known I watch anime. Why is this weird?”

Soobin did a double take.

Why was this weird?

Oh. Right.

“Are we looking at the same thing right now?”

Kai turned back to the screen and paused the episode, then patted the space beside him, gesturing for Soobin to sit. “Do you want some water?” he added seriously. “Maybe all those media training lectures messed with your head.”

Soobin gaped at the maknae—yet somehow still found himself sitting down moments later, a newly acquired glass of water resting in his hand.

Kai turned to face his leader, a blanket draped over his lap and his comfiest hoodie pulled on, looking painfully at ease.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Soobin searched for the right words. “Why?”

Kai tilted his head. “Why what?”

“Why are you watching—” Soobin gestured vaguely toward the TV, fingers flailing, “this.”

“I’m not following,” Kai said calmly.

“You’ve never watched shoujo anime,” Soobin continued, pausing deliberately, “like. Ever.”

Kai shrugged. “What if I like romance anime?”

Soobin nodded slowly, as if that explanation made sense.

It didn’t.

“But you said you’d rather get abs than watch a school romance,” Soobin shot back.

Kai chuckled at the reminder. “I did,” he said, then gestured vaguely to his body. “But, uh—look at what happened to me.”

Soobin stared.

Abs were one thing. This? This was slander.

His brain began to whir. Loudly.

This wasn’t the Kai he knew. The Kai he raised. The Kai who once abandoned a drama five minutes in because ‘why are they staring at each other for so long?’

He looked at the screen again. Sawako was blushing.

Kai was smiling.

Oh no.

He’s changed, Soobin thought, dread curling in his stomach. Someone did this to him.

Slowly, carefully—like he was approaching a wild animal—Soobin leaned forward.

“Kai,” he said quietly. Dangerously calm.

Kai hummed, eyes still fixed on the paused screen.

“Who,” Soobin continued, pointing once at the TV, then very deliberately at Kai, “made you do this?”

Kai finally looked at him. Blinked. “…Hyung?”

“C’mon,” Soobin said. “You mean to tell me that all of a sudden, you’re changing your personality.”

“Personality?” Kai shot back. “I’m watching one anime and now you’re saying my entire DNA has changed?”

Soobin nodded. “Exactly. So what’s happening?”

Kai sighed, already knowing his hyung wouldn’t let this go. “You want the truth?”

Soobin nodded.

Kai exhaled. “My girlfriend told me it was good, so I decided to watch it.”

Soobin stared at his maknae.

Kai stared back at his leader.

“Girlfriend?” Soobin echoed.

Kai nodded, like this was the most normal sentence he’d ever said.

Soobin stared at the boy he’d known since he was fifteen—the kid he’d practically raised. He lifted a hand and pointed straight at him. “Girlfriend?”

Kai nodded again. Still calm. Still normal.

Too normal.

Which could only mean one thing.

Kai was lying.

A big, fat liar.

Soobin blinked. “You know,” he said carefully, “it’s okay to admit your tastes have evolved.”

Kai frowned. “What?”

“You don’t have to make up a girlfriend for it.”

Soobin watched as Kai closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long sigh.

“You’re telling me,” Kai said, locking eyes with him, “that just because I said I have a girlfriend, you think I’m making up an excuse to watch a romance anime?”

Soobin nodded—completely serious.

Kai pursed his lips. “You’re right,” he surrendered. “You’re absolutely right.”

Soobin nodded, satisfied with the explanation he’d decided on for Kai.

“Go on,” he said, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Have fun watching Kimi no Todoke.”

Kai opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it, allowing Soobin his moment of victory.

Soobin settled back into the couch, proud of the conclusion he’d reached.

Kai can’t have a girlfriend, he decided firmly. He’s just getting introduced to girls.

Kai’s favourite part of the days when he couldn’t see you was when he got to call you.

It was always late at night, after he’d settled into his room and made sure he’d said goodnight to all the members. He would send you a simple message—something like i’m free ~ —and then go about his nighttime routine, already anticipating the sound of your voice.

Sometimes you called while he was still in the shower, and he would speedrun through it just to call you back as soon as possible. Other times, you’d call when he was halfway through skincare, and the two of you would talk about your days while Kai carefully applied one of the Pokémon face masks you’d insisted on buying him.

To him, these calls were peace.

Relaxation.

The thing that made long, exhausting days at the company feel worth it.

And he knew that for you, they were a break too—a pause from daily stress, from everything that weighed on you.

Maybe that was why he cherished these calls just as much as he cherished seeing you in person. Because when the two of you were talking through a screen, it felt like your own small world— one that couldn’t be disturbed in the slightest.

Tonight’s call came while he was finishing his skincare. He’d already said goodnight to the members after eating Taehyun’s homemade food—the same food he’d missed earlier when he’d gone to Haidilao to meet you.

He accepted the call and smiled immediately when your face appeared on the screen. It looked like you were just starting your own nighttime routine.

The conversation began the way it always did: small, simple questions.

How was your day? Did you eat? Are you tired?

But they were never small between the two of you.

Kai genuinely wanted to know everything you’d done, and he knew you loved hearing about the tiny moments that made his day special.

Tonight’s main story?

Soobin questioning him over watching Kimi no Todoke—and then outright refusing to believe him when he told the truth.

It sounded ridiculous when Kai said it out loud. But the way you reacted, laughing softly into your hand, made it worth it.

As much as he loved the sound, Kai couldn’t stop the pout that formed on his lips.

“Why do all the members think there’s no possible way for me to get a girlfriend?” he complained.

Your laughter slowly faded.

“Maybe,” you said gently, “it’s because you’re always their baby who hates romance?”

Kai let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sulk. “But it’s not funny anymore.”

You tried—and failed—to contain another quiet laugh.

“Imagine if you give them our wedding invitations and they still don’t believe you.”

Kai looked horrified at the thought.

“No!” he exclaimed, face-palming as he pulled his blankets up and over himself like they could shield him from the idea.

That finally set you off, but when the laughter faded, Kai found himself just watching you—your smile warm and fond in a way that made his chest ache.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “That just means when they finally do figure it out, it’ll be even funnier.”

That was something Kai could agree on.

It went quiet for a moment. Comfortable. Unrushed.

And before he could stop himself, he said, “I miss you.”

You shifted in bed, getting more comfortable before smiling back at him.

“I miss you too, bubba.”

Kai wrinkled his nose. “Bubba?”

You nodded. “It’s cute.” You leaned your head against your hand. “Like you.”

As much as Kai wanted to argue that you were much cuter, his cheeks were already turning pink.

“Shut up,” he mumbled weakly.

Your small laugh echoed through his headphones.

 “I love you.”

Kai muttered the words back, quieter—but no less certain.

He really wouldn’t mind being married to you.

THE THIRD TIME: DID THE GHOST OF SHAKESPHERE POSSESS YOU?

Beomgyu had always admired Kai.

From the moment he learned that the group’s maknae had originally come to the company to produce—not sing, not dance—Beomgyu found himself genuinely impressed by the thirteen-year-old trainee. It wasn’t just talent. It was instinct. Kai heard music differently.

Whenever it came time to write lyrics or build a track, Beomgyu gravitated toward him without thinking. Beats, melodies, second opinions—Kai was always the one he trusted. The one who listened carefully before speaking. The one whose feedback actually made things better.

So when the producers suggested that the two in-house producers of the group sit together to brainstorm for the new album, Beomgyu didn’t hesitate.

He already had expectations.

Kai would write about friendship.

Or youth.

Or chasing dreams with that soft sincerity he was known for.

What Beomgyu did not expect—

Was a romance song.

And not even the safe kind. Not a vague, abstract I like you from afar track that could be brushed off as fanservice or metaphor.

No.

Kai wanted to write about wanting to dance with someone.

The lyrics he showed Beomgyu made him think Kai might want to do more than just dance.

Beomgyu stared at the lyric sheet in silence.

Then, slowly, he looked up.

“…Who possessed you?”

He stared at the maknae—who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” Kai asked.

Beomgyu looked back down at the paper, skimming over lines like this long, sweet dance that can’t be done alone.

He blinked.

“When did the ghost of Shakespeare possess you?”

Kai frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Beomgyu gestured at the lyric sheet.

“What made you write—” he paused, repressing both a shiver and a gag, “—sensual stuff?”

His face twisted. “Sensual stuff?” he repeated, like the word physically hurt.

Kai frowned—not offended. Just… confused. Genuinely so.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

Beomgyu froze.

That was worse than denial. Worse than embarrassment.

That was indifference.

The maknae was absolutely indifferent to the fact that he had written something meant to be sung to someone.

“Kai,” Beomgyu said carefully, “you don’t just accidentally write lines like this long, sweet dance that can’t be done alone.”

Kai shrugged, rolling his chair a little closer to the desk. “It’s just honest.”

Beomgyu’s eye twitched.

“Honest.”

“Yeah,” Kai said, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Dancing isn’t just moving. It’s timing. Trust. You have to listen to the other person. You can’t rush it—and you can’t do it by yourself.”

He spoke gently. Thoughtfully.

Like he’d rehearsed this explanation long before Beomgyu ever asked.

Beomgyu stared.

This wasn’t poetic nonsense.

This was a thesis.

“So,” Kai continued, eyes flicking briefly back to the lyric sheet, “I wanted it to feel close. Like you’re aware of every step the other person takes.”

Silence.

Beomgyu’s brain began to short-circuit.

“…You’re aware,” he said slowly, “that this is a love song.”

Kai nodded. “Yeah.”

Immediate. No hesitation.

Beomgyu swallowed.

“And you’re aware,” he pressed, “that this is supposed to be hypothetical.”

Kai tilted his head. “But it’s not?”

Oh.

Beomgyu looked at him again—really looked this time. The calm posture. The steady tone. The lack of deflection. No jokes. No embarrassment.

“…Who,” Beomgyu asked quietly, “are you dancing with?”

Kai blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then his ears turned red.

Something in Beomgyu’s soul cracked.

“Kai,” he whispered, pointing accusingly, “don’t you dare tell me this is about a real person.”

Kai shrugged, turning back to the soundboard and fiddling with a beat.

“God forbid a man wants to write a song about dancing with his girlfriend.”

Beomgyu blinked at him.

Girlfriend?

“…And by girlfriend, you mean a really hot actress, right?”

Kai turned around, eyes wide.

“Why would I lie about having a girlfriend?”

Beomgyu scoffed. “When would you ever leave your room long enough to get a girlfriend?”

Kai nodded slowly—less in agreement and more because he was still processing the audacity of that statement.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, seemed perfectly satisfied with his conclusion. He leaned forward and grabbed Kai by the shoulders.

“So,” he said teasingly, eyes sparkling, “care to tell me which actress made you want to finally become a man?”

Kai grimaced. “That’s gross, hyung.”

Beomgyu gasped, recoiling like he’d been personally offended.

“You’re disgusting! I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested, then pointed accusingly at Kai. “I just wanted to know what made you want to be all sensual,” he sang, dragging the word out obnoxiously.

“She’s not an actress!” Kai exclaimed.

Beomgyu clutched his chest and gasped once more.

“Is it one of our sunbaes?”

Kai opened his mouth to defend himself—but nothing came out.

“Is that why you want to dance with them?” Beomgyu giggled, a new theory forming mid-sentence. “Is it because you want a collaboration?”

Kai sighed and nodded along.

“Sure,” he said, patting Beomgyu as the older boy laughed himself silly. “Whatever floats your boat, hyung.”

Beomgyu continued to giggle.

The maknae having a girlfriend before him?

As if.

No matter how many times TXT released new music, it never stopped being nerve-wracking for Kai.

Questions always raced through his head—what if the fans didn’t like it? What if the directors butchered the music video? What if the company uploaded the wrong file and the wrong video went live?

Release day always left his stomach twisted into knots.

Today was no different.

If anything, it was worse.

Today was the day you would watch—and listen to—Dance With You for the first time.

Kai paced back and forth across your apartment, hands running through his hair, stopping only to glance at your laptop every few seconds as you refreshed the page again and again. Meanwhile, you just watched him with quiet amusement, unfazed by his spiraling energy.

“It’s okay,” you called out gently.

And the practical part of his brain agreed. It was fine. Totally fine.

It’s not like he’d written a song about you.

Not like it was basically dedicated to you.

And it’s not like this was your first time hearing it, considering the song had been out for weeks—weeks you’d spent waiting only because he’d begged you not to listen until the music video dropped.

Really. No big deal at all.

Then he heard you gasp.

Kai snapped his head toward you just in time to see you click on the thumbnail—him, mid-dance, holding a mop.

He physically cringed.

What if you hated it?

What if you hated seeing him like this—more grown, more intentional, more romantic?

Oh my god… what if you broke up with him because you thought he was getting too close with a mop?

The thought was ridiculous. Completely irrational.

And yet Kai suddenly became very afraid that, in some distant future, he’d be remembered only as the ex who danced with cleaning supplies—a cautionary tale you’d tell on dates because you hated the music video that much.

Kai was so consumed by his panic that he completely missed watching your reactions. It wasn’t until your voice cut through his thoughts with a weary, “Kai?” that he snapped back into reality.

“Yes?” he answered too quickly, silently begging his stomach to keep down the egg and toast he’d forced himself to eat that morning.

You were looking at him—not at the screen, not at the paused video, but at him. There was something in your expression that made his chest tighten, something Kai could only describe as awe.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the lump forming in his throat.

“…Did you like it?” he asked quietly, almost meekly.

You held your hands out to him, and when he placed his in yours, you gently tugged him down until he was sitting beside you.

“Like it?” you echoed, disbelief woven into your voice. “Sweetheart, I loved it.”

Kai felt his body finally relax, like everything snapping back into its proper place. “Really?”

You nodded without hesitation. “What’s not to like?”

You reached for the laptop, replaying the music video as you continued, “My boyfriend looking all pretty and handsome on screen, showing the whole world that he’s capable of incredible things.”

A small giggle slipped out of Kai before he could stop it, warmth blooming in his chest as he let himself soak in the praise.

He shifted closer, eventually settling into your lap, eyes fluttering shut as your hand instinctively moved to run through his hair.

“Did you read the lyrics yet?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Considering I heard the song for the first time, like, seven minutes ago? I don’t think I’ve had time to properly digest the lyrics you wrote.”

“Well, you should,” he said, almost sheepishly. “They made Beomgyu think I’m crushing on a sunbae.”

You snorted. “What?”

He nodded seriously. “He read the lyrics and straight-up refused to believe I’m capable of writing about girls.”

You laughed, already following his logic. “Another girlfriend reveal gone wrong?”

Kai hummed in agreement. “It’s obvious too. I’m not even hiding you from them anymore, and they still don’t believe me when I tell them.”

He glanced up at you as you tried to think of a solution.

“Maybe they’d believe it if they saw it?” you offered.

Kai considered that. You weren’t wrong—but a small, anxious part of him worried they’d just ask if he’d hired you as an actress.

“I’ll think about it,” he said instead.

Which, in Kai-speak, really meant: I don’t want to think about this right now, but I’ll file it away as a potential Plan B.

You resumed playing with his hair, fingers gentle and familiar. “Hey, Bubba?” you asked softly.

He looked up, expecting a question.

Instead, you kissed him.

He melted into it immediately, relaxing as he pressed his lips back against yours. When you pulled away moments later, you stayed close, your words barely a whisper against his mouth.

“I would love to dance with you.”

Kai kissed you again without hesitation, heart swelling in his chest.

And as he held you there, he couldn’t help but think that he’d dance with you every day—every lifetime—if he could.

THE FOURTH TIME : IS YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE ABS?

Taehyun knew he was very different from Kai.

Taehyun hated being called cute.

Kai embraced it.

Taehyun hated watching romance.

Kai was—apparently—getting into it.

Taehyun didn’t mind showing skin.

Kai avoided it as much as he possibly could.

But Kai had been Taehyun’s first friend on the team.

One of the people closest to him.

Taehyun listened. He always did. He would sit beside Kai and let him talk—about his day, about melodies stuck in his head, about ideas for projects that never quite left his thoughts. Taehyun didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush him. He just stayed.

Which led to another realisation, another difference between them.

Taehyun loved working out.

Kai would rather do just about anything else than step into a gym.

Which was why Taehyun found himself surprised— and, admittedly, a little scared— when Kai asked if he could help him get abs.

Taehyun had agreed.

That decision led to a two-hour session at the HYBE gym, where Taehyun spotted the maknae and discovered—much to his disbelief—that Kai was putting in a full, unwavering one hundred percent effort. No complaints. No excuses. Just stubborn focus and slightly shaky arms.

That alone was alarming.

It wasn’t until after the workout that Taehyun decided he needed answers.

They were seated at the HYBE café, taking full advantage of the free food benefit they earned by metaphorically breaking their backs for the company. Taehyun watched as Kai ordered his usual mango drink— then added one scoop of protein powder.

As if that single scoop made all the difference in the world.

Taehyun cleared his throat.

“So,” he began carefully, “what exactly made you want to get—” he paused, searching for the least awkward word possible, “—abs?”

Across from him, Kai slurped his mango concoction thoughtfully, eyes unfocused as he considered the question.

Taehyun waited.

This better be good.

Kai blinked. “Well… we had them for Love Language, so I thought I should keep them.”

Taehyun nodded slowly, not fully buying it.

“If I remember correctly,” he said, “you were always the first person to leave the gym the second the trainer said you were good to go.”

Kai hummed in response, leaning forward to take a bite of the egg tart he’d grabbed.

“So?” Taehyun pressed, crossing his arms.

Kai finished chewing and let out a sigh.

A deep sigh.

That immediately worried Taehyun.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Kai said quietly.

Taehyun’s mind started racing.

What does he mean I wouldn’t understand?

He ran through every possibility—every reason Kai might suddenly change one of his most fundamental habits.

“…Are you getting hate comments about your body again?”

Kai’s eyes widened. “What? No.”

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Kai nodded. “I mean, I probably am. But I’m not reading them anymore.”

Taehyun looked down at the table and let out a small, relieved sigh.

Okay. Not that.

So what else?

He cleared his throat again. “Then what is it that I won’t believe?”

Kai took another sip of his drink.

Taehyun watched closely, silently praying that two hours at the gym hadn’t just gone to waste on a mango drink with a conscience.

Kai cleared his throat. “Well,” he trailed off, “my girlfriend really liked my abs during Love Language, so I thought I should try to keep them.”

Taehyun blinked.

Then rubbed his ear, just to be sure.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing it again, “can you repeat that?”

Kai looked like he was used to this. He slumped further into his seat.

“I’m trying to keep my abs because my girlfriend likes them.”

Taehyun stared straight into Kai’s eyes, searching desperately for a hint of humor.

There was none.

Which meant this had to be something else.

“You don’t have to use a girlfriend as an excuse to better yourself,” Taehyun said gently.

That had to be it. He must be embarrassed—starting now, when everyone else had been working out for years.

Kai looked exasperated. “What exactly are you talking about?”

Taehyun continued, “I understand that everyone around us has always pushed us to be fit, and you never listened—which was completely fine, because you looked great without the muscle.” He paused, meeting Kai’s eyes. “But you don’t have to be embarrassed to admit you want to improve yourself now.”

Kai stared at him.

Then leaned forward, rested his arms on the table, and took another sip of his drink.

“Sure, hyung,” he said dryly. “You caught me. I’m using a fake girlfriend as an excuse to get abs so I can keep watching anime and gaming in my room—but with abs.”

Taehyun nodded, satisfied.

“That makes sense,” he said. “I mean—whose love language is abs?”

Kai stared at him blankly. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “So weird.”

Taehyun opened his mouth to comment on the tone when his phone rang—a reminder for an interview he had to film alongside Yeonjun.

He stood, holding the phone up to Kai, who waved him off casually.

Taehyun walked down the hallway toward the makeup room, already shaking his head.

The maknae having a girlfriend?

There was absolutely no way.

When Kai was training, he always kept a small emotional-support plushie with him.

It wasn’t separation anxiety—he swapped them out often.

It wasn’t to stand out or earn points with the producers during training sessions, like some of the other trainees tried to do.

He simply liked having something small and soft nearby. A reminder that even when things felt overwhelming or bleak, there were still gentle, cute things in the world.

People teased him for it.

His sisters teased him.

His members teased him too.

But he always knew it came from a place of fondness, so he never took it to heart. It became just another thing about him—something he accepted with a shrug and a smile.

Which was why his heart had started beating faster when, during a video call, you noticed the plushies in the background.

And instead of commenting on how many there were, you asked if they all had names.

And stories.

You were the first person in his life who didn’t treat his plushies like something to laugh at—but like something that mattered.

What made it even better was that you had your own collection. A stash of stuffed animals you clearly adored just as much.

At the time, it felt like a small detail. Cute. Insignificant.

Later, it became something else entirely.

Something affectionately referred to as “ the co-parenting practice”.

This happened every two to three weeks.

The two of you would meet—usually at your place—and spend a few quiet hours together before exchanging plushies, so that you each left with a small piece of the other.

This week was no different.

In Kai’s hands was a Tuxedo Sam plushie you had given him, tucked carefully alongside the strawberry Molang plushie he planned to give you in return.

But that wasn’t all he was carrying.

In his bag were three of his comfiest hoodies—chosen specifically because, just the other day, you had complained about how the women’s section never stocked properly oversized fits.

Kai wasn’t stupid. He had watched enough dramas to know that this was a thing—something you were supposed to do. Give someone your hoodies. Let them steal your warmth.

So he had spent a full ninety minutes standing in front of his closet, narrowing it down to his top three. He picked his favourite cologne, sprayed each hoodie lightly, then folded them neatly into the bag, placing the plushies on top like they were guarding them.

And somewhere between zipping the bag shut and slinging it over his shoulder, it hit him.

This—this—was what love meant.

Because he knew, without a doubt, that he would never do this for anyone else.

He quickly unlocked the door to his apartment and let himself in, immediately kicking off his shoes and hanging his jacket and mask on the designated hook you kept just for him.

He set his bag at the foot of the couch before heading to the kitchen to find you. Instead of greeting you properly, he opted to surprise you with a hug.

He couldn’t hide his smile when you flinched at the sudden contact.

“You know I could’ve kicked you,” you said, even as you melted into his embrace.

“Yeah,” Kai agreed easily, “but then you wouldn’t be able to hug me, and you’d feel bad.”

You stopped stirring the pasta and turned to face him. “Well, that would be too bad, wouldn’t it.”

He smiled down at you. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” you smiled back.

“Are you ready for the exchange?” he asked, already looking forward to carrying another piece of you with him.

You nodded, placing a lid on the pot.

“Smells delicious, by the way,” Kai added as he followed you into the living room.

The exchange went on as it always did—soft smiles, familiar movements, comforting habits. In return for his Squirtle plushie, he received a bread plush with a tiny bow tie, accompanied by your quiet remark that it reminded you of him.

He, in turn, excitedly handed you the Molang plushie, which you immediately cooed over, praising how cute it was.

You were just as overjoyed with his hoodie selection, admitting that you’d been eyeing his closet for a long time. Kai felt his heart warm as he helped you pull them on, one by one.

The meal that followed was delicious. Because of you, he had learned how amazing it was to eat something homemade—something not packaged or ordered. He would happily eat your cooking no matter the consequences.

It was only when it came time to say goodbye that Kai found himself truly grateful for the arrangement the two of you had started. He couldn’t imagine not doing this with you.

He lingered in your doorway, procrastinating putting his jacket and shoes back on.

“One more hug,” he pleaded, making small grabby hands in your direction.

You smiled. “I’ve been hugging you all day.”

“That’s different,” he argued. “This is my goodbye hug.”

You played along. “You’re right. It would be unjust to let you go without one.”

He opened his arms, already accepting you the moment you stepped into his space.

You shifted slightly in his embrace. He didn’t think much of it—until your voice came out muffled against his sweatshirt.

“Have you been working out?”

He nodded, arms still wrapped around you. “You said you liked my abs, and I figured… if you liked them, I might as well try to keep them a little longer.”

You looked up at him. “You know you don’t have to.”

He hummed in agreement. “I know. But it’s for you—and it’s not a big deal either.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He smiled and nodded, pulling you even closer.

“It even let me tell Taehyun about you,” he added after a moment, loosening his hold just enough to let you breathe.

“Did he believe you?” you asked.

“No,” Kai said, a little dejected.

You giggled. “You’d think he’d be the one to figure it out.”

“You’d think,” Kai sighed, finally moving to put his shoes on.

“It’s okay,” you said, handing him his jacket. “We’ll tell them together?”

He nodded, slipping it on and grabbing the bag that held his children—read: plushies.

He paused, looking at you. “One more hug before I leave?”

You smiled and indulged him.

Kai decided he wouldn’t mind staying in your embrace forever.

THE ONE TIME : WHY WERE YOUR LIPS MOVING LIKE THAT ?

Kai decided that everyone around him was, frankly, dumb.

There was no other explanation. No universe in which four grown men could repeatedly fail to comprehend the very simple fact that he had a girlfriend—especially when he had spelled it out for them. Slowly. Clearly. Multiple times.

And yet.

They accused him of having everything but a girlfriend and moved on as if it never happened.

Which was why Kai decided it was time to test their cognitive skills.

By inviting you to the dorm.

The plan was simple. He’d call you over, the two of you would hang out in his room, and that would be that. Undeniable proof. Visual confirmation. Case closed.

It started well enough. Despite everyone having the day off, the dorm’s common areas were eerily empty, which made it easy for Kai to sneak you inside and coax you down the hallway to his room without running into anyone.

He’d planned the afternoon meticulously. Snacks were arranged neatly on his desk. His laptop was fully charged. His bed had been transformed into the coziest possible setup—plushies piled high, hoodies layered over the mattress for extra comfort. He was nothing if not prepared.

And honestly? The day went well.

It was a little awkward at first—Kai adjusting to the reality of having a girl in his room, you adjusting to the fact that you were in your boyfriend’s room—but somewhere between the soft giggles, the easy conversation, and eventually curling up together on his bed, the nerves melted away.

Two hours slipped by without either of you noticing.

You talked. You scrolled on your phones in companionable silence. Eventually, you settled in properly, choosing My Neighbour Totoro—a mutual favorite—and letting the movie play as you cozied closer together.

At some point during the film, Kai realized he had stopped paying attention entirely.

Totoro moved across the screen, the gentle music swelling and fading, but Kai couldn’t tell you what was happening anymore. His attention had drifted—quietly, naturally—away from the movie and onto you.

You were tucked into his side, knees drawn up slightly, your head resting against his shoulder like it belonged there. One of his hoodies swallowed you whole, sleeves covering your hands, fabric bunching up around your neck. Every now and then, you shifted closer without thinking, chasing warmth.

Kai swallowed.

He told himself to look back at the screen. He really did. But then you laughed softly at something—barely louder than a breath—and the sound settled right into his chest.

He glanced down.

Bad idea.

Your face was relaxed, eyes reflecting the soft glow of the screen, lips slightly parted in concentration. Kai felt something twist low in his stomach, unfamiliar and dizzying. He adjusted his arm around you, intending only to get comfortable.

Instead, you leaned into the touch.

Your head tipped just enough for your cheek to brush his collarbone, and Kai froze. His heart began to race, loud enough that he was convinced you could hear it. He held his breath, waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

Minutes passed. Or seconds. Kai wasn’t sure anymore. The space between your faces felt suddenly noticeable—charged in a way that made his palms sweat. He could feel your breathing, slow and steady, syncing with his own despite his best efforts to stay calm.

You tilted your head up slightly, eyes flicking from the screen to his face.

“Kai?” you murmured, barely audible over the movie.

“Yeah?” His voice came out softer than he intended.

“I think you stopped watching,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He huffed out a quiet, nervous laugh. “I think I did.”

Your gaze lingered. Too long to be accidental. The air between you felt heavy, expectant, like it was waiting for something to happen.

Kai leaned in before he could overthink it.

Slowly. Carefully. Giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you met him halfway.

The kiss was gentle—soft and hesitant, like the two of you were still figuring out how to exist in this moment. Your lips fit against his in a way that made his thoughts scatter completely, warmth blooming through his chest.

Someone on-screen said something profound.

Neither of you noticed.

The kiss lingered.

At first, neither of you moved—like you were both waiting to see if the moment would disappear if you shifted even slightly. Kai’s lips stayed against yours, warm and careful, his breath shallow. He could feel the way your hands tightened just a little in the fabric of his hoodie, like you were anchoring yourself there.

Then you leaned in again.

Just a fraction closer. Just enough.

Kai followed instinctively this time, his hand sliding from where it rested awkwardly at your side to your waist, fingers curling into the oversized hoodie. The movement was slow, almost shy, like he was asking permission with every inch.

Your lips parted slightly, and his heart stuttered.

The kiss deepened—not suddenly, not dramatically—but naturally, like it had always been meant to get here. It was still gentle, still sweet, but warmer now. More intentional. Kai tilted his head, kissing you again, softer this time, slower, like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

He pulled back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours.

You were close enough that he could feel your breath, hear the tiny sound you made when you inhaled.

“Sorry,” he whispered instinctively, even though he didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

You smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Don’t be.”

That was all it took.

Kai kissed you again, a little more confident now, his thumb moving absentmindedly at your waist. The world outside his room—practice, schedules, his members, the whole ridiculous plan—felt impossibly far away.

Right now, it was just this.

You. Him. The quiet glow of the movie still playing, completely forgotten.

And for the first time since inviting you over, Kai thought distantly:

Yeah. This was a really good idea.

…Which was, unfortunately, exactly what happened.

Somewhere between kissing you and getting completely lost in it, Kai failed to register the footsteps outside his door. He didn’t notice the handle turning. Didn’t hear the door creak open. Didn’t even process Beomgyu’s voice starting to say something about practice being moved to today.

Not until the scream.

It was loud. Sharp. Horrified.

Kai froze.

Time stalled in the worst way possible—his lips still barely parted, his hand still at your waist, the world crashing back into place all at once.

“Oh my—” Beomgyu’s voice cracked mid-sentence. “WHAT—”

The scream echoed down the dorm hallway.

And just like that, Kai knew.

The moment wasn’t just ruined.

The entire dorm was about to know.

Kai broke the kiss and looked down at you, trying to make sure you were okay. He was about to ask when another scream tore from Beomgyu.

“Can you stop screaming, hyung?” Kai said, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Beomgyu just stared, eyes wide. “You—” He pointed a trembling finger at Kai. “What the hell were your lips doing?”

Kai opened his mouth to retort—but was interrupted as Yeonjun appeared, dragging a half-asleep Soobin behind him.

“What happened?” Yeonjun asked, out of breath.

His gaze followed Beomgyu’s finger, landing on Kai… and you… in his bed. His eyes widened, and he dragged Soobin closer to see for himself.

The two eldest gulped, then simultaneously turned to Kai. “She’s real,” they said at the exact same time.

Eerie, Kai thought.

Then Taehyun appeared, peeked inside—and Kai watched the most unfazed member of the group’s jaw drop.

He was about to speak, but Soobin cleared his throat before he could.

“Group meeting… in the living room. Now.” His leader's tone made it clear this was going to be serious.

Soobin then turned to you. “You… should also come,” he stammered, clearly untrained in handling the concept of a girl in the maknae’s room.

Soobin quickly dragged the members to the living room, muttering something about “letting the youngest get a decent—” The words sounded pained as they left his mouth.

Kai wanted to yell back that nothing inappropriate was happening, but he quickly realized that wouldn’t mean anything to them.

He turned to face you, bracing for shock or awkwardness—emotions he knew he’d beat himself up for causing. Instead, he found your face carefully composed, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh.

You let out a small burst of laughter. “Well, I guess they know now.”

Kai relaxed slightly. “I guess they do.”

You turned to him, smiling. “Shall we go?”

Kai nodded, helping you out of the cozy nest of his bed and holding your hand as you stood.

He led you to the living room, where his four older members were whispering and pointing at each other, clearly in the middle of a heated debate.

Kai cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention. “Hello,” he said, bowing slightly as if this were some formal interview. He held up your joined hands. “This is my girlfriend.”

You smiled, raising your free hand to wave. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so many things about you.”

The four boys stared at you as if you were a unicorn.

“You're real?” Beomgyu asked.

You nodded, “I would hope so,”

Soobin snapped back into reality.

“Sit,” he gestured to the couple that he could barely make eye contact with.

Kai let you sit down and settle first before sitting beside you.

Yeonjun cleared his throat, “You weren’t lying when you said you were going to Hadilao to see your girlfriend?” 

Kai nodded.

Soobin chimed in, “And you were watching Kimi No Todoke because she wanted you to watch it?”

Kai nodded again.

Beomgyu looked Kai in the eye, “To be clear, you wrote Dance with You for her?”

Kai pursed his lips and nodded, remembering all the glances Beomfyu would give him any time they would pass a female sunbae.

Taehyun stared at him, “You were training to get abs because of her?”

Kai let out a hum of agreement.

A collective ‘oh’ let out by the group.

Beomgyu turned back to you, eyes wide. “So… she’s real. And he’s… yours?” His voice trembled slightly, as if this revelation were too big to process.

Kai, unfazed, simply nodded and gave your hand a small squeeze. “Yep. All hers.”

The room went silent for a moment, each member letting the information sink in. Then, almost simultaneously, Yeonjun and Beomgyu groaned in unison.

“This is so embarrassing for him,” Beomgyu muttered.

“And for us!” Yeonjun added, throwing his head back dramatically.

Soobin finally broke the silence, sighing heavily. “Alright. New rule: no more accidental walk-ins. And Kai… maybe give us a heads-up before your ‘romance escapades’ escalate again.”

Kai’s ears turned red. “That’s not what was happening!”

Beomgyu shook his head, pointing a finger at him. “No, that was exactly what was happening. I’m the one who had the misfortune of watching.”

Kai opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Taehyun, who leaned forward with an unexpectedly serious expression. “Are you… happy with each other?”

You blinked, taken off guard by the sudden shift in mood. Clearing your throat, you smiled softly. “Yeah… I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been when I’m with Kai.”

Kai’s chest fluttered. He leaned forward and pressed a small, tender kiss onto your intertwined hands.

Then came the gagging noises.

Kai didn’t care.

Because no matter what the world—or his members—thought, he was very much in love with his (very much real!) girlfriend.

You stare. He stares back. You consider smacking him with a pillow.

His mouth opens, closes, opens—words stalling. “You heard me,” he says, far too casual for what just came out of his mouth.

Heat floods your face. “Mingi, that is the single dumbest thing you’ve ever asked me.”

“I’m serious.”

You blink. Then you laugh because what else do you do with a sentence like that at 5:43 p.m. on a Friday.

“Why don’t you go on Tinder like a normal person?”

He makes a face like you’ve suggested he lick a subway pole. “Tinder is like shopping for people. You have to take pictures with plants and pretend you hike. I don’t even own a straw water bottle.”

“What does hydration have to do with dating apps?”

“Everything? I don’t know!” He swipes the air as if rejecting oxygen. “And people say ‘no ONS’ and I don’t know if I do want that or don’t, and—” He gulps, hands flattening on his thighs. “Because I’ve… never done this before.”

The room seems to hold its breath with you.

“Never done what?” you ask, though your pulse already knows.

“Any of it. Not like this. Not… wanting to.” He inhales, shaky. “I want to try. With someone who won’t make me feel like an idiot for asking.”

“So you picked me,” you deadpan.

Immediate nod. “You’re extremely qualified at telling me when I’m being stupid.” Beat. “Lovingly.”

You snort. “Great. That’s going on my resume. Professional Idiot Translator.”

Mingi edges in, sneakers squeaking. “I don’t want a stranger who smells like laundry pods. I want—” His eyes flick to your mouth, away, back. “I want it to be you. If you’d consider it. If not, I’ll buy a straw and learn to hike.”

“Oh,” you say, a trapdoor opening under you. “You can’t just burst in and say that.”

“I tried knocking,” he protests, weakly.

“You tried existing loudly in the hallway and then detonating in my doorway.”

He winces, then manages a smile that’s eighty percent terrified, twenty percent Mingi. “Is that a no?”

You take in the pink ears, the fidgeting hands, the way this doesn’t feel like a joke even though you wish it was, because jokes are safe and this isn’t.

“It’s a—sit down before your knees give out.”

Mingi folds onto the bed careful and too big, hands planted on either side. He doesn’t look at you, like he’s giving you an out.

“Okay,” you say, softer. “Ground rules. If this is a joke, I will kill you with a throw pillow.”

“Not a joke.”

“If either of us feels weird, we stop.”

“Deal.”

You glance at your phone. The burger on the app glares like you’re betraying lunch. Back to Mingi, who looks like he sprinted here.

“So you never had?” you add after a whole stretch of silence, contemplating if you should even ask.

Mingi freezes, hands still hovering near your thighs. His eyes flick up to yours, wide and uncertain.

“Had...?” he prompts, voice careful.

“Sex,” you clarify, gentler now. “You said you haven’t done ‘any of it.’ I just want to know where we are. No judgment.”

He exhales, shoulders dropping. “No. I haven’t.” The admission comes quiet, almost defiant, like he’s bracing for you to laugh. “Is that... weird?”

“It’s not weird,” you say firmly. “It’s just you. And I’m glad you told me.”

His throat works. “I thought about it sometimes. With people I didn’t really like. But it never felt right. And then I thought about you, and—” He cuts himself off, ears blazing.

“And?” you coax.

“And it felt right”, he finishes, barely above a whisper. “Too right. Scared me a little.”

Your chest does something complicated. You reach down, fingers curling around his wrist, grounding. “We go at your pace. If anything feels like too much, we stop. Okay?”

“Okay.” He leans into your touch, some of the tension bleeding out. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you say, smiling. “I’m about to be very bossy.”

Mingi laughs, breathless and relieved. “I’m counting on it.”

“One more thing,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“You are, in fact, stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Lovingly,” you add. The corner of his mouth betrays him.

Silence hums. You shift closer. He doesn’t move, but his breath hitches like you tugged a string.

“We talk first,” you say. “No heroics. No speedrunning. What do you mean by ‘try’?”

He swallows. “I mean... I want to learn how to make a girl feel good. With my mouth. And my hands but that is if you want.”

Your chest does a funny, traitorous ache. “Okay. Boundaries.” You shift to face him knee to knee. “Kissing is okay?”

He nods, then falters. “I... um. I haven’t done much kissing before.” His hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, sheepish. His ears are going pinker by the second.

“That’s fine,” you say, gentle. “We go slow. I’ll show you. You just follow.” You tip your chin toward him. “Rule one: breathe. Rule two: less thinking. Rule three: ask when you need to.”

Mingi huffs a nervous laugh. “I can do those. Maybe. Probably.”

“You already are.” You nudge his knee with yours. “Come closer.”

You lean in. Mingi does too. The world narrows to the clean line of his mouth and the ridiculous flutter under your ribs. His gaze keeps dropping to your mouth and darting away.

“Hey,” you murmur. “You can look.”

He does, and it’s like standing in warm light.

“Start simple,” you say. “Just your lips. No pressure to be perfect. If I want more, I’ll take it.”

“Okay.” He swallows, steadies. “Can I...?”

“Yes.”

He kisses you like he’s testing water with his toes-light, almost reverent. He pulls back half an inch, checking your face.

“Good start,” you tell him, smiling. “Again. This time, stay.”

He obeys. The second kiss lingers, and when you angle, he mirrors. You feel him relax by degrees, shoulders dropping, you smooth your thumb over the edge of his ear and the heat there jumps under your touch.

“Pink looks good on you,” you tease softly against his lips.

He makes a wounded noise. “Don’t- I’m trying to be serious.”

“You are. And you’re cute.” You brush another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Open a little. Just a little.”

Mingi follows, and when your tongue grazes his, he jerks-then exhales, cheeks scorching. He looks like he might yeet himself out the window if you asked nicely.

“Sorry. Surprised. Not— not bad.”

“Good,” you say, and kiss him again, longer this time. He makes a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, and his hand comes up to hover near your waist like he’s afraid to commit.

“You can touch me,” you murmur against his mouth.

His palm settles warm on your hip, fingers spreading like he’s memorizing the shape. “This is—I mean, I didn’t think—like, obviously I hoped, but I wasn’t sure if—”

“Mingi.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up for a second.”

He laughs, breathless and a little manic. “Right. Sorry. I’m just—nervous? But good nervous. Like when you’re about to go on a rollercoaster and you’re already strapped in so there’s no backing out and—”

You press your finger to his lips. His eyes go wide.

“Breathe,” you remind him.

He nods against your finger, and when you pull it away, he inhales like he’s been underwater.

“Okay,” you whisper. “One more. Nice and easy.”

You meet him halfway. This time it lands just right—no rush, no second-guessing, just the warm press of his mouth fitting to yours. He follows the angle you give him, pressure steady, breath syncing to yours until the world quiets. The kiss is soft and sure, the kind that hums in your chest instead of sparking wild.

When you ease back a fraction, he stays close, eyes still closed like he’s listening for the echo. A slow smile tugs at his lips.

“That—” he whispers, opening his eyes. “That was… nice.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “That was nice.”

Mingi’s hand at your hip settles with new confidence, not gripping, just there. He leans in to place one more quick, perfect peck like a punctuation mark, and you laugh, light and a little breathless.

When you part, he stays close, breath mingling with yours, eyes bright. “For the record,” he says quietly, “Tinder could never.”

“Flatterer,” you say, and tug lightly at the drawstrings of his hoodie until he dips closer. “Careful. Compliments might get you places.”

He swallows. “Like… the kitchen?”

You huff a laugh. “Adorable. Also, no. Different places.” You tip your head, letting your breath skate over his mouth without giving him the kiss he’s already leaning for. “But you’re going to have to earn it.”

His eyes flicker, equal parts panic and fascination. “H-How?”

“Listening test.” You trail your finger from the shell of his pink ear down the strong line of his jaw, slow enough to watch him shiver. “Hands behind your back.”

He blinks, startled, but obediently folds his wrists there. The shift makes his chest broaden, makes the hoodie stretch over him. He looks very large and very sweet and very, very pliant.

“Good boy,” you murmur, and his throat works. “Rule for the next minute: you don’t chase. I come to you.”

“O-Okay.”

You hover, letting your lips ghost his without landing. The not-quite of it draws a tiny sound out of him, helpless and soft.

“Sensitive,” you note, amused, and pass your mouth from corner to corner, barely there. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Everywhere,” Mingi says, scandalised by his own honesty.

“Pick one.”

He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s bracing for impact. “M-mouth.”

“Specific,” you coax. “Top lip? Bottom? Here?” You brush the bow of his top lip with a feather-light kiss and he inhales sharply. “Or here?” You nip the plush of his bottom lip, not enough to hurt, just enough to make him gasp.

“Bottom,” he whispers, dazed. “Please.”

“See? You do know how to ask.” You give him what he asked for, a slow, deliberate kiss to his lower lip, drawing it into your mouth and releasing it with a soft pop. His fingers flex behind his back, impulse straining against instruction.

“Hands stay,” you remind, smiling against him.

“Staying,” he manages, voice rough with effort.

“Good.” You kiss him once more, then pause so he can breathe. “Just so you know—when I ask for a colour, it’s our… cheat code. Green is yes, yellow is pause, red is stop. You can use any of them any time.”

You kiss him properly, deepening by degrees, then break just to breathe against his cheek. “Colour?”

“Green,” he says, nodding like it’s a test he studied for. “Green. Like… neon.”⁠

“Good.” You slide your mouth to his jaw and place a single, smug kiss there. “I like you like this.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “Me too? I think?”

“You think,” you echo, teasing. You nose along to the hinge of his jaw where you can feel his pulse flutter. “Still hands?”

He swallows. “Still hands.”

“Reward then.” You finally press your mouth to the spot and stay, a warm seal. He goes very still, breath stuttering. When you suck lightly, just once, a stunned, wrecked noise escapes him.

“Language lesson,” you murmur, smiling at the ceiling. “That sound means you’re doing amazing.”

He laughs, helpless and a little dizzy. “I—okay. I want to be amazing.”

“And you are,” you say, generous for once. You brush your thumb over Mingi’s lower lip again. “Now you can use your hands.”

He exhales like a held note and brings them forward—slow, careful, like you’re a gift he’s unwrapping.

“Start where I left you,” you prompt, tipping your chin to offer the line of your jaw. “Remember: jaw, then neck, slow.”

“Jaw, then neck,” he echoes, gathering himself. His hands bracket your hips, warm and steady, and he leans in to press one shy kiss to the angle of your jaw. Another, surer. He follows the curve like he’s tracing a map he actually wants to memorize.

“That’s it,” you breathe. “Linger.”

He does, mouth melting from kiss to kiss. When he reaches the hinge where your pulse flutters, he pauses, looks up for your read.

“Go on,” you whisper. “Gentle.”

He kisses there, barely pressure, then a second, a third, patience embodied. The heat of his breath blooms against your skin; the careful way he holds himself makes your stomach dip.

“Try a little more pressure,” you say, and his mouth seals warmer. When he sucks, soft and brief, your fingers catch in his hair.

“Okay?” he asks, voice roughened.

“Green,” you tell him, smile audible. “Very green.”

He exhales, relieved and a little proud, and trails lower by a fraction, then back up like he’s learning what “tease” tastes like. You can feel him smiling when you shiver.

“Show-off,” you murmur.

“Listening,” he counters, and you can hear the grin in it.

You tilt his chin with two fingers so he meets your mouth again. The kiss slots in perfectly now—practice made easy. When you part, you scrape your nails lightly along the nape of his neck and his eyes flutter like you flipped a switch.

“Good,” you say again, softer. “You’re catching on fast.”

“Teacher’s very motivating,” he mumbles, dazed.

“Then here’s extra credit.” You guide one of his hands to your waist and the other to your ribcage, over your shirt. “Hold me while you kiss. Same pace.”

His fingers spread, anchoring you. He returns to your jaw, kisses a slow path to that pulse‑point and back, settling into a rhythm that lets both of you breathe.

“Color?” you ask, voice low.

“Green,” he says, sure. “Promise.”

“Then we escalate,” you murmur, and catch his hoodie string to tug him closer. “Take this off?”

Mingi nods, scrambles adorably, and peels it over his head, hair mussed, tee clinging to the line of his shoulders. He looks at you like he’s waiting to be graded.

“A+,” you say, amused. “My turn.” You gather the hem of your shirt an inch. “Eyes on me. Hands help, but only where I put them.”

“Okay.” His palms hover until you guide them, one steady at your waist, one warm at your ribs again. The shirt lifts just enough to bare a stripe of skin to winter air.

“Start here,” you tell him, tapping just below the curve of your throat. “Then follow.”

He bends, mouth obedient and soft at the spot you chose. He maps down the slope of your neck, kisses stitched with patience, breath shaky but intent even as your fingers toy with his hair. At your collarbone you hum and Mingi lingers, tries a careful nip, pulls back for your read.

“More pressure there, less here.” You nudge him a fraction, he adjusts like he was built to.

When he reaches the place where fabric meets skin, he hesitates, eyes flicking up. “Here?”

“Ask me,” you remind.

“Can I… kiss lower?” The question is careful, earnest, heat threaded through it.

“You can,” you say, and lift the hem another inch.

He exhales, relieved, and kisses the new skin like it’s a secret. Your stomach jumps under the warm spread of his mouth; he laughs, breath fogging your skin. “Sensitive?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, amused and a little undone.

“Listening,” he says again, and proves it—slow kisses, firmer now, a reverent pass of his lips along the edge of your waistband that makes your breath catch.

“Good,” you tell him, hand tightening in his hair. “If I tap twice, pause. If you feel lost, ask. If you want more—”

“I’ll say so,” he finishes, eyes bright. “I want to keep going.”

You tip your head back, offering your throat. “Then earn it. One more pass up. Make it count.”

He does, ascending with the same care, kissing a line back to your mouth—jaw, corner, lips—until the kiss you share is deeper than before, patience thrumming into hunger.

When you part, he’s breathing hard and smiling. “Different places?” he asks, shy, hopeful.

“Last check,” you say, “you still want this?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, voice sure despite the flush climbing his neck. “Please.”

“Then help me.” You guide his hands to your waist. Together, you ease the fabric down, leaving you in just underwear. The winter air pricks your skin; his gaze feels warmer.

“Lie back,” he says, surprising you both. When you raise an eyebrow, he adds quickly, “Please? I want—I want to do this right.”

“Bossy,” you tease, but you do, settling against the pillows, heart kicking against your ribs. He follows, kneeling between your legs, hands hovering like he’s afraid to break something.

“Touch me,” you tell him. “Thighs first. Get used to it.”

His palms land, warm and broad, smoothing up and down in careful strokes. The reverence in it makes your breath hitch. He leans down, presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher—testing, asking without words.

“Good,” you murmur. “Keep going. Slow.”

He does, mouth tracing a path along your inner thigh, each kiss a little firmer, a little closer. When he reaches the edge of your underwear, he pauses, looks up through his lashes.

“Can I?” he asks, fingers hooking gently at the fabric.

“Yes.”

He eases them down, careful, almost ceremonial, and when you’re bare he just... stares for a second, awed and a little overwhelmed.

“You okay?” you ask, softer now.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just—wow.”

You laugh, light and a little breathless. “Flattery later. Focus now.”

“Right. Focus.” He settles lower, hands spreading your thighs wider, and the first touch of his breath makes you shiver. “Tell me what to do.”

“Start gentle. Flat tongue, slow. Listen to me—if I make noise, you’re doing it right. If I go quiet, ask.”

“Okay.” He leans in, and the first pass of his tongue is careful, exploratory, warm. You exhale sharply, fingers finding his blonde hair.

“Like that,” you manage. “Again.”

He does, more confident this time, tongue dragging slow and deliberate. When he finds the right spot and you gasp, he hums against you—curious, pleased—and the vibration makes your hips twitch. A soft moan escapes you, barely more than a breath, and you feel him smile against you.

“There,” you breathe. “Stay there. Little circles.”

He adjusts, focused, and the rhythm he finds is unpracticed but earnest, pressure building in careful increments. Your hand tightens in Mingi’s hair; he groans softly, and the sound buzzes through you. Your hips jerk up involuntarily, seeking more, and his free hand presses gently to steady you.

“Mingi—” His name comes out ragged, your breath shattering on the syllables. “Doing so good.”

He doubles down, encouraged, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you steady, the other sliding up to rest warm on your hip. The combination of his mouth and the anchor of his touch winds you tighter, breath coming shorter. You bite your lower lip, trying to hold back the sounds building in your throat.

“Flatten your tongue for me,” you say, voice thin. “Broad. Slow.”

He obeys immediately, tongue going wide and warm as he licks a long stroke from your entrance up through your folds. He tastes you like you asked him to—patient, unhurried, mouth sultry with focus. You feel him learn the terrain. The soft give at your entrance that makes your breath hitch, the slick seams that part under his tongue, the way your hips try to chase him when he drags upward. A whimper slips out, and you feel heat flood your cheeks.

“Good,” you manage, your other hand finding his where it rests on your hip, fingers threading through his. “Again, a little firmer at the top.”

The next pass has weight, a steady press that lingers right where your body lights. He repeats it, rhythm gathering, each stroke a touch slower than the last so you can feel the shape of his tongue as it moves: broad, then narrowing on the upstroke as he traces the curve of you, then broad again on the way down to keep you drenched. Your breath comes in shallow gasps now, each one punctuated by a soft moan you can’t quite suppress.

“Taste me,” you say, and he does—open-mouthed now, sealing his lips just enough to pull softly as his tongue slides. The wet sound he makes is obscene and earnest all at once; you feel it everywhere. Your hips jerk again, harder this time, and you squeeze his hand reflexively.

A soft sound slips out of you—barely a moan, more breath than voice—and it makes him shiver. Your hips twitch up without permission; he tightens the hand on your thigh and murmurs something you can’t catch, a soothing sound that helps you settle and then rise to meet him again. You bite down harder on your lip.

Your free hand finds his and he lets you lace your fingers with his, palm to palm, squeezing back when your breath stutters. He holds you there, anchored, while his mouth keeps moving—patient pulls, slow strokes—until the moans get a little less shy and a little more open, catching on the edges when his tongue drags just right. You hear yourself whimper his name, voice breaking.

He swaps to smaller movements when you guide him: little side-to-side flicks along one fold, then a careful scoop that gathers slick and brings it up. He pauses to breathe, to listen, and then he’s back, tongue drawing lazy figure-eights over your inner labia, painting you until you’re shaking. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your other hand gripping his so hard you worry you’ll hurt him, but he just squeezes back encouragingly.

“Circles,” you remind, breath breaking on a moan. “Small. Stay shallow.”

Mingi circles exactly where you told him, pressure building—unpracticed but so intent it steals your words. His hand on your thigh tightens when you moan; the other steadies you at the hip, thumb rubbing thoughtless comfort into your skin. Your hips buck up again, chasing the pleasure, and a breathy whine escapes before you can stop it.

He leans in closer, chasing the taste of you—and the bridge of his nose nudges up, brushes your clit by accident.

A bright bolt fires through you. Your hips jolt violently, and a sharp cry tears from your throat.

He jerks back a centimetre, startled. “Sorry, I—”

“No,” you gasp, grabbing his hair to bring him right back, breath completely shattered. “That. Do that again.”

“Here?” He tests, nudging with the soft of his nose, barely pressure.

Your laugh breaks on a whine, hips rolling up to meet him. “Yes. Gentle. Keep your tongue where it was.”

He hums in relief and returns to his circles, tongue slow and sure just below while his nose brushes your clit on each pass—accidental turned intentional, the perfect double touch. The combination unravels you: the steady, wet glide of his tongue and the sweet, buffered nudge of his nose, the way he breathes you in like he’s getting drunk on it. Soft moans spill from you now, unrestrained, your hand in his hair alternating between pulling and petting.

“Good boy. Keep going, just like that.” Your voice is wrecked, barely coherent.

He does, settling into a careful rhythm—lick, nudge, breathe—letting you roll minutely against him. When your thighs start to tremble he tightens his grip, anchoring you through the climb, and adds the smallest flutter to the tip of his tongue at the end of each circle that makes your vision spark. Your breath comes in ragged gasps now, punctuated by moans that climb higher with each pass. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood, trying and failing to stay grounded.

“Mingi—” You hear your own voice and barely recognise it, high and desperate. “If you do that three more times, I’m going to—”

He does it once. Your hips jerk, a broken moan escaping. Twice. Your fingers clench in his hair, your other hand crushing his. The third time, the flutter lands perfectly, his nose brushing just right, and you break with a startled cry, pleasure sluicing through you sharp and bright. Your whole body arches, hips rolling against his mouth as waves of sensation crash through you.

He stays with you, tongue easing to long, soothing strokes as you shudder, his nose nuzzling softer, his hand petting your thigh. When you finally sag back into the pillows, breath still coming in shaky gasps, he lifts just enough to look up, lips slick, eyes blown and desperate to be told he did well.

“Perfect,” you whisper, releasing his hair to cup his face, thumb brushing over his flushed cheek. “You did so perfect.”

He beams, that shy, devastating smile breaking across his face even as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Really?”

“Really.” You tug him up gently until he’s hovering over you, and you kiss him—slow, deep, tasting yourself on his tongue. The kiss goes deeper and you feel him, hot and hard against you. Your hands slide to his neck, thumbs fitting under his jaw; a low sound breaks in his throat as you angle him where you want.

When you finally pull back, breath still unsteady, you see the way he’s trembling—not from cold, but from restraint. His eyes are dark, unfocused, and when you glance down you can see the obvious strain against his grey sweats.

“You okay?” you ask softly, thumb still tracing his jaw.

Mingi nods quickly, then shakes his head, then laughs—breathless and a little panicked. “I—yeah. I just. I only asked to... you know. Eat you out. I didn’t—I don’t want to assume—” His hips shift involuntarily and he winces, biting his lip hard. “But I’m kind of... really hard right now.”

“I can tell,” you say, voice still rough from before. Your hand slides down to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering under your palm.

“I should probably—” He moves to pull away, face flushed darker now with embarrassment. “I need to take care of this. I’ll just... go to my room or the bathroom or something. Give me like five minutes and I’ll—”

“Mingi.”

He freezes, looking at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Look at me.” His gaze snaps to yours like it’s a reflex. You cradle his jaw with one hand, the other still warm at his neck. “You don’t go anywhere unless I send you. Understood?”

He swallows. “Understood.”

“Words.”

“Yes. Understood. I’ll stay.”

“Good boy.” The praise lands and you feel him melt, that delicious looseness returning to his shoulders. You pause, thumb brushing his jawline. “Hey. Check in with me—do you like when I call you that? Good boy?”

Mingi’s eyes widen slightly, then soften. “Yeah. I really do.”

“You’re sure? If it ever feels off, you tell me immediately.”

“I promise,” he says, earnest. “I like it. Makes me feel... wanted.”

You smile, relieved and fond. “Good. Because you are.” You stroke his pink cheek once more. “You listen so well. Such an eager thing, hm?”

His breath hitches. “I want to be. For you.”

“You are,” you say, gentle but firm. “Colour?”

“Green,” he answers, almost instantly. “Please.”

“Then here’s what you’re going to do for me, pretty boy,” you murmur, thumbs stroking his pulse. “You’re going to breathe. You’re going to keep your hands where I put them. And you’re going to ask when you want something. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Mingi’s voice goes soft and obedient. “I can do that.”

“There’s my good boy.” You guide his wrists to the pillow above his head again and he offers them up without resistance, a quiet, grateful sigh leaving him. You kiss the corner of his mouth. “Such good manners.”

He shivers. “I like when you say that.”

“Good.” You shift down his body, palm smoothing over the line of him through his sweats and then lower, the pressure light, teasing. He keens, immediately biting it back.

“Don’t hide from me, love,” you chide softly. “Let me hear you.”

“Yes,” he breathes, and the next sound he makes is open and honest.

“Perfect.” You cup him through the fabric once more, then ease his waistband down. He lifts obediently, eager under your hands. “That’s it. Always so helpful.”

A helpless, pleased sound escapes him.

You bend to press a slow kiss just below his navel, then another lower, praising between each. “Good. So good. My pretty thing. My sweet boy.”

He’s trembling again, but it’s the good kind-the floating kind. “Please...”

You look up. “Ask.”

He flushes, brave. “Please touch me. However you want.”

“That’s my eager boy.” You wrap your hand around him again, firm enough to reassure without rushing.

“Hands here,” you murmur, guiding his wrists back to the pillow. He offers them up immediately, eyes wide and shining. You hook your fingers in his waistband and tug. “Up.”

He lifts obediently and you strip his sweats the rest of the way, then his briefs. He flushes hard when he’s bare, instinct curling him in, but you smooth a palm down his thigh and the tension melts out of him.

“Look at you,” you say, soft awe threading your voice. “So pretty like this.”

Mingi’s big. Thick and heavy in your hand, flushed dark at the head. The weight of him drapes against your palm when you test it, the heat of him throbbing once, shy, when you kiss just below his navel.

You sit back on your heels, leaving your bra on and nothing else. His eyes go darker at the sight of you over him naked and offered up-and you feel him pulse against your fingers.

You stroke him slow, base to tip, letting slick gather under your thumb. “Feels like a lot, doesn’s it, love?”

He nods, wrecked already. “It’s... a lot. Good.”

You shift forward and let him feel you, lining him up to slide along your slick folds without pressing in-just a long, wet glide that paints you both and makes his head tip back. He’s so thick that the press of him at your entrance makes your breath stutter even though you’re not taking him yet; your body answers with a hungry clench around nothing.

“Breathe,” you remind, hand at his throat light as a necklace, thumbs under his jaw. “Offer. Don’t chase.”

Mingi offers-hips staying obediently still while you rock. Every pass drags the blunt heat of his head through your slick and bumps your clit; you gasp, and he whimpers like the sound gives him permission to make his own.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, voice low. “So big and so sweet for me.”

Mingi swallows, eyes glassy with wanting. “I like when you tell me that.”

“Then listen: you’re perfect.” You reach for the drawer without leaving him, find the foil again and keep it ready in your fingers. “Last check before I take you. Color?”

“Green,” he answers, immediate and certain. "Please."

“Good boy,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him as your hand keeps him gliding along you, letting him feel exactly how wet he’s made you.

You tear the foil, roll the condom on with steady hands, and guide him back to your slick. The blunt heat of him nudges your entrance and you exhale, centering.

You hold his throat lightly, thumbs under his jaw. “I’m going to ride you. You stay still for me. Offer, don’t chase.”

He nods, obedient, wrists still where you set them above his head.

You sink just the tip and stop. Your breath stutters at the stretch. He’s big-more than your body expected after the teasing glide-and your fingers tighten at his neck to keep him still when his hips try to help.

“Easy, love,” you soothe, voice still firm. “I need a second. You’re thick. You’ll fit. Let me take you.”

His eyes go wide. “Yes. I’ll stay.”

You breathe with it, the first inch giving, then another. Heat blooms and the ache turns bright. You rub small soothing circles at his pulse while your other hand braces on his chest.

“Good boy. That’s it. You feel so big in me.” You pause again, jaw slack for a beat, then nod. “Okay. Another little bit.”

You work down in slow increments, sitting back an inch at a time, waiting for the stretch to melt before you take more. Each inch he gives you is praise you feed him back.

“That’s it, pretty boy. Offering so well. You’re perfect.”

You bottom out with a startled gasp, the fullness stealing your words. You fold forward to kiss him through it, letting the kiss go slow while your body settles around him.

“See?” you whisper against his mouth when your breath returns. “You fit. All of you.”

He laughs, helpless, eyes wet with relief. “Feels... unbelievable.”

“I know,” you say, proud and fond. “Hands stay where I left them. If you need anything, you ask.”

He nods, eager. “Yes.”

You draw up a third of the way and sink back down, testing the angle; both of you groan. Another slow lift, another deliberate seat, a rhythm forming that’s all control and honeyed heat.

“Offer,” you remind when his hips twitch. “Let me use you.”

“Yes,” he breathes, pliant.

You set the pace-lazy, claiming rolls that let you feel every thick inch, pausing to breathe when the stretch spikes, then riding through it with soft curses and a smile he can hear.

“C-Can I... touch?” he asks, voice trembling. His fingers twitch where you’ve laced them over his head, thighs quivering with effort.

“Ask for what you want, sweetheart.”

“Good boy.” You guide his wrists down to your waist. “Slow. Take it off for me.”

“Your bra,” he says, wrecked and brave. “Please. I want to see you.”

Mingi fumbles sweetly, obedient, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. The hooks give way under his careful fingers and he slides the straps down your shoulders, peeling it away. The cool air kisses your skin; his breath punches out of him like he forgot how to hold it. His gaze drops helplessly to where your bodies meet, to the way you’re seated on him—how you’re just taking him, steady and sure—and the sound that breaks in his throat is an unguarded moan.

“Eyes up,” you murmur, catching his face and tilting it back to yours. “You can look, but you keep listening. Don’t chase.”

“Yes,” he breathes, glassy‑eyed.

You sink again, slower this time just to feel his cock stretch you, just to hear the desperate noise he makes when he glances down and watches himself disappear into you.

He gasps, the sound breaking. “I’m-sorry, I can’t—”

You catch his face, thumbs under his jaw, steadying his ragged breath. “Hey. Look at me. You’re okay. It’s your first time. It’s all new. You’re doing so well. Colour?"

“G-Green,” he manages, eyes huge. Panic flickers and you press your forehead to his, riding him in tiny, soothing rolls.

“Good boy. Breathe. If you need to come, you ask me.”

His fingers curl in the sheets like he needs to hold on. “Can I-please—”

“You can,” you say, voice warm and sure.

He swears, helpless. “You’re so... warm... fuck—” His breath turns ragged, head dropping onto your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as you rock through it, slow and claiming.

“That’s it,” you murmur in his ear, praise threading through the heat. “Let go for me. Good boy.”

A wrecked moan tears out of him. Mingi’s whole body tightens under you, then shudders, and you feel it—the sudden heat blooming inside the condom, the pulse of him filling it as he comes. You hold him there, hands stroking his nape and chest, hips easing into soft after-rolls until the tremors ebb.

You lift slowly, feeling the weight of him slipping free, and reach down to carefully hold the base of the condom as you ease off completely. He watches, dazed and flushed, as you tie it off and set it aside with care.

When he lifts his head, flushed, glassy, somewhere between mortified and blissed out: “I’m sorry. That was so fast, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey,” you cut in gently, cradling his jaw so he has to see you. “No sorries. It’s your first time. Your body did exactly what it’s supposed to do. You were perfect for me.”

His breath hitches. “But I—”

“You asked. You listened. You checked colour. You let me take care of you.” You kiss the corner of his mouth, slow and certain. “That’s everything I wanted, sweet boy.”

Some of the tightness leaves his shoulders. “I... did good?”

“You did so good,” you say, smiling against his lips. “My good boy.” You brush hair from his forehead. “Water in small sips.”

You reach for the bottle and tip it for him; he drinks, and when you drink after, his hand comes up tentatively to steady the base like he’s learning how to help. “There you go,” you murmur. “Proud of you.”

“Proud?” Mingi echoes, dazed.

“Very,” you confirm. “First time is about feeling safe, not performance. You’re safe with me.” You press your forehead to his then you kiss his temple. “We can cuddle as long as you need now.”

He swallows, eyes big and earnest. “I want you to cum again,” he says, too eager to hide it.

You cup his cheek, smiling. “Eager,” you murmur, fond.

He rushes forward to kiss you, eyes bright with want, and you laugh—warm, delighted—pressing a palm to his chest to hold him back.

“Not so fast,” you say, grinning. “You just came. Give yourself a minute.”

He blinks, caught between eagerness and obedience, mouth still parted like he forgot to close it. “But I want—”

“I know what you want.” You stroke his cheek with your thumb, soothing. “And I love that you want it. But your body needs a second to catch up.”

“No it doesn’t," he slurs out, shaking his head, words tumbling over each other in his eagerness. His hands come up to your waist, steadying you like he’s already planning the next move.

You catch his wrists gently, bringing them back down. “Min,” you say, voice soft but firm. “Listen to me.”

He blinks up at you, still flushed, still breathless, but something in your tone makes him pause.

“Please," he breathes, the word catching in his throat. His fingers flex against your hips where you’re still holding his wrists. “I can—I want to make you feel good. Please let me try.”

You study his face: pupils blown wide, lips parted and kiss-swollen, that desperate sincerity that makes your chest ache with fondness.

“You already made me feel good,” you remind him gently. “This isn’t about proving anything.”

“I know," he says quickly, nodding. “I know, but—” He swallows hard, gaze dropping to where your thighs bracket his hips. “I want to. Not because I have to. Because I want to.”

Something in the way he says it—raw and unguarded—makes heat pool low in your belly again.

“Colour?” you ask softly.

“Green,” he answers immediately. “So green. Please.”

You cup his face, searching his eyes one more time. “If anything changes, you tell me. The second it does.”

“I will," he promises, voice steadier now. “I will. Just—please let me.”

“Hands only,” you say, stroking his jaw. “No mouth. You’ll use your fingers and your thumb. You follow me.”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Tell me how.”

You guide his hand down, settling his palm warm over you. The heat of his skin against yours sends a shiver through your body, and you feel hyper-aware of every point of contact—the width of his palm, the slight tremble in his fingers.

You slide two of his fingers through your slick, guiding them slowly. His fingers are longer than you expected and the glide of them feels almost too good. You can feel your pulse thrumming where his fingertips rest, and the wetness makes the movement smooth, unhurried.

“Flat first,” you instruct, voice softer than you meant. “Gentle.”

Your breath catches as he follows your guidance, those long fingers spreading warmth through you. The sensation blooms low in your belly—a mix of anticipation and the sweet ache of sensitivity from before.

He does as told, slow passes that gather heat back into your skin. When your hips nudge, he stills on instinct like he remembers the rule.

“Good boy,” you murmur. “Now one inside. Palm up. Just there.”

He eases a finger in, shallow, careful. You exhale, shoulders dropping. “Curl-tiny. Not hard. Like you’re saying ‘come here.’”

He tries. The first press is tentative, almost shy. You hum, take his wrist and adjust the angle a breath. “There. Smaller. Steady.”

“Like this?”

“Exactly like that.” You guide his thumb to rest above, soft. “Thumb here. Small circles. Don’t chase me. If I move, you stay.”

He nods, concentrating, and the pattern settles: curl... release... thumb circles... breathe. The regularity of it pours heat through you, a low, insistent thrum that lets your body uncurl around the touch.

“More or less?” he asks, voice careful.

“A little more pressure with your thumb. Same speed.”

He adjusts, and the sound that leaves you is involuntary, catching on your breath. He freezes a heartbeat-checking-and you squeeze his wrist in answer.

“Keep going.”

You feel him glow at the praise even as his focus tightens. He adds the slightest pulse to his curl, not deeper, just firmer on the up-press, and your hips answer without permission. His eyes flick to your face, greedy for the signs; you give him them on purpose-open mouth, soft yeses, the shiver when his thumb’s circle hits just right.

“Three fingers?” he asks, tentative.

“Yes,” you breathe, and the word comes out rougher than you meant. “Go slow.”

He eases the second finger in alongside the first, and the stretch makes you gasp—fuller now, the press of him deeper. Your eyes flutter shut as he pauses, giving you time to adjust.

“Okay?” he whispers, voice tight with concentration.

“Perfect,” you manage. “Keep the curl. Same rhythm.”

He does, and this time when his fingers press up, the sensation blooms hotter, more insistent. He reaches deep inside you, finding that spot with careful, deliberate pressure, your breath catches in your throat.

“Fuck—” The sound escapes before you can stop it. Your hips roll forward involuntarily, chasing the feeling.

“There?” he asks, awed.

“There,” you confirm, voice breaking. “Stay right there. Don’t change anything.”

Mingi doesn’t. His thumb keeps its steady circles, his fingers maintain that perfect curl and press, and the combination builds heat through you in waves. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into it—the warmth of his palm, the careful attention, the way he’s learned your body so fast.

“You’re so wet," he murmurs, wonder in his voice. “I can feel—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, desperate now. Your hand finds his shoulder, gripping for anchor as the pleasure coils tighter.

His fingers don’t falter, steady and sure, and you feel the tension gathering at the base of your spine—tight, inevitable. “Fuck Min,” you gasp, his name breaking on your lips as the heat crests. Your body tightens around his fingers, pulsing, and he holds you through it with reverent focus, thumb still circling as you shatter.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, voice trembling.

He surges up immediately, mouth finding yours, and you moan into him—deep and unrestrained—as the orgasm crashes through you. Your body clenches around his fingers, pulsing in waves, and he swallows every sound you make, kissing you through it like he’s trying to memorize the taste of your pleasure.

Mingi’s fingers stay steady, working you through the aftershocks with that same careful rhythm until you’re shaking, oversensitive, reaching down to still his wrist.

“Okay,” you gasp against his lips. “Okay, that’s—”

He eases his fingers out slowly, reverently, and you both exhale at the loss. When you open your eyes, Mingi’s staring at you like you’ve just handed him the universe.

“Did I—” he starts, breathless, searching your face. “Was that okay?”

You cup his jaw, still trembling slightly, and kiss him soft and deep. “You were perfect,” you whisper against his mouth, meaning every word.

He melts into you, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and you can feel his smile against your lips—proud and overwhelmed.

You stay like that for a while—wrapped around each other, breathing in sync, the world narrowed down to the warmth between your bodies and the gentle comedown settling into your limbs. When you finally ease back to look at him, his eyes are soft, glassy with afterglow, a small smile playing at his lips like he’s still processing that this was real.

“How do you feel?” you ask, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

“Like I want to do that again,” he admits, then immediately flushes. “I mean—” He stops, swallows. Starts again. “I mean, like, not with you—wait, no, I mean with you I liked it, I loved it, but I mean—” His face goes crimson. “Like, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just—we’re friends, right? And I don’t want you to think I’m like, expecting—or that this means—”

He’s spiraling now, words tumbling over each other in a rush of anxiety. “Because I know we’re just friends and this was just—I mean it wasn’t just anything, it was amazing, you’re amazing, but I don’t want to make it weird or like—assume things—and I’m not trying to like, change what we are, I just really wanted to try this and you let me and—”

“Mingi,” you say softly, pressing a finger to his lips.

He stops mid-word, chest heaving slightly, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Breathe,” you say gently, catching his hand.

He sucks in air like he forgot how.

“You’re spiralling,” you observe, trying not to smile.

“I know!” He covers his face with both hands, voice muffled. “I don’t know why I’m talking. Why am I still talking?”

You gently pull his hands away, meeting his panicked gaze with something steadier. “Because we’re friends,”you say simply. “And friends can be awkward after they make each other cum.”

He blinks at you, processing, then lets out a strangled laugh. “Oh my god.”

“We’re okay," you promise, squeezing his hands. “This doesn’t have to be weird unless we make it weird.”

“I’m definitely making it weird,” he mutters, but there’s relief in his voice now, the edge of panic smoothing out.

“Do you want to kiss me?” you ask softly, watching the way his eyes flicker between yours and your lips.

He nods immediately, wordless, like the answer was already sitting on his tongue waiting to escape.

You smile, leaning in slowly, giving him time to close the distance. When your lips meet, it’s different from before—gentler, unhurried, like you’re both savoring the fact that you can do this now without the urgency of need driving you forward. His mouth is soft, still a little swollen, and he kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

Mingi’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and you melt into him, letting the kiss deepen naturally. There’s no rush, no frantic energy—just the two of you, breathing together, tasting each other in the aftermath.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, a dreamy smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he whispers, like he’s confirming something to himself. “I really wanted to do that.”

You brush your thumb along his jaw, feeling the tension still humming beneath his skin. “Come here,” you murmur, tugging gently until he shifts beside you on the bed.

He goes willingly, folding himself against your side like he’s been waiting for permission. His head finds your shoulder, arm draping across your waist, and you feel the full weight of him settle—warm and solid and real.

“You did so good,” you whisper into his hair, fingers threading through the blonde strands at his nape. “You listened, you checked in, you were perfect.”

He makes a small sound against your neck—half laugh, half exhale—and burrows closer. “I was so nervous,” he admits quietly. “The whole time.”

“I know.” You run your hand down his spine in slow, soothing strokes. “But you trusted me anyway.”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft, muffled against your skin. “I did.”

You pull the comforter up over both of you, cocooning the warmth between your bodies. His breathing evens out gradually, the adrenaline draining away as the comfort seeps in. Your fingers trace idle patterns on his shoulder—circles, lines, nothing in particular—just touch for the sake of touch.

“Do you need anything?” you ask after a while. “Water? Snack? More blankets?”

Mingi shakes his head against you. “Just this,” he murmurs. “Just you.”

Your chest tightens in the best way. “You’ve got me,”you promise, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He hums contentedly, fingers curling into your shirt like he’s anchoring himself. The room settles into a quiet lull—no urgency, no expectations, just the two of you breathing together in the fading winter light.

“So,” he says after a long, comfortable silence, voice still soft and a little tentative, “we can do it again?”

You can’t help but smile at the hopeful note in his voice. “Yeah,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. “We can do it again.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes bright despite the drowsiness settling in. “Really?”

“Really.” You brush your thumb across his cheek. “Whenever you want.”

The smile that breaks across his face is pure sunshine—relieved and delighted and a little disbelieving all at once. He drops his head back to your shoulder with a contented sigh, holding you tighter.

Miraculously, the frigid air of the winter evening hadn’t blown you away. The walk to Kai’s seemed an exertion that had you heaving up to his door. You’re positive the only reason the wind hadn’t whisked you to Oz was that you’d been weighed down by the full-size cello strapped to your back. The added weight does numbers to the short walk. On warm days you enjoy brisk strolls twice the length of the journey to Kai’s. Tonight is not nearly as kind in temperament. You’re hardly able to muster up your body head up when you stop at his door. Here, you texted him. 

A minute passes. The door opened. “You could have just knocked,” Kai informed you upon greeting you at his threshold. 

You’re positive that you heard a pin drop when you blinked up at him. He’d never been up close to you before. Not enough that you could have properly gauged his height in comparison to your own. He’s got an elbow propped against the door jamb and the way he looked down at you was off putting. You’d noticed his mythical looks from the first day you became acquainted with him. His face is unique, to say the least, and not in a bad way. Not at all. He’s undoubtedly handsome. Almost ethereal. The shape of his eyes and rich tan are all that you can use to piece him together. 

But that’s not all which caught your attention. “Your hair,” was all you could say to him. 

Upon hearing your remark, a sheepish shadow eclipsed Kai’s face. Uncharacteristically, he seemed self-conscious of the frosty white shade. He fluffed the fringe from his eyes. “Yeah…I like it. It’s not bad, right?” he asked. Yesterday his hair was black. Now it’s soft, frosty white. Layers of violet seemed to furl in the locks at just the right angle, giving his hair a subtle glow without being obnoxiously blinding. And it maintained a soft looking texture, as if he had raw silk grow it from his scalp. Fuck. He, of all people, would have silk for hair and satin for skin and hell why not give him a pool of gold to swim in just like Scrooge McDuck? 

You strained to find something bad about the appearance. Only natural, you suppose, someone as ‘looking’ as him to be such a cocky fucker. You dare not say good-looking. But you also can’t deny that he certainly isn’t bad looking. He’s insanely attractive in a way that was reserved only for him.

“It’s nice,” you succumbed. Kai’s humble expression twisted back into his barely-there smirk. “Yeah? Thanks,” he said. “Come on in. I’ll take that,” he said, reaching out to grab your cello. He lifted the instrument in its black case, carrying it deeper into his apartment. 

A well of irritation furled in your belly. Warm, itchy, red hot. You ache to claw the fuzzy clouds clean out of yourself. “I appreciate it,” you said through your teeth. 

“You’re welcome,” Kai chortled. The words are heavy with sarcasm. “What’s with the attitude?” He asked you. 

You stepped inside with a vague scoff. You toed off your shoes by the door. His place is nice. Nicer than you expected. A bit cluttered. Eclectic and cozy. It’s not as though you had a mental image conjured up in your mind. Although it’s not entirely shocking. He doesn’t strike you as the messy, gross type. He’s always clean shaven, however part of you begrudgingly argued that Kai isn’t capable of growing facial hair even if he tried. As much as you know that’s simply not true, you still attempted to maintain the insult. 

“No attitude,” you shrugged. “Just tired. The walk is hell with that thing,” you explained as you descended further, the padded steps wary. An immediate sense of ‘I don’t belong here’ jumped out at you, as if there were a little goblin gnawing at your ankles and chanting the phrase over and over. You definitely don’t have a place in his apartment. There’s personality in the walls, the decor, even the amber lighting that revealed a bit of Kai that never came to class. A Kai you didn’t know. And nor did you care to. Whatever warmth that had begun glowing like sparks quickly got smothered into nothing as you recalled every remark he’d ever made towards you; every single nit-picking comment that could have gone unsaid. 

“Oh, you walked?” Kai noted. He’s a bit of a busy body as he chatted, clearing the kitchen counter of the single glass and chip bags.  He said, without looking at you, “I could have come to pick you up. I’ll walk you back. It’s freezing out. No reason for you to suffer in the dark on your own.” 

“No. I made it here in one piece,” you told him. “So let’s do this,” you suggested, reaching for your instrument. You knelt down to unzip the canvas case. A heavy feeling dawned on you. Slowly, you looked up. Kai was peering down at you, brows lifted and an amused smile muted on his lips. “You’d really rather walk alone in the dark with all your stuff?” he asked.

Not likely. You’re not spending a minute longer with him than absolutely necessary. “I said it’s fine,” you repeated. 

There was no need for that, you think immediately. You’d all but snapped at him. You might as well have told him that the very notion of spending quality time together made you want to untangle entrails with your bare hands. And he had picked up on it. His eyes cast downwards. That smile of amusement vanquished into nothing. In spite of the vague scoff that chuffed from his chest, you couldn’t help but note that he seemed hurt. 

“Alright, then,” he muttered. “You can bring your own things back. I dare not to offer you anything else,” he said. His words had gone short. 

Heat bloomed from the tips of your ears all the way to the base of your neck. You lugged the re-zipped case over your shoulder, following him down a little hallway. It’s not a large apartment, but roomy for just one person. You supposed he didn’t have a roommate judging by the set up of the second bedroom in the place. It seemed he had created an office out of it. An ikea desk was shoved up against one wall. There’s a pretty awesome computer set up; anointed with expensive looking speakers, an electronic turn table, and cluttered stacks of sheet music where he’d scrawled notes in pencil. He only had one rolling chair. The rest of the room is dedicated to instruments. An acoustic guitar leveled nearby a few electric ones, bass and traditional alike. His violin case is strewn across one of the three amps he has pressed into a corner. 

“Here, you can take the chair,” he said, rolling the office chair out for you. 

“This is a really nice set up,” you forced out. The attempt to sound amiable was a miserable fail. “I like your guitars,” you added. That was a bit nicer sounding. It was genuine. Sleek figures of wood paneling and neat pickguards lined the wall. You ran a finger over a vintage, brown Telecaster with an opalescent pickguard. It was rather lovely. You were drawn to it. It’s the sort of instrument you would have impulsively purchased for yourself. 

“This one,” you further pointed out. “I love it,” you admitted. 

Kai was mid-process of lugging over his two music stands. A neat coincidence, you think. You wonder if he always has girls over to practice with. Your lip curled at the idea.

“Yeah, that one’s my latest,” he explained. He offered you a music stand of your own; a polished lyre stand, brass and old looking. You eyed him. He wrenched his own dented, crooked thing upright. It squealed in protest as he lugged it into place. “Got it at a good bargain,” he added. “You play guitar?” 

“Bass guitar,” you explained. “Barely,” you sharply added. “Before you try to make me play something.” 

Kai shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of putting you on the spot,” he assured. 

Starting with scales served as a good distraction from the tension. Your cello was sorely out of tune from the walk in the cold. Once order was restored, you both set out the matching sheet music. The duet was arranged for the full length of the original song, albeit tweaked here and there to allow a violin and cello union. However, once you both got a sheer ten measures into the song, Kai had to stop. He’d started off strong with the opening solo only to then suddenly stop and inform you of your wrong doings. 

“You're rushing.” The interruption might have been easier to tolerate had he not sounded so irate. Your arm goes limp, your bow slumping along the strings.

“What?” Is all you can muster out. 

“You are rushing,” Kai repeated. “You're about three beats ahead of me.”

He still held his violin upright as he explained. 

You forced your shoulders to ease up. “I hardly played anything, but okay. Start over?” you suggested, poising your bow back over the strings. Kai resumed his posture, his bow softly dragging across his string before dishing out the opening phrase in clean, smooth rings of sound. And the moment you entered in, Kai had to stop. “Too early,” Kai said firmly. 

A slow huff drew in through your nose. “But I didn’t even get in a full measure,” you said. “I’ve hardly played anything and you’re hounding me.”

“Then why don’t you come in on the right beat?” Kai suggested. “Maybe then we’ll get farther.” 

Brittle anger sharpened your vision. “Okay,” you said slowly. Where you’d wanted to shout, or even kick the music stand right to the floor, you just nodded. Taking it like a cowardly animal. The brisk way Kai started up again had you scrambling for the bow off your stand. You entered in, counting the beats with great exaggeration in your head. You’d been entirely even when you practiced on your own-the metronome on your cellphone had lulled you into the sway of music you’d practiced. 

After a rough thirty seconds, Kai stopped it all. “You’re still rushing,” he said, voice irate. 

You dropped your bow onto the stand once more. “To me, you’re dragging,” you suddenly snapped at him. 

Kai seemed to double take. He set his bow down onto the music stand. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” you doubled down. “It says lively waltz,” you said, poking the corner of your sheet music with your bow’s tip. “You're neither lively nor waltzing.” 

Kai rubbed his face for a moment. He laid his instrument into the ajar case balanced on an amp. “Fine,” he said calmly. “It’s not a huge discrepancy. We’re not totally out of sync. Just about two seconds off. Can’t you speed up just a bit?”

“Can’t I?” you repeated. “Maybe I could have if we went over it yesterday or the day before. But no. You canceled the first time. You ghosted me the second. So I’m sorry that the practice I’ve put into this isn’t good enough for you, you asshole! All you ever do is tell me every little thing I do wrong even if it’s not wrong and simply something you don’t like. I am so sick of your bullshit!” 

A wave of satisfacation wafted through you. The pleasure of having finally expressed your feelings towards him scratched in itch in your brain. Although…

Perhaps the blow up wasn't entirely warranted. 

Judging by his genuine flurry of emotions, it came as a shock. He had visibly recoiled when you started shouting at him. His expression, starting from concerned, morphing to stunned, then finally ending with unbridled irritation.  The tendons along his neck flared with restraint as his jaw locked. “Seriously? I’m an asshole?” he asked. 

“Yes,” you said firmly. 

A muscle jumped in his mouth, his lip tugging into a cruel sort of smile for a brief moment. “Okay. Then you’re a bitch,” he said in turn.

You recoiled. “Excuse me? I’m a bitch?” you scoffed. 

“Yeah,” Kai nodded. He took his music from the stand. Two paces over and he smoothed the page neatly over his desk. “You’ve been nothing but bitter and rude. I apologized for missing the practice yesterday. I thought as adults we’d be able to get past it. What’s it going to take? Hm? I’m not going to grovel on my knees,” Kai chuckled. 

You set your cello to the floor on its side. “Given we’re confessing our feelings,” you snapped, taking to your feet, “I think you are pompous, cocky, infuriating, and a know-it-all prick.” You poked his chest. 

All Kai could do was smile down at you. A lazy expression through hooded eyes. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice taunting. 

His head tilted. From the broad expanse of his shoulders to the towering height difference, everything about him was intimidating; everything down to his scent,  a smooth, clean spice that flooded your senses, had disarmed your sensibilites. He’s a predator. Luring you in depite of your anger with his charms, his unearthly features, his scent, his height, his body, his everything. The bombardment of masculinity wiped your mind clean of any previous complaints. Mostly. 

“Yeah,” you repeated, your voice cracking unceremoniously. “You’re constantly picking on me in class. When Professor Sawyer isn’t around, you take every opportunity to harp on me for the smallest mistakes.” 

Kai made a sound of understanding. “Is that where this anger is coming from?” he chuckled. His fingers tapped beneath your chin. “Well I'm so, so sorry,” he cooed. “Here I was, assuming you were tough. Besides, you’re the best player in the group. I’m just trying to elevate your status. You’re too talented to let little things set you back.  But,” he sighed, “I suppose I sorely overestimated your capacity for criticism. All this time you've been wallowing at how I talk to you? You should have said something sooner,” he chided.  “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he said, but the amusement ripe in his words negated any genuine apology he may have been trying to convey. 

“You don’t hurt my feelings,” you fumed. “You just piss me off!” 

Kai’s ridiculous smile inhibited a welling heat in your veins. “But why?” he asked. “It's not like I've ever kicked a puppy or told you anything that wasn't valid!” He insisted. 

“It’s because you act like you know better than me,” you unleashed. “You act like I’m beneath you.”

“Oh?” Kai laughed at that. “Trust me. If I wanted to make you feel ‘beneath me’, you’d feel it. Without a shadow of a doubt.” The words came out in a low, satin husk. The timbre roiled in your belly. Warmth fired behind your hips and deep in your belly. His eyes had seemed to blacken as he looked down at you. He’d started to crowd you. You hardly realized that you were pressed up against the desk. “I happen to think you’re quite the capable musician. You have talent. Forgive me for trying to heighten that. I thought you could take it, given you’re so uptight and quiet all the time. You just…I don’t know, you seemd so tough. I was mistaken,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. His eyes seemed to twinkle. Two black diamonds peering down at you with haunting mischief. “So. Treating you like my equal obviously didn’t work. I guess I should put you beneath me. See how that works. Hm?” He tapped his fingers to his desk. Right over the sheet music that was laid out. It looked different than your own, stylized in treble and noting the melodies reserved for him and all his violinist glory. 

“Bend over,” Kai commanded. 

“Excuse me?” you fumed at him. “Are you fucking kidding?” Your heart thundered. The world spun as though you’d been hurtled off an elevator. 

Kai’s eyes darkened. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” he asked. “You need a lesson. After all, everything I told you during class just goes in one pretty ear and out the other. I know better, now,” he assured you. “You can't handle the fine details. You’re a stubborn little thing that needs to be told exactly what to do and how to do it. I’m sure a hands on approach will get the message across,” he sighed tiredly, as if the thought was a mere nuisance in his schedule. “Bend over. Put your nose right on the music,” Kai instructed. “I can’t believe you need a basic lesson. How have you managed all this time? Hmm? How have you maintained such a pretty facade of competency? And to have landed the first chair cellist? I’m really quite ashamed of you. Now bend over. Look right at the music. What is the time signature?” 

What are you doing? Why entertain this ridiculous sexual harassment? You ought to smack him in the face. Grab your things and race out of the apartment. And yet you can’t stop yourself from catching your lip between your teeth. You’d never seen such a staggering intensity in Kai’s face. 

“Hell, no,” you said angrily.

“Okay,” Kai agreed.  “Then I guess you should leave,” Kai suggested afterwards, as if that was the back up option. 

Only you didn't leave. You didn't storm to gather your things. You just stood there, faced with the reality that if you left then you might not get to know what exactly he had planned. You knew it was something darker. Something delicious. A morbid curiosity burned inside. The urge to pick open the box he was holding out to you, to see what he had to offer. 

Kai quirked an eyebrow, looking stern and amused all at once. “Well? Aren’t you going to pack up?” he asked. He didn’t move back. He pressed forward. His hips flattened against you. “I thought you couldn’t stand to be near me,” he said softly. A finger trailed over your cheek. 

Behind your ribs hammered a bullying heartbeat. Nearly painful, about as fast as a hummingbird’s. For the life of you, you couldn’t drag yourself away. 

“Nothing to say? Miss Smartypants doesn’t need a lesson anymore?” he crooned.

“I-I didn’t say that,” you stammered out. 

His brows raised high. “You didn’t say that,” he repeated in amusement. “Then you’re going to accept your lesson like a good, clever girl, aren’t you? Do you really need me to tell you again how to put that ass in the air or do I need to position you like a little doll?” he asked. His voice is low. Husky. 

Something inside of you moved without asking permission. Before you could really consider what was happening-or what you’re getting yourself into-you’ve draped yourself over the little desk. 

“Nose on the paper,” Kai reminded you. “Now. What is the time signature?” 

It might have been easier to answer if Kai’s hands hadn’t started rubbing your ass. Slow, almost affectionate circles of his palms on each globe. “T-three quarter time,” you whispered. 

“There she is,” Kai crooned. You hadn’t expected him to leave a hard slap on your rear. It was hard enough that your feet skittered in place. The desk just vaguely jerked beneath the weight of you flinching. You could feel the warmth of the harsh sting, envisioning it glowed red hot beneath your jeans. “And the tempo?” Kai asked softly, rubbing gently again. Soothing where he’d landed his hand. His voice neared your ear. “The tempo,” he repeated. “Since you’re so damn smart, hm?” 

The weight and warmth of his body encroached along your back. The smell of him made your eyes flutter. Warm, spicy, clean; laundered linen and whiskey. His hips pressed against your lower back. Teasing dips of his erection which nudged into you with feather light blows sent a beam of electricity down the base of your spine.

You’re ashamed of the tone in which you responded to him. You’d never whined before. Never whimpered. It’s something that exists in porn. OnlyFans girls who obnoxiously whine and cry for the camera. Yet you did it. “Moderate waltz,” you whimpered. 

“That’s right,” Kai agreed. He straightened upright, leaving a cold chill along the length of your back. He slapped again. The other cheek, this time, splaying his palm in a soothing balm over the red-hot sting. “Although I think you and I need to take a different approach to this. You're thinking too hard, baby. Always so stuffy and tense. You need to stop thinking.”

Another hard smack. Another little whimper. Shame took hold of your heart and squeezed hard. 

“When I say you're rushing? It means you're rushing. I'm in charge. You follow me. I’m really doing you a favor,” he cooed. One hand played with your hair, twirling a lock around his finger. Then he was taking a fist full of it, tugging just enough to lift your head. “Why waste your energy thinking? You’re too cute to do anything but take what I have to give. I’ll handle the messy details. You do as I say.” 

The softness in his voice sent an electric jolt through your spine. Kai’s fingers released your hair to give your scalp a soothing massage. “That's it,” he whispered. He noticed before you did the way you seemed to preen beneath his touch. Every tension that locked your joints had eased. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he chuckled. “Is that better? Doing everything that I say?” he murmured in your ear. 

A release of tension unraveled inside. Spools of annoyance, anger, irritation, it all unrolled with every word Kai said. It might be ridiculous. And yet you nodded. “Yes,” you whispered.

“Yes, sir,” Kai sternly amended your response. 

“Yes, sir,” you repeated the phrase. 

“That's what I thought.” Kai kissed the back of your neck. One hand skimmed up your shirt. His palm smoothed over your tummy. “So soft,” he murmured. “Bet you taste so sweet. Are you going to let me have a taste?” 

You nodded, a frantic expression of your desires. 

Kai chuckled. “Eager thing.” His fingers hooked through the loops of your jeans. He tugged so your ass lifted higher for him. He rubbed both his hands over you again, chuckling at the sight. Then he moved a palm round your hip. Tracing across your hip bone, then tweaking at the button clasp. “You okay?” he asked. He nipped your ear lobe. 

Your hips squirmed. 

Kai made a sound. “Can’t even answer me? It’s not hard, baby. It’s a yes or a no.” His palm slid inside the front of your jeans. He chuckled, giving your panties a loving pat. 

“Yes, sir,” you whispered. 

“See? That’s not so hard, is it?” Kai chuckled. He shimmied your jeans all the way down, even helping you step out of them. “The next time I piss you off, you tell me. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. He stayed on his knees. “Fuck. Yelling at me makes your pussy wet, doesn’t it, baby?” he teased. 

One of his long fingers circled along the front of your panties. “Lift a little higher. Arch right here,” he instructed, fixing his palm right on the small of your back. “Don’t lock your legs, either,” he added. A tap of his hands along the insides of your ankles helped to reposition your stance. “There. Perfect.” 

You felt your pulse in more places than one. The rush of your blood seemed to make everything fuzzy and slow. Especially as his nose pressed against your pussy. The sound of the inhale he drew, followed by a soft groan, made your belly lurch. 

“That’s it,” Kai muttered, mostly to himself, as his fingers hooked into the hem of your panties and tugged down. “Ah,” he breathed. “I assumed you’d have a pretty cunt. It’s a given since you’re ridiculously gorgeous. But I didn’t expect this.”

Each hand jiggled your ass before squeezing and spreading you apart. “So wet. Twitching, too,” he laughed. “That’s cute. You’re so wound up that even your little pussy looks tense. All wet, all puffy…” He kept your pussy spread wide. He leaned in and pressed a very soft kiss to your twitching clit. 

His tongue dragged a long stripe. “Fuck,” he groaned. He shfited, pressing his face against you. “You taste sweet!” he laughed. “And who would have thought,” he said, his hands grabbing at your hips hard and pracatically raising your feet off the floor. 

Kai dragging your cunt right to his face. “Such a bitchy little cunt tastes sweet as a peach. Mmmm, you just needed this pussy played with, right?” His fingers brusied your hips as he kept you right where he wanted you. It was like torture. Delicious, wretched, hot torture. Your thighs trembled. Your toes skimmed across the floor as he pressed his tongue in even, rampant circles around your swollen clit. The tip of his tongue explored every crevice, every little corner he could taste. Nudged right into the hood of your clit, lapping an assault there that made your eyes water and your breath punch out of your lungs. “Kai!” you gasped. It’s almost a whisper as you press your forehead to the desk.

“Mhmm,” he voiced against your pussy. He didn’t stop. For a brief moment there were no taunts; only his lips pursed around your clit, tongue flicking across the cherry red bud. His hands lowered you down. Your feet touched the floor again, and you felt weak in the knees. Even amidst the buckle of your legs, Kai managed to keep you upright. He kept a hand on your hip, the other rubbing on your ass again. 

A crack. A hard, red hot, right on your bare ass cheek. It made you whine. 

Kai laughed. His mouth didn’t move away. He swatted you again, harder, and when you whined again his only response was to press his middle finger into your cunt. “Mmmmm,” Kai groaned. He pulled away just for a moment. Enough that he could say, “Greedy pussy.” He flattened his tongue across your clit, dragging back and forth motions that had you seeing stars. All the while his finger crooked down, pressing into your g-spot. A flailing kick of your legs caused Kai to add a second digit. “You’re just loving this,” he breathed out. “Now try to stand still. I want you to feel this. Fucking stand still,” he chided, slapping your ass hard. “This is the rhythm you need to have.” His two fingers slid in and out, even, smooth, gliding across the slick gummy walls of your pussy. You jerked. 

“Kai!” 

He smacked your ass hard. “Try again,” he said in a voice lower than you’d ever heard from him. To negate the harsh treatment, one of his other hands slid around to stroke on your clit. Feather light touches with one finger tip. But it was enough to make you wail. “Sir,” you sobbed. 

He slowed down, just slightly. “This is how you were playing,” he said. “Is this rushing or dragging?” he asked you. He didn’t falter. He didn’t stop. The circles on your clit were mouth watering; not too heavy, but just hard enough a touch that it caused your lower half to feel as though you’d turned into satin.

Go figure. The violin player with long, slender fingers knew exactly how to rub your clit. As if your pussy was the fingerboard he spent hours a day practicing on. “Dragging,” you croaked. 

“That’s right,” Kai affirmed. He kissed your bare bottom in a chaste peck. The pace quickened again, just slightly. “This is exactly the tempo I need you to keep. It’s perfect, isn’t it?” he cooed. “Even. Controlled. Enough to make you cum if you’re patient,” he added in a low chuckle. “Judging by how you’re throwing that pretty ass back, I think you’re close. Fuck, imagine how eager you’re going to be with my dick inside you,” Kai said. “If you’re making this pretty ass jiggle on my fingers I can’t imagine how you’ll fall apart on my cock. You’re going to cream on my cock later, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir!” you gasped. 

“Yes, sir, what?” Kai asked mockingly. Your vision went white. 

“Yes, sir, I’m going to cream on your cock!” you babbled. The orgasm was wafting over you, making your legs shake, your vision blinded. It slammed into you and fuck it was good. It was so good. 

And then Kai stopped. 

The sound you made was that of utter betrayal. You dropped her face against the desk. “What the fuck?” you complained. “That was-that was not-!” 

Kai laughed. “Oh, I know,” he said in mock sympathy. “Poor thing.” Kai stood up. He pressed the erection in his sweatpants right against your ass. “Isn’t that just awful? Being so close to a good thing and not being able to have it? Now you know just how I feel every goddamn day. You turn me into a pathetic fucking animal,” he informed you. He held your shoulders as he grinded his cock against you. “So fucking gorgeous every day. Always staring at me with those big eyes. You can’t honestly think I was trying to be mean to you,” he groaned. “I wasn’t. Not then. But now? Fuck. You haven’t seen mean,” he growled.

When he leaned to kiss the back of your neck, you could only make a small sound of want. “Kai,” you whimpered. “Need you…need t-to really cum.”

“What, did you ‘fake’ cum before?” Kai teased. He took a handful of your hair, squeezing just so that it made you tense up in preparation for whatever dirty thing he was going to do. But he released the grip, soothing your head in a soft massage. “You want to really cum? How?” he asked softly.

“On your cock,” you pleaded. 

A howl of laughter escaped Kai as he tossed his head back. “You’re so well behaved now. I thought you’d put up more of a fight given how much you seem to hate me. Such a faker,” he tutted. He slid his arm beneath you, raising you upright to lean back against his chest. “Have you wanted me the entire time?” he whispered in your ear. 

Fuck. You don’t want to say it. You can’t say it. If you admitted that to him and yourself alike, then you might not be able to go back to how things were before. 

Hating Kai is easier than pining for him. 

“Use your words,” he reminded you. A hand wandered down. He rubbed your tummy softly, ‘mmm’ing at the feeling of your soft skin. 

“Yes, sir, I’ve wanted you all this time,” you admitted in a croaked string of words. 

A kiss pressed to the top of your head. “Good,” he said softly. “Do you want to go to my bedroom?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir.” The fervent reply is shaky. It makes Kai smile. He gives you another kiss. “Then come here.” His arm slid around your waist. He might have lifted you into his arms. You can’t tell. You’re blinded by him. Every sensation had been overwhelmed by his presence. However you’d gotten into his bed hadn’t been registered. You’d been too preoccupied with his hands on you, his mouth on yours, to notice how he laid you ceremoniously along the bed. 

Kai had become a cage. His hands by your head as your mouths melted together. The kiss is fiery, a mess teeming with passion you’d never felt with anyone. His tongue flicked over the roof of your mouth before bullying your own muscle into submission. It’s enough to make you moan. 

“Fuck,” Kai gapsed. “So responsive,” he whispered. He sat upright. Kai brushed his hair from his face. The black of his eyes reminded you of his hair. Only now the silky tufts are violet-toned white. “So pretty.” 

He stroked his thumb over your bottom lip. “You do not realize how often I’ve dreamed of having you for myself. I have imagined every way I’d put this pretty mouth to work. You’re always so quiet in class. Made me want to rile you up. Of course, that was before I knew how bratty you actually are.” 

“I’m not bratty,” you mumbled. 

Kai’s eyes twinkled. “It’s okay to be bratty. I like it,” Kai whispered. “Come here,” he breathed. He leaned down once more. His torso flattened against you. Sandwiched between him and his bed, made with soft, flannel linens, you open your lips to him. Tongues sliding across each other in messy, teasing strokes. He traced the edge of his tongue over the edges of your lips. 

“Do you want to be my sweet brat?” Kai panted between kisses. His voice is husky. It sparked a frantic need between your legs. 

“Yes, sir,” you breathed. 

“Good,” Kai said. He nipped your bottom lip. “You still mad at me?” he asked; hell, his voice sounded hopeful that you wouldn’t be. You huffed. You brushed the fringe from his forehead. “Yes, sir,” you admitted. “It’d be easier to not be mad if you’d let me cum nicely,” you attempted to negotiate. 

Kai rolled his eyes at you. “But it’s so fun getting you worked up,” he whispered. He propped himself up on an elbow. One of his hands pushed at the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“You don’t wear underwear?” you scoffed. “You’re such a slut.” It’s all you could say to avoid drooling over the length of him. Long, thick, a pretty, mushroom tip that begged for a tongue to lap up the precum that pearled along his slit. Your breath trembled as he kicked his sweatpants away. His eyebrows raised at your words. “No shot you called me a slut,” he grinned. “How many sweet, polite girls do you know that bend over the moment they’re told?” he asked. With one hand he tugged his shirt over his head. “You absolutely melted. Presented yourself so eagerly.” He leaned down to kiss your mouth as he stroked himself. “I'll never forget the sight of you that way,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Kai,” you babbled. “C-can't wait anymore,” you whispered. “Please, can I touch you?”

“Aw,” Kai crooned. “So well mannered all of a sudden? Afraid I'll ruin that second orgasm? You deserved it the first time,” he pointed out. “Being mean and rude. Shouting at me for no good reason,” he tutted. Snaking a hand up your shirt, Kai couldn't help himself in smirking as he fondled your breast. He gave a squeeze. 

“It wasn't for ‘no good reason',” you complained. The fire in your voice was completely extinguished. Only a soft lull of desire wrapped in your words. “You're mean to me.”

“I'd watch that mouth,” Kai warned. As he pulled your shirt off, he reminded you, “If you're so eager to ‘cum nicely’ then you should probably refrain from calling me mean. Mmm, you're so fucking hot,” Kai groaned. He buried his face between your breasts. His tongue lolled over your nipple, and he voiced a hum of satisfaction as he tasted you. “Pretty tits,” he groaned. “Say it. Say, ‘Sir, I have pretty tits.’”

You made a sound of displeasure. “That's embarrassing,” you complained.

Kai's good natured humor vanished. “Say it,” he repeated.

Your lip trembled. “I-S-Sir,” you said quietly.

“Yes, baby?” Kai asked with a triumphant squeeze of your tits. 

“I have…pretty tits,” you forced out. Kai looked happy with the phrase and he kissed your forehead upon hearing the words. 

“I know you do,” he assured. “Come here,” he muttered. His arms scooped beneath your thighs. He crowded down, his lips latching over your nipple. The edges of his teeth just barely slid in place, making your back lift at the sensation. He pulled you flat to your back, raising your legs so that your ankles dangled on his shoulders. “So pretty,” he groaned, “I can’t think about anything else.” Kai forced your cunt flush to his pelvis. The heavy weight of his cock settled through your folds, sliding through the slick mess you’d made. 

“Kai!” you gasped. “Please don’t tease. Please. I-I’m sorry,” you stammered out. The flush on your cheeks spoke numbers in comparison to your meek apology. Though you were hoping it would appease his teasing nature so that he’d slide his cock inside you, you also couldn’t deny that you were sorely embarrassed for the way you’d treated him. He really didn’t deserve the way you spoke to him tonight. “I would really like it if you walked me home,” you said in a hoarse voice. 

Momentarily stilled by your words, Kai’s eyes blinked down at you. “You would?” he asked softly. 

You nodded quickly. “Yes,” you promised him. “I would.” 

His expression was unreadable for a moment. Something like guilt seemed to flicker in the edges of his eyes. But the barely-there dart of emotion became vanquished. His eyes darkened. “That’s too bad,” he said. “You’re not going home tonight,” he said lowly. He smacked his cock against your cunt folds two, three times. “You’re staying right here. Right in my bed.” His hands stroked up and down the front of your thighs, keeping them upright against his chest. “We aren’t done with our lesson.” 

Two fingers spread your pussy wide. He padded his thumb across your clit for a moment. He pressed his cock against the soft, delicate skin. You both shuddered-him at the warm and silky soft embrace of your pussy exposed, and you at the heavy, warm weight of his cock. He made a few drags back and forth. “Shit,” he panted out. Your slick smears along his shaft. You couldn’t help yourself in moaning at the sensation of Kai’s dick rubbing against your clit over and over. Slow, even, controlled drags. It didn’t match the quickened breath from his agape lips. Rough and ragged. “Fuck,” he swore. He suddenly had your thighs pinned to the bed. Each hand gripped tight, knuckles white as he squeezed the flesh of your legs. “Open those legs wide,” he panted. He nudged his cock at your center. His chest heaved as he pressed the tip in. You choked on a gasp. “Oh, god, Kai,” you groaned. Even his tip is wide enough to stretch you. 

Kai closed his eyes. His breaths are laborious. “If you keep talking like that,” he said in a low grit, “then I’m not going to be able to stretch you ‘nicely’.”

Your breasts heaved as he pressed inside. Back lifting off the bed like a string on your heart was being tugged upright, and an unrecognizable sound echoed from your lips. He must only be about halfway now. You haven't been properly stretched out by anyone nearly as well endowed as Kai. You'd never been treated in such a filthy way before. Sex hadn't been a priority in your life. Such opportunities seldom arose. In the heat of those few and far between moments you usually found yourself laying on your back for sixty seconds, laying on your stomach for another thirty, and then went on your merry way with a chaffing feeling between your legs. Any orgasms you'd had to this point had been achieved by your own effort.

You suspect that Kai had hardly gotten started with you; yet your cunt pulsated with eagerness and need. Any tensions you'd held in your posture were released. Only languid arousal ripples in your veins, like rivers of arousal streaming into your body. 

“Oh, my god!” You squeaked out. You fisted the flannel linen as Kai’s cock shifted as deep as he could go without splitting you down your center. It did sting for a moment. His girth was a blessing and a curse, it seemed. You panted breaths as you cast your eyes between your legs. He didn't bottom out to the hilt-he was already three quarters of the way in and you're certain he's snaked into your belly. Hands trembled on your thighs as he rutted inside you, taking great care not to split you in half on his entire length. No wonder he was restraining himself. You could see how you were stretched out on him. 

You were unable to control the guttural moan that escaped your mouth. Stretched wide around him wasn't enough. Each rock of his hips eased up the vague burn of accommodation for his size. 

“Relax,” Kai grunted. “P-pussy’s dragging me in. Fucking squeezing, twitching on me.”

Well you could hardly help that. Your heart pounded in your chest. You wouldn't equate this moment to any other sexual escapade you'd had. It never occurred to you that sex could feel so much like near drowning. Making a dive into the deep end without enough air in your lungs-the feeling of sheer physical relief and eagerness when you're kicking up to the surface, so close but so far. It felt like that, albeit in the best way. Where one might have the intense, biological need to surface for air, you harbored the need to feel him full seated inside you. It felt so good, but it wasn't enough. 

“Kai,” you babbled. “I want to take it all the way,” you insisted. 

Kai grunted at your words. “You will,” he rasped. “Fuck, I promise you will. Take it like this first. Prove you can take me like this, then I'm pounding this pussy all night. Understood?” He asked firmly before he reached down to stroke your clit.

“Yes, sir,” you obeyed. It didn't help that he knew exactly how to stroke your clit. Your hips shifted upwards. Kai audibly snarled. Both his hands slammed your hips flat to the bed. 

“I said to wait,” he reminded you, teeth bared. “Now you have to rub your own clit. Can't trust you to lay there and take it exactly the way I say. Are you such a slut you want this dick to break you?” He breathed.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffled. 

The bed squeaked all the while as his fingers pressed five, dark bruises onto either hip. “You really are, aren't you?” He rasped. The shallow digs of his cock had you whining for more. “Rub your clit,” he bit out.

You quickly obliged the command. You snaked a hand down to stroke your clit fast, eager.

“Slow down,” he tutted. “Rushing, again. Match my rhythm, baby. That's right. Good little thing. You really take it so well, don't you?” He cooed down at you. He deliberately slowed his pace, rutting half his cock inside. You're unable to control the contracting squeezing and fluttering of your pussy around him. Your jaw went slack as you and he held eyecontact. 

\Such darkness that seemed to glow in the orbs that didn't waver from your face. 

“P-please, Sir, please all the way,” you begged. 

“Slow that hand down,” Kai told you sternly. “This is still a lesson, baby. Keep. Your. Pace.” His hips had stuttered in their languid, half strokes.

“I am!” You complained. “It's not enough. I understand, I'll always follow your pace from now on. Forever,” you insisted. “Please just give me more.”

Kai rolled his eyes at you. “Give you more?”” He pushed the heels of his hands into your pelvis as he finally sank himself to the hilt. 

The noise you made was unrecognizable. A hard groan, the air in your lungs punched out of you. “Fuck!” You gasped.

“Oh, god,” Kai rasped. “Can hardly fucking move you're so tight,” he panted. 

It didn't stop him from trying. If it weren't for the way he started to pound you, you would have complained about the way he kept your hips pressed hard into the mattress. Yet it was just leverage for him, keeping you a steady target as he pounded into you. It's a lewd sound-wet clapping of his hips as he smacked into you.

Heat bloomed down your neck, along the tops of your breasts which jiggled with every single rough stroke. 

“Oh, fuck, Kai!” You sobbed. It's all you could repeat over and over. 

His body is tense with exertion-his shoulders rippled with muscle as he seemed to crouch over you, hands flat on your hips as he fucked you harder and faster then you'd even experienced in your dreams.

A loud groan escaped Kai’s chest. “Shit, baby, you're so hot and tight. Rub that pretty clit again.”

Doing as you were told only caused your vision to swirl white. The pleasure furled throughout your entire body. Even your belly filled with something heavy and weightless at once. Like you were being dissolved into fluffy clouds at the same time you were bearing the weight of him not from atop but from within. For the first time in a long time you felt complete. Or at the very least you'd become satisfied. The laundry list of worries and tasks in mind didn't seem to matter so much anymore. Every anxiety, every menial task-it's become a distant island in the foreground of your mind.

You can only feel. And it's Kai you're feeling, it's Kai you're smelling and hearing and tasting. It’s Kai that’s molding your cunt to take his cock.

Your body seized tight. “Kai!” The word is a gasp. Pleasure in its rawest form riddled through you. It was so strong it was borderline painful. Your back arched, a curve as perfect as a rainbow. No other words could properly be summoned as you orgasmed so hard it was like losing consciousness. Just a broken, twisted sort of sound that you couldn't even register. 

For all the teasing, all the pestering Kai had done all evening, he didn't ruin this. He relentlessly buried himself inside you over and over. Rubbing his tip right along the underside of your cunt’s highest point. He didn't ease up. The height of pleasure roiled inside you for what felt like an eternity. You weren't able to discern when it got to be too much. When suddenly your pleas for more turned into punctuated sobs and shudders of pleasure so great it was nearing pain.  It had to have been around when Kai pulled out suddenly, his hard cock smacking against your tummy as he fisted himself to quick completion. The warm spurts of cum coated your belly as you shivered at the sight. His chest heaved. The only sound for a brief second was that of you both panting for air.

Kai crawled over you. Settled comfortably with his hips against yours, he nipped your lip. “Messy girl,” he whispered in your ear. The spread of his seed stuck to his abdomen now, the pair of you sticky and slick. 

Your eyes are hazy as you look at him. You felt heavy in the afterglow of such intense pleasure. Though now is your chance. To touch him, to feel him. You placed trembling palms over each shoulder. The smile drawn on his lips is a cross of fondest and wickedness alike.

You spared no expense in your wandering touch. Every muscle, every tendon, you felt them. Kai took his mouth to yours. His tongue moved languidly against the soft crevices of your mouth. For every lap of Kai’s wet muscle over yours, you traced the ridges of his spine. Beneath each fingertip you outlined his shoulder blades, the dip of his back.

The kiss deepened. Intensified yet again, the touches became frantic. Each of you grabbing at the other as if in a moment you'd be ripped apart. 

Settled atop you, Kai quickly pinned your knees to your chest. He hooked both arms beneath your knees to keep you in place. “Can you take it again?” He whispered against your mouth.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, voice pitched just as soft but the words bleeding with excitement.

His tip nudged at your folds once more. A single, deliberate stroke found him sinking into your warmth. He slowly pumped himself to the hilt. 

Kai pressed his face into the curve of your chest.

You must be sopping wet. Not only did Kai glide inside with comfortable ease ,but the sound itself was just as pornographic as the sensation:  mouth watering, eye blurring--like a tart dessert. Only you've never known such pleasure. Certainly nothing was sweet enough to satisfy this particular craving, which you're bound to have again in the near future. You're unable to properly wonder if you're going to be blessed with regular rehearsal sessions with Kai. You can only hope he finds the time to tutor you again.

Kai steadily picked up speed. His measured thrusts are enough to make you whimper nonsense. 

Uncontrollable contractions your cunt had around his cock. Strong twitches of your pussy walls that squeezed him in earnest. 

“Yeah, baby,” he rasped in a husky voice. His mouth is right by your ear. His thrusts are confounding snaps of his pelvis against yours. Each the meeting of skin against skin is a wet clap. “Taking this dick so good,” he praised quietly. “You're my favorite slut, aren't you? Say, ‘I’m sir's perfect little toy.’” The mocking tone of his words should have angered you.

“I'm sir’s perfect little toy!” You pledged. Rather than anger, it was arousal that spread through you with the rapid means of a wild fire. 

God knows you're his perfect toy. Knees hiked to your breasts as he plowed deep into you, how could you not be? A great sense of pride unfurled in your chest. Whether or not he meant the words didn't matter. Not now, anyways. However you took the statement at face value. You are his perfect you. You are his favorite slut. 

“That's right,” Kai mocked when you whined his name. He pressed a soft kiss to your mouth. “Open big.”

You did, opening your lips for him. 

“Let's see that slutty tongue,” Kai added.

You stuck your tongue out for him. Kai pressed a particularly rough thrust into you. “That's fucking right,” Kai growled. He leaned his lips over yours. You half expected a kiss.

He spat onto your tongue.

Fuck if you didn't love it.

“Swallow it,” Kai warned you. As if you need to be warned. Eagerly you'd already lapped your lips clean of his taste. 

The sight of you caused Kai to groan. Unraveled by your image of equal parts beauty and salaciousness, Kai’s hips stuttered. Clumsy and deep had overtaken his rhythm. He strained to control himself. You could see it in his face, the way his jaw set and his eyes sharpened. 

He was close. Close as you were, and this time he couldn't pace himself without risking your wrath of another ruined orgasm. There's only one solution. 

Your body burned for him. You don't want him to cum inside you, you need it; the way you need air in your lungs and water in your body, you need Kai’s cum making a sticky mess of your cunt. 

“Please, sir, can you cum inside me?” You babbled. “I need it so bad.” 

It had come out of nowhere. Unexpected, however entirely undeniable. You were half tempted to lock your legs around his waist. 

Kai groaned at your words. “F-fucking slut begging for my cum,” he rasped. “Why? So you can yell at me for it later on?” He taunted. 

You shook your head frantically. “I won't, I swear! I'll never yell at you again if you cum inside me right now,” you blindly promise. 

Kai scoffed. “Yeah, right. You'll find something to bitch about, I'm sure.” He had slowed his pace down, compensating for the heated request you'd made. 

“Kai!” You groaned. You dropped your head back against the pillow. Finally closing your eyes, you shook your head. “I wanna cum at the same time! I'm on the pill, I'll be good all the time, I'll never get mad at you again,” you rambled. Your voice slurred into a slew of moans as he steadily pumped faster and faster. 

“Listen to yourself. Bargaining for a creampie. Every time you're acting like a bitch, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to bend you over and fuck the attitude out of you. You're such a sweetheart when you take me,” he grunted out. A clumsy lap of his tongue broadened along your pulse. “I'm really close, baby,” he rasped into your ear.  He unhooked one of your legs. Swiping his fingers over your tummy, he gathered his spilt cum from before and smeared it over your clit. “Tell me one more time exactly where I'm going to cum.”

Your response got stuck in the transit from your brain to your mouth. Only a broken moan fell from your lips. His hulking weight disabled your ability to squirm. Such relentless circles on your clit, coupled with his fat cock pistoning inside of you without remorse, caused every word you wanted to say to fizzle into noises. Open-mouthed gasps, deep shuddering moans. 

“Use your words,” Kai hissed in your ear. You could physically feel the tension relayed all through him; hips stuttering against you as he waited to hear the final request. 

“I-inside,” you babbled. 

It was enough for Kai. Letting go of the rigid self control, he let himself rut into you with hard desperation. The pace of an animal, really. It punched salacious sounds from your chest to feel the physical energy that had been bottled up inside him. His fingers circled against your clit with the same fervor he gave your cunt. He moaned in your ear as he came; the sound as uncontrolled and natural as the ones you were making, which you were sure seemed louder and perhaps more obnoxious. You have half a mind to be embarrassed about it. 

Later, you decide. You’ll be embarrassed later. 

For now you’d savor the immense gratification of having his essence spilled inside of you. Oozing warmth, his warmth, freshly sated along the velvety expanse of your cunt’s walls. 

A satisfied sigh breezed from your mouth. 

Kai removed his cock from you. He made a quick peek. “Shit. Looks pretty painted in my cum.” He crawled over to lay beside you. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me. You okay?” 

“I’m perfect,” you assured, dragging your hazy eyes to look at him. You even offered a thumbs up. Kai chuckled. 

“I know you’re perfect,” he agreed. He turned round, snagging his tee shirt from the floor. “Here,” he offered in a gentle voice. He eased your legs apart. 

You’re in disbelief at your treatment of him. You’d marked him for a cruel, bitter man. And yet here he was, featherlight brushes of his shirt along your exerted cunt. Wiping up the mess he’d made-the mess you’d begged for. He wipes your stomach clean, too. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said carefully. “Do you want water?”

Such a simple offer made you melt. You nodded. “Sure,” you smiled. “I’d love that. Thank you.” 

As he darted off the bed, appearing lithe and not at all exhausted (and wow he has a cute butt), you told yourself that every offer he made would be smiled upon and thanked properly. He deserved that, at least. You sorely regretted the way you’d treated him tonight. Even in your mind you’d reletentlessly bullied the guy. And for what? For an unrequited crush? 

When Kai returned, he held a chilled water bottle out for you. “Thank you,” you said again, sitting upright in his bed. You took a long swig. “Here,” you offered it to him next. 

He didn’t take it. He’d just sat beside you, watching you with intent. 

“...Do you want me to leave?” you asked awkwardly. 

Panic sharpened in his features. “What?” Kai asked. “No! No, I don’t want that. Unless you want to leave,” he offered. 

“Not at all,” you replied with a shake of your head. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking. When you look at me that way. You’re always giving me that look in class. I just don’t know what it means. I’ve always thought I was a somewhat empathetic person, but when I look at you, Kai, I cannot even begin to theorize what goes on in your head.” 

Kai’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “Seriously?” He chuckled. He leaned in to press a soft kiss on your bare shoulder. “I’m thinking that you’re absurdly gorgeous,” he explained. “And that every time I try to talk to you, all I get in response is a few blinks and a shrug. Had me thinking I was super ugly for a minute,” he chided. 

You wrinkled your nose. “Not at all ugly,” you informed him. “Mythically good looking, more like. I felt like all this time you’d been picking on me. I thought you had it out for me.” Kai leaned his head back as he laughed. “I do have it out for you. Just not in the way you thought,” he said. He brushed his knuckles over your cheek. “Will you stay the night with me?” he asked carefully, like he felt if he asked too loudly or too abruptly it would startle you away. 

Fuzzy warmth bloomed through your chest. All this time you’d mistaken it for an itching burn to be clawed out of you. You’d had the signs and you’d ignored them. You liked Kai. A lot. 

“Of course,” you agreed. 

Relief overcame the shadow of doubt in his eyes. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad. We need to keep practicing,” he pointed out. 

Lounging on Kai’s bed, both of you naked, it seemed domestic beyond compare. It had you giddy. You weren’t entirely eager to get out of bed and keep paying. Though that was the original intention of the night, you found yourself comfortable in his bed. You groaned. “Fine,” you sighed. You took another long drink of water. “I need my shirt, though,” you said, peering off the other side of the bed. 

You don’t even remember what started it. Something small. Something that used to matter before all this. A stupid argument, a crack in the mask—you let it slip. Let yourself rise just a little too high.

He didn’t yell back.

That was the first warning.

He just stared at you, standing there in the middle of the living room with your chest heaving and your hands clenched into fists.

And he waited.

Waited until the anger drained out of you and left behind something colder. Something crawling in your gut.

“I said I’m not your fucking pet,” you snap. Quieter now, but still defiant. Still too much.

He tilts his head.

You regret it the moment the words hit the air.

Silence stretches.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “It slipped—”

“You’ve been acting up,” he says, calm. Not angry. Not loud.

Which is worse.

You blink, throat dry. “I was just—”

“Sit,” he says, and you do. On the floor. In the middle of the kitchen, like a dog waiting for scraps.

He crouches in front of you, expression unreadable. Close enough that you can see the faint bloodstain on his sleeve. Not yours. Not today.

“How long have we lived together now?” he asks softly, brushing hair from your face. His hand is gentle. You think it would hurt less if it weren't.

You swallow. “...Seven weeks.”

He smiles faintly, like he’s proud you remembered.

“Seven weeks. And I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?”

You nod.

“I feed you. I keep you warm. I talk to you when you’re lonely. I let you sit on the couch during movies.”

You nod again, slower. You know where this is going. You want to scream, but you can’t. Not yet.

“And yet…” He stands now, towering over you. “You’ve started talking back. Getting louder.”

Your mouth opens. “I haven’t—”

“Shh.” That sharp little hiss slices through your voice like a scalpel.

He crouches lower so he’s eye level with you.

“Let’s go over the rules again,” he murmurs. “Where do animals sleep?”

You stiffen.

He waits.

Your lips part, but your throat locks. Shame wells hot in your chest.

“Say it,” he whispers.

You freeze. Everything in your body says don’t answer. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Don’t shrink for him.

But you already are.

“…In cages,” you finally breathe.

He smiles, soft and satisfied. “Good girl.”

You want to cry.

“And what are you?” he continues.

The words stick.

He tilts his head, like he’s studying something interesting in your eyes. “What are you?” he asks again. “After everything I’ve done for you. After everything you’ve become.”

You shake your head.

But his hand closes around your jaw, firm but never bruising.

“What are you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The words fall from your mouth like a confession.

“…An animal.”

His hand drops. He exhales like that’s what he’s been waiting for all night.

“That’s right.”

He gestures with a nod of his chin toward the corner of the room. You don’t have to look to know it’s there.

The dog crate.

You haven’t had to sleep in it in almost three weeks. 

“Now,” he says, still gentle. “Get in.”

You shake your head once. A twitch. Barely movement. But he sees it.

He steps closer.

You don’t flinch. Not because you're brave—because your body won’t move.

“Get. In.” Each word lands like the snap of a leash.

Your throat is dry. “Please—”

He raises an eyebrow. “You think dogs get to talk back? You think they raise their voice?”

You don’t answer.

He waits.

And waits.

And then, finally, you move.

The carpet burns. Your hands scrape as you crawl across it, shame prickling hot under your skin like a rash. The metal cage looms, open and waiting. You hate how familiar it feels. You hate how small you’ve learned to make yourself.

You slide in.

Your knees curl to your chest. Shoulders hunched. Just like he taught you.

The door shuts behind you with a click.

He doesn’t lock it. He never does. Doesn’t need to anymore.

You wouldn’t dare come out without permission.

He stands over you for a moment—shadow blotting out the ceiling light. Watching. Making sure you stay quiet. Stay curled.

Stay put.

Then he turns and walks away, humming softly to himself.

You stare at the bars.

And you remind yourself, again and again, that you are not a pet.

You are not.

You are not.

But when the lights go out, and the quiet sets in, and you press your cheek to the cool metal floor to sleep—

It’s hard to remember what you were before the cage.

You don’t know how long it’s been.

Hours. Maybe more.

Your breathing’s slowed, but your body’s still tense—curled tight inside the crate like you could disappear into yourself. Like you wouldn’t fill the space at all if you just tried harder.

You hear him return before you see him—soft steps across the carpet, deliberate. No rush. He wants you to hear him coming.

Wants you to think about it.

A bowl scrapes gently across the floor as he crouches in front of the cage.

You don’t look at him.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I brought you something.”

You glance at the bowl. It’s torn pieces of bread and cold chicken—the same thing he ate earlier, but colder. Smaller. Stripped.

You hate that you’re hungry. Hate that your mouth waters at the smell of it.

“Come here.”

Still, you don’t move.

A pause.

Then his voice changes—not louder, but heavier. A quiet sternness that coils down your spine like cold breath.

“Come. Here.”

Reluctantly, like your body is someone else’s, you shift forward. Crawl across the crate’s tiny interior until your face is close to the bars. You don’t look at him. You stare past his shoulder. At the wall. At the floor. At anything else.

He reaches through the bars, holding a strip of chicken between two fingers.

“Open.”

You hesitate.

He waits.

“You don’t want to go hungry, do you?” he asks, like he’s giving you a choice. Like he isn’t kneeling there with the only food you’re allowed.

You hate this part.

Hate how familiar it is. Hate that your body already knows what to do.

Slowly, you part your lips.

He slips the bite into your mouth with two fingers. Not roughly. Carefully. Like always.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

You chew. You swallow. It tastes like cold meat and shame.

Another piece follows.

He doesn’t offer the bowl. Doesn’t let you feed yourself.

He lifts the food to your mouth one piece at a time, hand through the bars like you’re in a zoo, and he’s showing kindness to something wild and sad.

“See?” he says quietly, sliding another bite past your lips. “It’s better when you behave.”

You don’t answer.

He wipes his thumb across the corner of your mouth. The touch makes your stomach turn. Too intimate. Too practiced.

“You don’t like the cage,” he says, “but you always listen better after a night in it.”

His tone is almost mournful.

“You know I don’t want to do this to you,” he says gently, like he’s consoling a child. “This isn’t fun for me.”

Your jaw clenches.

“You think I like putting you in there?” he murmurs, voice low, intimate, like a secret between friends. 

“I warned you what happens when you start barking, didn’t I?”

You don’t respond. You stare at the floor of the cage as you chew another piece of cold chicken, fists curled into your sides, breathing thin.

“You think I’m being cruel,” he continues, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. “But if I let you talk to me like that—if I let you yell, disobey, bite—then what? You’ll think it’s okay. You’ll do it again. And again.”

His fingers tap lightly against the metal. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“And that’s not how you train a pet, sweetheart.”

You swallow, and hate that it’s loud enough to hear.

He leans closer, until his face is almost level with yours through the bars. His eyes shine with something patient. Sickly sweet.

“Bad pets need to be punished,” he says softly. “Or they keep making the same mistakes.”

A long, long moment passes.

And then, slowly—your pride breaking somewhere deep inside your ribs—you speak.

“Thank you.”

His expression softens.

“There she is,” he whispers. “There’s my good girl.”

The cage door never opens.

He just strokes his hand once along the bars like he might pat your head if he could.

“Baby, did’ya eat today?” San reaches across the table, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. You shake your head, hair swaying, and take a sip of your iced tea. The condensation seeps into your fingers, and without thinking, you wipe your hand on your lap. Bunny’s diner—a diner owned by San’s childhood friend Seonghwa—was bustling under the brunch traffic. You don’t notice San’s gaze drifting upward—nor the way he taps his finger against the salt shaker, nudging it just enough to send it tumbling off the edge.

“Fuck—sorry.” Face chagrin and flushed as he tries to reach under the table, purposely bumping his head against the edge. San gets on his knees, scraping at the excess salt on the floor slowly—eyes darkening as he makes contact with your skin tight panties that practically restrict the blood flow around your cunt.

You’re wearing white today.

Cute.

He makes sure his phone’s on silent before he snaps a photo, pocketing it before sliding back into the booth, and sighing exasperatingly. “Why am I so fucking clumsy?” He groans and threads his fingers into his head to curl into himself. “—I feel like everyone heard that.”

They didn’t. He knew they didn’t. Not under all that clanging going on in the Diner’s kitchen.

You reach forward, grabbing his hand with doe eyes. “No one heard it! It’s okay, baby. I drop things all the time.”

It takes everything in San to not moan.

You were perfect.

He couldn’t stop talking about you when he live-streamed last night: everything he wanted and planned to do to you, your name falling out of his lips as he touched himself slightly out of frame—gripping tightly, grinding—stifling his moans with gritted teeth against a belt so you wouldn’t hear him during your call.

You called for no reason. All you said was “I called because I missed you. I love you.”

Sugary. Honey. Cotton candy and the color pink. You were the sweetest fucking thing.

And he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to ruin something so badly. None of the other girls before you wore innocence as well as you did.

To them? It was an aesthetic—something subject to change. They wanted him to ruin them. But you?

You were his idle angel and sweetness incarnate—doll like lashes without a hint of suspicion or mal-intentions. Shy. The type to naturally hold a hand out when you needed help getting down from somewhere and not flinching when a big arm wrapped around your waist to pick you up.

The type to kiss San and plan on a wedding—not him stuffing you full of cock and fucking you dumb into a stale pillow in his dorm room. To flinch and pull away in embarrassment when his hand crept under the cup of your bra, begging him kindly to take it slow.

Which he did.

He has been.

He savors the push and pull—it’s how he knows you’re the real deal.

San watches you slice into the Canadian ham, a content smile tugging at his lips as you happily dig into your eggs Benedict. You’d need all the energy you could get.

He slides his pancakes over to you, smearing honey butter and packing on the cinnamon just the way liked them and tells you he’s too full to eat anymore.

“You’re missing out, Sannie.” You jest, tapping the tip of your fork against your teeth playfully. “You barely ate—“ you pause to take a bite, smiling at him mid-chew. “Something on your mind?”

He bites back a smile, eyes folding into half moons as he stared at you for a couple of beats “It’s just cute—the way you look when you eat.”

“The way I eat?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah—you just…stuff your mouth until it’s super cramped. Careful” he wipes cream from the side of your mouth ”— you might choke if you take too much all at once.”

A sudden tension threads through his voice, pulling your eyes up from the plate, curious. You nod, offering him a sweet smile.

“Aye, captain!”

San always worries about the smallest things.

He scrolls through his phone as you finish your meal, the clink of your fork masking the soft swipes of his finger. You don’t see the images flashing by—candid frames of you lost in thought, others taken while you slept, your shirt slipped just high enough to expose the delicate curve of lace against skin. Some are closer, hungrier: your legs parted in sleep, revealing only the faintest swell of softness. He lingers on that one a moment longer, gaze unreadable, mouth still curled in that contented smile.

When you finish eating, San calls for the waiter with a patient smile—sliding a stack of bills down before rearranging the dishes politely and leaving.

San’s thick, calloused fingers grab hold of your hand —threading meticulously before leading you out of the Diner, exhaust fumes of humid street stalls and early autumn conundrum waft into your nose. You feel content. Full. Happy and in love.

You watch his side profile, the breeze tugging gently at his cropped hair. He glances both ways, unfazed by your gaze, then crosses the road with you—heading toward his daddy’s old ’70, the metal sun-warmed and waiting.

You trail your fingers along the muted, rust-red paint while waiting for San to unlock the door—then slip inside as he murmurs a small joke under his breath. He rolls the windows down, knowing you like to rest your head on his arm while he drives, your feet dangling out the window—just far enough to feel free, but never close enough to tempt danger.

At a red light, San reaches a hand towards the glove compartment—digging around before pulling out an old camcorder. A small jingle plays as it turns on, the chime beckoning a giggle from you. “What’s that?”

He doesn’t answer—just presses play.

“Smile for the camera, pretty.”

Then he gives your thigh a light smack when you laugh, face buried in your hands as you shrink back into your seat, grinning behind your fingers. Playfully, you peek an eye out—laughing with your heart, wind in your hair, and girls just want to have fun by Cyndi Lauper playing in the background.

He gets you home safe and sound, kissing you a little bit rougher than usual. The red light of his camcorder still flickers on his dash—camera becoming a voyeur on top of his dashboard when his hands rest on your thigh, fingers idling just beneath the hem of your dress and pulling lightly to squeeze the flesh it’s sandwiching.

You skip to your porch, all girlish giggles and swaying skirts as you wave goodbye and close your screen door. And San watches.

Intent.

Indulging.

Ravenous.

“She was wearing white today.” San tinkers with a rubix cube, webcam pointed low enough to capture the sharp of his jaw—a canine-like half grin, as he licked his teeth and sucked in a frustrated breath. He unbuttons his dress shirt just enough for a golden sliver of skin to peak out and spreads his legs purposely so that his pants are taut on his form.

Little pings sound from his desktop and he doesn’t bother reading any of the incoming chats from his stream. “It was practically choking her pussy—you think that’s why she chose to wear it? Friction or what not?” He scoffs playfully, rubbing a thumb over the flat of his stomach as he leans back on his computer chair, recalling.

The way you tasted like honey butter and cinnamon and the way your underwear was tight enough to make your flesh swell red.

A celebratory chime rings from his computers speakers, an automated girl singing “points, points!”

[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 200 points and left a note! “Ruin her for the rest of us.” ]

San smirks cunningly.

“Well, since you asked so nicely—I’ll plan a gift just for you, kitty.” He unbuttons the last few notches on his dress shirt, sliding his palm down the flat of his golden tummy and under his slacks. “But until then, I’ll dedicate this show to you.”

Biting at the cuff of his wrist, stifling his moans and keening his neck just enough to keep the crowd satisfied since they weren’t allowed to see his face. San was in his element and this was his arena.

He’ll use the money from this livestream to pay for something sweet, vanilla, and totally boyfriend coded before melting you down into something wrecked. Unrecognizable. Fucked up and pretty just for him.

The best part? He’s waited this long so you’d let him do it willingly.

Choi San knew he had all the makings of the perfect boyfriend—the kind others envied, whispered about, and admired from afar. Charismatic, intelligent, and from a well-to-do family—and upon arriving as a legacy to his university, he was immediately ushered into the most prolific brotherhood of the institution. You’d hear his name uttered in locker rooms, the corners of lecture halls, and in offices as Professors discussed recommendation letters.

He sold the best parts of himself when it came to finding love, but profited the most off the filth he worked hard to keep separated from his offline life.

There’s just one tiny pothole in San’s initially seamless perfection: he liked ruining things. Good things. Especially good girls. On camera.

Everyone believed San had immaculate taste in women. The few he entertained publicly all shared the same quiet allure—graceful, composed, the kind of girls who seemed untouched by anything cruel. Poised. Innocent. Almost too good to be real and too hard to dislike.

What they didn’t know was that San preferred them pure for a reason—because he had a fucked up way of getting off. If he got them to love him enough, then he’d be able to do anything—including filming every moment he got to break them down on camera. The slow sip of corruption dousing a white dress in a way that bested murder. To be caught on tape and immortalized—proof that he had the makings. The power to ruin without apology.

It started as scratching a place he knew he shouldn’t have scratched in the first place— a shaky livestream, stuttered words that left him like he sat in either a confessional or investigation room until he finally settled comfortably into the skin of his darkest desires. The small online community quickly grew once he released his special series, sugarcoat: a long term documentation of girls he dated and taped for his loyal followers—all perfect subjects for their fixation on the act of corrupting.

But with the others before you, it all felt like roleplay. What Choi San wants is what Choi San gets—and this is to his detriment. It was too easy. If he’d asked any of them on the first date to film, he would’ve gotten the green light.

Performative innocence, not even played to the T. C-rate actresses in frills and lace—itching to tear off the costume once shooting ends.

San didn’t camboy for money. He did it as reprieve from the kind of perfection that stifled him with its ideals on a daily basis. Here, he could be horrible.

Desired for his ugliness, for his muck.

And you were the closest thing to a natural high he’d ever felt in his entire life—the sweetest layer of his series. His beloved cherry on top.

“Did you like it?” San chuckles, dimples carving into his grin, softening the sharpness of his features. The flashing LED lights of the carnival dance in his eyes, tiny sparks catching like stars—like every bit of the boy you used to dream about. You’re breathless, and not just from how he looks in that black compression shirt, clinging to him in all the right ways, but from the rollercoaster he’d talked you into riding.

“…Like’s an understatement. Can we go again?” You bounce on your toes, ponytail swinging excitedly. San sighs playfully, and then shakes his head. “Baby, I’ve got a surprise waiting for you at my place—remember?”

Eyes brightening, you hold on tight to his left arm while making your way out the exit. The distance screams of ride-goers and arcade game music muffle your conversations—almost domesticating them. “Come on, can’t you give me a clue? What’s the surprise?”

“No. Can. Do.” He furrows his brows, punctuating, and then slings his arm over your shoulder—pulling you into his arms to lay a kiss on your temple. “Be a good girl. Patience is a virtue.”

Roses.

Take out dinner that arrived just on time and tapestries hung around his dorm room to make it look more cozy and less clinical under the usually bright fluorescent overhead light. He bought an extra toothbrush and filled one of the drawers of his bathroom with a variety of skincare products, essential oils, and menstrual products.

Your favorite ice cream was frozen to perfection in his freezer and the T-shirt you liked stealing from him already waited at the edge of his bed for you, folded kindly.

San shut the door behind him, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched you flit around the room, gently tapping the new fairy lights with the tip of your nail.

“I thought we could have a sleepover now that the term’s over,” he said. “With the internship starting soon, I won’t get to see you as much.”

“San…I love it. Your room finally looks lived in” you jest, elbow bumping his waist, and turn towards him to wrap your arms around the slim of his waist. He flinches slightly, body tensing—sensitive. Internally groaning because you probably don’t realize how close he’s been to snapping.

The air feels…different. Charged. Laced with an unspoken expectation—San sees it in the way you seem to curl shyly when he digs his face into the crook of your neck, your usual behavior and touchiness diluted into something moderately restrained.

You typically fed on physical affection the way someone would drink water, a domesticated sense of skin to skin contact: a pinky locked with his as you studied, legs draped onto his lap while scrolling through your phone or leaning over his shoulder to watch reels with him.

You’re seated between his legs, facing the TV. Some vintage horror movie drones on in the background, as a girl screams in horror when an undead fist pushes straight through cemetery dirt—reaching towards heaven.

She fails to run away in time and you laugh.

He didn’t expect you to find it funny, a quirk to his brow when he swears he hears you mumble “Survival instincts of a peanut” under your breath.

When you adjust, San stills. Breath hitching when he feels the lace of your skirt rub against his jeans and he knows you feel it too.

He tries his luck and slides a palm under your shirt before rubbing the skin of your stomach casually. You lean into it, hips unconsciously rolling towards his hands.

It’s the flush on your face that undoes him, eyes unfocused, looking almost confused by the wetness he knew made your panties cling to your skin.

“—baby. Can I touch you more?” He coats his words in sugar, breathing into your ear sweetly. The edges of his voice beg.

“…mhm.” You nod slowly, hair falling over your cheekbones as you peer up at him. San pulls you closer, your back pressed against his chest as he peppers wet kisses up your neck.

He groans when you shiver and your back to press your breasts into his hands instinctively.

But you flinch away, a quiet embarrassment settling into your bones. You look confused, thighs closing and pressing against each other looking for relief in the pressure. “San, wait—I’ve…never done this before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his gaze steady as he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in an upside-down kiss. His jaw moves slowly, deliberately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that’s both soothing and seductive. You hum, eager, reaching up for more—until he pulls back, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“I… like filming things,” he continues, voice low, almost coaxing. “I want to remember it. Forever. Can I?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together—conflicted. “Sannie—what if I don’t look good on camera and you have that on you forever?” He shakes his head. “Baby—“ running his hands down your body and under your bra, cupping your breasts and twisting the tips of your nipples. A sharp yelp leaving your lips as he licks up the side of your throat. “I promise, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His serpentine eyes lock onto yours without hesitation, unflinching. His presence wraps around you like a tightening coil, arms holding you in place as you suddenly feel small, almost like prey caught in his grasp.

San guides your hand to lock behind your back. Sandwiching your arm and gripping it above his aching cock. “See what you did to me?”

He grinds into your hand with a deliberate whimper into your ear.

His grip on you tightens, absolutely fucked out. For the love of god he’s waited months. It’s the longest he’s ever held out for. After a couple of beats—hesitation crumpling under the weight of profound lust, you agree. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Fuck.

He’s obsessed—you’re perfect for the gig. For him.

San doesn’t think he wants to share the footage for once, second thoughts running rampant.

“Whatever makes you happy?” he repeats, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure? Can I do whatever I want to you?” Wide eyes gaze at him. Pure. Unadulterated with the right amount of curiosity.

“If it’s for you—yes. I trust you.” His mouth clashes with yours instantly before sliding his tongue in when you gasp in surprise. A string of saliva connects your mouth when he lets you go.

“Lay down.” There’s a sudden chill in his tone. An unraveling—strict, direct, impatient and leaving little to no room for hesitance.

Reaching over to his dresser, he pulls the same camcorder and adjusts it so it’s pointing directly at you. San turns the zoom dial, diluting the environment of the room and focusing entirely on you.

Without delay, he casually reaches over to unzip your skirt and pull off your panties like he’s done it plenty of times before.

He lays one of your legs over his lap and spreads you open. Your hands immediately jolt to cover your face, thighs slamming closed in attempts to hide from him.

“Let me see you. You were being such a good girl. I want to look at your pretty little pussy.” Peaking one eye at him through a gap in your fingers, you slowly part your legs. He spits on his fingers, still seated next to you as he leans from the side to gaze down at your cunt.

Making sure that the camera is framing you properly, he pulls at your folds with two hands—one on each side so that the camera catches the fluttering of your fleshy insides. Your body jolts, a small moan of surprises tumbling out when he massages your clit in circles and holds your leg down with a firm hand.

“Does it feel good?” He giggles when you nod in surprise. Doe eyed as you finally put down your hands and stare at his movement.

“It’s such… a pretty color. I wanna see it more.” A smack lands directly above your clit— a silent scream choking in your throat at the intense stimulation and sting. San mentally counts to ten, each slap descending faster, harder, and landing more precisely. Rubbing side to side, your body jolts when you feel your cunt clench around nothing—raising your hips to dig his hand against you with more pressure. Rhythmic moans leave you when your orgasm hits you, but he doesn’t stop after the waves leave you.

You body flinches from the sensitivity, small jerks as you push and pull away from his touch “San—I can’t.”

“Yes you can. And you’ll take it until I want to stop. Understood?” You only cry out, tears welling in your eyes at the intense stimulation. He smacks your cunt again. “Understood?”

“Understood!” You bite out, relenting, and he slides a finger into you—curling and feeling the gummy texture.

He commits it to memory and wishes he had the sort of camera that could film from the inside. He’ll buy that later.

You don’t know how long he fingers you for.

You’re restless—finally growing accustomed to the continuous ministrations of his hand. There’s nothing gentle in the way San drives you flat onto your stomach—his body looming over you like a dark shadow, muscles tense beneath the fabric of his compression shirt. A quick unbuckling and shuffling of him sliding off his jeans later—and your vision goes white when he pushes himself into you in one go.

He’s huge.

San grins darkly when he hears your choked whimper, slamming down into you and pressing his full weight against your back.

The bed creaks repetitively with his brutal pace, muffled screams leaving you as he fucks into you—definitely bruising your cervix in the process. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, drool slipping out of the sides of your mouth—totally icing out the fact that you’re fucking obscenely loud at a dormitory. Someone bangs on the wall but San only fucks you harder, pulling your hair and pressing into you until your body goes limp and lays completely flat on the bed.

Everything is blanking out. Your name, what you’re doing, where you are and with who “S-san I can’t take it.”

He tugs you up by the hair, vulgar slaps against the reddening flesh of your ass continuing their onslaught. “You can take it baby. Just be a good girl and shut up for me.” Slapping your breasts, he flips you over and slides himself snug against you—pelvis pressing yours directly and stuffing himself back in.

Both of his hands wrap around your throat, unrelenting—brutal. The veins on your face rise to the surface, mouth falling open to try and scream but immediately failing. All of his weight is being held on your throat as he uses the force to propel himself forward—digging into you.

You think you pissed yourself mid orgasm, but San keeps going—eyes obsidian and dilated, bordering on animalistic frenzy. Slapping desperately at his arms because of the overstimulation again—you claw at the skin, gasping and seeking breath. He sends three more hard thrusts down before cumming thick ropes into you with a pornographic moan. “F-fuck.”

San swears he’s never seen anything more pretty than you lying under him—bruised, drying tears and smeared mascara—body completely red like it’s fighting a fever. He slaps his cock onto the fat of your pussy before leaning down and breathing in the smell of your sweat gathering in the crook of your neck. He massages your hip, coaxing—and pulls you in to cuddle.

Just as he’s about to slip back into the role of the perfect boyfriend, you murmur sweetly.

“Did that make you happy?”

He stills. Clock ticking in the back of his head up until it hit five seconds

and flips himself onto his back, tugging you along with him—fumbling to push his already fully hardened cock inside. His arms slide under your armpits and lock behind your neck before he jack hammers upwards—pushing past his own sensitivity, fully intent on fucking you until you felt like raw meat. You don’t count how many orgasms you had or how many people knocked on San’s door groggy and pissed only to be ignored.

He groans, pulling out to slap your cunt before quickly sliding back in. “ Do ya like that? Feels good princess? You’re doing so good.”

Your legs grow tired from having to hold your weight up from his chest, feet flat against the bed before going limp—back sandwiched against his damp skin. San doesn’t stop, only slithering a hand down to rub your clit in circles. “Are you happy? Am I being good enough? Sannie, I’m tired.” You whine lightly, eyebrows scrunching as tears threatened to fall.

He whimpers “So fucking good. I’m almost done, sweetheart. Just one more and we can go to bed, yeah?” You almost black out when he fastens his pace, spraying while orgasming and arching your back with vulgar moans.

He pulls out this time, cumming on the fat flesh of your thighs before petting your pussy lightly—appeasingly in performative apology. San holds your body tightly against him, clamping his arms around you while peppering kisses on your shoulder.

“You made me so happy today—seriously, you’re my favorite girl ever.” He rocks you lightly as you giggle.

God, he’s obsessed.

You were the perfect balance between submission and maintained innocence. He’s too tired to look over the footage, but his brain still maps more content ideas.

There’s no way he’s sharing this one but…he’ll still talk about it once he livestreams.

San thinks he might actually love you—and it’s that thought that carries him into deep sleep.

When San’s breathing lulls softly, your eyes blink open in the dark. Slowly, carefully, you reach for his phone, unlocking it with practiced ease. Your thumb drifts across the screen, skimming through his apps—until you find it. A hidden folder buried deep in his files.

Photos, videos, pixelated and zoomed in screenshots of your legs spread open. It’s casual almost—the way your eyes drift around his screen, observing.

Silently, you close out the apps one by one, then inch closer to his sleeping form. Unreadable eyes watching him sleep without blinking. You trace his nose bridge and jaw, kissing him lightly as he slept

slightly unsatisfied by the extent of his hidden perversion.

You thought it’d be worse.

You shut your apartment door—pulling your hair tie away and shake the hairs threatening to fall in your eyes before tugging off the cashmere sweater off like it burned you. The rest of your clothes fall like feathers to the floor, leaving a trail to your bedroom.

You fucking hated cashmere. Fingernail tapping against a custom Zippo—cherry etched into the steel—you flick it open and light a cigarette. Smoke curls around you as you sink into your computer chair, wearing nothing but your underwear. You type in the password: ch0i’s_fav-kitty_.

The page immediately opens to a pending livestream

[ch0i-kitty is online • ]

“—she was such a good girl. Nothing like the others. Pure. Willing to take it and learn—“ You grin, taking a fat drag of your cigarette before leaning back—amused.

Are all boys this dumb? This easy?

All you had to do was play good girl at a surface level for a hotshot like him to come crawling. You watched San for months—committing to the trails of information you could find: a small business card in the backdrop of his stream, the edge of a university hoodie, a fraternity ring—never missing a single livestream to know the exact kind of girl he wanted most but could never find. Not in full at least.

Either too good and too willing to be bad for him. Too slutty from the get go and unable to convince him that they’d never had sex before—rookie stuff.

No one was committed to the bit. Not as much as you were.

Lifting a hand to grab your phone, you call just as San eased a hand down his dress pants—mirroring his actions by peeling your underwear to the side.

You see him grit his teeth and try to control his heaving breaths before answering the phone on live, voice resonating directly into your ear. “Hi baby, you okay?”

Slinking a finger inside, face flushed red with maniacal victory “—nothing. I just called because I missed you.” You grin devilishly when he tilts his head back, stifling a groan as his fist picks up in speed.

“—I miss you too, baby. Already.”

You hum softly, a smile in your voice as you lie—just for a second—saying you had to head back to work. Then you hang up.

You flick the ash off your cigarette, not blinking as you watched him get off. Fingers clicking against your keyboard—positively transfixed by the camboy you’ve obsessed over for a year. He deserves a little treat.

[• ch0i’s_fav-kitty_ gifted 100 points! ]

“Thank you for your donation, kitty. You’re the best.”

Choi San was yours.

And you were his.

because no one could play the good girl better than you.

fin.