allure.

You were currently sitting on his lap on the edge of the bed, completely naked, and his thumbs were idly tracing the soft curve where your thighs met your buttocks, sending constant shivers straight up your spine.

He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging into the plush flesh, kneading you like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin.

He didn't waste any time letting you know just how worked up his obsession made him. Ryul shifted, laying you flat on your stomach across the mattress.

You let out a soft whimper as the cool air hit your back, but the sensation was immediately replaced by the intense heat of Ryul’s gaze. He stood over the bed for a second, just staring at your exposed backside, his eyes dark and dilated with pure hunger.

"God, look at you sweetheart" he panted, his hands coming down to rest on your hips.

He bent you over the edge of the bed, lifting your hips high while your chest rested against the pillows. He smoothed his hands over your skin, his palms sweeping down your lower back to cup your cheeks, spreading them slightly to look at your soaking wet pussy dripping right beneath his favorite view.

He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your thigh, biting softly before his tongue lashed out to lap at your wetness.

"Baby... Fuck—" you begged, your fingers clutching the sheets as the friction began to wind you tight.

He stood up, the sharp hiss of his zipper echoing in the quiet room. A second later, the length of his rock hard cock brushed against your inner thighs.

He didn't just slide inside right away, he rubbed the precum slick head right along your opening, his pelvis grinding hard against your ass cheeks, using your plush flesh to friction tease his own length.

"Squeeze it for me" he growled near your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Tighten your ass around me sweetheart."

With a sudden, heavy thrust of his hips, Ryul buried his entire cock deep inside your tight pussy.

A loud gasp tore from your throat as you were completely filled from behind. Ryul let out a guttural groan, his head rolling back as your internal muscles immediately clamped down around his thick shaft like a vice. He didn't wait a single second to establish pounding rhythm.

He began to slap his hips violently against your bare ass, the wet sound filling the room. Every deep, relentless thrust drove him all the way inside you, stretching your walls open before pulling back just far enough to tease you, only to slam home again.

His hands never left your cheeks, he kept his large fingers dug deep into your flesh, squeezing and lifting your ass with every single brutal slam of his hips to force himself even deeper.

"So tight—" Ryul gasped, his pace becoming completely unhinged. He reached one hand around to your front, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing it ruthlessly in perfect time with his heavy thrusts, while his other hand remained firmly planted, crushing your left butt cheek.

The dual stimulation of his thick cock stretching you inside and his hand ruthlessly working your clit, combined with the heavy weight of his body grinding against your backside, pushed you straight over the edge.

"Ryul! I'm cumming—" you screamed into the pillow.

Your pussy clamped down on his cock in rhythmic spasms as a shattering orgasm ripped through you. The sudden, intense tightness of your climax completely broke Ryul’s restraint.

He let out a loud, breathless roar, his fingers digging into your ass so hard he'd leave bruises, and with three fast, brutal thrusts, he buried himself as deep as possible, shooting his semen deep inside your walls.

He collapsed heavily against your back, his chest heaving as he kept his weight pinned over you, his hands still loosely cupping your ass, completely content and entirely obsessed.

Ryul didn't pull out of your tight warmth right away. He lay heavily against your back, his chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths as his heart gradually slowed down.

His hands remained firmly cupped around your ass, his fingers idly kneading the soft, sweat slicked flesh as if he still couldn't bear to lose contact with it.

Only when his thick cock finally began to soften. He slowly slide out of you with a wet sound. You let out a weak whimper at the sudden emptiness, your muscles trembling from the intensity of the climax.

But Ryul wasn't done worshiping his favorite part of you.

Instead of moving away, he shifted his weight and turned your body around, making you facing the ceiling. He sliding down the mattress until his face between your spread thighs. Your hips were still elevated, completely exposing your swollen cunt with his cum flowing out.

The sight of his white cum slowly leaking out of your opening and running down your plush skin made his breath hitch all over again.

He leaned down, burying his face directly into your soaking wet folds.

"Ah... Ryul" you gasped, your fingers tightening into the pillows as his hot tongue lashed out, greedily lapping up the cream and your own sweet juices with slow strokes.

He was completely unbothered by the mess, devouring you with an eager, desperate hunger. He need to taste you.

Because of how closely he pressed his face against your skin, the blunt tip of his nose kept rubbing firmly over your clit with every single movement of his mouth.

The contrast was maddening. While his wet, flat tongue swirled ruthlessly around your opening to clean you out, the constant, heavy friction of his nose sliding right across your swollen peak sent sharp, localized jolts of pure electricity straight down your spine.

"baby, wait—it’s too much," you sobbed out, your hips instinctively twitching upward to meet the pressure, your toes curling tightly against the sheets.

He didn't slow down. He let out a low groan against your skin, the vibration trembling right against your wet folds. He used his large hands to spread your ass cheeks wide, pulling you open even further so he could bury his face deeper.

Every time he dragged his tongue upward, his nose ground hard against your clit, keeping you trapped on the very edge of another shattering release.

You were completely helpless, pinned beneath his obsessive, dripping mouth as the bedroom filled with the sloppy, wet sounds of him thoroughly consuming you.

It was absolute torture, a beautiful, agonizing sensory overload. Every time Ryul dragged his flat, wet tongue upward from your opening, the blunt tip of his nose flattened hard against your clit, grinding over the swollen nub with an unrelenting pressure.

"Ryul—ah! Please, stop, I’m cum again on your face—" you cried out, your voice completely cracking as you tried to wiggle your hips away from his face.

But he wasn't having it. Ryul’s grip tightened on your ass cheeks, his fingers digging deep into the plush flesh to anchor you firmly against the mattress.

He pinned you in place, refusing to let you escape the maddening friction. He let out a low muffled growl against your skin, a sound of obsessive hunger and increased his pace.

The wet slapping sounds of his mouth devouring you filled the quiet bedroom. He sucked your sensitive lips into his mouth, suck it while imagining it was your mouth lips. His tongue swirling aggressively, while his nose continued to ruthlessly press and rub against your clit in a tight rhythm.

Your mind completely short circuited. The deep throbbing between your thighs wound tighter and tighter in a matter of seconds. Your internal muscles began to spasm, desperately seeking release from the constant, heavy friction of his face against your center.

"Ryul! Ryul!" you screamed into the pillows, your back arching off the bed.

With one final, deep lap of his tongue and a heavy, grinding nudge of his nose, he pushed you straight over the edge. Your body shuddered violently as a fresh, shattering orgasm ripped through your lower half. Your pussy pulsed in rapid, intense waves, spraying your slick wetness directly onto his lips and nose.

Ryul didn't pull back for a single second. He drank you in, swallowing your climax greedily, his tongue catching every drop of your release while his nose kept grinding against your twitching clit until your legs went entirely numb.

When your body finally went limp, trembling and thoroughly spent, Ryul slowly lifted his head. His entire face from his lips to the tip of his nose was completely covered in your juices and the remnants of the white semen.

He looked absolutely ruined, his eyes dark, blown out, and entirely dazed with satisfaction but at least he liked it.

He crawled up your body, sliding his heavy frame on top of you and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He let out a long, ragged sigh, his large hands resting securely on your hips, completely content to stay pinned right there against his absolute favorite view.

After a few more minutes of lying completely spent under his heavy frame, Ryul slowly shifted his weight off you. He looked down at you, his dazed expression softening into something incredibly sweet.

"Come here," he murmured, his voice rough and low.

He didn't make you walk. Ryul slid his arms under your knees and back, lifting your trembling, jelly like body into his arms. You instinctively buried your face in his neck, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders as he carried you out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit bathroom.

He had already left the hot water running earlier, and the room was completely filled with thick steam. Ryul carefully lowered both of you into the deep porcelain tub.

The moment the hot, bubbly water hit your skin, a long, shaky sigh of absolute relief tore from your throat. Your muscles, tight and aching from the intense orgasms, immediately began to unwind.

Ryul sat back against the edge of the tub, pulling your back flush against his chest so you were sitting securely between his thighs. The water swirled around your waists, instantly washing away the sticky remnants of semen and sweat from your skin.

He reached for a soft washcloth and the bottle of lavender body wash. After working up rich lather, Ryul began to wash you with an incredibly gentle rhythm. His large hands moved over your shoulders, down your arms, and across your stomach, his touch completely devoid of the frantic, demanding energy from earlier. This was pure comfort.

When he reached your hips, his fingers idly brushed against the soft curve of your ass under the water. He let out a low chuckle, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your wet shoulder.

"Still so soft." he whispered teasingly, though his grip remained gentle as he carefully cleaned between your thighs, making sure you were completely fresh and comfortable.

You leaned your head back against his collarbone, closing your eyes as the warmth of the water and the steady, solid beat of his heart against your back completely soothed your mind.

Ryul discarded the washcloth and wrapped his arms securely around your waist under the water, pulling you as close as possible. He was perfectly content just holding you, resting his chin on your head as you both soaked in the quiet, peaceful afterglow.

The warm water lapped gently against your chests as Ryul tightened his arms around you, pulling you so close that there wasn’t a single inch of space left between his front and your bare back. The heat from earlier had completely dissolved into something so tender it made your chest ache.

He leaned his jaw against your wet shoulder, his breath coming in soft, steady puffs against your skin.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. To have bath with you after sex." Ryul murmured, his voice dropping into a quiet, vulnerable register you rarely showed anyone else.

He lifted one hand out of the water, his long, damp fingers gently turning your chin so you had to look back at him. His eyes were incredibly soft, reflecting the dim bathroom light.

"Not just the sex... Just want to holding you like this."

Your cheeks flushed a fresh pink under his steady gaze.

"I used to watch you from across the room at school," he confessed, a small, selfdeprecating smile tugging at his lips. He began to trace the line of your collarbone with his thumb, his touch light as a feather.

"You always seemed so quiet, completely in your own world. I was actually terrified to talk to you at first. The school fuckboy, completely tongue tied because a girl looked too perfect to disturb."

He laughed softly, the vibration rumbling deeply against your spine. He leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, making a tiny shiver run down your body.

"I want to know everything about you," he whispered against your skin, his hand sliding down to interlace his fingers tightly with yours under the water, squeezing your palm.

"I want to know what your favorite songs are when you're sad. I want to know what you dream about. I want to be the guy you call when you can't sleep at three in the morning."

He shifted his weight slightly, lifting you just enough to turn you around in the tub so you were facing him. Your knees framed his hips, and your hands instinctively found his broad, wet shoulders for balance.

Ryul looked up at you, his thumb gently wiping away a stray drop of water from your cheek. The sheer adoration in his eyes was overwhelming enough to make anyone blush.

"I'm completely obsessed with you, y/n." he said softly, his voice completely raw and honest.

"And it’s not just your body. I'm falling so hard for all of you. You're stuck with me now okay sweetheart? I can never let you go."

He leaned in, closing the distance between you not with hunger, but with a deep sweet kiss. His lips parted yours gently, tasting you with a quiet reverence that told you louder than any words ever could just how deeply loved you were.

When the kiss finally parted, he didn't pull away completely. Ryul rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he let out a long, contented sigh. His hands remained settled securely on your waist under the water, his thumbs lazily brushing over your skin.

"Let's get out of here before we turn into prunes." he teased softly, the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes, though it was softened by pure affection.

He stood up first, stepping out of the tub and wrapping a large, plush towel around his waist before instantly reaching back to help you out.

He didn't let you dry yourself. Instead, he took a second towel and gently patted your skin dry, treating you like something incredibly precious.

Once you were both warm and wrapped in his oversized, comfortable hoodies, he led you back to the bedroom. The bed had been hastily straightened, the clean sheets smelling faintly of his cologne. Ryul slid under the heavy comforter first, opening his arms wide in an unspoken invitation.

You didn't hesitate, immediately crawling into his space and resting your head directly over his steady, beating heart. He wrapped his long legs around yours and pulled the duvet up to your chins, completely sealing out the cold air.

"Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you." he whispered into your hair, his grip tightening just enough to let you know you were completely safe.

Tangled in his warmth, listening to the rhythmic lilt of his breathing, you finally closed your eyes, drifting into a peaceful sleep, entirely secure in the knowledge of just how deeply you were loved.

ryul watches the way your eyes widen in obvious shock. your fingers drum uncomfortably over each other. “don’t believe this idiot. we’re just friends. no blood relations.”

is this even better?

you’re not sure.

ryul's more perceptive than ohyul seems to be. at least when it comes to the things he wants.

he leans towards your space, sees you fidget with the last tab of your bra and removes it with ease. ohyul doesn’t seem to even glance your way. comfortably removing his own clothing like he’s not undressing with a stranger (you) and his friend inside a room.

“we can stop at anytime.” ryul gazes in your direction. you swipe your palms down your naked thighs. nervous, slightly self conscious, but honestly thrilled for whatever the hell this is going to be.

they're the hottest boys you’ve seen.

ohyul scoffs, leans near the wall. they’re both too comfortable being stark naked in front of you. like they’ve done this before. and you’re just the stand in factor. “can’t you see she’s eye fucking us both. she clearly wants this. maybe a little shy.”

ryul stares at you, measuring your reaction. “still i’d prefer a clear consent before we start.” he steps closer. “so what is it?”

your throat feels tight. there’s something magnetic about the way they’re both looking at you. ohyul with a smug smirk toying at the corners of his lips, and ryul with the kind of patience you don’t expect from someone you just met for the first time ever.

you swallow, swipe your palms down your thighs one last time and exhale a shaky breath. “yeah. i want this.”

ohyul lets out a loud whistle. “hell yeah.”

ryul gives you a smile and you feel like you’ll melt. “awesome.” he leans even closer. grabs you by the waist as he leads you to the bed.

his hands push the blankets aside.

this isn’t even his room. nor his home where the party still raves loud downstairs. but he navigates the bed like its his own.

he lays you on your back. while ohyul watches with intense focus. you adjust to the bed, eyes round, looking up to where he stands.

ryul moves closer to where your head is, perched peacefully on the pillow he's put under you.

ohyul exhales through his nose, sharply. you turn your head to catch the way he's biting his lower lip.

god he’s hot. plump lips, that look utterly soft. you can't wait to kiss him.

ryul’s fingers trace the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin towards him. “eyes on me,” he instructs, though the smirk tugging at his mouth shows he's not minding you being distracted.

his thumb brushes your bottom lip as his hips nears your mouth, guiding himself to you. “open up, sweetheart.” ryul instructs softly.

the command sends heat pooling down your thighs.

it’s the excessive sweetness that doesn’t sound mocking. the way his grin grows when he says ‘sweetheart’ that makes you crumble.

pathetic. you’re easy.

but your lips part instinctively, and the first brush of him against your tongue tastes salty and faintly sweet. you’re careful not to let your teeth graze his cock. you’ve done this before. this isn’t your first rodeo.

yet you want to perform better than you’ve ever done before. to please these two random guys you let all control fly for.

ohyul clears his throat. his hand works himself as he moves towards you on the bed. his fingers grips your thighs bluntly. “don’t hog her all to yourself man.” he looks at you currently preoccupied with ryul’s dick in your mouth.

ryul’s hips jerk forward almost involuntarily and you swear you taste the sharp gasp he tries to swallow as you hollow out your mouth. taking him further. your lips rotating around his cock.

ohyul’s grip on your thighs, tightens “well, damn” he mutters more to himself than to anyone else.

his fingers rough as he enters your pussy. no warning, no are you ready. he’s not gonna be as gentle as ryul. not when ryul is face fucking you and he’s waiting like some sidekick loser, getting himself off.

how dreadfully boring.

“ohyul" you moan . voice overwhelmed with his fingers suddenly inside you. it sounds awkwardly muffled, with ryul’s cock covering most of your mouth that you can barely speak.

ohyul’s eyes darken as they trace every twitch of your body as his fingers take alternate turns in you. he doesn't dignify you with a response.

ryul grips your chin, redirecting your focus. “relax, sweetheart. exhale through your nose.”

you do as your told.

ryul pulls back just enough to let you gasp, his cock glistening with your spit. “good girl,” he coos and the praise coils tight in your stomach.

maybe you have a praise kink. because it does something to you. you take your free hand pushing him further back into your mouth with no hesitation. swallowing more of him until you feel the shaft.

you suck harder, faster.

ohyul chuckles low in his throat. "she’s greedy," he observes, dragging his free hand up your stomach to pinch your nipple, just to watch you jolt. "look at her. already addicted." you whimper around ryul’s cock, but neither of them let up. ryul pets your hair almost apologetically, even as he nudges your head back to take him deeper.

which you do. disgustingly deep that you hope you don’t gag.

"shit, y/n. i think im gonna c" ryul starts. his entire frame shakes. he cant even finish his sentence before he releases all over your mouth. your tongue is hit with his cum. so much so that it drips out. some landing on your chin and the rest splattering on your chest.

you close your eyes instinctively. nothing’s hot about cum in your eyes. it hurts and its sticky.

uncomfortably sticky.

ohyul exhales shakily, even as his fingers go deeper. hitting your cunt. you’d think it's his dick that you're sucking up with the way his chest heaves.

ryul shoots you an apologetic smile. his fingers wipe the pool of sweat trailing your hairline. "sorry, princess. didn't mean to do that." you swallow around his dick, your lips swollen and glistening.

ohyul tsks, rolling his eyes. "don't apologize, dude. look at her she enjoys it." his eyes follow where the excess cum and spit linger near your lips. "I know her type. girls like her to pretend to be shy but are secretly sluts." ohyul's thumb presses harder against your clit. as if punishing you for ryul's kindness.

you whimper, arching into the pressure, torn between the sharp sting of his words and the undeniable thrill they send down your spine.

ryul’s fingers still cradle your jaw, wiping away your spit or his cum. you're not sure which. they blend together seamlessly. his touch incredibly gentle against the rough scrape of ohyul’s long digits between your thighs. he frowns. his hands still against your jaw. "be gentle." he mutters.

ohyul scoffs.

gentle?

that's too vanilla for his liking. he's not relenting, his fingers picks up speed, and your body trembles uncomfortably. you're at a loss of words. the pleasure overwhelming. all you can utter is incoherent blubbers that don't make sense.

ohyul's tortuous pace doesn't falter. his grin cheshire wide. fingers curling deeper inside you. hotter, faster. you hear the slickness of your arousal, the sound wet as ohyul hits a spot that makes your hips jerk.

it's not until you feel liquid trail down your thighs that ohyul slows his pace just down enough to let you catch your breath.

his eyes scans your frame. "such a fucking mess already. can't event keep it together when i haven't even done much", he comments cockily.

ryul exhales sharply through his nose, but before he can retort, ohyul’s already pressing forward, crowding you deeper into the mattress. his knee nudges your thighs apart, and you don’t resist.

can’t, really, not when your body’s still humming from his fingers.

"she's fine," ohyul drawls, his dick touches your thigh as he frames himself over your hips.. "she can take more."

though ohyul could not care less even if you couldn't.

he's a bit selfish. a bit rough. you'll be fine.

ohyul's fingers dig into your hips, lifting enough just to align near your entrance. "ready", he murmurs. the closet to softness he's shown so far.

you barely nod before he thrusts in.

"tight," ohyul mutters, hips rolling in a way that makes your toes curl. "bet ryul’s jealous as hell right now." his fingers tighten on your waist, pulling you harder against him, and you gasp at the sudden fullness.

ryul's on the right side of your body. his lips parts slightly as he strokes himself lazily. "jealous?" he echoes, dragging his thumb over the head of his cock. "nah. just appreciating the view."

ohyul laughs dryly.

you dig your nails into his shoulders. partly out of spite. and partly because he's hitting all the right spots. he pants, but he doesn’t argue further, too focused on the way your body clenches around him.

on the way one of your hands reach down to his ass, pulling him deeper.

you want more of him.

"that’s it," he growls, his fingers bruising against your skin. "take it. i know you can ."

ohyul's meaner than ryul.

there's no softness. no gentleness in his words. even the tone he uses on you isn't as delicate.

you'd frown if you could. if ohyul was awful. if you weren't getting some machoistic pleasure from his aggressive hands on your hips and his cock hitting your walls. ohyul reaches for your throat but gets stopped by ryul. "nah, man. "

you want to turn your head. to see the exact expression on ryul's face. but you can't . your lips parts. you bite down on your tongue to suppress a moan that's bubbling to the top.

a weak act of dominance on your part.

ohyul’s smirk widens at ryul’s intervention, but he doesn’t argue—just shifts his grip to your hair instead, yanking your head to the left for you to get a better view of him.

and only him.

you're forced to meet his gaze. "aht, aht" he orders, "it's my turn now." his hips snap forward again, deeper this time, and you choke out a sound.

ohyul eats it up gladly. his mouth on yours.

you can't even call it a kiss. it's hunger. brutal. teeth catching your bottom lip and you groan into it.

ohyul's hands are everywhere. your thighs. your waist. none of it gentle. his lips drag from your mouth to your jaw, biting down just hard enough to sting and you gasp. you clench involuntarily against his cock.

you swear you see ryul grimace. but you can't be sure. it's a split second view from the periphery of your eyes. vision mostly bound on ohyul to be sure if you even seen what you think you do.

ohyul's view of ryul's clenching jaw is clearer than yours. he notes it for future reference.

from all the times they've done this. ryul's never reacted this obvious.

interesting.

ryul exhales sharply through his nose, fingers twitching where they rest against his the mattress. "you’re gonna bruise her," he warns.

ohyul pauses mid-thrust just to sneer at him. he has no intention of stopping.

"so?" he nips your ears.. blunt teeth scraping skin. "she likes it. don't you?" he looks down at you. cocky as ever. and thrusts once more, harder than before.

you gasp, thighs trembling, friction burning deliciously, and you can’t help but rock against him, chasing the sensation. your body craving the rough treatment.

ryul shifts closer on the bed, his fingers trailing down your arm in contrast to ohyul’s rough grip. his touch is featherlight, a whisper against your oversensitive skin. "you’re doing so good, his thumb brushes your bottom lip where ohyul has bitten it.

you don't even have time to react. to acknowledge what sounds like fondness in his words. your pussy suddenly empty as ohyul pulls out of you roughly.

he squeezes his cock as white liquid pours all over your stomach. "shit."

you didn't even get to cum …

okay you have when ohyul fingered you. but that was different. that was quick. and now you're left unsatisfied. your thighs still tremble, your pussy still throbs, and the sticky mess on your stomach is just a reminder of how unfair this is.

ohyul collapses beside you with a groan, wiping his hands on the sheets without a second thought. his chest rises and falls rapidly, but his smirk remains unabashedly intact.

"damn," he breathes, rolling his head to look at you. "thought i'd last longer than that."

ryul wants to throttle ohyul. on your behalf or his. he's not sure yet "fucker".

your thighs press together like you're still chasing friction, still chasing him.

you internally echo that sentiment, 'fucker'.

yeah that's exactly what ohyul is.

꧁⠀⠀ ໋•̩̩͙⠀⠀

Ohyul didn't look up from his screen, merely grunting in affirmation "Yeah."

"Cool. Uh, there’s someone I want you to meet."

That made Ohyul’s fingers pause over the keyboard. He tilted his head up, his dark eyes shifting toward the entryway. Ryul was standing there, looking unusually self-conscious, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. But it was the girl standing slightly behind him that caught Ohyul’s attention.

It was you.

You were holding onto the strap of your tote bag, your fingers tightening against the canvas as you met Ohyul’s gaze. You looked small next to Ryul’s broad frame, a little flushed from the walk up the stairs, and completely out of place in their apartment.

"This is y/n" Ryul said, his chest puffing out just a fraction as he introduced you, a prideful smile breaking across his face.

"Y/n, this is Ohyul. My roommate."

"Hi, Ohyul. It's really nice to meet you" you said, your voice carrying a soft, hesitant warmth. You offered a small, polite wave, your eyes searching his face for any sign of welcome.

Ohyul’s expression didn't change. He didn't smile, nor did he look annoyed. He simply took a slow sip of his water, his analytical gaze washing over you for a brief second before he nodded. He didn't see the appeal, honestly. To him, you just look like every other one of Ryul's ex-girlfriends or one night stands that he always brings over to fuck. He wasn't interested in making small talk or playing the welcoming host.

"Hey" Ohyul replied, his tone flat, almost dismissive. "Nice to meet you."

He turned his eyes straight back to his laptop screen, his fingers resuming their mechanical clicking on the keys.

The silence that followed was thick. You blinked, your hand dropping back to your side, a faint flare of embarrassment coloring your cheeks. You looked at Ryul, your lips parting slightly, unsure if you had done something wrong. Ryul just cleared his throat, clapping a hand on your shoulder to guide you toward his room.

"Don't mind him, he's always like that when he's working" Ryul whispered, though the apartment was small enough that Ohyul heard every word. "Come on, let's go inside."

As the door to Ryul’s bedroom clicked shut, Ohyul finally let his hands rest. He stared at the glowing monitor, the faint scent of a sweet, floral perfume still lingering in the air near the doorway. It was a clean, soft scent that didn't belong in a place like this. He let out a short, quiet exhale through his nose, reached down to pick up his headphones, and slid them over his ears, drowning out the rest of the world.

The days turned into weeks, and the apartment ceased to belong solely to the two men. Your presence became a recurring theme, an expected element of the weekly routine. Ohyul kept to himself, preserving his lifestyle like a ghost in his own home, but it was impossible not to notice the shift.

Ryul changed. The guy who used to survive on instant ramen and frozen pizza suddenly started hoarding fresh groceries in the fridge. Ohyul would walk into the kitchen in the afternoon to find the two of you standing by the stove. Ryul would have his arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder while you stirred a pot of pasta sauce.

"Baby, you’re in my way" you’d giggle, your shoulders shaking as you tried to nudge him with your elbow. "I can't chop the garlic if you're holding me this tight."

"Don't care. You smell too good." Ryul would mumble into your neck, his large hands sliding down to rest on your hips, pulling your back flush against his chest. He would kiss your cheek, loud and obvious, just to make you blush.

Ohyul would walk past you and Ryul to grab a can of soda, his face a mask of absolute neutrality. He wouldn't say a word, his eyes never lingered on the domestic display. You would always freeze a little when Ohyul entered the room, your voice dropping to a polite murmur. "Oh...hi Ohyul"

"Hey" he’d mutter back, grabbing his drink and immediately retreating to his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him like a barrier.

On weekends, it was the living room. Ryul would drag the heavy blankets from his bed onto the couch, turning the small television area into a nest. You would sit between Ryul’s legs, your back resting against his chest while some movie played quietly in the dark. Ryul’s fingers would be tangled in your hair, lazily stroking your scalp while you watched the screen, occasionally leaning up to feed him a piece of popcorn.

To Ohyul, it was an exhausting display of sentimentality. He didn't understand the need to be constantly attached, to have another person constantly occupying your space, your thoughts, your skin. Every time he had to leave his room to use the bathroom or get water, he felt like he was intruding on a world that had no room for him. So, he perfected the art of looking through you. When you spoke, he offered one-word answers. When you smiled politely at him in the hallway, he gave a curt nod and kept moving. He thought he was just maintaining boundaries. He didn't realize how his coldness was settling into the quiet spaces of the apartment.

The summer heat had settled heavily over the city, turning the apartment into a stagnant box despite the hum of the old air conditioner. It was a Tuesday evening. Ohyul was in his room, the lights off, the glow of his computer monitor casting sharp, blue shadows across his face. He was exhausted, his shoulders tense from a long day of remote meetings, but his mind was too wired to sleep.

Through the thin drywall that separated his bedroom from Ryul’s, he heard the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. Then, the soft murmur of voices. You were over again.

Inside Ryul’s room, the atmosphere was thick with a quiet, heavy tension. You were sitting on the edge of Ryul’s unmade bed, your knees pulled up to your chest, your chin resting on your kneecaps. Your shirt hung slightly loose over your frame, and your eyes were fixed on the floorboards, tracing the dark grain of the wood.

Ryul was sitting at his desk, turning on his computer but he stopped when he noticed the heavy silence hanging over you. He stood up, his large frame casting a long shadow across the bed as he walked over and sat down beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight.

"Hey" Ryul said softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "What's that face for? You've been quiet since we got back from dinner."

You let out a small, hesitant breath, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your socks. You tilted your head up slightly, your eyes swimming with a vulnerability that always made Ryul’s chest tighten.

"Can I ask you something?" you whispered, your voice barely carrying across the small space.

"Yeah, anything. What's wrong?"

"Does... does Ohyul hate me?"

The question made Ryul pause, his hand resting on your shoulder. He blinked, a look of confusion crossing his features before he let out a low, breathless chuckle. "What? Where is this coming from? Ohyul doesn't hate you"

"No, i swear he really does" you insisted, your voice cracking slightly as the insecurity built up in your chest. You let your legs drop, turning your body fully toward Ryul. "He never looks at me. When I say hi, he barely mutters a word back. Yesterday in the hallway, I tried to ask him how his day was, and he just... he walked right past me like I was invisible. It’s like he can’t stand being in the same room as me. It makes me feel like I’m breaking some rules just by being here."

Ryul’s expression softened, the amusement fading from his eyes as he saw the genuine distress on your face. He reached out with both hands, gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lap. You let out a soft gasp as your thighs straddled his, your chest pressing against his broad pecs.

"Listen to me," Ryul murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly tone he only used when he was entirely serious. He wrapped his large arms around your back, pulling you flush against his solid frame. "Ohyul is an asshole to everyone. He's been my best friend for years, and half the time, he treats me like a stranger too. He's just antisocial, y/n. He gets locked into his own head, his work, his routines. It has nothing to do with you. Trust me."

"Are you sure?" you whispered, your hands resting on his shoulders, your fingers digging slightly into the fabric of his t-shirt. "It just feels so personal. Like he's judging me."

"He's not judging shit," Ryul muttered, his eyes darkening as they dropped to your lips. The vulnerability in your eyes, the soft way your body was trembling against his—it was sparking something heavy and possessive in his gut. "And even if he was, it doesn't matter. This is my room. You're my girl. You don't need to care about him. You only need to care about me."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, cutting off any further protest. The kiss was slow at first, a comforting pressure meant to soothe your doubts, but as you let out a soft, shaky sigh into his mouth, the rhythm shifted. Ryul’s hands slid down from your waist, gripping your thighs and squeezing them hard, lifting you up slightly so you were pressing harder against his growing dick.

"Let it go, princess." Ryul whispered against your lips, his hot breath fanning over your skin. "Forget about him. Just look at me."

You nodded against his mouth, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as the heavy, familiar warmth of his desire began to wash away the cold sting of Ohyul’s indifference.

n the adjacent room, Ohyul was still sitting at his desk. He had heard the initial murmurs, the soft, muffled cadence of your voices through the wall but he hadn't been paying attention to the words. He didn't care. He reached down, picked up his wireless earbuds from the desk, and shoved them into his ears. He turned on a heavy, lo-fi instrumental track, the deep bass thumping against his eardrums, a familiar wall of sound designed to isolate him completely.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, waiting for his brain to turn off.

But the drywall in the old apartment was thin, and the bass wasn't loud enough to mask the shift in tone from the next room.

It started with a rhythmic creak. The old wooden frame of Ryul’s bed shifting under a sudden influx of weight. Ohyul’s eyes flicked open in the dark. He frowned, his fingers twitching against his thighs. He tried to focus on the music, turning the volume up until the synthetic drums were ringing in his ears.

Then came the first sound that bypassed the digital barrier completely.

It was a sharp, high-pitched gasp. Your voice. It wasn't the polite, quiet tone you used when you spoke to him in the kitchen. It was breathless, broken, and desperate.

Inside Ryul’s room, your clothes had already been discarded. Ryul had pulled over your shirt (originally his) with impatient, heavy hands, tossing it onto the floor where it landed with a soft whisper. He had pushed you back onto the mattress, his large body instantly hovering over yours, his knees parting your thighs with a rough, territorial urgency.

"Wait, the door—" you gasped out, your hands pressing against his chest as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth nipping at the soft skin right above your collarbone.

"It's locked. Forget the door" he growled, his voice thick with a feral sort of hunger. He reached down, unzipping his jeans with a harsh, metallic rattle that seemed to echo through the wall. He kicked them off, along with his boxers, his thick, rock hard cock instantly springing free, heavy and leaking with precum.

He didn't give you time to adjust. He grabbed your waist, his thumbs digging deep into your hips, leaving pale marks that would undoubtedly turn to bruises by morning. He lifted your legs, draping them over his broad shoulders, opening you up completely under the dim, ambient light of his computer monitor.

You looked up at him, your chest heaving, your bare breasts flattening and swaying with your frantic breaths. You were already slick, your body reacting to his heat before your mind could even catch up.

"Look at you," Ryul muttered, his eyes pitch black as he guided the thick head of his dick against your entrance. "So wet for your man. You're trembling."

"Please Ryul... just do it." you whimper, your hands gripping the bedsheets for dear life, your head tossing back against the pillows.

With a deep, guttural grunt, Ryul snapped his hips forward. He drove his cock deep inside you in one massive, unrelenting thrust, burying his entire length until his groin slammed hard against your ass.

"Ahhh! Fuck!"

The scream tore out of your throat, loud and uninhibited, a pure, raw reaction to the sheer size of him stretching your tight walls wide open. The sound was sharp, cutting through the quiet night like a blade.

Ohyul froze in his gaming chair.

The sound of your scream had penetrated his earbuds so clearly it felt like you were standing right behind him. The music playing in his ears suddenly felt distant, useless. His heart skipped a beat, a sudden, violent jolt of adrenaline spiking through his veins. His posture went completely rigid, his ears straining against the silicone tips of the earbuds.

He didn't want to hear it. He told himself he didn't care. But then came the rhythm.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

It was the unmistakable, heavy sound of skin clapping against skin. A wet, brutal friction that filled the silence of the apartment. Ryul had started moving, his pace immediate and feral, his hips jackhammering into your pussy with a violent, needy rhythm. Every stroke was heavy, his broad frame slamming down against yours, making the headboard of the bed strike the shared drywall with a dull, rhythmic thud.

Thud. Slap. Whimper.

Ohyul’s breath hitched in his throat. He reached up with trembling fingers, ripping the earbuds out of his ears and tossing them onto the desk. They clattered against the wood, but the sound was completely swallowed by the symphony of filth coming from the next room.

He could hear everything now,

Unfiltered.

Raw.

He heard the deep, animalistic groans tearing out of Ryul’s throat, the heavy, breathless grunts of his best friend pounding himself into a woman. But more than that, he heard you.

You were crying out. Your voice was a constant, high-pitched whine, a desperate loop of breathless moans and broken syllables.

"Ryul—ah! More... please—faster right there!" you sobbed, your voice muffled slightly, likely because Ryul was smothering your mouth with his kisses, but the high, whimper of your pleasure leaked through the drywall with agonizing clarity.

Ohyul felt a sudden, aggressive heat pool in his lower stomach. It was a physical reaction, immediate and uncontrollable. His sweatpants suddenly felt entirely too tight, the soft fabric straining against a sudden, raging erection that throbbed with every heavy slap of skin from the next room.

His mind screamed at him to stop. To put the headphones back on, to walk out of the apartment, to do anything else. But his body refused to move away from the sound. The sheer carnality of it. The wet, heavy friction, the desperate, trembling whines you were making, it was sliding into his ears and locking onto his brain like a virus.

"Fuck it" Ohyul hissed under his breath. His voice a gravelly whisper in the dark.

He stood up from his chair, his legs feeling heavy and unstable. He didn't turn on the lights. He moved through the shadows of his room like a predator, his eyes fixed on the shared wall. The thumping of the headboard was vibrating through the floorboards, a physical pulse that matched the frantic hammering of his own heart.

He approached the bed. He didn't lie down. Instead, he climbed onto the mattress, getting on his knees. He crawled forward until his knees were pressed against the edge, his body fully facing the bare, white drywall that separated his life from theirs.

Slowly without hesitation, he leaned forward. He pressed his left ear flat against the cold surface of the wall.

The audio quality changed instantly. It was like switching from a distant radio to a live performance. He could hear the squelch of Ryul’s pre-cum and your own wetness being churned between your bodies. He could hear the sharp, desperate in draws of your breath, the way your teeth clicked together when Ryul hit your sweet spot, the deep, rumbling dirty talk that Ryul was growling into your ear.

"You're so fucking tight, y/n... fuck, you're milking my dick" Ryul’s muffled voice vibrated through the wood.

"Ryul—Ryul, I'm gonna cum, please, don't stop!" you wailed, your voice breaking into a high, trembling whine that made Ohyul’s entire body shudder.

That whine. It was so pretty. So completely vulnerable. It was a sound Ohyul had never imagined you could make at all. The polite, quiet girl who always looked down when he walked past. To hear you broken down like this, reduced to nothing but a shaking, desperate mess of pleasure. It wrecked him.

Ohyul’s hand moved down on its own. His fingers hooked into the waistband of his grey sweatpants, pushing them down past his hips along with his boxers, freeing his thick, throbbing length. It was rock hard, hot to the touch, and already dripping a heavy bead of pre-cum from the sheer intensity of what he was listening to.

He gripped himself, his large palm wrapping tightly around his shaft. His knuckles were white, his veins standing out along his forearm as he began to stroke himself, his hand moving in perfect sync with the heavy rhythm of the skin clapping next door.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

He closed his eyes tight, his ear still glued to the wall. With his vision gone, his mind immediately filled the void with images.

He didn't see Ryul anymore. In his head, it was him standing over you in the dark bathroom. He imagined your breasts bouncing wildly in front of his face, the soft, heavy flesh jiggling with every rough stroke. He imagined his own hands cupping the undersides of your tits, lifting their weight and crushing them together while he buried his dick deep inside your soaking wet pussy.

He stroked faster, his thumb grinding against his own tip, mimicking the wet friction he was hearing.

He pictured your face, flushed, your lips parted, your eyes wide and swimming with tears as you looked up at him through the mirror. He imagined himself leaning down, his hot breath fanning over your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he growled the same filthy shit Ryul was saying.

"Fuck... y/n" Ohyul whispered into the dark room, his voice a tight, choked gasp.

Hearing your name leave his own lips sent a violent shockwave through his core. It felt dangerous. It felt forbidden. It was a line he had never crossed, a boundary he was actively setting on fire with every furious stroke of his hand. But the sound of your whines through the wall was like fuel on a wildfire. You were crying out louder now, your voice rising in pitch, your breath turning into a frantic, staccato panting.

"Ryul! Ryul, now—ah! I'm cumming!" you screamed out, your walls clamping down so hard next door that Ryul let out a loud, breathless roar of his own.

The sound of your climax, the pure, unadulterated sound of you breaking apart through the drywall shattered whatever control Ohyul had left. His hand blurred against his shaft, his strokes becoming violent, messy, and desperate. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving against the cold wall, his forehead pressing into the drywall as his hips twitched involuntarily.

He could picture it perfectly now. He imagined you on your knees under his desk, your breasts gathered together, squeezing his thick shaft tight in your cleavage while you looked up at him with those begging, vulnerable eyes. He imagined his cum erupting, painting your fat tits in thick, white ropes, splattering across your skin while you gasped for air.

"y/n... fuck fuck fuck" Ohyul whined, his voice dropping into a broken, needy whimper that mirrored yours.

His body went completely rigid. His toes curled into the bedsheets, and his abdomen tense into a painful, tight knot as his climax hit him with the force of a freight train. He let out a low, choked groan, his head snapping back as his cock pulsed violently, unleashing thick torrent of cum into his own hand and across his stomach and wall. He kept stroking through the spasms, his breath hitching, his entire body trembling as he squeezed out every last drop, his voice whispering your name one last time into the empty, dark room.

Next door, the heavy thumping slowly ground to a halt. The wet sounds of friction faded into the heavy, ragged breathing of two exhausted bodies. There was the faint sound of sheets shifting, a low murmur from Ryul, and then, a final, quiet silence settled over the apartment.

The sex was over.

Ohyul stayed on his knees for a long moment, his forehead still resting against the drywall. His hand was sticky, his chest heaving as his heartbeat slowly began to drop from its frantic peak. The heat that had consumed him just moments ago suddenly began to evaporate, leaving behind a cold, biting chill.

Slowly, he pulled himself away from the wall. He reached over to his nightstand, grabbing a handful of tissues, and wiped his hand and his skin clean. He pulled his sweatpants back up, his movements heavy and listless.

He crawled back to the center of his bed, collapsing flat onto his back. He stared up at the dark ceiling, the silence of the apartment now feeling heavy, suffocating, and incredibly loud.

The adrenaline was entirely gone now, replaced by a sudden, sickening drop in his stomach. The fog in his brain cleared, exposing the raw, ugly reality of what had just happened.

He turned his head to the side, looking at the bare wall.

A thought slammed into his mind, sharp and violent, cutting through his exhaustion like ice water.

What the fuck am I doing?

His fingers tightly gripped the fabric of his pillow, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. He had just spent the last twenty minutes on his knees, pressing his ear against a wall like a pathetic voyeur, listening to his best friend fuck. But it wasn't just that. He had used your voice. He had used your name. He had closed his eyes and vividly imagined his hands on your skin, his body inside yours, taking what belonged to the only guy who had ever had his back.

I just jerked off to my best friend's girlfriend.

The weight of the realization settled onto his chest, making it hard to breathe. Ohyul closed his eyes, letting out a long, shaky exhale through his teeth. The disgust was immediate, a bitter taste at the back of his throat. He had spent weeks pretending you didn't exist, treating you like an unwanted ghost in his space, only to turn around and use your vulnerability to satisfy his own self.

The apartment was quiet now. No more slaps. No more whines. Just the faint, rhythmic hum of the air conditioner in the hallway. But for Ohyul, the quiet was gone for good. He knows, Every time he would look at that wall, every time he would walk into the kitchen and see you standing there with Ryul, he would still hear that pretty, broken whine. He would remember the weight of his own hand, the sound of your name leaving his lips, and the forbidden fire that had just ruined the only stable thing he had left.

TAGLIST : @bammbi-jeon127 @moneykays @zelyamova @n-nikiimuraa @yushinyuz @reicow @surrik-i (white : can't tag)

his voice is low, smooth, and dripping with cocky amusement.

you freeze instantly. your eyes fly open. your fingers stop. heat explodes across your face as you whip your head toward the door.

ryul is standing there, leaning casually like he’s been enjoying the view for a while. his dark eyes drag slowly down your body, over your spread thighs, your glistening fingers, your soaked pussy—before meeting your panicked gaze again.

“you’ve been at it for a while,” he says, voice warm but teasing.

“doesn’t look like it’s doing the job, baby.”

it really isn’t. the realization burns through you instantly. your fingers had never been enough—not even close to what you imagined ryul could do.

you frantically yank your shirt down and snap your thighs shut, mortified.

“i—i thought you were still at the studio—” you stammer.

ryul’s lips curve into a smug little smirk.

“i was.” he tilts his head.

“then i heard you moaning my name.”

he steps into the room with lazy confidence and sits on the edge of the bed. one hand slides up your bare thigh, fingers stroking the soft skin with teasing arrogance. his thumb draws slow circles, getting dangerously close to where you need him but never quite touching.

“look at you…” he murmurs, voice low and cocky.

“all worked up, legs spread so pretty for me. you’ve got yourself so needy.” you can’t meet his eyes. your face burns with embarrassment.

ryul chuckles softly, still lazily caressing your inner thigh. his thumb brushes just beside your clit, making your hips twitch.

“need help?” he asks again, that arrogant smirk deepening. “want me to give you what those fingers clearly can’t?”

you swallow hard, voice barely a whisper.

“i… no—i’m sorry… i shouldn’t have—”

ryul raises an eyebrow, still stroking your thigh like he has all the time in the world.

“no?” he lets out a low, amused laugh.

“alright then.”

he pulls his hand away and stands up, not even trying to hide the obvious bulge in his sweats as he adjusts himself.

“guess you’ve got it handled,” he says casually, flashing you one last cocky grin.

then he turns and walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

you’re left sitting there, shirt bunched up, thighs shaking, pussy aching and dripping—staring at the closed door in stunned, frustrated disbelief.

“Sorry, doll.” Max (the bartender you’d somehow befriended over the past week) pulls the empty glass out of reach before you could ring up another. “Hate to be that guy, but I think you’ve had enough.”

You pout, stretching a hand across the bar anyway. It’s your fifth drink. Or maybe sixth. Who was even counting? You were still conscious, still speaking in full sentences, and that seemed like proof enough you could handle one more.

“Come on, Maximilian.” You resort to dragging out his full name, leaning into it. “I’ll give you a hundred dollar tip. Straight on my tab right now. That’s reasonable, yeah?”

You smile at him. You even flutter your lashes for effect. Though judging by his grimace, and the mirror behind him, you can tell it isn’t working. You’re a mess. Smudged eyeliner. Hollow eyes. A complete lost cause.

Max winces. “You lost the option to bribe me the second you asked if we could—” two of his fingers flick up in the air, mocking quotation marks, “—hooks up. I told you yesterday. I’ve got a wife.”

Your face collapses into a frown.

Damn loyal men. If only Soobin had been one.

Then maybe you wouldn’t be here on a random Tuesday night, letting happy hour bleed into sad. Begging a man old enough to be your dad, a man you know far too much about—his pension plan, his kid’s names—for one more bev and a fuck.

“Okay, fine.” You flap your hand around, carelessly. “Offering you sex was not my brightest moment. But I only did that because Hyuck didn’t pick up. I promise you, I’m only a little drunk.”

Max sighs and tosses his rag over his shoulder. “Darling, that’s exactly why I’m cutting you off while you’re still coherent. I know your routine by now. Drink, call, guy shows up, you go home with him. Usually they’re here before your third. Tonight they’re not. And I won’t have that on my conscience.”

You pout again, because Max is being logical. But broken hearts don’t take kindly to reason. Especially not yours. No, yours seems to believe all men are bastards, and liquor is the only cure worth swallowing.

You’re about to beg again. Sink fully into the patheticness of bargaining—promises, smiles, literally anything—just to have him pour you another double vodka. But then a voice cuts through. So gravelly, it drags your head to the side.

“What kind of whiskey do you have here?”

A man. His arm braced against the bar, casually holding himself up. He lets his eyes rake over the lineup of glass bottles behind Max, never sparing a glance in your direction. 

Max opens his mouth. But you get there first.

“Jameson, Redbreast, Bushmills—take your pick. But do not order Powers, because I swear it’s the off-brand stuff. Tastes like petrol.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Max says through gritted teeth, his jaw tight with a fake smile. “That’ll be the last time I tell you anything in confidence, girl.”

“Well, Maxxie, that’s what happens when you cut me off,” you grin at him.

“Y/N?” 

The stranger repeats your name, but this time his voice is clearer, less gravelly. And for some reason, you recognise it. Which you hate—because you picked this place for a reason.

Twenty minutes out of town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Where no one could witness just how drastically this particular breakup had been gutting you. You’d even told Sua, your best friend, no when she begged you to be her plus one to her old roommate’s wedding. Because you couldn’t be seen. Couldn’t risk bumping into anyone who knew the before you.

And yet—

You squint. The side profile of this man was one thing—unfairly spectacular, carved from some cruel geometry or higher power—but face-on, your double vision steadies just enough (despite the vodka) to stitch it together.

“Jaemin?”

“I take it this is your Tuesday night booty call, eh, Y/N?” Max leans against the back of the bar now, arms folded. He looks down at you past his nose, smiling smugly.

“God, Max—no. What—no!” Your eyes go wide. You flail, wildly, at nothing. “This is… Jaemin. My friend Sua’s brother. I did not call him for that. I did not call him, period.”

“Actually you did—”

Jaemin cuts in and you glare at him. Because there’s no way. Except…there probably is a way. Probably when you were scrolling through the J section of your contacts, looking for someone who’d answer, and his name fell neatly between your ex-boyfriend, Jaehyun, and your favourite fuck, Jeno.

Who’s to say?

“I called you?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together, your eyes narrowing without meaning to.

And God, he looks different now. Older. Well, he was always older. The big brother Sua hated having around when you’d sleep over. The big brother who ruined her dating life, and by extension yours, because he saw you both as a package deal of irritating little sisters.

If only he’d been there to ruin things with Soobin. You hated it when you were younger. But now? You’d have loved him telling that prick to fuck off. Because then you wouldn’t be here. Cheated on. Drunk. Pathetic.

Jaemin pushes a few strands of dyed-blonde hair from his eyes. “Yeah. Thought it was weird. You kept saying…” He taps his chin, thinking for the exact phrasing. “‘Do you me still love?’”

You cringe. But at least the mystery of who you were trying to call is solved—Jaehyun, the ex.

Max laughs then, “And you were trying to convince me you were sober enough for a sixth drink? Drunk dialling your friend’s brother, and asking the bartender to fuc—”

“He’ll have a Rye on the rocks please, Max,” you cut in before he can finish that particular humiliation. Jaemin nods once, confirming, and Max disappears to the shelves.

You suck in a breath and keep your eyes glued to the bottles lined behind the bar, as if looking straight ahead will make him go away. If you refuse to look at him, he’ll disappear. Take the hint and not dig. 

Fifteen-year-old you would have killed to sneak a look at Jaemin and have him this close. God knows you tried whenever Sua invited you over. You hated when he wasn’t around—when he was out with his friends, or tangled up with some girlfriend who wasn’t you.

“On a first-name basis with the bartender, and offering to fuck him?” Jaemin finally breaks the silence as he sinks down on the stool beside you. Clearly not disappearing. “You two close?”

You clear your throat. Then swallow. God, you’d kill for a drink. Fuck Max.

“This is my favourite bar. I see him a lot. And I never asked him to—well, okay, I did. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. He’s married!” Your words stumble over each other, tumbling out all clumsy.

Jaemin smiles, flashing you that same set of pearly-white teeth that used to make your heart flutter in adolescence.  

“Your favourite bar, huh?” He tips his head, amused. “It’s a little far away from our hometown. Sua never told me you moved.”

“I didn’t—I haven’t.” You blink at him. “Wait… why would she tell you that anyway?”

“Because I live out here.”

Shit. You’d forgotten about that.

That last tequila sunrise must have burned the memory clean out of you—that Jaemin moved away for college and settled out here after getting his degree. You only ever saw him in passing, when you dropped off holiday gifts at Sua’s house in the Winter time. 

He shrugs, strands of that new blonde hair he keeps fighting with falling into his eyes. “I know Sua. If you’d moved, she would’ve asked me to keep an eye on you.” Then, casually, he adds: “But since we’ve cleared that up—are you going to tell me why you’re here, in this bar, twenty minutes from town, asking married men to fuck you?”

You don’t think it’s possible to cringe any harder.

“I did not—” You inhale, pinch your eyes shut. “That is none of your business.”

His bottom lip juts out as his shoulders lift. “You kind of make it my business when you call me asking how I’ve been? If I’m in the area? And if I want to eat your pussy?”

Your eyes practically launch out of your skull. And obviously—because the universe is cruel, vindictive, and actively rooting for your downfall this week—that’s when Max reappears with Jaemin’s drink, sliding it across the bar like he hasn’t just heard every foul word.

He coughs. “Um—I think I heard a patron say there’s a… spill. Somewhere. Needs cleaning.”

There isn’t. You know there isn’t. The bar’s empty—you’ve been cataloguing every person, every stool, every dark dusty corner for the last twenty minutes before Jaemin showed up. Looking for someone. Anyone. To pick up.

Max flees anyway. And when he’s gone, your eyes snap back to Jaemin, who’s smirking over the rim of his whiskey glass, one brow cocked. 

“I did not ask you to do—” you drop your voice to a furious whisper—“that.”

“Not just that, no.” He sets the glass down, then leans in close to drop his voice to an equally low volume. “In fact, you said I could skip that altogether and go straight to fucking your mouth if I wanted.”

Christ. You’d clearly sobered up since that call. Maybe Max had a point to cut you off. But God you wish you had a couple of shots right now to shield you from this embarrassment. At least then you could blame the alcohol for your flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, well, don’t feel too special.” You lift your chin, trying to regain some composure. “I was trying different numbers all night—I didn’t expect you to actually pick up.”

There’s a flash in Jaemin’s eyes then. He tips the rest of his whiskey back, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Who’s the asshole?”

“W-what?”

“The asshole,” he says again, slow. “The one who’s got you drinking alone in a bar and calling up anyone in your contacts and begging them to fuck you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N.” He shakes his head, a humorless sound leaving his throat. “I’ve known you since we were kids. You’ve never been a drinker. Never to the point you could list whiskey brands or be on a first-name basis with a bartender.”

You swallow. Hard.

“I know you,” he empthasises. “Trust me—any girl who knows her liquor like that, is a girl who’s been dumped.” His tongue runs slow along his teeth. “So. Tell me. Who’s the asshole?”

You tut out a laugh, tilting your face away from him—then back again. “You gonna beat him up like you used to when I was sixteen?”

His head tips side to side, considering. “Depends. How badly did he hurt you?”

“Mhm,” You shake your head, lips twitching. “Nice to know the rules have changed. You used to scare even the nice ones away when me and Sua were in high school.”

“Of course I did.” His mouth curves into that maddening smile. “You two were too young for dating.”

“We were a year younger than you.”

He cups a hand dramatically to his ear. “Sorry, what was that? I could’ve sworn you just admitted you were younger than me, which only proves my point.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Thank God you weren’t around for our senior year.”

He actually shivers, rolling his shoulders. “Please don’t put any images like that in my head.”

“Oh, please.” You scoff, but it comes out soft. “I think I’ve already put plenty of ideas in your head—based on that phone call you're talking about.”

You don’t know why your voice sounds like that. Sultry, low, silk-drenched. Nothing like how you meant it. And suddenly your lips are bone-dry, so you wet them. Automatic. Nervous.

Jaemin tracks the movement, his gaze fixed on your mouth like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His eyes darken. He coughs, rough.

“Yeah,” he says, voice dropping into gravel again. “Yeah, you did.”

God, he sounds hot. He looks hot. Of course he does. A guy wearing a shirt that stretches across broad shoulders like that, with blonde hair falling into dark eyes, is obviously hot shit. Especially consideing this guy has hands so big they swallow a whiskey glass whole. You had a crush on him then, and now…Now he’s all grown up and absurdly symmetrical. 

At least he was ten seconds ago. Because right now, as you look at him, he’s all…squiggly. Blurred. The edges of that perfect jaw are smudging out, the bottles behind the bar melting into watercolors, and then the floor tilts like it’s trying to knock you off your stool. You can’t tell if you’re moving or if the room is.

You hear him—Jaemin. Muffled, like his mouth is pressed against a wall. He’s uttering something… you think it’s your name. He’s definitely saying your name. And you laugh. You don’t know why—you’re spinning, disoriented—but somehow it’s funny. So you giggle. Snort.

That’s the last thing you recall. The laughter, and then nothing at all. Just black.

You can hear running water. Which would make sense if you were outside—except you’re not. At least, you don’t think you are. Not unless you hauled your pillows, duvet, and entire mattress over your shoulder and decided to rough it in someone’s front garden. Which, given the amount of alcohol you consumed last night, isn’t totally outside the realm of possibility.

You try to open your eyes, assess the damage, confirm whether or not you’ve accidentally lost the plot, but the hangover hits you like a weighted blanket. You can only manage a pathetic eye flutter.

Still, a flutter’s enough because you catch walls. Real, solid, indoor walls. Good news, since walls mean you’re not currently sleeping in the mud. Except these walls? You don’t recognise them. Correction—you do. But not because they’re yours. No, these walls are Jaemin’s.

His childhood ones. The walls you spent your formative years imagining yourself trapped behind. Posters of that band he never shut up about, photos of him and the same three boys you used to stalk from Sua’s window, a desk still messily lined with CDs of his favourite music.

And the bed. God, the bed. This bed. His bed. The one you used to imagine sneaking into at seventeen, sixteenth—hell, fifteen, when your crush on Jaemin had been embarrassingly apparent. You dreamed about this. Fantasised until it made you sick. And now you’re actually here. Hungover (not exactly how teenage you imagined it) and smelling faintly of vodka. 

The running water stops. And then—well. Then Jaemin strolls out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel slung low on his narrow hips. Droplets slide down and litter the span of his shoulders, and your chin practically mirrors the water with the way you’re salivating.

That, apparently, is the defibrillator your body needed, because your eyes snap open so fast you nearly sprain an eyelid. You cough—loudly—because what else are you supposed to do when the ghost of every single teenage fantasy you ever had just materialises, half-naked, first thing in the morning?

He glances over from his dresser, utterly unbothered, like you didn’t drunk-dial him last night for God knows what. (You wish you remembered. You really wish you remembered, because drunk calls are typically reserved for hookups, and you’d really like to remember a hookup with this man.)

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, pulling out a pair of sweats. “Bathroom’s free if you wanna…” He gestures vaguely. “Extra toothbrush under the sink. You kept throwing up last night.”

Mortification doesn’t even cover it. You launch yourself out of the bed like it’s on fire, clutching the duvet to your chest—only to realise you’re not naked. Rare, when you wake up in a man’s room, but you’ll take the small mercy. Bare feet slap against the floorboards as you sprint into the bathroom and slam the door behind you.

The mirror does you no favours. Eyeliner streaked down your cheeks, face blotchy, hair a mess. And—perfect—there’s actual dried drool on your chin from when you were too busy ogling him like a creep to remember to swallow. Fantastic. You paw uselessly at your hair, then go at your panda eyes with a tissue until the smudges fade. You dig out the spare toothbrush he promised and brush until the sour tang of vodka finally evaporates from your mouth. When you spit and rinse, you feel only slightly better.

Just good enough to square your shoulders, tilt your chin up like you haven’t just been caught in one of your most humiliating mornings alive, and march back into the room.

He’s on the bed now, leaning against the headboard, his stupid veiny hands wrapped around his phone. He’s changed—black sweatpants (not grey, thank God, you would actually combust) but still shirtless. Fine. It’s his room. You can’t exactly dictate the dress code.

You inhale, pull on your most blasé voice. “Well. Last night was fun…”

His head lifts from his phone. “You wanna talk about it?”

God no. 

You shift on your heels. “Oh no. We probably should never speak about it again, actually. Like, ever. I don’t think Sua would be too thrilled to find out I hooked up with her brother—”

“We didn’t hook up.”

Your eyes drop instantly to the oversized shirt you’re wearing. His shirt. An old band tee from high school, worn soft at the collar. You glance back up at him, brow furrowed. He’s watching you with narrowed eyes. 

“Then…why am I here?”

“Because,” he says, sliding his phone onto the nightstand, gaze locking onto yours like he’s pinning you to the spot, “as I was driving you home, you couldn’t remember your new address, we were too far out from my place, you told me not to call Sua, and you begged me not to take you to your parents’ house.”

You wince so hard, but he doesn’t stop talking. 

“Don’t worry. My mum helped me get you out of your dress and into that.” He nods to the tee.

Your stomach caves in on itself. “Mrs. Na saw me like that? In that state?”

He nods, lips twitching at the edges. 

“Oh, God.” You drag your hands down your face. You think her seeing you like that is worse than your parents. That woman practically raised you.

“So…” Jaemin’s gaze narrows again, the crease in his brow cutting deeper. “Now are we going to talk about why you were in that state last night?”

“Nope.”

“Y/N.” He stands now, pushing off the bed, unfolding those long limbs of his. He’s got that tone—the big-brother, sensible-adult, absolute-buzzkill tone—he used on you when you were sixteen and sneaking wine coolers into Sua’s room. You hated it then, you hate it now. 

“I need you to tell me why you were so drunk.”

“Because I’m over twenty-one and it’s legal for me to drink.”

“Cute.” His mouth flattens, humourless. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck are you drinking so much you’re calling strangers to fuck you?”

“You’re not a stranger.”

“Exactly,” he says with no softness. “I’m not. Which is why you were safe with me last night. But Christ, Y/N—” he exhales hard, raking a hand through his damp hair. “You were gone. Plastered. God knows who could’ve taken advantage of you.”

“That’s the point of a drunk dial, eh?” 

You throw it out like a joke, but he’s not laughing. He doesn’t even blink. He just stares down at you, all lecturing and patronising. 

You roll your eyes. “Look,” you laugh—except it sounds a little brittle. “It really isn’t that serious. I was trying different numbers. I clearly didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”

He lifts his shoulders. “Dialling random numbers for sex sounds serious to me.”

“Only because you’re making it sound like that.”

“I’m not. It’s objectively dangerous.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

His eyes flash with something dark then. Something in your response makes him take a step forward, and your throat works around a swallow you hope he doesn’t notice.

“You can’t consent to sex if you’re drunk, Y/N.”

You straighten your spine, trying to claw back control. “Well, we didn’t have sex, so you’re okay. I can keep the cops out of it.”

“Smart ass.” His tongue pushes against his cheek. Then his eyes cut through you. “You called me—begging for it though.”

You snort, embarrassment licking at your skin because that sounds true and totally plausible. Sober you has at least some dignity left though, so you purse your lips like you’re unbothered.

“And you didn’t touch me because I clearly looked a mess. Thank you for getting me home safe, making sure I didn’t choke on my own vomit, and all that. You’re a nice guy.”

“You’re wrong,” he says. Low. Weighted.

Your brows pinch. “What?”

“I didn’t not touch you because you looked a mess.” He takes another step, and instinctively, you take one back—until your spine collides with the solid panel of his bedroom door. “I didn’t touch you because you were a mess.”

“Oh, thanks, Jaem,” you shoot back. “You always were my favourite confidence booster—”

His hands land on your hips, hot and unforgiving, cutting off your sarcasm mid-breath. His voice drops, almost a growl against your ear. “I wanted you to remember absolutely everything I do to this fucking body.” A shiver wracks down your spine, betraying you. “I’m a nice guy, Y/N. But nothing about what I want to do to you is… nice. And I wanted you to remember that.”

Your throat is bone dry. Like, desert-level. Every smartass comeback you’ve ever had at the ready has suddenly evaporated under the heat of his stare and the press of his fingertips digging into your hips. You’re flustered, and it’s not the hangover—it’s all him.

“You—” Your voice cracks, which is unfair. You clear it and try again, aiming for steady but landing on unconvincing. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” His grip tightens, pulling you closer until your chest almost brushes his. “Because the fact you woke up this morning thinking we’d fucked but couldn’t remember it, kinda proves my point.”

“Please—you men are so cocky,” you roll your eyes, which clearly irritates him because his eyes go black. “You flatter yourselves too much. Women have plenty of forgettable sex.”

“Never with me,” he grits, jaw tight. “If you ever have sex with me, you’ll remember every second.”

“If?” 

“No. When.” He leans down, close enough that his breath sweeps across your jaw, and suddenly words are harder to form, letters blurring in your mouth. “Because you called me last night. And I’ve heard that pretty mouth say the filthiest shit. Beg for the filthiest shit. And I thought—” His eyes drag over you, dark and hungry. “Sua’s sweet friend? My Y/N? The one who used to have a crush on me? Begging to ride my face—”

“I did not.” The denial bursts out of you too fast; it’s basically a flimsy defence.

“You did.” His eyes flash. “I remember it because I can’t get the image of it out of my head. Can’t stop seeing it—seeing you drunk and desperate enough to call me. Who fucking hurt you?”

“I—” Your brain stutters, because his eyes are right there, pinning you, pupils blown wide. You push a pathetic laugh through your nerves. “My boyfriend cheated on me.”

“Boyfriend?” His tone sharpens.

You swallow. “Ex-boyfriend.”

“Better.” His thumbs stroke slow, lazy, teasing circles into your hips, until his voice drops lower. “His name, Y/N?”

“I’m not telling…” you start, except it comes out embarrassingly breathless. 

“Fine,” he murmurs, nose skimming along your temple, then your cheek, purposefully avoiding your lips—just taunting. “Don’t tell me. I’ll just fuck it out of you.”

You should argue. Tell him it’s not his business, that you’re not his problem. You should shove him back and draw the line. But your body refuses to cooperate. Your hands curl into the waistband of his sweats, fingertips slipping under the cotton. Your head tips back against the door, throat on display, bare and vulnerable for his eyes to flick down. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth skimming your jaw, then the corner of your lips, infuriatingly close but not giving you what you want. “Always been the prettiest fucking girl to me.”

“Don’t lie,” you manage, though your pulse is hammering. “You never looked at me once when we were younger.”

His lips finally brush yours, barely a ghost of a kiss. “Yes, I did.  Every time you came over to study with Sua in that little plaid skirt, looking at me with these big doe eyes.” His hand drags down your hip. “You used to wear it just to taunt me, didn’t you?”

“Nope.” You shake your head, despite your breath hitching when his fingers dip lower, brushing the waistband of you (his) shorts.“Didn’t have a reason to dress up for you.”

“That so?” He laughs, low and disbelieving. “No little crush on me?”

You shake your head again.

“Liar.”

Then his mouth crushes yours before you can even argue. His tongue slides in, teeth tugging at your bottom lip like he owns it. You moan before you can stop yourself, and it only makes his grip on your hips clamp tighter, bruising.

He kisses like a man deprived, greedy, ruthless, swallowing you whole. His chest pins you to the door, his cock straining hard against the sweats you’re still fisting, and you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except take. You want to take.

You hate that you want to take.

You rip your mouth free just long enough to whisper, bratty: “Good job I didn’t have a crush. I’d be disappointed—since you’re not even that good a kisser.”

His laugh is sharp against your mouth. “Keep running that mouth, sweetheart. You won’t be saying that when I’m kissing your pussy and you’re begging to cum.”

“Promises, promises—” But your bravado shatters, and your words melt, when his thigh shoves between your legs, pressing up right where you need it. Heat scorches through you, your knees buckling as your body betrays you.

“What was that?” He grinds higher, lips brushing your ear, breath hot. “So fucking wet already. Last night, you were begging to sit on my face, and now you’re trembling from just a little pressure from my thigh. But maybe you’re right.” His smile is wicked, teeth grazing your skin. “Maybe I should stop, since I’m not very good.”

“You’re imagining things,” you bite out, but your hips roll down against his thigh.

“Am I?” His hand slips beneath your shirt, palm spreading across your stomach, climbing higher, slow enough to torture. “Because it feels like you’re dripping all over me. Don’t lie to me, Y/N. Not when your body’s so responsive.”

Your breath catches, nails digging hard into his waistband. His eyes cut down to you, dark and triumphant, glinting like he’s already won.

“You know what the best part is?” His lips drag down your throat, teeth sinking under your jaw, sucking until a bruise blossoms hot into your skin. “You were always Sua’s sweet little friend. Off-limits. Innocent.” His mouth curves against your pulse. “But now you’re spread open on my thigh, against my door, grinding like a desperate little slut.”

“Fuck you,” you gasp, but it’s weak, and he knows it.

“You will,” he promises, biting at your throat again. “And you’re gonna remember every second.”

Then his mouth is back on yours, rougher, hungrier, devouring every sound you make. His hands roam under your shirt, squeezing your tits, thumbs brushing your nipples until you’re whimpering into his mouth. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Knew you’d sound so fucking pretty too.”

“Jaem—” you try, but it’s more plea than protest.

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name like you’ve always wanted to.”

His hand abandons your ribs, slipping lower now, past your stomach, dragging the hem of the borrowed shorts down just enough. His fingers slide under the waistband, dipping beneath your panties, finally—finally—finding you wet and aching.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice drops, all gravel and lust. “Soaked for me. You can’t even try to lie to me about it now.”

“Shut up,” you breathe.

He smirks against your mouth as your hips roll down, pressing into him. His fingers trace idle circles over your clit, barely there, but enough to make you twitch and whine. Always a fucker—Jaemin. Sly, cocky, infuriatingly charming. Every stroke has you clutching at his sweatpants like you could tear them off with sheer will. You want to rip them off. You need to.

“This,” he whispers, dragging two slick fingers through your folds, coating them with your wetness, “is what you begged me for last night. And now… look at you, grinding on me desperately. Been thinking about this for years, haven’t you? Been wanting me to see you? Wondering if I’ve been thinking about it too?”j

“Don’t—” Your words crumble into a moan as he presses two fingers inside you, stretching you opne, slick and hot, filling you too easily.

“Don’t what?” His pace is mericless. The curl of his fingers hits that spot that makes your back arch and your body shudder. His thumb rubs over your clit in maddening circles. “Don’t tell you I’ve wanted you all this time? Don’t tell you I kept my hands to myself for the sake of your friendship with my sister? Don’t tell you I had the same little crush that you had on me?”

Your chest heaves, breath shaky, hips jerking against his fingers. “You—stop—Jaemin,” you gasp, but it’s useless. He’s relentless, and the truth of it—of him—has you dripping. Your knees threaten to give, so he hooks his other arm around your waist, holding you pinned to the door, fucking you with his hand like he’s been waiting a lifetime.

“Oh, baby girl, I know,” he coos, voice thick and mocking as your head tips back, and your lips part around ragged, broken moans. “I don’t need you to admit a damn thing—your pretty little pussy is doing all the talking for me, clenching on my fingers like you’re about to fucking explode. You really that easy for me?”

“Fuck, Jaemin, please!” 

“I will,” he grins, thumb pressing harder, faster, until your legs tremble like jelly. “But first—” His lips brush against your ear, voice turning low and lethal. “You’re gonna give me his name.”

Your head jerks, eyes flying open.“What?”

“You heard me.” His pace never falters, thumb relentless on your clit as he fucks you right to the edge. “The prick who made you drunk dial me? You’re gonna tell me who he is.”

You shake your head desperately, already teetering. “No—fuck, no—”

“Yes.” His mouth drags down your neck, biting hard over the bruises he’s left. “Right now. Or I pull out and you don’t get to cum.”

His fingers slow just enough to make you whine. And suddenly,his threat starts to feel very cruel and very real.

“Say it,” he orders. “Give me his fucking name, Y/N. Or I’ll ruin you and leave you dripping, desperate, with nothing.”

He can’t do that. You won’t let him do that.

“Soobin,” you choke out, every muscle tight, your body begging for that last push. You know you’ve given him what he wanted, the key to unlock your orgasm, but suddenly—he’s gone. His hand disappears from your shorts, leaving you throbbing, and before you can process it, his slick fingers slide straight into his mouth.

Your jaw drops, confusion warring with frustration as he sucks them clean, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Jaemin?”

He smirks, pulling them free with an obscene pop. “This the same Soobin guy you started dating in your senior year?”

You nod before you can stop yourself, still hazy from being edged within an inch of your life. He shrugs like it’s casual, like he didn’t just almost unravel you on his hand. “You know…I never did like that guy.”

His fingers trace sluggish patterns up your thigh, featherlight, nowhere near where you need him most. The touch is maddening. You shiver, body too sensitive, skin prickling with every brush.

“Jaemin, please—”

He tilts his head, savouring your plea. “Please what?”

“I told you his name,” you whisper, hating how desperate you sound. “Please make me cum.”

His smirk deepens, devilish. “Fuck, seeing you beg me in person is hotter than hearing it through the phone.”

Okay, now he’s just being an arrogant asshole.

“Unless you’re incapable—”

“Not incapable, sweetheart.” His voice slices through yours, hand shooting up fast, cupping your jaw, thumb pressing against your lips before you can talk back to him again. His grin is sharp, cocky, his breath warm against your cheek. “Just want you to cum the way you begged me for it on the phone.”

Your heart stops.

He leans in. “Want you to cum on my face. Since that’s what that bastard had you begging for.”

The air leaves your lungs in one shaky exhale. Your thighs tense, hips tipping up like your body’s already saying yes even while your brain is scrambling.

“You’re full of yourself,” you whisper, voice breaking on the last word because of how close his fingers are—still hovering at the edge of your shorts, not giving you relief.

His smirk deepens. “Well, you have a pretty girl call you in the middle of the night, saying the shit you said to me, and see how your ego’s doing.” He drags his knuckles down the leg. “So go on, baby. Be a good girl. Say it sober this time.”

Your pride claws at your throat, but your body’s buzzing, strung too tight, too sensitive. You know him. Know he’ll walk if you don’t say it. Know he’ll make you beg. Know he’s just that stubborn—because yes, you’ve always had a crush on this boy, no matter how much you avoid the question. 

“Jaem—”

“Say. It.” His mouth brushes your ear, voice a razor-sharp whisper. “Tell me to eat this sweet cunt until you scream my name.”

You bite down hard, torn between bratty and desperate, but it slips out anyway, sounding all needy: “I want to cum on your face.”

One hand slides under your ass, the other clamps on your jaw like he won’t let you take it back. You yelp when your feet leave the ground.

“Jaemin!”

“Shh,” he growls, hauling you like you weigh nothing. His grip is iron, his pace ruthless, and when he kicks through the mess on the floor and drops you onto the bed, your body bounces with the force of it.

“Oh my god, warn a girl.” You glare.

“You don’t need a warning.” His palms bracket your thighs, spreading you wide. “You need my fucking mouth. Right here.”

Heat slams through you, your pulse jumping when he yanks at the waistband of your shorts. You scramble up on your elbows. “Wait—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to wait,” he warns, fingers hooking into the fabric to drag them down in one brutal pull, leaving you bare. “You called me begging to sit on my face. You begged for this. You’re not getting shy on me now.”

Your whole body burns as he slides back against the headboard, watching you like prey. He gestures with two lazy taps of his cheek.

“Come here.” That smirk is lethal. “Sit right on it, sweetheart.”

Your mouth drops. “You’re actually insane.”

His grin sharpens. “And you’re desperate to cum. So hurry up.”

The way he looks at you—hungry, cocky, like this is his win and your punishment all at once—makes you blush. You swallow hard, but your body moves anyway, climbing toward him, straddling his broad chest.

“Fuck,” he groans when your thighs cage his head. His hands slide up your hips, grip bruising, guiding you lower. “That’s it. Ride me. Make a mess all over my face, sweetheart.”

You whimper, fingers clutching the headboard for balance, thighs trembling as you hover. “Jaemin…”

“Sit.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Properly. You’re not gonna break me.”

You sink down. The first swipe of his tongue against your pussy has you crying out, head slamming back, your whole body shuddering. He moans into you like he’s been malnourished, dragging his tongue through you again and again until your legs are shaking around his head.

“Holy fuck,” you gasp, rocking helplessly against his mouth. “Jaem!”

He pulls back just long enough to growl, “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Ride my fucking face. Want you to cum so hard you forget that bastard’s name and only remember mine.” Then he dives back in, tongue fucking into you with filthy precision, sucking at your clit until your thighs are clamping tight around his head.

You’re already shaking like a leaf, thighs bolting around his head, ready to snap—when suddenly his tongue slips away. Your whole body jerks. 

“Jaemin—”

He licks his lips slowly, smugly. Eyes dark and glinting. “Mm. Not yet.” His hold bruises your hips as he drags you up just far enough that you’re hovering over his mouth. “You don’t cum until I say.”

“Are you—” you gasp, nails clawing into the headboard. “You can’t just stop—”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” His knuckles brush your inner thighs. “And what I want is to hear you beg like you mean it.”

“I did beg,” you snap, voice breaking. “I said I wanted to cum on your face—”

“And now you’re gonna say it dirtier. Come on, sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to eat this pretty cunt. Or sit there and drip on my chest and stay needy. I don’t mind either way.”

You hiss through your teeth, “You’re a fucking asshole.”

His grin widens when your body starts twitching. “The asshole you called last night.”

“I called basically everyone,” you snarl, “Kind of wishing Jeno—”

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”

Your thighs shake, muscles taut, every nerve begging for release. You want to fight, want to claw him apart—but instead your voice cracks, humiliating and raw: “Please. Please, Jaem. Eat me out. I want to cum on your face.”

He groans, completely feral, hands yanking you down—but just as his tongue grazes you, he pulls back again.

“Not good enough, actually,” he says. “I would have been, but that last comment has irritated me, Y/N.”

“Jesus Christ,” you cry, tugging your own hair in frustration. “What do you want me to say? That I want to ride your fucking face until I can’t walk tomorrow? That I want you to tongue-fuck me until I’m screaming your name? Fine—yes. That’s what I fucking want. You. You. You.”

The sound he makes is animal. His hands slam your hips down, locking you against his mouth as he devours you. His tongue is ruthless now, flicking and sucking your clit like he’s punishing you for every bratty word.

You writhe above him, thighs quivering, hands gripping the headboard so hard your knuckles ache. He moans into you like he’s drowning and you’re the only oxygen he wants.

“Jaem—ohmygod, I’m gonna—”

He pulls back again, lips wet, smirking up at you. “Say it one more time. My name. Beg me.”

You want to scream, want to strangle him, but the need between your legs is unbearable. “Please, Jaemin, please—let me cum, I’ll do anything, just—fuck, I need your mouth, I need your tongue, I need you—”

His eyes flare. “That’s my good girl.”

And then he locks you down hard, tongue quick, sucking your clit callously. He doesn’t stop this time. Doesn’t give you space to breathe. He forces you over the edge, shoving you into it with his mouth, and when it hits, it’s devastating.

You shatter, screaming his name, thighs squeezing tight around his head as you cum all over his face. He groans like it’s everything he’s ever wanted, tongue lapping through every wave of your orgasm until you’re twitching, boneless, collapsing forward against the headboard.

You don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard.

Taeyong and Doyoung are here with their signature pink and red neon-decked-out cars, so you’re really only waiting on Jaehyun and Johnny, who are routinely fashionably late. But as your mind drifts to the tall racer that announcer Mark Lee fondly refers to as Mr. John J Suh, you hear the familiar roar of engines.

The crowd parts for the two purple cars, and racing royalty exits their vehicles. Johnny has his right-hand guy, Donghyuck, with him, and Jaehyun is sporting his girlfriend, Lil Suh - Johnny’s half-sister - on his arm. It had been quite the shock the day you found out those two were dating.

“Yo yo yo!” Mark’s voice booms through the speakers. “Looks like the kings of racing, our purple daredevils, finally graced us with their presence! No time for chit-chatting, fellas, get to the starting line and let’s get this show on the road!”

You shake your head at Mark’s impatience, but you follow your usual routine all the same. Lil Suh and Donghyuck head to the starting line to join Mark on the flatbed of the truck that usually speeds ahead of the racers, and you take your position a few meters from the starting line, looking at the cars that move to join Taeyong and Doyoung.

The soft flag in your hand is smooth to the touch, and you toy with it while staring down the drivers, focusing all of your attention on them even though you can feel the eyes of a hundred people. 

Being a flag girl is one of the most exhilarating things in your life. It’s fueled you with an unshakable confidence, and your skin tingles with eclectic pleasure as you swivel your hips tauntingly, firing up whistles from the crowd.

Your gaze shifts to Johnny, who revs his engine, spurring you on even more. 

The two of you have been hooking up for over a month. It had started with a chance run-in at a nightclub, where he’d confessed he’d always been intrigued by you. One kiss, the most heated, lust-fueled kiss of your life, had led to fucking in the club bathroom, and the two of you have continued with secret, raunchy, no strings attached rendezvous ever since. 

You can feel Johnny eating you up with his eyes, and it prompts you to be even more over the top with your movements. In the periphery of your mind, you can hear Mark saying his usual introductions for all four racers.

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Mark screams. “Be fast. Be furious. Be safe… ish! And for the love of God, don’t fucking lose! Start your engines, watch for the flag, and let’s fucking race!”

You lift your silk scarf high in the air, and the crowd roars, engines turning over excitedly. Then you swivel your hips in a steady beat while the onlookers shout, “Three! Two! One!” You quickly bring the flag down, crouching against the pavement as the race starts.

Cars zip past you, your heart racing in your chest, hair lifting from the air displacement as all four vehicles speed away, already vying for position.

You straighten again as the crowd rushes after the cars that are already over a hundred metres away, but even with the distance, the roar of their engines is loud. And then, there's another sound, one that makes your heart tighten with fear immediately.

Police sirens. 

This is the last place you’d expected to be this morning, at the jailhouse picking up your part-time fuck buddy. When Johnny had called and asked you to come grab him, you’d been shocked that he’d used his one call to contact you and not someone else, but you knew it hadn’t been the time to ask questions.

So as the two of you get into your car outside the police station, you finally turn to Johnny, one eyebrow quirked as a silent inquiry.

“Okay, I guess I have some explaining to do,” Johnny laughs.

“You think?”

“Listen, I couldn’t let anyone else get in trouble for this, so I slowed down and let the others get away, then I took the cops on a wild goose chase. I was able to outrun them. I ditched the car, wiped the steering wheel, that sort of thing. They picked me up while I was walking on the street. The police suspect I was the driver, but they can’t prove with hard evidence that I was the one behind the wheel, so they had to let me go.”

“Isn’t it possible your DNA might be in the car?”

“I mean, even if they find a few hairs, that only puts me in the car, not as the driver. For all they know, I’m just a passenger. They can’t prove anything beyond a reasonable doubt, and you know how the DAs are, they don’t pick up any cases unless they’re sure they will win.”

“Okay, so…”

Johnny sighs. “So the car is gone. I’m not getting it back. But that just means I can work on a new one.”

You’re shocked at his positivity, and as you begin to drive, Johnny begins to talk about possible makes and models. He’s been meaning to change his signature colour for a while. Purple was always his aesthetic, but then Jaehyun had picked up purple and began dating Johnny’s little sister, so now Johnny’s considering purple and red.

“Won’t Doyoung be pissed you’re taking red? That’s always been his colour,” you scoff. 

“Doyoung is pissed about everything.”

“I guess that’s true.” You let out a sigh and then laugh, shaking your head. 

Johnny is awfully chatty today, and you pull up a block away from his mom's house, knowing his family is probably worried sick. Johnny never told you where to take him, but your heart had just known, and he lets out a breath as the car comes to a stop.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you and not someone else,” he muses.

“It’s been on my mind,” you admit.

“Well… I don’t know, I have your number memorized for starters-”

“You have my number memorized but not your mom, sister, or Hyuck’s?” you laugh.

“It’s kind of lame when you say it like that,” Johnny laughs. “I don’t know, there wasn’t anyone else I wanted to see when they released me.”

He leans forward, reaching up to cup your face- but you push his hand away, releasing a loud scoff and turning your head to face forward. “Your charms aren’t going to work that easily on me, Suh.”

Another chuckle escapes the racer, and he relaxes back in his seat. “You were worried about me, huh? Mad that I put you through this?”

“Just get out of my car and explain this to your family,” you tell him, but there’s a small smile on your lips that you can’t hide. 

“See you later, Doll Face.” Johnny presses a kiss to your cheek before you can stop him, and you release an aggravated sound as he exits your car, his laugh echoing in your mind. 

It’s been a week since the whole police debacle, and you’ve been keeping your distance from Johnny. You’ve been conflicted about your relationship with him, about the meaning of his calling you while in a bind with the cops instead of anyone else he holds dear in his life. 

But you only have so much willpower to keep yourself away from Johnny, so when he invites you to go to Jungwoo’s garage and see the new car he’s working on, you can’t resist.

You show up dressed to impress. 

Johnny is a very basic man; he likes miniskirts and tight shirts, so the slightly corset-style top paired with your tiny leather skirt makes his jaw drop when you show up to the garage.

“Hi, Doll Face,” Johnny grins, pulling you into a hug that lingers a few seconds too long. You feel the eyes of his friends fixed on you, and while you’re no stranger to Yuta, Hyuck, and Jungwoo oggling your body, it feels different in the light of day.

“So this is the mysterious friend you invited to see your new wheels,” Yuta smirks, rubbing his greased hands on a towel that was clearly once white, but now a gross black and grey colour.

“I didn’t realize you two were close,” Jungwoo pipes in, swivelling slightly on a wheeled mechanic’s stool.

Hyuck says nothing, which is uncharacteristic of him, and you assume that as Johnny’s closest friend, he likely knows about the sneaky rendezvous you’ve had with everyone’s favourite street racer. 

“Come on, Doll Face, let me show you what we’re working with,” Yuta suggests, and the flirty tone of his voice is unmistakable.

With one smirk at Johnny, you move toward Yuta, who immediately starts throwing out mechanical terms and explaining the car to you. 

“Now come look at this,” Yuta says, his hand finding your lower back to guide you toward the front of the car.

“You know what?” Johnny’s voice cuts through whatever Yuta is about to tell you about the engine. “I think I need to talk to Doll Face for a second.”

“What? But we were just getting to the good part,” Yuta frowns.

You can only laugh as Johnny grabs your hand, pulling you away from his friend. He takes you back out toward your car, and you laugh when he drags you behind a van, hiding you from the field of vision of his friends.

“So this is why you invited me,” you shake your head.

“Well, I wanted you to come hang out, but then Yuta decided to try to steal you away from me-”

“Steal me away? I didn’t realize I was your property,” you tease, poking him in the chest.

“Well, I mean…” Johnny boxes you in against the van, his hands on either side of the vehicle by your head. “Maybe we could talk about that?”

“Yeah?” You shake your head again. “Maybe in a more personal setting and not in front of your friends.”

“Are you mad?” he asks.

“I’m not mad.”

“No?” He leans closer, his lips almost touching yours.

You push him away. “I just think you need to be a bit more intentional with how you go about doing this.”

“Intentional, huh?” Johnny lets out a laugh.

You smirk up at Johnny, leaning forward so you’re in control of the closeness of your lips. “I might be a flag girl who everyone drools over, I might be your fuck buddy, but if you want me as a girlfriend, you’re going to have to do better than this.” 

With a quick kiss to the underside of his jaw, you pull away abruptly, and the tall man releases a groan. Giggling, you turn to head toward your car, ducking under the arm that had previously boxed you in against the van. “Call me when you’re ready to be a man about this.” 

You’re a little shocked when there’s a buzz on your intercom, and it’s Johnny’s voice that asks to come up and see you. It’s been a little over twenty-four hours since your ultimatum at the garage, and your heart races as you hit the button to let your part-time lover up to your apartment.

You leave the door unlocked, something you’ve become accustomed to with Johnny, who can be kind of random with his appearances, and a minute later, he’s walking into your home.

He’s clearly trying to be nonchalant, holding a bouquet behind his back with one hand, but the tops of the roses are peaking out behind his broad shoulders, betraying the fact that this is something he’s never done before.

“Hi, Doll Face,” Johnny smiles. He leans in, and for the first time since the whole Police fiasco, you let him press his lips to yours.

Your hands cup his cheeks, and you smile into the kiss, which lingers deliciously before he finally pulls away with a groan.

“I got you something,” he tells you.

“Really? What?” you ask, acting surprised as he pulls the flowers out from behind his back. “Roses!”

“And!” Johnny holds them away from you, “I know many men will give a bouquet and let the woman do the labour of putting it in a vase, so tonight, I will be taking care of all of that. I don’t want you to lift a finger.”

“Oh wow,” you laugh, watching Johnny walk to your cupboard where you keep your rare usage glassware. Usually, you have to get on a stool to reach the top shelf for vases, but Johnny simply grabs one and brings it down.

You take a seat while you watch him get to work, using a cuttingboard and a sharp knife to cut the ends off the roses at an angle. Then he fills the vase with water and the plant food packet provided by the florist. In just a few short minutes, Johnny is gently fluffing out the flowers, perfecting their arrangement, and true to his word, you didn’t even have to lift a finger.

“Someone cooked here,” you muse teasingly, using the internet joke phrase about a man who has been taught to do things for a woman.

“You want honesty?” Johnny chuckles. “I talked to my sister about you, and she gave me a lot of advice. She told me I might as well go home if I showed up with a bouquet and didn’t actually do all of the steps for you.”

“Your sister, huh?” You let out a whistle. “I’m glad you took my assignment seriously.”

“You wanted me to show up for you as a man, so here I am.” Johnny lets out a breath, looking at you. “I know when we first started messing around, we agreed on just being fuck buddies. But… when I was at that police station… when I was looking at possible jail time… the only thing I could think about was you.”

“Oh, really?” You can’t help the smirk that works its way onto your lips, and Johnny releases a laugh. 

“I knew you’d love that.”

“What can I say? Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”

“I don’t think I’ve flattered you enough, if we’re being honest.” Johnny flashes you a soft smile, and you see his shoulders relax as he stares at you. 

He looks at you, looks at the oversized night shirt you’re wearing, and his expression of admiration makes you feel more exposed than you ever have in your skimpy street race outfits.

“I’ve missed you this week,” Johnny admits.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you tell him. “Come here.”

Johnny practically jumps at the opportunity to get closer to you, and you turn in your seat, spreading your thighs so he can stand between them. He towers over you, and you look up at him with stars in your eyes.

“So your family knows you want to date a flag girl?” you tease, hooking your finger in his belt to tug him closer.

“We come from a family that loves racing. My mom is ecstatic, maybe even happier than when my sister started dating Jaehyun.”

“Really?” you laugh.

“Yeah, your job is way less dangerous,” Johnny grins.

“I guess that’s true.” 

He cups your face, and you lean against his warm palm, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation.

“Are you going to keep torturing me?” Johnny asks, stroking your cheek.

“Whatever do you mean by that?” you tease.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” You release his belt, gently stroking down the front of his jeans before taking your hand away.

Johnny groans deeply, throwing his head back. “This is what I mean.”

“I guess I can stop teasing you,” you muse. 

“Thank God.” Johnny reaches down, and you let out a giggly scream as he throws you over his shoulder, immediately carrying you toward your bedroom.

You have a multi-panel neon light set up, and you’d formatted the colours to be red and purple, Johnny’s new colours, which aren’t lost on him as he gently sets you down onto your bed.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he grins, tearing off his shirt.

“The new aesthetic suits you,” you retort.

“Suits you too.” 

Instead of getting onto the bed with you, Johnny sinks to his knees. He drags you to the edge of the mattress while you giggle, and he quickly tears off your shorts and panties.

Since you and Johnny are fuck buddies, generally, foreplay isn’t really a huge factor in your relationship. You both hook up when you want sex, and penetration is the name of the game- so it’s clear, as he drags your pussy to his mouth, that things have definitely changed.

A squeal escapes you when he sucks your clit into his mouth, and his hands hold your thighs firmly on his shoulders, keeping you from wiggling away.

“Holy fuck,” you gasp, muscles twitching as he sucks you better than any toy ever has. 

Johnny hums against your pussy, clearly enjoying your reactions, and you reach down to thread your fingers through his hair, applying pressure to his head to show that he can work you even harder.

The street racer acquiesces, slurping on you deliciously while your eyes roll back into your head.

“Just like that!” you whimper, core clenching around nothing, back arching slightly, toes curling. “Fuck, that’s so good!”

You’ve blown him a few times, and he’s eaten you out a few times, but he’s never pleasured you with his mouth like this. 

In the back of your mind, you’re a tiny bit frustrated that he’s been holding out on you, but you can’t find it within yourself to bitch him out while he’s sucking on your clit in a way no man ever has before.

You begin to wriggle your hips, trying to fuck his face, and Johnny chuckles against your clit. He adjusts slightly, and suddenly, two fingers plunge into your wet core.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, tightening your grip in his hair and earning a moan from Johnny. The vibrations from the sound on your clit make your thighs shake.

He begins to finger fuck you, fast and determined, arching his digits up toward your G-spot.

Within seconds, you can practically hear your pussy squelching, and he’s unrelenting on your clit, driving you closer and closer to an orgasm.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, and you’re gasping now, your heart racing as the tension builds.

“Johnny, I’m close,” you whimper.

He only groans against your clit again, a sound of affirmation, so you focus on the pleasure beginning to thrum through you like waves.

You can’t help the moans that escape you, filling the room. Soon you’re gasping, and you let out a squeal as your orgasm slams into you.

Your core clamps down on Johnny’s fingers, clit pulsating rapidly as your entire body is washed with pleasure.

Johnny works you through it, not missing a beat, sucking on your clit and making your thighs shake on his shoulders, your muscles screaming from the intensity of your high.

Soon, it becomes too much for you to take, and you tug on his hair, prompting him to pull away from your core.

You can’t even open your eyes, can’t do anything but twitch and moan. You can feel his breath on your pussy, and he slowly pulls his fingers from your core.

“Open your mouth,” he instructs, and you’re too brain dead from your orgasm to question him.

His digits slip past your lips, and you taste yourself on his skin, sucking immediately as he begins to kiss up your body, lifting your shirt as he goes.

Johnny stops on your breasts, taking his time to suck on your nipple, which makes you jolt, moaning lewdly around his fingers.

His free hand massages your other breast, thumb tweaking past your nipple and making you groan even louder.

Once he’s sure you’ve licked his fingers clean, Johnny removes them from your mouth, and he helps you take off your shirt so you’re naked for him.

“Looks like you enjoyed that,” he muses.

All you can do is moan, forcing your eyes open to look up at the beautiful man illuminated with the neon lights. The purples and reds dance against his skin, making him look regal and godlike in the dim.

Johnny presses a kiss to your lips, then he pulls away, standing at the foot of the bed so he can take off his jeans.

You watch, your body tingling with anticipation. It’s been a little over a week since you fucked Johnny, and you’re desperately needing to be filled in the way only Johnny can fill you.

“Can I suck you off?” you ask.

“Not tonight.”

“No?” you whine.

“No. I need to be inside of you, or I think I might combust.”

You giggle as he joins you on the bed, slotting between your legs like he’s meant to be there. Your thighs wrap around him, and you draw his lips to your own, kissing him desperately.

Johnny groans into the kiss, and you wonder if he can still taste your pussy on your tongue. He gently rubs against your core, and you can feel your wetness beginning to coat his cock, showing him how desperately you need him too.

He adjusts slightly, reaching between your bodies so he can push his tip into your wet entrance. 

You both groan as he slowly sinks into you, your inner walls enveloping him inch by inch until he’s pressed firmly against you.

“Fuck,” you moan, throwing your head back and closing your eyes as your body struggles to accommodate his impressive size. 

“Missed everything about you,” Johnny groans, his lips finding your throat. “Missed your sounds, and your touch, and the way your pussy takes me perfectly.”

“Missed you too,” you whimper, threading your fingers through his soft hair.

When it’s clear you’ve relaxed a little, he begins to move, slowly fucking into you, and the sounds he releases make your body tingle with pleasure. Johnny’s never been one to shy away from being vocal, and there’s something so satisfying about making a big, powerful man like Johnny completely unravel in your embrace.

“You feel so good, Doll Face,” Johnny tells you.

“You feel good too,” you whimper. “I tried to use toys this week, but… none of them feel like you.”

He laughs. “I guess not.”

One of his hands reaches up to massage your breast again, and your core tightens around his cock from the stimulation on your nipple.

“Fuck,” you groan.

“So reactive,” Johnny muses. “Maybe sensitivity breaks are a good idea.”

“No, never again,” you argue immediately. “This past week was torture.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought so.” He swallows thickly. “It must have taken a lot of willpower to stay away from me.”

“I was scared,” you admit.

“Of what?”

“Of our relationship growing. This isn’t-” you choke on your words as he angles his hips differently and hits a spot deep inside of you that makes you whimper. “This isn’t what we agreed on at the start.”

“No, but things progressed.”

“They did,” you whisper. “Just never thought I’d date a street racer.”

“No?” Johnny laughs. “It seems like the only option for a flag girl like you.”

“A flag girl like me?” you retort, opening your eyes and glaring at him. 

“I just mean… finding someone with the same passions,” he explains.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Do you have something against street racers?” Johnny teases.

“Only that you have a propensity for getting into trouble.”

“Doll Face, you love trouble.” 

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip so he can thrust into you even deeper, and all other words you’d had in your mind simply drift away.

His lips find yours again, and you kiss him desperately, tracing his shoulders and tugging on his hair, burning this experience into your mind.

Each thrust is electric, each kiss is dizzying, and you feel overwhelmed by Johnny in the best possible way.

He adjusts you again without another word, shifting you so both of your legs are over his shoulders now, folding your body while he grips the headboard of your bed, plowing into you and making you practically scream.

“Fuck, Johnny!” you whimper.

“I know you love this,” he grins, muscles on full display in the neon light.

You grip the bed sheets, desperately holding on while he splits you open in the best possible way.

“Rub your clit for me,” Johnny tells you. “Want to feel you cum around my cock.”

You nod, biting your lip as your fingers find your sensitive bud. Your other hand grabs your breast, and Johnny moans at the sight.

You can’t help but close your eyes, releasing a deep moan from the stimulus. Your toes curl as your body is worked closer and closer to another orgasm, and despite the sensitivity of your clit, you push on, determined to follow his request and cum for him.

“Just like that, Doll Face,” Johnny groans. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

His words encourage you to go harder, and you gasp from the feeling of your clit, your core tightening even harder around his cock.

“Want to watch you cum for me again,” Johnny moans, and you can tell that he’s on the edge.

“I’m almost there,” you promise as he fucks you even harder, making you squeal, your body tensing as you reach the edge-

A few more harsh thrusts have you exploding, and gasp loudly, core throbbing around Johnny as your orgasm surges through you.

“Fuck!” Johnny groans, railing into you even harder before he releases a loud moan. You recognize the slight shiver that runs through him, and you feel his cum filling you as you both enjoy the sensations of your highs.

As his orgasm dwindles, he adjusts your legs off of his shoulders, relaxing down against you. He nuzzles your throat, catching his breath while you enjoy the feeling of his weight on you.

You wrap your legs and arms around him, holding him so tight that you can feel the racing of his heart.

“Who would have thought one night in jail would make you realize I’m girlfriend material,” you joke.

“I’ve always known you’re girlfriend material,” he retorts with a laugh. “I just wasn't sure I’m boyfriend material.” 

“Keep bringing me roses and eating me out, and you’ll do just fine.”

Another chuckle escapes him. “Who knew it was that simple?”

You stroke his hair, smiling and kissing his cheek. “I think this will be good for us.”

“I think so too, Doll Face, I think so too.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! If you want to read the Jaehyun part, click here

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. Johnny moves closer, and you lift yourself up onto the hood, spreading your legs as an invitation. Your tight skirt refuses to stretch and is instead pushed up your thighs, which draws his attention immediately. Johnny groans, shaking his head as he comes to stand between your legs, his hands finding your soft, exposed skin. “Fucking hell.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism, sex on a car in a garage, fingering, hand job, slight spit play for lubricant purposes, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, body worship, multiple reader orgasms, multiple sex positions, choking, breath play, nipple pinching, niplpe worship, slight pain as pleasure themes, pinning of hands/wrists, bondage type themes, imobalized reader, bdsm subthemes, shower aftercare, etc… I petnames. (hers) Doll Face.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 160

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

“So here is John, aged fourteen, the most horrible bangs swooping over half his face-” Mama Suh giggles as you pour her more wine. She looks fondly down at the photo album in his lap.  “And he says, ‘Mama, if I can’t be a Kpop star, I want to be a street racer!’”

Johnny groans deeply, rolling his eyes as you and his mother giggle, already almost one bottle of wine deep while picking at charcuterie together in the family backyard and pouring over old photos. “You make it sound so lame,” he says.

“Coming from a fourteen-year-old who had never even been behind a wheel, it sounded quite radical, John,” his mom grins. 

“But I got my learner's license the day I was able to get my permit, and the first day I could get every permit after that, I passed on the first try,” Johnny insists.

“Real street racers don’t care about permits, John,” his mom scoffs, waving her hand.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae 

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@meowniee - @learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @sourkimchi - @stellaoo

I'm also taggling those who I thought might like this :)

@bobathi - @amazinggraxia - @bluempire425-blog -

@twililty - @cheolaholic - @babieculture

@meowniee - @ridenotpark - @ollieollieoctopus

@axo-l0tl - @blspphr3 - @roseandpeaches

You’re getting finger fucked in the back of the club, bass thundering through the walls and straight into your spine, and you feel absolutely zero shame about it.

In fact? This was the plan.

You didn’t spend forty-five minutes perfecting your eyeliner and squeezing yourself into a skirt that could double as a belt for nothing. You came here with a purpose. Get under someone new so you can forget about the someone old.

And the hottie with pouty lips, silver rings on his fingers, and a black jacket stretched distractingly across his shoulders walked right into your trap.

Hook, line, and sinful little sinker.

It all started earlier tonight when you found the skirt. The itty bitty, teeny tiny, little slutty skirt. You think it’s from your freshman year of college but you can’t remember exactly when you stopped wearing it—only that your ex hated it. And you can’t blame them. When you bend over, it becomes more of a suggestion than an article of clothing.

“Can you see my ass when I bend over?” you asked Giselle, twisting in front of the mirror and pretending not to admire the way the thin fabric hugged your curves. 

Giselle didn’t even look up at first, still crouched on the floor applying her mascara. “Babe,” she deadpanned, finally glancing over. “I think I can see your pussy.”

You straightened slowly. “Yeah?”

She blinked. “Yes.”

You leaned closer to the mirror, turned, checked the side profile. “Okay, good.”

Giselle barked out a laugh. “God, I forgot how much of a slut you used to be before that ex of yours had you on house arrest.”

“I was not on house arrest,” you said, shoving your tits up in your bra and glossing your lips. “You make me sound like one of those girls who lets their partner dictate their life.”

She just stared at you.

Blankly.

“Babe,” she said gently. “I love you. But you were.”

Okay.

Maybe.

You did cancel girls’ nights sometimes because they “didn’t like the club scene.” You did stop wearing half your closet because it was “too much.” You did stay home most weekends because the sex was too good and the drama of breaking up felt exhausting.

But that was before.

Before the fight. Before the breakup. Before you realised good sex isn’t worth shrinking yourself. 

So tonight? Tonight you’re expanding.

You’re looking for someone hung. Someone new. Someone who’ll fuck you in a grimy club bathroom because apparently good sex in the city is cheaper than therapy and way more effective after a breakup. 

Which is how you’ve ended up pressed into the back of the club, half-hidden by a shadow of bodies with the bass pounding so hard it rattles your teeth. The hottie’s palm is flat against your stomach holding you steady while his other hand slides between your thighs. His fingers dip under your microscopic excuse for a skirt, no hesitation, no asking. He nudges your panties aside and—

“You’re not wearing much under here,” he murmurs into your ear, breath hot, teeth grazing your skin. 

“That’s the point,” you shoot back.

He groans when he finds how wet you are. Then his fingers push inside you. Slow at first until he’s curling them. Your head tips back against him as the music swallows your moan whole. The crowd is thick enough to hide you—sweaty bodies, flashing lights, everyone too drunk, too distracted to notice the way you’re grinding back against his hand like a bitch in heat. 

“You always meet guys and let them fuck you in clubs?” he asks, thrusting his fingers deeper now, thumb brushing your clit in lazy, infuriating circles.

You laugh breathlessly. “No.”

He arches a brow against your temple. “No?”

“Just tonight.”

His grip tightens at your hip. “Lucky me.”

Right on cue with the beat dropping, he ruthlessly drives his fingers knuckle-deep into your pussy. Thank God the music is loud. Thank God you’re buried in the back of the crowd. Thank God everyone’s too busy losing their minds to notice you losing yours. Because the only one who hears you curse God’s name is the man massaging your g-spot. 

“No, baby,” he says, low and smug. “I already told you—my name’s Jaemin. That’s the only thing I wanna hear out of those pretty lips when I put my cock inside this slutty little pussy.”

You mewl into his shoulder. “Your cock isn’t in my pussy.”

“Not yet.”

Fuck.

The press of bodies brushing past you makes you shiver, heat crawling up your spine as his fingers keep working. People bump your shoulder and graze your arm—so oblivious, so uninterested, like they don’t know exactly what’s happening right here in the shadows.

You do.

And God—you love that.

“You like this,” Jaemin murmurs, mouth right at your ear now, voice swallowed by bass and sweat and sin. “Being right here. Where anyone could see.”

Your breath stutters when his thumb presses just right, when his grip tightens like he’s daring you to lose it.

“Don’t,” you whisper, even though your hips chase his hand.

He laughs softly. “Don’t what?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The music surges, lights flashing overhead, your body wound taut with the thrill of it—of being caught, of being watched, of being wanted this badly in the middle of a packed dance floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle, but he catches it.

“Bathroom,” he says, sudden and decisive, already hooking two fingers into your waistband. “Now.”

He drags you through the crowd without looking back, your hand clutched in his like property as he guides you. The bathroom door slams shut behind you with the lock clicking into place as your back meets cool tile. 

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m gonna share this orgasm with a crowd of people,” he growls into your skin as he flips your skirt up in one sharp, efficient motion. “You might not be my girl—but I worked for this orgasm. It’s mine.”

Why is that so hot?

Cool air kisses your bare thighs as your itty-bitty skirt stays bunched at your waist. He unbuckles his belt, and you feel your pussy pool at the thought of his cock inside you. When he spins you around, palms flattening against the tiles, you let him.

You think you hear the soft tear of foil, and it makes sense because you’re already needy, already waiting to be filled. He takes his time after that, dragging his covered cock through your slick, nudging your clit with the tip just enough to make you shiver and make your breath hitch. He does it again. And again. Like he’s testing how much you can take.

“Easy,” he hisses when he pushes inside and your walls tightens around him.

The sensation steals the air from your lungs. You’ve had good sex before—really good—but this is different. This is big. This is full. This is absolutely going to make your head go blank. And he’s only just started.

When he bottoms out, your body reacts before you can stop it. Your eyes roll back with a broken whimper tearing from your throat. Behind you, he lets out a low chuckle and it’s so damn sexy you swear it might be enough to push you over all on its own. He’s already stolen one orgasm from you, and the way he sounds now tells you he knows it.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, voice right at your ear. “Should’ve known you’d be such a good little slut the second I saw this little fucking skirt.”

You bite your lip, a groan slipping out anyway, your hands pressing harder into the tile. “Then hurry up,” you breathe. “Fuck me like the pretty little slut you think I am.”

He kisses his teeth at that, then moves. Harder. Faster. Like he doesn’t appreciate being goaded, like he plans on making you pay for every word.

His hips snap back and forth, rough and relentless. It’s brutal in the best way because your thoughts turn fuzzy. You’d take this punishment happily—over and over and over again—just to hear the sounds he makes when he loses control and pounds.

No wonder your ex hated this skirt.

If this is what it does to men—makes them pant and groan and crowd your space like they can’t get close enough, breath hot and heaving against your ear while they drive into you again and again—then yeah. 

You feel his thrusts growing sloppier as his control slips through his fingers. Your legs are just as weak, trembling beneath you. Every thrust is maddening, hard enough that your face presses into the white tile, his name muffled as your body finally gives in, tightening around him as you cum around his cock. 

“Good fucking girl,” he coos, voice low and wrecked.

His grip tightens on your flipped-up skirt, knuckles digging into the fabric to keep you steady. You feel him clutch it harder when his own body shudders, one last brutal drive into your hips. He stays there for a moment afterwards, unmoving, as he spills inside the condom. It’s filthy. Dirty. Utterly slutty.

It’s rough for all of them, naturally. Still, even though Karina, Minjeong, and Giselle are just as exhausted as she is, Ningning still gets it the roughest. All because of that bastard company— the one who went so out of their way to scout her back in China, with their xenophobia and misogyny. Their endless sabotaging will be the end of her, Ningning knows it.

SM’s sabotaging was starting to grow more obviou. It’s no news that they’ve cut her from brand deals, fan meetings, and fashion show appearances— even though Donatella's emails are frequent.

She wants Ning to be her it girl. It’s what she was born to be, the woman tells her. Ningning wants it so bad, too.

Frustration gnaws on her stomach, building up her throat until she’s so disgusted and disappointed with the company’s blunt xenophobic attitudes her entire body trembles, as she sweats and gulps in hopes this uneasy sensation will soon fade.

It doesn’t. Never does, for a fact. Yizhuo should be used to it, by now; it’s been weeks since she’s pretending not to notice her constant trembling, the way her hair keeps falling out despite not being bleached or trimmed in months, her clothes getting looser… being an idol is hard enough, with the amount of expectations and personas she’s supposed to live up to, and SM does an excellent job of making every second of Ningning’s life a living hell.

At least she knows she’s not alone in her miserable feelings. Just like Aespa’s members blossom together in every victory they get to celebrate, their struggles are rather similar. It’s easy to tell how they’re all barely pushing through: Minjeong’s body is covered in bruises, Giselle’s just recovered from an allergic reaction that is so bad her eyes are still puffy, even after weeks of treatment, and her coughing fits haven’t yet ceased. Karina is the only one who still seems somehow unharmed, pulling off their scrutinizing routine with a smile on her face.

Ningning knows she’s trying to keep it together so they won’t break, but it’s an unspoken truth that their bodies will soon give in if they don’t get some rest.

She was currently in bed, regretting her life choices after Giselle murmured a bland excuse and left their shared hotel room to stir off her own nerves on some other idol’s account. Not that Ningning minds it, of course. If anything, she’s envious. As much as she loves the rapper’s confidence to go have her fun and screw a bunch of idols whose identity she refuses to reveal to her bandmates, a part of Ningning also wishes for the guts to risk it all too. To allow herself to have some fun, just for one night.

Heaven knows how much she needs it.

Instead, Ningning’s boring self is entertained by her favorite TV show, Love island, in the company of her favorite plushies, the ones she takes with her everywhere, wondering when she became that lost in life.

Her sheets feel too hot. Ning’s sweating, even though the AC has been turned on for ages now. Suddenly, she can’t breathe. It’s too much, she can’t keep going like this. It hurts. The pain of existence hits her like a strong hit of wind, cutting through her chest and placing the heaviest burden on her heart. It infiltrates in her lungs, and she can’t breathe. Ningning’s hands go to her chest, trying to get the air she so desperately needs, but it does nothing to ease her suffocation.

There isn’t much she can do, then. Usually, Ningning would practice the exercises her therapist recommended to her, but her mind is currently too troubled to focus on anything but her agony. She chokes on air, pausing her the TV so she has at least something to occupy her hands with.

Thankfully, a knock on the door pushes the maknae’s darkest thoughts to the back of her mind. Ningning is soon presented to her leader’s smiley face, then, as the oldest enters her room without an invitation.

Not that she needs one, anyway. Karina is every bit of the perfect, caring girl she portrays herself to be on camera— she doesn’t need an invitation to her maknae’s bedroom. The leader always makes sure everyone around her is safe and cared for, often going out of her way to take care of others.

“Hi, Ningie,” Karina says, with a muffled voice as the youngest hugs her with a strength that is nearly suffocating. She doesn’t mind, though. If anything, Karina chuckles, trying to hug her back despite having both of her hands busy. “I thought you looked a bit down today, so I brought some snacks to cheer you up.”

In the older girl’s arms, Ningning melts. As always, Karina always knows what her members need, sometimes before they do so themselves.

Ning buries her head on the crook of Karina’s neck, pliable in the girl’s arms. She’d accept everything Karina suggested, eager to please her leader.

“Thank you, ‘Rina.” She murmurs, still clinging onto Karina’s neck like a koala. There are no complaints— instead, steady arms circle her waist and the maknae is urged up, locking her legs around Karina’s waist as the leader carries her to bed like she weighs nothing.

To avoid the leader’s worried gaze, Ningning gets busy with arranging the snacks the older girl had gotten for them once Karina delicately places her down on the bed. If the leader took as much as a glance at Ningning, she’d be able to see right through her. And the last thing the maknae wants is to be vulnerable like that.

She could handle herself, just like she’s always done.

Yet it’s hard to not fall apart when the eldest adjusts herself next to her and brings her closer until there’s barely room for air, as they cuddle and watch a random couple have clothed sex on the TV. As much as Karina frowns at Ningning’s choice of entertainment, she doesn’t comment on it.

Ning’s starved. It’s always like that when the leader is present; a few words of validation, some head pats thrown around and she’s sold, completely surrendered to the idol’s mercy.

A mess, that’s what she is— mostly one of the consequences of being thrown around to the public as soon as she could walk. In her 22 years of life, she’s attended so many survival shows and singing competitions that work became more than just a part of her routine, it defined her entire self. After some time coping with her feelings, Ningning came to understand that her lonely life led her to be touch-deprived to an embarrassing amount. She craved people’s recognition, their praises, and most of all, their uttermost affection.

Usually, this desperate need of hers would be carefully hidden in a quiet, obscure corner of her brain. But Ningning can’t help it, at the moment. Not when her unnies’ validation hit so deep.

Instead of being annoyed with the maknae’s clinginess, Karina sighs, brushing her thumb against Ningning’s mouth. Her lips are bruised and sensitive, but because it’s Jimin, she doesn’t mind.

Karina can do to her as she pleases.

“Ningie…” Her voice is low, almost as if she’s afraid Ningning would break. To avoid that, the maknae invites her in with an open mouth. As if they were made for that, Karina’s lithe fingers slide easily, depriving her of any clear thoughts. “I thought you had that handled. Have you been going to therapy?”

It’s Ningning’s turn to be annoyed. She moves her head abruptly, choosing to focus on her balcony’s view instead of Karina’s worried gaze. “You know we don’t have time for that, Jimin. Or for anything else.”

Anxiety is a fairly common disorder. It’s hard not to be so anxious about everything when they’re constantly overstimulated from the time they wake up until they go to sleep. Because of that, Ningning would often be caught chewing on her lips or biting her nails until they bled, in hopes of calming herself off from her overwhelming mind. During better days, her unnies used to tease her nervous mouth— she just had to have something to occupy herself with, in order to calm down.

Fortunately, her therapist had helped her find better alternatives to her harmful tendencies. With time, Ningning started to feel better and less anxious in her daily life. So she decided to discharge herself from her sessions.

It was obviously a dumb decision. Not that she would ever admit it, much less in front of her leader, who’s already so worried about all of them.

Although Karina doesn’t judge her. She never does, for a fact. The leader has seen Ningning in her darkest moments, helped her through panic attacks, bathed her drunk self, and sang her to sleep so many times the maknae couldn’t even count. They’ve laughed, cried, and gone through nearly everything together. Karina knows Ning’s issues, likes, dislikes, and preferences more than Ning does so herself. She knows what the maknae wants— or better, what Ningning needs.

There wasn’t anything she could possibly hide from her bandmate, leader, and most loyal friend.

“My poor baby.” Karina pouted, as if the mere thought of Ningning being uncomfortable was enough to leave her twice as upset. “You’re so stressed, aren’t you? Those months have been tough, for sure. Don’t worry about anything now, though. Unnie’s going to take care of you.”

No other word was necessary to know the comfort Ningning needed.

With eased practice, Karina unclasps the hook of her bra, getting rid of her shirt soon after. It’s hard not to stare at her bare torso; Aespa’s leader is perfect in every way, especially with her pristine skin and her big, perky breasts, begging to be touched, adored. Her gentle hands guide Ningning’s mouth to her nipple, smiling faintly at the maknae’s eagerness.

It’s a routine they’ve done a few times, before, so both of their moves are precise and forward rather than awkward or uncertain, even.

Ningning’s worried, troublesome thoughts vanish within seconds, and her content hums send a shiver straight to Karina’s core. Although the feeling is promptly ignored, so she can focus on the needy, whiny girl on her lap. It’s time to take care of her baby girl, only.

Drool leaks from the maknae’s mouth, desperate as always to have her leader’s big, juicy tits all to herself. Ningning’s own clit pulsates as she suckles on Karina’s breasts, tracing circles around her areola with her tongue before gently nibbling on her nipple.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take as much time as you need.” Karina reassures the maknae, running her pointy nails through Ning’s scalp in a gentle caress. “I’m always here to take care of you.”

Even though Ningning knows there’s no need to be exasperated, a part of her can never help it. Not when Karina uses that soothing tone, the one reserved for the times when the youngest is feeling the most vulnerable, craving attention. It melts her completely; Ningning’s panties are soaked as she attempts to get Karina’s entire breast to fit in her mouth.

How pathetic she must look: so small and vulnerable, latched onto her leader’s body, so messy the gushy sounds of her mouth surpass the TV noise. These are the times when Ningning’s reminded of how much taller and stronger than herself Karina actually is, even though the eldest rarely flexes or comments on it.

In fact, she gets rewarded for her mess with a laugh from Karina, which deepens the heat in her core. Small acts of validation have always affected the most— like the subtle glances the leader would sometimes send in her direction, when Ningning aced a difficult part of their choreography, or even small moments like the current one, with a laugh or a brush of fingers on Ning’s skin.

It’s always more enough to get her on fire.

Yizhuo loses track of time, lost in the paradise Karina offers her. At some point, the leader holds her chin and guides her mouth to her other nipple, but other than that, the maknae is content on emptying her brain’s thoughts just as she had been told. Soon enough, she’s too hot, bothered by the aching feeling in her cunt to keep suckling any longer. Ningning’s pussy is throbbing, pulsating as she rocks herself against the older girl’s lap for some relief.

While it does work— the friction between her clit and panties is much welcomed, Yizuho still wants more. So she moans, loud and clear as her fingers make their down inside the leader’s toned abdomen to announce Karina’s tits are no longer enough.

“Unnie…” She whimpers, looking at Karina through her lashes. She knows how Karina likes her the most, and there’s nothing more she likes to do but please her leader. “Unnie, please. Touch.”

Ningning’s last words are rushed, as impatient as her unsettlement in between Karina’s thighs. It’s not her fault, obviously. If anything, it’s solely Karina’s, for spoiling her rotten. The maknae’s hands flutter to her arms, then to her neck, placing kisses on the corner of Karina’s mouth for what it feels like an eternity.

“Are you all messy, my love? Do you want my help, is that it?” Karina’s voice is drenched in fake nonchalance, adoring the lost gaze in her maknae’s eyes.

She grabs Ningning’s hand, taking her time as she kisses Ningning’s ruined nails, unaffected by the dry blood beneath their skin from how much they’re picked on.

There’s only one thing Karina likes to do more than giving Ningning everything she wishes: making her beg. Getting Yizhuo’s pretty knees bruised from the time spent on her knees is Jimin’s favorite activity, indulging her brattiness until all that’s left are pretty lips and obedient aura, greedy and ready to be played with like a doll. It’s an opportunity she waits eagerly for.

But Ningning had been so stressed lately… She spent so many weeks bottling up her feelings, and made sure to use her manners and address Karina with the honorifics she usually refuses to use, arguing that they’ve already gotten past the need of formal language.

Who’s Karina to deprive her of anything?

One small, shy nod from Ningning and the leader is ready to grant all her wishes.

After helping the maknae out of her pajama shorts, Karina’s knuckles brush her pussy through her panties. There’s a wet spot on her entrance, one Yizhuo closes her legs to cover after she feels Karina’s burning gaze on her pussy.

“Look at how wet you are just from sucking on my tits, Ningie.” Karina grips Ningning’s thighs, preventing the maknae’s to do so as she murmurs, enamored with the sight of her beautiful girl. “I guess you must really like them. Do you, baby?”

Ningning nods with enthusiasm this time, rocking against the girl’s fingers in hopes of being touched.

Still, her answer doesn’t satisfy her unnie enough. Pushing Yizhuo’s panties aside, Karina slaps her pussy twice before gathering some slick and circling the maknae’s clit, shushing her whines with a quick kiss.

“I’d like an answer, Ning.” Karina’s too soft on her. Even with the subtle reprimand, the leader doesn’t stop touching her cunt.

Doesn’t stop building up the familiar knot in her lower abdomen, the one who makes Ningning so driven by lust she can’t even see past the little black dots that adorn her vision.

Ning’s answer comes in heavy pants, and she’s encouraged to rock her bare pussy against Karina’s hand, this time. “Yes! Yes, I love it unnie. Your tits are the best, I love to suck on them. I’d do it all the time if you’d let me— ah!”

Karina adds a finger to Ningning’s soaked entrance, loving the way she’s so responsive to her touches. The action sends joints through Ningning’s body, making her grasp loudly as Karina enters her deeply.

“More fingers, unnie.” She tests the waters, biting her lips to keep herself from smiling when Karina raises her eyebrows in response. “Please?”

Yizhuo’s good manners are rewarded with two of Karina’s fingers. They slide in easily, thrusting in and out with swift motions on her soaked slit. The sudden invasion erupts a burning sensation that mixes up deliciously with pleasure, so good it’s addicting.

“That’s my sweet girl.” Karina praises, using her free hand to grab and pinch Ningning’s nipples beneath her tank top. “Always so good for unnie. You’re perfect in everything you do, Ningie. Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now. So sexy…”

Yizhuo is absolutely sure she’s going to explode. Karina’s words, along with her fingers and the wet kisses she places the maknae’s shoulders are more than enough to send her to the edge. She feels her orgasm coming up embarrassingly fast, her inner walls tensing up to prepare for the overbearing feeling.

Her leader feels her clench too, and smiles even more.

“You can cum anytime you want, sweet girl.” Karina tells her, using her thumb to play with the maknae’s clit just how she knows Ningning likes it.

The effect is immediate: with a high cry, Ningning orgasms, holding onto Karina as her legs tremble furiously throughout her orgasm. She loves the sensation: the heat of her body feeling tingly all over, working its way down through her lower abdomen until she’s left panting, lightheaded from pleasure.

“No more, unnie.” She whines when the leader’s fingers doesn’t stop moving inside her. When her attempts of leaving Karina’s lap are unsuccessful, Ningning resumes to grabbing her bandmate’s wrist. “’M too sensitive. No more.”

Karina laughs, giving in to Ningning’s wishes as the maknae buries her face onto her neck once again. “Okay, okay. No more.” She runs her hands up and down the maknae’s back, soothing her until she’s calm again. “You were so good for me, Ning. Truly unnie’s sweet girl.”

Although she can’t see Yizhuo’s face, Karina is positive her bandmate’s face is all red, flushed with embarrassment as if she weren’t cumming all over her fingers moments ago.

“Thank you, unnie.” Ningning murmurs, kissing Karina’s cheek as she leaves her lap this time. Karina merely shakes her head, grabbing the maknae’s chin as she places a chaste, gentle kiss on her lips instead.

What an honor it was, to be the one to make Ningning cum all over. Karina adored her maknae, and she’d gladly do anything to make sure Ningning was happy and well.

“You do know I’m here for everything, right? Please don’t shut yourself off for any of us, Ningie. We just want to help you.”

She’s worried about her, naturally. Ningning knows that no matter what happens, her bandmates will always view her as the awkward, shy trainee they met years ago.

They don’t need to worry, though. With them by her side, Ningning feels strong enough to go overcome all of her demons and difficulties.

“I know, ‘Rina.” Is what she tells her unnie, instead. After they get their clothes back on, Ningning clings onto her again, opening one of the snacks as Karina turns up the TV’s volume. “I love you. Thank you for being here, always.”

Karina hugs her with full strength, laughing when Ningning complains about the lack of air. “I love you too, baby. You’re unnie’s sweet girl, ok? I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

Love island’s drama soon catches their attention, and they spend hours lost on the reality show, in a warm bubble. Ningning doesn’t even recall the anxiousness she felt earlier, and another feeling takes place in her chest as she realizes how lucky she is to have someone to take care of her.