miki

You kept waiting for the shoe to drop. For Nicholas to make a comment. For one of them to look at you differently. But the day passed in the same careful rhythm as before.

And so did the day after that, and the one after that. Before you knew it, a week had passed without incident. The next few nights blurred into the same pattern you had come accustom too before Nicholas fucked you raw. 

The apartment breathes around you in that hushed, late-night way—dim lights, faint hum of the fridge, the lingering warmth of laundry detergent drifting down the hallway. Your feet drag heavier than usual, sneakers kicked off by the door with a soft thud that feels too loud in the quiet. Every muscle aches from the endless shift, shoulders tight, calves burning, but underneath it all there’s still that low, persistent throb between your thighs. A week. A whole week of pretending Nicholas hadn’t pinned you down and fucked you until you blacked out, sobbing his name like a broken prayer. A week of EJ’s gentle smiles and perfectly made matcha, K’s quiet smiles, Fuma’s dark gaze lingering just a second too long. Normal. Too normal. It made the soreness feel like a dirty little secret you carried alone.

You pad toward your room on feet that ache and a uniform far too tight. The door is ajar—only a crack, but enough for the soft glow of your bedside lamp to spill out into the hallway. You don’t remember leaving it on. 

You also remember closing your bedroom door before you left for work. Too tired to think that this is weird—maybe it was an accident. Just like everything before.

But that illusion lasts exactly five seconds.

There he is. 

EJ.

Kneeling beside your bed like he belongs there, broad shoulders curved forward under the familiar tan sweater, baggy jeans covering his long legs. The lamplight catches on his glasses, sliding them down the bridge of his nose as he leans in closer to your open drawer—the one where you keep the delicate things. Your panties.

He’s got a handful already. The pale pink lace you thought you’d lost weeks ago. The soft pastel blue with the tiny bow. Even the plain white cotton dotted with cheerful little bunnies that always made you feel stupidly innocent. They’re all clutched in one large hand. 

Your breath catches—sharp, involuntary.

EJ stills.

For a heartbeat the room is perfectly silent, Then he turns his head, brown eyes meeting yours through the cracked door, that soft, youthful face flushing pink. The gentle smile you know so well curves his lips, warm and reassuring. 

“Y/n…” he breathes, voice honey-soft, almost shy. He doesn’t drop the panties. Doesn’t scramble to hide. He rises to his full height, all that gentle length unfolding until he towers over your much smaller frame in the doorway, rolling his shoulders in that easy, familiar way that makes the tan sweater shift softly across his chest, the pile of your stolen underwear still in his hands. like a confession. “You’re home… earlier than I expected tonight.”

He drops down the fabric, hands come up in a small, almost apologetic gesture, palms open. “They got mixed in with my laundry again,” he says quietly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one long finger. The flush on his cheeks deepens just a touch, but his eyes stay soft behind the lenses, earnest and warm. “I… I was only bringing them back. I didn’t want you to worry about missing things. You work so hard, and I know how much you like these ones. The little bunnies… they’re cute. Like you.”

His voice lingers on that last word, soft as a caress, and for a moment it almost sounds innocent. Almost.

You stand there, heart hammering against your ribs, thighs pressing together instinctively as that familiar ache flares hotter between your legs. He’s so tall. So close. The way he looks at you—kind, thoughtful, like he’d do anything to make your life easier—makes something in your chest flutter even as your mind screams that this isn’t right. That the faint scent clinging to those returned panties weeks ago hadn’t been just detergent.

EJ steps closer, slow and careful, like he’s approaching something fragile. His hand brushes your arm, light as a feather, guiding you just a little further into the room. “You look tired,” he murmurs, that reassuring smile never wavering. “Long shift again? Let me make you something warm before bed.”

He slips past you then, the tan sweater brushing your shoulder in a whisper of fabric and warmth, his taller frame crowding the narrow space for just a moment too long. You don’t see it—the quick, practiced flick of his fingers as he tucks one pair (the pale pink lace, of course, the one that always felt too pretty for everyday) into the pocket of his jeans before turning the corner toward the kitchen.

The door clicks shut behind him, softly. 

You sink onto the edge of your bed, knees weak, breath coming in shallow little bursts that make your uniform shirt ride up against your ribs. The drawer sits half-open, the remaining panties slightly rumpled, as if his hands had lingered. Your mind spins—he was just returning them. He’s always so thoughtful. EJ. Kind EJ who makes your matcha exactly how you like it, who washes everyone’s laundry without complaint, who smiles like he’d never hurt a soul.

But the ache between your legs pulses in time with your heartbeat, tender and slick and traitorously empty. You squeeze your thighs together harder, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to the memory of his tall frame looming over you, the gentle flush on his cheeks, the way his voice had curled around “like you” like a promise.

Minutes blur. The faint clink of a mug in the kitchen drifts down the hall, followed by the low hum of the kettle. You should change. You should lock the door. You should pretend this never happened, the same way you’ve pretended about Nicholas, about the missing pairs that kept vanishing and reappearing with that strange, clinging scent.

But when EJ returns, the steam from the mug curling around his fingers like an offering, he doesn’t knock. He just pushes the door open wider with his hip, stepping inside as if the space is his to enter. The tan sweater is gone now—replaced by a simple black tank that clings to his broad shoulders and the subtle definition of his chest, gym shorts riding low on his hips the way K’s sometimes do after training. His hair is slightly tousled, glasses still perched on his nose, that boyish smile in place as he sets the mug on your nightstand.

“Warm milk with a little honey,” he says softly, voice dropping into that reassuring register that always makes you feel safe. “It helps after long shifts. Drink up, y/n. You deserve to relax.”

The steam from the mug curls lazy and sweet between you, warmth brushing your cheeks and nose as EJ sets it down with that same careful precision he uses for everything—laundry, matcha, the way his fingers had brushed your arm like you are nothing but precious. He lingers—just for a second though, a second longer than necessary. His tall frame bent slightly over your smaller one, the black tank top stretching across his chest as he straightens. His eyes remain soft behind the glasses, offering you that sweet smile that for some reason feels not as sweet as it did weeks ago. now just feels awfully sour, but you swallow it down. It’s just Ej.

“Drink that before it gets cold, okay?” he murmurs, voice like smooth silk. One last gentle brush of his knuckles against your shoulder, then he steps back, the gym shorts shifting low on his hips with the movement. “Goodnight, Y/n. Sweet dreams.”

He slips out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound that leaves the room feeling suddenly too large, too empty. The pale pink lace is gone—tucked warm against his thigh somewhere down the hall—and the drawer sits half-open like a quiet confession. One you refuse to acknowledge.

You sit there on the edge of the bed for a long moment, uniform still clinging to your sweaty skin, heart hammering in uneven rhythms while the ache between your legs pulses hot and insistent, slick and tender and utterly traitorous. He was just being kind. Just Ej. The words loop in your head, soft and reassuring, even as your body remembers the way his thumb had circled your thigh, the way his taller frame had crowded you so gently it felt like drowning in slow motion.

You peel off the uniform at last, movements sluggish and heavy, letting the fabric pool on the floor before tugging on an oversized shirt and the softest sleep shorts you own—the ones that ride up just enough to remind you of every sore, used inch of you. The milk goes down in slow, obedient sips, sweet and warm, settling heavy in your stomach like a lullaby. The lamp clicks off. Darkness folds around you, thick and quiet, and you crawl beneath the covers, thighs pressing together tight in a futile attempt to ease the persistent throb.

Sleep drags you under in shallow waves. Hours slip by unnoticed.Then the need to pee pulls you awake, bladder insistent, body heavy with exhaustion. 

You slip from the bed without turning on the light, bare feet padding silently down the hallway, oversized hoodie swallowing your smaller frame, sleep shorts barely covering the curve of your ass. The apartment breathes around you in that late-night hush—fridge hum, distant city murmur beyond the windows—everything still and safe.

Until you round the corner toward the bathroom and collide straight into a solid wall of warmth.

Fuma.

He’s there in the dim hallway light spilling from the living room, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, the soft fabric doing nothing—absolutely nothing—to hide the heavy outline of him beneath. No shirt. Just miles of smooth, toned skin stretched over quiet muscle, broad shoulders and a chest that rises slow and steady as he steadies you with one large hand wrapping around your upper arm. His dark hair falls slightly messy over his forehead, and those sharp eyes—usually half-lidded with that quiet intensity—flick down to take you in, lingering on the way your big shirt barely covers the bare stretch of thigh exposed by your sleep shorts, the faint tremble in your smaller body pressed momentarily against his.

The contact is brief but electric. Your chest brushes his abdomen, soft and yielding against hard warmth, and you feel the heat of him—his skin, the faint musk of clean sweat and something darker, earthier, that clings to him after whatever late-night game or workout he’d been doing. His legs spread just a fraction wider in those grey sweatpants, the thick muscle of his thighs flexing as he holds you steady, keeping you from stumbling back.

You freeze, heart slamming against your ribs, the ache between your legs flaring hotter at the sudden closeness, at the sheer size of him looming over your much smaller frame. Nicholas had wrecked you with rough demand; EJ had teased with gentle patience. Fuma… Fuma just looks at you, dark gaze heavy and unreadable, the corner of his mouth twitching in the barest hint of something that isn’t quite a smile.

“Careful,” he says, voice low and rough from disuse, rumbling through his chest in a way that vibrates against you for the split second you’re still pressed there. His hand doesn’t immediately let go—fingers warm and firm around your arm, thumb brushing once, slow, along the soft skin just below your shoulder. “Didn’t mean to scare you, bunny.”

He towers. Easily. The grey sweatpants hang loose but cling in all the wrong—right—places, the heavy bulge shifting slightly as he adjusts his stance, legs still spread in that casual, commanding way he sits in the armchair during game nights. You can’t help the way your eyes dip for half a heartbeat, the outline too obvious, too thick, making your pussy clench around nothing. How the hell does he walk around with that?

Fuma notices your eyes wander. Of course he does. His gaze darkens, just a fraction. But he doesn’t comment. Not yet. Instead, he releases your arm with deliberate slowness, the loss of his warmth leaving a ghost of heat on your skin, and steps back just enough to give you space—though his taller frame still fills the hallway, still crowds the narrow passage in that quiet, heavy way of his.

“Bathroom’s free,” he murmurs, nodding toward the door behind him, voice dropping even lower, almost gentle but threaded with something heavier, something that makes the air feel thicker. His eyes flick back to your face, dark and steady, holding yours for a beat too long. “You okay? Look a little… flushed.”

The words hang there, simple and concerned on the surface, but the way his gaze drags down your body again—slow, deliberate—says otherwise. The grey sweatpants do nothing to hide how he’s half-hard already, the thick line of him pressing against the soft fabric like an invitation you’re not sure you’re ready for. Your smaller body feels even tinier in comparison, thighs still sore from Nicholas, still tingling from EJ’s teasing touches, now caught in the hallway with Fuma’s quiet intensity wrapping around you like smoke.

You mumble a small and breathless apology, and try to slip past him toward the bathroom. But the hallway is narrow. His frame barely moves. Your hip brushes the front of those grey sweatpants as you squeeze by, the brief contact sending a jolt straight to your core, his low exhale brushing the top of your head like a secret.

He doesn’t stop you.

But as you reach the bathroom door, fingers trembling on the handle, you feel his eyes on your back—dark, patient, heavy with the same quiet weight that makes the apartment feel smaller every time he’s near. The ache pulses harder now, insistent and needy, your sleep shorts suddenly feeling far too thin, far too short against the cool air and the memory of his hand on your arm, his thighs so close, the undeniable size of him barely contained.

Behind you, Fuma’s voice drifts down the hall, low and unhurried, almost casual but laced with that subtle command only he seems to carry without trying.

“Sleep well, y/n. Don’t let the quiet fool you… we’re always around when you need us.”

The bathroom door clicks shut, but the heat in your veins doesn’t fade. Not even close.

You splash cold water on your face, trying to steady your breathing, trying to ignore the way your pussy throbs, the way your nipples have peaked against the hoodie, sensitive and aching. When you finally slip back out, the hallway is empty again—Fuma gone, melted back into the shadows of the living room or his room, grey sweatpants and all.

But the air still feels charged. The apartment still breathes with them—EJ’s gentle patience, Nicholas’s lazy filth, K’s quiet smiles, and now Fuma’s heavy, unspoken presence pressing in from every corner.

You crawl back into bed, thighs squeezed tight, heart racing, the soreness and the new heat twisting together until sleep claims you once more… restless, dreaming of tall frames and grey sweatpants and hands that linger just a little too long in the dark.

Morning arrives wrapped in the same careful illusion. Matcha waits on the counter, sweet enough that you can’t taste the grassy flavour. EJ greets you with that boyish smile, dark blue hoodie soft over his broad shoulders, glasses slipping down his nose as he slides the mug toward you. “Morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice honey-warm, eyes crinkling with the same gentle concern that makes your stomach flutter even as your pussy clenches at the memory of his fingers wrapped around your intimates. “Do you have work this weekend?” Nicholas asks mouth full of eggs, sticking his fork into your gyeran-mari to steal another bite of your breakfast, acting like he hadn’t fucked you stupid a week ago. 

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the cold mug. The soreness between your thighs pulses faintly at the sound of his voice, a dirty little reminder you can’t seem to escape.

“No,” you murmur, clearing your throat before speaking up slightly, “I’m off.”

The words feel dangerous the second they leave your mouth.

K, who had been quietly sipping his americano by the counter, sets his cup down with a soft clink. His tall frame shifts, gentle youthful features softening as he looks at you with a soft sweet smile.

“We should watch a movie together tonight,” he says smoothly, voice low and even, almost thoughtful. “As a roommate bonding activity. It’s been a while since all of us just…sat down and relaxed—I’ll even buy the popcorn.”

The suggestion lands softly, innocently, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But the way his eyes linger on you—dark, steady, knowing—makes the air feel thicker. Like he’s already imagining how small you’ll look tucked between them on the big couch.

EJ’s smile brightens as he sits beside you, still so soft and warm. “That sounds nice,” he says gently, pushing his glasses up. “We can keep the lights low. Pick something calm. You’ve been working so hard lately, sweetheart… you deserve to relax with us.”

Nicholas leans back in his chair, silver chain catching the light as he smirks around another stolen bite of your food. “I’m in. Long as there’s food.”

Fuma hums in agreement, eyes never quite leaving his switch or maybe because you are turned around—you just don't feel his dark gaze eyeing the shorts that ride up your thighs.

You sit there, heart hammering against your ribs, thighs pressed tightly together under the counter. The ache from Nicholas hasn’t faded. The memory of EJ breathing in your panties still burns behind your eyes. And now K—calm, patient, sweet K—is suggesting a movie night like it’s just harmless roommate bonding. 

The apartment feels smaller already.

You force a small nod, voice barely audible.

“…Okay.”

EJ’s hand brushes your arm under the table, light and reassuring.

“Perfect,” he whispers, so softly only you can hear it. “We’ll take care of everything.”

The day drags in that strange, suspended way — every hour stretching longer, every minute laced with the quiet knowledge of what’s waiting for you tonight. You try to distract yourself. You try to pretend it’s normal. But the ache between your legs never quite settles, and every time you shift, you feel the ghost of Nicholas’s hands, EJ’s lingering stare, K’s patient gaze, Fuma’s heavy silence.

By the time evening falls, the living room has been transformed just enough to feel intentional.

The big sectional couch is arranged with extra pillows and that massive blanket EJ loves. The lights are low, warm and golden, casting long shadows across the walls. Takeout bags cover the coffee table — fried chicken, pizza, snacks K actually went out and bought like he promised. The TV hums softly, waiting for someone to pick something.

You hesitate in the doorway, hoodie swallowing your frame, sleep shorts barely peeking out underneath. You feel small. Exposed.

K pats the cushion between him and EJ with that calm, gentle smile.

“Here,” he says quietly. “Sit with us.”

Your heart stutters.

You move anyway.

The moment you sink down between them, the blanket is pulled over your lap — K on your left, EJ on your right. Their thighs press against yours immediately. Warm. Solid. Unmoving. K’s long leg brushes yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric. EJ’s shoulder rests lightly against yours, his hand slipping under the blanket to rest innocently on your knee.

Nicholas sprawls on the far side of K, arm draped casually along the back of the couch. Fuma takes the armchair across from you, legs spread wide, eyes already locked on you.

“How do you feel about horror, shortie?” Nicholas says, flicking through a catalogue. 

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Great.” He grins, selecting some recent horror film, the kind that makes you jump and press closer without meaning to.

The movie starts, opening credits bleeding across the screen in crimson letters. You barely register them. The room feels too warm. Too close. Your pulse is already a traitor, fluttering wildly in your throat as you try to focus on the screen.

But you attempt to relax and let the horror swallow you whole.

Until—

K’s hand moves.

It starts so innocently under the heavy blanket, his palm settling high on your thigh like it belongs there. Warm fingers trace slow, absent circles over the soft fabric of your shorts. Round and round in soothing circles. Like he’s simply grounding you during a scary scene. You don’t even register it at first—too caught up in the movie’s rising dread. The circles drift lower after a while, lazy spirals that slip down the length of your thigh, then back up, each pass taking him a little farther inward.

Still, you’re half-lost in the film. A sudden jump scare makes you flinch, and that’s when his touch shifts again—sliding beneath the hem of your shorts, callused fingertips now drawing those same slow circles on the bare, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Higher. Closer. The heat of his hand bleeds straight into you. Your pulse kicks up, but you try to stay focused on the screen, cheeks warming as his fingers tease the edge of your panties with every deliberate pass.

Then—his fingertip brushes right over the front of your crotch of your shorts.

Just once. Feather-light. A slow drag along the cotton that sends electricity snapping up your spine.

You jolt.

A tiny, involuntary twitch of your hips—sharp enough that your breath catches audibly. Heat floods your face. 

EJ turns toward you, his hand tightening slightly on your knee. “You okay?” he whispers, voice soft and concerned behind his glasses, brown eyes searching your face.

The words almost tumble out of your mouth—yes, I’m fine, it’s nothing—but they die instantly.

K’s fingers pinch the soft flesh of your inner thigh, hard. A sharp, warning bloom of pain that makes your eyes water and your throat close. You swallow the sound, swallow everything, and simply nod, quick and small, forcing your gaze back to the flickering screen even as heat floods your face.

The words almost slip out from your mouth but are halted as K pinches your thigh hard enough for you to swallow what you were going to say. You simply nod, attempting to focus back on the movie even as K’s finger returns, slower this time, tracing the seam of your shorts like he’s memorizing you, pressing a firm little circle right over your swollen clit through the fabric.

You keep your eyes glued to the screen, cheeks warm, pretending the tension coiling low in your belly is from the movie and not the way K’s fingers are now drawing those same slow circles on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Bare now—his hand has slipped beneath the hem of your shorts without you realizing, calluses grazing soft flesh. The circles grow wider, lazier, teasing the edge of your panties with every pass. Your legs tremble faintly. You press them together on instinct, but his hand keeps solid and unmoving, keeps them open just enough.

Your thighs tremble. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste copper.

Another jump scare explodes across the television and you jolt again—smaller this time, but K uses it as cover. His long fingers slip beneath the edge of your panties, finally, finally touching bare skin. The first glide of his fingertips through your slick folds is devastatingly gentle. Wet sounds are swallowed by the movie’s screams. No one hears. No one sees.

Except him.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” K breathes against your ear, so quiet it’s almost nothing. His voice is velvet and smoke, warm praise that sinks straight into your gut. “All this for me already, baby? Just from a few little touches over your shorts?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your breath hitches as two thick fingers part your folds and drag upward, spreading your wetness, teasing your entrance before sliding back to rub slow, firm circles over your clit. The pressure is perfect. Too perfect. Your hips twitch forward on instinct and he rewards you with a deeper stroke, the pad of his middle finger wiggling just to dip it inside you—barely breaching but just enough to make your walls flutter greedily around the tip.

EJ’s hand is still on your knee. He hasn’t moved it. His thumb strokes once, twice, almost absentmindedly, but you feel his gaze linger on the side of your face a second longer than before. You keep your eyes locked on the screen, cheeks burning hotter than the low lamplight.

K curls his finger deeper on the next pass, sinking in to the first knuckle, then the second. The stretch is slow, deliberate, his thick digit filling you so easily because you’re embarrassingly wet. A tiny, broken sound tries to escape your throat and you choke it back just in time.

His lips brush your temple again. “Good girl. So quiet for me. Taking my fingers like you were made for it.”

He adds a second finger without warning—slow, so slow—scissoring gently as he pumps them in and out in time with the movie’s haunting rhythm. The wet, obscene sounds are hidden beneath the blanket and the film’s audio, but you can hear them. God, you can hear them. Every slick glide. Every tiny squelch as he fucks you open on his hand, right there between EJ and the others.

Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, greedy and aching. Slick drips down his knuckles, soaking your shorts. Your legs shake. You press them wider without meaning to, and K rewards you by pressing the heel of his palm against your clit while his fingers curl deep, stroking that spongy spot inside you that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes.

EJ leans in slightly, voice soft. “You sure you’re okay? You look flushed.”

K’s fingers thrust harder for just a second—punishment and pleasure at once—before slowing again, innocent as ever. You manage a shaky nod, lips pressed tight, eyes glassy.

Nicholas chuckles from the other side of K, lazy and low. “She’s probably just scared. Cute.”

Fuma says nothing. But when you risk a glance, his dark eyes are fixed on you, heavy and knowing, like he can see straight through the blanket.

K doesn’t stop. He never stops. His fingers keep fucking into you in that maddeningly slow rhythm—deep, curling, dragging—while his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight, slick circles. The pleasure builds like a wave you can’t outrun, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.

You’re so close already. Pathetically close.

And K knows it.

He leans in one last time, lips against your ear, whispering so sweetly it makes your heart ache and your cunt throb.

“Hold it for me, baby. Don’t cum yet. We’ve got the whole movie left… and I’m nowhere near done playing with you.”

The pleasure coils tighter, vicious and sweet, every slow thrust of K’s thick fingers dragging you closer to the edge only for him to ease back at the last second—cruel, perfect control. Your walls flutter desperately around him, sucking him deeper with every wet glide, but he keeps you right there. Suspended. Aching. The horror movie’s screams blend with the pounding of your own pulse until you can’t tell which is louder.

You’re trembling now. Small, helpless shivers that you try to hide by sinking deeper into the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your fists. Sweat beads at the nape of your neck. Your breath comes in shallow, shaky little puffs that fog the cool air in front of you.

K’s lips stay pressed to your temple, breathing you in like he’s savoring how badly you’re falling apart for him.

“Such a good little slut,” he whispers, so soft, so fond it almost sounds loving. “Clenching so tight around my fingers… you want to cum, don’t you, baby? Want to soak my hand while everyone watches the movie?”

You nod before you can stop yourself—tiny, frantic—and he chuckles darkly against your skin, the sound vibrating straight down to where he’s buried knuckle-deep inside you.

He curls his fingers again, stroking that devastating spot with devastating precision, thumb rolling firm circles over your swollen clit. The wet sounds are louder now, obscene little schlicks that make your ears burn with shame. Slick drips steadily down his wrist, soaking into the blanket, into your ruined shorts. You’re a mess. His mess.

EJ shifts beside you as he hears a small whine escape you.

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs, voice honey-sweet and concerned for the others’ ears. To you, it sounds like sin. “Poor thing… is the movie too scary?”

You can’t answer. K chooses that exact moment to thrust his fingers harder, faster for three devastating strokes—then stops completely, buried deep, simply letting you throb and clench around him while he holds you on the razor’s edge. You cling to his arm, nails digging into his skin.

A broken whimper tries to claw its way up your throat. You bite your lip bloody to keep it inside.

Nicholas stretches lazily on the other side of K, arm still slung along the back of the couch. “She’s shaking like a leaf. Cute as hell.” His eyes flick toward you, lazy smirk sharpening for just a second before he turns back to the screen.

The pleasure coils tighter, vicious and sweet, every slow thrust of K’s thick fingers dragging you closer to the edge only for him to ease back at the last second—cruel, perfect control. Your walls flutter desperately around him, sucking him deeper with every wet glide, but he keeps you right there. Suspended. Aching. The horror movie’s screams blend with the pounding of your own pulse until you can’t tell which is louder.

You’re trembling now. Small, helpless shivers that you try to hide by sinking deeper into the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your fists. Sweat beads at the nape of your neck. Your breath comes in shallow, shaky little puffs that fog the cool air in front of you.

K’s lips stay pressed to your temple, breathing you in like he’s savoring how badly you’re falling apart for him.

EJ shifts beside you, murmuring something soft about the movie, but his hand stays innocently on your knee. Nicholas laughs low at some jump scare. Fuma watches the screen in silence. None of them know.

And K knows that, so he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you harder with those two thick fingers—deeper, faster, relentless now—curling and dragging right against that perfect spot while his thumb presses firm, merciless circles over your throbbing clit. No more teasing. No more holding back. The rhythm turns filthy and sure, like he’s decided you’ve earned it.

“Let go,” he breathes against your ear, voice low and velvet-rough, lips brushing your skin like a secret promise. “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers like the needy little whore you are. Right here. Right now.”

The coil snaps. Hard.

Pleasure crashes through you in a blinding, white-hot wave—violent and endless. Your pussy clenches hard around his thick fingers, pulsing, fluttering, gushing slick heat all over his hand and wrist as you come undone right there between them. A broken, choked sob slips past your bitten lips before you can catch it; you bury your face into K’s shoulder to muffle the sound, body shaking violently against his. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably. Your back arches slightly. Sparks explode behind your eyes and the world narrows to nothing but the devastating stretch of his fingers and the slick, filthy sounds of your release soaking everything beneath the blanket.

K doesn’t pull away.

He keeps fucking you through it—slow, deep thrusts that drag every last shuddering pulse from your ruined cunt, thumb still working your oversensitive clit in tight, slick circles until you’re twitching and whimpering, tears slipping down your flushed cheeks. More slick drips down his wrist, warm and obscene, ruining your shorts completely. You feel it everywhere. You feel him everywhere.

“That’s it… good girl,” he murmurs, soft and sweet against your temple, pressing a gentle kiss there like he didn’t just wreck you in front of everyone. “Look at you falling apart so prettily for me. Soaking my whole hand… fuck, you’re perfect, baby. So fucking perfect.”

Your orgasm stretches on and on, smaller waves rippling through you as he gentles his touch but doesn’t pull out—just stays buried deep inside your fluttering heat, letting you clench and throb around him while the aftershocks wreck you. Your chest heaves. Your legs feel boneless. The movie screams on, loud and chaotic, covering every tiny broken sound you make.

K finally stills his fingers, buried to the hilt, holding you full and claimed. His thumb strokes one last soothing circle over your sensitive clit before resting heavy against your mound.

The aftershocks are still rippling through you, slow and treacherous, when the panic finally claws its way up your throat.

You can’t stay here. Not like this—ruined, soaked, trembling, with K’s thick fingers still buried deep inside your fluttering cunt and his cum-slick hand claiming every messy inch of you under the blanket. Your cheeks burn hotter than the low lamplight. Your legs feel like they might give out the second you try to move, but you have to.

You shift. Weakly.

K’s fingers curl once more—lazy, possessive—before he finally, mercifully slips them out of you with a wet, obscene sound that makes your stomach twist. He drags them slowly up your slit one last time, spreading your release, before pulling his hand free entirely. You feel the cool air hit your drenched panties and ruined shorts, the unmistakable warmth of your own slick sliding down your thighs.

Your heart hammers.

You suck in a shaky breath, force your body upright, and pretend that you aren’t still reeling from an orgasm.

A big, dramatic yawn stretches your mouth wide, eyes fluttering half-shut like the movie has drained every last bit of energy from you—voice comes out small, hoarse, edged with the remnants of that devastating orgasm.

“I… I’m really tired,” you mumble, already pushing the blanket off your lap, hoodie sleeves tugged low to hide the flush crawling down your neck. “Long day. Think I’m gonna head to bed early…”

You stand too fast.

The room tilts a bit and your knees wobble dangerously—highs slick and sticky, the soaked fabric of your shorts clinging obscenely between your legs. For one terrifying second you think you might actually fall, but you catch yourself on the arm of the couch, cheeks flaming.

K’s hand brushes the back of your thigh as you move—innocent to anyone watching, but you feel the silent promise in the way his fingers linger, sticky with you. His voice is low, calm, almost concerned. “You sure, baby? Movie’s not even over.”

EJ glances up, that gentle smile in place, glasses catching the TV light. “Rest well. We’ll save you some snacks.”

Nicholas just smirks, lazy and knowing, eyes dragging over your shaky frame for half a second too long. “Night, shortie. Sweet dreams.”

Fuma wishes you a small “Goodnight,” watching you with those dark, heavy eyes.

You don’t wait for other words to be said, you simply rush past them.

Bare feet padding quickly across the floor, heart pounding so loud you’re so sure they can hear it even amongst the screams coming from the tv. Every step makes your ruined panties rub against your oversensitive clit, sends another humiliating little aftershock through your core. Slick trails down the inside of your thigh and you pray no one notices the shine under the low lights.

You finally make it to your room, you fall onto your plush sheets, thighs squeezing together as another weak pulse of pleasure echoes through you.

K’s finger soaked in your release. His soft voice in your ear. The way you fell apart right there between all of them.

And you’re still dripping.

You fall onto your plush sheets in a boneless heap, hoodie discarded somewhere on the floor, thighs squeezing tight together as another weak, traitorous pulse echoes through your core. The room is dark and quiet, but your body refuses to settle. Every shift of fabric against your soaked cunt sends sparks skittering up your spine. K’s thick fingers. His velvet voice whispering good girl against your temple. The way you came so hard you had to bury your face in his shoulder while the others laughed at the movie.

Sleep doesn’t even try to come.

You toss and turn, sheets tangling around your legs, skin too hot, mind too loud. The ache between your thighs only deepens, a slow, needy throb that makes you whimper softly into the pillow. Minutes bleed into what feels like hours. Eventually you give up, pushing yourself up with a frustrated sigh. A cold shower. That’s what you need. Something icy to shock your body back into calm.

The good bathroom—the one with the rainfall showerhead and decent water pressure—is down the hall. Right past EJ’s room.

You pad out barefoot in just your thin tank top and damp sleep shorts, arms wrapped around yourself like that could hide how thoroughly you’ve been used tonight. The hallway dark. Everyone’s probably gone to bed but you still keep your steps quiet, and careful.

Then you hear it.

Soft. Breathless.

“…y/n…”

Your name, wrapped in that gentle, honey-sweet voice you know too well. You freeze mid-step, heart slamming against your ribs. It couldn’t be. You keep walking, telling yourself it was all in your head, maybe even the wind, anything. Anything but that.

But it comes again, lower this time, rougher, edged with a groan that sinks straight between your legs.

“Fuck…so pretty, my girl…”

Curiosity burns hotter than the shame buzzing through you. You slow, breath shallow, and drift closer to his door—left slightly ajar, a thin slice of warm lamplight spilling out like an invitation you shouldn’t accept. You press yourself to the wall, pulse roaring in your ears, and peek inside.

The sight steals the air from your lungs.

Ej is sprawled back against his headboard, long legs spread wide, sweatpants shoved down just enough to free his thick, flushed cock. He’s beautiful even like this—messy brown hair falling into his eyes, glasses fogged, cheeks flushed pink. One fist strokes slowly up and down his leaking length, thumb swirling over the glistening head on every upstroke. In his other hand, pressed tight to his face like a sacred thing, is a pair of your panties. Pale pink lace. The ones that disappeared weeks ago.

He inhales deeply, nose buried in the crotch, eyes fluttering half-shut in bliss. His tongue drags out, slow and filthy, licking along the fabric where your dried slick still lingers. A low, wrecked moan vibrates from his chest as his hips jerk up into his fist.

“Such a sweet girl," he whispers into your stolen panties, voice dripping with that same gentle tone he uses when he makes you matcha. “Mmh… taste so good...”

His strokes speed up, obscene and wet, precum slicking his fist as he fucks into it harder. Your name falls from his lips again—raw, desperate, almost worshipful. He sucks on the lace, eyes rolling back, hips stuttering. The gentle, thoughtful EJ who folds your laundry and brushes your lower back is gone. In his place is something darker. Hungrier. Two-faced and depraved.

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up. You take one shaky step back—then another—heart hammering so loud you’re sure it’d give you away. The hallway floor is cold beneath your bare feet, unforgiving. You turn just slightly, trying to slip silently into the shadows.

But your heel catches the edge of the small decorative table pressed against the wall—the one with the stupid ceramic bowl no one ever uses. It scrapes. Loud. Sharp.

A tiny gasp slips from your lips before you can stop it.

The sound cuts through the quiet hallway like a blade.

Inside the room, everything freezes.

EJ’s hand stills mid-stroke, cock twitching hard in his grip, flushed and leaking. His eyes snap open, dark and glassy behind fogged glasses. For one terrifying heartbeat, the only sound is the wet, heavy pant of his breathing and the low hum of the distant TV.

Then—slowly, deliberately—he lowers your panties from his face. His lips are shiny, spit-slick from sucking on the lace. That gentle, boyish smile creeps across his mouth, but his eyes… his eyes are pure hunger.

“Baby?” His voice is soft. Sweet. The same tone he uses when he brings you matcha in the mornings. “Is that you out there?”

You can’t move. Your legs feel welded to the floor, thighs still sticky with your own release from K’s fingers, pussy clenching shamefully at the sound of his voice.

The bed creaks. Footsteps—quiet, padded. Then EJ appears in the doorway, sweatpants barely tugged back up over his still-hard cock, the thick outline obvious and obscene. Your stolen pink panties dangle from his long fingers like a trophy.

He looks at you. Really looks. Flushed cheeks, messy hair, wide terrified eyes, the way your thin tank top clings to your breasts and your ruined shorts stick to your thighs. His gaze drags down slowly, lingering on your thighs pressed together.

A low, fond chuckle slips out of him.

“Baby…” he murmurs, voice so sweet it almost hurts, the same he uses when he asks if you slept well. “You’re shaking.”

His knuckle traces another feather-light path down the side of your neck, barely there, yet it feels like fire licking across your skin. He tilts his head, studying the flush blooming across your cheeks, the way your chest rises and falls too fast beneath your thin tank top.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” he whispers, almost shy, like he’s embarrassed instead of thrilled. “Heard me moaning your name while I fucked my fist with these…” He lifts the panties again, slow and deliberate, pressing the soaked crotch to his nose once more. Inhales deep. His lashes flutter. A quiet, broken little sound escapes him.

“So sweet,” he breathes against the lace, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Even the ones you wore all day… I can’t stop. I try, baby, I really do. But then I think about how tiny you are, how soft and warm and wet you must get when you’re all alone in your room… and I just—”

His voice cracks, gentle and wrecked, but his fingers hook a little firmer into the waistband of your shorts now. Not pulling them down. Not yet. Just tugging, letting the drenched fabric drag lazily over your oversensitive clit in one slow, torturous pass.

You whimper. The noise slipping from your lips because you simply can't help it.

EJ’s smile softens even more, all concern and tenderness, but his eyes burn darker.

“Poor thing,” he coos, thumb brushing your lower lip like he’s comforting you. “You’re still dripping from whatever happened on the couch, aren’t you? Mmm, I heard the little sounds you tried to hide… felt how the blanket was moving.”

He leans in until his breath ghosts warm over your ear, lips brushing the shell.

“I’ve been so patient, sweetheart. Folding your laundry every night, stealing just one pair at a time so you wouldn’t notice… jerking off for hours with them pressed to my face while I imagine burying my tongue so deep inside this pretty little cunt you’d forget how to speak.”

His fingers press a fraction firmer against your heat through the soaked cotton, rubbing slow, lazy circles that make your knees buckle.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he whispers, voice still so soft, so loving it twists something filthy in your stomach. “Do you want to run back to your room and pretend this never happened? Or…”

He pulls back just enough to meet your wide, glassy eyes, that gentle smile never wavering even as his thumb drags another deliberate circle over your throbbing clit.

“…are you going to be a good girl and let me take you inside so I can finally taste it for real?”

The hallway feels smaller. Hotter. Your heart thunders so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

And Ej just waits—patient, sweet, and utterly depraved—your panties still clutched in his fist.

You should run. You should shove him away and bolt back to your room, lock the door, pretend this never happened.

Instead your fingers curl into his tank top, clinging like he’s the only steady thing left in the spinning hallway.

Ej’s breath hitches—soft, almost shy. “Mhm…That’s it…good girl.” The praise melts over you like warm syrup, filthy and sweet all at once. He walks backward, guiding you through his doorway without ever letting go, kicking it shut behind you with a quiet click that sounds far too final.

The room smells like him—clean detergent, faint cologne, and something musky, something desperate. Your stolen pink panties are still clutched in his fist like a prize as he turns, backing you toward the bed. The edge hits your thighs and you tumble down onto soft sheets, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. He follows, crawling over you slow and predatory, that gentle smile never fading even as his free hand slides up your thigh, pushing your legs apart with effortless strength.

“Shh, don’t be scared,” he coos, pressing your own panties against your lips like a gag, the lace still warm and damp from his mouth. “I’ve waited so long to taste what’s mine. Just let oppa make it feel good, yeah?”

His voice cracks on the last word—sweet, wrecked—and then he’s sliding down your body, yanking your sleep shorts off in one smooth tug. Cool air hits your soaked cunt and you whimper, trying to close your legs on instinct, but his broad shoulders are already there, wedging them wide. He stares for a long moment, eyes dark and hungry behind his glasses.

You can’t breathe.

Not with the way EJ looks at you—like you’re the only thing in his universe, like every stolen pair of panties was just practice for this exact moment. His glasses slip a little lower on his nose as he drinks in the sight of your bare, glistening cunt, thighs trembling in his grip. A soft, reverent exhale ghosts over your slick folds and you twitch, hips jerking helplessly.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, voice still that same gentle lullaby, the one that makes your chest ache even as shame burns hotter between your legs. “All swollen and dripping for me already… did K leave you like this? Or were you thinking about me, pretty girl? Watching me fuck your pretty panties, hm? That’s what did this, yeah?”

You try to shake your head, try to deny it, but his tongue drags up the entire length of your pussy in one long, filthy stripe and the only sound that leaves you is a broken whine. Ej groans like he’s tasting heaven, eyes fluttering shut for a second as he savors you—slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing every fold, every quiver.

Then he dives in.

His lips seals over your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking in tight, relentless circles that make your back arch clean off the bed. One of his long fingers teases at your entrance before sliding in to the knuckle, curling immediately against that spot that turns your vision white. Another joins it, stretching you open with wet, obscene sounds that should mortify you but only make you wetter.

“Oh my—fuck—jju—ah!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and his answering moan vibrates straight through your core.

“That’s it,” he praises against your cunt, lips shiny with your slick. “Mm say it again. Let oppa hear how sweet you sound when you’re falling apart on my tongue.”

He fucks you with his fingers faster now, scissoring them, curling, pressing, while his mouth works your clit like he was born for this. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging, pulling, unsure if you want to push him away or keep him there forever. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, from the sick twist of guilt and need twisting together in your stomach.

You’re so close already—embarrassingly close—thighs shaking around his head, pussy fluttering and clenching around his thick digits. Ej feels it. Of course he does. He’s so fucking observant. He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, that gentle smile curving like he’s proud of you.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a soft, almost chaste kiss right on your throbbing clit. “I want to feel you cum around my cock first. Want this tiny little pussy squeezing me so tight I forget my own name.”

He rises over you like a shadow, shoving his sweatpants down the rest of the way. His member springs free—thick, flushed dark, curving slightly upward, the head already leaking steadily of precum. The sight alone makes you clench around nothing, a fresh gush of arousal sliding down your thighs. EJ notices, of course. His eyes darken behind his glasses as he strokes himself once, twice, smearing precum over the flushed head.

“Look at you,” he coos, hooking your legs over his elbows and folding you nearly in half beneath him. The casual display of strength makes your stomach flip—how easily he manhandles your much smaller body. “So small under me. Gonna look so fucking gorgeous stretched around me.”

The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance, teasing, pushing just the tip inside before pulling back out again and again until you’re sobbing, hips chasing him desperately.

“Nghh jju—please—”

Something in him snaps at your soft plea.

With one smooth, devastating thrust he buries himself halfway, the stretch burning so good your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Another push and he’s bottomed out, hips flush to yours, so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Ej drops his forehead to yours, breath ragged, glasses fogged completely now.

“Fuck, baby… so tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me.” His voice cracks, sweet and wrecked all at once. “Been dreaming about this every night while I fucked your pretty panties…mmm—you feel even better than I imagined.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every thick inch of him pulsing inside you. Your walls flutter wildly around the intrusion, too full, too much, yet your hips twitch like they’re begging for more. Ej’s breath fans hot across your lips, his gentle smile twisting into something darker, hungrier.

“That’s it… feel me, pretty girl. Feel how deep I am.”

He rolls his hips once, slow and deliberate, dragging against that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes. A broken moan rips from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, kissing you like he’s starving—soft at first, then filthy, tongue sliding against yours while he starts to fuck into you.

Long, deep strokes that make the bed creak. Each thrust pushes a wet squelch from your dripping cunt, his balls slapping against your ass. You’re so small beneath him, folded and helpless, and he uses it—uses every inch of that size difference to pin you down and ruin you.

You whimper beneath him, the sound caught between a sob and a plea, your much smaller body pinned so perfectly under his weight that every breath feels borrowed.

“Euij—too deep—fuck, I can’t—Nghh too much…”

The words tremble out of you, cracked and dripping with everything you’re trying not to feel, but your cunt betrays you anyway—clenching hard around his thick cock like it’s starving for more. EJ’s gentle laugh ghosts across your lips, low and velvet-soft, the kind that makes your stomach twist with shame and heat all at once.

“Can’t?” he echoes, rolling his hips again in that slow, devastating grind that drags every ridge along your fluttering walls. “But look at you, baby…sucking me in so greedily. This tiny little cunt was made to take me. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

He punctuates the last three words with three sharp thrusts that leave you breathless and writhing beneath him. He folds you tighter, knees nearly beside your ears. The stretch burns so sweet it blurs the edges of the room. You’re so full you swear you can feel the blunt head of him nudging against your cervix, a pressure that makes your toes curl and fresh tears slip down your temples.

You try to twist away—just a little, just to breathe—but his hands are iron on the backs of your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open like a gift he’s waited years to unwrap.

“Shh, pretty girl. Don't fight it,” he murmurs, voice still that soft, reassuring lullaby even as his length splits you open again and again. “You’ve been teasing me for weeks… leaving those sweet panties for me to steal. Did you know I’d wrap them around my cock every night? Stroke myself raw imagining how tight you’d feel?”

Your face burns hotter than the slick mess dripping down your ass. “I—I didn’t… I swear I didn’t know—”

Another brutal snap of his hips cuts you off, turning your denial into a broken moan. EJ leans down, glasses fogged and slipping, lips brushing your ear as he whispers filth like a secret.

“Liar. You liked finding them, didn’t you? Smelling me on your pretty things… wondering which pair I came in last.” He bites down gently on your earlobe, then soothes it with his tongue. “My good girl. So polite during the day… such a needy little slut for me at night.”

You sob out his name—half plea, half curse—as he starts fucking you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin obscene in the otherwise quiet room. Each thrust rocks you up the bed, your tits bouncing with the force, nipples tight and aching. EJ notices, of course. He seems to notice everything when it comes to you. One large hand leaves your thigh to palm your breast, pinching and rolling the sensitive peak until you arch into him with a whimper.

“Jju—please—slow down, I’m gonna—”

“Gonna what, sweetheart?” His voice drops, dark and sweet like poisoned honey. “Gonna cum already? Go on then. Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

The coil in your belly snaps without warning. Pleasure crashes over you in white-hot waves, your walls fluttering and squeezing around his thick length as you squirt around him, soaking his stomach and the sheets beneath you. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, tears streaming freely now. EJ groans long and low, fucking you through every pulse, drawing it out until your legs shake uncontrollably.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps moving—slower now, deeper, grinding against that oversensitive spot inside you until fresh sparks dance up your spine. “That’s one,” he breathes against your mouth, kissing the tears from your cheeks like they’re precious. “Come on—give me another, baby. Wanna feel this greedy cunt cum again before I fill you up.”

His hand slides down between your bodies, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, merciless circles. You jerk beneath him, oversensitive and whimpering, but your hips still chase his touch like you can’t help it.

“Too much—EJ, fuck—too much, please—”

“Shh. You can take it. You’re going to take everything I give you.” He kisses you again, filthy and claiming, swallowing every broken sound as he starts thrusting harder once more—long, punishing strokes.

You are extremely grateful EJ’s room is relatively far from the others’ rooms.

Because how the headboard is knocking now—steady, insistent, like a heartbeat gone feral—each heavy thrust driving it against the wall with a dull, rhythmic thud that would have given everything away if anyone were close enough to hear. But no one is. Just you. Just him. Just the wet, obscene slap of his hips meeting yours and the broken little sounds he keeps pulling from your throat like they belong to him.

EJ’s smile stays so soft, so fond, even as he manhandles your tiny frame exactly how he wants, folding you smaller, pinning you tighter. His thumb never eases on your clit, rubbing slick, relentless circles while his length drags along every sensitive inch inside you, bullying that spot until your vision whites out again. Pulses of wetness gush from you, coating his cock and his abs in your clear juices—soaking into his sheets with each long thrust.

“Fuuuck, sweetheart…you’re squirting all over me,” he praises in that gentle, wrecked lullaby, eyes dark and hungry behind fogged lenses. “Such a messy little thing. Look at you—crying, shaking, creaming all over oppa’s cock. Mmmm…gonna have to change my sheets.” “Can’t—nnghh—too much!” The words tumble out of your mouth, mixed in with high pitched whines and moans. But your body betrays the words that fall from your mouth—hips still roll weakly against him, chasing the ache, and EJ’s eyes darken with satisfaction.

“See? Your body’s honest even when you’re not.” He starts moving again—slower this time, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every inch drag along your oversensitive walls. 

Another orgasm rips through you without mercy, sharper this time, almost painful in its intensity. Your whole body shakes, legs attempting to close as your release gushes out from you—tears spill and your cunt clamps down like a vice, milking him with wet, rhythmic pulses that force a guttural moan from his throat. He fucks you through it anyway—slow, deep grinds that stretch the pleasure into something endless, something overwhelming, even as you’re a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him.

“Thaaat’s it…give it all to me,” he whispers, licking another tear from your cheek before claiming your mouth again, tongue fucking into you in time with his cock. “One more, pretty girl. One more. I know you can give me another—then I’ll fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

You don’t even have the breath to beg anymore. Just broken whimpers and the wet, filthy sounds of him ruining you—skin slapping skin, your arousal and his precum squelching obscenely with every thrust, the faint creak of the bedframe joining the headboard’s relentless rhythm.

EJ’s pace turns meaner, hips snapping harder, faster, like the two-faced sweetness is cracking wide open to reveal the depraved hunger underneath. His free hand wraps lightly around your throat—not choking, just holding, thumb pressing possessively over your racing pulse as he leans down to growl against your lips.

“Gonna cum, baby. Gonna pump this tiny, greedy cunt full until it’s leaking down your thighs. You’re mine now. Say it.”

You try—god, you try—but all that comes out is a shattered “Jju—yours—” right as he buries himself to the hilt one last time.

His hips snap forward with a final thrust, cock pulsing thick and heavy inside your fluttering walls as he comes undone. Hot, endless ropes of cum flood you so deep you feel it like a brand—thick and heavy, spilling over and over until it’s leaking out around his shaft in creamy white rivulets, mixing with your own mess and dripping down the curve of your ass to soaking into  the sheets even more. EJ’s groan is low, broken against your mouth, his hand tightening just a fraction around your throat as he holds you there, pinned and full and claimed.

You’re still trembling through the aftershocks, cunt clenching helplessly around him like it never wants to let go, every tiny pulse milking another spurt from his twitching length. Tears streak freely down your temples now, and he chases them with soft, open-mouthed kisses, licking the salt from your skin like it’s sweeter than anything he’s ever tasted.

“Mine,” he whispers, voice velvet-rough, that gentle lullaby cracking at the edges with raw possession. “All fucking mine, pretty girl. Say it again while you’re dripping with my cum.”

You break.

The words spill out of you in a helpless, babbling mess, cracked and slurry and dripping with everything you can’t hold back anymore—

“Y-yours—yours Jju, m’yours—fuck, so full, can’t—too much cum, s’leaking everywhere, please—”

You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. Just fragments, pleas, broken affirmations that melt into wet, hiccuping sobs as another weak ripple of overstimulation rolls through your ruined little cunt—your legs shake and your thighs tremble like they might give out any second.

EJ drinks it all in like a fine wine, that gentle smile never fading even as his cock twitches hard inside your fluttering heat, pushing another thick spurt of his seed deeper with a lazy grind of his hips. The wet, filthy sound of it—his release slowly leaking out around his thick base, sliding down your skin in warm, sticky trails—makes your face burn hotter.

“Shh, pretty girl…listen to you,” he coos, voice still holding that softness, thumb stroking slow circles over your racing pulse where his hand still collars your throat. “Babbling so sweetly for me while your tiny pussy keeps milking every drop. You’re already so messy, baby. All swollen and sloppy and stuffed full of me…mmm just the way I dreamed.”

He leans down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that starts tender—before his tongue slips in to taste your broken whimpers, fucking your mouth in the same lazy rhythm his hips have taken. Slow, deep rolls that drag every sensitive inch of his cock along your oversensitive walls, stirring the warm flood of his cum until it squelches obscenely with every movement. 

Your belly feels heavy with it, slightly bloated and claimed, that faint bulge of his cock pressing against your lower abdomen each time he sinks back in.

Ej’s low, satisfied chuckle vibrates against your lips as he keeps that lazy, grinding rhythm, cock still buried deep and twitching inside your cum-soaked heat. Every slow roll of his hips pushes more of his release out around his thick base, the wet sounds downright obscene in the quiet room—sticky, squelching, filthy. Your thighs are a mess, glistening with it, the sheets beneath you beyond ruined.

“Fuuck, listen to that,” he murmurs, voice husky and warm, almost proud. 

“Your little cunt’s so full it can’t even keep it all inside. Greedy thing…and you’re still trying to milk me even after I’ve emptied everything into you.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your tear-streaked cheek, then the fluttering pulse under his thumb. His hand on your throat stays gentle but firm, a constant reminder of who you belong to now.

You’re floating—overstimulated, dazed, body limp and trembling under him. Another weak, broken sob slips out when he gives one final, deep thrust, pressing that faint bulge against your lower belly like he wants you to feel exactly how much he’s claimed you.

“Shhh… easy, pretty girl. I’ve got you.” His tone softens even more, that sweet EJ resurfacing as the feral edge ebbs. He finally slips his hand from your throat to cradle your face instead, thumbs brushing away fresh tears. Slowly, carefully, he eases his cock out of you with a wet pop. A thick gush of his cum follows immediately, pouring out of your swollen, fluttering hole and running down between your ass cheeks in heavy, warm rivulets.

You whimper at the sudden emptiness, clenching around nothing, and EJ makes a soft, soothing sound. 

He shifts down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your heaving chest, your stomach, until he’s settled between your trembling thighs. His tongue drags slowly up your messy slit, tasting the mix of both of you, humming like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever had.

“So pretty like this,” he whispers against your sensitive flesh, licking you clean with long, gentle strokes. “All puffy and leaking my cum… my perfect girl.”

He doesn’t stop until you’re shuddering again, another smaller, exhausted orgasm rippling through you under his careful mouth. Only then does he crawl back up, gathering your boneless body against his chest.

He wraps you up tight, one arm banded around your waist, the other stroking slow circles up and down your spine. His lips brush your temple, your hair, your ear—soft, reverent kisses as your breathing slowly evens out.

“My sweet girl,” he says again, quieter this time, like a promise pressed into your skin. “All mine. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to ruin you and put you back together.” His fingers trace the faint marks he left on your throat, then lower, over the sticky mess still coating your thighs. “Let me clean you up properly…”

And thats the last thing you hear before your overwhelmed body and mind finally give out.

You drift in that hazy, boneless space between dreams and waking, EJ’s warmth still curled around you like a second skin—his heartbeat a steady lullaby against your back, his cum still lingering inside your walls even after he’d cleaned you with such tender devotion. His whispers linger in your ear long after sleep claims you fully: my sweet girl… all mine…

And then—

You wake alone.

Your own bed. Sheets cool and crisp beneath you, the faint scent of your own detergent instead of his skin and sweat and that thick, musky release he’d pumped so deep. Your body aches in the most delicious, filthy ways: thighs sticky, core tender and fluttering like it still remembers the shape of him, a faint bruise blooming at the base of your throat where his thumb had pressed just right. You sit up slowly, oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, and press trembling fingers to your swollen lips.

Did that…really happen?

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

You pad barefoot down the hall, legs a little unsteady, the oversized sleep shorts you somehow have on again riding up with every step. The kitchen light is on—soft, golden, spilling across the tiles like an invitation. Your heart does something complicated when you see a tall figure at the counter instead of EJ’s gentle silhouette.

K.

He looks even taller in the low light, easily over 185 cm of quiet muscle poured into that same black tank top, gym shorts hugging those powerful thighs. His normal protein shake is long gone; now he’s pouring something else—water, maybe—his movements unhurried, controlled. When his gaze slides over to you, slow and heavy, that same gentle smile curves his mouth, soft youthful features almost deceptive in their kindness.

“Morning,” he says, voice smooth like warm honey, deeper than you remember. He sets the glass down with a quiet clink and turns fully toward you, broad shoulders rolling under the thin fabric. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You freeze near the fridge, suddenly hyper-aware of how little you’re really wearing, how your nipples pebble against the hoodie from the soft chill of the apartment, how your shorts have ridden up, slick soaking the crotch—pussy clenching involuntarily at the way K’s eyes drag down your body—lingering, appreciative, and all knowing.

“I—yeah. Just…um…thirsty.” The lie tastes weak on your tongue.

He steps closer. Not crowding, not yet, but close enough that you catch that same musky, woody cologne, mixed now with something sharper—clean sweat, faint detergent, and underneath it all, something darker. His hand reaches past you to open the cabinet, chest brushing your shoulder just like before, heat radiating off him in waves.

“Here,” he murmurs, handing you a glass of cold water. His fingers linger against yours, thumb stroking once over your knuckles. “You look… flushed. Long night?”

The question seems innocent, but the look in his eyes gives him away.

You take the glass with shaky hands, lips parting around the rim, and he watches—openly, shamelessly—how your throat works as you swallow. A low sound rumbles in his chest, almost too quiet to hear.

You swallow the cold water, clearing your throat before speaking, “Um…Where’s Ej?”

K’s gentle smile doesn’t falter, not even for a second.

It only deepens, soft and almost fond, as he watches the way your voice cracks around EJ’s name. His thumb keeps stroking slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, warm and deceptively sweet, while the rest of him looms so close you can feel the heat rolling off that broad chest in waves.

“EJ?” he echoes, voice low and smooth like velvet dragged over gravel. “Ah…He went for an early run. Said something about clearing his head after last night.”

His eyes flick down to the faint bruise peeking just above the collar of your hoodie—Ej’s mark, left so tenderly—and that dark, hungry flicker returns, gentler than Nicholas but no less dangerous.

“He told me you were still sleeping so beautifully when he slipped out. All soft and puffy and leaking his cum like a good girl.”

Your breath stutters. The glass nearly slips from your fingers.

K catches it easily, setting it aside with one hand while the other—tugs at the waistband of your shorts. Pulling you close enough you can smell the notes of his cologne. Cedar and olibanum.

A broken sound slips from your throat—half protest, half whimper—and his fingers slip lower, bolder now, sliding under the hem of your shorts and straight between your thighs. Two thick digits drag through your wetness, spreading the slick along your swollen folds before pushing inside you without warning. 

A wet, filthy sound fills the quiet kitchen as he pumps them once, twice, slow and deliberate, dragging EJ’s dried spend and your fresh arousal along your fluttering walls.

God, how were you this wet already?

It’s almost as if K can hear your thoughts. 

“This wet at 9am in the morning?” K mocks, voice low and dripping with cruelness, that soft youthful face twisting into something mean and sharp as his thumb grinds slow circles over your throbbing clit. “Fuck, you really are just a pathetic little slut, aren’t you? EJ pumps you full like a good breeding toy and you still wake up dripping for the next one. Greedy. Fucking. Hole.”

You can’t even catch your breath before he spins you around roughly. Your back pressed against his chest as two long fingers plunged into your dripping cunt with a wet schlick that makes your knees buckle. He catches you easily—big palm splayed across your lower belly, pressing you flush against his hard body like you weigh nothing at all. 

“Pathetic,” he growls right against your ear, voice no longer velvet-soft but edged with cruel amusement. “Still leaking EJ’s load and your greedy little pussy is sucking me in like a desperate whore. You really are just a free-use cumdump for this apartment, huh?”

His hand clamps tight over your mouth the second you try to whine, fingers digging into your cheeks hard enough to bruise. You can hear faint footsteps in the hallway—lazy, unhurried—But K doesn’t stop. He finger-fucks you faster, meaner, the heel of his palm grinding against your swollen clit with every brutal thrust. Your juices run down his wrist, soaking into the fabric of your sleep shorts, the obscene sounds muffled only by how tightly he’s crushing you against him. Your lips part against his palm in a desperate, muffled plea—“please, K, someone’s—” but the words dissolve into a broken whimper as his hand presses harder, crushing the sound before it can escape.

Oh god, someone’s going to see—

“Shut the fuck up and take it,” he hisses, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Someone will see if you don’t keep your mouth shut—if you make a single fucking noise, I’ll bend you over this counter and make sure whoever’s coming gets to watch me ruin this sloppy hole.”

Your walls clench violently around his fingers at the threat, shame and heat flooding through you in equal measure. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes—it only fuels him, its exactly what he wants—he laughs softly, darkly, twisting his digits deeper, stretching you wider. The size difference is obscene; his broad frame dwarfs your much smaller one, making you feel tiny, helpless, breakable.

You whimper, hips twitching involuntarily into his touch despite the shame burning through you. This can’t be happening again—But you only gush around his finger—it's like your body had become accustomed to being used like this.

“Mmm…EJ’s not the only one who’s been patient,” he continues, lips trailing down the side of your neck to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss over the fading bruise. 

“Watching you prance around in those tiny shorts. Fuck…I’ve jerked off to the idea of fucking this sweet cunt more than you can think.”

His confession hits like a spark to dry tinder. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, another rush of slick flooding out to coat his hand, and K groans low in his throat—still so gentle, still smiling against your skin.

“Good girl,” he praises, nipping at your earlobe. “See? Your body knows who it belongs to now.”

The footsteps pause just outside the kitchen.

K yanks his fingers out so suddenly you nearly sob into his palm, your empty cunt fluttering and clenching around nothing. 

He spins you around again, shoving your back against the counter, and brings those glistening fingers straight to his mouth. His eyes—still deceptively soft in that youthful face—lock onto yours as he sucks them clean with a filthy moan, tongue dragging slow between the digits like he’s savoring the mix of your fresh slick and what remains of EJ.

“Mmm. Tastes like a used-up little slut,” he murmurs, voice dripping with degradation. One big hand stays wrapped around your throat now, not choking yet, just a heavy warning as he leans.

“I’m not done with you yet, short stuff,” he murmurs, voice soft and dark as he tucks your hoodie back down with careful hands, almost reverent. “Not even close. Next time…I’m sinking every inch into this sloppy little cunt.”

© smidare 2026ㅤ ❤︎ㅤ likes & reposts r appreciated!

© 2026 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱.  𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾  𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌  𝖺𝗋𝖾  𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅  𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽.  𝗎𝗇𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽  𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇,  𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇,  𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇,  𝗈𝗋  𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇  𝗂𝗌  𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗁𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽

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"Don't panic, god," Yuma muttered. He took a long sip of his soda, the straw slurping loudly in the otherwise quiet room, then let out a long, tired sigh. His sharp, cat-like eyes watched you with a mix of concern and mild exasperation. “Seeing you freak out like this is making my head hurt."

“Listen—I might have a solution. My friend Euijoo owns this big apartment with three other guys. The rent is stupid cheap because they split it five ways now. They've been looking for a fifth roommate for a while. The place is decent, and clean-ish, and I know you might be worried because it's 4 guys, but trust me, Ej is the kindest person you’ll ever meet. He's super nice and responsible. The others are chill too, I think K, Fuma, and Nicholas are there names. want me to text Euijoo for you?”

You were desperate. You said yes without thinking twice.

Within two days, you were hauling your suitcases up the stairs with the help of Yuma. 

Ej is quick to greet you, he stands there in the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, with that soft, kind boyish smile you’ve seen in the few photos Yuma had shown you. His brown hair falls slightly over his eyes, which are covered by thin-framed glasses. He’s wearing a light grey sweater, which hangs lazily off his thin body, and baggy light blue, ripped jeans that hang a bit low. low enough for you to catch sight of the brand of boxers he wears. “You must be the new roommate,” he says warmly, voice gentle and a little deep. “I’m Euijoo, but you can call me Ej if you want. Come in, come in—Yuma told me you were coming today. Is he with you?”

“Oh no, he just left. helped me bring my suitcases up, though. He said his roommate started a fire in their kitchen.” You shrug, dragging your suitcases past him and into the surprisingly spacious living room. It's cleaner than you expected for an apartment inhabited by 4 boys. The place smells faintly of cologne, laundry detergent, and something warmer, almost sweet. Sunlight pours through the large window, making the walls turn golden. It's far nicer than your old studio.

His eyes flick over you for just a second too long before he smiles again. “Must’ve been Jo. He's not the best cook. Anyway, your room’s down the hall, first door on the left. We cleared it out yesterday. You have your own bathroom, but feel free to use ours if needed. The water pressure in yours can be a bit off.” 

Before you can thank him, two more figures appear from the kitchen.

One is lean and sharp-featured, with blonde hair falling over his rough-featured face, wearing a black tank top, low-slung black sweatpants that show off the chrome hearts logo, and a silver chain. He eyes you up and down with a slow, lazy smirk. “So this is the new girl. I’m Nicholas."

The other one is maybe an inch or two taller, broader in the chest, with dark hair and a soft gaze. He's in a tight white shirt that shows that he definitely goes to the gym. “Fuma,” he says simply, voice deep and a bit raspy, gaze lingering on your legs before he nods once. 

“Ah, yeah!” Ej’s voice raises slightly, still holding that sweet and gentle tone, “K isn’t here. He works a lot, so he’s rarely around. But you’ll probably get to meet him tomorrow.”

He shifted his weight, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it had earlier.

You force a smile, trying to ignore the way the air suddenly feels heavier. “Thanks again for letting me move in so fast. I really appreciate it. I needed this.”

“No problem,” Ej says, that kind smile still in place as he grabs two of your heavier suitcases like they weigh nothing. “Let me help you get settled.”

He leads you down the hallway, the others watching you go.

Your new room is small but cute—the movers had already placed the larger items from your previous studio in it. The big window with a decent view catches your eye first, a beautiful view of Tokyo shining into your room. Ej sets the suitcases down and lingers in the doorway for a moment.

“If you need anything… anything at all,” he says softly, eyes warm, “just knock on my door. I’m right across the hall.”

He gives you one last gentle smile before closing the door behind him.

You exhale, finally alone. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

That illusion lasts exactly five hours.

You’re unpacking when you hear it.

The first moan is low, muffled through the wall—coming from the room that sits next to yours. then another, louder. a girl’s voice, breathy and desperate.

thud. thud. thud.

The headboard starts slamming against the shared wall between your room and his. rhythmically. Hard.

You freeze with a folded shirt in your hands.

“Oh fuck—nicho!—right there—”

The moans get louder, wetter. The sound of the bed creaking violently spills in through the thin walls. You can hear the sound of skin slapping skin, the girl crying out every time the headboard hits your shared wall. The noises are so loud that you can even hear them over the music blasting in your headphones, but you don't say anything. You simply turn the music up and try to ignore the obscene noises from next door.

Twenty minutes later, when the girl finally leaves (you hear the front door close), Nicholas walks past your open door shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest, sharp gaze upon you, face remaining still as if he hadn’t been blowing someone's back out just minutes ago.

He pauses, just for a second, before leaning against your doorframe.

“Need help with anything?” he asks innocently, voice soft. His eyes drop. curse him for being extremely attractive, you think. eyes trailing over the sharp lines of his abs, the deep V-line disappearing under the waistband of his black Chrome Hearts boxers.

“N-no, I’m good,” you mumble.

He just nods, still smiling. “Cool. dinner’s in an hour if you want to join us. gonna order pizza.”

The first night passed in uneasy fragments of sleep; it’s not like you weren't tired—you were exhausted, but every creak in the apartment made you tense. The headboard incident from Nicholas’s room still echoed in your mind, but after he’d casually invited you to pizza as if nothing had happened, the rest of dinner had been… normal. almost too normal. Ej kept refilling your water with that gentle smile. Fuma spoke in short, low sentences but offered you the last slice without a word. Nicholas joked about how bad Tokyo traffic is while sprawled on the floor, his shirt still missing, but he never once looked at you for longer than a second.

You told yourself it was just first-day jitters. You were overthinking it. They were guys, of course, there would be situations like that. The rent was cheap. You could handle mild awkwardness if it meant not being homeless.

That’s what you told yourself. 

The morning light filtered through your thin pink curtains, painting golden stripes across the boxes you still hadn’t unpacked. Your phone read 7:42 a.m. Your stomach growled, pulling on an oversized hoodie and loose shorts—nothing revealing—you padded barefoot toward the kitchen, hoping to slip in and out quietly.

The scene that greeted you was unexpectedly domestic.

EJ stood at the stove in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, rolling eggs into gyeran-mari with careful precision. His brown hair was still sleep-mussed, glasses perched on his nose. he looked up when you entered and offered that same soft, boyish smile from yesterday.

“Morning. Sleep okay? The walls here are pretty thin. Sorry if you heard anything last night.”

Your stomach twisted. He said it so casually, like he was apologizing for a noisy neighbor instead of his roommate’s loud, explicit hookup that echoed through the shared wall. You forced a small laugh.

“Oh yeah, it’s fine. I had headphones.”

Ej nodded, eyes crinkling kindly behind his lenses. “Good. We try to keep it down, but Nicholas gets… enthusiastic.” he plated two slices of gyeran-mari and slid them toward you with a fork. “Here. consider it an apology breakfast for Nicho’s behavior. 

You murmured a small thanks and took the plate, perching on one of the mismatched barstools at the counter. The kitchen was surprisingly well-stocked for four guys: fresh vegetables in the fridge, containers labeled in a mix of Japanese characters and hangul littered around the kitchen. A bottle of Taiwanese chili sauce sat near the stove, next to a half-empty jar of gochujang that had clearly seen frequent use.

Fuma appeared next, broad shoulders filling the doorway. He wore a tight black compression shirt that clung to the gym-honed chest you’d noticed yesterday, along with black shorts. He mumbled a quiet “good morning” in that deep, raspy voice, then opened the fridge and pulled out a protein shake without looking at you directly.

But when he shook the bottle, his gaze flicked to your bare legs where they dangled from the stool. just for a second. then to Ej.

“Going to the gym. Need me to pick anything up on my way back?”

EJ wiped his hands on a dish towel, thinking for a moment. “We’re low on eggs and milk. maybe some more rice if you see the kind we normally get—and grab whatever snacks you want. new roommate might like something sweet after all the moving stress.”

Fuma’s eyes shifted to you again—brief, unreadable—before he nodded once. “Got it,” as he turned to leave, his broad frame passed close behind your stool. The fabric of his compression shirt lightly brushed your shoulder, warm from his body heat. He didn’t apologize or acknowledge it.

Nicholas finally shuffled in a few minutes later, yawning widely, hair sticking up in every direction. he was shirtless again, black sweatpants slung dangerously low. The silver chain dangling around his neck caught the morning light as he scratched his stomach absently.

“Juju, cooking? wow. He must like you, roomie.” he reached over and stole a piece of egg from the edge of your plate with his fingers, popping it into his mouth with a grin. “You look like you actually slept. Headphones must be noise-canceling.” his tone was playful and carefree. 

You shifted on the stool. “They’re decent.”

EJ signed, swatting Nicholas’s hands from your plate before shoving his own plate towards him. “Be nice, Nicho. She just got here. don’t scare her off before the week is over.”

You kept your gaze on your food, cutting another small bite of the gyeran-mari. It really was good—fluffy, perfectly seasoned. Ej was watching you with that same kind, eye crinkling smile, waiting for your reaction.

“It’s delicious, Euijoo,” you said quietly. “Thank you.”

Ej’s shoulders relaxed a little, as if your approval mattered. “Glad you like it. I can make it again tomorrow if you want. Or try something else—I know how to cook some Japanese dishes too.”

Fuma had already disappeared down the hallway toward the front door, gym bag slung over one broad shoulder. The apartment felt a fraction less crowded without his quiet, heavy presence, but the air still hummed with the low energy of the three remaining men.

Nicholas finished his water and set the glass down with a soft clink. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. " Don’t miss me too much,” he teases, before sauntering off towards the bathroom. Ej chuckles softly, picking up Nicholas’s now-empty plate and turning to the sink. “He grows on you. eventually,” he sighs, turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. “If the noise from his room keeps bothering you, we can switch rooms. mine’s on the other side of the apartment. quieter.”

You shook your head quickly, waving both your hands. “No, no, it’s okay. really. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“It’s not trouble,” ej said gently, his voice warm and reassuring. He adjusted his glasses, brown hair falling slightly over his eyes. “We want you to feel comfortable here. That’s the whole point of splitting rent five ways—everyone gets a good deal and a good home.”

The way he said it sounded so sincere. His eyes met yours for a long moment, soft and earnest behind the thin frames. Then he smiled again and went back to washing the plate, humming a quiet tune.

You finished eating and rinsed your plate, placing it carefully in the drying rack. As you turned to leave the kitchen, EJ’s hand brushed your lower back—light, guiding, the same polite gesture he’d used yesterday when showing you to your room.

“Careful, the floor might be slippery. I spilled something and had to clean it. It might still be a bit wet,” he murmured. His fingers lingered just a second longer than strictly necessary before pulling away. “Have a good shift at work today. text the group chat if you need anything—train directions, umbrella if it rains, whatever.” You paused, brows furrowing for just a second before relaxing. You hadn’t mentioned your job schedule yet, but you just chalked it up to Yuma, who must’ve told them. “Thanks… yeah, it’s a long one today. café closes at 9.”

Ej nodded, that kind smile never wavering. “We’ll save you some dinner if you’re late. leftovers heat up easily.”

You changed into your work uniform—a simple black polo and dark jeans—and headed out, the morning Tokyo streets already buzzing. Your shift at the small café in Shibuya was familiar: endless orders, steaming milk, wiping tables, sore feet by hour four. The pay was mediocre, the tips inconsistent, but it kept you afloat. well—before.

With your new living situation, things felt a little lighter. more manageable. You didn’t have to count every coin anymore.

So today, instead of settling for a single fruit sando from the convenience store, you let yourself splurge—ordering a warm, filling katsu curry, the kind that actually made the long shift feel a bit worth it.

When you dragged yourself back to the apartment around 9:30 p.m., exhausted and smelling faintly of coffee and vanilla syrup, the place was warmly lit.

EJ appeared in the hallway almost immediately, wiping his hands on a towel. eyes turning into crescent moons as he greeted you, he was in another soft sweater, sleeves pushed up, glasses slightly askew. “Hey, you’re back. long day?”

You nodded, taking off your shoes, carefully placing them next to someone's Rick Owens—probably Nicholas’s, remembering back to the photos Yuma had shown you. “Yeah. busy rush tonight.”

He smiled softly. “We saved you a plate—bulgogi and rice. Fuma picked up some extra side dishes on his way back from the gym.” His eyes flicked over your tired frame, lingering on the way your shoulders slumped. “Go sit. I’ll heat it for you.”

Before you could protest, he was already moving toward the kitchen. You followed wearily and sank onto the couch in the living room. Nicholas was sprawled on the floor, playing a game on his phone, shirtless as per usual. He glanced up with that lazy smirk.

Fuma sat in the armchair, legs spread wide, soft sounds emanating from the switch in his big hands. He gave you a quiet nod, dark gaze resting on you for a beat longer than casual. 

K wasn’t home yet—still at one of his late training sessions, EJ explained when he brought your warmed plate. The bulgogi was perfectly reheated, savory, and tender. You ate gratefully while the others kept the conversation light: Nicholas complaining about losing a game, Fuma showing you the Pokémon he just caught, and of course, EJ refilling your water with that gentle, reassuring presence. You wondered if it would always be like this. 

When you finished, EJ took the plate without being asked. “Nicholas’s will wash this.” Before the blonde boy could protest, EJ shot him a glare before continuing. “You should rest. shower’s free—the big one has better pressure after a long day on your feet.”

You thanked him and headed to your room to grab clothes. As you passed the laundry area, the washing machine was running again. Ej’s voice floated from the kitchen: “If you have work clothes that need washing, just leave them out. I do a load most nights.”

The offer was practical. kind, even. So you said yes, not thinking anything of it. 

The next morning, you woke to the sound of your alarm and the faint smell of coffee drifting down the hall.

When you shuffled into the kitchen in your sleep shorts and hoodie, K was finally there.

He was taller than you expected—easily over 185 cm—soft, youthful face with gentle features. This was the 28-year-old? god, did he look young. He wore a black tank top that clung to his broad shoulders and gym shorts that did nothing to hide the thick muscle in his thighs. 

He was standing at the counter, pouring himself a protein shake, when his gaze slid over to you.

“Morning,” he said, smoothly, and he gave you a gentle smile. EJ appeared right behind you, carrying two mugs. “Ah, you met K. He got in late last night.” he set one mug in front of you, “I made you matcha.”

When did you tell him you liked matcha? 

You didn’t. You were sure of it. But you decided to let it go; maybe you had forgotten. Maybe Yuma had mentioned it when he set this up. Or maybe you’d said something half-asleep during dinner last night and just didn’t recall. It was fine. EJ was just… thoughtful. That was all.

So you never questioned these small things.

For the first two weeks, your laundry is returned by EJ without incident. Everything comes back clean, folded, exactly as expected—until one day, a pair of pale pink panties is missing. You don’t mention it to anyone, brushing it off as one of those small, annoying mysteries, convincing yourself the washing machine must have eaten them. But it keeps happening. a lacey black pair, a soft pastel blue pair with a bow in the middle, and even a plain white cotton pair adorned with cute bunnies.

You find one pair, though, folded neatly on top of the dryer, smelling faintly like his detergent… and something else.

When you mention it casually at dinner, whispering it to EJ, he tilts his head, that gentle smile in place, brown eyes soft behind his glasses.

“Laundry mix-ups happen a lot here,” he says kindly. “If anything of yours ends up missing again, just ask. It might've ended up with one of us.”

He says it so sweetly, it almost sounds innocent. That’s why you simply let it go. 

You stand up to rinse your plate, when K’s slim but well-defined frame is suddenly right behind you at the sink. His chest brushes your back as he reaches over you to grab a glass from the top shelf. You felt the heat of him, smelled the musky, dry, woody aroma of his cologne. He didn’t apologize for crowding you.

You froze, plate still in your hands under the running water. shifting on your feet, as he stands there, tall body caging you against the counter for a long second. His free hand rested lightly on the edge of the sink beside your hip, close enough that his forearm brushed your side.

And then you felt it.

the unmistakable, heavy outline of his cock pressing against the upper curve of your ass.

It was thick—even through the thin material of his gym shorts and your sleep shorts, you could feel the weight and the slow, deliberate twitch as it nestled firmer against you. not fully hard, but definitely not soft. 

He didn’t say anything. he simply reached a little higher for the glass, his hips shifting just enough to let his heavy cock drag slowly along your ass—one lazy, unhurried stroke—before he finally stepped back with the glass in hand.

“Excuse me,” his voice soft, steady—that gentle smile still on his face when you peek over your shoulder. His eyes were soft, almost innocent, as if nothing had happened. As if his half-hard length hadn’t been pressed against the flush of your ass.

You told yourself it was an accident.

Just like the missing panties.

All of it.

You kept repeating it like a quiet mantra every time another small thing happened.

The next morning was no different than the last.

You shuffled into the kitchen in your sleep shorts and hoodie. The matcha was already waiting on the counter, the smell of steamed rice and miso soup filling the air. ej shot you that soft, almost shy smile as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Morning, y/n.”

K stood nearby, pouring his protein shake. When you moved to the sink to rinse your empty mug, he stepped in behind you without a word. ‘Again?’ you thought, his tall frame crowded the small space, chest lightly brushing your back as he reached for a spoon from the drawer beside you. the warm, solid press of his body, and then—just for a heartbeat—the heavy, half-hard weight of his cock resting against the upper curve of your ass through his thin gym shorts. It twitched once, slow and subtle, before he grabbed the spoon and stepped away as if nothing had happened.

You quickly stepped away from the sink, cheeks still faintly warm, and sat back down at the counter to finish your breakfast. Ej slid a fresh bowl of miso soup toward you, the steam curling gently between you both.

Before you could even pick up your spoon, Nicholas leaned over and stole a forkful of your scrambled eggs, flashing you a cheeky grin. EJ immediately scolded him in that gentle, fond way of his, reaching over to lightly smack the back of Nicholas’s hand with a pair of chopsticks. “Leave her food alone, you gremlin.”

The kitchen filled with their familiar bickering and soft laughter again, the easy rhythm of morning chaos wrapping around you like a blanket. So you tried to let it pull you back in, not to let the strange tension from your moment with K linger in your chest… but the faint heat on your cheeks refused to fade completely.

Fuma was sitting in the armchair across the living room, legs spread wide in his usual relaxed posture, switch held loosely in his big hands. When the conversation lulled, he glanced at you and muttered in his low, raspy voice, “You play games?”

You nodded lightly. “Yeah. When I'm not busy, I used to play a lot more, though.”

He didn’t say anything else, picking up his phone from the side table and holding it out toward you.

“Here,” he said simply. “New trailer dropped. Looks good.”

You leaned forward a bit to see the screen. It was a gaming Twitter post — a short clip of an upcoming horror game. You hummed in agreement, “Yeah, the graphics are nice…”

Fuma’s thumb scrolled down slowly once, showing a couple of comments.

Then the feed auto-refreshed.

The screen suddenly jumped to the next post in his timeline.

It was a drawing—extremely graphic and depraved one at that. a girl bent over, face pressed into the sheets, tears streaming down her cheeks while a much larger man fucked her roughly from behind, hand fisted in her hair. The art was very detailed, glossy, and unmistakably intense: drool, flushed skin, visible bulge in her stomach, the whole scene dripping with depravity. 

But Fuma didn’t flinch; he didn’t even snatch the phone away or apologize. He simply kept holding it steady for another second before he tapped once, closing the app without a word, and lowered the phone back to the armrest like nothing had happened.

“Anyway,” he grunted quietly, already looking back at his switch. The trailer was decent. think I’ll check the game out when it's released. Let me know if you want to play it with me.”

His voice stayed low and even. no embarrassment. no explanation. just that heavy, quiet stare lingering on you for a brief moment before he returned to his game.

You quickly sat back, taking a sip of water to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

You told yourself it was an accident.

He’s a guy, of course, he watches porn.

even if it’s extremely graphic and kinda vile porn. People have their preferences. You had no room to judge. 

Plus, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Twitter’s algorithm was unpredictable, especially if he followed random accounts. He probably didn’t even notice what popped up before he closed it.

just an accident.

like everything else.

That night, the headboard still tapped rhythmically against your shared wall with Nicholas; it wasn’t the violent slamming from the first few days. The rhythm was slower, more controlled now. The girl’s moans were much quieter—soft, breathy little whimpers that barely made it through the wall, almost like she was trying to stay silent. But Nicholas was a bit louder tonight.

Every few minutes, his low, rough groans carried clearly through the thin barrier. 

“fuck… yeah, just like that.”

a slow, heavy thump of the headboard.

“shit, you’re squeezing me so good…”

another groan, louder this time, rough around the edges.

You lie in the dark, frozen under your covers, heart beating faster with every sound. The girl stayed muffled and quiet, but Nicholas didn’t seem to care as much tonight. His voice kept slipping through—low, filthy, and unfiltered.

“Take it deeper, baby… good girl. just like that.”

You pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore it.

It didn’t work.

Nicholas groaned again, louder, the sound vibrating through the wall straight into your core.

“fuuuck… that’s it. so fuckin’ wet for me.”

god, you hadn’t gotten off since you moved in here.

between the long shifts, the constant low-level tension in the apartment, and the way every small “accident” left you flustered and restless, you simply hadn’t had the chance. Now, lying in the dark with your door locked, the faint rhythmic tapping and Nicholas’s low, filthy murmurs were making it impossible to ignore how empty and needy you felt.

You told yourself you’d just ignore it.

You rolled over and buried your face in the pillow.

But the sounds kept coming—almost slow, deliberate, and teasing.

another low groan. Another soft “good girl” that sounded far too close,

your hand slipped under the waistband of your sleep shorts before you could talk yourself out of it.

You were already wet. embarrassingly so.

Your fingers found your swollen clit and started rubbing slow, tight circles. You bit your lip hard to stay quiet, eyes squeezed shut as you listened to the muffled rhythm next door.

You told yourself the walls were just thin.

Every rough groan from Nicholas made your fingers move faster. Every lazy, vague praise pushed you higher.

Your breath hitched, hips rocking subtly against your hand, chasing the friction. the pent-up need that flooded you.  

“Yeah, just like that. gooood girl.”

You imagined it was you he was talking to.

You imagined it was your pussy he was buried in, his hips snapping against you with that same controlled rhythm, his voice dropping to that filthy whisper right beside your ear.

“Such a good girl for me…”

You imagined his voice was for you—that deep, satisfied tone praising you while he fucked you slow and deep.

Your thighs trembled as you rubbed faster, two fingers pressing firm circles while your other hand gripped the sheets. The headboard’s soft tapping matched the pace you set with your fingers, and every low groan from Nicholas pushed you closer.

It didn’t take long.

Your thighs are trembling—fingers rubbing harder, slick sounds barely audible under the blanket. Nicholas let out another low, drawn-out groan — fFuck… gonna cum” — it tipped you over the edge.

You came hard, back arching off the bed, letting out a small whimper as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around nothing, thighs shaking while you rode it out with frantic little circles on your clit.

through you, thighs shaking as you rode it out with small, desperate circles of your fingers.

When it finally faded, you collapsed back against the pillows, breathing hard, heart hammering against your ribs.

The apartment had gone quiet. Nicholas’s session must have ended while you were lost in it.

You lie there in the dark, chest rising and falling, a mix of relief and deep shame washing over you.

You had just gotten off to the sound of your roommate fucking someone else through the wall. god, maybe you were the pervert.

You got off to his voice calling someone else a good girl.

But you just told yourself it was nothing.

just stress relief.

just thin walls and a long dry spell.

It didn’t mean anything.

The next evening you came home late, you went straight to shower and then to drop your dirty work clothes in the laundry basket, Ej was already there sorting a load. He was humming softly, folding things with careful hands. When he picked up one of your smaller items—a pair of pale pink panties adorning pretty delicate bows—he paused for the briefest moment. His thumb brushed over the fabric once, almost absentmindedly, before he brought it closer to his face under the pretense of checking a stain. He inhaled quietly, slowly, then folded it neatly and placed it on the growing stack.

He never turned around. He never knew you were watching from the hallway.

You told yourself he was just being thorough.

For the next three days, everything felt almost… normal.

The apartment settled into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Mornings started with Ej already in the kitchen, pushing his glasses up his nose as he slid a fresh cup of matcha or a bowl of miso soup toward you with that quiet, warm smile—eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Morning, y/n,” he’d say gently, voice warm like he really meant it. K would nod at you from across the counter as he mixed his protein shake, his tall frame relaxed rather than crowding. Nicholas kept blatantly stealing your food, ignoring how EJ berated him for it. Fuma seemed a bit more comfortable. no longer just staring quietly from the armchair; he would engage in small banter with you, or even, when he came home with various packs of Pokémon hard, he would occasionally ask you if you wanted to open them with him.

Your laundry came back clean and neatly folded on your bed—panties occasionally going missing, but not as frequently as before. The headboard in Nicholas’s room stayed mercifully quiet; he even mentioned in passing that his “friend” was out of town for a few days. No accidental brushes at the sink. No graphic hentai flashing on anyone’s phone. no heavy outlines pressing against you in the kitchen.

You started to breathe a little easier. Maybe the first couple of weeks had just been an adjustment period—four guys suddenly sharing space with a girl. Maybe you really had been overthinking everything. 

That illusion lasts exactly 3 days.

On the fourth night, you came home exhausted from another long shift, legs aching and eyes burning. You barely managed a quick shower before collapsing onto the living room couch instead of dragging yourself all the way to your room. Your oversized sleep shirt rode up slightly as you curled into the soft cushions, the low murmur of the guys playing games somewhere in the background wrapping around you like white noise. Within minutes, you were out cold.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

When you woke sometime deep in the night, the apartment was dark except for the faint blue glow of a Switch screen. a warm blanket had been carefully draped over your body, tucked gently around your shoulders and legs, as if someone had taken real care. For a second, it felt comforting—until you shifted under the fabric.

Your sleep shorts were twisted awkwardly high on one thigh, the thin material bunched and pulled tighter than you remembered leaving them. And there, near the inner seam close to the crease of your thigh, was a faint damp spot. The fabric felt slightly stiff, cooler in that one place, like something warm and sticky had been pressed there and left behind to dry. Your stomach gave a quiet, uneasy flutter. You hadn’t been sweating, the rest of your body proof of that, as you didn’t feel any sweat on your skin. You were almost certain the spot hadn’t been there when you fell asleep.

Across from you, Fuma sat slumped in the oversized armchair, legs spread wide in his usual relaxed, dominating posture. The switch rested loosely in his hands, the low volume of what you think is Pokémon barely audible. His face was half-lit by the screen, expression calm and completely absorbed, as if he’d been sitting there the entire time.

He must have felt you stir because he glanced over, warm brown eyes meeting yours without surprise. His voice came out low and raspy, even and unbothered, like he was simply stating a fact.

“You looked cold,” he said simply, thumb still moving over the controls. “I figured I’d cover you.”

You blinked slowly, still groggy, pulling the blanket a little higher as you tried to subtly adjust your twisted shorts beneath it. The damp patch brushed against your skin again—unmistakable now, warm against your inner thigh. Your cheeks burned. had he…?

You internally shake your head. god, Fuma isn’t a pervert. He would never. The dampness was probably just… condensation. Or maybe sweat from the warm blanket that covered your body. or even your imagination running wild because of all those tiny “accidents” from before.

You tried to convince yourself. You really did.

Sleep didn’t come back easily. Every time you shifted under the blanket, the damp spot on your shorts brushed against your inner thigh again. The blue glow from Fuma’s Switch flickered across the dark living room. He hadn’t moved, legs still spread wide, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other tapped at the controls. In the low light, you could see the outline of his cock through the thin material of his sweatpants—half-hard, resting thick against his inner thigh. 

god, was he big.

Even soft—well, mostly soft—the heavy shape of him was impossible to ignore. not too long but most definitely thick, the shaft lying diagonally down his leg, the head nudging noticeably against the fabric. You could make out the faint ridge where the bulbous, swollen tip pressed outward, and the way the material stretched slightly over the girth. it looked… heavy. The kind of thick that would stretch you open, make your thighs tremble just trying to take him. The kind of size that would leave a visible bulge in your stomach if he ever pushed all the way in.

Your mouth went dry. ok well, now you were the pervert. definitely the pervert. First getting off to Nicholas’s sexual escapades to thinking Fuma was to defile you, and now staring intently at his dick like some desperate, touch-starved mess.

You told yourself to stop staring, to look away, but your eyes kept drifting back. How was something that thick even real? You’d felt K press against you before, but this… this was on another level. Fuma wasn’t even fully hard yet, and he already looked like he could ruin you.

Before your mind could wander any further, you swallowed and sat up slowly, keeping the blanket wrapped around your waist as you tried to fix your twisted shorts without drawing attention. The movement made the damp fabric drag across your pussy, and you froze. There was another spot right there—right against your covered folds. When you glanced down under the edge of the blanket, you could see the faint stain; it wasn't just damp. It was slick. 

You decided to ignore it, chalk it up to another accident. Just as you did everything else that had occurred whilst you lived here.

You forced your gaze away from the sticky mess between your legs and pulled the blanket higher, pretending the warm, tacky smear of cum wasn’t slowly soaking through the thin cotton and coating your pussy lips. You told yourself it was sweat. condensation. anything but what it clearly was—thick ropes of someone’s load rubbed right against your most sensitive skin while you slept.

You forced yourself to stand up on shaky legs, clutching the blanket tightly around your waist like a shield. The damp, sticky fabric of your shorts clung obscenely to your pussy as you moved, the thick smear of cum sliding wetly between your folds with every step. It felt warm and tacky, meaning that this had occurred recently. 

The short walk down the hallway felt endless. Your bare feet padding softly against the floor, the sticky drag between your legs was impossible to forget. You slipped inside and closed the door behind you a little too quickly, leaning back against the wood as you finally let the blanket drop. The cool air hit your skin, but it did nothing to calm the burning between your legs.

You barely had a moment to steady yourself before a soft, firm knock sounded on the door.

Without waiting for an answer, the knob turned. Fuma stood there, filling the doorway with his tall frame. In his large hand was your phone, screen dark. He held it out toward you, his expression calm and unreadable as always.

“You left this on the couch,” he said, voice low and raspy, barely above a murmur.

His eyes flicked down for a second, just once—slow, heavy—landing on the obvious damp patch darkening the crotch of your sleep shorts. he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t need to. The glossy cum stain was unmistakable in the dim light of your room, the thin fabric clinging to your folds where someone's cum had soaked through while you slept.

He stepped just inside the doorway, not fully entering but close enough that the air felt heavier. He extended the phone a little further, his gaze lifting back to your face after that single, deliberate glance. “Didn’t want you waking up without it,” he added quietly.

You took the phone with quick fingers, hoping he wouldn’t notice how they wouldn’t quite stop trembling. He lingered there for a moment longer, tall and silent, his expression as neutral as ever. His eyes flicked down once more—brief, almost casual—before returning to yours.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked, voice low and even. “It looked like you were having a hard time sleeping out there.”

The question was simple. polite, even. But it carried a weight that made your stomach tighten.

You managed a small nod, clutching the phone against your chest like a lifeline. “I’m fine. just tired. long day at work.”

Fuma hummed softly, the sound barely audible. He gave one slow nod, then took a half-step back toward the hallway, though he didn’t turn to leave just yet. His muscular frame still filled most of the doorway, the faint outline in his sweatpants visible in the low light.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he finally turned and pulled the door closed behind him with a quiet click, leaving you alone in your room once more.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Somehow, just another accident.

like everything else so far had been.

It was a little past midnight. You couldn’t sleep. Honestly,  you hadn’t really been able to sleep these last few days. You’d been tossing and turning, mind replaying too many small things at once—k’s heavy cock dragging against your ass at the sink that morning, ej’s quiet inhale over your panties, nicholas’s low “good girl” through the wall two nights ago, and now the concept that fuma had come on your shorts whilst you were sleeping. the same shorts discarded next to your bed. 

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old building settling. Thirsty and restless, you slipped out of bed in just your oversized hoodie and sleep shorts, padding barefoot toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

The hallway was dark, but K’s door was slightly ajar— just a few inches.

You almost walked past.

But then you heard it.

A low, slow, controlled breath. Then your name.

You froze mid-step.

through the narrow gap, the dim light from his bedside lamp spilled out. There he was, pressed against his headboard, completely naked. long legs spread wide.

His hand was wrapped around his cock.

He was stroking himself with slow, deliberate movements—long strokes from base to tip, thumb lingering over the flushed head every time. His cock was long and, dare you say, pretty; it looked bigger than it had felt pressed against your ass. The veins stood out clearly along the shaft, the head flushed dark and glistening with precum.

K’s head was tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded, but his expression wasn’t lost in pleasure as you’d expect. It was calm. almost focused. That same gentle, youthful face he always showed you in the mornings—soft features, quiet composure—was still there while he pumped his thick cock in his fist. You would’ve walked away if it weren't for your name slipping from his mouth amongst the soft moans escaping him.

It was quiet, barely more than a breath, but you heard it clearly.

His voice was low and smooth, the same gentle tone he used when he said “excuse me” at the sink. Except now it was laced with something heavier, something hungry.

He stroked himself a little slower, dragging his hand down the full length as he breathed your name again, softer this time.

“Fuuck… y/n…”

Your stomach dropped. heat flooding your face and warmth pooling low between your thighs. You stood frozen in the dark hallway, unable to look away as K continued touching himself— calm, controlled, and breathing out your name as a prayer.

His thumb circled the leaking head once more, spreading the precum before he gave himself another long, smooth stroke. His hips twitched up slightly into his fist, but his expression stayed almost serene, like he was savoring it.

He moaned your name again, quieter, almost reverent.

“…love that cute little ass… bet you’d feel so tight around me…”

Your breath caught.

For the first time, one of the “accidents” no longer felt like an accident at all.

And that was confirmed as he looked straight at you through the gap in the door. He didn’t stop, nor did he flinch. he didn’t even look embarrassed. He simply kept stroking—slow, steady, unhurried—while his dark gaze locked onto yours. The corner of his mouth lifted into that same gentle, almost innocent smile he always gave you when he “accidentally” crowded you at the sink.

You were no longer thirsty. 

Reality had crashed back in.

Heart pounding, face burning, you tore your eyes away from the sight of k slowly stroking his thick cock while groaning your name, and turned sharply on your heel.

You walked away.

Fast.

The second you closed the door, you locked it with shaking fingers and leaned your back against the wood, breathing hard.

Thighs pressed tightly together. The warmth between your legs hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had only gotten worse.

You could still hear his voice in your head.

“…God…Wanna fuck those pretty tits too.”

“…Bet you’d feel so tight around me…”

You squeezed your eyes shut and slid down the door until you were sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to your chest.

You told yourself it was nothing. just another accident. just guys being guys. But this time the lie tasted bitter.

because he had looked straight at you. he had moaned your name. he had smiled that gentle smile while he stroked his cock.

And you had stood there and watched for much longer than you should have. You don't get any sleep that night.

The next morning came far too soon.

You woke up with a heavy, restless feeling in your chest and an annoying ache between your legs that refused to disappear completely. The memory of K’s calm face and the slow, deliberate way he stroked his cock while moaning your name kept flashing behind your eyes every time you blinked.

You told yourself to act normal.

You told yourself nothing had changed.

You told yourself it was still just an accident.

But even your body didn’t believe you.

You shuffled into the kitchen in your usual sleep shorts and oversized hoodie, trying to keep your steps light and your face neutral. 

The familiar scent of fried eggs over rice hit you before you even fully entered the room.

Ej was already at the stove, his glasses falling onto the tip of his nose as he greeted you with a smile. “Morning, y/n. matcha’s ready for you,” he said gently, setting the mug down on the counter exactly where you normally sat

K was standing a few feet away, sipping his americano when you walked in. He looked up and gave you that same gentle, youthful smile—calm, composed, almost sweet, as usual. an expression you’d become accustomed to. just not when his hand was wrapped around his veiny length. “Morning,” he said smoothly, his voice low and kind, as always.

But his eyes lingered. tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. 

Your eyes met, just for a second. just long enough for you to remember how those same dark eyes had looked at you through the gap in his door last night while his hand moved slowly up and down his wet cock.

You forced a small nod, putting on your best “oh, I'm completely okay, definitely not spiraling over seeing my extremely attractive roommate jerk off whilst he moans my name” face and mumbled “morning” before quickly moving to sit at the counter, keeping your gaze fixed on the matcha mug.

Nicholas wandered in a minute later, black tank hugging his well-built frame, baggy jeans just low enough to show off the expensive underwear he wore, silver chain catching the light. He stretched lazily, yawning, then shot you a lazy smirk. “You look a little tired, short stuff. rough night?”

You nearly choked on your first sip of matcha.

Fuma was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he was at the gym, and it even worked. Even with one of the four missing, the kitchen felt a lot smaller than usual.

When you stood up to rinse your empty mug, your stomach tightened.

K moved at the same time.

He stepped in right behind you at the sink, tall frame crowding your space like he always did. His chest brushes your back. You felt the heat of him immediately, along with the faint scent of his woody cologne.

His free hand rested lightly on the edge of the sink beside your hip, and then you felt it again, the heavy, half-hard outline of his cock pressing against the upper curve of your ass. again. 

But this time it felt different.

He didn’t make it quick. He let himself linger for far longer than necessary. letting his length rest along your ass for a long second, thick and warm, before slowly rolling his hips once—a lazy, deliberate drag along your ass that made your breath hitch. “Excuse me,” he murmured softly near your ear, voice gentle and polite like always.

But you could hear the faint smile in it now. like he knew you had seen him last night. almost as if he knew you had stood there and watched him stroke his cock while he whispered your name. almost like he was reminding you.

K stayed pressed against you for another heartbeat, letting you feel the full weight and warmth of him, before he finally stepped back with the glass he’d been “reaching” for. You quickly rinsed your mug, hands slightly shaky, and sat back down without looking at anyone.

The rest of breakfast passed in a haze. You barely tasted the food that EJ had made. Every time K moved or spoke in that calm, gentle voice, your mind flashed back to the night before—his long, wet, pretty cock easily sliding through his fist, the soft way he moaned your name, eyebrows crinkled with his head thrown back. 

You left for work as quickly as possible, mumbling a quiet goodbye.

The entire shift dragged. Your mind kept drifting. You burned two orders of tonkatsu, and the latte art, which you usually excel at, looked as if it were made by a kindergartner with two left hands. and nearly dropped a tray because you couldn’t stop replaying the low, controlled way K had whispered “y/n…” while stroking himself.

By the time you got home that evening, you were exhausted, frustrated, and unbearably pent up.

The apartment felt empty when you stepped inside. You glanced at the front door—no shoes on you. No Rick Owens, no adidas, no gym sneakers, or running shoes, nothing. No lights on in the living room. No familiar sounds coming from the kitchen or any of the bedrooms. You assumed everyone was still out—probably at the gym, working, running errands, or wherever they usually disappeared to in the evenings. You let out a small sigh of relief. No one was home. finally

The moment the front door clicked shut behind you, you kicked off your shoes, the soft thud echoing down the quiet hallway. feet carrying you straight to your room as if you were on autopilot. The second the door swung closed, you pushed it with your foot — not realizing you never heard that familiar, satisfying click of the lock.

Only then did you exhale.

You stripped quickly, letting your clothes pool on the floor until you were left in nothing but an oversized hoodie that swallowed your frame. The soft fabric brushed against your bare thighs as you crawled under the covers, pulling the blanket up to your chest.

The moment your head hit the pillow, the images flooded in—unwanted, unrelenting, and far too vivid. K’s calm, gentle face as he slowly stroked his long, pretty cock. the lazy roll of his hips against your ass this morning. the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred within his dimly lit room.

Your hand crept under the oversized hoodie before you could talk yourself out of it. fingers slipping between your thighs, a shaky breath left you. 

You were already soaked. embarrassingly so. The thin fabric of your panties is doing almost nothing to contain the wetness between your legs. 

Your fingers slipped between your thighs as a shaky breath left you.

Your clit was swollen and sensitive from a full day of low-level arousal you couldn’t shake. You began rubbing slow, tight circles, eyes squeezed shut. But it wasn’t quite enough. Finally, you gave in and slid two fingers lower, teasing your entrance before pushing them inside. The stretch made you whimper softly. You hadn’t realized you were this pent up. Your walls clenching greedily around your own fingers, wet and hot, pulling them deeper as you started a slow, shallow rhythm. You curled your fingers, searching for that spot that always made your toes curl, while your other hand kept rubbing firm circles over your clit.

“Fuck…” You shuddered, voice breaking as you rubbed at your swollen clit with frantic little circles, fingers still buried deep inside your soaked pussy.

The pleasure was building up fast now. You rolled onto your stomach, hips lifted in the air, blanket kicked aside—soft, slick noises that would’ve mortified you if you weren’t already so far gone filled the room. Your moans grew higher, less controlled, spilling freely because you were so sure the apartment was empty.

You were getting close. Your moans turned higher, less controlled. The wet, rhythmic sounds of your fingers working your soaked pussy grew even more obvious.

In your mind, it wasn’t your fingers anymore.

You imagined K’s pretty, steady fingers curling inside you instead, his sweet voice murmuring your name like it was something sacred while he watched you fall apart on him. Then, how Nicholas’s thick cock would replace them, pounding into you loud enough that the headboard would slam against the wall and everyone would hear. Ej’s gentle praise whispering “good girl, just like that” as he slowly worked you open. Fuma’s heavy stare burned into you while he held your legs apart and made you take it, just like in the image you had seen on his phone. 

The fantasy consumed you completely. Letting out hushed whines and moans of their names, the sounds turned louder, breathier, desperate. “Nngh— yes— fuck—” The wet sounds grew even filthier as you chased your release, hips rocking back onto your fingers, lost in the fantasy of all four of them using you.

So deep in your thoughts… You didn’t hear the front door open again.

You didn’t hear the quiet footsteps stopping right outside your room.

But Nicholas heard everything, 

And now… He had seen everything, too.

Your door hadn’t latched properly when you’d pushed it shut with your foot. It had left open just a few inches—just enough for the dim hallway light to spill in and just enough for anyone standing there to see you clearly. Fingers pumping in and out of your wet heat.

And Nicholas was standing there.

Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, that signature lazy smirk slowly curling on his lips. His eyes were dark, hungry, drinking in the sight of you on your stomach with your ass in the air, hoodie ridden up around your waist, two fingers buried deep in your dripping pussy while you fucked yourself desperately. He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched intently—watched the way your hips rocked back onto your fingers, watched the way your thighs trembled, watched the way your moans grew louder and more broken with every thrust.

When you cried out again—a loud, shameless “Fuck— I’m gonna cum..Nghh—” Nicholas finally let out a low, rough chuckle.

“Jesus Christ, short stuff…”

Your entire body jolted at the sound of his voice.

Panic exploded through you like ice water.

Your fingers froze mid-thrust, eyes flying open. In your rush to hide, you scrambled frantically, trying to yank your finger out of your dripping sex, pull the hoodie down, and pull the covers over you at the same time—limbs tangled, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you could hear it ringing in your ears.

You tumbled off the bed in a clumsy heap, landing hard on the floor with a startled yelp. “Ouch—oh my god ow!” The oversized hoodie rode up even higher as you hit the ground, exposing the curve of your ass and the slick shine on your thighs. Your legs were still trembling from how close you’d been, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Nicholas’s chuckle turned into a full, low laugh — warm, amused, and way too pleased.

“Shit, baby,” he grinned, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him with a soft click. “Didn’t mean to make you fall. Though… the view from here is even better.”

He leaned back against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest, silver chain glinting as he looked down at you sprawled on the floor — hoodie bunched uselessly around your waist, thighs shiny with your own arousal, face burning with humiliation.

Your voice came out shaky and small, cracking with panic.

“N-Nicholas… I—you—oh god—the door wasn’t—I thought no one was home—”

He tilted his head, that lazy, cocky smirk widening as he watched you try to cover yourself with trembling hands. “Oh, I know what you thought,” he drawled, voice low and dripping with amusement. “You thought you were all alone… sooo you could moan our names nice and loud while you fucked yourself stupid. Is that right?”

He took one slow step closer, eyes dragging shamelessly over your exposed body. 

“Fuck, short stuff. You were really going for it. ‘I’m gonna cum’—loud as hell. Bet the neighbors heard that one.”

Your face burned hotter than it ever had in your life. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. Your pussy was still throbbing painfully, right on the edge and now completely denied, making everything ten times worse. 

“I’m so sorry—No one's shoes were by the door, and I assumed you guys were not gonna be home for atleast awhil–Oh my god, please don’t tell the others.” You tried to continue, but you paused as Nicholas crouched down slightly, resting his forearms on his knees so he could look at you more closely. His smirk softened into something almost fond, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

You tried to scramble back, heart pounding, but before you could get anywhere, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping tight around your ankle. With one firm yank, he dragged you across the carpet toward him. A startled squeak tore from your throat as the oversized hoodie rode up even higher, bunching uselessly around your ribs and leaving you completely bare from the waist down.

“Shh. Don’t move,” he ordered, voice dropping into that dangerous register that made your pussy clench despite the panic. He crouched lower, free hand sliding up your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to your dripping folds. “Look at this messy little cunt… still twitching, still so fucking wet. You really were right there, huh? Poor thing.”

You whimpered, trying to close your legs, but he easily shoved your knees apart with one powerful thigh, pinning you open. The size difference hit you hard—his broad frame looming over your much smaller one made you feel tiny and helpless.

“Nicholas—wait, I—”

“I’m so sorry,” he mocked in a soft, syrupy voice, repeating your exact words back to you with a lazy grin. “No one’s shoes were by the door… assumed we weren’t gonna be home for a while…”

His thumb finally pressed against your swollen clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that made your hips twitch involuntarily. Another trickle of slick slipped out of you, and Nicholas’s eyes flicked down to watch it with dark satisfaction. “Oh my god, please don’t tell the others,” he continued in that same mocking tone, voice dropping even lower as he leaned in closer. “That’s what you were gonna say, right, short stuff? Begging me not to tell while your greedy little pussy is dripping all over the floor.”

You shook your head frantically, tears of humiliation stinging your eyes. “I didn’t mean— I thought I was alone—”

“Mhm, so you thought no one was around… that’s why you were crying out our names while you played with that pretty pussy like you were in heat?”

“Loud enough that I heard you from the hallway. ‘Fuck—I’m gonna cum…’ Fuck, baby. You sounded so desperate.”

Your body twitched again under his slow, deliberate touch, another broken sob slipping past your lips as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. The mix of sharp pleasure and deep humiliation made your head spin, your smaller frame trembling helplessly on the floor.

Without thinking, your hips bucked up into his hand — a small, subconscious roll that pushed your swollen clit harder against his thumb and drove his thick fingers a right above the entrance of your dripping heat, teasing the slick folds without pushing inside.

Nicholas’s low chuckle rumbled again, darker this time, as he watched your hips betray you with that small, needy buck.

“Oh?” His voice came out soft and mocking, dripping with that same fake sympathy he had used when stealing your food that morning. “You want more, pretty girl?”

“Fine,” he said, voice dropping into something rougher, meaner. “I’ll give you more.”

Before you could even process the words, his hand flew to your hair, fingers tangling tight in the strands at the back of your head. He yanked you up off the floor with surprising strength, making you cry out as your scalp stung. Your smaller body was pulled upright in one swift motion, legs shaky and unsteady beneath you.

You barely had time to stumble before he spun you around and shoved you forward, bending you roughly over the edge of your bed. The oversized hoodie rode up your back as your chest and stomach pressed into the mattress, ass forced high in the air and legs spread wide by his knee kicking between them.

Your face burned against the sheets, fresh tears soaking into the fabric as humiliation flooded you again. The position left you completely exposed—pussy dripping, clit still throbbing, ass presented like an offering.

Nicholas kept one hand fisted in your hair, holding your head down against the bed while his other hand immediately returned between your thighs. No more teasing at the entrance this time.

He shoved two thick fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust, burying them to the knuckles. The sudden stretch made you gasp sharply, your walls clenching hard around the intrusion.

“Thereeeee we go,” he growled, voice low and satisfied as he started pumping his fingers faster now — still not frantic, but deeper, harder, curling them relentlessly against that perfect spot with every stroke. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers.

 “Fuck… that’s better, isn’t it? Greedy lil’ cunt sucking my fingers so deep. Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dragging over your flushed face, your trembling thighs, the way your pussy clenched greedily around his fingers. “Crying and apologizing… but you’re sucking my fingers in like you never want me to stop. Such a pathetic little slut.”

He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, bringing them up to smear your own slick across your cheeks before pushing them past your lips and into your mouth. You let out a choked sob as you attempt to swallow around his long digits. He watched you with a satisfied smirk, slowly fucking his fingers in and out of your mouth while his other hand stayed tangled in your hair, keeping you pinned down.

“Taste how wet you got for me,” he growled softly, watching your teary eyes as you instinctively sucked them clean. “Yeahhh, Good girl. But my fingers aren’t gonna be enough anymore, are they, baby?”

Nicholas didn’t even bother straightening up behind you, one hand still fisted in your hair to keep your face pressed into the mattress as he used the other hand to tug off his belt—letting the leather slide free and fall onto the floor with a sharp, metallic clink that caused you to jolt slightly; the noise ringing in your ears. 

The sound of his zipper coming down followed, too loud in the quiet room. You felt the heat of his body shift slightly as he freed his cock, the thick, heavy length slapping against your ass cheek once before he gripped it at the base. He teased your swollen clit with it, slapping the sensitive bud lightly—once, twice—making your hips jerk and a fresh sob tear from your throat.

“Shhh, don’t fight it,” he cooed mockingly, pressing the blunt tip against your entrance. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You shook your head frantically, tears soaking into the sheets, but the movement only made him laugh—low, dark, and far too pleased. His broad chest stayed pressed to your back, one large hand still fisted tight in your hair to keep your face pinned down while the other guided his cock towards your entrance.

“Liar,” he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with cruel amusement. “You left the door cracked open like a desperate little invitation. Moaning our names loud enough for me to hear every filthy word…and now this tiny cunt is dripping down my cock like it’s starving for it.”

Then he pushed forward.

The thick head stretched you open slowly, forcing your tight walls to part around his girth. The burn was immediate and overwhelming, but so delicious—he was so much bigger than his fingers, so much thicker than you could handle in this position. A broken cry ripped from your throat as he sank in deeper, inch by relentless inch, until his hips finally met your ass and he bottomed out completely. But he didn’t give you time to adjust—beginning to thrust with slow heavy rolls, punching the air from your lungs with each deep stroke. 

The filthy, wet slap of skin on skin echoed louder with every movement. His hips slamming against your ass with a rough, punishing force. The impact jolting your small frame forward with each thrust. He kept you pinned exactly how he wanted: face down, ass up, smaller body folded beneath his much larger one like you weighed nothing. “Fuuuck,” Nicholas groaned, “You feel so good. Can barley move… Fuckk tight cunt taking me so well.” 

His hips rolled in deep, heavy thrusts that drug the air from out of your lungs with each movement. The wet, filthy slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, growing louder and more obscene with every punishing stroke. 

Nicholas showed you no mercy, keeping one hand fisted tight in your hair as he pressed your cheek firmly into the sheets. 

The sound of your cunt was downright filthy—It made you cringe through tears.

Wet, lewd squelching noises echoed with every thrust as his thick cock plunged in and out of your soaked hole. Each time he bottomed out, a messy, obscene schlick-schlick-schlick filled the air—your arousal coating his shaft and dripping down your thighs, making the slide even wetter, even louder. 

“Shittttt…pretty girl… listen to how wet you are,” he laughed breathlessly, the sound almost mocking. “This greedy little pussy is dripping down my balls. You’ve been dying for cock, huh?” 

The slick sounds mixed with the sharp slap of his hips meeting your ass, creating a filthy rhythm that left no room for denial.

He suddenly pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the thick head stretching your hole, before slamming back in with one brutal thrust. The force ripped a broken sob from your throat as your walls clenched violently around him. You shook violently, breathing becoming rapid as you sobbed into the sheets, coating the pink fabric in a different type of wetness.

Nicholas groaned loudly as he felt your pussy flutter and spasm around his cock—grinding his hips deep so you could feel every inch of him buried inside you. He leaned down closer, broad chest now pressing fully against your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he fucked you with slow, punishing rolls.

“God, you are such a lil’ slut. Pretty cunt keeps sucking me in. Juju’s gonna lose his fucking mind. He’s been sniffing your panties like a pervert for weeks. k’s been worse though, so patient with you…leavin’ the door open when he jerks off to see if you’d break… and fuma? He’s been waiting to see how pretty you cry when you’re stuffed full,” he whispered, voice dripping with cruel amusement—hand slipping underneath you, fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubbed it tight, mean circles that made your thighs shake uncontrollably, slapped your clit lightly, making you jolt and cry out, then did it again harder.

“You gonna let them take turns with this sloppy little hole after I’m done with it?” 

The words hit you like ice water.

Your breath caught in a sharp, broken sob. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, soaking into the already ruined sheets. Your mind spun, a dizzying mix of shame, fear, and unwanted heat flooding your body all at once. 

The thought of them taking turns—passing you around like a toy and using your aching, dripping cunt one after another—twisted your stomach with shame… and made your cunt clench hard around Nicholas’s cock despite the shame coursing through you

You shook your head frantically, the movement limited by his tight grip in your hair.

“N-no… please—” your voice came out in small, cracked, and pathetic moan, the sound barely more than a whimper. “I can’t… not all of them… please, Nicholas—”

Your cries only egged him on; he began to thrust faster and harder, the bed creaking loudly beneath you. You could hear how he laughed—low, dark, yet delighted amongst the creaks and wet obscene sounds of your bodies together.

“It’s okay, pretty” he cooed mockingly, voice rough. “Right now—” He tightened his grip in your hair and yanked your head back just enough to growl against your ear, “This cunt is mine.” He pulls you back even further—grip on your hair forcing your back into an arch as he pounded into you. The new angle making his cock hit that sensitive spot with every thrust, ripping broken sobs and whimpers from your throat. Your smaller body jolted forward with each punishing snap of his hips.

You had already been so close.

Before he walked in, you’d been frantically fingering yourself—fingers pumping in and out of you; deep. hips rocking your swollen clit desperately aganist the palm of your hand as you chased your release. Their names slipping from your lips like a filthy prayer, amongst the soft squelches of your needy cunt.

You had been right on the edge, right there… and then he caught you.

And now that denied orgasm was coming crashing back ten times stronger. Fueled by every savage thrust of his thick cock and every dirty word that fell from his mouth—coated with a nasty edge.

Nicholas could feel it—the way your cunt gripped at his cock, sucking it deeper with each time he pulled out only to thrust into you again with brutal force. “Ohhh, there it is,” he taunted, “You gonna cum? Yea? You were so fucking close before, weren’t you, pretty girl?” his voice dripped with mockery, “Moaning ‘Juju… K… Fuma…’ like a little slut. You wanted to fuck your new roomies that bad, yea?” he cooed, as your pathetic sobs already had began morphing into desperate, breathy moans.

The words sent another humiliating wave of heat through you. Your mind screamed no, begged even— but your body did not listen to. it instead betrayed you completely. Your cunt gushed even wetter, the lewd sounds growing louder as he pounded into you without mercy. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, your clit throbbing under his relentless fingers, your entire body shaking as you teetered right on the edge.

You tried to hold back. You really did. You told yourself that if you could just resist a little longer, maybe you could hold onto some shred of your dignity. But the combination of his thick cock stretching you open, the brutal pace, the sharp slaps to your swollen clit, and the overwhelming shame of his words was too much. Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train—harder and more intense than anything you’d ever felt before.

Your back arched into his stomach—a broken, sobbing cry tearing from your throat as your walls spasmed violently. Overwhelming pleasure erupted through you in blinding waves. Your vision blurred with tears and your mind went white, eyes rolling back. Your pussy gushed slick around him, soaking his cock and dripping down your thighs in messy rivulets while your body shook uncontrollably.

Nicholas groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he fucked you through every intense spasm. “Fuuuck— that’s it. Cum on my cock, pretty little slut. Look at you… making such a fucking mess.” He kept thrusting through your orgasm, drawing out every last shake of your body until you were whimpering and twitching from the overstimulation, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

He kept pounding you until he felt his climax approaching—only then did he pull out.

With a rough groan, Nicholas yanked his heavy length free, leaving your cunt gaping and leaking. He gripped the base of his thick, glistening length and stroked it fast and hard right above your trembling body.

“Fuuuuuck—gonna cum all over you, baby.” His hips jerked. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from his cock, splattering across your back and ass in messy white streaks. Some landed on the curve of your spine, even a few drops landing on your swollen, twitching pussy. The warm stickiness coating your bare skin—Milking every last drop until you were thoroughly marked with him.

Nicholas exhaled shakily, a satisfied smirk curling on his lips as he looked down at your ruined state — tear-streaked face, hoodie bunched uselessly around your ribs, swollen pussy still twitching and dripping.

He leaned down, brushing damp hair from your forehead with surprising gentleness.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured, voice low and dark. “First one down.”

He pressed one last mocking kiss to your temple before standing up, tucking himself back into his pants. “Rest up, short stuff.” Nicholas gave your ass one final, possessive slap before he walked toward the door, leaving you sprawled on the bed—exhausted, leaking, and utterly used.

Nicholas didn’t tell anyone. 

Well, not that you knew of.

You woke to the familiar scent of matcha waiting on the counter and EJ greeting you with that same soft, boy-like smile as he pushing his glasses up his nose and slid the mug toward you. “Morning, y/n.”

K stood nearby, sipping at his americano, giving you his usual gentle smile when you entered. 

Nicholas wandered in a few minutes later, shirtless as usual, silver chain glinting against his chest. He leaned over and stole a forkful of your scrambled eggs with that signature lazy smirk.

“Morning, short stuff,” he drawled, voice perfectly casual, like he hadn’t spent last night wrecking you until you passed out on his cock.

He didn’t wink. He didn’t smirk knowingly. He didn’t say a single word about what happened.

He just stole another bite, earning the usual gentle scolding from EJ, and acted like nothing had changed. Fuma sat in the armchair, legs spread wide, quietly playing on his Switch. His dark gaze flicked to you for a second longer than usual, but he as usual he gave you a nod—’Good morning.” falling from his lips.

The whole morning felt… normal. Far too normal.

You sat there in your sleep shorts and hoodie, thighs still faintly sore, pussy still tender and aching from how roughly Nicholas had used you. Every shift in your seat reminded you of the way he’d pinned you down, the filthy sounds your pussy had made, the way you’d sobbed and came so hard you blacked out.

Yet none of them acted any different.

It was almost worse than if they had said something.

You kept waiting for the shoe to drop. For Nicholas to make a comment. For one of them to look at you differently. But the day passed in the same careful rhythm as before.

© smidare 2026 ♥︎ likes & reposts r appreciated!

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you wake up slowly, the room still mostly dark except for the thin strips of morning light sneaking through the blinds. the sheets are tangled around your legs, warm from sleep, and you feel anton's body pressed against your back before you even register his hand moving.

it's under your shirt already, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs. his breath is hot and uneven on your neck, and you can feel him hard against your ass, the insistent press of his cock through his boxers making your body respond without thinking.

his lips brush over your shoulder in a lazy kiss before he bites down lightly, the sting pulling a soft gasp from you. "morning," he mutters, voice thick with sleep, gravelly in your ear.

his hand dips lower, slipping into your shorts, fingers finding the warmth between your legs. you're already starting to get wet, the slick coating his fingers as he circles your clit slowly.

you turn over, facing him, and push him onto his back. his eyes flick open wider, but there's that knowing smirk. you straddle his hips, feeling the hard length of him under you. his hands come up to your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin.

you tug his boxers just enough to free him, his cock springing up, the head already glistening with precum. you position yourself over him, feeling the tip nudge against your entrance. you sink down, your walls clenching around him as you take him inch by inch.

you start to move, the slap of skin on skin echoing softly. his abs tighten with each thrust as he bucks up into you, brushing that spot that makes your toes curl.

he flips you suddently, strong arms pinning you to the mattress. his hand wraps around your throat, putting just enough pressure to feel your pulse race in his hand.

"thought you were in charge," he teases, breath hot against your lips. he angles his hips just right, pounding into that sensitive spot that makes your vision blur.

he cums first, body shuddering as he spills into you. the sensation pushes you over, your orgasm crashing through you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

later that day, you're in the kitchen, the tile cool under your bare feet as you look for something to eat. you're just in an oversized tee and panties, when you hear anton come up behind you. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against him so you can feel his erection pressing firm against your ass.

"can't get enough?" you ask, leaning into him.

he hums, one hand sliding down between your legs. his fingers rub over the fabric of your panties, pressing against your clit until you soak through it. "your fault for looking like this," he says, voice casual but edged with want.

he pushes your panties aside, two fingers sliding into you easily. you brace your hands on the counter, your legs spreading wider without thinking. the sounds are lewd: the slick slide of his fingers in and out, your breathing turning ragged.

you reach back with one hand, palming him through his sweats, feeling the hard outline of his cock twitch under your touch.

"fuck me," you demand and he doesn't hesitate. anton yanks your panties down to your knees, bending you further over the counter. he frees himself from his sweats, the head of his cock teasing your entrance before he bottoms out in one go.

his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise as he pulls you back onto him with each snap of his hips. he reaches around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast and messy.

he holds you up, pounding relentlessly until you cum, clenching hard around him. he pulls out to cum on your back in hot spurts, the warmth dripping down your skin as you both pant.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the evening rolls in, the tv droning some show neother of you are really watching. anton's sprawled out shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips. you crawl into his lap, straddling him as you kiss him deep.

you feel him harden under you, the bulge pressing up against your core through the layers. "want me to ride you?" you ask against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip.

he shakes his head, eyes dark. "wanna eat you out first," he mumurs as he lays you back on the cushions, spreading your legs wide.

his mouth is on you instantly, tongue flat and broad as he laps at your folds. he sucks on your clit gently, the suction making your hips buck. you tug at his hair, causing him to groan into you, the vibration sending jolts through your body.

you're trembling, thighs clamping around his head as you cum. he licks you through it, tongue cleaning every drop, humming like he's savoring the taste.

you switch places, anton falling back into the cushions as you kneel between his legs. you take him into your mouth, the salty taste of precum hitting your tongue.

you suck slowly, hand stroking the base where you can't reach, tongue swirling around the head. his hand tangles in your hair, guiding your pace as he breathes in short gasps. "just like that," he groans, hips twitching up slightly.

when he's close, you pull off and straddle him again, sinking down onto his cock with ease. the fullness makes you both moan, and you ride him hard, hands on his chest for leverage. when you tire, he rolls you under him, thrusting deep and steady.

nights bleed into days like this. a quickie in thee shower where he fucks you from behind, his hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. or you waking him in the middle of the night, your hand stroking him until he's hard and leaking.

anton was shy, so sweet and so doting on you, always making sure you were okay and you had everything you needed for your day, but he was shy. no matter the situation he was in, he always found himself having the quietest voice in the room, always felt as if other people had more control over him because of how quiet and relaxed nature. whilst that may have not been the case for everyone, it was for you. you were the only person anton enjoyed giving that control to. he trusted you, enjoyed when you took care of him, in every sense. truthfully, he hadn’t had much experience taking control of you in a sexual manor, he tried but dominance didn’t seem to run in his veins. or so he thought.

with the situation anton found himself in, he was sure he had some form of imposter syndrome. had he really convinced himself that he couldn’t dominate you because he lacked experience with it? was he really doing it just because he was hiding behind a mask? well, it’s not as if you didn’t know it was him; in fact, you had encouraged the boy to wear the mask. so why did he feel so different? anton reminisced on the events of the night in hand as he looked down at your trembling body, he could get used to the sight of you laying on your stomach, hair a mess with his cum dripping out of you. yet, he wondered what flipped in him that caused him to treat you the way he did.

“anton?” you called out from your bedroom after hearing your front door, you knew it was him who had entered. he hummed as he walked into your room, a white plastic bag swayed in his hand. “did you have fun?” he nodded and sat on the edge of your bed, removing the jacket he had on. you shifted to kneel behind him, arms wrapping around him as your head rested on his shoulder.

“of course” he placed the bag down on the bed next to him and leaned back a little into your arms, fingers opening the bag and removing the contents. a mask? more specifically, a ghostface mask.

“what kind of cliche are you planning on dressing up as for halloween?” he laughed at your comment, releasing the mask from his hand once you reached down to take it.

“it was the best i could given the places we had go to, i’d take dressing up as a serial killer over some smurf costume that sohee hyung found” dispute his subtle diss toward his friend, his voice was still as sweet as ever. it had always been music to your ears, never once had you wished for him to change it.

“hmmm i don’t know, i think you’d fit right into the village as papa smurf” he rolled his eyes and smiled, fingers moving to trace patterns over the skin of your arm. “i think it’s hot though” his eyebrow perked up at your words.

“hot?”

“mhm, always see those girls on tiktok fawning over the idea of their boyfriends fucking them whilst wearing the ghostface mask” he gulped at your words, noticing the way your fingers curled a little over the mask.

“do you think about that?”

“i mean, i didn’t until you came home with one in your bag” anton paused momentarily, unsure of how to go about the thoughts that were brewing in his head.

“want to try?” the boy himself didn’t know what confidence had come over him, he had never gone into an intimate moment with you were he had planned to take control before hand. he heard your breathing grow a little heavier at his question, he turned his head to look at you, your eyes glazed over as you looked at him.

“do you?” he gulped, unable to stop his eyes from falling to your lips.

“i mean, im not opposed to trying everything once” you giggled at his response, free hand going to his hair to pull his head back a little before leaning down to kiss him. the kiss was messier than usual, your tongue entering his mouth immediately. it wasn’t something anton was used to going straight into, the tongues, the spit, the bitting on his lip. he could already feel how hard he was getting, but he knew he had to turn the situation around to favour him.

you moved around, climbing on to his lap so you could straddle him, mask in the hand that was hanging over his shoulder. the kiss didn’t break, not for at least another 30 seconds. the boy found himself easing more into it, fingers inching down and digging into the skin of your ass as the kiss deepened. he felt a hand sneak under his shirt, his following so he could rid himself of it. once the kiss broke, the two of you didn’t reconnect.

you looked at him, eyes wide, lips swollen. there was a glimmer of playfulness in your eyes, he could tell you were enjoying yourself with this.

“are you ready?” you giggled as you lifted the mask above his head, he couldn’t help but smile at you. it was cute, he hoped and prayed that he could fulfil the fantasy you were dreaming of.

“mhm” he hummed, still in a slight daze from the kiss you two had shared. you smiled slightly, bringing the mask down to pull it over his head. you moved to lay on the bed, anton stood up.

the sight in front of you left you weak as he stood tall, eyes travelling from the mask down to his toned body and then to the bulge in his jeans. your mouth watered, you could feel the slick dripping from your core as you eyed him. he was delicious.

anton could sense the change in your demeanour, the aura you were radiating changed into something weaker. you seemed quiet, withdrawn. submissive. it ignited something inside of him, an unfamiliar feeling. you just looked so sweet and helpless watching him, he felt powerful. he believed it was time to play into the character you wanted.

“you okay, love?” his soft voice sent shivers down your spine as he moved closer to you, fingers trailing over the bare skin of your legs, you thanked yourself for only being in his shirts and a pair of thin panties. “you seem a little frazzled” he sat on the edge of the bed and brought his hand higher, fingers resting on the skin of your thigh beneath your panties. you were frazzled, sure you’d seen the mask things before on twitter and such but having it in front of you, having your own boyfriend in front of you with one on made you dizzy.

his fingers skipped over your cunt, moving to push the skirt you were wearing up and removing it from your body. dropping it to the floor before standing back up to remove his jeans. he didn’t say much, his silence left you feeling nervous, no part of you could guess what was going on inside his pretty head at that moment.

the answer was nothing. nothing was going through his head, it was blank. he had nothing in his brain, you looked so pretty already braless and in just your panties for him. he took note of them, pretty, thin, red. his favourite colour on you, sure you had no idea he was going to come in with the mask and that you’d end up in this position but he couldn’t help but think you wanted him anyway tonight. it made his cock throb in the cool air of the room.

as he climbed between your legs, he sat back on his knees. his gaze focused on your panties and the way they seems to stick to your slick cunt. he brought two fingers forward and pressed against it, breathing hitching when he felt just how soaked you were through them. you were really into this, so aroused, so ready to take him. it inspired him more to play into what you wanted.

his hands grabbed at your lower legs, pulling you down the bed slightly before flipping you onto your stomach, you couldn’t stop the gasp that fell from you as his sudden action. you knew he had strength, you could visibly see it on him everytime he moved his arm in a certain way. it was something that always left you foaming at the mouth, only having dreamed of being on the receiving end of it before now. you felt as if you were gushing wetness at this point, that feeling was confirmed when you felt anton grab your hips to pull them up before hooking a finger over the band of your panties that covered your slit, pulling it out then letting it go so it hit you. you shivered.

he didn’t say much, in fact he didn’t say anything and that just built up your anticipation more. something about the silence aroused you, how he grabbed at your hips and pressed the front of your body against the mattress, all of it left your mind dizzy.

anton opted against removing your panties, thinking the red lace looked perfect against your ass. instead he slid them aside, bringing the fingers of his other hand up to run through your slit. soaked was an understatement. you were drenched, anton swore he had never felt you so wet before, never seen you so compliant to let him do whatever he wanted. he believed it was something he could get used to, he just had to find the confidence within himself to get into this position again.

you whimpered at his actions, “please, just need you” your words seemed slurred “need you to fuck me” never in his life had anton felt how he did in that moment, if it wasn’t for the hour long edging sessions you had put him through in the past he definitely would came, instantly. you sounded so broken without him even doing anything, so needy for his cock. if he wasn’t buried inside of you in the next 5 seconds he felt as if he would’ve gone insane.

so he done just that, wrapping his hand around his cock as his other hand still had your panties pushed aside. guiding himself into you felt like a treacherous act, the initial push of his tip inside of you had you gripping the bed sheets beneath you, eyes squeezing shut as his thick cock invaded your walls.

“anton..” your voice trailed off, it was all he took to push the rest of his cock inside of you. the stretch made you feel weak, legs already skating from the intensity of his thrust. he leaned forward and wrapped an arm around your waist, testing the waters by thrusting into you again, you whined at the feeling and it spurred him on to continue.

everything felt surreal to anton, from the way your panties dragged along his cock with each thrust, how you were squeezing his cock so tightly to the way you cried into the bedsheets when his cock hit a particular spot. neither of you had ever experienced something so intense together, sex had never seemed to feel this good before now. maybe this was how it was meant to be, you played face down ass up for your sweet, loving, strong boyfriend who fucked you from behind.

his cock reached depths you were sure he never had before, when he moved to kneel up he pressed his hand on your back, pressing down causing you to arch it a little more before he thrusted into you again. thrusts now harder that before. you couldn’t control yourself, you were a wreck. tears falling from your eyes, his name the only thing you could seem to remember. anton anton anton. it was your anton behind the mask who was fucking you into oblivion.

nothing could’ve made the intimacy hotter, nothing could’ve made the pit in your stomach grow more. or so you thought. that was until you felt his hand grab at your hair, he yanked you up, you gasped at the feeling, eyes going wide at the sudden light that appeared in front of you. he was recording you, the selfie camera showed the scene to your eyes, you almost broke down at the sight. you were a mess, eyes red, mascara under your eyes from the slight makeup you’d worn earlier in the day, anton on the other hand had you clenching around his cock. the mask moved a little either each thrust, his body damp from the sweat that was falling down him. everything about the sight of the two of you turned you on even more. you weren’t sure what to was about anton being mute through all of this, but it made it hotter.

he dropped his phone, still recording, once he felt your shaking more. he let go of your hair, your body falling into the mattress as his hand moved under your body to your clit. in the past you’d given him direct lessons to where the clit was and how to find it and it seemed they had paid one as his fingers attached themselves to it instantly and he began rubbing it in circles. you needed to cum. anton needed you to cum. there was no way he was going to do all of this only to cum before you, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

his attack on your clit done justice as you felt yourself begin to fall apart, you wanted to tell him you were cumming, wanted him to know that he had fucked you right into an orgasm but you physically couldn’t speak. everytime your mouth open a moan fell out, words getting caught in your throat, stuck there as he fucked you.

it hit you, hard. your legs shook under his grip, you bit down on the pillow under, your orgasm triggered his. he had been holding off for a while, the moment he felt you release after him he let it go. fucking you through it, long spurts of his cum shooting deep into you. any other day he would’ve panicked cumming inside of you but today he decided he wanted to, no, he needed to see his cum dripping out of you once he pulled out.

when he did pull his cock out he heard you whine, his eyes falling to where his cum began leaking down your leg. he almost grew hard again, but then he looked at you laying there, limp, eyes closed, hair a mess. he had to lay with you. h picked up his phone and stopped recording, throwing inside before laying with you, arms wrapping around you. your own hands lifted up to remove the mask from him. his face was flushed, eyes wide as he looked down at you, lips swollen and a little bloody, you realised he’d been biting them the whole time. not much was said, you placed your hand under his chin to beckon him down to kiss you and he did. it was soft, sweet, nothing like the boy who’d just fucked you. when the kiss brine you looked at him and laughed.

“we’re keeping the mask”

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