#hornball

Riding james sunderland

is the best way for you both to temporarily solve your cortisol levels. After his lonely and rather horrifying time spent all alone in silent hill, he can't shake the feeling of constant unease. Thus, he has a longing to be inside of you for hourrrssss. You’re real, afterall. You bring him a sense of comfort.

Moreover, you aren’t aware of how you found yourself grinding on him constantly — it’s not like you mind though. I mean — how could you say no to his sullen little face . . ? The way his green eyes bat at you . . he’s fully in touch with his charm.

He knows that you know.

One could easily conclude that your pussy helps him relieve levels of stress that even millions of dollars couldn’t compete with. James is just so pent up that he doesn’t even mind the pitiful whimpering and whining that escapes his mouth every second. If only his swollen tip could speak to him, it would be crying out for a break.

Fuck.

James is very pathetic for you. In between pleads of your name, he’d often rotate a mumble of expressions such as,

“Youre—‘s so-gooood”, “ ‘m in yr tummy. . .”, “need to cum . . ”, “—mmph–gna fill up my little doll.”

Because of the fact that you’re basically milking his cock, he even begs you to slow down at some points. But in reality, he truly doesn't want you to stop . . . at all ( and you wouldn’t want to do so anyway ). From how his voice bounces throughout the walls, you could make out the subtle differences between his words and how his voice cracks.

It’s crazy that he’s the one sobbing when it should really be you. The way his cock easily stirs your guts and how the natural curve of his length digs at your g-spot with each collision of your hips — it’s enough to drive you just as crazy, if not more.

When he does cum, he shoots thick, long, and warm ropes. James loves to drag out his orgasam for as long as he’s willing to preform. Every waking second of this sensation, he wants to enjoy for all of eternity. You may think he’s finally drained his balls despite already cumming twice before. But once he finally falls down from his high, James just gives you the biggest puppy eyes he can offer. You already know the drill.

‘i’m surprised you still have stamina, old man.’

It’s gonna be a loooong night for you two.

⸝⸝ ⧣ another short cowgirl imagine hehe . . . i jus really wanna bounce on the sad old man that’s named james sunderland , sorry not sorry ˙𐃷˙

the riper the fruit , the sweeter the berry or whatever they say . .

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of your shared apartment, casting soft, hazy stripes across the duvet. It was late—almost noon—a luxury reserved for weekends when neither of you had anywhere pressing to be. 

You were the first to wake, though you didn’t move immediately. You were too busy watching Seungmin. He was lying on his stomach, face buried halfway into the pillow, his breathing rhythmic and deep. The sheets had slipped down to his waist, exposing the long, elegant line of his back. His skin was smooth, pale, and unblemished, tapering down to a waist that always looked too fragile in your hands, though he insisted he was fine. 

He looked harmless like this. Sweet. Almost breakable. 

Eventually, the rhythm of his breathing changed, a small, furrow forming between his brows as the world slowly pulled him back from sleep. You reached out, unable to resist, and brushed a few stray locks of dark hair away from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, the dark irises hazy and unfocused for a fraction of a second before landing on you. A slow, sleepy smile softened his sharp features, and without a word, he shifted, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a hum that sounded more like a contented purr than a human noise. "Too bright," he mumbled against your skin, his voice raspy and thick with sleep, but he made no move to pull away from your touch. 

That was the thing about Seungmin; he was always tactile in the quietest ways. You spent the next hour like that, whispering about nothing important as the apartment warmed up around you. When you finally dragged yourselves out of bed, he followed you into the kitchen, leaning his hip against the counter while you brewed coffee. He watched you with that observant, half-lidded gaze of his, making sarcastic comments about your brewing technique but handing you the sugar before you even had to ask. 

Getting ready for Chan’s place later that evening felt less like a routine and more like an event, mostly because you took great pleasure in pestering him while he tried to decide on an outfit. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, watching him run a hand through his neatly styled hair in the mirror. "You look fine, Seungmin," you teased, watching him scrutinize his reflection for a flaw that didn't exist. "In fact, you look perfect. Very pretty." He huffed a small laugh, turning to lean against the sink, crossing his long arms over his chest. "Pretty isn't exactly the vibe I'm going for tonight, but thanks," he shot back dryly, though there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "Just get dressed so we aren't late. Chan won't stop texting me." 

By the time you were both dressed and stepping out of the apartment, the sun had begun its descent, painting the city in hues of burnt orange and violet. The walk to the subway was short, but you moved slow, your hand finding its way into his without a second thought. Seungmin’s fingers were slender and cool, interlacing with yours firmly, grounding you against the bustle of the street. He listened to you ramble about your week with that specific kind of focused attention he always gave you—tilting his head just so, his dark eyes following your expression, ready to interject with a dry comment that would make you laugh. If anyone else looked at the two of you, they saw the cute couple; the soft-spoken, sharp-featured boy and his bubbly girlfriend. He didn’t seem to mind the label most of the time, walking with a relaxed posture, his shoulders slightly hunched against the wind. He was gentle, pulling you closer when a group of pedestrians hurried past, his thumb stroking the back of your hand absentmindedly. It was hard to reconcile this man—the one who double-knotted your shoelace when it came undone on the pavement—with the idea of anyone seeing him as a threat. 

The buzzer to Chan’s apartment chirped just as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It had been a few weeks since the whole group gathered like this, and the familiar, muffled bass of music vibrating through the heavy metal door brought an instant smile to your face. 

When the door swung open, Chan was already grinning, that bright, welcoming aura practically pulling you both inside. He was dressed down in a loose hoodie, looking the picture of comfort. "Finally! I thought you guys got lost," he laughed, stepping aside to usher you in. 

"The subway was hell," you replied, kicking off your shoes. "And someone"—you nudged Seungmin lightly with your elbow—"took twenty minutes to fix his hair." 

Seungmin rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching as he toed off his sneakers, arranging them neatly next to yours—a habit you’d long since given up trying to break him of. "It’s called hygiene, Y/N. Maybe you should try it sometime," he shot back smoothly, though he reached out to gently squeeze your shoulder, instantly negating the bite of his words. He moved past you into the living room, offering a two-finger salute to the room.  

The living room was already... a lot. The air smelled like soy sauce and spices from the takeout containers scattered across the coffee table. Jeongin and Felix were wrestling playfully over a cushion on the rug, while Changbin sat nearby, scrolling through his phone with a half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand. Minho was lounging on the single armchair, legs thrown over the armrest, observing everything, lips pressed thin. He glanced up as you entered, his eyes lighting up with that specific brand of mischief reserved for Seungmin. "Look who finally decided to show up," Minho drawled, his voice lazy but loud enough to cut through the noise. "Our resident grandpa. I was just about to send a search party." 

Seungmin let out a huff of air, tossing his jacket onto the back of the sofa with fluid grace before dropping down into the empty spot next to you. He immediately reached for a piece of pizza, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the back of your seat. "Dude, talk about old. Have you seen your apartment? You literally own like, 30 cats. What does that scream if not grandpa? 

Minho let out a dry, unbothered chuckle, waving a dismissive hand in the air as if physically batting away Seungmin’s insult. "Excuse you? Cats choose you; it’s a sign of prestige. You wouldn't understand, you're too busy being the group's baby," he countered smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I bet Y/N has to hold your hand just to cross the street." 

"Please," Changbin chimed in from the side, finally looking up from his phone. He grinned, his eyes disappearing into crescents. "Seungmin? A baby? He's just... lanky. Like a baby giraffe. All legs and no coordination." 

"It's true," Felix piped up from the floor, having successfully wrestled the cushion away from Jeongin. He looked up at Seungmin with that sunshine-bright smile, which made the next words somehow sting more. "You're the softest one here, Seungmin. Remember when we watched that horror movie and you hid behind the popcorn bowl?" 

"I was eating the popcorn," Seungmin defended himself, though there was no real heat in it. He took a bite of his pizza, chewing slowly while his eyes scanned the room. "You guys are just annoying. And loud. It's not my fault I'm the only one with any class." 

Chan came back from the kitchen with a fresh tray of drinks, setting them down with a heavy clink before throwing an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders, jostling him roughly. "Come on, Seungminnie, don't get your knickers in a twist. We just tease because we love you," he laughed, his deep voice booming comfortably in the small space. "Besides, it's good Y/N here is so patient. Someone’s gotta take care of our little prince, right? Since he’s too delicate to do anything himself." 

You laughed along with them, the sound bubbling up easily as you leaned into Seungmin’s side, comfortable in the safety of the banter. You didn’t think twice before joining in, turning to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "It’s okay, babe," you teased, pinching his cheek gently between your thumb and forefinger. "You are pretty cute when you're grumpy. It’s like an angry puppy." 

Seungmin stiffened just slightly—so subtly you almost missed it—but the smile on his face didn't falter. In fact, it widened, sharp and perfect, though his eyes remained cool and calculating, fixed directly on Chan and not you. He took a slow sip of his soda, the condensation on the can dripping onto his fingers, before shifting his posture. He didn't pull away from you; instead, he draped his arm more heavily around your waist, pulling you flush against his side, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against your hip that felt a little too intentional. "Funny," he said softly, his voice smooth like velvet over steel. "You guys talk a big game for people who couldn't get a girlfriend to save their lives. I'm literally the only person with a girl here." 

"Are you homophobic? Do men not count? What if some of us are HUZZED up, huh?" Jisung whines.  

"Oh my god, that's not what I meant. We all know your homo, ji. Good for you." seungmin groans. 

The conversation, much like the drinks, flowed freely, and perhaps it was the buzzing warmth in your veins that made you forget the subtle shift in Seungmin’s demeanor. The topic circled back—inevitably—to relationships, and Changbin was recounting a disastrous date with a laugh, waving his hands wildly. "I'm telling you, she was expecting this whole... dominant routine," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I tried, but it felt like acting. You gotta have that natural energy, you know? Some guys just don't have it in them." 

Without thinking, your eyes darted to Seungmin, a fond laugh escaping you before you could check it. "Oh, definitely not him," you agreed, leaning your head comfortably on his shoulder, completely oblivious to the way the air around him seemed to drop a few degrees. "Seungmin is all sweet talk. He wouldn't hurt a fly. The most aggressive he gets is when he's yelling at the TV during a soccer match. It’s actually kind of endearing." You squeezed his arm playfully, your tone light and filled with affection. "He's my gentle giant. Or, well, gentle... lanky string bean." 

The table erupted in agreement, Minho practically cackling as he pointed a finger at you. "See? She knows. String bean. You’re about as scary as a marshmallow, Seungmin." They were all laughing, the sound loud and raucous in the small room, but Seungmin wasn't. He was perfectly still, his jaw set tight enough to create a sharp line, his dark eyes fixed on some middle distance. The arm around your waist felt heavier now, less like an embrace and more like a shackle, his fingers pressing firmly into your side, anchoring you in place. He didn't look at you, but you felt a sudden prickle of unease, a realization that you might have just poked a bear you thought was sleeping. Then, under the protective cover of the tablecloth, his hand slid from your waist, his palm resting warmly on your knee. You thought it was a reassurance, a silent cue that he wasn't actually mad, but when his thumb began to stroke slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of your jeans, the touch felt possessive. Warning. 

Get this, seungmin would never. You had already determined that he had something against sex, because everytime you tried to initiate something? He would avoid it. Call him sexy? He'd laugh, a full hoot and holler. He didn't seem like the dominant type either. 

But the air between you and Seungmin felt suddenly charged, like the heavy static before a storm. You tried to focus on Changbin’s story, really you did, but Seungmin’s hand was a distraction you couldn't ignore. His long, slender fingers began to creep upward, slow and deliberate, tracing the inseam of your jeans with a maddening laziness. You shifted in your seat, attempting to nudge his hand away with a subtle movement of your leg, assuming he didn't realize where he was wandering in the dark. He didn't even flinch. Instead, he just tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your inner thigh with a bruising pressure that made your breath hitch in your throat. When you risked a glance up at him, he was smiling—that handsome, boyish smile you loved so much—laughing at something Minho said, but his eyes were dark, locked onto yours with a terrifying, unreadable intensity. 

"Right, Y/N?" Seungmin’s voice cut through your daze, smooth as silk, startling you. You blinked rapidly, realizing the group was waiting for a response you hadn't heard the question for. "I was just saying," he continued, his tone light and conversational, belying the way his thumb was rubbing dangerously high on your thigh, "that we don't really need to prove anything to anyone. Actions speak louder than words, don't you think?" He took a casual sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving your face, watching the panic flush your cheeks. You nodded dumbly, unable to trust your voice, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The juxtaposition was dizzying—his friends saw the composed, sarcastic boyfriend, but you felt the heat of his palm burning through your denim, a silent, searing claim that contradicted every joke the group had made that night. You pressed your knees together instinctively, trying to stop his ascent, but he merely pushed them apart with a firm, controlled strength that took you completely by surprise, settling his hand even deeper between your legs. 

"What’s with you?" Felix asked suddenly, leaning forward with that innocent, curious gaze. "You got really quiet. You okay?" 

The question sucked the air right out of the room, or at least it felt that way to you. Your throat went dry, your brain scrambling to manufacture a believable lie while Seungmin’s fingers continued their torturous, slow exploration of your inner thigh. He was kneading the sensitive skin there now, his touch firm and possessive, a stark contrast to the gentle way he usually held you. You opened your mouth to speak, to brush off Felix’s concern with a nervous laugh, but before you could get a single word out, Seungmin beat you to it. "She’s just fine," he interjected smoothly, his voice dropping an octave that vibrated straight through your chest. He finally tore his gaze away from you, turning his attention to Felix with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Actually, I think she’s just feeling a little overwhelmed. You know how she gets when everyone is talking at once." He turned back to you, his expression softening into a mask of tender concern that was so convincing it made your head spin. "Right, baby? Is the noise too much for you?" 

You nodded frantically, latching onto the excuse like a lifeline, though your face was burning hot enough to fry an egg. "Yeah, just... a headache," you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. "I think I just need some water." Seungmin hummed sympathetically, his hand stilling on your thigh, though he didn't remove it. Instead, he gave the flesh a sharp, warning squeeze that made you gasp softly, the sound quickly masked by a clatter of dishes from the kitchen. "Poor thing," he cooed, tilting his head mockingly. "So delicate. You really should take better care of yourself, Y/N. You know I worry about you." He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, making you shiver violently. "And when I worry... I like to make sure you learn to listen to your body better." To the rest of the room, it looked like a sweet, whispered reassurance, but you could hear the dark undercurrent in his tone. 

Chan, oblivious as ever, just nodded sympathetically and took a swig of his beer, completely missing the way Seungmin’s jaw was set tight with tension. "Hyung, do you have that aspirin in the bathroom?" Seungmin asked, his voice polite and steady, though his eyes were glued to your face, watching the way your pupils blew wide with panic. "I think I should take her to lie down in your room for a bit. The light out here is probably bothering her." You stiffened, your heart skipping a beat. His room? Chan’s bedroom was down the hall, secluded and far enough away from the living room to offer complete privacy. The idea of being alone with Seungmin in that state—in this state—sent a jolt of terrified electricity down your spine. "No, really, I'm okay," you stammered, trying to pull your leg away from his grip, but he held firm, his fingers digging into your skin with a bruising force. "Nonsense," Seungmin said firmly, already standing up and pulling you with him, his grip on your hand iron-clad. "Come on. You need to rest. We'll be right back." He didn't give you a choice, guiding you away from the safety of the group with a strength that shouldn't have surprised you, but did. As you walked down the hallway, you could feel the eyes of the group on your back, their attention shifting back to their conversation almost immediately, leaving you completely at the mercy of the stranger wearing your boyfriend's face. 

But even worse, he turns. He doesn't head for the warm shelter in the winter storm. He heads for the igloo -- the kitchen, steals your purse, rummages in it, and pulls out your deepest darkest secret. 

Your fucking portable vibrator. 

"Seungmin!"  

"Shh." 

He didn't even look up from his prize, his thumb sliding over the smooth silicone casing with a terrifyingly casual familiarity, as if he were inspecting a piece of tech he’d just bought. The kitchen island blocked the view from the living room, creating a small, perilous slice of privacy that he was currently weaponizing against you. "I was looking for your lip balm when we were leaving," he murmured, his voice low and devoid of any inflection, terrifyingly calm. "Imagine my surprise when I found this instead. I didn't take you for the type to need... assistance. Or maybe," he finally lifted his head, his dark eyes boring into yours with a predatory glint that made your knees threaten to buckle, "you just have that much trouble entertaining yourself because you don't know what you actually need. Anyone could hear from here. Them not being able to see you doesn't mean we're completely hidden. You want me to show them how much of a 'string bean' I am, baby?" 

He stepped closer, backing you flush against the cold marble of the counter, caging you in with his slender frame. There was a soft click as he turned the device on, a low, steady hum that seemed to echo deafeningly in the small space, though the loud laughter from the living room continued unabated. "Is this what you do when I'm not looking?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a dark, velvety register that vibrated against your chest. "Using toys because you think I'm too 'gentle' to give you what you need? Because you think I don't know how to handle you?" He brought the vibrating tip to trace the line of your jaw, forcing your head up, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity that made your breath hitch. "You really have no idea, do you? You think I'm just the sweet, boring boyfriend who's content with cuddles and chastity." 

Without waiting for an answer, he traced the device lower, through the expanse of your shirt, down the metal button of your pants, and to where your clit lays needy--just buried beneath the thick denim of your jeans. 

The pressure of the silicone against the denim was maddeningly indirect, a dull, teasing throb that did nothing to quell the ache building inside you and everything to heighten your panic. "S-seungmin, please," you choked out, your hands flying to his wrist, not to push him away—he felt too immovable for that—but just to hold on, your nails digging into his skin. "They’ll hear. Chan is right there." 

"Let them hear," he whispered, a cruel smirk curling his lips as he pressed the vibrator harder, grinding it against the fabric in slow, deliberate circles that forced your hips to jerk against the counter. "You seemed so comfortable sharing our sex life—or lack thereof—with everyone earlier. Don't get shy now." His free hand came up to grip your chin, his fingers rough and demanding, tilting your face back down to meet his gaze. "Or maybe you like the risk? Is that why you brought this little thing along? Because fucking yourself isn't enough unless you know you could get caught?" 

He abruptly pulled the toy away, the sudden cessation of vibration leaving you panting and dizzy, your legs trembling so much you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. Before you could even process the loss, he grabbed your hand, his grip bruisingly tight, and dragged you out of the kitchen and down the hallway, past the bathroom, and straight for Chan’s closed bedroom door. 

 He didn't hesitate; he twisted the handle, shoved you inside, and kicked the door shut with a definitive click that sounded like a gunshot in the sudden silence. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside, the air thick and still. He backed you up until your knees hit the edge of the mattress, looming over you with a dark, predatory hunger that stripped away the "boy next door" facade you’d known for eight months. "You and your little comments," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous as he crowded into your space. "You think this is a game? I'm about to ruin you, Y/N. And by the time I'm done, you won't be able to look at me—or this bed—without remembering exactly who I am. I'm going to fuck you through on our best friends bed, even leave a mess while I'm at it. Isn't that what men do, love? 

He didn’t give you a moment to process the terrifying thrill of his words, moving with a fluid, practiced aggression that shoved you back onto the mattress. You landed with a soft bounce, the scent of Chan’s laundry detergent—something clean and mundane like cedar—wafting around you, a stark contrast to the filthy way Seungmin was currently looking at you. He loomed over the edge of the bed, his silhouette tall and lean, stripping off his shirt with deliberate, unhurried movements. In the dim light, the defined lines of his collarbones and the surprising definition of his shoulders were cast in shadow, painting a picture of strength you had willfully ignored for months. "Look at you," he scoffed, crawling over you, caging you in with his limbs. "Already trembling. I haven't even touched you properly yet, and you're falling apart. Is this what you wanted? To be treated like you're fragile? Because looking at you now..." He dragged a finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the neckline of your shirt and tugging until the fabric strained. "You don't look fragile. You look desperate." 

His hands were on you then, rough and demanding, stripping away your clothes with an efficiency that bordered on violent. There was no fumbling, no sweet hesitation—just the cool air hitting your skin and the hot press of his palms following immediately after. When his hand came down on your inner thigh, the sound was a sharp crack that echoed in the quiet room, stinging with a heat that made you gasp. "Ah, there it is," he murmured, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction as he rubbed the reddening skin, his fingers teasing dangerously close to where you needed him most. "You like that, don't you? You like being put in your place." He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. "I heard what you told Changbin. 'Sweet talk.' 'Gentle.' You really underestimated me, Y/N. You thought because I didn't paw at you like a dog in heat, I didn't want to? I was waiting. I was being patient because I thought you needed time. But if you want to act like a brat who doesn't know how to respect her man, I'll fuck you like one." 

He reached into his back pocket, retrieving the vibrator he had swiped from your purse, the small device clutched in his large hand like a weapon. "Since you seem to love this thing so much, let's see how it feels when I'm in control," he taunted, turning it on. The buzzing hum was deafening in the silent room, and he didn't hesitate. He spread your legs wide, baring you to him completely, and pressed the toy directly against your clit, not with the muffled pressure of your jeans, but with the intent of ruining you. The stimulation was immediate and overwhelming, a sharp jolt of pleasure that had your back arching off the mattress, a cry tearing from your throat. Seungmin watched you with a hungry, detached fascination, his free hand holding your hips down when you tried to squirm away. "No," he commanded sharply. "You take it. You wanted to tease me all night? Now you stay still and take what I give you." He applied more pressure, watching the way your eyes rolled back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Look at you, soaking wet already. I haven't even kissed you yet. God, you really are a slut, aren't you? Getting off on our friend's bed while your 'gentle' boyfriend abuses your clit with your own toy. So fuckin' pretty and pathetic." 

"Aah- ah- seungmin, fuck seungmin! Oh min, we- we can't! 'm sorry, okay? i'm sorry i'm sorry, i just don't want them to hear--" 

"I love hearing you beg," he interrupted, his voice dripping with a sadistic delight that made your stomach drop. He didn't relent on the pressure, keeping the vibrator pressed ruthlessly against your sensitive flesh, watching you writhe. "But you're missing the point. I want them to hear." He shifted his weight, using one knee to shove your legs even wider apart, ignoring the way your hands scrambled weakly at his wrists. "I want Changbin to know exactly what 'unnatural energy' sounds like when it's forcing you to cum. I want Felix to realize that the 'quiet' guy in the corner can make his girlfriend scream so loud she shakes the walls. Let's see if you can keep that pretty mouth shut when you're squirting all over Chan’s sheets." 

He abruptly pulled the toy away just as you felt the crest of your orgasm begin to break, leaving you suspended in a painful, throbbing emptiness that drew a ragged, desperate whine from your throat. Your hips bucked into the air, seeking the friction he had so cruelly denied, your entire body trembling with the aftershocks of the almost-release. Seungmin smirked, clicking the device off and tossing it carelessly onto the mattress beside you before bringing his hand down hard against your inner thigh with a sharp, stinging smack. "Did I say you could cum?" he asked, his tone deceptively soft, contrasting sharply with the violence of his touch. He leaned forward, grabbing your jaw and forcing your teary eyes to meet his dark, unyielding gaze. "You don't get to decide that anymore. You gave up that right when you decided to run your mouth about my masculinity. You think I’m a joke? Fine. Then you’re just a toy for me to play with, and toys don't cum until I say so. Speaking of which," 

"Since you seem so fond of it, prove it," he commanded, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes sweeping over your exposed, heaving body with a critical hunger. "Touch yourself. Show me exactly how you get off when I'm not around, and maybe—just maybe—I'll let you finish." The humiliation burned hot in your cheeks, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, but the throbbing need between your legs was a stronger motivator than your pride. Your hand shook as it moved to grab the vibrator across the bed, the buzzing sound seemingly loud enough to wake the neighbors as you brought it down to your throbbing center. Seungmin watched intently, his gaze unwavering, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud. "Don't be shy now," he taunted, his voice a low rasp. "Put on a show. You had so much to say earlier. Let's see if that mouth works as well when it's full of moans. If you stop, I'm leaving you here like this. And I'm taking the toy with me." 

The command hung heavy in the air, and with a whimper of shame, you pressed the vibrator against yourself, the pleasure immediate and overwhelming. Your back arched off the mattress, your eyes squeezing shut as you chased the high he had just snatched away, but a sharp tug on your hair forced your eyes open. "Eyes on me," he growled, his hand fisted in your locks, tilting your head back painfully. "Don't you dare look away. You look at me while you fuck yourself on that cheap piece of plastic. You look at the man you underestimated." He was terrifyingly beautiful like this, his face twisted into a mask of dark arousal and cold anger, the lines of his body taut with restrained power. The pleasure was building again, faster this time, a tidal wave rising in your gut, but just as you began to tip over the edge, his hand shot out, snatching the toy away and tossing it across the room, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing. "No," he said again, his voice final. "I told you. You don't get to cum yet." 

He shifted then, his long fingers unbuttoning his jeans with a slow, deliberate precision that was far more terrifying than his previous aggression. The sound of his zipper lowering seemed deafening in the quiet room, a promise of what was to come. He freed himself, and your eyes widened as you took him in—thick and heavy, the angry red tip leaking with precum, proving that his control was hanging by a thread. He stroked himself lazily, his eyes locked on your wet, swollen pussy. "This is what you do to me," he murmured, his voice rough with suppressed need. "This is what I've been holding back for eight months because I wanted to be 'respectful.' But you don't want respect, do you? You want to be fucked. You want to be used. My poor baby, so sexually frustrated. Hasn't gotten cock in so long, mm? Thats too bad, really. You're not getting it." 

"P-please?" you whimpered, your voice cracking as you stared at him, utterly bewildered by the denial. Your body was thrumming with a need so fierce it hurt, your hips lifting off the mattress in a silent, desperate plea for him to just take you already. "Seungmin, I need you. Don't do this." 

He tsked, shaking his head slowly, a dark, mocking amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched you squirm. "Oh, I know you do. You’re dripping all over Chan’s comforter, look at you," he taunted, reaching out to drag a single finger through your slick folds, holding it up to the dim light to inspect your wetness before wiping it carelessly on your stomach. "But you don't seem to understand. We're here to prove a point. If I fuck you now, I’m just servicing you, giving you exactly what you’ve been whining for. That’s not a lesson. That’s a reward." He leaned back, his hand wrapping around his length again, stroking himself with slow, agonizing twists of his wrist, the slick sound of his precum loud in the quiet room. "No, tonight is about showing you who’s in charge. You want to get off? Then you do it the way I want. Keep your eyes on my cock, Y/N. Watch what you’ve been missing. Watch what you threw away with those jokes." 

The humiliation was scorching, flushing your skin a deep, fiery red, but you couldn't tear your gaze away. He was mesmerizing, his head thrown back slightly, his jaw tight as he worked himself over, the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every movement. "Spread your legs wider," he commanded, his voice straining slightly, betraying his own arousal. "Rub your clit for me. But don't you dare cum. If you cum, I walk out that door and leave you here to explain the mess to Chan." Your hand moved between your legs automatically, your fingers finding your sensitive bud and circling it frantically, matching the rhythm of his hand on his cock. It was a twisted, erotic tableau—him getting off on your humiliation; you getting off on his dominance, the threat of discovery hanging over you like a guillotine blade. "Look at you," he gritted out, his strokes becoming faster, his breathing ragged. "Such a desperate little slut. You look so good like this, Y/N. So needy. So mine." 

The sight of him losing control, of his composure finally cracking as he chased his own pleasure, pushed you dangerously close to the edge. The friction of your own fingers was maddening, insufficient yet necessary, and the sound of his groans filled the room, mixing with your own ragged breathing. "Seungmin, please, I can't—" 

"Yes, you can," he panted, his eyes snapping open to pin you with a fierce, burning intensity. "You will hold it. Because I said so." He slowed his hand, dragging out the torment, his cock twitching in his grip. "Look at the mess you're making. All for me. Do you think I'm 'lanky' now? Do you think I don't have the stamina to ruin you? I could go all night, Y/N. I could edge you until you're crying, until you're begging me to kill you just to make it stop." 

He suddenly stilled his own hand, his chest heaving with the effort to restrain himself, leaving you hovering on that agonizing precipice without permission to fall. "Stop," he commanded, his voice raspy and absolute, and the sheer authority in it forced your hand to freeze instantly, your fingers trembling against your slick heat. He leaned over you, caging your head in with his arms, the tip of his cock hovering tantalizingly close to your entrance but refusing to grant you the relief of being filled. "You look ruined," he whispered, a dark chuckle vibrating against your lips as he took in your glassy eyes and quivering body. "And I haven't even really started yet. But look at me, Y/N. Really look at me. Do you see anyone here who can't handle you? Because all I see is a girl who is two seconds away from begging for my cock like it's the only air she can breathe. Tell me," he demanded, his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just possessing, his thumb resting heavily on your pulse. "Tell me I'm not a man. Tell your 'twink' of a boyfriend how badly you need him to wreck you right now." 

You shattered under the weight of his gaze, the humiliation burning through the last of your resistance. "You're a man," you choked out, tears spilling over and tracking hotly into your hairline. "You're so much more than I—I thought. I need you, Seungmin, please. Only you. You're the only one who can handle me, I swear." The confession seemed to snap something fragile inside his restraint. "Fuuck, good girl. But not good enough. on your stomach for me." 

The command was sharp, leaving no room for hesitation, and your body moved to obey before your mind could fully process the shift in position. You flipped over, burying your burning face into the scent of Chan’s linens, feeling exposed and vulnerable with your ass in the air. The mattress dipped under Seungmin’s weight as he settled behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low rumble of approval that sent shivers down your spine. His palms ran over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh almost appreciatively before pulling away. "But you still haven't learned. You still think you can run that pretty mouth without consequences." The air whistled a split second before the impact—smack—his hand coming down hard on your right cheek. The sound was obscene, a sharp crack that seemed to echo in the quiet room, and the sting bloomed instantly, hot and biting. You cried out into the duvet, your hands gripping the sheets, but he didn't stop. "Count them," he demanded, delivering another stinging blow to the left side, making your whole body jolt. "And don't you dare lose count, or I’ll start over from zero." 

"O-one!" you sobbed, the humiliation burning hotter than the pain on your skin. He set a punishing rhythm, his hand raining down spanks that were precise and calculated, alternating cheeks until you were squirming, your skin throbbing with a heat that seemed to permeate your entire body. By the time you reached ten, your voice was broken, tears soaking the fabric beneath your cheek, but the throbbing need between your legs had only intensified, traitorous and overwhelming. "Look at you," Seungmin taunted, pausing to run a cool hand over your heated skin, soothing the sting before digging his nails in slightly. "Crying from a little spanking? But you're soaking wet for me, aren't you? You love this." He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. "I can see your twitching from here. You're desperate to be filled, aren't you? My poor little slut." 

Suddenly, the weight on the bed shifted. The empty dull throb was replaced by the sensation of a long, slender, but thick digit. 

He didn't ask for permission; he simply slid his middle finger inside you, the intrusion sudden and effortless given how thoroughly you had soaked yourself for him. The sensation was overwhelming—a sudden, blinding stretch that made your walls clench instinctively around the digit, dragging a ragged moan from your throat that you couldn't hope to stifle. He curled it immediately, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside you with a terrifying precision that made your vision white out, his other hand pressing down firmly on the small of your back to keep you from squirming away. "So tight," he gritted out, his voice vibrating against your spine. "And absolutely drenching me. Is this all for me, Y/N? Did pretending I was some harmless little boy get you this wet? Or is it the thought of getting caught on Chan’s bed that has you dripping like a filthy whore?" 

Before you could catch your breath, a second finger joined the first, scissoring inside you with a deliberate stretch that burned just enough to ground you in the reality of what was happening. He set a rhythm that was nothing short of punishing, pumping his fingers in and out of you with wet, obscene squelching sounds that seemed to amplify the silence of the room, each thrust forcing your hips forward against the mattress in a friction that teased your neglected clit. "I can feel you fluttering around me," he taunted, picking up the pace, his palm slapping against your ass with every deep thrust. "You're close already, aren't you? You're so greedy, clenching around my fingers like you're trying to keep me inside. But remember the rules." He abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you clenching around empty air, a desperate whine tearing from your lips at the loss. "Not yet. You don't get to cum on my fingers. That's too easy." 

The mattress shifted again as he moved, his hands gripping your hips and yanking them up even higher, forcing your face deeper into the pillow and arching your back into a vulnerable, presenting position. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance, heavy and hot, and for a terrifying second, you thought he was finally going to give you what you needed. Instead, he simply slapped the length of it against your dripping folds, coating himself in your arousal, sliding through your wetness without entering. The tease was excruciating—the friction sending sparks of pleasure up your spine but never enough to satisfy the ache. "Beg for it," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low growl that seemed to settle in your bones. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you on this bed. Tell me how much you need this cock. and maybe, if you sound convincing enough, I'll think about stretching you open properly." 

The words tumbled from your lips in a broken, desperate rush, your pride dissolved. "Please, Seungmin! I need you to fuck me," you cried out, your voice muffled by the pillow but loud enough to carry the sheer desperation of your plea. "I need your cock, please, ruin me, prove them wrong, just—please, fill me up!" The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with his scrutiny, until a low, dark chuckle vibrated through the mattress, his grip on your hips bruisingly tight as he finally, mercifully, began to press forward. The stretch was intense, a slow, deliberate burn that forced your body to accommodate him, inch by devastating inch, and he didn't stop until he was fully seated, his hips flush against your stinging ass, forcing a ragged gasp from your throat at the sheer fullness of him. "Good girl," he rasped, leaning over to press a kiss between your shoulder blades that felt more like a brand. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Admitting that you're mine to ruin?" 

When he began to move, any illusion of the gentle boyfriend you thought you knew was completely obliterated. His pace was punishing from the very first snap of his hips, a rhythm designed to drive you out of your mind, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back in with a force that made the bed frame slam against the wall. The sound of skin meeting skin was loud and obscene, echoing in the quiet room, and mixed with your broken moans and his heavy breathing to create a cacophony of pleasure that felt dangerously loud. "Is this what you expected?" he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back, forcing your arch to deepen. "Or were you expecting me to ask if it feels good? I don't care if it feels good. I care that you take it. I care that you remember exactly who is splitting you open right now." He drove into you with a calculated precision that hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur, reducing you to a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. 

His control seemed unbreakable, a stark contrast to the way you were falling apart, your fingers clawing helplessly at the sheets as he used you for his own pleasure. "ohh, fuck yeah. so fuckin' good, so fuckin' tight, my perfect girl. Let them hear you. Take that pretty face out of the sheets, moan as loud as you can. Need them to hear everything," He encourages by moaning loudly himself, making your stomach drop at the sound. You obeyed, tilting your head back to gasp for air, your voice cracking as he forced another cry from your lips with a particularly harsh thrust. "You feel that?" he hissed, leaning down to bite sharply at the junction of your neck and shoulder, marking you where the others would see. "Feel my cock sliding in that pretty pussy? Marking you up?" 

He didn't give you a chance to answer, his hips snapping forward with a renewed vigor that stole the breath from your lungs, the friction overwhelming. "Ah! Oh seungmin! Fuck yes, fuck yeah! Oh yeah, right there! Mmh, yes!" you yelled, and finally, the men outside grew dead silent. 

The sudden, suffocating silence that fell over the living room was heavier than the music had been. It was a tangible shift, the raucous laughter and clinking of glasses cutting out as if someone had pulled a plug, leaving only the muffled bass of the stereo and the unmistakable, rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall to fill the void. Every sharp cry you let out seemed to magnify in the quiet, echoing down the hallway like a declaration of war. Seungmin didn't falter; if anything, the knowledge that he had an audience seemed to spur him on, his grip bruising your hips as he drove into you with a merciless precision that was calculated to be loud. "They hear you, baby," he panted, his voice laced with dark triumph, sweat beginning to bead at his temples. "Hear how well you take me? They know now. They all know exactly what I'm doing to you. God, fuck." 

The shame burned through you like wildfire, but it was laced with a twisted, molten heat that made your toes curl. You were vividly aware of everyone sitting just feet away, likely staring at the closed bedroom door with wide eyes, listening to the wet slap of skin and the desperate, broken moans Seungmin was tearing from your throat. Outside the bedroom, chan sit with his mouth agape, looking back at the group then at the door. 

"Are they—?" Changbin started, his face draining of color as a particularly loud, rhythmic thud vibrated through the floorboards, accompanied by the high-pitched, broken keen of your voice that didn't even sound human anymore. Felix let out a choked noise, halfway between a wheeze of disbelief and a whimper, burying his burning face in his hands as if that could block out the unmistakable, graphic sounds of Seungmin’s hips snapping mercilessly against yours. Even Hyunjin, usually the one to stir the pot, sat in stunned silence, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, finally understanding that the quietest of them all was currently the most dangerous man in the apartment. 

Bangchan was the worst off, shifting uncomfortably on the leather couch as he tried to adjust his stance without drawing attention to the obvious. He stared resolutely at the floor, his face burning a hot, mortified red, but his body was betraying him completely. The raw authority in Seungmin’s voice—usually so quiet and composed—now growling commands through the wall, combined with your helpless, broken moans, was hitting a primal switch in his brain he couldn't turn off. "I can't believe this is happening," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his voice tight and strained. "I'm never going to be able to look at him the same way again. Or Y/N. Jesus."  

But he wasn't the only one suffering. 

Seungmin slowed his pace, the relentless slapping of skin against skin ceasing abruptly and leaving the room in a suffocating silence filled only by your ragged breathing. You whimpered at the loss, clenching around him desperately, trying to keep him inside, but he chuckled darkly and pulled out completely, leaving you feeling empty and throbbing. Before you could protest, he flipped you over onto your back with surprising strength, manhandling you as if you weighed nothing. He loomed over you, his chest heaving, his eyes raking over your disheveled form with a look of possessive hunger that made your stomach flip. "Look at you," he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray hair away from your sweat-slicked forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to the bruising grip he’d had on your hips moments ago. "Tears in your eyes, makeup ruined. You look thoroughly debauched." 

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that was all teeth and tongue, tasting your desperation and claiming it as his own. Then, without warning, he spat into your open mouth, a deliberate, degrading act that made your eyes go wide with shock. "Swallow it," he commanded, his voice low and rough, watching your throat convulse as you obeyed instinctively. "Good girl. You take everything I give you, don't you? Even the filthy things." He sat back on his heels, his eyes darkening as they fixed on your chest. Your breathing was labored, your breasts rising and falling rapidly, and a dark, twisted idea seemed to take root in his mind. "I've been holding back for months," he mused, his hand coming up to tweak one of your nipples, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers until you gasped. "But I think I want to leave marks where everyone can see them. I want Chan to have to look at this bed tomorrow and remember exactly what I did to you here. But I also want you to have to look in the mirror tomorrow and see exactly who you belong to." 

He didn't wait for an answer. He lowered his head, his hot breath fanning over your skin before he bit down hard on the side of your neck, not a playful nip, but a possessive, stinging bite that made you cry out and arch your back. He soothed the sting with his tongue, only to move to the other side, leaving a matching mark. He worked his way down, sucking and biting bruises into the skin of your collarbones, your breasts, anywhere he could reach, marking you as his territory. The pain was sharp, bright, and overwhelming, mingling with the lingering throbs of pleasure to create a maddening cocktail of sensation. He traveled lower, bypassing the place you needed him most to bite into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, his teeth sinking in hard enough to leave indents that would surely blossom into dark purple bruises by morning. His hot tongue finally slid between your weeping slit, collecting the steady flow of fluids, before it completely plunged inside. His tongue was more filling then you ever could have thought, and fuck, it felt good. 

The intrusion was wet and relentless, his tongue curling inside you with a precision that told you he had mapped out exactly what made you tick long ago, even if he hadn't acted on it. He ate you out with a terrifying kind of focus, his nose grinding against your clit as he fucked you on his tongue, the sounds of his consumption lewd and echoing in the quiet room. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands you loved to run your hands through, but now you were pulling, yanking, desperate for something to anchor you as the pleasure mounted to a breaking point. Just as you felt the familiar tightening coil in your lower belly, the sign that you were about to tumble over the edge, he pulled away, leaving you cold and gasping. "Not yet," he said, his chin glistening with your arousal, a cruel smirk playing on his swollen lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You know this by now." 

"But, you can grind yourself on my cock. No entering. Just rub that pretty little clit on my cock. That's all you get." 

The desperation was so acute it tasted like copper in your mouth. You didn't care about the degradation or the insane conditions; you just needed friction. You scrambled to straddle his thighs, hovering over him, and reached down to align his length with your dripping slit. The moment his hot, heavy shaft grazed your swollen clit, you let out a shattered moan, your head falling back as you instinctively rolled your hips. The friction was electric, sliding the velvet-soft skin of your folds along the rigid length of him. It was maddening, having him so close, feeling the thick vein pulsing against your most sensitive spot, yet being denied the stretch of him inside you. You set a frantic rhythm, grinding down with reckless abandon, using him like a toy to chase the high that was just out of reach, your slick coating him until he gleamed in the dim light. 

Seungmin watched you with a lazy, predatory hunger, his hands resting lightly on your waist but not guiding you, forcing you to do all the work. "That's it," he taunted, his voice dripping with mock encouragement as he thrust his hips up slightly to meet your downward grind, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core that made your vision blur. "Look at how desperate you are, humping my cock like a bitch in heat. You're soaking me, Y/N. Literally dripping down my balls. Is that good? Does it satisfy that little ache?" He knew it didn't. The angle was perfect for torturous pleasure but impossible for the release you craved. You were trembling violently, your thighs burning with the exertion, tears of frustration leaking from your eyes as you hovered on that agonizing edge, unable to fall over without being filled. 

Suddenly, his grip on your waist tightened bruisingly, halting your movements mid-grind. You cried out in protest, your body hovering suspended over him, throbbing and empty. "Did I say you could stop?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, turning cold and hard. "I didn't tell you to stop, I told you to ride. So keep going. And while you do it, you’re going to look me in the eye and apologize." He sat up slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that pinned you in place more effectively than his grip ever could. "Apologize for calling me soft. Apologize for thinking I couldn't ruin you. Say it. Say, 'I'm sorry for underestimating you, Seungmin." He waited, his expression unyielding, the throbbing heat of him still pressed tantalizingly against your wetness, a silent reminder of exactly what you were missing. 

Your vision swam with tears of frustration as you forced your hips to move again, the friction agonizingly insufficient yet maddeningly necessary. The words caught in your throat, tangled around a moan as you dragged your clit against the rigid length of him, the stimulation sharp and overwhelming without the relief of being filled. "I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with the effort of holding yourself back. "I'm sorry for underestimating you, Seungmin." He raised an eyebrow, a silent demand for more, and you sobbed, grinding down harder, desperate to prove your obedience. "I'm sorry for thinking you were soft... for letting them talk... for not knowing you could be like this. You're not soft, you're—god, you're so good, please, I'm sorry." 

A dark, satisfied smirk curled his lips, the sight of you broken and begging clearly feeding the beast he’d unleashed. "Better," he murmured, his hands releasing your waist to slide up your torso, thumbs brushing over your nipples and sending shockwaves down to your core. "On your back. wanna see your face when I make you cum on this cock." 

The command barely registered before you were moving, the desperation to have him inside you overriding any lingering pride. Seungmin moved with a languid, predatory grace, his eyes never leaving yours as he settled between your legs. He didn't enter you immediately. Instead, he grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs up and out, folding you nearly in half and leaving you completely exposed. "Look at this mess," he taunted, spitting directly onto your swollen clit, the mix of his saliva and your own arousal making you twitch. "All because I got a little rough. You really are just a dirty girl." 

He finally lined himself up, but instead of the punishing rhythm from before, he sheathed himself in one agonizingly slow, deep thrust that forced a cry out of your lungs. He paused once he was hilted, his hips flush against yours, buried so deep you could feel him in your stomach. "Tight," he hissed, dropping his forehead to rest against yours, his breathing ragged. "You're milking me, Y/N. Try to relax." He pulled out slowly, almost leaving you empty, before thrusting back in just as slowly, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He kept this maddening tempo, dragging his cock against every sensitive inch of your walls, forcing you to feel every ridge, every vein. It wasn't the fuck of a desperate teenager; it was the calculated, possessive stroke of a man staking his claim, ensuring you felt the shape of him for days. 

"Touch yourself," he commanded suddenly, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure. Your eyes fluttered open, confusion warring with the overwhelming need to obey. "I said touch your clit," he repeated, snapping his hips forward harshly to emphasize the point, his eyes boring into yours. "I want to watch you fall apart while I'm inside you. Rub it for me, slut. Show me how much you love being stuffed full of me." Trembling, your hand slid between your bodies, your fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation was electric, your back bowing off the bed as you circled your clit in time with his slow, deep thrusts. "That's it," he groaned, his composure finally cracking as he watched you debauch yourself for him. "Make yourself cum on my cock. I want to feel you squeezing the hell out of me when you do. Just like that, my pretty baby." He leaned in to press his lips against yours, a wet, messy clash of teeth and tongue as he began to pick up the pace, fucking into you with shallow, sharp thrusts that aimed directly at your sweet spot, his eyes locked on your fingers working between your legs. 

The coil tightened to a breaking point, the friction of your fingers and the relentless drag of his cock pushing you further. "Mmh, move. Let me." and you did, removing your own sloppy fingers and letting the sensation be replaced by his practiced, fast, rough digits. 

The difference was electric. Your own clumsy desperation was replaced by a calculated, rhythmic pressure that had your eyes rolling back in your head almost instantly. Seungmin knew exactly how to touch you, how to circle that swollen nerve with a precision that bordered on cruel, matching the sharp, shallow thrusts of his hips. "Look at that," he groaned, his voice thick with arousal as he watched your face contort in pleasure. "You needed this, didn't you? Needed someone to take control because you can't even make yourself cum properly without my help." The dual stimulation was overwhelming, the drag of his cock inside you perfectly timed with the relentless friction of his fingers, pushing you higher and higher until your entire body felt like a live wire ready to snap. 

When the orgasm finally tore through you, it wasn't a gentle wave but a violent, shattering crash. Your back arched off the mattress, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your walls clenched down on him like a vice, your whole body shaking uncontrollably. Seungmin didn't stop; if anything, he fucked you through it harder, his fingers still working your clit with ruthless efficiency as he chased his own high. "Thaaat's it," he gritted out, his hips snapping erratically now, losing that polished rhythm as the pleasure mounted. "Yeah, fuck. Say my name baby. Say it." 

"Seungmin! Seungmin, oh god, yes!" The name tore from your throat in a ragged scream, your voice cracking as the intensity of the overstimulation bordered on pain. He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your own chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his rhythm finally fracturing into something erratic and desperate. He abandoned your clit to grip the headboard with both hands, using the leverage to fuck into you with a brutal, deep pace that punched the air out of your lungs with every thrust. 

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you feeling achingly empty and gasping, your body still twitching with the aftershocks. Before you could even process the loss, he stripped the condom off—if he had even remembered to grab one in the haze—and stroked himself furiously, pushing himself back in. 

The raw, velvety friction of him inside you without the barrier was blinding, a wet heat that felt infinitely more intimate and overwhelming. You gasped at the sensation, your walls fluttering wildly around the bare intrusion, but he didn't give you a moment to adjust. He snapped his hips forward with a reckless abandon he hadn't allowed himself before, chasing his release with a singular focus. "Oh fuck, yes, yes, yes. Ooh fuck, so good." He grit out. 

Those groans rapidly transitioned into full fledge moans, a stark contrast to what he sounded like before. It was extremely lewd; pornographic, in a way. 

"Fuck seungmin, might cum again." 

"No." he growled, though the strain in his voice suggested he was hanging on by a thread. He drove into you with a desperation that bordered on feral, the wet slap of skin against skin sounding deafening in the quiet room. The lack of barriers meant every ridge and vein dragged against your sensitive inner walls with excruciating clarity, the friction so intense it bordered on unbearable, stoking the fire in your belly back to life despite your exhaustion. "I want to feel you cream around me. I want to make a mess of this pretty pussy until you can't remember what it feels like to be empty. You're going to take every drop, aren't you? Good girl, milk me dry." 

His rhythm became erratic, his hips snapping forward with short, jabs that hit so deep you saw stars, his control finally splintering under the weight of his own need. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice cracking into a high, breathless moan that was so uncharacteristically vulnerable it shattered something inside you. His eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were glazed over with pure, unadulterated ecstasy, his mouth hanging open as he panted against your lips. "I'm gonna—fuck, I'm gonna fill you up. Gonna ruin you for anyone else. You're mine. Say it! Tell me you're mine!" 

"I'm yours!" you sobbed, your fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as your body was wracked by the force of his thrusts. "Fuck yeah. Say my name, say it loud." 

"Seungmin!" you screamed, his name tearing from your throat with a raw desperation that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. It wasn't just a name; it was a plea, a prayer, and a surrender all at once, loud enough that you were certain it bled through the thin walls and silenced the living room completely. The sound of his name falling from your lips seemed to be his undoing. With a guttural, broken moan that sounded more like a sob than anything else, he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his hips stuttering violently as he finally let go. "Take it," he gasped, his face contorted in pure ecstasy as he spilled inside you. His eyes were rolled completely back, mouth agape, moans spilling out of his mouth. Seems like the first time he's came in his life. 

The heat of his release was intense, flooding you in thick, pulsing waves that seemed endless, marking you from the inside out with a possessiveness that stole the breath from your lungs. You could feel him throbbing against your sensitive walls, coating you in the evidence of his pleasure, a sensation so raw and intimate that it triggered smaller, echoing aftershocks deep within your core. He collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he shuddered through the final spurts of his climax. Miraculously enough, he managed to get right back up, body still trembling but motives driven by you. His fingers slowly formed a curl as they entered you, drawing a whimper from you. "A-ah min, you don't need to. Rest. I'm okay."  

"Shh. I'm not done until you've squirted on these sheets, remember? My cock being limp doesn't mean anything." 

"Min, please, I can't," you whimpered, your voice wrecked and trembling as your hips tried to shy away from his touch, but he held you firm with a hand splayed across your stomach, pinning you to the mattress. "You can," he corrected, his voice a raspy purr against your ear, laced with a dark, terrifying certainty. "I know your body better than you do, Y/N. I felt how close you were. You’re going to give me one more, right here, right now." He curled his fingers upward, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside you with unerring precision, and rubbed it in a ruthless 'come here' motion. The stimulation was sharp and overwhelming, bypassing your exhaustion entirely to send a jolt of electricity racing up your spine. Your back arched off the bed involuntarily, a broken sob tearing from your throat as he forced you to take it, his other hand moving down to press down hard on your lower belly, increasing the internal pressure until you felt like you were going to burst. 

He watched your face with rapt attention, his dark eyes cataloging every flutter of your eyelids and every gasp of breath, drinking in your undoing like it was the finest wine. "That's my baby. So pretty, look at you. My angel." he hummed, kissing a gentle line down your neck. 

The juxtaposition was enough to make your head spin; the sweet, reverent tone of his voice contrasted violently with the ruthless, mechanical precision of his fingers. He was treating you like a fragile doll while simultaneously dismantling you, the pressure bordering on unbearable as he worked that spot inside you without mercy. "You're trembling," he observed softly, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your racing pulse, his fingers hooking deeper, faster, dragging a broken cry from your throat. "Is it too much? Or just enough? Come on, angel, let go. Don't hold it back for me. I know you're full. I want to see it." 

Your body was no longer your own; it was a live wire pulled taut, vibrating under his command. The pressure built to a crescendo, a white-hot knot in your stomach that demanded release, terrifying in its intensity. You tried to clamp your legs shut, to escape the onslaught of sensation, but he was nestled firmly between them, his shoulder holding you open. "Min, please, I— oh god, I can't, it's— No! N-Not on his bed, for fucks sake! I cant!" 

"Too late for that," he dismissed with a cruel, breathless laugh, his eyes glinting with a wicked sadism that made your stomach drop. "You should have thought about that before you let me bend you over it. Besides, look at you—so desperate to hold it in, but your body is begging to let go. Be a good girl and make a mess for me." He didn't let up; if anything, the heel of his other hand ground down harder on your lower abdomen. At this point, it just felt like he was forcing you to pee. "Min! Stop! This-- what are you doing??" 

"Shh, trust me," he murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, though the dark, challenging glint in his eyes betrayed his sadistic intent. He increased the speed of his fingers, the wet, squelching sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room, driving you closer to that terrifying precipice. "It feels like you need to, but I promise you, it's not that. It's just pleasure. Too much of it." He pressed down on your lower belly with his free hand, the pressure forcing your hips to buck off the mattress involuntarily, the stimulation so intense it blurred the lines between pain and ecstasy. "Feel good? Like it when I press?" 

"Fuck," is all you could manage. 

He took your broken curse as a surrender, sealing your lips with a kiss that was surprisingly tender given the way his fingers were currently wrecking you. It was a slow, deep melding of mouths that tasted of salt and desperation, his tongue lazily stroking yours while his hand worked you over with a brutal, efficient cadence. The dual sensations—the soft worship of his mouth versus the ruthless devastation of his fingers—short-circuited your brain, leaving you floating in a hazy limbo where the only thing that mattered was the pressure building low in your gut. "I can feel it," he whispered against your lips, his voice smug and dark. "You're squeezing my fingers so tight, baby. Don't fight it. You're going to make a mess, and you're going to look so pretty doing it." 

When the release finally tore through you, it was violent and unfamiliar, a gushing rush that shattered your self-control completely. Your vision went white, a high, keen sound tearing from your throat as your body locked up and then convulsed, fluid gushing around his fingers and soaking the sheets beneath you. The sensation was shocking, an overwhelming flood of relief mixed with a deep, burning embarrassment as you felt the wetness spread beneath your thighs, proof of exactly how thoroughly he had dismantled you. Seungmin didn't pull away; he groaned deeply in approval, milking it out of you with slow, deliberate thrusts of his fingers, pressing down on your lower belly to prolong the flow until you were a trembling, sobbing wreck beneath him. 

He finally withdrew his fingers, the loss leaving you feeling hollow and throbbing, your chest heaving as you tried to remember how to breathe. He brought his hand up between your faces, his fingers glistening and dripping with your release, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a heavy, satisfied gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he brought those fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with an obscene, wet sound that sent a fresh jolt of electricity through your overstimulated system. 

He hummed around his digits, a low, vibrating sound of satisfaction that seemed to mock your shattered state. When he pulled them from his mouth, they were clean, glistening only with saliva, and he leaned down to capture your lips again. The kiss was slow and filthy, forcing you to taste the salt and musk of your own release, a deliberate, branding gesture that stole the air from your lungs. "Tastes like heaven," he murmured against your mouth, his voice rough but laced with that terrifying, soft affection that disarmed you more than the violence had. He pulled back to look at you, his gaze sweeping over your wrecked expression, your tear-stained cheeks, and the debauched mess of your body spread out before him. "You okay?" 

You could only manage a weak, breathless nod, your body still twitching with the ghost of the pleasure he’d forced upon you. The reality of where you were crashed down around you—Chan’s room, the thin walls, the absolute silence that had fallen over the apartment. Seungmin seemed entirely unbothered by the consequences, his focus narrowing down to the aftermath, the cleanup, the care. "Does it hurt? Thirsty, at all? I don't mind going out to grab you a glass of water." 

"Water," you rasped, your voice sounding like sandpaper against the rawness of your throat, the single word, the only thing your battered mind could conjure up. Seungmin just nodded, that familiar, softness returning to his features as if a switch had been flipped, though the dark, satiated glint in his eyes remained a testament to what had just transpired. He climbed off the bed with an easy grace, completely unashamed of his nudity, and began to redress with methodical calm. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, your body feeling heavy and boneless, unable to do anything but track the movement of his lean muscles as he pulled his clothes back on, the domesticity of the action bizarrely jarring against the chaotic mess of fluids cooling on Chan’s sheets. 

"I'll be right back," he murmured, leaning over to brush a stray hair away from your sweaty forehead, pressing a kiss to the skin that was so gentle it made your heart ache. He didn't bother to close the door fully when he slipped out. 

The apartment was steeped in a heavy, suffocating silence, the kind that feels physical in its weight. As Seungmin stepped into the living room, he was met not with laughter or judgment, but with seven pairs of eyes wide, fixed on him. "Yeah, sorry about that chan. I'll clean up, only because that's my girlfriends' residue. I wouldn't bother to otherwise." 

Chan didn't even respond with words; his mouth pressed thin as he hummed. 

 "Seungmin." Changbin mustered up. The next thing he was able to manage was "Sorry. So sorry. Sorry. I feel like i should have left. I dont know why I didn't. That was bad. Not you. Me. Well, okay its your fault. But its only natural. it's not her. it's not anyone. It's..." 

"It's nature," Seungmin finished for him, his voice devoid of any shame, carrying that same dry, matter-of-fact tone he used when correcting someone’s grammar. He walked past the frozen group toward the kitchen, the silence stretching tight enough to snap. "You all spent months talking about me like I was some sexless house pet. Did you expect me to stay celibate forever because I’m polite?" He let out a short, cynical chuckle, filling a glass with water from the tap, the sound shockingly loud. "News flash: being gentle doesn't mean I'm incapable. It just means I have control. Though, I think I proved I can lose that just fine when the motivation is right." He took a slow sip, his eyes sweeping over his friends' stunned faces, savoring the shift in the atmosphere—from mockery to something akin to intimidated awe. 

He turned back toward the hallway, ignoring the way Changbin was covering his face with his hands and Chan was staring resolutely at the ceiling as if asking the cosmos for strength. "If anyone asks, Y/N isn't feeling well. She had too much to drink," Seungmin said, gesturing vaguely with the water glass, rewriting the narrative with effortless command. "And if I were you, I’d burn those sheets, Chan. Seriously." He didn't wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading back into the bedroom, the click of the door shutting out the judgment of the living room and sealing the two of you back in your own world. 

The atmosphere inside the bedroom was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, a stark contrast to the sterile tension of the hallway. Seungmin’s expression softened the instant his eyes found you, the harsh dominance melting back into that familiar, gentle warmth as he sat on the edge of the bed. He helped you sit up, guiding the glass to your lips with a tenderness that made your head spin, his free hand stroking your hair back from your face. "Easy now," he murmured, watching you drink with dark, satisfied eyes. "You did so good for me. Took everything I gave you." He set the glass down on the nightstand and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. "Let's get you cleaned up and home, hmm? I'll setup our bed, get you some good sleep... Unless your hungry?" 

"I could eat," you admitted, your voice barely audible as you leaned into his touch. "But it's not food that I'm hungry for."