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Masterlist
!! I will be editing stuff on my page over the next few days so hopefully, it will all look good and flow nicely when I'm done but please have patience with me for now !!
I pretty much only write smut but just in case I write something that's not 18+ I put an (s) next to my stories that have smut and will put an (f) for fluff, and an (a) for angst along with whatever other genre tags I deem necessary.
Bangchan:
Worship You: Bangchan x Reader (s)
Granted Permission: Bangchan x Jisung (s)
Minho:
Our Secret: Minho x Reader, Jisung x Reader (s)
Our Secret Part Two: Minho x Reader, Jisung x Reader (s)
Our Secret Part Three: Minho x Jisung (s)
Our Secret Part Four: Minho x Jisung x Reader (s)
Changbin:
N/A
Hyunjin:
Anywhere and Everywhere at Any Time: Hyunjin x Reader (s)
The Way You Make Me Feel: Hyunjin x Jeongin (s)
Taste Of Your Universe: Hyunjin x Felix (s)
Keep My Hands to Myself: Solo Hyunjin (s)
Degradation: Hyunjin x Reader x Felix (s)
Han:
Valentine's Day Baby: Jisung x Reader (s)
Our Secret: Jisung x Reader, Minho x Reader (s)
Our Secret Part Two: Jisung x Reader, Minho x Reader (s)
Somno Ask: Jisung x Reader (s)
Our Secret Part Three: Jisung x Minho (s)
Our Secret Part Four: Jisung x Minho x Reader (s)
Granted Permission: Jisung x Bangchan (s)
Felix:
Taste Of Your Universe: Felix x Hyunjin (s)
Degradation: Felixx Reader x Hyunjin (s)
Seungmin:
N/A
Jeongin:
The Way You Make Me Feel: Jeongin x Hyunjin (s)
Between Us
⤷ Pairing - Han Jisung x afab!reader x Lee Minho • MDNI ⤷ WC - 3.3k ⤷ CW - mxm, oral (m rec.), light angst, cum eating, threesome, slight voyeurism
Things have been different since you came into the picture. Han hates it, but he doesn't hate you, right?
⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆
You're back, Han can hear it. The walls are too thin to keep a secret. Something that he hadn't noticed until Minho started dating you.
It's been a few months, he didn't think it would last that long, didn't think it was anything more than a fling. But you're here. The sound of skin on skin is loud, almost dramatically so. Minho moans, then you. It's torture, but Han listens. He always does.
It's not that Han dislikes you or anything, he just hates what you took from him. He hates that when he comes home now, he sleeps in his own bed instead of crawling into Minho’s. It's not a secret, the two of them used to fuck. Loud, messy, deceptively platonic.
Then, you happened.
Since then, Han's been doing the only thing he could think of—sleeping around. One fling after another, anything to avoid sleeping in his own cold bed. The thing is, he can't finish. It means how it sounds; he can't fucking come. No matter how hot his hook ups are—girls, guys, rough or not—he can’t finish. Not once. Not unless he’s listening through the walls to you and Minho. That’s the closest he gets, and even then, it’s hollow.
Still, he listens, cock in one hand while the other covers his mouth. His eyes are closed, listening to every one of your moans and imagining it's his. Imagining that he's the one getting fucked through the mattress so good he can't breathe. He can still feel it, the heavy weight of Minho sinking in, the heat of being held down and turned out until he’s numb from pleasure.
Han bites back a moan, cock twitching in his fist. He hears you come, hears Minho grunt something he can't make out, then he comes too. Han finishes with him, hot over his fist and chest. He forgot to lift his shirt up, he doesn't care.
It's quiet now, there’s a faint ring of laughter next door. Yours, light and airy. Minho's probably holding you, kissing your hair and whispering sweet jokes in your ear. All Han has is a mess to clean up.
Later, you're in the kitchen, helping Minho make dinner. Music low, a pot on low boil and water running. Han came for something to drink, it was supposed to be quick, but he's staring. He can't help it, it's like he burns every time he sees the two of you together, laughing and smiling like you're happy.
He doesn't hate you. He just hates being miserable.
“Hungry?” Minho turns to him. A casual look with a hint of a smirk from something you said moments prior. “Felt like being fancy for dinner. It's your favorite.”
Han could curse. He could actually rage from how that makes his heart twirl. He wants to say ‘how sweet’ and ‘how dare you’ in the same breath.
“Yeah, I'm hungry.” then there's you—shorts on and hair pulled back in a perfect mess. You smile at Han, sneaking him a pinch of food and bringing it to his mouth.
You whisper, “Don't tell on me. Min is bossy.” Han lets you feed him, let's your fingers brush his bottom lip. He sees you watching his mouth, sees the way your eyes sparkle when you smile.
“Oh, I'm bossy? But you're the one with the strict onion cutting technique.” Then it's gone. The moment passes, the attention shifts. You're bickering with Minho again like Han isn't there. So he disappears.
When dinner comes around, Minho texts Han just like he does every night. Han comes out a second later, heading to the kitchen to fix a plate. Just like he does every night.
“Made your plate already.” Minho calls from the corner that the two dare to call a dining room. A round table with four chairs. “Eat with us.”
Han freezes, eyes flicking back and forth. He'd be sitting next to you. You'd be between them. How ironic.
It takes a moment, but Han sits. Quiet, a bit awkward, but he's here. You and Minho don't speak either. It's comfortable for the two of you, nothing out of place.
“You've been out a lot. Whatcha been up to?” Minho’s the first to break the silence, glancing up at Han for a quick second.
“Uhm, just running errands.” It's a lie. He knows Minho is asking about the hook ups. He wants to know if he's found someone new.
“At three in the morning?” You chuckle, something faint to match Minho’s smile. Han isn't laughing.
“Yeah. Business stuff.” It's quiet again, a beat passes, then Minho's steady voice comes in again.
“You've been quiet. Distant, I wanted to check on you. We wanted to know if you're alright.”
He should've just hit him. That would've been easier to deal with than hearing Minho switch “I” to “we” in the same breath. Han's eyes flick over to yours, then back to Minho's.
“I'm fine.” The boys stare at each other, no one's smiling anymore.
“I know that you're not fine.” Han scoffs, setting his fork down with a dramatic clatter. “We just wanted to check on you.”
“I don't need you to check on me.” He pushes his chair back, the food forgotten, he just wants to get out of here.
“Han, we're just concerned. It's like you've been isolating yourself from us.” It's you. Your voice stops him before he can turn away completely. He looks at you, only at you.
“I especially don't need you to check on me.” Minho stands too, brows furrowed with a mix of anger and confusion. You're still looking at Han, staring like you're putting pieces together.
“Not cool, she's worried about you. What the hell is so wrong with that?”
“I don't need either of you to be worried. I'm not some charity case.” Han moves and Minho follows, three steps behind.
“Since when is caring a crime? Since when do you react like this to a simple question, Han?” It's stupid. It's ridiculous. It's completely and totally ridiculous how one touch from Minho could make Han spill months worth of feelings.
Minho touches his shoulder, tries to keep him from leaving, tries to get him to talk to him—and he does.
“Since she happened!” Han's pointing at you, voice raised somewhere close to yelling. “Since she came and we had to stop being us. Do you know how much it tortures me? Do you understand how pathetically thin our walls are? I hear everything. Every day, every night, like you're taunting me. Like you're both dangling this shit in my face.” Minho stands there, stunned, confused.
“This is about sex?”
“No. No this isn't—fuck, yeah, okay? It is about sex. It's about you fucking the air from her lungs when I can't even—I can't…” it's quiet again, tense around the two of them. You can see it from where you sit, it's like they have a bubble around them. Their own world. You've always seen it but now you recognize it for what it is.
“You can't what, Han?” Minho steps closer and Han avoids his gaze. He can't look at him and confess. That's too humiliating.
“I can't finish. I can't come with anyone since we stopped. That's what I'm doing at 3am… coming home from another night of embarrassing sex. Then I hear you two and…”
Minho looks back at you like he wants to know if you heard that. You don't move, just stare back. Han shakes his head, tries to shake away the pressure building behind his eyes. Not tears, but something just as hot.
“I shouldn't have said anything, I should’ve just…” he stops talking, he doesn't want to anymore. So, Minho picks up for him.
“You're telling me that you haven't been able to come with anyone since the last time we… it's been that long?” he tries to sound soft, almost like he's talking to a scared kitten. He knows Han. He knows that one wrong word, one wrong move, will scare him away.
Han nods, quiet, eyes cast down in shame or something like it. Neither of them notice you standing now, stepping closer, careful not to pop the bubble.
“You should've talked to me, man.” Han laughs, looks at Minho with a smile that only reaches his eyes out of petty amusement.
“What would you have done? Helped me?”
“Yeah.” Minho says it like he's sure, that stops Han before he can even start again. “You don't know us.” Minho gestures towards you. You're just watching Han.
“What does that…”
“We aren't…neither of us would mind if the other wanted to… branch out.” Minho takes a step closer, and now it feels too close.
“You're speaking in code, what the fuck does that… what're you talking about?” Han's getting frustrated. A different kind now, it's almost refreshing.
“We aren't strictly monogamous. Not really, if one of us wanted to branch out… lend a helping hand, we'd talk about it.” You cut in, voice gentle. Han looks at you like you intruded but he's considering letting you stay. “I know that I interrupted what you and Minho had. What you still very clearly have, if you need him, I don't mind sharing him.”
The pressures back. It's a pathetic type of confusion this time. The type you feel when you understand something but desperately don't want to. Minho watches him, letting it sink in for a second before stepping a bit closer, then again.
“I just want to be fair to you.” His voice is soft, Han looks at him.
“I don't want pity.”
“It's not pity.” Minho’s hand comes up, slow, so achingly slow, and cups Han's cheek. “It's just me.”
His breath hitches into something sharp. The touch, as ridiculous as it is, melts him. He's falling into it again. You watch, eyes darting between them, tracking every disappearing inch until finally, they close the distance.
It's slow at first, like a reunion that pauses time just long enough for you to feel infinite. And then you start to burn. Han fists Minho's shirt at the shoulder. Grabbing to ground himself in what he never thought he'd feel again.
Minho’s hand moves to the back of Han's neck, his other hand on his waist, pulling him flush like it's natural.
You move, merging into them. A few slow steps and then your hand is on Minho’s other shoulder. He moans into Han's mouth, the kiss picks up, it's heavy now. Wet and deep, lips smacking and moans exchanged for space.
Minho breaks it. “I think you should apologize.” he's talking to Han but he glances over at you. “For getting upset with her earlier.”
It's still, silent, a beat passes with you and Han just looking at each other. It's like he's trying to move past how he feels about you. He really doesn't hate you, but if he doesn't feel hate, what is this?
You open your mouth to speak, to say that he doesn't have to, but then he's on you. Han closes the distance, mouth on yours in an open mouth kiss. It's shy and unsure until you kiss him back—then he presses in.
“Fuck.” Minho hisses, letting go of Han enough to let you slip in closer. The kiss heats quickly, his tongue over yours, his chest turned towards yours.
He's hard, hard as rock kissing his best friend's girlfriend.
“Let us help you.” Minho whispers, leaning into the cross fire, peppering kisses over Han's jaw then yours.
You don't know how, but the kiss splits three ways. Tongues tangling, lips wet and smacking anyone that they can touch.
Your feet are a mess, stumbling back and forward now, moving toward something—the couch, a bedroom. You all make it to the wall.
“Need to hear you agree, Sungie.” Minho makes the younger melt. It's that nickname, the one he used to call him mid stroke just to tease him. “Tell us you want our help.”
He tries, his mouth opens but moans are all he can manage. You're kissing one side of his neck, Minho on the other. His hands are confused, balled into one shirt and grabbing an arm. He can't tell who, doesn't care.
“Let us hear you, Ji.” you whisper, he shudders.
“Yeah, please.” Minho smiles against his neck. “Please, I need to come.”
“You will, baby.” Clothes are flying now, a horny college student grade montage of undressing. Han's shirt, then Minho's, the clanking of belt buckles.
“Can I suck you off, Ji?” he shivers, looks at you with shiny eyes. “Don't worry about lasting, we have all night.”
Minho kisses the line of Han's jaw, “Her mouth is ridiculous.” he melts, leans into the touch and nods.
You sink down, taking his length from half undone jeans and stroking. He's hard, unbelievably hard. You twist your fist over the head, follow it with a kiss, he whimpers. Something small and desperate.
When you slide him over your tongue, his knees buckle. Minho keeps him upright, keeps his mouth on his while you sink every leaky throbbing inch you can down your throat.
“Isn't she godly?” Minho smiles against Han's mouth, forehead to forehead. He doesn't get an answer out of him, just a moan.
“Tastes good.” You mumble, coming up for a second then running your tongue slowly up the pulsing vein. His cock jumps, red and angry.
“Close?” You only get a nod, Minho laughs, sinking down to switch with you.
“Let's see if I still know what you like.” When Minho's mouth wraps around Han's cock, the younger cries. Practically sobs. His hand is in his hair, hips bucking just once, he knows better.
You let them have the moment, stripping yourself down to nothing.
“Hyung, h-hyu—ah ah” his face is red, hands balled into fists and hips fighting to stay in place.
Minho hums around him, sucking him off so naturally that it makes you clench. You've thought about it, them, but you never knew it'd be like this.
You blink and miss the moment Han breaks. His knees nearly buckle again, his moans turn high pitched and Minho's eyes shut with a sound you've never heard before.
He's coming.
Han's hips stutter, his mouth is dry, his ears ring. Minho doesn't stop. Not until he's swallowed every hot sticky drop and has Han squirming and grasping at his hair. He's already half hard again when Minho pulls back.
“Guess I do.” Han can't breathe, not really. While he's relearning his lungs, Minho looks at you. He smiles, reading you like a book, “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?”
You laugh, letting him pull you closer and kiss you. You taste Han on his lips, moan into it. “Let's give him another.”
You're shifting again, fast and clumsy, kissing one then the other. Han is dazed but smiling, blissful.
Minho turns him around, Han's back to his front, slotting him between the two of you.
“Can I fuck you, Sungie?” Minho nibbles at the youngers ear, kissing over the blooming red. He agrees before the question finishes.
You and your boyfriend share a look, and then you're leaning forward, sucking his finger until they’re sloppy wet.
Han moans when Minho spreads him, rims, pushes in.
“Hyung—fuck.” Minho's no better. You see his eyes roll back with the first thrust.
“Pretty hole still fits me, doesn't it?” You kiss Han before he can moan, before he falls too far apart. "Hold on to the wall, baby." Han’s body follows the instructions quicker than his mind.
Minho hooks a strong arm under Han's knee and holds it up. Han grips the wall for balance, his neck flushes at how exposed he feels.
“Breathe,” you whisper, peppering kisses down his neck, collarbones, chest. “You'll love it.”
You end up on your knees, kissing over his thighs.
This is a sight to see—Minho behind a flushed and whiny Han, cock out and leaking. Han's leg up over his hyung’s arm, his cock angry with need. Then there's you, sitting pretty on your knees, cunt dripping and throbbing.
“Let me in, okay?” Minho whispers, something just for him. Then he's pushing in.
"Ah—holy shit," Minho goes slow, letting Han's body do the work.
“It still remembers me.” Minho smiles against his neck, a broken groan escaping when he feels him clench.
“Fucking full.” Han's gone, eyes closed. Head lulled back and cock jumping and full.
When Minho makes it to the hilt, you lean in and take Han just the same, sliding him into your warm wet mouth. You hum, Han cries. A single tear. Maybe from pleasure, joy, some secret third thing.
Minho moves, slow, letting him get used to feeling so much after months of nothing.
"What the fuck." Han whines, hips bucking once, twice, “what the fuck.what the fuck.what the fuck.”
“Like it?” Minho coos, a smile in his tone. He doesn't expect an answer and he isn't getting one.
Han's being fucked from both ends. Each snap of Minho's hips fucks his cock further down your tight throat.
Han’s eyes cross, roll back, white out at the edges. He's dizzy, he's hot—he's close.
"That's it, baby." Minho rasps, his rhythm faltering with every clench. He can see you over Han's shoulder, lips stretched pretty over his best friend's cock. “God she's so fucking pretty with her mouth full.”
You moan, hand between slick thighs, rubbing at your swollen clit.
Jisung's legs actually give out this time. Minho's got him, pulling him closer, sinking deeper.
"Fuckfuckfuck, hyung, hyung—" Han babbles, Minho fucks him harder, deeper, hitting spots that missed him.
You're jerking him off now, two hands twisting over a full cock.
"Come for me and I'll come for you." Minho purrs, strokes flattering. “Fill this tight ass with everything I've got. Give it to us. Come on my girl.”
His moan is deafening. Practically a scream. Han's back bows, legs wobble. His cock spills hot and heavy over your face and chest, you catch some on your tongue.
“Ah, that's so fucking—" Minho groans, coming right after. It's a heavy load, a tight fit, it makes Han squirt a little more.
The only sound is shallow breaths and whimpers. You swipe a finger through the mess on your cheek and suck it off, watching them take a moment to come back to earth.
Minho pulls out slowly, wincing and sensitive. Han nearly collapses. He hasn’t said a word, can't. He just smiles, slow and lazy.
You break the silence, “My turn?” Han blinks his eyes open, groaning at the sight of you sticky and covered in him.
It's then that it hits him. He never hated you, never resented you— he wanted you too.
“Maybe Sungie will fuck you.” A beat passes, Minho watches, lets it happen—and then it does.
Han kneels with wobbly knees, his hands are shaking. He feels over your thighs, sides, pinches your tits.
When he finally looks up, finally looks at you, one hand at the back of your neck—he kisses you. It's hard, deep and messy. He tastes himself and you moan.
His other hand is between your legs, rubbing, working its way down and inside. You can hear Minho curse under his breath. You can feel Han's cock jump against your knee.
He kisses the corner of your mouth, then licks over your cheek, tasting himself. He does it again and again, kissing and licking you clean. Sucking your messy pebbled nipples and marking your collar bones.
It's clear now, every time he heard you two through the walls, he didn't want to be you—He wanted to be between you.
“Wan’ me to fuck you?” His voice is rough, “Want your boyfriend to share you?”
You smile against Han's lips, licking clean a smear of come he missed.
“He's our boyfriend now.”
⤷ a/n - I have been writing this on and off since May... MAY. This is like, version 4 of this fic. I hope you enjoyed!
this is a work of fiction and is not meant to reflect the real life relationships of the idols mentioned.
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Hi sorry to bother but I was wondering if you could do a minsung one with Minho as the top and Han as the bottom and Han was disobeying Minho so Minho took him to their room and fvcked Han hard and rough sorry if this is too much also loved your posts and videos💜
Ofc! Hope you enjoy!!
⚠️NSFW AUDIO⚠️
>Svngie was misbehaving after m1nho asked him to make lunch, so m1nho scooped him up and fucked him until he listened.<
Minsung Smut Audio
Top Minho x Bratty Bottom Jisung
here, kitty kitty
⤷ WC - 3.1k ⤷ Smut | dom!lee know x afab!reader ⤷ CW - Pet play, anal sex/play, oral (m & f rec), spit play (barely), light themes of humiliation, d/s dynamics ⤷a/n - I have no clue how to summarize this. it's smut, straight smut. ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆
“C'mere.” Minho doesn't look at you when he says it. He knows he doesn't have to. He's busy messing with something you don't care about. His watch, maybe. You aren't paying attention.
He hears your bare feet slide over the carpet. He steps to the side, glances at you. “Sit.”
The bell around your neck jingles when you do. It hits your collarbone like a soft reminder. You watch him. Eyes wide and glistening in the warm evening light spilling in through the blinds.
Minho doesn't praise you. Not when you do exactly as he expected. You have to earn it.
He turns to you, slowly, tracing every inch of you from the bottom up. He clocks the way your toes press into the carpet, the way your pretty puffy tail shifts against the sofa when you squirm. Then there's your eyes, you're begging with them. He sees it.
“Hungry, baby?” You whimper, swallow hard, you're not allowed to speak. Kitties don't speak. “What was that? Hm?”
He tips your chin up, just a touch. “Chirping f’me?” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. Slow, soft, your lips part like you can't help it.
“She is hungry.” The tip of his thumb wedges gently between your lips, you part them wider with every inch he feeds you. “Wider.”
The pad of his thumb presses firm over the center of your tongue for a second, then he lifts it. “Stick it out.” You do.
Minho cups your chin with one hand, fingers a little cold to the touch. He takes his pointer and middle on his other hand, and slips them over your tongue. His eyes are dark, watching every swallow, every blink.
He slips his fingers in further, and further, so slowly that you press your knees together in anticipation. You need something. Something more.
He slips in to the knuckle, tips of his fingers at the back of your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, you try not to choke. He presses, and you can't help it. “There she goes.” He presses in until he can't anymore. “Purring f'me.”
He pulls out faster than he went in. Spit following his fingers from your lips. He smears it over the corner of your mouth, squishing your cheeks just a little. “Head back. Mhm, open.”
You keep your tongue out, eyes watering while you watch him pucker his lips right above you. He spits into your mouth slowly, letting it drip onto your tongue. “Swallow it.” he watches you, moves his other hand down to feel the bob of your throat.
“Good girl.” You nearly moan, you want to. You don't. “c'mere, on your knees.” You slip off of the couch, legs and cunt bare under an oversized tee. Your ass presses into your heels, the tail settles between your legs. The shift makes you clench around the plug, stuffed snug inside.
Minho turns away from you, he walks slowly, like he's got all the time in the world and he knows you'll be waiting for him every second of it. He takes a saucer from the counter, brings it back and sits it in front of you.
It's milk. You blink down at it, then back at him. “It's oat milk, if that's what you're worried about.” he smirks, amused by himself. “You were hungry, right?”
You whimper again, he smirks a little wider. “Go ahead, drink some.”
You look back down at it, shift on your knees then press your palms to the floor and lean over it. Minho sits on the edge of the couch, watching you lean in and lick. Once, twice, your hair falls around you, he holds it back in a ponytail. The cat ear clips shift where he pinned them, still secure for now.
“That's it. Drink it all, jagi.” he coos, sweet and deceiving, but you listen. Your tongue darts out just how he likes it to—not too fast, not too slow, just enough for him to really see it. The bell around your neck jingles.
Minho's lips are parted. His breathing is quiet but you know him well enough to know it's shallow. He likes this too much. He likes seeing what you'll do for him, and what he can do to you.
“All done?” He tugs on your hair gently, prompting you back. Your eyes find his in an instant, a rivulet of milk trails down your chin. He could fuck you right then and there, but he stops himself.
“I don't think that filled her, did it?” He picks up the saucer and slides it onto the coffee table. “Mm mm, I think she wants a little more.”
You perk up, hopeful. Minho catches on, just barely smiling. “Come.” He points to the spot between his knees, just enough room for you to settle. You crawl over on all fours, it makes the plug press right where it feels too good, it shows on your face before you can help it.
“Poor thing.” He doesn't mean it, and you like that. “This'll take your mind off of it.”
The sound of his zipper hits like relief. You clock how slowly he does it, track the way he pushes his jeans down just enough to free himself, then decides to go all the way.
He kicks them to the side, lifts his shirt up just a little. “Still hungry?” You moan this time. You can't help it. Minho's brows raise, he hums like he's deciding if he should correct you.
“Very hungry, huh?” He spares you, you breathe a little easier. “Go ahead, have some. No paws.”
He presses his cock towards you, just two fingers pressing at the base to make it a little easier, but not enough. You lean forward, hands balled into fists and pressing into the sofa, you nearly take him, and he moves last second.
“C'mon, kitty, you can do it.” you try again, tongue out, you lick him just barely. “Look at her trying so hard.”
Your cheeks burn, humiliation hot under your skin as he makes you chase his cock with an open mouth. His words are cooed, each one more condescending than the last.
You try again, angle your head just right, and he lets you have it. “Ah, there we go. That's my pretty girl.”
You sink down on him, tongue flat on the underside. He's a mouthful, just enough for you to take him all the way down and stay there, choking a little just how he likes it. You swallow around him, his lips part with a heavy breath.
“That's it, that's it, slow like that. Just like that.” Breath punctuates every one of Minho's words, like he can't catch his breath with your mouth on him like this. His moans are quick, pushed through clenched teeth.
Each drag gets messier, spit pooling, running down over his balls, running down your chin. “Messy little thing.” His voice is rougher now, it almost doesn't sound like him. Almost.
“Take it all the way down one more time. Mhm, one more–mhm.” Minho presses his lips together, head falling back against the couch just for a second. “Stay.” You whimper, eyes watering, throat working around him.
His hips buck up, just barely, just a little. “You sound so pretty when you purr for me.” the sound you make in response isn't one you recognize. You stay down for another ten seconds, tears streaking your cheeks.
“Up.” You gasp for air, spit following you in thin strings when you pull up. Minho finally takes a full breath, looking up to watch you catch yours too. Something is different in his eyes now, loose.
“C'mere.” You pause, unsure what he wants. He waits three seconds before reaching down and grabbing your wrist. “Here.” He pulls you up into his lap, his bare wet cock pressed against your bare wet cunt.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, you settle over him gradually, sinking into the warm pressure. One of his hands is on your hip, the other coming up to flick your bell with his thumb. He leans up for a kiss, slow and lingering, sweeter than he looks like he wants to be.
“How is she?” He pulls back enough to look at you, asking gently, but there’s still something loose behind his gaze. “Speak. What's your color?”
You swallow, taking a breath like you forgot how your voice works. “Green. I'm okay.” It breaks on the last word, you clear your throat. Minho reaches over to the side table, picks up a bottle of water and unscrews the cap for you.
“Drink enough.” He brings it to your lips, watches you swallow, then again. He sips after you. “Good?”
“Good.” He discards the bottle, looks back at you. He really looks, eyes darkening in real time.
Then, he presses up against you. “Don't make a sound.” Your lips press together, hard. The tip of his cock bumps your clit. He does it again, hands on your hips now, moving them for you.
“Sounds sticky down there.” he groans, watching the hem of your shirt darken with the mix of slick and spit. Your tail is fluffy against his knee, each grind shifts it just right. “M’ gonna eat now.”
He doesn't wait for you to react. He lays you down, hands sliding right behind your knees and opening you up for him. A sound punches out of you, he ignores it. Your knees fall apart by themselves, he doesn't have to hold you. You know.
“Stay still.” he's just looking, inspecting. His thumb comes up, presses right at the top and glides through your folds. “Jagi–” he says it like he can't believe it.
Minho takes two fingers to spread you open, a v that puts every pretty slick part of you on display. One finger dips inside, you puff a heavy breath. “Pretty tail.” he murmurs, fingers trailing down to your ass. The plug sits pretty, snug between your cheeks. He tugs at it just a little, eyes flicking up to catch your expression.
You moan despite yourself. Brows furrowing, lips parting. Minho tsks, then tugs again. “Quite, kitty.” You press your lips together, clenching where it feels too good. “Let's see how you did.” He tugs one more time, a pitiless quiet chuckle follows when you squirm.
Then comes gentle pressure, Minho slips the plug out slowly, watching the way your body moves around it in awe. It releases with a pop and Minho's palms press flat against your ass, spreading you open to see better.
The sound he makes tells you everything you need to know. His thumb rims you slowly, you clench around nothing—then something in him breaks. Whatever was loose behind his eyes before is lost all together now.
His mouth is on your cunt in an instant. Warm tongue pressing against you, licking then sucking with an obscene slurp and repeating. The tip of his thumb dips into your other hole, the rest follows easily.
Your eyes cross, heart beating in your ears and breath heavy. You feel light and heavy all at once. Too good. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking then adding his tongue. His eyes are open, lids drowsy with greed, but open. Minho pulls back, just for a second.
“Speak.” You do. God, you do. It's loud and rough, something between a curse and a groan. You drag a breath in then let out another, higher this time. Minho keeps eating, tip of his tongue teasing your clit while his pointer and middle slip into your other hole.
“I–I'm, please please. Please, I'm–” it doesn't make sense. You don't care.
He spits on your clit, and watches it run down, down, to where his fingers stretch you open. He pulls out, spreads it then dips back into your ass slow enough to watch you clench around him. He presses flat wet licks to your cunt, moving in time with every shallow thrust of his fingers.
“You’re ready for more, aren’t you, kitty?” you nod, the bell jingling along with your movement. He pulls his finger out, nice and slow, spits down onto your hole and rims it with the tip of his tongue. You shudder, he goes deeper. His tongue fucks into you in short shallow pulses, then licks up to your cunt and kisses your clit.
He does it one more time, then he pulls back, sits up. “Flip over, on your stomach.” You scramble to your knees, eager in a way that’s humiliating by itself. Minho pumps himself while you settle, reaching over you for the lube and applying generously. The sound it makes is teasing.
“Behave,” he adjusts you, hands on your hips, arching your back himself, posing you. “and I’ll let you come.”
“Yes, sir.” Minho scoffs at the honorific, amused that you used it by choice and not order. He likes it more than he’ll ever admit.
He murmurs something soft and rough, “ready?” or something like it, you don't hear him, but you feel him. The head of his cock rubs over you, getting it wet, warning for a second before pressing in.
The stretch feels brand new every time. His thumb rubs slow where his hand is splayed over your hip. The other helps feed his cock into you inch by slow inch.
“Min, ‘s tight.” You moan together, he starts to say something then stops, fingers pressing into your hip a bit harder.
“Half way there, take it f’me.” You breathe, melt into him, open up for him. “That's a good–good girl”
You gasp, it cracks in your throat. He bottoms out. It feels full and perfect, it takes the hunger right away.
“Where do you feel me?” He leans over you, kissing slow over your shoulders, then your neck. He moves, just barely, just testing. “Show me.”
Your mouth is open, but sounds don't exist for you. Words don't make sense. You manage to bring a hand back, unsteady until it finds his wrist and slides his hand low on your stomach, right where he'd bulge if he showed your cunt some attention.
Minho presses, just enough to have you really feel him. His hips pick up, “right here?” He holds the plush of your tummy, teeth skimming over your shoulder now.
“Min–” your hand falls away from his and grips a pillow. “Please, faster, please.”
It's a slow build, faster and faster until the sound of skin on skin drowns out your collective moans all together. He shifts sitting up straighter, hands holding tight at your hips to pull you back onto him.
You clench, Minho moans through clenched teeth, eyes glued to where he disappears into you. Tight and hot. You're gripping the armrest, the pillows, nothing grounds you enough.
“Sounds so pretty.” He goes a little faster. “Such a good girl, she's such a good, good girl.” and faster, fucking into you like your made of something lighter than flesh.
“Creamin’ and moanin’ and taking me so fuckin–mm, mmhm.” Your cat ear clips are falling out, he wraps his fist in your hair and makes it worse. The bell around your neck jingles like a faulty doorbell.
“M’ gonna, gonna come, please, please please.” He doesn't answer, doesn't give permission, he just leans in, reaches around and makes it worse. He presses two fingers to your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. Deeper now, slower.
“Don't.” You squeak, whine, beg without words. “If you come I take it all away, you hear me?”
It's impossible and he knows it. He gets off on it, fucks you better at the thought of it. “Wait.”
“I can't.” you're sobbing, tight in places you never knew you could be and loving it more than you should. “I can't, I can't.”
“Yes, you can.” He pulls your hair back, arching you deeper, thrusting and staying deep inside. “You will.”
He lets go of everything at once, then starts again. Not slow, not gentle, he fucks a sound out of you that you've never heard but you do it again. He spits onto his cock, watches it disappear, then groans.
Then again, making noise like he's allowed to now. Louder, looser—closer.
“Give it to me in five.” Your face is wet with tears, drool, “four.” You're floating, you swear it. Somewhere in between the pleasure and something else entirely.
“Three.” Minho's no better, watching, listening, balls tight and ready. “Two.” He palms your ass, pulling into you one more time, then again, then again. Then—
“One.” It rips through you. Washes over your nerves like a chill then restarts. You clench, moan and moan and forget to breathe, until it all falls silent. Minho manages one off center thrust before he breaks. Hot and sticky inside you, he moans with it, panting and thighs shaking.
He moves with it, slow and shallow, pulling out inch but slow inch until he pops out and watches it spill over.
“Fuck.” One hand is on his cock, the other on your ass, opening you up just enough to watch. “Stay right there.”
You couldn't move even if you wanted to. You stay, still floaty, still trying to catch your breath when warmth presses in slowly.
“Minho.” He groans against you, tongue licking flat over you. “Min.”
The tip of his tongue rims, presses in, cleans up the sticky mess he left behind. He dips down low, low, low, until he's tasting your come too. The sticky sound of him fisting his own cock mixes with your moans.
You press back into him, pressing your cunt into his tongue and shaking when he sucks. “Come on my face, one more time, jagi.”
“‘S so much.” He hums, you shudder.
It sounds wet, feels warm, the press of his tongue against the aching pulse of overstimulation. You clench when he's rimming you, he moans when you press your ass back—and you come harder this time.
Your knees give, Minho doesn't catch you, he follows you, one hand spreading you while he eats your ass through it. His hand never slows around him. He keeps it up until his own orgasm follows. He makes a choked sound before falling into a fit of overstimulated moans.
Quiet follows. Stillness that feels foreign. You're still floaty, still living in between now and then when he touches you. Softer than before, coaxing you closer to him. He settles you against him, arms wrapped tight.
“Color?” He drapes a blanket over you, grabs the water from before.
“Green” you mumble, tongue too heavy to do much better. “M’ okay.”
“Mm. Have some.” He brings the bottle to your lips. “Good girl. Good job.”
He drinks some, settles deeper into the couch, then hugs you tighter, guiding your cheek to rest against his chest. “Breathe. Take a second.” you hum, your breath falls in sync with his, your eyelids droop, heavy now.
Minho kisses the crown of your head, you lean into it, and the bell around your neck jingles.
a/n - I never write for Minho, did I do okay? I'm nervous asf.
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the serum (bimbo, baby!)
day one.
BIMBO SERUM. temporarily transform into the dumbest, sluttiest, horniest version of yourself—results guaranteed every time!
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! heavy dom/sub dynamics, tag teaming (top!atz), gangbang, unprotected sex, cnc, consensual drugging, aphrodisiacs, mean doms!ateez. drugged up bimbo reader. disgusting, nasty, probably unethical, but fully consensual. this chapter: above warnings plus rough unprotected vaginal, anal and oral sex. heavy subspace. titles (master & sir) dehumanisation, objectification, bimbofication, infantilisation. extremely degrading and dehumanising language. pussy, ass & face slaps. mentions of pregnancy. one moment of reader saying she can’t take any more and being dismissed, but this is all in line with the scene. she has a safeword and they are monitoring her for any indication that she isn’t managing. none of this is scientifically accurate and this serum does not exist, but just to be safe: DONT DO THIS. this would not be safe irl, and is only okay in fiction. in reality, someone under the influence of substances cannot meaningfully consent.
you have been appropriately warned of the content ahead. your triggers are your responsibility. i am not responsible for the content you consume. i am not your babysitter and hate is blocked and deleted.
words: 10.4k
“Are you serious?”
The disbelief in Hongjoong’s voice isn’t surprising—nor, really, are the astounded expressions on the others’ faces. You expected that. You’d have been a little worried if they hadn’t reacted like that.
Still though, the abounding silence, thick and uncertain, is a bit hard to reckon with. For a moment it makes you anxious—perhaps, you think for a second, you’ve finally pushed too far; finally come to them with something they don’t know how to hold or what to do with.
It lasts all of a moment before you remember.
They want this as much as you do. You can tell. You picked up on the signals a long time ago.
When they’d pound into you with your wrists pinned to the bed and your eyes wide and glassy with submission, and they’d coo down at you, telling you how stupid you are as though it’s the highest praise they can think of. When they’d get you on the edge of orgasm after hours of teasing, and ask you a basic question they know you’re too fucked out to answer just to see you try and fail. When you whimper out that soft, sweet “I don’t know” and they cum faster and harder than they have in weeks.
You know they like you dumb. You know they want you dumber.
You admit, though, this is more than that.
Much more.
You nod, shifting your weight awkwardly between your feet. Trying to seem confident and failing exponentially. “I’m very serious.”
Yunho holds the vial up to his eyes again, turning it in his hands like the words on the label haven’t quite sunk in yet. He doesn’t look particularly eager, but he also doesn’t look…categorically opposed, either. That’s all you’d really hoped for right now, with such an outlandish proposition. His brows furrow, concerned. “Is this safe?”
“Of course,” you say quickly. “It’s totally legit. FDA approved and stuff.”
“Why didn’t I know this was a thing?”
You can’t help but giggle slightly; a smile flickers on his face at the sound. “I mean,” you mumble, “it’s not like there’d be billboards, is it? It’s specialist stuff. You have to really want to find it.”
”Right.” He hums, looking a little less confused than before; the others seem to relax ever so slightly, too, but their eyes still move between the vial and you like they’re still trying to reckon with it; with the fact that you, once so shy and sweet and shaking with nerves when they first met you, could even want, let alone press for this.
You can’t quite believe it, either.
“How long does it last?” Seonghwa’s voice is soft, still a little concerned but you recognise the slight lilt to it that always gives him away—something between interest and excitement and outright arousal.
They may not admit it now, but you all know, really, that if they truly were opposed to this the conversation would have been over a long time ago. Certainly before you went through the entire process of procuring it.
No, they want it, you know they do. But you also know just how much enjoyment they get out of watching you beg. Making you work for it.
“It should last a week,” you say. “But it can be shorter or longer the first time you take it. Depends on how your body adjusts to it.”
“And if it goes wrong?” He presses. “If you react poorly to it or we need you back?”
“There’s an antidote.”
“Where?”
“The box it all came in, in my room. There’s a video, too, on how to use it safely, but they ran a lot of tests on me and there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Still,” Hongjoong says, finally speaking up again. “You never know.”
“Hence the antidote.”
Yunho presses the vial carefully back into your hand, gently folding your fingers closed around it to make sure it’s secure before pulling away. The small, fleeting touch is as electrifying as it always was. “We’ll need to talk about it more,” he says softly. “Go put this back in the box then bring it all back down here, alright? We’ll have a look at it.”
You swore you wouldn’t get your hopes up, but the familiar tinge to his voice—ordering, not asking—makes excitement pulse instinctively. And the fact that he clearly, as he always does, knows exactly what he’s doing and what it does to you, his words and tone and demeanour all by design, has you verging on desperate.
God, you hope they say yes. And soon.
You run to your room as ordered, retrieving the box and bringing it back downstairs. You hand it carefully to Hongjoong, who places it gently down on the coffee table before turning to you with an expectant look on his face. “Well,” he cocks an eyebrow, “run along, then.”
You hover for a moment, unsure; you hadn’t expected to be sent out. You open your mouth to speak when you’re cut off.
“What are you waiting for?” Wooyoung's voice comes sharp. “You were told to leave. So leave.”
“I—”
“You weren’t asked to talk, either,” he says, cutting you off again. “Are you sure you need this serum? Seems like you’re dumb enough already.”
You see a couple of them bite back a laugh. You hold back a moan. “Take it easy, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says mildly, but the stern look he sends to the younger man is barely so. Transparently fake. He turns his attention back to you, face all softness now. “Go on, sweetheart. This is no conversation for little girls like you. Go play and we’ll fetch you when we want you, yeah?”
You can’t help but clench a little, thighs tightening against each other. God, the way he talks to you—firm and sweet and condescending—could melt you into a puddle right here on the floor. You’re certain your entire face and chest is flushed, burning as you mumble your assent and scurry out of the room.
You sit down at the table, fiddling with the leaflet in your hand; folding down the corners, over and over again to pass the time. The bold, bright pink letters make your stomach twist in excitement already with the promise of what might—you pray—await you next.
Bimbo Serum. Temporarily transform into the dumbest, sluttiest, horniest version of yourself—results guaranteed every time!
“You need to sign this.”
Jongho slides the sheet of paper across the table towards you. Your eyes filter down the page, slow and sure, as silence abounds.
It’s… thorough. Careful, certainly. Reassuring. You don’t know when they drew it up; half an hour after you were sent away they summoned you back to tell you they were in, and now, a few minutes later, here you are.
That’s just what they do, though, really—what they’ve always done with you. They take care of everything before you even know there’s anything to be done. It’s why you’re so comfortable with the idea of switching your brain off entirely with them—in a much smaller way, you already do.
A contract, the title reads, between them and you. “To ensure everything goes smoothly,” Hongjoong adds when you read it aloud. He watches your face carefully; studies it. Searching for the smallest twinge of doubt. He finds none. “The video you gave us recommends it. Give it a read, yeah?”
The words on the page are hot and heavy even read silently, but you force them out from around the lump forming in your throat. You can do this; you want to show them you can do this.
You can’t quite force any kind of confidence into your voice, though.
“Until such time as the serum wears off or the antidote is administered, the submissive entrusts herself to the care and authority of the dominants. The submissive agrees to cede all control, body and mind, to the dominants; in return, the dominants agree to care for and control the submissive responsibly, and accept any and all liability for anything that may occur during this period.”
“Standard stuff,” Jongho says. “Safety things.”
You nod, swallowing, already dizzy. The words turn warmer and fuzzier in your tummy the further on you read. “The submissive accepts that, during the period the serum is in effect, she will have little control or understanding of what is happening to her. She will not be able to make her own choices. She entrusts the dominants to make the right choices for her; in return the dominants agree to keep her health, safety and happiness in mind when making those choices.
“During the period the serum is in effect, the submissive’s sole duty is the pleasure of the dominants. The dominants are under no obligation to provide her pleasure in return.
“The submissive will accept everything the dominants give her. The dominants will never give her more than they know she can handle. If the submissive says her safeword at any point, the antidote will be administered without delay.”
“Well?” San pipes up after a moment. “Do you agree?”
You nod. The tension in your throat is so thick it catches the words as you try to voice them like flies helpless in a cobweb. Mingi curls his hand around yours from where he’s seated next to you. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “It’s just us.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “I— I agree. This sounds good.”
“And your safeword?” Hongjoong prompts. “What is it?”
“Lipton.” The corners of your mouth twitch, a small, nervous smile. It was Seonghwa’s idea—the drink you’d been carrying in your hands the day you met them for the first time. The one you’d nervously sipped at while they spoke; the one he’d barely been able to take his eyes off of as you wrapped your lips around the top.
“Good,” Hongjoong says. Already you see the usual Hongjoong—concerned, almost worrying, a little tense but still calm and collected—fade out and give way to the side he shows only with you.
Scheming. Sadistic. Predatory.
Authoritative, but in a deeper, sicker way than he is with the others.
Fear and arousal crawls under your skin in tandem, a living thing in the bottom of your stomach.
“How do you want to take it?” Jongho asks. “The serum.”
“In a drink,” you reply. “Water ideally. A glass.”
Seonghwa takes the box over to the counter, carefully pulling out the vial and stirring it into the clear water then walking back over to you. He places it down in front of you; the sound of it landing gently on the table makes you jump, already on edge. You don’t miss the way his lips quirk.
“Drink up,” Seonghwa says. A quiet, gentle order. Softness melting away little by little like snow in the sun.
You swallow your nerves and pick up the glass. The liquid is pink now; of course it is, you suppose, isn’t the the colour of bimbos? You hold it up to your lips with a shaking hand—before you can take the first sip Yunho has snatched it from your grip. “You’re shaking,” he says, answering the question you’d no time to ask. “And you want to take it fast. Let me do it for you. Head back.”
With his other hand he cups the back of your head, helping you tilt it back. It collides gently with something large; a soft but solid presence behind you. You recognise the cold steel of Mingi’s rings where his hands reach to cup your chin. Holding you in place for Yunho to put you under.
“Mouth open,” Yunho orders. You part your lips and let him raise the glass to them. The first drop of water comes cold and sweet; raspberry, it tastes like. “Drink.”
He doesn’t go too fast, doesn’t overwhelm you with it but he’s firm, unrelenting. Mingi holds you in place while you swallow it little by little. “That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s a good little girl. Under you go, baby.”
The others watch in silence, unmoving. Hongjoong’s eyes are blazing. Wooyoung curls his hands into fists against the table as your body grows more and more pliant in Mingi’s arms.
“Good,” Yunho encourages. You’re almost finished now and already the effects start to creep in. “Finish it, doll, all of it. Get nice and dumb for us. Stupid and ready for cock, yeah?”
The last drop goes down easier than the first, like your throat’s accustomed to it now—opened up to it. Is that an effect? You don’t know. There was a long list of them, of course—but aside from the list of risks and side effects the doctor has insisted you take heed of, you wanted to keep the specifics as a surprise.
“Let’s go to the living room,” Wooyoung suggests. “We’ll want her comfortable for when she starts going under.”
”Good idea,” Hongjoong says. Yunho and Mingi help you up from your seat, steadying you on your feet when you falter and walking you through before you really know what’s happening. Their grip on you is so firm that you think you could stop walking right now, legs giving out, and you’d still keep moving between them. They walk with you into the living room then step back, silent, watching the way you try to keep yourself steady.
The others get settled, chatting amongst themselves while you stand there aimlessly. You already feel a little dazed; a little lost without their guiding hands. Hongjoong fixes you with an expression that’s half curious, half expectant. “Well?”
“It should start to work soon,” you say softly. “But I’m not sure how long.”
“We’re patient,” Yeosang smiles. “Come here, pet.”
You shuffle towards where he’s sat on the couch and let him pull you into his lap with a small squeak of surprise. His arms wrap around you, his hold firm but gentle; familiar, his hands rubbing small patterns across your skin like he often does. “There we go,” he mumbles. “Relax, angel.”
A few of the others gather around where Yeosang sits cradling you against his chest. Their expressions are gentle, but you see the excitement in their eyes; the tension held tight in their chests like they’re trying to hold themselves back.
They must see the slight confusion on your face, though; must see you wondering why Yeosang seems to be almost trying to soothe you to sleep, because they smile with brief amusement. “The video says you’ll slip easier if you’re comfortable,” Yunho, standing in front of you, explains gently. He reaches down to cup your cheek, smiling when you nuzzle into the touch. “We need you nice and relaxed so you can turn off that brain for us. Get you in your rightful place, hm? Nice and dumb the way you’re supposed to be.”
“She’ll look so pretty with her eyes empty,” Mingi hums. “Nothing on her mind except cock. I can’t wait.”
They’ve always been good at this—talking to you, breaking and wearing you down with their words. Just the low, gentle hum of their voices and the assurance and authority of their words is enough to turn your brain to mush and your limbs to jelly on an ordinary day; pliant and vulnerable and putty in their hands.
Today, though, it’ll be even deeper. You wait expectantly for the fog—or so the leaflet described it—to arrive; for the warmth and fuzziness to creep through your body until you’re enveloped and caught in it like thick smog.
It starts in your tummy. They notice it before you do—your eyes drooping. Breathing slowing down. Body relaxing into Yeosang’s hold just a little bit more. The distant look in your eyes like you’re a hundred worlds away.
“There she goes,” San coos. He's next to Yunho, you realise. You hadn’t noticed his presence at all. “How you feeling, angel?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to gather your thoughts but they scatter like mice every time you reach for them. Your words are choked, forced out through the thickening fog.
Fuck, it works fast.
“I…I feel…”
Floaty, you want to say. But the words are gone, vanished into thick, hot air. You wrap Yeosang’s shirt around your fists and cling to him like he’s your last lifeline.
“Oh baby,” San smiles. You feel his grip on your chin, soft but firm, tilting your head up to look at him. “Can’t even talk now, hm? Just so small and stupid, aren’t you?”
“No point trying to get her to respond now, San.” Jongho is sat some distance away, watching the scene unfold with well-disguised interest. His voice is mild; eager, clearly, but still unbothered. It’s absolutely delicious. “She’s too stupid to understand anything we say. Just a pair of holes at this point.”
“Three holes, actually,” Seonghwa says. “Baby slut’s gonna want her asshole used too, I’m sure.”
“Of course she will.” San nods appreciatively, his gaze running up and down your body like he’s drinking you in; he grabs one of your tits and pinches at the nipple with enough pressure to make you gasp. “Pretty little holes, aren’t they? All she’s good for. Empty headed little bimbo, she barely even knows who’s touching her.”
He flicks at your forehead as if to prove his point, like he’s expecting to hear the echo of a hollow, emptied out head. It hurts, stings, but all you can do is push your lips out in a soft, pathetic little pout.
“I like her much better like this,” Mingi laughs. “Dumb and docile. Fuck, can I use her first?”
“Not sure it matters,” San says, shrugging a little. “She’ll be stuffed full and leaking soon enough, but yeah, sure Min. I get her asshole first though. Hasn’t been used in a while. I wanna break it in.”
You just watch, silently, as they discuss you and your undoing like you’re not even there. It’s not a conversation you could join in on now if you wanted to.
You hear them, of course; you even understand what they’re saying, but something is different. Distant. Clouded. Like it doesn’t quite reach you on the level it did before.
Fuck, you love this feeling.
Yeosang pushes two fingers past your lips and you accept them without thought, suckling at them like you’ve been starved for it. Drool spills from your mouth and onto your lap but you neither notice nor care.
He does, though. Sees the thoughts slipping from you as easily as if they were never yours to begin with. “That’s it,” he croons. “You go nice and little for me while your masters decide what to do with you.”
Master. It’s not a foreign term to you—Yunho’s known to favour it sometimes, especially when he’s in one of his moods, and though he’d never admit it it always pushes Hongjoong to his orgasm just a little faster.
But now it’s all of them, and so casually.
There’s no pause or focus or fanfare around it; no more attention to it than any other word. It’s just a fact now; a simple one: they’re your masters, with absolute authority and responsibility.
It feels warmer and safer and more thrilling the further you sink into it; you push it out, a whimpered “master” that sits like sugar on your tongue and Yeosang groans. You feel him twitching just slightly against your ass.
“That’s right,” he praises, pressing his lips against your ear. “That’s my name, sweetheart. Our name. You remember that, yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah, master.”
“Good girl.“
Then there’s another hand on you, wrapping around your thigh and squeezing the bare, tender flesh. You try to turn your head to whoever’s just sat down next to you but it just lolls down against your shoulder—too dumb to hold your own weight. Arousal and helplessness twists in your gut in tandem and you hear Yeosang chuckle, lifting your chin carefully in his hands and tilting your head towards the newcomer.
Seonghwa looks beautiful. You forget that sometimes, just how radiant he is; but now with your mind blank and susceptible and unable to process anything but that which is immediately in front of you, it’s all you can see.
He cups your cheeks, held firm between strong, soft hands, and all you can feel or think about is the safety of his touch. Your awareness is still slipping, pushed further and further, the drug still reaching its full power, but that’s the one thing you know for certain, unwaveringly.
Seonghwa is safe. They all are. Even if it takes you a moment to recognise the faces as they appear in front of you, you know they’re safe through instinct alone.
The fact that that safety so often involves breaking you, pulling you apart at the seams and remaking you as they want you, only makes it more real.
“Sweet thing,” Seonghwa murmurs. “You gone nice and stupid for your masters?”
You moan. “Master…”
His lips curl, a small, leering smile. “That’s it,” he coos. “Our good girl, finally understanding what her purpose is. Took you long enough, didn’t it?”
You whimper, feeling strangely chided; you’re not sure what you’ve done to earn his ire, but that’s the tone—sweetly condescending but with a sternness and a danger that drips from every word—that he uses when you’ve fucked up and are about to be punished.
Yeosang clicks his tongue, but not at you. “Hwa, don’t scare her. She’s so little now, she doesn’t understand you’re just teasing.” He pats your head gently; he seems to delight in the way your expression stays unchanging like you haven’t even noticed. “Hwa was just joking, sweetheart,” he tells you. “He’s not mad at you for taking so long to accept you’re stupid, baby. It’s perfectly normal not to want this; to keep trying to use your brain ‘cause you can’t accept you were never meant to. But you’re so good for finally figuring it out, honey. So clever, baby.”
You start to whine after a moment, though you’re not sure why exactly; there’s a discomfort, an unsettled feeling brewing in your stomach now that you don’t understand. All you know is you want it to stop. You want your masters to fix it. “Hwa,” you sob. “Master.” You clutch your stomach with shaking hands and he presses his own hand atop them, comforting.
“Oh baby,” Seonghwa coos. “Does your tummy hurt, sweetheart?”
You blink, processing. Was it that obvious? “Y-yeah…” You hiccup.
His expression softens further. His eyes do the opposite. He takes his hand away to push two fingers into your mouth and lets you suckle at them like a newborn kitten; your body relaxes a little, though not much. A temporary soother. “That’s it,” he hums. “Feel better?”
A little, you think. But not nearly enough. The pain’s gone from biting to throbbing but it’s still there, still hurting. Your eyes are welling up and you shift uncomfortably in Yeosang’s lap; you feel him hardening beneath you but you’re too unsettled and…and off to process it or what it means. Seonghwa pulls you off of him and into his lap, cradling you against his chest and bouncing you on his knee. “It must be so painful,” he says, all sympathy. “Do you know what it is?”
A beat of silence. You stare up at him and suckle at his fingers even more desperately, as if you’re hoping it’ll somehow ease your pain further. He chuckles. “No, of course you don’t,” he says. “That was a silly question, wasn’t it? Little baby doesn’t know anything anymore. It’s emptiness, baby. That feeling in your tummy. Bimbos get it sometimes, when they haven’t been filled in a while. You need a dick in your cunt to make it go away.”
“Emptiness,” you echo. “Why?”
“Why?” He repeats. His lips stretch briefly into a small smile. “Because you’re a slut, baby. A stupid slut. You can’t live without dick anymore. When you don’t have it your body starts shutting down.”
Shutting down? No. Nonono. You don’t want that. You don’t want to die. You need— you need…
There’s low laughter from above you; you tilt your head upwards and see Yunho staring down at you with a gaze that feels predatory. “Look at her trying to use her brain,” he grins. “Trying to come up with a thought. She still doesn’t realise she’s too stupid to do that now. Trying so hard, aren’t you?”
“Hard,” you repeat.
“You’ll feel better when you stop, you know,” Yeosang says gently. “When you give up.”
“She won’t have a choice soon,” Seonghwa smiles. “C’mon, precious. Don’t fight it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let it do its job, honey. You’re doing well.”
He’s still talking, you think, but not to you; you listen to the sound of his voice without processing the words and let it pull you down deeper.
Then it’s silent. You think.
Seonghwa adjusts you so you’re lying on your back and staring directly up at him. He pinches your cheek—soft, gentle, then a little harder. You do nothing.
He pokes your nose with the tip of his finger. Nothing.
Waves his hand back and forth, then snaps his fingers. Nothing.
He smiles. Anticipating. “Okay,” he says. “She’s gone.”
“Let’s put her to use, then,” Yeosang says.
Seonghwa stands, keeping you cradled against his chest, and turns to the others. They’ve edged closer too; like they’re closing in and preparing to strike. “How do we want her?”
“Put her on her knees,” Hongjoong decides. “I want her looking up at us. Wanna see the emptiness in her eyes.”
The noise Yunho makes is guttural. Fuck. You knew he’d be the absolute worst for this. “Let me do it,” he grunts. Your head lolls back when you’re pulled from Seonghwa’s arms but Yunho catches and holds it. He puts you down carefully; you slump a little when he first lets go and he tugs your hair, pulling you up straight.
“No,” he growls. “You hold your weight. Just like this. Keep your head up; I taught you your posture.”
“Easy,” Seonghwa says—he’s laughing, though. “She’s just a bimbo, Yunho, stop expecting so much from her.”
“The serum doesn’t affect her physically,” Yunho argues. He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes just as Seonghwa had done; the response he gets is the same. A slow, soft blink like you haven’t even noticed it. “She knows how to walk and sit and stand, she just doesn’t know that’s what she needs to do. She needs to be told. She’ll keel over in a slump if no one tells her not to. Won’t you?”
He’s looking at you again now. You blink, slowly, then nod. Yunho smiles, gripping your jaw in his hand and tilting it forwards a little, crouching down to meet your eyes. “Hi, bimbo.” His expression is soft; his words purred like praises. “Ready to serve me?”
You grunt, soft. More of a whimper. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t make her guess,” Jongho snorts. He’s closer now, sounds closer, but you don’t see him. Wait— where even is everyone? You can’t ascertain who’s who and where they are and what they’re doing. All you see is what’s right there in front of you—Yunho, waiting for an answer you don’t have for a question you barely understood.
You expect the slap. You expect the second one too. “Yes master,” Yunho says firmly. “Say it. Show me you know your place.”
“Yes master,” you repeat.
He grins, then hits you again. “That’s my girl. We’re gonna fuck your throat now, you understand? You’re gonna take us all the way in there. Say yes master.”
You nod, blinking. “Yes master.”
“Good. Open your mouth. Wider.” He nods once he’s satisfied; once your mouth is so far open it’s straining your jaw. “Tongue out,” he orders. “Good. Keep it like that. Don’t move it.”
He keeps you there like that for a while—how long exactly you don’t know. Your jaw aches quickly, not intolerable but certainly not comfortable; you feel the saliva gathering on your tongue then dripping out and onto your thighs.
“That’s it,” Yunho smiles. “Drool. That’s how we want to see you. Keep going.”
You don’t really have a choice; still the way his eyes gleam as your thighs get messier and messier makes you fuzzy with pride. Fuck, you didn’t know it was even possible to drool this much. You register, faintly, the others watching you, making comments to each other you can’t hear or understand. “More,” Yunho says. “Make a mess of yourself. Nasty girl.”
“This is how you really want to be,” Yeosang’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, “underneath all the pretending, this is who you are. Dumb and drooling. You weren’t meant for any more than this.”
There’s a hand on the back of your neck, firm but careful, skin soft on yours. “Yeosang,” you murmur.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he coos. ”You ready to have your mouth fucked? Want master to hold you still?”
“Please.”
He braces two hands around the front of your neck, set under your jaw and holding your head firmly in place. You blink, once, twice, and when you open your eyes again Yunho is sliding his dick past your lips.
He’s already hard; already leaking; Yeosang moves one hand to grip your hair and pulls your head backwards enough for you to look Yunho directly in the eyes.
Yunho is very, very good at playing it cool; at keeping the unbothered, unimpressed demeanour and hiding how affected he truly is.
But over your time with him, with them, you’ve learned to see past the facade. You’ve learned to spot the small signs of pleasure in his face and body and voice; in the way he holds you, talks to you; the way the vein in his neck bulges, Adam's apple pulsing; the way his jaw clenches and his eyes flash when pleasure courses through him.
You’ve learned to find it and use it to guide you to where you want him—to the taste of thick, hot cum dripping down your throat.
He doesn’t ease you into it—he goes straight to the back of your throat like he really doesn’t see you as human at all. Just a fleshlight or a pocket pussy, primed for his pleasure and nothing more. Maybe he’s right to, now at least; with the way Yeosang holds you so firmly in place you have no choice but to take Yunho in his entirety. You gag and splutter and choke around his length every time he hits the back of your throat and none of them acknowledge it at all.
Your vision is blurry, tears welling, then you feel your eyes rolling back like you’ve lost the strength to hold them yourself. You hear Yeosang coo, murmuring something to the others that seems to make them laugh but you can’t quite work out what it is. You just close your eyes and focus on keeping your mouth open; jaw loose so you can take Yunho with minimal pain.
Not that that seems to be among their concerns.
You don’t have to do much—or any—work, with Yunho fucking your throat and Yeosang holding your head in place to stop it lolling back or trying to get away. You just have to take it. You’ve gotten very, very good at that.
The familiar taste—hot, salty, thick—comes sooner than you expect it; you hear distantly the sound of Yunho cracking; a strangled, staggered moan, his thrusts getting faster and more aggressive, Yeosang’s grip tightening to hold you firmer against the force of it—then the taste. The reward. Yunho keeps his dick in your mouth, all the way, your face pressed up against his crotch. “Take it all,” he grits out. “Swallow my fucking cum. Don’t you waste a drop.”
“She knows,” Yeosang says coolly.
“I doubt it crossed her mind not to,” Wooyoung, you think, adds from somewhere further. “She’s programmed for it.”
He’s right. You hadn’t even thought to do anything but swallow.
When Yunho pulls out, groaning, you feel cum dripping out of your mouth and down your chin; feel it sitting on your swollen wet lips. Yunho tuts, gathering the cum on your chin with one finger and pushing it back into your mouth.
“I said don’t waste a drop,” he says. “C’mon, stupid. Swallow it, there we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You nod, dazedly, grunting a little. Yunho pats your cheek. “Good girl.”
There’s hands on you now, more than before, and you feel yourself moving; legs in the air, body turned over, then your face is pressed into the floor and your legs are spread apart. Someone is rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs and a warm, soft palm is cupping your pussy. Oh… that… that feels good. You want more.
You whine, squirming, chasing the slight pressure on your cunt; the hand winds back without a word and lands there in a sharp, scolding smack.
“Bad girl,” Yeosang chides. His finger pushes into your hole, just a little, then pulls back and smacks you again. You whine, crying out, and he clicks his tongue. “So dramatic,” he coos. “Come on, you can handle a few smacks. Don’t act like you’re new to this.”
You nod, grunting, and he hits you again. “Okay, sweetheart,” he croons. “Mingi’s gonna fuck you first. You’ll be good for him, won’t you?”
“Yes’ir,” you mumble, words slurring.
You feel it pressing against your hole; the familiar sensation of Mingi’s hard, heavy cock pushing inside. It’s throbbing, twitching; you can picture the leaking, angry tip pushing past your wet, sticky folds. You squirm, chasing it, trying to push back into it but their hands on you are firm and solid and all you can really do is take it.
“Shit, she’s wet,” Mingi groans, his voice strangled a little. He coos, leaning over you, lips brushing against your skin. “You’re all slippery, baby. Sucking me in so prettily.”
He starts slow. A long, drawn-out thrust, pushing right to your g-spot and staying there. One, two, three, four seconds, each one stretching further and further, then he eases up. Every thrust is harder than the last, building slowly, until his resolve and control seems to crack slightly and he starts rutting into you, fast and sharp and sloppy, like he’s been starved for it.
Your mouth is hanging open, drool dripping past your lips, tongue hanging out of the side like you’ve forgotten what to do with it, forgotten it’s even there. Maybe you have—the only thing you’re even close to conscious of right now is Mingi. His hands, his thrusts, his hips colliding with yours, the sounds of his groans. Mingi fucks you fully and completely, and every thrust feels like a piece of yourself dripping away into his control.
“Shit,” someone hisses. “Look at how she takes it.”
“Is she cumming tonight?” Someone asks.
“Not yet,” comes a reply. “Later, maybe, if she’s good. Bimbos have to earn it; it’s not a right.”
You whine, trying to push your hips backward; Mingi’s hand comes down on the back of your thigh, sharp and stinging, then squeezes the sensitive flesh hard enough to make you sob.
“Look at them,” Mingi grunts. He grabs your hair and yanks it backwards, forcing your head up. “Show them how pretty you are with your cunt full.”
“Mingi,” you mewl. His grip is iron, straining your neck and stinging your scalp, but you’re powerless against it; against him. “Ngh…”
“That’s right,” he coos. “So dumb, aren’t you? Can’t think of anything but dick. Clench around me, don’t you dare let go, you hear?”
You nod, fervent, and he makes a noise of approval, soothing the patch of skin where he’d slapped you.
“I’m going to cum in you,” he says, tone empty. “All the way inside. S’gonna fill up your womb. Wet and messy, just how you like it, yeah?”
“Yes sir,” you squeal. You close your eyes, forcing deep, steady breaths as you await what’s coming.
It comes like a wave—crashing, intense, a warm feeling in your tummy that leaks out of you where you’ve no more room to take it. You feel it dripping out from around his cock, unable to stop it; when he pulls out, grunting something you can’t quite decipher but sounds like praise, a rush of it pours out. He slaps your hole, hard and heavy, making you squeal.
“Dirty,” he says simply. “Good job.”
You feel yourself slumping, legs sliding backwards like they can’t hold up your weight anymore. It’s a slow fall, gradual, but you can’t stop it. It doesn’t really dawn on you to try.
“Hold her up,” someone says. You think it’s San. “She can’t hold her own weight now, hold her up.”
Then there’s hands on you, strong and steady, lifting you up and back into the position you’d been in before; face down, ass up, legs spread. Your entire body feels numb, but at the same time you’ve never been more sensitive; hyper-aware of their touches on your skin and the feeling of your cunt, stuffed full and leaking cum that’s sticking to your thighs.
A warm hand presses against your cunt, another wrapping around your waist. The touch is distant but electric, making you whine, squirming a little. “Shush, baby,” San soothes. “You’re okay. It’s just us. Gonna take such good care of you.”
“San,” you whisper. Fuck—you feel so empty. It hurts.
“I know,” he says. “You liked that? Liked Mingi using your tiny cunt?”
You nod fervently. “Yeah, Sannie.”
“Good girl. I’m gonna fuck your ass now. Gonna take it for me?”
“Take it,” you repeat. You blink, slowly, struggling to find the words—any words. “Gonna take it, master.”
He sounds pleased. “Yes you are.”
There’s a squelching sound, then cold, wet fingers are circling your rim. “Relax,” San murmurs. “You were built for this. Just let it happen.”
His fingers slide past your rim and inside as easily as if you really were made for it. He makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and pushes deeper. “That’s it,” he says. “Look at how loose you are. So ready for it, so easy, good girl.”
There’s softness against your face now, softer than the floor at least; Seonghwa is holding you, you realise, his arms wrapped around you keeping you still and your head cradled in his lap. He smiles down at you, patting your hair. “Good girl,” he says. “So brave. Sannie won’t take long.”
“Gonna hurt?” You ask.
“Not too much,” he answers. “Nothing you can’t take.”
“M’kay. You hum, satisfied, nuzzling your face into his lap. He laughs.
San pushes in slowly, at least, though you get the sense that’s more for your preservation than for your benefit. No use playing with something broken, after all.
It’s not the first time you’ve let them in your ass, but it always feels that way. They’re just big, and your hole is so small and unaccustomed to it that they essentially have to hold you down to prevent your body from fighting back on instinct. But it always feels good, they make it feel so good, and there’s something inherently demeaning about it to you that oddly gets you off.
Even as a punishment, it still makes you hot.
Like that time when you’d been getting a little too big for your britches, when you’d started talking back and challenging them and trying to take more than they were giving you, more than you’d earned, so they’d sentenced you to a week of anal only in an attempt to put you back in your place. The emptiness in your cunt had been painful then, not even allowed to be touched—Yunho took to taping over it when he fucked you just to rub salt in the wound—but the feeling of being stretched and stuffed in a hole you’d never had even an inclination to explore yourself, and having your pussy completely ignored in the process, was thrilling enough to make it bearable.
Still not a punishment you’re particularly eager to repeat, though.
There’s voices, soft and sweet and cooing, talking you through it as San bottoms out; hands in your hair and on your skin soothing the painful stretch that even gallons of lube couldn’t completely white out. You’re chewing on something, you realise; Seonghwa’s pants, you think, where your face is held securely in his lap. He doesn’t mind, though—your oral fixation, that need to have something in your mouth, is something they’re well aware of. Something they themselves nurtured and cultivated and encouraged.
For a while, you were fairly certain they were trying to convince you you’d die without their cocks in your mouth. You’re ashamed to say that it very nearly worked.
“This tight little asshole.” San’s voice is rough, low; you can tell he’s gritting his teeth, jaw clenched, and it makes you rather proud, knowing you’re affecting him in this way. You love pleasing them—being good and tight and warm around their cocks.
San starts sliding in and out, not quite slowly, but slow enough that you have a little room to adjust to it. Seonghwa is talking to you; you hear his voice, low and close and comforting, but you don’t know what he’s saying. You don’t think you need to; he sounds kind, he sounds safe and he sounds warm, and that’s enough to make everything else easier.
After a while, when your hole has adjusted to him and the stretch is less overwhelming, you manage to take in your surroundings a little more. Not clearly, but more; Seonghwa holding you in his lap, cradling your head, fingers pushing in and out of your mouth lazily. His dick, hard and pulsing, pressed against the side of your face through the fabric of his pants.
The others gathered around. Mingi, already hard again, stroking himself to the sight of you. Yunho filming, phone in hand.
You smile for the camera. He grins.
“How does it feel?” Seonghwa asks. “Is Sannie fucking you good, baby?”
Right as he speaks San pulls out almost all the way, only to force himself back in again, hard and sharp and sudden; you scream, almost blacking out, the pain and the pleasure too much to take. Seonghwa’s pants feel wet now, probably covered in your tears and snot and drool, but he doesn’t care. He never has—this isn’t the first time you’ve soaked through their clothes. Drool, cum, even your piss on occasion—sometimes you think they’re trying to force you to make as much of a mess as possible. You definitely think it gets them off faster when you do.
“God, look at her face.” Wooyoung’s voice comes like a moan, or a whine—loud, a little shaky, like his composure is breaking. “All blissed out. And loving it, loving getting passed around like a little hooker.”
“She basically is one,” Jongho says. “Or a sugar baby or something. We take care of everything for her, give her everything she wants, pay for everything—she just has to look pretty and bend over.”
“I guess she is one, then. Geez, how dirty.”
“She’s dirty,” Yunho says. “But she’s ours. We like her like that.”
“We do,” Wooyoung agrees. He sounds thrilled—exhilarated just from seeing and talking about you like this. “Dirty but ours, I like that.”
“She takes it so fucking good,” San grunts. He lands a solid smack on the back of your thigh, then another—you barely even register it. He groans. “Like a fuck machine, with her head empty like this. Wish we could keep her like this forever.”
“I’m going in her mouth,” Jongho says suddenly. “Can I go in her mouth?”
“Of course,” Hongjoong says. “Wooyoung, film her from the front. I want to remember all of this.”
You’re adjusted again, head lifted, placed down on something; then something big and hard and warm is pushing past your lips. There’s a mumble—you catch the words that trick with her mouth and saw it in the video—then something pokes at the top of your jaw, a finger you think, and your mouth falls open by itself. All the way. And stays there.
Another effect, it seems like.
“There we go,” Seonghwa coos. “God, what a great little serum this is. Really primes you for a fucking. Keep your mouth open like that, we’ll close it when you’re done.”
You don’t feel like you have a choice. You honestly don’t know if you’d even know how to close it properly.
Jongho’s hands fist into your hair, gripping tight as he starts to thrust. He’s big, thick, and accommodating him is always a struggle—tonight, though, it feels a little easier. A little more natural. As he forces himself to the back of your throat, holding you there until you start to splutter, you feel like this is what you were meant to be.
Is that an effect of the serum, too?
Jongho rarely cums in your mouth. He much prefers to do it on your face or your chest; to see you defiled, to see you messy and covered in his cum, your skin sullied with it, smearing with the sweat and drool that’s tricked down to your chest.
Tonight he does the same; he goes for your chest this time, pulling you up by the hair to get a good aim before thick ropes of cum start to land between your tits. You push your chest out, eager for more, eager to catch it all, and he grins.
“Nasty,” he says. “And all mine.”
“How much more can she take?” Hongjoong asks. “She seems lucid still.”
“She does,” Wooyoung says, and he doesn’t sound pleased. “San, fuck her harder. We need her dumber than this.”
San grunts, obliging; his hand presses down on your mouth, pulling your head back and muffling sounds you barely register making. He’s leaning over you now, it seems like; his lips graze over your ears, nipping and catching the skin on his teeth. “Take it,” he grunts. “No noise. No thinking. No struggling. Just go limp and take it.”
You nod; he rewards you with two fingers slipping into your mouth and pushing down on your tongue. You suck at them frantically, overwhelmed, and he makes a noise of satisfaction. “Just like that,” he encourages. “I’m gonna cum in your ass, bimbo, and you’re gonna hold it there. You’re gonna clench your hole til we can get you plugged up. Yes?”
“Yes’ir,” you slur. “G’na hold it.”
He hums, then his fingers leave your mouth and your head is being pressed against the floor, held in place by a pressure on your head you can’t identify, and you’re completely trapped, completely immobile as San fucks you towards his orgasm. You can always tell when it’s coming; he starts whining a little, his grunts and moans going higher as he chases pleasure. His thrusts do the opposite—they get harder, faster, more brutal, less restrained strength and more uncontrolled lust on a level that feels primal.
He cums with a shout, like a roar or a battle cry from the bottom of his chest, rasping and breaking as he fucks you through it.
And then it’s over.
There’s hands on your cheeks, spreading them apart; San’s dick is a solid presence in your hole until he starts to pull away, sliding out slowly and steadily like he’s easing you into (or out of, in this case) it. “Hold it,” he murmurs. “Clench.”
You do. You only have to for a second or so; then there’s something else, something cold and wet and metal pressing in, and you recognise it as your favourite stainless steel buttplug. You hope it’s the one with the jewel on the end; the pink sparkly one that always makes you feel dolled up. You love it so much you sometimes forgo panties or even clothes altogether when you’re wearing it, just to show it off to them as much as possible.
“Pink?” You ask as it settles into place. A warm hand rests on your cheek and someone laughs, knowing exactly what you’re asking.
“Yes, baby,” Yunho says. “Your favourite pink plug. You look like such a little princess.”
You smile; a weak, dazed, dumb smile, your eyes half shut, and someone laughs. Maybe more than one.
“How do you feel?” Seonghwa asks. “Tired? Need a break?”
“No,” you reply, suspiciously quickly. “No, sir. Need… keep going.”
“Feeling empty again, aren’t you?” He smiles. “The plug’s not doing it for you? Need a cock to keep you calm?”
“Please.”
“Is she still wet?”
Your hips are lifted up, aching pussy lips spread apart, warm fingers running through your folds, then a noise of confirmation. “Dripping.”
“Turn her over,” Seonghwa says. “She’s been in this position for long enough. We’ll put her on her back.”
It’s Wooyoung who was behind you, you find out when you’re turned over; he looms above you now with spark and intention in his eyes. He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, and his nostrils flare.
All but taking a bite out of you.
“I’ll tell you something,” he smiles. “I never thought the sight of Jongho’s cum could make me so turned on.”
“Jesus,” Jongho laughs. “Shut up and fuck her, man.”
Wooyoung huffs, rolling his eyes, lips puffed out in an exaggerated pout. “Fine,” he says, drawing it out a little.
Your legs are lifted up and wrapped around his waist, interlocked against his back. Your hips are pulled upwards by the position so they’re just about level with his crotch. “Keep your legs here,” he instructs. “Say yes master.”
“Yes, master,” you echo, obediently. He locks one hand under you, holding your weight by the waist, and spits on the other. Then again. And again—rubbing it up and down his shaft each time until it’s wet and slippery.
You’re still wet too, you can feel it—though maybe that’s cum dripping out of you, to be fair—but still you feel relieved.
Wooyoung tends to bottom out quickly; he’s not the type to go slow, not the type that really can once he’s finally sunk himself into you. You’re just too warm, too soft, too tight; he needs all of him inside as soon as he gets a taste of it.
His other arm wraps around your waist, too, holding you up the same way, taking the pressure off you to hold your position as he starts to fuck you.
It means the only thing you have to think or care or be aware of is what you’re feeling now—his bruising grip on your skin, his cock buried in your sensitive cunt and slamming against your g-spot like he has something to prove.
“Smile, baby,” he says; it takes a moment for the words to register. “You’re still being filmed, pretty girl. Gave the camera to Jongho. Say hi.”
You don’t know where to look—or how to look, at this point; you whine helplessly, desperately, and someone laughs then gently grabs your head and tilts it to the right.
Sure enough, there he is—pointing the phone directly at you. You stare at it, blinking slowly; your body moves and jerks violently with every thrust, and you feel your tits bouncing up and down with the movements.
Jongho is staring at them, blatantly. You smile.
“Baby,” Wooyoung says, a little firmer now. “I told you to say hi to the camera. Wave, or something. Stop being stupid.”
Oh, yeah. “Hi,” you squeak out.
“There we go.” Jongho’s eyes flicker upwards to meet yours, then return to the phone screen, monitoring the video. “Sweet little pornstar. She can lift her legs higher, Wooyoung.”
You can; you’ve worked on it with them. Wooyoung grabs your legs where they’re wrapped around his waist and lifts them higher until they’re slung over his shoulders and hardly any of your body is on the ground except for your head.
It’s like you're floating—but it’s anything but gentle.
And he gets so much deeper like this
“H-hurts,” you whine. “A-ah, Woo, it hurts.”
“Does it?” He asks lightly. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself, though.”
“She loves it,” San says. “Don’t listen to her, Wooyoung, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s just babbling ‘cause she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Just look at how wet she is; making a mess all over the place. That doesn’t come from anything but pleasure.”
Wooyoung groans. “You’re right. And she’s fucking clinging to me, too. Tightens every time I hit the spot. You’re not slick, bunny.”
You never really have been—not with them, at least. They’ve always had a talent for that; their ability to read you, to understand and unravel you even when you’d rather they didn’t, was one of the things that drew you to them.
You’re not certain how much time passes like that; you, spread out, folded almost in half and entirely helpless; Wooyoung’s fingers digging into your waist as he pushes in and out while the others spit praises and dirt and filth at you. You lose track of what they’re saying or doing; all you can do is take and feel and float on the feeling.
You’ve never felt less in control of yourself. You’ve also never felt less of a need to be.
Everything about this—the helplessness, the loss of control, the care, the weightlessness of having nothing on your shoulders—feels like what you were meant to be.
“She’s still going deeper,” someone hisses. “Fuck, how is she still going deeper into it?”
“That’s it.” Seonghwa’s voice is close enough and gentle enough in that distinctly Seonghwa way for you to distinguish. “Keep slipping. Sink into it baby, good girl. So dumb, aren’t you?”
“Dumb,” you repeat. “H—Hwa, I—”
“I know,” he hushes you. “You’re making Wooyoung feel so good, baby. Taking it like such a little champ.”
“So good,” Wooyoung grunts. “Fuck, I love you.”
Even after taking Mingi, the stretch of Wooyoung’s dick inside your cunt burns and stings only just short of painfully. His grip on you hurts as well, fingers digging into fragile tender skin without care, but there’s too many things happening to your body right now to focus too much on any in particular.
“Hold on.” Seonghwa’s palm presses against your cheek, then two fingers push past your lips and into your mouth. You suck at them, instantly and instinctively, and he coos. “There we go,” he hums. “Something to suckle on.”
“She needs something in her mouth, huh?” Someone says, laughing lowly.
“She needs it even when she’s not drugged up,” Seonghwa replies. “But this… look at her, sucking away at it. She looks so innocent you almost forget she’s being fucked open right now.”
“I’m about to cum,” Wooyoung says suddenly, voice straining.
“Then cum,” Seonghwa responds. His tone is light, and his eyes don’t stray from you, watching the way you suck at his fingers whilst Wooyoung starts to speed up again. You whine loudly at the new sensations, not really understanding them, and Seonghwa runs his other hand across your hair tenderly. “Almost there,” he murmurs. “Wooyoung’s gonna fill you up, keep you nice and warm. Maybe he’ll give you a baby, too. Would you like that, honey?”
You nod, moaning at the thought of it; of being full and swollen with their seed, of being knocked up, of carrying their child. Fuck, you want that so fucking badly. Seonghwa grins; there’s a dry laugh from somewhere too far for you to really comprehend, but it sounds like Yunho. You think. “Seonghwa, don’t say these things while she’s drugged up. She doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to.”
“She’s fine,” Seonghwa dismisses him. “We have her on birth control anyway. It’s just talk, isn’t it, sweet girl?”
You nod again, and Seonghwa smiles, seeming satisfied. Just as he does, Wooyoung shouts, sharp and strangled, and heat spreads in your lower tummy. You squeeze your eyes shut, mouth falling open around Seonghwa’s fingers, riding it out as Wooyoung fucks you through his orgasm. There’s low voices talking you through it, but you don’t know what they’re saying. You don’t care. Everything feels static, your legs locked around Wooyoung’s shoulders, the pleasure that’s been slowly building in your tummy while you were too cock-dumb to comprehend it finally breaking through the haze and making itself known. Fuck, your entire body feels electric, buzzing; you whine, a strangled sound, just as Wooyoung starts to pull out.
He does it slowly. Dragging it out like he’s torturing you on purpose. By the time he’s pulled out completely, a rush of fluid spilling out of you after him, you’re sobbing around Seonghwa’s fingers. Lips press against your forehead, kissing your flushed, sweat-soaked skin, and you cry weakly against it.
“Hwa,” you whimper.
“I’m here,” he hums. “Oh darling, were you feeling good? Did you finally remember you can cum too?”
“Yeah,” you wail. “Hwa.”
“I know,” he croons. “Oh, you poor little thing. Woo was so mean, pulling out just as you were on the edge, wasn’t he?”
“Tummy hurts,” you sniffle. “Need to…”
“You’ll be okay. I’m sure someone will help you.”
“Empty,” you say dazedly. Everything is blurry, fuzzy, out of focus. “Hwa.”
You’re lifted then, strong arms picking you up from where you’re spread out and defined in a heap and planting you gently down on Seonghwa’s lap. He takes his fingers out of your mouth and uses them to rub lazily at your pussy, gathering the mess between your folds, then pushes them back into your mouth again. It tastes salty, creamy; a little bitter. You lick it up like you’re fucking starving.
“She could live off this,” someone says. “Look at her, she loves the taste.”
By the time Seonghwa’s fingers are finally clean, nothing more for you to lick up no matter how hard you try, your eyelids are heavy, heavier by the second. Only then do you finally notice how exhausted you really are; how it’s seeped into your bones and sunken into your skin like a parasite you can’t rid yourself of.
Your pussy is still throbbing, though. Wetness still slides down your thighs. Your mouth still tries to pull Seonghwa’s fingers in deeper so you can choke on them against the back of your throat.
“Confusing, huh?” Seonghwa hums. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s just your special medicine doing its job. It makes sure you’re always ready to be fucked; keeps you loose and wet and begging for it, stops you from tightening up again. That’s the last thing we’d want. You’re alright.”
Oh. That explains it; why the stretch when they slid in, while still noticeable, was easier and less painful than usual; why it’s felt like your holes were lubricating themselves; why you’ve been so fucking needy for it no matter how fucked out or exhausted you are. It all makes sense now.
“You’ll be throbbing all week.” Hongjoong comes to sit next to your head, crouched down, running his hand across your forehead. You whine, reaching for him—you miss him, and you love him, and he’s always so warm and patient and he always fucks and touches and disciplines you just the way you need it, and has he been very involved this evening? It doesn’t feel like it—but your hands are too heavy to hold yourself. Hongjoong, always knowing what you need, takes your hands in his and holds them to his chest himself.
You can feel his heart beating through his shirt. Feel his warmth; the outline of his muscles constricting as he breathes in and out. You sigh, contented, and he smiles. “You’ll be throbbing all week,” he says again. “Even when you’re sleeping. To make sure you don’t get any ideas about telling us no. Keeps you ready for it. You’ll be able to ignore it most of the time; not that you’ll need to, though. We’ll be keeping you very well fucked this week.”
“All week?” You echo, your voice barely a murmur. “Th…throbbing all week?”
“Sounds scary, huh?” Seonghwa chuckles. “You’ll be alright. That’s just how bimbos are made. It’s part of your biology, honey.”
“Are you throbbing now?” Hongjoong asks. Before you can answer—try to, at least—he presses his hand against your cunt, cupping it in his palm and fingers. It’s when he pulls away, nodding, a curious hum from between his lips, that you realise it wasn’t a question for you. Phew. “You are,” he says. “Little pussy is pulsing. Like a heartbeat. She could take more easily.”
“Ay, she’s sleepy though,” someone says. Cold fingers pinch at your cheeks, making you wince. “Shouldn’t we let her rest?”
“She hasn’t even cum yet.”
“She doesn’t need to,” Seonghwa says. “And it won’t make her feel any better anyway.”
“I say she cums tomorrow. Or today, if we decide to keep fucking her.”
“I agree with Yunho.” Hongjoong puts your hands back down, tucking them against your chest, but doesn’t let go. Just holds them there, rubbing small circles into your skin with his thumbs. “There’s no reason for her to cum before we’ve all had a turn. Is there, baby?”
You’re just staring at him. He clicks his fingers, right in front of your eyes; you jump slightly, delayed a little, then nod. “There we go,” he laughs. “See, even the whore agrees.”
Your eyelids are drooping now—but with everything lagging like this, you don’t realise until everything fades to black. You frown, brows furrowing in confusion, trying to catch up, and they laugh.
“Oh, look at her. Did we tire her out that much?”
“Poor thing’s dozing off.”
“No wonder. She’s taken a lot.”
It’s Seonghwa, as it quite often is, who makes the final decision. You’ve noticed the eldest two are also often the most level headed, and the rest of them seem to defer to them on that basis as well. “We’ll let her sleep,” he says. His voice is quiet, soft, like he’s trying not to wake you, but it brokers no room for argument. “She agreed to let us use her when she sleeps, too, but this is the first day. She needs to adjust. She’ll take the rest of us in the morning, then we can think about letting her cum. Alright?”
By the time the others answer, you’re already out like a light.
merry christmasssss my babies!! there wasn’t as much hongjoong as i’d have liked in this chapter, but he’ll be featuring prominently in the next one!! as will all the others
comments, rbs, general thoughts are always appreciated. :)
𝄞 bloodhound
𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader
(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.
✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,
✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D
With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.
By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.
In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.
You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.
And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.
Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.
Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.
I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡
Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.
Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.
That outfit from yesterday.
With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-
Sure enough, the lid is open.
✦
“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”
The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.
The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.
The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.
You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.
What an awful place, you think to yourself.
…But coming here had a purpose.
Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.
Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.
To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.
A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.
“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”
Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.
Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.
It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:
Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—
Clack, clack… Clack.
You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.
“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“
When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.
“Ma’am?” He turns.
“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.
For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.
When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.
A sharp laugh.
“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“
As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.
He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.
…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.
Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.
If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.
In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.
Thoughtfully, you blink.
As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.
Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.
It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?
And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?
“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.
“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.
“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”
Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.
“He’s…”
“Yep. Like I said-“
“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.
The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”
“-How much?”
You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.
No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.
Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.
Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.
As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.
A word relieves you of worries for naught.
“Nothing.”
…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?
“E-Excuse me?”
He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”
Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.
“But, are you-“
“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”
And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—
“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”
A squeeze of your heart.
Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.
“When can we get him out of this cage?”
You ask without looking his way.
The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.
“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”
Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.
He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.
It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.
“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.
Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—
The ground beneath you all but gives way.
“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”
He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.
However, you do catch him shrugging.
“No clue.”
✦
A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.
You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.
This is your house.
This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.
Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?
What is he spotting in you?
Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.
Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.
But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.
But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.
You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.
He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.
Not quite.
Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.
The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.
Your heart stirs.
Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.
He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.
Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.
Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.
You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.
And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.
“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.
Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“
A labored sigh.
Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.
Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.
There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:
One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)
He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.
Oh, and then three—
When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.
✦
He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.
To your surprise, he lets you.
Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.
With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.
Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.
Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.
None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.
He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.
If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.
Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.
Besides…
Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.
Ahem.
It’s late.
Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.
The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.
You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.
“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.
From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.
Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.
Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—
“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”
A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.
“Sylus.”
Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.
…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.
✦
You blink and autumn is in full throttle.
You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.
Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.
You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.
Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.
Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.
Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.
Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.
At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…
Potential witnesses if he does.
Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.
Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.
You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.
You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.
…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—
A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.
You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.
It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.
Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.
…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.
Then-
Tap tap tap.
Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—
You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.
By the sounds of it, he’s already close.
“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”
-Closer and gaining still.
Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.
You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.
“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”
No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.
You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.
You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.
As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.
Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.
“Sylus-“
You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.
Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.
Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’
You turn the corner and blanche.
Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.
And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.
The bottom falls through.
The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.
✦
“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”
With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.
The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.
“Y-You’re not my dog.”
One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-
That can’t be Sylus.
For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.
“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”
With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”
That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.
“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”
D-Dragonfruit? How does he…
The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.
…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.
“Y-You’re not-“
Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.
“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”
…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.
Not in your tiny apartment.
“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”
Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.
Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?
He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”
You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.
But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!
You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.
“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.
Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.
The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…
And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.
Sylus, it all says.
But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.
He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.
Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.
“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.
“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”
He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”
And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?
Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”
You do believe it. But it’s crazy.
He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.
Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-
“So? Do we have a deal or not?”
And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?
Or several.
✦
A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.
It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.
Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.
…As do your bones.
Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.
Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.
You gasp. “Sylus-“
You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.
He snarls.
“Quiet. I’m eating.”
Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.
He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.
‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’
“Good girl,” he practically purrs.
He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.
Not as much as you do right now.
“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.
But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.
But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—
“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.
“Just take the day off.”
Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.
“O-Okay.”
As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.
So you glance down.
He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.
He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.
Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.
That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.
You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.
…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.
Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:
Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.
Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.
“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”
He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.
“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”
You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.
And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.
His cock is somehow bigger.
Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.
Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.
Point is- he’s insatiable.
You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.
In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.
…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.
Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.
“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“
A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.
Challenging.
He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.
It’s the least he can do.
“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”
Your eyes bulge from your skull.
His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.
From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.
When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.
Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.
He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.
You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.
“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”
You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.
He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”
You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.
Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.
Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”
And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.
So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.
The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.
Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.
He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.
Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.
For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.
He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.
Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—
Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.
He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….
“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.
With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”
Void of words, you nod.
The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.
Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.
The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.
He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.
You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.
He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”
One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.
With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—
His knot pops inside with a gasp.
Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.
He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.
When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.
The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.
You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.
You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.
Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.
Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.
Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.
“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.
“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”
“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.
Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”
He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.
“It’s too big,” you cry.
“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”
As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.
There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.
“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.
And you—
(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)
Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.
Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.
“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”
Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.
With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.
His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.
You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“
“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.
“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”
Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-
“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.
“So. Did you like it..?”
“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“
He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”
Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.
“I- I guess so. Yeah.”
“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.
“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.
In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.
“When I know it’s manageable.”
If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.
“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.
“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”
𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡
and i quote "wondering if you could do any hyunjin themed audios?" please 🥰
~ hyunjin themed p audio #1 ~
warnings: eh.. no minors im worried ill eat you -> yayayayay first audio post, anyways unrelated but wish me luck on copping hannah bahng's merch drop 😘 also if anyone knows workouts for a jaw dropping hourglass body, lmk pls im gonna seduce her -> also also um like.. hyunjin is making me go a bit feral lately so if there's like an ABUNDANCE of hj posts from me soon... pay no mind to it :) and btw i put this in all my posts now, but all the posts i make are with the idea that people involved are meant to be of legal age.
~ hj humping his pillow while on tour bc all he wants to do is fuck
my favourite part of new moon is when edward is bagging on romeo for being dumb as shit and then is like “ohhh but actually i’m lowkey rlly jealous of him” and bella just naturally assumes he means bcs romeo is in love with the beautiful juliett and edward’s like “what? ew no i just wish i could kill myself”
TWILIGHT (2008) dir. Catherine Hardwicke
Minsung smut audio
Jisung sub + Minho dom
Feels Like Home - A Stray Kids OT8 Story
Feels Like Home Masterlist:
~53.9k words so far...
CW: Smut (see all warning tags on A03)
This is a collaborative story written by me and my co-author, who goes by the name ChanniesLilSecret. This is an active work in progress, and we have roughly a dozen chapters mapped out so far. Read the entire collection on A03 below.
Chapter 1: MinBin-Oh Choke On Me Pt. 1
Chapter Summary
Chapter 2: MinBinSung - Oh Choke On Me Pt 2.
Chapter Summary
Chapter 3: SeungBin - My Singer
Chapter Summary
Chapter 4: HyunLix - I Always Want You
Chapter Summary
Chapter 5: MinSung - I'm Gonna Fuck You Till You're Happy
Chapter Summary
Chapter 6: ChanIn - Cool...I Now Know What My Roommate Sounds Like When He Comes by: PANIC! at the Dimple Dorm
Chapter Summary
I need mean dom han soo bad, can u do it pleasee?
Mean dom han links
han, chan and hyunjin taking turns on your poor, tortured hole
han fucking you from behind while you suck minho’s dick
using your body for his own pleasure
punishment for having an attitude with him
you’re exhausted and want a break but he wont stop
punching your tummy :(
hyunsung
you look so small between minsung
(im lowkey so obsessed with dom han lately…)
love a good link list 🤎
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE
Lee Know x reader. (s)
Synopsis: Let's play two truths and a lie, and here goes the first thing about you: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend, Minho. (9k words)
Author's note: It's a quick one-shot I made like a year ago but pls enjoy it nonetheless 😊
Content warning: Infidelity.
This is how you play two truths and a lie. You share three statements about you, two being true and one false, and people must determine which is which.
-
So here goes the first statement: You want to fuck your roommate's boyfriend.
A few months ago, you came to the city for your new job and were placed in a housing with a group of unbearable people. Since you've just started working, you tried looking at another option to get a temporary place to stay until you're financially stable enough to rent an apartment.
Long story short, a friend of a friend introduced you to Kim who happened to have an extra room you can rent. She owns the apartment and does not necessarily need the money, she offered her room for the sole reason which is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of that is to help you. You're aware that you don't meet this kind of person every day and for that, you're grateful for her.
After a week of living as roommates, you learn that Kim is just as graceful as her occupation, a ballet dancer. She's beautiful, kind-hearted, amicable, and ultimately, a very attentive roommate.
The room you're staying in was supposedly her private dance studio but she uses the living room to practice now and you have to adjust yourself to the huge mirror covering one side of the wall in your room.
Not long after that, Minho comes into the picture. A sharp nose, sharp jaws, and feline eyes, a beautiful face that only reminds you that the world is unfair to some people, including you.
"This is Minho," Kim introduces him with a smile
The second your eyes lock in a gaze with him, you feel an instant attraction and it intensifies as he stares back into your eyes.
"My boyfriend," Kim adds a little too late.
It's funny that the word boyfriend doesn't stop you from being attracted to him, if anything, you want him more than before.
Kim and Minho have been together for two years now and they met at the dance academy which explains a lot of things, including Minho's lean and toned body.
How do you know? Because sometimes he stays over and on more than one occasion, you found him walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a white towel hanging lowly around his waist.
That's also when you learn that this attraction is strictly physical, your uterus is acting up when you see him, and lewd thoughts rush through your head. It's all biological. There's no way you want to pursue him romantically, you couldn't even think of a person more deserving to be with him than Kim. They're both beautiful and talented dancers, oftentimes, you get so envious because they have such a lovely relationship.
Like tonight, you hear their laughter the second you step into the apartment, finding Kim and Minho in the kitchen just casually talking to each other while sharing a bowl of fruits. You love how simple yet endearing their interaction is.
"Hey, you're home!" Kim says with a sweet, welcoming smile.
You wave your hand at her and briefly at Minho, "Hi, everyone!" You awkwardly say, feeling like you're interrupting them.
"Have you had dinner?" Kim asks, attentive as always.
"Yeah, I grabbed dinner after work," you lie, but you can always creep your way to the fridge late at night for dinner.
"There's a pie in the fridge. Help yourself to some dessert," she sweetly offers then shoves a piece of blueberry into her mouth.
Without having to look, you can see how Minho looks at you, he has this deep, intense gaze that makes you the slightest bit intimidated.
"I will, thanks," you hurriedly respond, wanting the interaction to end as soon as possible, "I'll just... get into my room."
"Yeah, you should rest," Kim softly mutters.
You hoist your bag higher on your shoulder and head to your room, before you get in, you mutter to them, "Night, guys."
"Night," Kim cheerily says.
You hurriedly get in and catch a glimpse of Minho with his intense stare a second before the door completely closes and clicks in place.
The trick to surviving the night is to wait until they get into the bedroom and put headphones on as you come out of yours, not only to avoid hearing unwanted noises, but you reckon it's only right to take the extra measure to respect their privacy.
As you're listening and catching glimpses of the movie playing on your phone, you walk around the kitchen to prepare your simple, unhealthy dinner: a cup of noodles and a can of soda.
You're quietly eating your dinner by the kitchen counter with the headphones still on and once you finished, you treat yourself to a slice of pie, then put the rest of the pie back into the fridge.
It gets messy as you're munching on the pie while watching the movie on your phone. The cherry filling gets all over your fingers and you hurriedly lick it off before it gets—
"Oh, my God!" You shriek in surprise, seeing someone standing by the fridge. Once you realize it's Minho, you break into laughter.
"I'm just getting a bottle of water," he says, his face illuminated by the glow of the fridge lights.
"I'm sorry," you say while clutching your chest, and a second later, regret for saying it when he should be the one apologizing.
There's something different in the way Minho looks at you, he has one corner of his mouth raised higher than the other, giving you the impression that he's thinking of filthy things when he looks at you like that. He's giving you that look now and it does certain things to you.
He then stops leaning against the fridge, taking the bottle of water as he walks back to the bedroom, leaving his signature faint smirk on the back of your head.
The signals are there, they're subtle yet constantly pinging, asking you to respond. For now, you're going to ignore it like you always do and continue existing like you're not sharing the same space with him.
-
Statement number two: You believe Minho wants to fuck you too.
At first, you thought you imagined it, you want to fuck him so you started being delusional and thinking that he wants to fuck you too. Once you started paying attention though, you realized that what he's been doing to you meant something or some sort of message he tried to deliver.
The first occurrence that came to your realization is when the two of you were in the kitchen, you were enjoying your yoghurt and he suddenly came behind you to get something from the drawer that happened to be blocked by your body. Instead of telling you to step aside, he made you stand there as his hand curved around your waist to get something out of a drawer.
From there, you noticed a lot of things he did, the way he briefly rested his hand on the small of your back as he walked past behind you, his hand that would often brush a part of your body when the two of you are next to each other or the way he would speak close to your ear as if he's seeking to be close to you. Simply put, he always tries to make physical contact with you.
The scariest part of it is not the possibility that the two of you will eventually get caught, but how unfazed he is even when his girlfriend is there. Like that night where the three of you shared the sofa and somehow, his hand found your shoulder and instead of retreating, he continued to caress the nape of your neck with his knuckle.
However, what happens tonight is what makes you believe that he wants the same thing.
After making sure that you're the only one still awake in the vicinity, you make your way to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower to help you relax and sleep faster. You skip on using the hairdryer since it'll make too much noise and tiptoe your way back to your bedroom.
In the middle of putting on your clothes, you realize that you left the door ajar and you notice Minho is watching through the reflection in the mirror.
Instead of stopping or rushing to close the door, you pretend to not see him there and continue, turning your body to the side, showcasing every curve of your body through the reflection in the mirror.
You arch your back as you put on the night dress over your head and slowly slip yourself in it, shimmying your body as you pull the dress down with your hands. Then you look at him through the reflection in the mirror and make it known that you're aware of his presence.
From the crooked grin on his face, you can tell that Minho is pleased to be caught watching you and you received his signal loud and clear: He wants to fuck you too.
But sadly, tonight's show is over so you walk to the door and close it.
-
Friday afternoon, Kim barges into your room and she rarely comes into your room without knocking on your door. Seeing that she's carrying a dress in her hand, you guess she needs your opinions on her clothing choices.
You sit on the bed and take your headphones off, "What's up, Kim?"
She stands at the end of the bed and lifts the dress with both hands, "What do you think?" She asks.
It's a mini dress with spaghetti straps in a deep purple color and it's a nice dress, you're just not sure if it fits Kim's style that well, she usually opts for dresses with flaring hem and floral prints.
"It's nice, Kim," you say but skip on giving her the detailed explanation.
She puts the dress close to her body and hugs it, "Do you like it?"
"Yeah," you shortly reply, even though it doesn't fit her style well, it certainly will look good on her.
"Good!" She shortly says, handing the dress to you, "Cause you'll be wearing it.
Somehow, you reach for it and awkwardly hold it in front of you, "W-why? Why me?"
Kim goes to your vanity table and flips open your jewelry box, she holds your earrings one by one to find ones that would match the dress.
"You're coming with me to this party," she says, leaving a lot of details in her answer.
"What party?"
"Party at my friend's," she simply answers, deciding on the gold small hoop earrings.
But that's against your plan, you want to steer clear of Minho and party at Kim's friend means that he'd likely be there too.
"Kim, I don't think that's a good idea," you tell her.
She then leans against the desk in your room and crosses her arm together in front of her, "These past few days you refused to hang out with me so you have to hang out with me tonight."
So Kim knows that you've been purposely avoiding her but you need to explain that it's not because of her, "But that's not—"
"Nuh-uh!" She quickly cuts you off again, "Tonight you're going to the party with me," she decides on her own, not accepting any more excuses from you.
"Is it okay though? I mean... it's your friend's party. I don't want to intrude," you meekly say while playing with the strap of the dress.
"Why would it not be okay?" She says, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, "Besides I want to introduce you to Gaspard."
Maybe you owe this one to Kim and hearing a guy's name piques your interest, "And who is Gaspard?"
"A cute guy," she shortly answers with a sly grin on her heart-shaped face, "And you'll like him."
It's not like Minho's presence would bother you that much and Kim needs you, she wants you there, therefore, as a good roommate, you should be there.
"Yeah, okay, I'm in the mood to meet a cute guy tonight," you tell her, not forgetting to show enthusiasm as well.
"That's the spirit!" Kim says with a wide grin dancing on her face.
Well, since you'll be there and possibly meet Minho, Gaspard better be a cute distraction for real.
-
The taxi pulls up in front of a house and you reckon it's where the party at from how many cars are parked outside and the faint thumping of the music playing inside.
The fact that you get here by taxi only means that there's no Minho so you can relax, for now.
Kim excitedly links her arm with you as you both walk into the house and you expect a party with laid-back music and endless glasses of wine but the second you step inside, upbeat music is blasting from around the house and everyone is having beers from red plastic cups.
The party is not what you imagined it would be, but it's what you need.
Kim cranes her neck to find her friends and once she finds them, she raises her hand to signal her arrival to them.
"Come on! Let's meet my friends!" She says.
Please, God, let him be a cute distraction! You repeatedly mutter in your heart as she drags you with her to meet her friends who are gathered in what you guess is a rec room in the house.
When Kim's friends finally come to sight, you put on a smile as you quietly guess which one of them is Gaspard. Kim goes to hug them one by one before introducing you to them.
"This is Ellie, Jena, Paul..." she introduces her friends back to you one by as the mentioned person warmly greets you.
"And Minho," someone adds from behind you.
You immediately look over your shoulder to see Minho standing there, Kim gently slaps his shoulder in response and laughs.
"This is not a roll call, honey," Kim says with a smile and then leans in to give Minho a quick peck on the lips.
Minho is already here and there's no Gaspard yet. No Gaspard means there'll be no distraction. You keep your smile on even though you're slowly descending into distress.
"There he is!" Kim exclaims, pointing at something behind you.
You reflexively turn on your heels and see a tall man with brown hair, striking green eyes, and a scintillating smile. This man will make the perfect distraction.
Please let this man be Gaspard, you deeply wish inside your heart.
Kim comes to your side and puts her arm around you, "This is the man I told you about," she says.
"I hope you only told her nice things about me," Gaspard says with a sly grin that makes his whole face light up.
The universe heard your plea and decided to make it true for you, this is Gaspard, the perfect distraction you want and need.
"Holyfuck..." you lowly mutter in disbelief.
"What's that?" Kim asks, hearing you saying something but doesn't quite catch it.
You've already forgotten where you are and what you're doing. And Minho? Who is Minho? You let out a chuckle and shake these silly thoughts away.
"So this is Gaspard, huh?" You say in all confidence.
"That is me," he answers, returning the confidence with a wide smile, "I'm better than you expected, I guess?"
Gaspard is confident and then gets shy in the next minute which you find charming, you smile at him and say, "I need more time to decide on that."
"That's fair," Gaspard says, offering his hand at you.
You think he's just going to shake your hand but he takes you into the crowd gathered in the middle of the room, dancing.
"A fair warning, I'm a bad dancer," you warn him as he takes your hands in his and makes you stand facing him.
"We still have time to decide on that," he pokes fun at you, taking you by the waist and pulling you close to his front.
Kim is right, Gaspard is cute and you like him already. He has just the right amount of facial hair and it grazes your cheek whenever he leans in to whisper into your ear, giving you a tingling feeling inside and outside.
After a few moments though, you find yourself panting from dancing with him. You should've known this would happen when you're dancing with a real dancer.
Since Gaspard is way taller than you, you have to put your arm around his shoulder and stand on your tiptoe to whisper to his ear, "Hey, how about we get drinks?"
"Drinks?" He asks you in confirmation since the mix of loud music and chatter is filling the room.
"Yeah," you answer while repeatedly nodding your head.
He doesn't say anything but takes your hand and leads the way through the crowd to the kitchen where bottles of liquor are strewn around on the kitchen island.
You intently watch as Gaspard is excitingly making you his special concoction. He finishes it off with a spritz of lemon before handing it to you.
"Thank you," you mutter in gratitude.
"Come on. Taste it!" He encourages you, curious of what you think of his drink-mixing skill.
Well, you've been staring at it long enough to give him the impression that you hesitate to drink it. You hurriedly take a small sip and you don't even have to lie, it's good.
"Wow!" You gasp, impressed with the drink he made.
"I know," he confidently says with a smirk and drinks his drink.
It's so refreshing and sweet like it has no alcohol at all, you hurriedly take another sip.
"It's really good," you tell him.
"Thank you," he says with a grin.
He then offers his hand at you, "Let's find somewhere to talk?"
You take his hand without question, letting him take you wherever he wants because it seems like he knows where he's going. He leads you to the backyard where everyone is hanging out by the pool.
"Hey, you!"
Recognizing the voice, your head snaps toward the source, and see Kim waving her hand at you from the long sofa that curved around a fancy fireplace.
You stop walking on your track and end up leading Gaspard there. You unconsciously let out a sigh of relief after seeing that there's no Minho there.
"Oh, hey," you greet back.
Kim scoots to the side to make space for you on the sofa, "Where have you guys been?"
"Oh, we were just dancing and he made me a drink," you honestly answer, not forgetting to show her the drink in your hand.
"And where were you going to take her, Gaspard?" Kim asks with eyes squinted at him.
"Anywhere but here," he jokingly answers.
"Well, since you guys just got here, it's your turn to play!" Someone says, you can't remember what her name is but she's one of the friends Kim introduced earlier.
"Turn to play? What?" You ask in confusion.
"Two truths and a lie," someone says.
You feel bad for not being able to remember their names, Gaspard's influence is that powerful on you.
"You know how to play, right?" Kim asks.
It's not about whether you know how to play or not, it's just so unexpected that these talented, gorgeous dancers like to play this kind of game at parties.
"Yes, I do," you answer.
Kim turns on the sofa to face you and looks at you in anticipation, "Okay then. Shoot!"
"Right now?"
"Yes," Kim shortly answers with a chuckle.
You admire their eagerness whether for the game or to know something about you, you rake your brain to think of three things about you and one of them should be a lie that would likely fool them good.
"Okay first is uhm... I'm allergic to cats," you share.
There's no response from them but you can see how they're looking at you and probably every detailed facial expression you make that will give away hints about whether you're lying or not.
"Second thing is my mom has a twin," you confidently share with a faint smile.
"Ah," Kim lowly gasps and you guess because you've shared this information with her before.
"Last thing is..." you look around as you think of the last thing to share with them.
You eventually turn to the side and see Gaspard smiling at you, "I think Gaspard is cute," you share the third thing about you.
"That's the one! That's the lie!" Someone excitedly guesses, and you suddenly remember his name as Paul.
You laugh because Gaspard looks so offended by his friend, "No, it's not a lie," you quickly defend him.
Gaspard shoots him a glare and triumphantly laughs, "Just drink, man!"
Paul drinks his beer in defeat.
"I must say the second one is the lie," the girl says again, still can't remember her name though.
"No. Her mom has a fraternal twin," Kim says, learning that information from you on the first day you moved into her apartment.
"Drink up, Jena!" Kim tells her that she guessed wrong and not wasting time but drinks her beer as a punishment.
"Oh, so you're not allergic to cats?" Gaspard asks.
"No, I'm not. I like cats," you answer.
He then sighs in relief, "That's great because I have a cat."
"Oh, wow?!" You utter in disbelief.
Other than being a great distraction, you share a lot in common with Gaspard and that says something.
"I also have cats," someone adds, joining in on the circle.
You can tell by the voice that it's the man you've been trying to avoid seeing tonight. You remain calm and have a sip of your drink.
"Yes, Minho, we all know you're a cat daddy," Jena says, finally knowing her name from Kim.
Kim groans and tosses a cushion at Jena, "Don't say that!"
Minho takes a gulp of Kim's drink and sits with his back reclined and his legs spread open, even his sitting position oozing with confidence and you eat that shit up.
You feel like slapping your face at that thought and have another sip to swallow that thought down.
"Is it my turn to play?" Minho asks around.
Jena shrugs since no one is taking the turn to play, "Yeah, sure, go ahead."
Minho softly scratches his chin before speaking, "I want to kiss someone tonight."
He starts easy but from the faint smirk on his face, you can tell he's brewing something in his mind.
"That someone is not my girlfriend," he calmly says.
Welp, there you go! Minho acts like he didn't just drop a shocking statement while his girlfriend is sitting prettily next to him.
You glance at Kim and she looks calm, but you can see that her jaws are slightly clenched. She's not happy so Minho should stop it.
But instead of calming his girlfriend, Minho looks at you and continues to share the third statement, "The person I want to kiss is one of you."
Your heart skips a beat because he keeps looking right at you and making it obvious for everyone to see who it is. All of a sudden, you feel the urge to exit this scene but walking out only makes it even more obvious.
Minho is sick of doing this to you and Kim, it's like he doesn't even care what it can do to either you or Kim.
"Oh, Minho, that's..." Paul hisses, not able to finish his sentence.
"Why, Paul?" Minho daringly asks him.
"Nothing," Paul says while scratching his head.
Minho leans forward and says, "It's you, Paul. It's you who I want to kiss."
Paul's tense face melts in a second and everyone bursts out laughing, "Fuck you, man!"
"It's you. I want to kiss you," Minho taunts him more, throwing himself at him and jokingly tries to kiss him.
Paul keeps pushing him away, sloshing his drink as he tries to dodge Minho's kiss while everyone else is laughing at them.
Even though it turns out to be a joke, you feel sick in the stomach and feel the need to get out of here.
"I need to go to the restroom," you mutter, getting up from the sofa.
Gaspard puts down his drink, "I can show you—"
"It's okay. I can go by myself," you tell him off, you regret being so crass but you're sure he'll understand.
"Okay," he says, sitting back down on the sofa.
While clutching the hem of your dress, you head back inside the house and find the bathroom to only queue to get inside, you decide to try on the second floor. You can easily find the bathroom as it's wedged between two bedrooms.
It's a party, you're sure the host would be okay with you using their bathroom, you don't even need to pee or something, you just need a space to vent.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you keep muttering to the reflection in the mirror.
When you touch your neck, you can feel a sheen of sweat there so you run your hands under the cold water and tap it to your neck.
This is the first time you realize what it'll do to you when it comes to following your desire. You'll ruin not only their relationship but also your friendship with Kim and she's been nothing but good to you.
"Fuck!" You mutter once again as you splash cold water on your face like it would help to put some sense into you.
Coming here was a bad idea!
But you're already here so you only need to stick to your plan, staying away from Minho and sticking with Gaspard. You allow yourself to spend a few more minutes just to compose yourself before coming out of the bathroom.
As you're about to climb down the stairs, the plan comes to a failure.
You see Minho is coming up the stairs and he seems to be looking for you as well from the way he stops once he finds you.
Instead of avoiding him as you planned, you feel the need to confront him about what happened a while ago. You grab the front of his shirt and take him into one of the bedrooms. The first one is locked so you try the other one and it's empty.
Once both of you are inside, you slam the door shut and push him against it.
"What the hell are you doing?" You aggressively ask, pushing his chest until his back hits the door.
"What? What am I doing?" He plays innocent but that smirk knows it all.
You slap his chest with both of your hands now but all you can feel is how firm his pecs are.
"You just don't care, do you?"
He puts his hands on each side of your waist and draws you closer, not hesitating to plant his mouth on your jaw.
"Minho!" You whine, ending up getting trapped in his hold with his arms wrapped tightly around you.
He glides his lips up and presses a kiss there on the skin under your ear, sending a tingling down your spine as his warm breath brushes your skin.
You helplessly dodge away from his lips yet somehow, he manages to capture your lips in a kiss and oh, you hate it so much! You hate how you like the way he kisses you, so passionately and hungrily, he makes it known that he wants it so much.
Okay, maybe the kiss is a slip-up and you hurriedly pull yourself out of it. You push him and pull away from the kiss.
"You know we can't do this," you mutter but you're looking at his lips, tempted to kiss him again.
He ignores your words and kisses you again, and you fall into it again. You try harder this time and break the kiss.
"Minho!" You whine, looking away to not let the temptation win again.
Using it as an opportunity, Minho plants his mouth on your ear and nibbles on it, peeling a layer off of your sanity which brings you to slip down the slope again.
Your lips are colliding again, harder and deeper, causing even more damage than the previous one as his hands go all over you and pull the straps of your dress down your shoulders.
The two logics in your head are clashing against each other, the one wants to satisfy this desire and the other wants to get out of this situation altogether. If you follow the former then at least, your curiosity will be fulfilled and if you follow the latter, then you get to keep the peace.
As you are caught in that inner battle, you blank out and stiffen against him.
"We have to stop," you mutter to him.
But is that what you want? To stop when you already have your toes dipped in the water?
Minho also takes a moment to assess the situation, he looks at you with his lips red and wet, "it has to stop," he says in agreement.
You take a step back and feel the sudden detachment as he lets go of you and you can't believe that he agrees right away that this is the better decision. You can't help but think that he doesn't want you enough.
He stays standing there, leaning against the door and looking at you with his eyes dark and wide with lust.
"So what do we do now?"
That's such a wrong thing to ask you because what you want to do now is be selfish for the night, for one fucking night, and if you're going to do it, you may as well go all in, right?
Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?
"Fuck!" you heavily sigh and take down the straps of your dress, sending your breasts spilling out of the front.
"Suck my tits," you order.
It takes Minho a moment to process it and when he finally catches on that you've made up your mind, he goes for it. He comes at you full speed, hands off the brake and head first.
His mouth lathers at your breasts before sucking at them like you asked, taking them in turns, and leaving them wet with his saliva.
"Nibble on my nipples," you command.
You look down to watch him obeying you, using his tongue to nibble on your blossoming buds and alternating it with his teeth next.
"Oh, fuck," you breathlessly mutter as he sucks hard on your nipple.
While his mouth is busy latching on your breasts, his hands are snaking to the back and kneading at your asscheeks, caressing them with his fingers, and teasing your underwear.
This feels so wrong yet so good, you have your inner battle still but your logic is being defeated by your body's needs. You pull him by the shoulder and make him kiss you again so you'll stop thinking.
The rattles on the door startle you both and Minho immediately pushes the door with his back, then holds the knob to not let anyone in. Whoever tries to get it seems to figure out that the room is occupied.
"Sorry," someone says from behind the door.
Minho immediately locks the door while you take a step back from him, he gives you that look again, the kind of look that sees right through you and knows that you feel conflicted inside.
"Kim is my good friend," you tell him, feeling a pang of sadness in your chest that it aches.
He comes at you again and kisses you in which you're returning with the same eagerness. He seems to know that it's the only way to make you stop talking and thinking altogether. He pulls you closer than before his hands snaking to your rear, cupping the ample flesh in his hand.
"This is terrible," you mutter as you break the kiss so you can take your underwear off.
"This is terrible..." you mutter again, pulling him close by the waistband of his jeans and proceeding to unzip his fly open, "Betraying her like this."
It's like your body has a mind of its own, it's doing the opposite of what you're saying.
You impatiently take his semi-hard out of its confine and stroke it in your hand, "terrible," you emphasize the word and nail it deep into your head.
Minho doesn't say anything but follows what your body wants, he kisses you again, sloppily with his hands mindlessly roaming around your body.
"Touch me there," you whisper into him.
Without looking, his hand knows where to go. It goes to where you want him to be, going to the front to that wetness between your legs.
"Put your fingers in."
Minho runs his fingers down your slit repeatedly before inserting his finger into you. One digit is enough to make you moan in pleasure as he pumps it in and out of you.
"Add one more."
He draws his finger out and brings his index and middle fingers, shoving them into your mouth to wet them with your saliva. He brings them back to your entrance and slowly pushes them inside.
"Fuck, oh..." you moan, burying your head in his neck.
Two fingers are going in and out of you and you're already losing it. You start to think of what his cock would be like inside you as it feels hot and hard in your hand, pulsating with so much desire.
His lips nestle in your neck, kissing and lightly sucking on the skin as your body clings to him for support.
"Curl them— Oh!"
Minho knows what to do, he curls his fingers and carefully finds that spot that makes you whine and moan at the same time, and the lewd noise echoes in the dimly lit room.
You look over your shoulder to locate the bed and start steering his body there, walking backward without having to take hands off of each other.
He slowly pulls out and breaks the kiss only to pull your dress up, making the dress hunched around your waist. You plop down onto the bed and get on, you take a moment to continue undoing his jeans and pull it down enough to let his erection free.
Without thinking, you put his cock into your mouth, take him as much as you can and compensate for the rest you can't take with your hand. You lick and suck, alternating those two as you enjoy every inch of his delicious length with your mouth.
Minho tangles his hand in your hair and gently tugs at it, "I feel so guilty," he says.
Oh, so he's not that selfish after all but the thought of him thinking of his girlfriend with his cock deep in your mouth doesn't make you jealous at all, it makes you feel more aroused than before.
"Oh, so guilty," he says between his hoarse, low moans as he stares back into your eyes.
You slowly pull away and replace your mouth with your hand, restlessly pumping his swollen cock.
"You should be," you tell him, sticking your tongue out of your mouth and swirling it around the pink tip of his cock.
All of a sudden, he grabs your hand and takes it away from his length, he then takes your other hand to pin it against the bed. He hovers above you as he kisses you again, his tongue prying open your mouth to taste more of you.
You can feel him rubbing his length between your folds and you spread your legs open so he can do it more, making you drenched than you already are.
It's obvious to you now that you want him, you want him so bad and what you want is only inches away from you, and you can feel how much he wants you.
"Put it in," you breathlessly say against his lips.
Minho wastes no time to position himself between your legs. He then holds his cock, lubricating it with your essence and giving it a few pumps to finally aims it toward your entrance.
The more time he takes to be inside you, the more impatient you get.
"Put it deep inside me," you demand, opening your legs wider for him.
Yet Minho keeps teasing your entrance, heightening your anticipation and the tension in the room, making you arching your back at him.
When he finally pushes in, he only inserts the tip. It's just the tip but Gosh! It feels good already when he starts thrusting at a slow, steady pace.
"That's it," you say, keeping your waist afloat to take more of him, "all the way in."
Minho is just as impatient. He takes your wish as his command and pushes the rest of his length into you, hitting you deep inside that you blank out and you can't hear your own scream of pleasure.
It only registered to you now that it's all real once you take a look at how his cock is fully buried deep inside you and there's nothing like the feeling of finally having your desire fulfilled. Minho feels so good inside you, every inch of his length fills you perfectly like he was made just for you.
"Oh..." you loudly moan as he starts moving.
You're in and out of you at how hard he's thrusting into you that it reverberates throughout your body and in the middle of it, you manage to look at him, his face is masked with pleasure from the way his eyes are half shut and his lips pressed together.
Maybe the two of you want it so much that the sex feels rushed and a little rough, almost animalistic even. You can feel you're about to cum and so is he.
"Don't cum inside," you warn him before bringing his head close for a sloppy kiss on his lips.
In return, Minho goes sloppy with his thrusts that the bed quakes along with his movements and you're gripping the sheet to hold on to. He's twitching inside you and your legs are shaking. The knot in your stomach keeps tightening and you feel like exploding at any minute now.
He incessantly thrusts into you while you keep gripping the sheet, he probably senses that you're on the brink of climaxing and takes you there, sending you into your release with your eyes screwed shut, seeing white. He cums not long after you and keeps himself deep into you, completely forgetting your warning.
When it occurs to you that he completely forgot about your warning, you slowly push him away and force him to pull out of you.
"I told you not to cum inside," you whine.
Minho's eyes fixated on the way his cum drips out of you, pearly white and glistening wet, inviting him to taste. He finds a way to solve it by settling his head between your legs and licking your mixed juices off of your cunt and not hesitating to swallow it. He sucks on your gushing hole before using his tongue to insert it, he makes sure to not leave any drop of his cum in you.
Watching him eating you and swallowing his own cum is getting you off in the best way, you suddenly don't mind it that much that he cum inside you. If anything, you want him to fill you so you get to watch him do it all over again.
"Stop, Minho! Stop!" You tell him, tugging at his hair to stop him from diving further into your wetness.
He abruptly stops and lifts his head with his mouth and chin glistening wet with your essence. You grab him by the front of his shirt and make him hover above you again. You know you already got what you want and it's time to stop.
What are you going to do now? You ask yourself.
Seize the chance. This is probably the last time you ever had this chance and this could be the one and only chance. You roll him over and straddle him, thinking of having him again for the last time, selfishly.
Taking a moment for this could be the only chance you get to do it, you look at him and his beautiful face, and you allow yourself to kiss his lips. You're running your hands down his clothed chest and patiently unbuttoning his shirt, then part it open to reveal his toned upper half body.
It's only fair if you get to touch him all over too so you do it, using your hands and your lips next, it's just you and miles and miles of his warm, honey skin.
Minho lets you do everything as he lays on his back, watches you kissing every inch of his abdomen, and eventually has him in your mouth again. He props his hands against the bed to see how your lips wrapped around his cock.
After a while, you suddenly pull out and gasp for air, "We have to stop."
He sits up on the bed and puts your hair away from your face, "But I don't want to stop," he says, then continues putting your hair away to the back so he can kiss your neck, chest, and breasts.
They're just words, they've been just words that you say in vain and have no effect to make you stop whatsoever. You only say that just to remind you that this feels so wrong but it feels good to do it.
You sit on his lap and position his cock at your entrance again, slowly, you lower yourself on him. You let out a mewl as you take him in little by little, feeling his girth stretching you out.
"Do you want to stop?" He asks you with his hands cradling your head in between.
"We have to," you sigh with your eyes closed, overwhelmed by his cock that buries deep inside you.
"I don't want to," he breathlessly says, holding you by the waist, guiding you to start moving.
Putting your arms around his shoulders for support, you're switching between pulsating and rolling your hips around him as he latches his lips on your neck and chest.
Somehow, he feels bigger and harder inside you, and he fills you better, therefore, you just want to keep feeling his length around you. However, in the middle of it, your logic fights to come out of you.
"This is wrong," you breathlessly mutter.
"Mmh-hmm," he hums against your lips, mindlessly answering to you.
"This is so wrong, Minho," you say again as you keep moving to chase your high.
If this is wrong then why it feels so good? If this is wrong then you never want to be right. If this is wrong then you want to be a sinner, forever.
"Oh, I can't do this anymore," you cry, it's unclear whether it's the body or your conscience speaking.
"Keep going, keep going," he repeatedly mutters through his gritted teeth, watching you bouncing on his cock.
The sex is more intense and harder than the previous one, you keep holding your breath even though you're running out of air. Your nails dug into his skin, your mouth locked with his lips, and you feel a sheen of sweat forming on your skin.
It all comes down to the one moment when everything hits you all at once. Other than the wave of dopamine and oxytocin that surge through your body, you feel good, you feel light and happy, but underneath that, you feel that bitter feeling, guilt that is gnawing and eating you alive from the inside.
You open your eyes and find Minho looking at you with a soft gaze and it feels tender that you feel like crying, or you're about to as you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
"Oh, God! What have I done?" You roughly brush the hair stuck to your moist forehead.
"It's okay," Minho says, trying to justify this act of betrayal.
"Oh, my God!" You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to stop you from crying.
Minho gently holds your chin and softly presses a kiss on your lips as if he's trying to take the pain away but that's useless because you caused this yourself and he's a part of the problem.
But his kiss no longer holds the same effect, you feel restless the more he kisses you so you slowly pull away and keep a safe space between you and him.
"Let's just stop," you say with a sigh and then rush to get off his lap. You lowly gasp from the sudden emptiness and once your feet touch the floor, you're staggering backward.
Then, you feel it, his hot cum that drips out of you and down your inner thigh.
"I can help you with that," Minho offers.
You immediately hold your hand up at him and firmly say, "Just stop!"
You start fixing your dress, putting your arm in the straps, and pulling them to your shoulders. You look around for your underwear and once you find it, you put it on.
"Kim can't know about this," you meekly say as you pull the hem of your dress and smooth them down.
There's no looking back at it now. You've got what you wanted and now it's time to move on. You turn the door knob and head out without saying anything else.
Rejoining the party downstairs, you immediately head to the kitchen to get a drink but on the way there, someone catches you by the hand.
"Come, dance with me!" Kim says with a grin, pulling you with her to the middle of the room.
"Kim, I–" you can't find anything to say to her without the guilt clogging your throat, "I need a drink."
"Here. Have mine!" She hands you her cup.
"I'll get us drinks and get back to you, okay?" You kindly refuse her but she won't let go of your hand.
"Oh, come on, it's my favorite song!" She pleads with her puppy eyes, making you feel worse than you already are.
Seeing her and how oblivious she is to what you and Minho have done is breaking your heart.
That brings you to the third and last statement: That will be the first and the last time you've had sex with Minho.
-
Things are going back to normal. Or that's what it seems to you.
You're still roommates with Kim and she's still oblivious about what you and Minho did behind her back which means he keeps true to his promise.
And yes, he still comes to the apartment but it doesn't bother you as it used to. You learn that your friendship with Kim is far more valuable than his boyfriend's cock, in fact, you've been taking her kindness for granted.
So for these past few days, you've been trying to avoid them as much as possible. You purposely come home late from work and if you do find them together in the apartment, you make excuses to stay in your bedroom.
Fewer interactions means fewer chances of this guilt from bringing you down further.
The new plan is to get your own place as soon as possible and for that to happen, you have to start looking for it.
Today, Gaspard offers to help you check a few places and it's also the perfect getaway than staying in the apartment. You quietly get dressed and slip out of your bedroom to find Kim catches you while dunking her teabag into her cup.
"Where are you going?" She asks.
You don't want to tell her about it yet that you plan on moving out soon so you make up an excuse on the spot, "Just getting a few things for work, yeah," you lie.
She tosses the teabag into the trash and uses a spoon to stir it, "Just getting a few things for work, huh?"
"Yeah, I need new work shoes," you lie again, seamlessly this time.
"And you think you don't need my help?"
"No, no," you hastily reply, "I just know how much you like staying in on the weekends."
"I would to go out on the weekend too."
Kim keeps misunderstanding you so you decide to tell her, "I'm going out with Gaspard," you admit, but keep the details from her.
Kim lets out a laugh and puts down her cup of tea, "Oh, my God! Why did you lie about it?"
"I don't know. It feels weird," you awkwardly answer.
"Why would it be weird? Cause he's my friend?"
"Yeah..." you meekly say.
She laughs again and comes up to you, "Why would it be weird that my roommate is going out with my good friend?"
That's true, this is nothing compared to fucking your roommate's boyfriend. You swallow the guilt that crawls out of your throat.
"I can lend you my shoes to match it with that cute dress?" She offers, kind as always.
"No, it's fine. It's comfortable this way," you say, opting for the sneakers you're wearing since you're going to do a lot of walking today.
"As long as you're comfortable," she says, fixing your hair as she speaks.
The front door opens and the two of you are turning your heads to see who's coming, it's none other than Minho. You hurriedly sling your purse around your shoulder and ready to leave.
"I'd better get going," you tell Kim, giving her a quick hug.
"You can come home as late as you want," she jokingly says as she hugs you back, "Actually, don't bother coming home tonight."
You laugh it off and pull away while ignoring Minho who walks to the kitchen to get something out of the fridge. You head for the door and wave bye at Kim before getting out.
-
The search for a new place comes to fruition, you have two potential living spaces but the only problem is you can't afford the rent, yet.
You end the day with a hearty dinner also as a treat for Gaspard for being so helpful and patient with you. He's simply a great guy to be with and you wonder why didn't you want to fuck him instead of Minho.
Oh fuck, you think about Minho again and it reminds you that he's in the apartment now so you stay out as late as you can. You consider Gaspard's offer to come and visit his place but you don't want to give him the impression that this is a date.
It's too casual to be counted as a date in the first place but you make sure to promise him a proper one next time.
"Maybe next time when I'm not sweaty and the day is not as humid as today," you kindly refuse the offer.
"I agree," he says as his hair turns a lot curler in this humidity and shyly brushes it to the back.
He walks you to the entrance of your apartment building and you turn on your feet to face him, "Thank you for today," you sincerely say.
"No worries. I had fun today," he coyly says with a smile.
You know he wants to kiss you and you want to kiss him too because he's just so attractive and fun to be with, he's a great guy... you can list so many reasons why you should kiss him so you muster up the courage to do it.
You stand on your tiptoe and press a kiss on his lips, putting your hand on his shoulder for support and Gaspard returns the kiss with so much gentleness with his hand cupping your jaw.
In the middle of it, you come to a realization that you kiss him for so many reasons but not because you like him. You slowly pull away from the kiss and quickly put on a smile for him.
"Goodnight, Gaspard," you mutter.
He allows himself to place a gentle caress on your cheek and smiles back at you as he says back, "Goodnight!"
The walk back to the apartment feels like a punishment. At least, it's late enough that you're sure Kim is already asleep by now so you quietly unlock the door, pushing it open without making any noise, and walk through the living room until you get to the safety of your room.
You kick your shoes off, throw your purse onto the bed, and take off your jacket, just standing there in your dress facing the huge mirror with your reflection staring back at you.
"Do you need help with that?" Minho asks through the cracks of your door.
You hate it that he's still here and you're happy to see him, you're not answering but he comes to your aid anyway. He stands right behind you and slowly unzips your dress for you.
It must be intentional the way his knuckles graze your skin as he pulls the zipper down your back.
The memories from that night come back to you and unlock all the feelings that you try to keep at the bottom of your heart.
Minho then places his hand on your shoulder and looks at you through the mirror, "Do you need help with anything else?" He asks with a voice so low it's almost like a whisper.
You turn your head to the side and meet his gaze, "No."
All sorts of thoughts come rushing through your head but it's the same contradicting questions: Take the chance or pass? Right or wrong? Continue or stop? Now or never?
Those questions going around your head and won't stop bothering you until you make up your mind.
You turn around to face him and notice how close he's standing in front of you, so close that you can feel the heat his body is emitting.
"But I'll help myself," you say and then kiss him.
Well, you guess people can tell which one is the lie now.
-
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the way this was written? ugh yes pls i loved the inclusion of the two truths one lie into the story itself!!! immaculate istg
𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐣𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ✧⋆˚࿔
⤍ fingering hannie :)
⤍ he has a pain kink
⤍ turning sungie into a whining mess
⤍ edging him
⤍ pegging hannie <3
⤍ milking him
⤍ you make him try this new toy
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐
Don’t forget to like & reblog if you enjoyed!
Free Use Jail Cell, Part 1
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Police Officer Skz ot8 x female reader
Premise: you're arrested and held for 24 hours by 8 police officers at the local police station / reader has her fantasy play out.
Word Count: 3k (part 1)
Chapter Summary: Officer Seo Changbin arrests you and has some one on one time with you before taking you to the station. You meet the other officers. (This chapter is Changbin focused, but a little bit happens at the end with the other officers.)
a/n: This fic will be in multiple parts because I get too impatient not to share what I’ve written so far. There will be two, possibly three installments turns out it will be more like 6 (tag list is open).
I refer to the officers as “Officer Hyunjin”, “Officer Minho” etc just to make it quick to identify the characters.
The whole premise is planned and explained in the fic. The story is purely fantasy, but please be mindful of content warnings, as it has potentially triggering content. I want you to be safe here on my blog.
CW: planned fantasy role play, police arrest, nudity, unprotected sex in a semi public space, pain kink, roleplay pain, anal play, blow jobs, cum eating, name calling (both praising and degrading), reference to sexual acts, imprisonment, restraints (handcuffing).
🚨🚨🚨🚨
The lights of the police patrol car reflect in your rear view mirror, signaling for you to stop your car.
“Dammit.” You sigh as you pull your car over to the side of the road.
You watch in your side mirror as a police officer emerges from his patrol car, and your heart rate increases when you see the well built figure approach your window.
“Everything okay, Officer?” You say innocently.
“I’m gonna need you step out of the vehicle, Ma'am.” He says sternly.
“But I wasn’t speeding.” You protest as he opens your car door and pulls you out.
“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” You writhe against him, but he’s too strong.
“No. But you’ve just resisted arrest, so you’re in big trouble little bunny.” He slams you front first against the side of your car and proceeds to handcuff your hands around your back.
“You’ve got the wrong woman, Dude!” You cry.
“That’s Officer Seo Changbin, to you.” He tears you away from your car abruptly and tugs you towards his police car. “In.” He throws you in the back of the car like a rag doll.
“But my car!” You wail, as he slams the door and hops into the driver’s seat.
“Shh. It’ll be impounded. Now not another word.”
“But you haven’t read me my rights! You can’t do this!”
But Officer SEO Changbin ignores you as he drives away.
After half an hour of you demanding he explain what you’ve actually been arrested for, and half an hour of being met with silence, Officer Changbin pulls off the main road and parks his car in a deserted space under a bridge.
Alarm bells go off in your head as you look around. The area is absolutely deserted. You frantically try to formulate a plan to escape. But even if you did escape, you’re fucking handcuffed.
The Officer opens the back door and slips in beside you, holding a tablet and stylus. “Y/n. Twenty five. Female. Submitted a ‘free use jail fantasy’. That is you, is it not?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.
You stare at the man, but remain silent. Isn’t that one of your rights?
Changbin sighs. “This is your contract. I need you to understand the terms of our engagement.”
He holds the tablet in front of you so you can read exactly what you signed yourself up for.
I, y/n, agree to being held prisoner in a police station setting, where eight men have the right to use my body how they see fit. This includes: degradation, humiliation, spanking, oral sex, vaginal penetration, anal penetration (includes use of fingers), double penetration, rough sex, use of props and restraints.
Please read below for further details.
You scroll through the rest of the pages. Details of the acts that may take place, photos of the men and their role, special interests and skills. They are fucking handsome as hell too.
What the fuck have you signed up for? It sounded good in your head. It sounded good when you applied. But now it’s real.. You gulp and look at the Officer.
“Sign here.” He points to the space at the bottom of page 12.
“Umm…” you nudge your head towards your restraints.
“Oh yes of course.” Changbin releases your cuffs, opting to secure them in front of you instead. You take the stylus and sign on the dotted line.
You only live once right?
“Great. So as of now you belong to us. Well, for the next 24 hours.” He says matter of fact.
You suck on your lower lip. “So, like right now you could get me to do…things?” You say in a small voice.
“Yes, that’s right. I could instruct you to do things. Or, I could just do things to you. Free use, remember?” He takes the tablet from you and places it next to him in the seat. Your eyes fall on his thick bicep and you feel an ache between your legs. He sits back, slouching against the backseat, and his eyes drop to your bare leg.
A heavy silence fills the car.
Changbin reaches out to squeeze your thigh, just above your knee and you hold your breath as his hand slowly slides up under your skirt.
“Show me your panties.” He whispers, lifting your skirt up. You open your legs for him.
His plush, pink lips part slightly. “Take them off.” He instructs.
You shimmy your panties off and wait for your next instructions.
“Unbuckle my belt.”
The chain of the handcuffs rattling, and his heavy breaths are the only sounds as you bring your hands to his belt. “Uunzip my pants and take out my cock.”
Your heart begins to race, and your mouth becomes dry, as anticipation and fear bubble in your stomach. Your fingers shake as you unzip his fly and pull his length through the opening of his boxers. Fuck, he is so thick. Your eyes flick up to his.
“Suck it.” He says, staring at you.
You take a deep breath and bring your mouth closer to the fat tip, wondering you you’d even be able to stretch your mouth around it. You kiss the slit. Changbin hisses. “Don’t tease.” He says with a gravely tone.
You swirl your tongue around the tip, then along the shaft, moistening it up. But Changbin is impatient, and he presses his hand on the back of your head, indicating that he’s had enough of your chaste ministrations.
You stretch your mouth around his girth and sink your head down over him. God, he’s not going to fit. You’re going to choke.
“C’mon, deeper.” He pushes your head, coaxing you to take more of him. Your eyes immediately water, but you do your very best to suck him enthusiastically.
You feel his hand slide down your back and over your ass. You whimper when he lifts your skirt up and he spanks you on the ass. “Deeper.” He moans.
You lift off and take a big breath before taking him back in your mouth, forcing yourself to take even more of him. His fingers finds your pussy, sliding them through your wet folds. He gathers some of your arousal and brings the pad of his finger to your asshole.
“Hmm… you feel like you’re gonna be so tight. The boys are going to have fun stretching out this little thing. You won’t be able to sit for a week.” He chuckles.
You moan at the thought, excited to be used.
Changbin’s finger breaches the tight ring of muscle as he presses inside. It’s just to the first knuckle but it’s making you hungry for more.
“That’s enough for now.” He decides, withdrawing his finger and pulling your mouth off his cock. You sit up whining at the loss. “Are we going to go to the police station now?” You inquire.
Changbin scoffs. “Greedy little thing. Can’t wait for what’s in store for you.” He strokes your tear stained cheek. “We’ll go soon. But not until you ride me. Climb on.” He nods towards his cock. “I want first feel of your pussy.”
You straddle Officer Changbin, wrapping your still cuffed hands around his neck, and he holds his cock steady for you as you lower yourself down on him. “Fuck!” You squeak as you feel the tip against your entrance. “You’re so big Officer. I’m not sure I can take you.”
You swallow, looking into his eyes. There’s lust there. You can see it. He looks like he could hurt you, but there’s a kindness in his expression too, and you wonder if the other men will be like him?
“If you can’t take my cock, how are you gonna take two at once?” He whispers. “Sit on it. I want to feel your walls wrapped around my dick.”
“What if I say no? What happens?” You challenge him.”
“‘No’s not your safe word.” He grips your hips and slowly lowers you down onto his length. “Just keep your eyes on me, sweet thing. Shhh. I know Binnie’s thick.”
You shake your head. “It’s too big.”
“It’s gonna feel good. I promise. Let me stretch your tight little walls.” He breathes against your cheek.
You feel yourself stretching for him, slowly relaxing to accommodate his size. Inch by inch you feel him fill you.
“You are tight aren’t you? Fuck, like a vice.” He closes his eyes and tries to steady his breath.
You push yourself down all the way and pause.
Changbin opens his eyes again and lifts your skirt so he can see where you’re impaled on him.
“See. Look at that.” He says in awe. Your eyes follow his as you lift up slightly and lower yourself again, watching him disappear inside you.
“Bounce on me. Show me what a good little girl you are, and I’ll put in a good word in my report.”
He digs his hands into your ass cheeks, spreading them and using his grip on them to bounce you.
“I need you to scream for me. No one’s gonna hear you, but I want you to scream your lungs out anyway.”
He grips you tighter, and as though you weigh nothing, he lifts you up and slams you down. You cry out. “Again!” He growls as he slides you up his cock, and drops you back down. “Scream.”
You cry out, screaming loudly.
“Hurts doesn’t it, bunny?” He uses his hips to fuck up into you ferociously.
“N-no…feels goo-”
“Say it hurts. Scream like it hurts.” He growls and throws you off him and pushes your face into the car seat. He lifts your hips to meet his cock and thrusts into you forcefully. Every thrust is deep and hard. Your pussy feels stretched to its limits.
He’s relentless, pounding into you harder and harder. The sound of your bodies colliding filling the car. The windows are steamed up, and you're certain the car is rocking wildly.
“Stop… please… too hard…it hurts…” you scream. But you don’t use your safe word. It actually feels incredible.
“Is Binnie too much, hmm? Poor little cunt struggling to fit me?” He mocks you.
You scream louder. He picks up the pace.
“Fuck…I’m coming!!!” You let out the loudest scream your lungs can muster, as you clench your walls around Changbin’s cock.
“That’s it, so nice and loud for me.” He helps you ride out your orgasm and then withdraws from your still quivering cunt.
“Good, compliant little bunny. Come, drink up.” He strokes your hair as he helps you turn around so you can wrap your lips around his cock again. He pumps the length a few times until you feel his hot, thick cum coat your tongue.
“Open. Show me.” The tilts your chin as you present to him your mouth full of semen. “Swallow it up for me.”
You keep your eyes locked on him as you swallow the thick, salty substance, and then open back up to show him.
“Good girl. We need to get you into your cell.” He smirks and gets back into the front of the car.
🚨🚨🚨🚨
It’s almost dark when you get to the police station and you’re feeling incredibly nervous about what lies ahead.
Changbin helps you get out of the vehicle, leaving your panties on the floor, and escorts you up the front steps of the building. It actually looks like a real police station too, and you wonder how on earth they managed to have access to this place.
The seven other men are waiting for you. They eagerly stand up from their desks as Changbin walks you past until you reach the cell at the far end of the room.
“In.” He grunts, removing your handcuffs and pushing you inside and slamming the door closed behind you. You quickly take in your surroundings. There’s absolutely nothing in your cell except a mattress with two folded blankets on top.
“So this is the sweet thing we have to break?” One of the men jeers.
“This will be fun.” Another adds.
You turn back towards the men, who are all lined up on the other side of the bars. They watch you. So many eyes. On you. Some look mean. Others look kind. You recognise each of them from the photos, and you know from your research you need to watch out for the ones named Seungmin and Minho.
“Y/n. Come meet the officers.” The Chef, Chan you believe his name is, says firmly.
You take a step forward.
“No.” He stops you. “First, strip.”
“Oh!” You squeak. You hesitate. Are you really ready for this? But there’s something thrilling about this situation, and you know, deep down, even though you’re nervous, scared even, you don’t want to stop. Your hands tremble as they grasp the hem of your top and you pull it over your head. Leaving your top half In merely a flimsy sheer bra.
“Fuck. She’s hot.” One of them men whistle under his breath.
“The skirt too..” Chan barks.
“B-but-“ you remember you’re not wearing underwear.
“Skirt. Off. I don’t like repeating myself.” Chan snaps.
You lower your eyes as you peel your skirt down and let drop it to the floor.
“No panties. What a slut.” Minho smirks.
You can feel all eyes on your bare pussy.
“Look at the officers before you y/n.”
You lift your head and look at the men.
“For the next twenty four hours these men own your body. They want your cunt? You let them have it. They want to fuck your ass? It’s theirs. They want to take you two at a time? Tie you up, use restraints? You do not resist. They feel they need to punish you? You take it willingly. They want to degrade you, humiliate you?”
Seungmin laughs at that.
“They can. If they want to treat you nice, be sweet, they’re allowed to do that too. But you don’t come without permission. They control your orgasms.”
Chan basically recites your submission request back to you.
“Alright. Come forward to meet the officers who will be taking good care of you over the next twenty four hours.”
You take a step forward. “On your knees.” Chan corrects you.
You drop to your knees, the floor is cold and hard, and you crawl over to where the men wait.
The one named Minho comes forward and presents his erect cock to you, sliding it through the bars. “Come say hello, kitten.” He says coldly.
You look up at him as you wrap your mouth around him, and he immediately takes hold of the back of your head to keep it still while he fucks your mouth. You hear several belts being unbuckled around you.
So this is the introductions then?
“Changbin and I will leave you to it.” Chan informs the group and he and Changbin leave you with the remaining six officers.
From what you can tell from the way Minho holds your head and watches you with intense eyes, is that the man can read your limits. He pushes in just enough to make you gag, but not quite making you choke. His rhythm is smooth and consistent, and when he cums you know he’s holding back a pretty moan. He’s definitely a dom, but one that really understands a sub.
Felix, the pretty and gentle blond, is careful with your face, he doesn’t push too far, and he lets you use your hand on him. But there’s a glimmer in his eye that tells you he doesn’t mind the kinkier side of things, or that he might like seeing you in pain.
Hyunjin. He doesn’t even have to speak and he’s got you blushing. Just the way he’s looking at you, his tongue licking his pretty lips, has you dripping down your legs. The man is beautiful, sensual, and the way he’s working with you as you work his cock, moving with your mouth and hand, makes you believe he finds sex to be about connection. You’re not entirely sure how that will play out.
Jeongin. Seems sweet and innocent, but his entire expression changes to demonic once his tip hits your throat. You’re not sure what he has in store for you, but you know it’s not going to sweet, and you find yourself imagining all sorts of scenarios with him.
Jisung is next. Confident, demanding with his cock. Mumbles “slut” a few times, and thrusts his hips erratically. He’s unpredictable, and you splutter when he pushes far too deep for you. A flicker of fear and concern crosses his features, and you get the urge to help him stay in the character he’s trying to portray. You moan enthusiastically, and he quickly recovers, fucking you without restraint.
Seungmin is last. He’s cruel with his words, and careless with his thrusts. He’s energy is cold, and you know that if you need to be punished, he’s the guy to give it to you. That is until he comes back with an oversized shirt and a tray of food, and asks you if you have any questions about the agreement.
🚨🚨🚨🚨
You sit alone in your cell and eat your dinner, wondering what the night will hold. You don’t have to wait long though, because Chan is walking towards your cell.
“Y/n. It’s time for your interrogation with Detective Minho and Officer Seungmin.”
Fuck.
↣↣ up next, interrogation time with 2min here
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literally logged on because something in that episode gave me and idea and then get greeted with THIS! ya dont understand this is WHAT I LIKE
@channieandhisgoonsquad your man.
THIS MAN?!?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IM FINNA RIP MY HAIR OUT MY HEAD AHHHHH!!!!!
